#the words repeat in my mind as hours pass

[grifffins]

🚬 Say Yes 🚬

Avis Amberg x fem!reader

tags: power play, submission, smut, p!rn with a little plot, overstimulation, vag!nal f!ngering, mommy k!nk

summary: Everyone at ace studios knows better than to cross Avis Amberg, but when she invited you to one of her parties, you should’ve known it wasn’t just for drinks. It was always going to end like this.

wc: ~ 23k

a/n: I’ve had this one sitting in my drafts for a while, but I was so critically scared to post it. 😭 Big shoutout to @ahsfan05 for reading it first and reassuring me that it wasn’t complete insanity, love you forever. 💕

also on ao3

taglist: @ahsfan05, @emilynissangtr

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The office is quiet, save for the steady scratching of your pen against the script in front of you, the distant hum of typewriters had long stopped clacking away in another room. The usual buzz of Ace Studios has long since faded, leaving only the occasional echo of footsteps down the hall and the soft rustle of paper.

You should have gone home hours ago. The overhead lamp casts long shadows across your desk, illuminating the chaotic sprawl of coffee stained pages, discarded cigarette butts, and rejected ideas. Your eyes are heavy, your mind clouded, but still, you push forward. Hollywood isn’t for the faint of heart, and you’ve clawed your way this far, another night alone in the office is just the price of making it.

And then, something shifts.

You notice it before you hear it, the air itself seems to change, thickening like smoke curling through the room. The faintest trace of perfume hits you first. It's decadent, expensive, and undeniably feminine, notes of something dark and sweet, like bourbon and crushed velvet. It’s not a scent that belongs in an office like this. It belongs draped over fur coats in a crowded ballroom, whispered between red lips at a dimly lit bar.

You glance up, your pen stilling in your hand.

She’s standing in the doorway. Avis Amberg.

It takes you a second longer than it should to react, because seeing her in person, really seeing her, is different from the fleeting glimpses around the lot or the black and white glamour of her photographs. She’s... stunning. Imposing. Dripping in the kind of effortless elegance that makes time itself slow down around her.

The tailored silhouette of her dress hugs her frame in all the right places, cascading down her body like a second skin. Auburn curls frame her face, pinned back to reveal the elegant curve of her neck, and those lips, deep crimson, precise, almost too perfect to be real. Her eyes, sharp, dark, and laced with a knowing amusement, lock onto yours, and suddenly, you’re hyper aware of everything.

She’s never looked your way before, never given you the time of day. No exchange of pleasantries, no nods in passing. And yet here she is, staring at you like she’s known you forever, like she’s been watching from the shadows. You can’t help but wonder what brought her here, of all places, looking at me sitting here under the unforgiving glare of an office lamp, drowning in rewrites and a half empty coffee cup. But then she steps inside, and every doubt you have about yourself evaporates under the weight of her attention.

"You’re the only one left," she says smoothly, voice low and velvety, the kind of tone that suggests she’s amused by something only she understands. She takes a slow step forward, her heels clicking against the polished floorboards. 

You sit up straighter, suddenly aware of the mess of scripts and the cold coffee at your elbow. "I lost track of time," you admit, a little sheepishly.

Avis hums, unhurried. "Time," she repeats, like she’s turning the word over in her mind, as if it’s a concept she finds faintly ridiculous. "Seems to be a common affliction in this place."

Your heart races. What is she talking about? You’ve never spoken to her before. You keep to yourself, stay out of the way. So why is she looking at you like she’s known you forever?

She doesn’t move toward you, not exactly, but there’s a shift in the air, a subtle rearranging of power. You feel it immediately.

She casts a glance over your desk, fingers just brushing the edge of the nearest script. "Hard worker, aren’t you?" It’s not really a question. More of an assessment.

You shrug. "I like to keep busy."

"Mm. That’s what they say about women like us, isn’t it? Hardworking. Dedicated." She exhales sharply through her nose, something like amusement flickering across her features. "And yet, somehow, it’s never enough to get anyone in the room where it actually matters."

You swallow, unsure how to respond. Unsure if you should.

Avis doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, she looks faintly entertained by your silence. She reaches into her cigarette case, tapping one against her palm before lighting it with the same ease she does everything else.

Your mouth goes dry. Her presence is suffocating, every word she speaks making you question everything you thought you knew about yourself.

She exhales a plume of smoke, her gaze never leaving yours. 

The silence stretches, thick and heavy, until she finally breaks it with her next words, almost too casually. "I’m hosting a party tonight," she says, taking another slow drag from her cigarette. "Something... exclusive. And I think you should come."

You blink, unsure if you’ve heard her right. "Me?"

Her laugh is soft, almost affectionate, like she finds your confusion charming. "Yes, you." She leans in just enough to make your heart skip a beat. "You’ve been noticed," she adds, voice low, and the words hit you like a confession you weren’t prepared for. "Unless you'd rather stay here... with your scripts."

Wait, what?

You’ve never been on her radar, never been someone she would even give a second glance. But here she is, telling you she’s noticed you, you, out of all the people in this place. And now, she’s inviting you to a party?

You’re not sure whether to say yes or run in the other direction. But something tells you she wouldn’t be here, saying these things, if she didn’t already know exactly what she wanted. And maybe... just maybe... you're exactly what she's been looking for.

You should say no. You should.

But instead, you find yourself nodding. "What time?"

Avis smiles, slow and satisfied, like she’s just won a game you didn’t know you were playing. She exhales another cloud of smoke before flicking the cigarette into the ashtray on your desk, embers smouldering against paper.

"Midnight," she says, and the way she says it feels like a promise.  "Don’t be late."

And then she’s gone.

The door clicks shut behind her, and the room feels colder somehow, emptier, despite the lingering scent of her perfume hanging in the air like a whispered promise. You stare at the cigarette she left behind, the soft curl of smoke rising lazily into the dim light, and wonder if you’ve just made the biggest mistake of your life.

Midnight.

The word echoes in your head, looping over and over, settling deep into your bones. Midnight feels like a turning point, a knife edge you’re about to step over. Your grip tightens on your pen, but the ink barely stains the paper now. Your mind is elsewhere, stuck on the way she looked at you, on the invitation that shouldn’t have come your way at all.

Avis Amberg doesn’t waste her time on nobodies. That’s the rule. And yet...

You lean back in your chair, exhaling slowly, trying to steady yourself. Everyone at the studio talks about Avis with a mix of reverence and hushed scandal. Her parties are legendary, whispered about in the corridors and over coffee breaks, the kind of gatherings that people pretend they weren’t dying to be invited to. But the guest list is always the same, actors, producers, politicians, men with too much power and too little restraint.

And boys. Always the boys. The boys from the gas station.

They’re part of the whispered stories, part of the intrigue surrounding her. You’d heard the rumours, the late night tales of her indulgences, of the young, eager things who came and went, bought and paid for, eager to please the formidable Mrs. Amberg.

They bragged, of course. Loose lipped in dim lit bars, cigarette smoke curling from their mouths as they talked about her like she was some urban legend made flesh. How she liked them a certain way. How she preferred to keep things simple, clean, no strings, no questions. How they were nothing but a momentary amusement before she discarded them like an empty pack of cigarettes.

You weren’t an actor, or a politician, or some eager boy who had the privilege of being used and forgotten. So what did she want?

You weren’t naive enough to think you were special. But the question lingered, curling in the back of your mind.

Because if you weren’t a transaction, if you weren’t some pretty thing bought for a night’s pleasure…

Then what the hell did Avis Amberg want with you?

You glance at the clock, half past eleven.

You should go home, forget all about it. You should stay in your lane, keep your head down, and do what you came to Hollywood to do. But instead, you find yourself standing, smoothing down your clothes, and staring at your reflection in the dusty office window. The face that stares back at you looks unsure, hesitant, but beneath it, there’s something else, a flicker of curiosity.

Curiosity will be your undoing.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you grab your coat and head for the door, your heart hammering in your chest.

The address Avis had murmured, soft and teasing against your ear, leads you to an estate that looks like something ripped straight from a film reel. The driveway alone is longer than the entire block you live on, lined with towering palm trees that sway lazily in the evening breeze. The house itself is all sharp lines and grand columns, the glow from the windows spilling onto the manicured lawns like golden honey. Expensive cars are parked in neat rows, and you recognise a few faces slipping inside, faces from the silver screen, the kind of people you’d usually only see in black and white.

You pause at the entrance, nerves twisting in your gut. What the hell are you doing here?

And then, before you can rethink everything, she’s there.

Avis.

She’s standing just inside the entrance, champagne flute in hand, dark eyes sweeping over the gathered guests with that same quiet authority she carried in your office. Her dress tonight is different, satin, liquid gold against her skin, clinging in all the right places. The cut of the neckline is designed to ruin men, and perhaps even you.

For a moment, you consider slipping away before she notices. But Avis catches your eye like she’s been waiting for you all along, her lips curving into that same slow, knowing smile.

You swallow hard and step inside.

She meets you halfway, her gaze flickering over your attire, amusement dancing behind her eyes. “I must admit,” she murmurs, tilting her head, “I half expected you to come up with some excuse.”

“I thought about it,” you admit, trying to keep your voice steady. “But I figured you’d just hunt me down tomorrow if I didn’t show.”

Avis chuckles, the sound low and rich, like the champagne she swirls in her glass. “Smart.” She leans in just slightly, her perfume wrapping around you again, and your knees feel weaker than you’d like to admit. “You don’t belong here,” she says, her voice smooth, knowing.

Your pulse spikes, but you keep your expression neutral. “You invited me?”

Her lips curl at the edges, a slow, measured smirk. “I did.”

The weight of it lingers between you, pressing against your ribs. She doesn’t elaborate. Doesn’t explain. Just watches you with that unreadable glint in her eye, as if daring you to ask.

“Because I’m not rich?” you say finally, testing the waters.

Her gaze flickers, just for a moment. “Because you’re not like them.”

It’s not a compliment. It’s not an insult, either. It’s something else, something that sinks into your skin, unsettling in a way you can’t quite place.

She takes another sip of champagne, her eyes never leaving yours. “That’s why you’re here.”

And you have no idea if she means tonight, at this party, or something else entirely.

The implication lingers between you, heavy and undeniable.

Before you can say anything, someone calls her name from across the room, a producer, one of the old ones with a face like a bulldog and an ego to match. Avis’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s a flicker of irritation in the way she sighs, like she’s already bored with the night.

“Enjoy yourself,” she murmurs, brushing a hand lightly down your arm as she steps away. “We’ll talk later.”

And just like that, she’s gone, melting into the crowd with the same effortless grace she always carries.

You exhale sharply, feeling the lingering heat of her touch burning through the fabric of your sleeve.

You should leave.

You should definitely leave.

Instead, you find yourself taking a drink from a passing tray, watching Avis from across the room as she smiles and charms her way through the sea of important people, and you wonder, just for a moment, if you’ve just stepped into something you can’t escape from.

The party swallows you whole.

You blend into the crowd, clinging to the edges of the room with your drink in hand, letting the sound of laughter and clinking glasses wash over you. The air is thick with cigarette smoke and the heady scent of expensive perfume, mingling with the distant sound of a jazz record spinning somewhere beyond the grand staircase. The guests move like silk through the lavish space, slipping between conversations with practiced ease, actors, directors, studio executives, and socialites draped in jewels and whispered secrets.

This is a world you’ve only ever seen from a distance, through the crack of an office door or in fleeting glimpses on set. You shouldn’t be here. But Avis invited you, and here you are, trapped between the pull of curiosity and the gnawing fear that you’re completely out of your depth.

You steal a glance across the room and find her almost immediately. Avis stands at the centre of it all, holding court with an air of casual authority, cigarette poised elegantly between her fingers as she listens to some executive drone on about box office numbers. She doesn’t even look bored, she’s perfected the art of appearing interested, a slight tilt of her head, a slow blink, the barest ghost of a smile curling at the edge of her lips.

And yet, even surrounded by a sea of admirers, she still notices you.

Her dark eyes flicker in your direction, and for a heartbeat, it’s like the entire room fades away. The corner of her mouth lifts in a small, private smile,  one that feels like it’s meant for you and no one else.

Your breath catches in your throat. You take a sip of your drink, hoping the burn will steady you, but all it does is make your head feel lighter, more off balance. You’re not used to being looked at like that, like you’re something interesting, something worth pursuing.

Especially not by Avis Amberg.

The night moves in a blur of faces and conversations you can barely follow. You speak to a few people, some actors whose names you vaguely recognise, a screenwriter who complains about the studio system with too much wine in his hand,  but your thoughts keep drifting back to her.

Each time you catch a glimpse of Avis, you feel that same slow pull, like gravity bending toward her effortlessly. She moves through the party like she owns it, because she does. A touch here, a glance there, laughter slipping from her lips like it was meant to be bottled and sold.

And then, just when you think she’s forgotten about you entirely, you feel it.

A touch at your back.

Soft. Barely there.

But unmistakable.

You turn sharply, and there she is, Avis, closer than you expected, her presence overwhelming in the low light. Up close, she’s even more devastating. The curve of her lips, the way the gold chain at her throat catches the light, the cool amusement flickering in her dark eyes.

"Enjoying yourself?" she asks, and the way she says it, low, intimate, sends a shiver down your spine.

You nod, because you can’t trust yourself to speak without giving too much away.

Avis hums in approval, her fingers grazing your wrist for a fraction of a second too long before she pulls away. "Good. I’d hate to think I invited you for nothing."

Your pulse is racing. "I—"

She cuts you off with a smirk. "Come with me."

And just like that, she’s walking away, expecting you to follow. And, of course, you do.

Avis leads you through the crowd with effortless ease, past laughing guests and glittering chandeliers, until you find yourself in a quieter corner of the house, a secluded alcove with plush seating and dim lighting, far removed from the noise of the party.

She settles onto one of the velvet sofas, crossing her legs with a languid grace that makes it impossible to look away. She gestures for you to sit, and you do, feeling the heat of her gaze on you the entire time.

Avis studies you for a long moment, idly swirling her drink. "You're not easy to read."

You blink, caught off guard. "I-what do you mean?"

She leans in slightly, her gaze sharp, searching. "Most people telegraph their intentions. You can see them coming a mile away." Her lips curl, amused. "But you... you're harder to pin down."

Her fingertip glides along the rim of her glass, slow and deliberate. "It's interesting."

Your heart is hammering now, loud enough that you’re sure she can hear it.

"I—I’m not sure what to say to that," you admit, swallowing hard.

Avis smirks. "Say yes."

You blink. "To what?"

She leans back, her gaze heavy, unreadable. "To whatever comes next."

And with that, the room tilts just slightly, because you realise, this isn’t just flirtation. This is something far more dangerous. And you? You’re standing right on the edge.

You should hesitate. You should think this through. But none of that happens.

Instead, the word tumbles out of your mouth before you can stop it.

“Yes.”

Avis’s lips curve into something slow and indulgent, as though she expected nothing less. She doesn’t react with surprise, doesn’t blink, just watches you with that same quiet amusement, letting the weight of your answer settle between you.

A part of you wonders if you should have played it cooler, if you should have pretended to be unfazed by the invitation hanging in the air. But you’re not cool. You’re not unfazed. Because Avis Amberg is beautiful in the way that makes the air thick and your skin too warm under the weight of her gaze.

And because... well, she’s Avis Amberg.

Your brain still hasn’t caught up to the reality of it, the fact that she’s not just teasing, that the woman with a reputation for leaving a trail of starry eyed boys in her wake is standing before you, interested. And you? You’re very much not a boy.

Avis shifts slightly, leaning back into the plush sofa with a grace that should be illegal. She takes a slow sip from her drink, her dark eyes still locked on yours over the rim of her glass. “Good,” she murmurs after a beat, as though your answer had been inevitable.

Your pulse thrums in your throat, and you try not to fidget beneath the weight of her gaze. “You—” you start, then stop yourself, unsure if you even have the right to ask the question circling in your head.

Avis notices, of course she does. “Something on your mind, darling?” she asks, her voice dripping with lazy amusement, like she’s enjoying this far too much.

You swallow hard, your fingers tightening around your glass. “I just... I didn’t realise you were...”

Her dark brows arch ever so slightly, the ghost of a smirk playing at her lips. “Interested in women?”

You feel your face heat. “I mean—”

She laughs, low and rich, tilting her head as she studies you. “Is that really so surprising?”

Your throat tightens. “Well... yes.”

Avis hums thoughtfully, swirling the amber liquid in her glass before setting it down with a soft clink. She leans forward then, elbows resting on her knees, and the sudden closeness makes your heart stutter in your chest.

“You know what I think?” she muses, her voice dropping to something softer, something dangerously intimate.

You shake your head, swallowing against the lump forming in your throat.

"I think," she continues, idly tracing the rim of her glass with a single finger, "that people see what they want to see. A woman like me, in a place like this.." She pauses, her lips curving in something unreadable. "It's easier for them to believe certain stories."

You know exactly which ones she means, the whispers that slip through studio corridors, tales of pretty boys and late nights, carefully crafted illusions that keep everyone at ease.

"It keeps them comfortable," she murmurs.

The air between you is suffocatingly thick, and your fingers tremble slightly against the cool glass in your hand. You try to speak, to come up with something clever, something that doesn’t make you sound completely out of your depth, but Avis beats you to it.

“Do I make you nervous?” she asks, and you can tell she already knows the answer.

You open your mouth to deny it, but the words get caught somewhere along the way.

Avis laughs again, softer this time, like she’s found something about you particularly delightful. “That’s alright,” she murmurs, sitting back against the sofa once more, watching you like a cat watching a mouse. “I have that effect on people.”

You take a slow, steadying breath, trying to regain some semblance of composure. “And what exactly happens now?”

Avis watches you for a long moment, like she’s deciding just how much to give away. Then, with a slow, languid stretch, she rises to her feet. The satin of her dress shimmers under the dim light, and you have to fight the urge to stare.

“That depends on you,” she says simply, extending a hand towards you.

You stare at it for a beat too long before finally placing your hand in hers. Her fingers are warm, steady, and the simple contact sends a shiver down your spine. She pulls you up with effortless grace, guiding you through the winding hallways of her estate like she’s done it a hundred times before.

Your heart hammers against your ribs, your mind racing with possibilities.

Because you said yes. And now, there’s no turning back.

The room she leads you to is quieter, a stark contrast to the thumping noise of the party below. It’s dimly lit, the soft glow of candlelight flickering against the dark walls. The atmosphere is intimate, velvet furnishings scattered around the space, heavy curtains drawn tight against the world outside. The faint scent of her perfume clings to the air, making everything feel a little too close, a little too personal.

Your eyes fall to the bed in the centre of the room, its heavy, ornate frame adding to the feeling that you’ve just entered a private world, one that’s far removed from the chaos of the party. The plush, dark bedding invites you in, its soft folds promising comfort, or something else entirely.

You can’t help but wonder if she’s planned this moment.

Avis closes the door behind you with a soft click, and suddenly the world outside feels very far away. She watches you for a moment, gauging your reaction, her eyes sharp and calculating.

“Are you alright?” she asks, a hint of genuine curiosity threading through her voice.

You nod, your throat too dry to form words.

Avis steps closer, her fingers tracing lightly down the length of your arm before settling at your wrist. “You don’t have to be nervous, darling.”

“I’m not nervous,” you say quickly, but it’s a lie, and she knows it.

Her lips curve in that infuriating way of hers. “Of course you’re not.”

You swallow, trying to ground yourself, but it’s difficult when she’s this close, when her scent is wrapping around you like a blanket, when her touch is light but deliberate, drawing small circles against your skin.

“I’m not like them,” you whisper, more to yourself than to her.

Avis tilts her head, her gaze flickering over your face. “I know.”

And somehow, that makes it worse.

The muffled thrum of the party downstairs is a distant pulse beneath your feet, a steady reminder that the world outside this room still exists. Voices rise and fall beneath the music, laughter spilling through the cracks in the floorboards. It’s grounding in a way, tethering you to reality just enough to remind you that this, whatever this is, is happening under the noses of everyone down there.

You glance toward the closed door, then back at Avis. “Aren’t you worried we’ll get caught?”

She watches you, her lips curving in that slow, knowing way. “Should I be?”

You exhale, shifting slightly under the weight of her gaze. “I don’t know. You tell me.”

Avis steps closer, deliberate but unhurried, her fingertips ghosting over your wrist. “They only see what they want to see, darling.” Her voice is a warm hum against your skin. “And no one looks too closely when they think they already know the story.”

Your stomach twists at the implication.

She tilts her head, eyes gleaming in the candlelight. “Are you afraid someone will come looking for you?”

You shake your head, but the thought lingers. You should be more cautious. You should be thinking about the people downstairs, about the fact that this is reckless, that someone could knock on that door at any moment.

But you don’t move.

Avis watches your hesitation with quiet satisfaction, her hand trailing up to cup your cheek, her thumb grazing just beneath your jaw. “Tell me something,” she murmurs, her voice low, coaxing. “Have you thought about this?”

Your breath catches. “I… I don’t know.”

Her smile deepens, just enough to make your pulse stutter. “I think you have.”

And the worst part? She’s right.

You can’t deny it. Not when she’s looking at you like that.

You exhale shakily, leaning into her touch without thinking, and Avis watches you with quiet satisfaction, like she’s just confirmed something she already knew.

And then, finally, she kisses you.

It’s slow at first, teasing, like she’s savouring the moment, the taste of your hesitation. Her lips are soft but insistent, and when you don’t pull away, when you can’t pull away, her hand tightens slightly in your hair, drawing you closer.

You’re not sure how long it lasts, only that when she finally pulls back, you’re breathless and aching, and Avis looks entirely too pleased with herself.

“There,” she whispers against your lips. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

You laugh, a little breathless. “No.”

Avis’s fingers trail down your arm, slow and deliberate. “Good,” she murmurs. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

And somehow, you know you don’t want her to be.

Your heart is still racing, your lips tingling with the ghost of her touch. Avis watches you with a quiet intensity, her dark eyes drinking you in as if she’s committing every inch of your reaction to memory. It’s unnerving, the way she looks at you, like she’s already won, like she knew exactly how this would play out the moment she stepped into your office.

And maybe she did.

“You’re quiet,” she murmurs, fingers still ghosting down your arm, light and teasing, never quite settling.

You swallow hard, attempting to regain some semblance of control. “I’m just... processing.”

Avis smirks, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear in a gesture that feels far too intimate for how little you know each other. “Take your time, darling,” she says, voice dripping in amusement. “I do love watching you think.”

You let out a shaky breath, your gaze darting around the room in a desperate attempt to ground yourself. The space is luxurious, a rich blend of velvet and gold, the kind of room that reeks of indulgence. It’s intimate without being stifling, the lighting low, the air heavy with the scent of her perfume.

“You really do live like a queen, don’t you?” you say, your voice steadier than you expected.

Avis hums, stepping back slightly, giving you a moment to breath, or perhaps just enjoying the view. “Darling, I don’t just live like one. I am one.” She tilts her head, considering you. “And queens always get what they want.”

Your stomach flips. “And what exactly do you want?”

Avis doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she picks up the cigarette she’d left resting in a nearby ashtray, bringing it to her lips with practiced ease. She inhales slowly, her gaze never leaving yours, and when she exhales, the smoke curls lazily between you, thick and intoxicating.

“I think,” she finally says, tapping ash onto the crystal tray, “I want to know more about you.”

The statement takes you by surprise. You expected something else, something bolder, something teasing, but this? This feels... dangerous.

You shift under her gaze. “There’s not much to know.”

Avis chuckles, low and knowing. “Oh, I doubt that.” She steps closer again, her free hand tracing idle patterns along the neckline of your dress. “You intrigue me. I don’t take that lightly.”

Your throat tightens. “I... I’m not one of your boys.”

Avis’s eyes darken, and the hand at your collarbone stills. For a moment, you worry you’ve crossed a line, but then her lips quirk in amusement. “No,” she murmurs, her voice softer now, almost reverent. “You’re not.”

And there it is again, that unspoken acknowledgement hanging between you, thick and weighty. You’ve spent so long hearing whispers about Avis’s conquests, about the way she collected men like trophies, discarding them once their shine wore off. But here she is, standing before you, something more than idle curiosity flickering in her gaze.

It’s enough to make your head spin.

“Why me?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

Avis tilts her head, a smile playing on her lips as she studies you. “Why not?”

You open your mouth to argue, but she presses a single finger to your lips, silencing you effortlessly. “Don’t overthink it,” she whispers, her eyes dancing with mischief. “Just enjoy it.”

And then she kisses you again.

This time, it’s different. There’s no teasing, no hesitation, just the press of her lips against yours, confident and demanding. Her hand tangles in your hair, pulling you in closer, and all you can do is let yourself be drawn into the heat of her, the taste of expensive champagne lingering on her tongue.

You melt into it, your hands finding purchase against the smooth silk of her dress, and Avis hums in approval, pressing you back against the velvet cushions with effortless ease.

You let her take the lead, let her pull you deeper into her world of whispered secrets and stolen moments. You don’t think about tomorrow, about the studio, about what people might say.

Right now, there’s only the feel of her lips against your skin, the soft sighs that escape between kisses, the way she holds you like she’s always known exactly how this would play out.

And perhaps she did.

Avis’s lips are soft but insistent, pressing against yours with a hunger that catches you off guard. There's no prelude now, no teasing dance, just the slow, deliberate weight of her body against yours, the heat of her hands mapping out the lines of your waist, the curve of your hips.

The room tilts around you, the distant hum of the party beyond the heavy door fading into nothing but the sound of your own breathing, shallow and quick. Avis’s perfume wraps around you like a second skin, cloying and decadent, making it hard to think, hard to do anything but feel.

She pushes you back gently, the velvet of the bed soft beneath you, and her gaze, dark and smouldering, holds you in place far more effectively than any touch could. Her fingers trace a slow path down the side of your neck, featherlight, before she leans in again, her lips trailing lower, pressing against the pulse hammering beneath your skin.

A soft sound escapes you before you can stop it, and you feel her smile against your throat, wicked and knowing. "Mm," she hums, the sound vibrating through you. "I do love when they make noise."

Your fingers clutch at her waist, the silk of her dress slipping beneath your hands like water, and she takes it as an invitation, pressing closer, her body a perfect fit against yours, warm and demanding. She’s all confidence, all control, and it makes your head spin in the best possible way.

Her mouth finds yours again, hungrier this time, and you don’t hesitate to match her. Your hands roam, fingers tracing the exposed skin of her back, sliding beneath the fabric where it dips low, feeling the tension in her muscles as she moves against you. Avis sighs into your mouth, a soft, indulgent sound, and the way she reacts to your touch sends a thrill down your spine.

She’s intoxicating, more than the champagne, more than the cigarette smoke that lingers in the air. The way she moves, the way she takes what she wants with such ease, it’s almost unfair.

Her nails drag lightly down your arm, and then her hands are at your waist, pulling you up, closer, until your legs are tangled together and there’s nowhere else to go. The heat of her mouth, the deliberate press of her thigh between yours, it’s overwhelming.

Your breath comes faster, and she notices, of course she does. "Easy, darling," she murmurs against your lips, her voice a lazy drawl, full of amusement. "We've got all night."

You whimper at the promise in her words, your body arching instinctively into her touch. Avis chuckles, trailing kisses down your collarbone, her fingers slipping beneath the edge of your dress, dragging the fabric down with deliberate slowness.

You shiver beneath her, your body taut with anticipation, heat pooling low in your stomach. Avis pulls back just enough to look at you, her dark eyes heavy lidded, her lips glistening.

"Tell me you want this," she says, and for once, there’s no teasing in her tone.

Your breath catches, the words sticking in your throat. There’s something about the way she’s looking at you, like she’s giving you the space to decide, to step back if you want to.

But you don’t.

You nod, breathless. “Yes.”

Avis tilts her head slightly, her fingers skimming your jaw, her nails scraping just lightly enough to make you shudder. Her lips curve, not quite a smirk, not quite a smile.

“Yes what?” Your brows furrow for half a second, confusion flickering across your face before she leans in again, her breath warm against your skin. “Yes, mama,” she clarifies.

The words send a shock through you, a heat that curls deep in your spine, leaving you dizzy.

Your lips part, your breath shaky. You swallow hard, your fingers gripping onto the sheets, grounding yourself.

“Yes, mama,” you whisper. Your voice comes out softer than you intend, breathless, but it does exactly what you knew it would. Avis stills for just a moment, lips hovering at the base of your throat, and then you feel it, her slow, pleased exhale, warm against your skin. A shiver rolls down your spine at the way she hums, low and satisfied, like she’s just found something worth savouring.

Avis hums in satisfaction, her fingers trailing lower, her touch both soothing and possessive. “That’s my girl.” She murmurs, and the praise sends heat pooling low in your belly.

Her smile is all satisfaction, and then she's on you again, lips and hands and silk soft touches that unravel you piece by piece.

You let her take everything. And she does.

Avis’s hands are everywhere at once, trailing slow, deliberate patterns along your sides, your waist, the delicate line of your collarbone. Each touch feels intentional, practiced, like she’s taking her time learning every inch of you. Her fingers slip beneath the fabric of your dress, pushing it higher inch by inch, her nails grazing your skin just enough to leave you gasping.

You clutch at her, trying to ground yourself, but she’s relentless, her mouth finding yours again, deeper this time, hungrier. She tastes like champagne and something sweeter, something distinctly her, and you melt into it without thinking, letting her take whatever she wants.

Her thigh presses between yours, firm and unyielding, and you gasp into her mouth at the sudden pressure. Avis pulls back just enough to watch you, her dark eyes glittering with amusement. "Sensitive, aren’t we?"

You can’t find your voice, only manage a sharp intake of breath as her fingers drag slowly up your bare thigh, teasing and unhurried.

She chuckles, her lips brushing the shell of your ear. "I like that."

The words send a fresh wave of heat through you, and you can feel the smug curve of her smile as she continues her slow, torturous exploration. Her hands push the straps of your dress down your shoulders, the silk pooling at your waist, exposing more of you to the cool air and the warm press of her lips against your skin.

She kisses a path down your neck, lingering just above your racing pulse before moving lower, her mouth tracing the swell of your chest with maddening patience. Every brush of her lips, every teasing flick of her tongue leaves you trembling beneath her touch.

"Avis..." you whisper, unsure if it’s a plea or a warning.

She pulls back slightly, looking down at you with a dangerous glint in her eyes. "Patience, darling," she murmurs, dragging her thumb over your lower lip, watching as you part your lips instinctively for her. "We’re just getting started."

Your head falls back against the plush velvet, your body arching into her touch despite your better judgment. Avis takes her time, mapping out every inch of you with meticulous care, her touch alternating between feather light caresses and firm, possessive strokes that leave you aching for more.

Her thigh presses harder between yours, and your hips move without thinking, chasing the friction she offers. Avis hums in approval, her hand slipping beneath the last barrier of fabric, teasing at the edge of where you need her most.

"So eager," she murmurs, her lips ghosting over your flushed skin. "I love it."

You whimper, your fingers digging into her arms, trying to pull her closer, needing more. Avis obliges, pressing her body fully against yours, her mouth claiming yours again with a hunger that leaves no room for doubt.

You’re lost in her, completely, utterly lost. The world outside this room, the party, the whispers... none of it matters anymore.

There’s only the heat of her body, the press of her lips, and the slow, torturous way she’s taking you apart piece by piece.

And God, you don’t want it to stop.You gently pull away and stand up, helping her to her feet. You’re still warm from her touch, your body slightly unsteady as you both rise, but you can’t ignore the desire to move things forward.  You kiss her neck, soft and slow, careful not to leave a trace, no marks. Just you, your lips pressed against the warm skin beneath her jaw, savouring the way she sighs, the way her fingers tighten in your hair.

Avis tilts her head ever so slightly, granting you silent permission, but there’s control in it, a reminder that she’s letting you have this, for now. You kiss lower, your mouth trailing to the delicate curve where her neck meets her shoulder, feeling the way she shivers under your touch.

"You’re being good," she murmurs, her voice a lazy drawl laced with something darker, more indulgent. 

Her praise sends a shiver down your spine, desire pooling low in your belly, but it’s not enough. Those boys at the gas station, she paid for their time, their attention. But you? You want her. Not for what she can offer, not for the allure of power or wealth, but for her, the way she looks at you like she’s measuring your worth, the way she commands a room without saying a word, the way her lips taste of champagne and control.

Your hands find the silk belt of her dress, and you hesitate, your fingers trembling slightly against the fabric. Avis notices, of course she does, and she chuckles, low and knowing, tilting your chin up with a single, perfectly manicured finger.

Her eyes darken, approval flickering across her features, and she steps back just enough to give you space to move. Your hands move slowly, reverently, slipping the silk from her shoulders, watching with wide eyes as the fabric pools at her feet, revealing the intricate corset beneath, black lace and boning hugging her curves, accentuating everything in a way that has your knees feeling weak.

You can’t help the way your breath catches, your gaze drinking her in like she’s something untouchable, something holy.

Avis smirks, reading every thought flashing across your face, and steps closer, tipping your chin up once more. "On your knees, darling," she purrs, and your body obeys before your mind can catch up.

You sink down onto the plush rug beneath you, your hands trembling as they trail along the curve of her thighs, over the delicate lace garters holding up her stockings. You kiss along the tops of them, your lips brushing the soft skin just above the lace, and you feel Avis’s breath hitch, just for a second.

"Good girl," she murmurs, her fingers threading through your hair, tugging lightly, just enough to make you look up at her. The hunger in her gaze nearly undoes you. "But I think you can do better than that."

Your lips part, your breath warm against her skin, and you kiss higher, your mouth mapping a path up the curve of her inner thigh, your hands smoothing over the soft lace and silk as you go.

Avis hums in approval, her grip in your hair tightening slightly. "That’s it," she murmurs, her voice heavy with satisfaction. "I do enjoy watching you like this."

You burn under her praise, your desire only growing as she tilts her head back slightly, exhaling a slow, indulgent sigh. Every soft gasp, every pleased hum she lets out fuels you, makes you want to prove that you’re different, that you’re not just another passing amusement to be forgotten by morning.

Your hands glide up, fingertips teasing against the edges of her corset, and you press a kiss just above the swell of her hip, the faintest taste of her moisturiser lingering on your tongue. It’s intoxicating, overwhelming, and you can’t get enough.

Avis chuckles softly, her lips curling in amusement. "You’re raring to go, aren’t you?," she observes, and you feel the delicious weight of her power pressing down on you, making you ache for more.

You kiss higher, tracing the delicate line of lace with your lips, your hands trailing slowly along her hips, mapping her out like you have all the time in the world. And for tonight, you do.

Avis pulls you back suddenly, her hands firm against your shoulders, in one fluid movement she bends down her lips crash against yours, and this time, it’s all consuming, teeth, tongue, and a desperation that leaves you dizzy.

"Let’s see if you can keep up, darling," she whispers against your lips, and you know with absolute certainty, you're about to give her the time of her life.

Avis watches you from beneath heavy lidded eyes, a satisfied smirk playing at the edges of her lips as she feels the way your breath trembles against her skin. Her fingers slide through your hair, a gentle yet possessive touch, and the weight of it sends a thrill down your spine.

You lower your head again, pressing your lips to the inside of her thigh, letting your tongue flicker over the delicate lace garter before trailing higher, slowly, reverently. The anticipation coils between you, thick and heady, and Avis hums in approval, her grip tightening just enough to ground you, to remind you exactly who’s in control here.

Your hands skim up the curve of her hips, tracing the silk of her corset as your lips follow suit, lingering along the delicate curve just above the boning, tasting the faint salt of her skin mixed with the lingering traces of expensive perfume. She sighs above you, a soft, indulgent sound that makes your stomach tighten with need.

“Such a lovely little thing,” Avis murmurs, her voice thick with amusement and something darker, richer. Her nails scrape lightly against your scalp, urging you on. “Let’s see what that mouth of yours can really do.”

Your lips part around a shaky breath, your hands finding the clasp of her garter belt, undoing it with practiced ease. Avis chuckles softly, clearly pleased, and steps back just enough to give you room, watching with that ever present, wicked glint in her eye as you guide the sheer fabric down her thighs, pressing kisses to every new inch of exposed skin.

You trail your fingers up the inside of her thighs, featherlight touches meant to tease, and Avis lets out the softest sigh, her hips shifting ever so slightly in response. You press your mouth to her again, lower this time, your tongue flicking out, tasting her heat through the last barrier of silk and lace.

Avis lets out a soft, breathy moan, her fingers tugging your hair just enough to make you gasp against her. “Patience,” she purrs, though the slight hitch in her breath betrays her own. “I do like them eager, but I like them obedient even more.”

You drag your tongue over her slowly, teasing, and she groans, low and throaty, her hips shifting in response. Encouraged, you press a little harder, your fingers slipping beneath the lace to finally touch her properly, feeling how warm and wet she is, how ready.

Avis’s grip tightens, her breath catching in her throat, and when you flick your tongue against her in just the right way, she curses softly under her breath. “Oh, darling.”

Slowly, deliberately, you slip the fabric down her legs, tossing it aside, your breath catching as your hands now have complete access to her. And you dive back in.

Your fingers work in tandem with your mouth, teasing and stroking with deliberate precision, finding the rhythm that makes her tremble under your touch. Avis’s composure slips, just a little, and the sound she makes, low and desperate, is enough to send a rush of heat straight to your core.

You revel in it, in the way her breath stutters, in the way her thighs tense around you. Every moan, every whispered curse fuels you, makes you bolder, hungrier. You take your time, savouring the way she responds to you, the way her hips roll against your mouth, her fingers threading tighter through your hair.

Avis’s voice is a breathless murmur above you, her dominance never wavering even as she begins to lose herself in the pleasure you’re giving her. “Just like that... yes, that’s it,” she breathes, her head tipping back as her body shudders beneath you.

Your fingers work deeper, curling just right, and you feel it, the sharp tension in her muscles, the way her breathing grows ragged, her moans louder, more insistent. You keep your pace steady, relentless, pushing her higher and higher until she gasps your name, her body arching into you as she comes undone.

Avis rides it out with a grace that’s entirely hers, her fingers tightening in your hair before finally releasing, her chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. You pull back slowly, pressing a final kiss to the inside of her thigh, your lips damp, your hands still lingering against her skin.

For a long moment, Avis says nothing, only watches you with dark, hooded eyes, her lips parted, her body still humming from the aftershocks. Then, with a languid stretch, she reaches down and cups your chin, tilting your face up to meet hers.

Her smirk is slow, indulgent, and utterly satisfied. "Well," she murmurs, voice husky and warm. "I think you just might be my favourite after all."

Your heart pounds at the praise, at the way she’s looking at you like she’s already decided to keep you. You let out a breathless laugh, wiping the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand.

“I aim to please,” you whisper, and Avis grins, pulling you to your feet with surprising ease. She presses her lips to yours again, slower this time, tasting herself on your tongue, and it’s intoxicating in a way that makes your knees weak all over again.

“Careful, darling,” she murmurs against your lips. “I just might not let you leave.”

And you? You’re not sure you’d want to.

“You look divine,” she murmurs, her fingers tracing the curve of your hip, slipping beneath the last remnants of fabric still clinging to your body. “But I think you’d look better without these.”

You swallow hard as she steps closer, her lips ghosting over your jaw, her hands working with deliberate precision to strip away the barriers between you. The sensation of silk sliding down your skin sends a fresh wave of anticipation coursing through you, and you can’t stop the soft sigh that escapes your lips.

Avis smirks against your ear, her breath warm and teasing. “I do love when they fall apart so easily,” she whispers, and the words make your knees threaten to give out all over again.

She steps back, just enough to take in the sight of you, bare, trembling, utterly at her mercy. Her eyes darken, and you feel the weight of her desire pressing down on you like a tangible force.

"On the bed," she says, and there’s no question in it, no room for hesitation.

Your legs move on their own, carrying you to the lavish bed. You sink onto it, your breathing shallow, your body aching with anticipation. Avis follows at her own pace, leisurely and in control, watching you with a predator’s gaze.

And there she stands, corset clad and exquisite, looking at you like she’s about to devour you whole.

She crawls onto the bed with a grace that has your breath catching, her knees settling on either side of your hips as she pins you beneath her, the weight of her a delicious pressure you never knew you needed until now. Her fingers dance lightly over your skin, teasing, tracing, making you arch into her touch.

"You’ve been so good," she purrs, dragging her nails lightly down your stomach, making you shudder. "But now it’s my turn."

Her mouth follows the path of her hands, warm and wet against your skin, leaving a trail of kisses and bites that never quite mark, but still make your breath catch with every scrape of her teeth. She revels in the way your body responds to her, the way you tremble beneath every calculated touch.

"Tell me what you want," she murmurs against your collarbone, her tongue flickering out to taste the salt of your skin. "I want to hear you say it."

Your fingers clutch at the sheets, your voice barely a whisper. "I want you."

Avis chuckles, low and dangerous, her lips ghosting lower, leaving you breathless. "You already have me," she murmurs, pressing a kiss just above your navel before moving lower still. "But I do love hearing you beg."

Your body arches instinctively as she drags her tongue along your skin, teasing, tasting, taking her time. Every touch, every flicker of her fingers and lips is deliberate, calculated to drive you to the very edge without ever letting you fall.

She makes you wait. Makes you feel every second of it.

And when she finally gives you what you’ve been aching for, you cry out, your hands tangling in her hair as she works you open with devastating precision. Avis hums against you, a satisfied sound that vibrates through your core, and it’s almost too much, too perfect.

"You taste divine," she murmurs between slow, torturous strokes, her voice thick with satisfaction.

You gasp, your body arching into her, desperate for more, for everything. Avis’s hands grip your thighs, holding you down with an authority that leaves no room for argument, no room for escape. She builds you up slowly, surprisingly expertly, her mouth and fingers working in perfect tandem, leaving you a trembling mess beneath her.

You moan her name, breathless and raw, and it only seems to spur her on, her tongue flicking against you in just the right way, her fingers curling inside you with unerring precision. You can feel the pressure building, the heat pooling low in your belly, and you know you’re close, so close you can taste it.

"Come for me, darling," she purrs against your skin, and it’s not a request.

Your body obeys, pleasure crashing over you in waves, your cries muffled against the silk pillows as you fall apart beneath her. Avis doesn’t stop, not right away, drawing out every last tremor, every last shudder, until you’re gasping for air, your entire body trembling in the aftermath.

She pulls back slowly, watching you with satisfaction as she presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, her fingers still trailing idly across your skin.

"You’re exquisite," she murmurs, pressing another kiss to your hip, then your stomach, and finally your lips. "I should have done this sooner."

You laugh breathlessly, your fingers tracing the delicate line of her corset, your body still humming with the aftershocks of her touch.

"I’d say you’ve made up for lost time," you murmur, and Avis grins, her dark eyes gleaming with something wicked.

"Oh, darling," she purrs, dragging her nails lightly down your spine. "We’re just getting started."

The air between you is thick and heavy, saturated with the scent of her perfume and the lingering traces of what just happened. Your body still hums with the aftermath, a lazy warmth spreading through your limbs as you lay back against the silk sheets, trying to catch your breath.

Avis, ever composed, leans back against the headboard, her fingers idly tracing circles along your bare shoulder. There's something smug in the way she looks at you, satisfied, yes, but also contemplative, as if she's already planning the next time she'll have you beneath her.

“I’d like to see you again,” she says, her voice softer now, but no less commanding.

You glance up at her, surprised by the directness, though you know you shouldn’t be. This is Avis Amberg, she doesn’t waste time with uncertainty.

A slow smile tugs at the corner of your lips. “I think I’d like that too.”

Avis hums, clearly pleased. She reaches for the cigarette case on the nightstand, flicking it open with one graceful motion. “Good,” she says, lighting it effortlessly and exhaling a slow stream of smoke. “I don't do... complications.”

You sit up slightly, running a hand through your hair as you watch her through half lidded eyes. “Just sex, then?”

She smirks, tapping ash into the crystal tray beside her. “Precisely. No strings, no expectations.” Her eyes flick to yours, sharp and assessing. “Do you think you can handle that?”

You bite your lip, considering. The truth is, you’ve never been very good at keeping emotions out of things, but for Avis... you'd be willing to try.

“As long as you can,” you counter, raising a brow.

Avis laughs, low and rich, smoke curling between you. “Darling, I invented it.”

There’s something almost thrilling about how simple it is. No promises, no messy emotions, just this. The pull of desire, the satisfaction of knowing you can have her, even if it’s only in these stolen moments.

You nod, reaching for your dress on the floor. “Alright. Just sex.”

She watches you as you slip the silk back over your shoulders, her gaze lingering with that same lazy interest that makes your skin prickle. “Smart girl,” she murmurs, taking another slow drag of her cigarette. “We’ll make it work.”

You smile, slipping your heels back on, feeling the weight of her gaze as you smooth your dress down. Avis, always effortless, stands with a languid grace, putting her dress back on with a practised flick of her wrists.

For a moment, you consider kissing her again, just to see if she’d let you. But instead, you settle for watching her from across the room as she checks herself in the ornate mirror, smoothing a hand down her hair before turning back to you.

“Come,” she says, gesturing toward the door with an air of authority that makes you want to obey without question. “Let’s not keep the party waiting.”

You nod, following her out of the room and down the dimly lit hallway, the distant hum of conversation growing louder with each step. The moment you step back into the party, it’s like slipping on a mask, Avis is back to being the cool, untouchable queen of Ace Studios, and you? You’re just another guest.

No one suspects a thing.

She disappears into the crowd with effortless ease, her smirk lingering in your mind long after she’s gone.

You grab a drink from a passing tray, your heart still racing as you weave through the guests, stealing one last glance at her across the room.

Avis meets your gaze briefly, her lips curling in a small, knowing smile before she turns away, already engaged in another conversation.

And just like that, you know you’ll be seeing her again.

You leave the party a little dazed, a little breathless, and very much aware that you’ve just stepped into something dangerous.

And you can’t wait for more.

The weekend passes in a blur, each hour melting into the next, your thoughts tangled up in traces of Avis that refuse to leave you. You swear you can still smell her perfume on your skin, even after long showers and restless nights. It lingers in the folds of your clothes, in your sheets, in the quiet moments when you’re alone and your mind drifts back to the way she felt beneath your hands, the way she tasted, the way she owned you.

And the worst part? You don’t want it to fade.

You spend Saturday lost in the haze of it, replaying every moment, every touch, every whispered command. You find yourself reaching for the telephone more times than you care to admit, your thumb hovering over the number she slipped into your pocket before you left her party.

Call when you want more.

The words echo in your head, taunting, teasing. You consider it. You want to. But something about Avis, her confidence, her control, makes you hesitate. She’d know, just from the way you said hello, how badly you wanted her again. And you weren’t sure you were ready to give her that much power over you.

So instead, you distract yourself with work, throwing yourself into your scripts, hoping to drown out the lingering traces of her. But it doesn’t work. It never does.

By Sunday night, you’re no closer to clearing your head than you were when you first walked out of that house. Something dangerously close to longing, won’t let you sleep.

Monday morning comes too soon.

You drag yourself into the studio lot, the bright California sun doing little to chase away the cloud hanging over your thoughts. Everything feels too loud, too sharp, the chatter of passing secretaries, the clatter of typewriters, the distant hum of conversations about budgets and deadlines. It all blends together into a dull buzz beneath the only thought looping in your mind: when will I see her again?

You barely make it to your desk before the news hits.

“Did you hear?” someone whispers nearby, their voice a conspiratorial hush that instantly grabs your attention.

“Hear what?” another voice asks, papers shuffling hastily.

You glance up, already feeling the knot forming in your stomach.

"Mr. Amberg," the first voice says, hushed and grave. "Heart attack. Late last night."

The words hit you like a slap, knocking the air from your lungs. Your pen slips from your fingers, rolling across the desk as the world around you tilts slightly.

No.

No, no, no.

“Is he…?” The second voice falters, hesitant.

“He’s alive,” the first says quickly, leaning in. “But it’s bad. The doctors aren’t optimistic. They say it could be any day now.”

You sit frozen, your heartbeat thudding in your ears as the conversation fades into a murmur. The weight of it settles on your chest, heavy and suffocating.

Avis.

Your mind races, images flashing through your thoughts, the way she looked at you that night, the way she touched you with such confidence, such certainty. Avis Amberg doesn’t lose. She doesn’t falter, doesn’t break. But this… this could change everything.

You grip the edge of your desk, your knuckles whitening as you stare blankly at the pile of scripts in front of you, the words blurring together into meaningless ink.

Your stomach twists at the thought of her sitting in that grand house, surrounded by marble and silk and emptiness, her husband’s fate hanging in the balance. What would she do? How would she react? Would she cry? Would she rage? Or would she sit there, still and composed, like she always does, sipping her champagne while the world around her crumbles?

You exhale sharply, running a hand through your hair. You shouldn’t care. You told yourself this was just sex, that it was supposed to be simple. No strings, no expectations.

But it doesn’t feel simple now.

Your fingers itch toward your pocket, toward the number still folded neatly inside. You told yourself you wouldn’t call. Not yet. Not so soon.

But now?

Now, you’re not so sure.

The news spreads like wildfire. By noon, everyone in the studio lot is whispering about it, behind closed doors, in the corners of the commissary, in hurried phone calls to reporters who are already sniffing around for a story. Ace Studios in limbo. A king without his throne.

And sitting at the top of it all now, with her perfectly manicured hands wrapped tightly around the reins?

Avis Amberg.

It shouldn’t be surprising, not really. Even with her husband alive and well, it was an open secret that Avis had been the true power behind the scenes for years. She knew which deals to cut, which strings to pull, which rumours to spread to keep Ace Studios on top. But now, with him lying in a hospital bed, weak and vulnerable, she wasn't just whispering in his ear anymore, she was the studio.

"Mrs. Amberg will be assuming full control for the time being," one of the producers announces in a meeting that afternoon, his voice carefully neutral, his expression tight. "We expect business as usual."

There’s a collective murmur of disbelief around the table. No one dares to voice their doubts outright, but you can see it in their eyes, concern, uncertainty, maybe even a little fear. Avis was ruthless on the social scene, yes, but business?

Everyone’s waiting to see if she’ll sink or swim.

You sit in the corner, watching as the conversation unfolds, barely able to focus on the shifting power dynamics around you. Your thoughts are stuck in a loop, playing over the last time you saw her, her lips on your skin, her voice in your ear, the way she commanded you with nothing more than a look.

And now? Now she’s commanding an entire empire.

The meeting drones on, voices blending into a low hum of speculation and nervous chatter. Someone suggests pausing production on a few major pictures until things settle, but the idea is quickly shot down.

“Mrs. Amberg made it clear, everything moves forward.”

Of course she did.

Avis never let anything stall. Not a film, not an affair, and certainly not the impending death of her husband.

Your chest tightens at the thought, an unfamiliar pang of something dangerously close to concern curling in your gut.

You shouldn’t care.

It was just sex.

And yet, before you can stop yourself, your hand slips into your pocket, fingers brushing against the folded slip of paper that holds her number.

You haven’t called her yet. You told yourself you wouldn’t. You’d wait for her to make the first move, let her be the one to decide if this was worth continuing.

But now, the circumstances have changed.

Later that evening, the studio lot is quieter than usual. The frantic energy of the day has settled into a low murmur, the kind of hush that always follows bad news. You find yourself wandering the empty corridors, drawn toward the executive offices where you know she’ll be.

The door to Mr. Amberg’s office—no, her office now, is closed, but the light is on, spilling a soft glow into the hallway.

You hesitate, fingers hovering just above the polished wood.

And then, before you can decide against it, you knock.

A beat of silence. Then—

"Come in."

Her voice is steady, composed, but there's a sharpness to it, an edge of something you can’t quite place. You step inside, closing the door behind you, and there she is, seated behind the massive oak desk that once belonged to her husband, looking every inch the queen of Hollywood.

She’s shed the usual silk and lace tonight. Instead, she wears a perfectly tailored suit, dark and sleek, the crisp lines of it hugging her body in a way that feels almost too powerful. Her hair is pinned back, not a strand out of place, and her red lips stand out starkly against the dim lighting of the office.

She doesn’t look surprised to see you.

"You’re working late," you say, your voice softer than you intended.

Avis leans back in the chair, swirling the amber liquid in her glass before lifting it to her lips. She takes a slow sip, her eyes never leaving yours. "I don't have much of a choice, do I?"

You hesitate, unsure of what to say. 

"I heard about... everything."

Her lips curl in a wry smile. "Of course you did. Everyone has." She gestures to the drink in her hand. "Are you here to offer your condolences?"

You step closer, leaning against the edge of the desk, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickens at her proximity. "I just wanted to check on you."

Avis arches a perfectly shaped brow, as if the very idea of someone checking on her is amusing. "That’s sweet," she murmurs, tilting her head slightly. "But unnecessary."

You search her expression, looking for some sign of what’s going on behind that composed facade, but she’s as unreadable as ever. "How are you handling it?"

She exhales softly, setting her glass down with a quiet clink. "Handling it?" she repeats, her fingers toying idly with the rim. "I don’t have the luxury of falling apart, darling. The studio doesn’t run on sentiment."

You nod, feeling foolish for asking. Of course she’s handling it. Avis Amberg doesn’t fall apart.

She studies you for a long moment, then reaches out, tracing a slow line down your wrist with the tip of her finger. "Tell me," she muses, voice soft but laced with something darker, something knowing, "is that why you came? To see if I’d crack?"

You shake your head, swallowing against the sudden dryness in your throat. "No," you say honestly. "I just... I wanted to see you again."

Avis’s smile sharpens, and for the first time tonight, you see a flicker of something familiar in her eyes, something that reminds you of that night, of the way she looked at you when she had you beneath her.

"Mm," she hums, tapping a manicured nail against the desk. "And here I thought we had an agreement."

"We do," you say quickly, shifting under her gaze. "Just sex. No complications."

Her lips curve. "Good. Then let’s not make this anything more than what it is." She stands slowly, stepping around the desk, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor. She stops in front of you, close enough that you can smell the faint traces of her perfume, still intoxicating, still completely her.

"You want me?" she asks, voice low and inviting.

You nod, unable to form words.

"Then take me," she whispers, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth, lingering just enough to leave you aching. "But understand this, darling, I'm not the type to fall apart. And I don’t need saving."

You exhale shakily, nodding. "I wouldn’t dream of it."

Avis smiles, stepping back and smoothing down the lapels of her suit. "Good." She gestures to the door. "Now, go home and get some rest. You’ll need it."

You hesitate for a moment, wanting to say something more, but instead, you nod and head for the door.

As you step back into the hallway, the weight of her presence still clinging to your skin, you realize something with absolute certainty.

This thing between you and Avis?

It’s only just beginning.

The days that follow are a whirlwind, endless scripts, whispered speculation in the hallways, and the looming presence of her. Avis Amberg may have always been the force behind the throne, but now? Now she is the throne, and everyone knows it.

She’s in meetings from dawn until dusk, reshuffling entire productions with the flick of her wrist, cutting budgets, signing off on new talent, and making it very clear that Ace Studios will not be slowing down, not for her husband’s illness, and certainly not for anyone who doubts her.

You try to focus on your work, to keep your head down, but it’s impossible. Every conversation, every hushed voice in the studio commissary inevitably circles back to her. And worse than that? You can still feel her.

Even now, late in the evening, as you sit at your desk trying to get through a script rewrite, the ghost of her perfume lingers in your mind. It’s driving you insane, the memory of her touch, the weight of her against you, the taste of her lips.

You're halfway through a cigarette, staring blankly at the typewriter in front of you, when the phone on your desk rings. You jump slightly, the sudden noise breaking through your thoughts.

You hesitate for just a moment before picking up, pressing the heavy receiver to your ear.

"You’ve been busy," her voice purrs through the line, rich and unmistakable. The sound of it sends a shiver down your spine.

You swallow hard, sitting up straighter. "I—uh, I’ve been working."

"Mmm," Avis hums, unimpressed. "Too busy to pay me a visit?"

You bite your lip, your fingers curling around the cord of the phone. "I didn’t think you'd have time for... this."

Avis laughs softly, low and indulgent, and you can practically picture the smirk tugging at her lips. "I always have time for you, darling." There's a pause, and then, with that same commanding ease, she says, "Come to my office."

You glance at the clock, late enough that most people have already gone home, but not too late to raise suspicion.

"I—"

"Now," she interrupts, her tone leaving no room for argument.

And just like that, the line goes dead, leaving you gripping the receiver with a heart pounding far too fast for your liking.

Your footsteps echo down the deserted hallway leading to the executive offices, the dim lighting casting long shadows against the polished floors. The studio feels different at night, hushed, eerie, as if all the glamour has been stripped away, leaving only the bones of the empire Avis now rules.

You hesitate outside her door for just a moment before taking a deep breath and pushing it open.

Avis is seated behind her husband’s—her—desk, a crystal glass of whiskey in one hand and a cigarette in the other. The glow of her desk lamp casts sharp angles across her features, highlighting the perfect curve of her lips and the sharp glint in her eyes. She looks utterly unbothered, completely at ease, as if she isn’t carrying the weight of an entire studio on her shoulders.

And yet, when she sees you, something flickers in her expression, something dark and satisfied.

“Close the door, darling,” she says smoothly, taking a slow sip of her drink. “I don’t bite.”

Not unless you ask her to.

You do as she says, the heavy door clicking shut behind you, sealing you both inside the dimly lit office.

Avis leans back in her chair, crossing her legs with a slow, deliberate movement that has your mouth going dry. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

You swallow, shifting under her gaze. “I—no, I’ve just been busy.”

"Busy," she repeats, as if tasting the word and finding it amusing. She sets her drink down, standing with a grace that should be impossible in those heels, stepping around the desk with the same lazy confidence that always leaves you breathless.

She stops just inches away, her perfume wrapping around you, and tilts your chin up with one perfectly manicured finger. “I don’t like being ignored.”

You exhale shakily. “I wasn’t ignoring you.”

Avis hums, clearly unconvinced. “No?” Her thumb drags lightly over your lower lip, teasing. “Then why did I have to call you?”

You don’t have an answer for that, not one that won’t sound pathetic. Instead, you lean into her touch, and Avis’s smile curves in satisfaction.

“That’s better,” she murmurs, pressing her lips to the corner of your mouth, the same ghost of a kiss she’d given you that night at the party. “I do enjoy your obedience.”

Your breath hitches as her hands skim down your arms, slow and deliberate. “We agreed,” you murmur, more for yourself than for her. “Just sex. No complications.”

Avis pulls back just enough to look at you, her dark eyes glinting with something wicked. “Oh, darling,” she purrs, fingers curling around your waist, “I never said anything about keeping it simple.”

And just like that, your knees go weak.

You’ve been waiting for this, aching for it. It’s been days, but it might as well have been years for how much you've thought about her, how much you've wanted her.

And now, here she is. Avis Amberg, standing before you, wrapped up in her skirt suit and a confidence that could bring nations to their knees.

You take your time. You have to. You don't want to rush this, don't want to squander a single second of having her in your hands again.

Your fingers find the buttons of her jacket, slow and deliberate, sliding each one through its hole with care that borders on reverence. Avis watches you, her dark eyes half lidded, heavy with amusement and something deeper, something simmering just beneath the surface.

“I do love a girl who knows exactly what she wants,” she murmurs, the rich velvet of her voice sending a shiver down your spine.

You don’t answer. Instead, you slide the jacket from her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor in a whisper of fabric. The silk blouse beneath clings to her in all the right places, and you trace your fingers along the line of buttons, feeling the heat of her body seeping through the delicate material.

Your lips follow where your hands lead, brushing soft kisses along her collarbone, letting the warmth of her skin settle on your tongue. She smells like jasmine and whiskey, an intoxicating combination that fills your senses and leaves you dizzy.

Avis hums softly, her fingers tangling in your hair, guiding your mouth lower.

"You've been thinking about me," she whispers, and you don't bother denying it.

"Every second," you murmur against her skin, letting your teeth graze lightly over the delicate curve of her neck.

A quiet, breathy whimper escapes her lips, and the sound is enough to drive you wild. Your hands move of their own accord, sliding down her sides, feeling the gentle rise and fall of her chest beneath your touch.

The blouse is next. You unfasten the buttons one by one, excruciatingly slow, dragging your fingertips along the exposed skin as you go. Avis sighs, her body arching ever so slightly into your touch, and you revel in the power you hold, just for now, just in this moment.

When the last button slips free, you push the fabric aside, revealing smooth, bare skin beneath, the faintest hint of lace peeking through. Your breath catches at the sight of her, exquisite, effortless, everything you imagined and more.

Your lips trail lower, pressing open mouthed kisses across the swell of her chest, teasing, lingering. She tastes like desire, like something forbidden and indulgent, and you can't get enough.

Avis tilts her head back, her fingers still tight in your hair, guiding you where she wants you, and you follow eagerly, your mouth tracing the curve of her collarbone, the dip between her breasts.

The sound she makes when your tongue flicks out to taste the delicate hollow of her throat, is nothing short of sinful. A soft, helpless whimper, slipping past her lips and breaking the heavy silence that fills the office.

You smirk against her skin. “You like that?”

Avis’s laugh is breathless, tinged with the slightest edge of impatience. “Shut up and keep going.”

You grin, obliging without hesitation, your hands sliding behind her back to unhook the intricate laces of her corset. The corset falls away easily, and you pull back for just a moment, just to look.

God, you love her breasts.

Full and soft, perfect in every way, they fit into your hands like they were made to be there. You run your thumbs across her nipples, watching with satisfaction as they harden under your touch. Avis shivers, her lips parting in a quiet gasp, and it’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.

You dip your head, pressing kisses to the swell of one breast, then the other, your tongue tracing delicate patterns across her skin. Every touch, every flicker of your tongue draws a new reaction, soft sighs, quiet moans, the way her body presses into yours, demanding more without words.

Her legs part instinctively, wrapping around your waist, and the warmth of her so close, so eager, has you biting back a groan of your own.

You lift her, effortlessly, guiding her onto the desk, and she lets you, settling against the polished wood with a grace that makes your head spin.

Leaning over her, your hands slide up her thighs, inching the hem of her skirt higher, exposing smooth skin and silk stockings that cling to her legs in a way that leaves you breathless.

"God, Avis," you murmur against her skin, kissing down her sternum, lingering between the valley of her breasts.

She hums, pleased, her fingers curling under your chin, lifting your face until your eyes meet hers. There's something dangerous in the way she looks at you, something possessive, something that says she knows exactly how much you want her.

And she loves it.

Her nails trail down your jaw, her voice a sultry whisper. “Keep going.”

You don’t need to be told twice.

Your tongue flicks over one nipple, drawing it into your mouth with a slow, deliberate pull, and Avis’s head falls back with a sharp intake of breath. Her fingers tangle in your hair again, tugging, urging you on, and you indulge her, lavishing attention on her breasts with lips and tongue, alternating between teasing and torturous.

She’s unraveling beneath you, slowly but surely, and the power of it is intoxicating. The way her body arches, the soft sounds that escape her lips, the subtle, needy roll of her hips against yours.

Your hands move lower, tracing the lace edge of her garter belt, your fingers slipping beneath it to feel the smooth heat of her skin.

"You’re so beautiful," you murmur, your voice reverent, breathless.

Avis chuckles, though it’s weaker this time, more affected. "You’re getting better at saying the right things."

You press a kiss just above her heart, your hands squeezing her thighs. "I mean it."

For a fleeting moment, something raw, something vulnerable flashes in her eyes, it’s gone just as quickly as it appeared. She exhales sharply, her head tilting back, exposing the graceful curve of her throat to you once more. “Then show me.”

And you do.

With every kiss, every touch, every whispered sigh that fills the office, you show her exactly how much you've been wanting this, wanting her.

But you're not finished with her yet.

Not even close.

You stand back for a moment, eyes tracing the curve of her body, the way the fabric of her skirt clings to her hips. Slowly, deliberately, you reach for the waistband, fingers brushing against her soft skin as you peel the fabric away, the garter slipping easily from her legs. You take your time, removing each piece of clothing as if savouring the moment, letting the air linger between each move.

Once she's fully undressed from the waist down, you step closer, your hands resting on her thighs, feeling the heat radiate from her.

You bend forward, your lips press against the delicate skin of her inner thighs. Avis’s breath hitches, a soft, anticipatory sigh escaping her lips as your fingers trail teasing patterns along the smooth expanse of her legs.

But this isn’t enough, not for you, not for her. You want her spread out for you, laid bare, fully open and vulnerable beneath your touch.

You straighten, grasping her thighs with deliberate care, and bend her legs, placing them wide apart on the polished wood of the desk. The way she lets you, the way she offers herself up so willingly, makes your pulse race.

Avis Amberg, naked and sprawled out before you, the soft light from the desk lamp casting long shadows across her body, highlighting every tempting curve, every inch of her skin. Her chest rises and falls in shallow, eager breaths, her lips parted, dark eyes watching you with that same commanding heat, even when she’s the one surrendering.

You take your time, your fingers gliding up the inside of her thighs, before finally, finally leaning in and pressing your lips to the sensitive skin there.

Soft kisses first, then teasing flicks of your tongue, inching closer. Avis moans, a frustrated little sound, and you smile against her thigh.

"Darling," she breathes, her voice heavy with warning and desire, her nails grazing through your hair with just enough force to make your scalp tingle. "Don't test my patience."

But you do. You love to.

You hum against her skin, ignoring the implied threat and dragging your mouth higher, slower, letting your tongue trace along the soft, sensitive crease of her thigh before pulling away again.

Her breath comes quicker now, her body tensing beneath your touch, hips shifting restlessly against the desk. You can feel her frustration mounting, the way she needs more, but you aren’t done playing yet.

"You're so eager," you murmur, echoing words she’s said to you before, your lips ghosting over the heat radiating from her core. "I think I like you like this."

Avis groans, a low, desperate sound that shoots straight to your core, and before she can protest, before she can take control, you finally give her what she wants.

Your tongue flicks out, teasing over her centre, tasting her with a slow, deliberate stroke that has her thighs trembling against your shoulders. You press deeper, your hands gripping her thighs tightly as you work her with your mouth, slow and unrelenting.

Avis gasps sharply, her fingers twisting in your hair as your tongue swirls around her clit, soft and teasing at first, before you build the pressure, working her up with careful precision. You drag your fingers down, slipping them inside her, feeling the way she clenches around you, already so desperate and wanting.

"Yes," she moans, her head falling back, her back arching beautifully off the desk. "Just like that."

You love the way she unravels under you, the way her breath comes in shallow gasps, the way her body moves with each calculated flick of your tongue. You curl your fingers just right, stroking that perfect spot inside her, and she lets out a cry that’s music to your ears.

"You taste so good," you murmur against her, the vibrations making her shudder beneath you.

Avis's grip on you tightens, her hips lifting, desperate for more, and you give it to her, your tongue circling, flicking, teasing until she's writhing on the desk, her polished control slipping away with every breathless moan.

You push her higher and higher, your tongue working in tandem with your fingers, relentless and focused, knowing exactly what she needs.

And then, finally, you give the finishing touch, one precise insistent suck on her swollen clit  sends her over the edge.

She cries out, loud and unrestrained, her body convulsing beneath you as waves of pleasure crash through her. Her thighs clamp around your head, trembling, and you don’t stop, not until you’ve pulled every last shudder, every last moan from her lips.

Her body goes lax against the desk, her chest heaving, her hand still tangled in your hair as she slowly, slowly comes back down to earth.

You lift your head, your chin glistening, a smug smile tugging at your lips as you press a soft kiss to the inside of her thigh. "Worth the wait?"

Avis lets out a breathless laugh, her head rolling to the side as she gazes down at you with dark, satisfied eyes. 

You grin, dragging your tongue across your lips, tasting her once more. The weight of her release still lingers between you both, the heat of her skin against yours, the scent of sex and sweat thick in the air. Avis remains sprawled against the desk for a moment longer, her chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm as she regains her breath. But then, with the fluid grace that only she possesses, she shifts, sitting up, her dark eyes locked onto you with something wicked simmering beneath their depths.

You expect her to say something teasing, something smug, but she doesn't. Instead, she stands, and steps toward you with a deliberate slowness that makes your pulse skitter.

“Lose the clothes,” she says simply, her voice low and commanding, leaving no room for hesitation.

Your hands tremble slightly as you reach for the buttons of your blouse, the anticipation thick between you. You’re painfully aware of her gaze, the way she watches every movement with a quiet, predatory hunger. The silk slides from your shoulders, pooling onto the floor, followed quickly by your skirt.

You stand before her in nothing but your slip, feeling entirely exposed beneath her calculating stare.

Avis’s lips curl into a slow, satisfied smile. “Beautiful,” she murmurs, stepping closer, her fingers skimming lightly over your shoulder before pressing firmly down your arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

Without another word, she switches your positions in a blink, you against the desk now, your back hitting the polished wood with a dull thud, and she stands between your legs, crowding into your space.

Her touch is different this time.

Softer. More deliberate.

She works you slowly, with a care that surprises you, tracing gentle circles over your thighs, her lips pressing featherlight kisses along the curve of your neck. The tenderness is unexpected, and it nearly undoes you right then and there.

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers gripping the edge of the desk, but it's not enough. You're too desperate, too wound up from waiting, from wanting her for days.

“Avis,” you whisper, arching into her touch, your voice trembling with need. “Please.”

She hums in amusement, her lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “So impatient,” she muses, dragging her nails lightly down your stomach, making you shudder beneath her. She pauses, her fingers lingering just above where you ache for her touch, then slowly, deliberately, drags them lower. Her fingertips trace teasingly, checking, gauging just how ready you are, before finally pressing lightly, testing the heat and wetness of your skin.

Your head falls back against the desk, frustration pooling low in your belly. "I've waited too long," you murmur, your voice breaking. "Please, Avis, I need—"

Avis clicks her tongue, leaning back slightly to study you, her dark eyes flickering with something dangerously close to pity. “Poor thing,” And before you can process it, she grips your thighs firmly, spreading you wider, pinning you beneath her gaze.

Your breath catches, anticipation burning, your body aching for what comes next.

"Since you asked so nicely," Avis murmurs, her voice a velvet promise.

And then—oh.

She plunges her fingers into you without warning, deep and unrelenting, and you cry out, your back arching off the desk as the sudden, ruthless pace leaves you breathless.

Avis holds you there, one hand splayed against your stomach, keeping you down as her fingers work you with precision, dragging in and out, curling in ways that have you trembling. The desk creaks beneath you, your body reacting to every thrust, every relentless push that leaves you gasping for air.

Your fingers curl against the wood, gripping onto anything to ground yourself, but it’s impossible when she’s touching you like this, taking you like this.

She leans over you, her breath warm against your throat, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “Look at you,” she murmurs, her fingers never slowing, never relenting. “So desperate for me.”

You whimper, your hips grinding down against her hand, chasing the pleasure that’s building too quickly, too intensely.

Avis’s lips trail down your collarbone, lower, teeth grazing over the swell of your breast, and it sends a fresh wave of heat coursing through you.

She knows exactly what she’s doing, exactly how to unravel you.

"More," you gasp, and Avis chuckles, the sound rich and indulgent.

"Greedy little thing," she murmurs, and then, oh God, her thumb circles your clit, slow and deliberate, teasing you with featherlight touches that have you on the edge in an instant.

You're close, so close, the pressure coiling tight in your core, every nerve in your body alive and burning under her touch.

"Please," you beg, your voice wrecked, barely a whisper. "Please, Avis."

She doesn’t warn you. Doesn’t slow down. One final stroke, just right, just perfect, and suddenly, you’re gone, completely, helplessly undone.

Pleasure crashes through you in a violent, consuming wave, tearing a full on scream from your lips as your body shudders beneath her touch, your release pulsing through you in relentless, shattering waves.

Avis doesn’t stop, not yet.

She works you through it, drawing out every last tremor, every last ragged moan, until you’re boneless against the desk, trembling and spent.

Finally, she withdraws, her hands smoothing over your shaking thighs in a rare moment of gentleness, and you let out a shaky breath, trying to regain some semblance of composure.

Avis stands back, watching you with that familiar smirk, her fingers tracing lazy circles over the inside of your thigh. “You look rather stunning like this,” she muses. “Utterly wrecked.”

You can’t even muster a response, too lost in the lingering aftershocks of what she’s done to you.

Avis chuckles, stepping away, leaving you sprawled across the desk as she reaches for her cigarette case, lighting one with a practiced flick. She takes a slow drag, exhaling smoke with a satisfied hum.

The weight of what just happened hangs heavy in the air, thick with the scent of sweat, sex, and the ever present jasmine of Avis’s perfume. For a moment, neither of you speak. The only sounds are your ragged breathing and the faint hum of the city outside the office window.

Avis sits down back against the desk, still bare, the glow of her desk lamp casting golden light over her skin. She watches you with a lazy satisfaction, the ghost of a smirk playing at the corner of her lips.

Your body is still humming, your legs unsteady as you push yourself upright, brushing a hand over your flushed face. You glance down at your clothes, crumpled and scattered across the floor, a stark contrast to the usually pristine office.

Avis lifts a perfectly arched brow. “You’re not going to just stand there all night, are you?” Her voice is low, indulgent, and full of amusement.

You swallow, bending down to gather your clothes, your fingers trembling slightly. “I—no,” you murmur, trying to collect yourself, but Avis’s eyes never leave you, making it nearly impossible to focus.

She picks up her discarded blouse from the desk chair, shaking it out with effortless grace before slipping it back on, the silky fabric sliding over her skin like water. You watch, entranced, as she buttons it slowly, each movement precise, deliberate, a performance in its own right.

Your blouse feels less refined in comparison, your hands fumbling with the buttons as you attempt to regain some semblance of composure. You can feel her gaze on you, heavy and assessing, and it makes your skin prickle with awareness.

Avis steps closer, reaching out to adjust the collar of your blouse with an infuriating gentleness, smoothing down the fabric before letting her fingers linger at the hollow of your throat. “You should wear red more often,” she murmurs, her nails dragging lightly across your skin. “It suits you.”

Your breath hitches, and you catch her smirk before she turns away, reaching for her skirt with the same ease that makes you ache. She slides it up her legs, fastening it at her waist with an elegance that seems effortless, but you know better. Everything about Avis is calculated, deliberate. Even now, as she straightens the hem and fixes her hair, she radiates an untouchable confidence that leaves you breathless.

You glance down at your skirt, wrinkled and hastily discarded, and hasten to pull it back on, smoothing it over your hips. You can still feel the ghost of her touch there, the way her hands had gripped you, how her nails had left their invisible marks.

Avis watches your struggle with a knowing look, running a hand through her dark hair, tousling it just enough to look artfully disheveled. “Darling, you look like you’ve been ravished,” she muses, tapping a cigarette from her silver case and lighting it with a flick of her lighter. “Which, of course, you have.”

You glare at her, heat rising to your cheeks. “You’re not exactly subtle yourself.”

Avis exhales a slow curl of smoke, tilting her head as she surveys her reflection in the mirror behind the desk. “Oh, I never need to be,” she says smugly, adjusting her lipstick with the tip of her finger. “People expect a certain... glow from me.”

You roll your eyes, slipping your heels back on and attempting to smooth out the wrinkles in your skirt, but it's hopeless. You sigh in frustration, running a hand through your hair, trying to make yourself presentable enough to step back out into the world without everyone knowing exactly what you’ve been up to.

Avis watches you struggle, clearly entertained. “Here,” she says, reaching for the comb tucked neatly in the drawer of her desk. She steps close, too close, and begins combing through your hair with careful, deft strokes, the intimacy of it making your heart stutter.

“You don’t have to—”

“Hush,” she murmurs, her fingers brushing against your scalp. “Let me enjoy the fruits of my labor.”

You let out a soft laugh, closing your eyes for a moment as she fixes your hair, her touch lingering longer than necessary. The moment feels... odd. Softer than you expected.

When she finishes, she steps back with a satisfied smile, pressing the comb into your hand. “There. Good as new.”

You glance at yourself in the mirror, taking in the slightly flushed cheeks and the telltale glint in your eyes that no amount of fixing can hide.

Avis smirks, as if she can read your thoughts. “Not too obvious,” she teases, exhaling another cloud of smoke. “Just enough to keep people guessing.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips.

As you both finish dressing, the atmosphere shifts slightly. The tension is still there, of course, it is, but something about the way she buttons her cufflinks, the way she watches you from the corner of her eye, feels different.

Like you’re standing on the edge of something, something far more dangerous than just sex in her office.

Avis finishes first, adjusting the cuffs of her blouse with a satisfied hum before stepping toward the door. “I’ll see you around,” she says smoothly, her fingers grazing the back of your hand as she passes.

You nod, swallowing past the lump in your throat. “Yeah.”

But just before she leaves, she turns back, her gaze locking onto yours. “Oh, and darling?”

You blink. “Yeah?”

Avis smirks, exhaling one last cloud of smoke before crushing the cigarette in the ashtray. “Try not to think about me too much tonight.”

And with that, she’s gone, leaving you standing in her office, your pulse still racing, your thoughts a tangled mess of anticipation and something dangerously close to longing.

You stare at the closed door for a long moment, your fingers trailing absently over the edge of the desk, the same spot where she had unraveled you moments ago.

With a deep breath, you gather the last of your things and head out into the cool night air, the taste of her still lingering on your lips, her voice echoing in your head.

The cool night air hits you the moment you step out of the office building, a stark contrast to the warmth still simmering beneath your skin. The lot is quiet now, the earlier bustle of actors, directors, and executives reduced to a few lingering stragglers, crew members packing up, secretaries rushing home, and the faint hum of distant conversations fading into the night.

You walk briskly, the echo of your heels tapping against the pavement the only sound that fills the space around you. It’s too quiet, too still, and your mind is racing, filled with fragmented flashes of what had just happened in that office, of Avis.

Your legs feel weak beneath you, the ache between your thighs a delicious reminder of her, of how thoroughly she had taken you apart. You should feel satisfied, sated, but instead, there's a gnawing hunger in the pit of your stomach that refuses to subside.

The weight of what you’ve done, what you are doing, starts to settle in as you slip into the waiting cab. You give the driver your address in a voice that’s quieter than usual, staring out of the window as the city passes by in blurred streaks of neon and headlights.

You should feel guilty. You should feel something other than the intoxicating thrill that’s still coursing through you.

But all you can think about is her.

Her voice. Her touch. The way she had looked at you when you begged.

God.

You rest your head against the window, exhaling shakily.

By the time you arrive at your apartment, the city feels quieter, lonelier. You slip out of your heels the moment you step inside, tossing your coat over the back of the sofa and heading straight to your bedroom.

Your reflection catches your eye in the mirror as you pass, and you pause.

You look different.

The smudged lipstick, the tousled hair, the faint flush still lingering across your chest. Avis’s touch is all over you, in ways that won’t wash off so easily.

You bring your fingers to your lips, tracing the outline of them, remembering the way she had kissed you, slow and consuming, like she had all the time in the world.

A frustrated sigh escapes you, and you turn away from the mirror, stripping out of your clothes as you head to the bathroom. The hot water does little to wash away the weight of tonight, but you let it scald your skin anyway, standing beneath the spray with your hands pressed against the tiles, your head bowed.

You can still feel her fingers on you. Still hear the way she had whispered your name.

No amount of water can rinse that away.

The studio was silent, save for the faint hum of distant lights and the quiet ticking of a clock somewhere in the background. You stepped into the dimly lit hallway leading to Avis’s office, your movements deliberate, quiet. The polished wood beneath your feet reflected the faint glow of the overhead lamps, and the cool air carried the faint scent of old paper and cigarettes.

It had been a week. A week since you’d last seen her properly. A week since you’d touched her, since the memory of her moans and trembling hands had been etched into your mind. You’d given her space, time to deal with the relentless demands of running Ace Studios and weathering the constant scrutiny over the new film. But your patience had worn thin.

This wasn’t anger. It wasn’t dominance. It was concern.

You couldn’t keep watching her run herself ragged, pushing through endless days and sleepless nights without pause.

The door was unlocked, just as you expected. You didn’t knock.

The door creaked open, and there she was, she stood with her back to you, one hand braced on the edge of the desk, the other holding a cigarette. Her head was slightly bowed, her posture tense as she stared at the scattered papers in front of her. The soft glow of her desk lamp cast a warm light over her, highlighting the curve of her waist, the arch of her neck. 

You shut the door behind you. Locking it. “You’ve made it a habit to work late shifts, I see.” Your voice cut through the stillness, low and husky, carrying the weight of your frustration and worry. 

Avis turned sharply, her dark eyes meeting yours as soon as she registered your voice. She didn’t speak at first, didn’t even move, she simply stared at you, her usual sharpness dimmed by exhaustion. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people, darling,” she said smoothly, though there was an edge to her voice, worn, tired.

Your gaze dropped, sweeping over her slowly. She looked as perfect as ever, her blouse crisp, her skirt hugging her hips, but you could see the faint redness in her eyes, the tired lines she couldn’t quite hide.

You took a few measured steps closer, inhaling deeply as her scent reached you. Jasmine, smoke, and the faintest trace of whiskey clung to her skin. It enticed you in ways you couldn’t explain, and it angered you for reasons you could.

She said nothing, but the way her eyes darted to your lips and back again told you everything.

You licked your lips, staring down at her, and you saw the exact moment she realised. Her breath hitched, her hands flexing slightly at her sides as she turned abruptly, moving to unfasten her skirt, but you weren’t about to let her take control.

You were faster.

You stepped behind her in an instant, grabbing her hands and pinning them firmly against the desk. She gasped sharply, her body tensing under your touch, but she didn’t resist.

Her breathing was shallow, uneven, and for a moment, she froze, as though caught between instinct and surrender.

Slowly, deliberately, you leaned in, your chest pressing against her back, your breath hot against her neck. She shivered, her hands twitching beneath yours, and you felt the faint tremor running through her body.

You guided her hands to the edge of the desk, pressing them down firmly. “Don’t move,” you murmured, your voice rough, and she obeyed without question.

Her body quivered as you spun her around, her back hitting the desk. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly, her dark eyes wide and unguarded as she watched you.

You didn’t waste any time.

Dropping to your knees, you let your hands trail up her thighs, lifting the hem of her skirt inch by inch. Her breathing grew heavier, her chest rising and falling as you worked the fabric higher, exposing the delicate lace of her panties. 

Your lips pressed against the inside of her knee, trailing slow, deliberate kisses up her thigh. When you reached her centre, your teeth grazed the waistband of her panties, hooking the lace between them. 

Avis gasped, her hands flying to grip the desk, her knuckles turning white at the force of her hold. You didn’t stop, dragging the fabric down with your index and your teeth, the sensation sending a shiver through her body.

Her thighs were trembling now, her breathing ragged as your lips trailed higher. When your tongue finally flicked against her, she let out a loud, broken gasp.

You didn’t give her a chance to catch her breath.

Your mouth moved with relentless precision, your tongue stroking her with a rough, unyielding rhythm. You sucked hard, pulling another sharp cry from her lips, your fingers digging into her thighs to keep her steady. You wanted to eat her out until she was on the verge of tears, you only wanted to hear her tonight.

Avis’s moans filled the room, desperate and breathy, her hips bucking against your mouth. You matched her movements, your tongue and lips working her with an intensity that left her trembling.

But it wasn’t enough.

Sliding one hand between her legs, you pushed two fingers inside her without warning, curling them just right. She nearly screamed, her back arching as her body jerked against you, her cries turning into frantic whimpers.

Her hands were clawing at the desk now, her nails scraping against the wood as she tried, and failed, to steady herself. Her thighs clamped around your head, her body tightening with every rough thrust of your fingers and every flick of your tongue against her clit.

You could feel her breaking, feel the tension building in her body as you pushed her higher and higher.

“Let go,” you growled against her, your voice muffled, and with one final stroke of your tongue, she shattered.

Avis came with a loud, breathless scream, her entire body convulsing as her release tore through her. Her hands slipped from the desk, clutching desperately at your shoulders as her legs shook violently.

You didn’t stop, your tongue and fingers dragging out every last tremor, every last broken cry, she slumped forward, her body going slack.

There was no escape for her.

Even as her body trembled and sagged against you, her orgasm still echoing through her shudders and sharp breaths, you didn’t stop. The cruel, relentless motions of your tongue against her soaked cunt continued, driving her higher even as she tried to catch her breath.

She gasped, her voice breaking on a moan, her thighs shaking violently around you. Every flick of your tongue dragged more out of her, and you took all of it, every drop, every tremble, every desperate whimper. You tasted all of her, drank her in, her juices coating your lips and chin as you worked her with merciless precision.

“Fucking h-hell—” she stuttered, her voice raw, barely above a gasp.

“There you go, mama—there you go—” you murmured against her, the vibrations of your voice making her shudder anew.

Before she could come down fully, you shifted, lowering yourself until your back was flat against the floor, pulling her with you. Her thighs quivered as you guided her atop your face, her hips hovering just above you for a moment before she realised, too late, exactly what you intended.

Her body shivered as the weight of her fully pressed against you, your mouth immediately resuming its feast. You felt her hesitation, the fleeting tension in her muscles as she realised she was sitting completely on your face.

And then the sound of your tongue sliding against her centre ripped a loud, broken moan from her throat, and the hesitation was gone.

Her hands flew to your hair, gripping it tightly as she moved instinctively, grinding herself down against you. Her moans spilled out uncontrollably, each one louder, messier than the last, her hips rocking over your face with a desperate, uneven rhythm.

You held her steady, your hands gripping her hips firmly, guiding her movements as your tongue delved deeper, flicking and stroking her most sensitive spots. Every motion was chaotic, unsteady, her hips jerking erratically as she chased her high, but her need was raw, overpowering.

Her breath hitched with every additional flick of your tongue, her cries growing higher, sharper. She pushed herself down harder, her thighs trembling violently against your cheeks as she rode your face, the pressure and heat overwhelming.

“Don’t stop,” she gasped, her voice ragged, trembling with the edge of her need. “Don’t you fucking—ah—stop—”

Her nails dug into your scalp, her grip desperate as she pushed herself down even harder, grinding herself against your mouth with abandon. You didn’t stop, didn’t slow, your tongue and lips working her relentlessly until she was falling apart again.

Her hips stuttered, her entire body tensing as a guttural cry tore from her lips. She came a second time, her release crashing over her in waves as she cussed, her words a broken, incoherent mix of gasps and moans.

You didn’t relent, letting her ride out every second, her body shaking uncontrollably as her orgasm spilled over you, smearing your face with her wetness. Her hips rocked against you, her movements erratic and desperate as she milked every last tremor, her cries echoing off the walls of the office.

When she finally slumped forward, her body going limp against you, her hands trembling as they slipped from your shoulders to the floor. Her chest heaved with ragged breaths, her thighs quivering as she tried, and failed, to regain control of herself.

Your hands gently stroked her thighs, your lips brushing against her overstimulated centre in one last teasing kiss before you finally pulled back, your face glistening with her arousal.

For a moment, the room was silent save for her shaky breaths and the faint hum of the desk lamp. You could feel her body trembling above you, her weight pressing into you as she let herself collapse fully, her hair falling in wild waves around her flushed face.

“Fucking hell,” she murmured breathlessly, her voice barely audible.

You smirked, pressing your lips to her thigh once more, your voice low and teasing as you murmured, “There you go, Avis.”

She didn’t respond, her only reply a shaky exhale as she slowly slid off you, her body still trembling from the aftershocks.

You guided her off of you slowly, your hands steady as you helped her find her balance, not that she had much left. Her body barely shifted before she collapsed beside you, her back pressing against the desk as her legs sprawled out. Her chest still heaved, her dark eyes hazy and unfocused as she tried to catch her breath, the weight of what just happened settling between you.

You rose to your feet, your movements unhurried, and for a long moment, neither of you spoke.

The air was thick with the scent of her, warm and heady, mingling with the faint trace of jasmine still clinging to her skin. The sound of her soft, shaky breaths filled the room, the silence between you stretching, charged but comfortable.

You gave her a moment, watching as she leaned back against the desk, her hands braced on either side of her. Her hair was a mess, her cheeks flushed with colour, her lips swollen from the cries you’d pulled from her.

Your eyes lingered on her for a beat longer before you stepped away, crossing the room in search of something. She watched you silently, her gaze heavy, following every movement.

You returned a moment later, a pack of cigarettes in your hand.

Avis’s eyes flicked to it immediately, a flicker of intrigue crossing her expression as you pulled one out, lighting it with a practiced motion. The sharp scent of smoke filled the room as you placed it between your fingers, taking a slow drag.

She stared at you, absorbed, her lips parting slightly.

“I want one,” she murmured, her voice hoarse, soft.

You glanced at her, raising an eyebrow as you stepped closer, the cigarette still balanced between your fingers. She looked up at you, something curious and expectant in her gaze.

Without a word, you took another drag, the smoke curling lazily from your lips as you crouched down in front of her. Avis stiffened slightly, her dark eyes watching you carefully as you reached for her, your fingers brushing against the side of her neck.

Her breath hitched as your hand slid to the back of her neck, gripping it firmly but not roughly, tilting her head back to meet your gaze. Her lips parted instinctively, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

You leaned in, bringing your face closer to hers until your mouths were almost touching. Slowly, deliberately, you exhaled, the smoke curling from your lips into hers.

Her mouth opened wider, her lungs pulling in the smoke immediately, her body reacting to the act with a soft gasp. She exhaled seconds later, the smoke spilling from her lips, the motion too sensual, too intimate for something so simple.

You didn’t say anything, your fingers still gripping her neck as you watched her, your gaze heavy.

“Again,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly but filled with need.

You didn’t hesitate.

Bringing the cigarette to your lips, you took another long drag, the smoke burning hot in your lungs before you leaned in again. This time, your lips pressed against hers as you exhaled, the smoke pouring into her mouth as you kissed her deeply.

She moaned softly against you, her fingers reaching out to clutch at your arms, pulling you closer as she inhaled the mix of smoke, nicotine, and something distinctly you. Her lips parted wider, allowing you to deepen the kiss, her body leaning into yours as though she couldn’t get close enough.

When you finally pulled back, she exhaled slowly, her breath shaky, the smoke curling from her lips like a whispered secret.

The act was simple and yet it felt much too sensual for someone in that kind of situation.

Her gaze locked onto yours, her lips still parted, her body still trembling slightly. For a moment, neither of you moved, the air between you thick with tension, with heat.

Without a word, you leaned in again, your lips brushing against hers, softer this time, your tongue flicking against the seam of her mouth. Letting her taste herself on your tongue. 

Avis sighed into the kiss, her body relaxing against you, her hands sliding up to rest lightly on your shoulders. Her lips were warm, soft, pliant beneath yours, and you couldn’t help but deepen the kiss, pulling her closer.

When you finally broke apart, her eyes were half lidded, her lips swollen and glistening.

She exhaled another breath of smoke, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. “You’re dangerous,” she murmured, her voice low and raspy.

You chuckled softly, brushing your thumb over her cheek as you leaned back slightly. “And you’re trouble.”

Avis’s smirk widened slightly, her fingers trailing down your arms before she leaned back against the desk, her gaze still fixed on you.

The tension between you lingered, crackling like the ember of the cigarette still burning between your fingers.

You rose slowly, helping her up, your hands trailing up her sides, gripping her waist as you steadied her. Her hair was now a mess, falling out of her updo around her face, and her dark eyes were glassy, her lips parted as she struggled to catch her breath.

You reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face, your thumb grazing her cheek. She leaned into your touch, her fingers curling lightly around your wrist, her breathing still uneven.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The air was thick with the scent of her, the sound of her soft, shaky breaths the only thing breaking the silence.

“You’re going to take care of yourself now,” you said finally, your voice low but steady.

Her eyes flickered, something unspoken passing between you, and she nodded, her fingers tightening briefly around your wrist.

There was no escape for her.

The news breaks early in the morning, spreading through the studio lot like wildfire. Mr. Amberg is dead. It shouldn’t come as a surprise, he had been clinging to life for weeks, his heart attack leaving him more a ghost than a man in that hospital bed. But even so, hearing it out loud feels like a sudden shift in the ground beneath your feet.

It’s different now.

Avis isn’t just acting as the head of Ace Studios anymore. She is the head. No more signatures under his name, no more whispers behind closed doors about how she’s “really the one in charge.” Now it’s official. No more pretense. No more illusion. Avis Amberg reigns alone.

And yet, the lot feels like it’s holding its breath. Conversations hush when you walk past, the tension crackling through the corridors like static electricity. People mill around in little clusters, murmuring in low voices about what happens next, as if they don’t already know the answer.

You sit at your desk, staring blankly at the script in front of you, but none of the words make sense. Your thoughts are tangled, circling around the same thing over and over again. Has she eaten? Is she sleeping? Is she okay?

It’s a ridiculous thing to wonder about someone like Avis. She’s always been composed, always untouchable, always three steps ahead of everyone in the room. But grief... grief is different. Even for her.

You haven’t seen her all day, and it gnaws at you. Normally, she’s a constant presence—gliding through the halls with that razor sharp confidence, her heels echoing against the marble floors, her voice cutting through the air like silk wrapped steel. Today? Nothing.

You tap your fingers against the desk, restless. Maybe she’s home. Maybe she’s locked away in her office, chain smoking in the dark, refusing to let anyone see the cracks.

You shouldn’t care this much. You shouldn’t.

But the memory of her pressed against the desk, breathless and bare beneath you, lingers too heavily in your mind. The way she had looked at you in the aftermath, soft, unguarded, something flickering beneath the surface that you couldn’t quite place.

With a sigh, you push away from your desk, grabbing your coat and stepping outside. The evening air is cool, the distant hum of traffic a reminder that the world keeps moving, even when everything else feels frozen in place.

You find yourself in one of the darkened soundstages, cigarette in hand, watching the distant glow of the city skyline through the high windows.

You don’t hear her footsteps, but you know she’s there the moment the air shifts.

“Aren’t you supposed to be working?” Avis’s voice cuts through the silence, and you turn, exhaling smoke through your nose.

She stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame with her arms crossed over her chest. The usual perfection of her appearance is slightly undone tonight, her lipstick slightly smudged, her hair not as tightly pinned. And yet, she still looks like she could rule the world with a glance.

You flick ash to the ground, studying her carefully. “I could say the same to you.”

Avis smirks, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I suppose you heard.”

You nod slowly. “It’s all anyone’s talking about.”

She steps inside, heels clicking softly against the concrete floor, and for once, there’s no bravado in her posture, just exhaustion. “It doesn’t feel real yet,” she murmurs, almost to herself.

You watch her, uncertain of what to say. You’re used to her being the one in control, the one who never falters. Seeing her like this, stripped down to something raw and human, sends a strange ache through your chest.

“I’m sorry,” you offer softly, and it feels inadequate, but she nods anyway, her gaze distant.

Avis takes the cigarette from your fingers without asking, bringing it to her lips and taking a long, slow drag. The silence between you is heavy but not uncomfortable. She stares off into the dark corners of the soundstage, where the remnants of old sets stand like abandoned relics of another time.

“He was a bastard,” she says eventually, exhaling smoke into the air. “And now I own his legacy.”

There’s no sadness in her tone, just a quiet sort of acceptance, but you catch the way her jaw tightens, the way her fingers tremble ever so slightly when she hands the cigarette back to you.

You take it, letting the weight of her words settle between you.

“I know it’s not the same,” you say after a moment, “but... you don’t have to do this alone.”

Avis’s lips twitch, but there’s no amusement there. “Don’t I?” she muses, looking at you with something unreadable in her eyes. “Tell me, darling, who else is going to step in and run this place?”

You have no answer for that. She’s right. It’s always been her.

Still, you reach out, hesitating for just a moment before resting a hand gently on her arm. The silk of her blouse is cool beneath your fingertips, but you can feel the warmth of her skin underneath, the tension thrumming through her body like a live wire.

For once, she doesn’t pull away.

“I’m serious,” you murmur. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

Avis lets out a slow breath, tilting her head back to look at the ceiling, as if weighing your words. “It’s a nice thought,” she says eventually, her voice quieter now. “But you and I both know I don’t have that luxury.”

You don’t argue, because she’s right. Avis doesn’t get to grieve. Avis doesn’t get to break down. The world won’t allow it. And yet, standing here in the quiet, with your hand still resting lightly on her arm, you can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, she doesn’t always have to hold it all alone.

She reaches up, covering your hand with hers briefly, her touch surprisingly gentle. Then, just as quickly, she pulls away, straightening, slipping back into the version of herself that the world expects.

“I should go,” she says, smoothing down the front of her blouse as if to erase any sign of vulnerability. “Long day ahead tomorrow.”

You nod, watching as she steps toward the door, her movements calculated once again. But before she leaves, she pauses, glancing back over her shoulder.

“Thank you,” she says softly, and it catches you off guard, the sincerity in it, the quiet weight.

You nod, offering her a small smile. “Anytime.”

And then she’s gone, disappearing into the night, leaving you standing alone in the empty soundstage with the ghost of her touch lingering on your skin and the knowledge that this, whatever this is between you, is far from over.

The days that follow feel different, heavier. The air at the studio is thick with tension, not the usual stress of productions running over schedule or actors throwing tantrums, but something quieter, something weightier. There’s an unspoken awareness now, a collective understanding that Avis Amberg is no longer just playing the role of the head of Ace Studios. She is the studio, and with that, the weight of expectation has doubled.

She moves through the halls with that same effortless grace, her posture never slipping, her voice always poised and commanding. But you see it, the way her fingers grip her cigarette a little too tightly, the slight tremor in her hands when she thinks no one’s looking.

She’s always been good at playing the part, but now it’s not a performance. It’s survival.

You watch her from a distance, feeling that familiar ache creep back into your chest. You want to reach out, to offer more than fleeting touches and whispered reassurances, but Avis is a fortress, and you’ve learned that pushing too hard only makes the walls rise higher.

Instead, you wait.

It’s late when you finally see her again—really see her.

You’re working late in your office, drowning in revisions and cigarette smoke, when a familiar knock echoes through the quiet.

Avis doesn’t wait for an invitation. She never does.

She steps inside, closing the door behind her with a quiet click, and for the first time in days, you see past the carefully curated mask she’s been wearing. Her shoulders sag just slightly, her usual immaculate hair slightly out of place, and there’s a tiredness in her eyes that no amount of powder can conceal.

She doesn’t speak right away. Instead, she crosses the room, picking up the drink you left on your desk, swirling the amber liquid before taking a slow sip. She hums in approval, setting it back down with a quiet clink before finally looking at you.

“Come to my house,” she says, and it’s not a question.

You blink, caught off guard. “Now?”

Avis arches a brow, as if the idea of you refusing is ridiculous. “Unless you have somewhere better to be?”

You shake your head. “No, I—of course.”

Her lips curve into something that isn’t quite a smile but isn’t far from it either. “Good. I could use some company.”

There’s something in her voice, something beneath the nonchalance that tugs at you, but you don’t push. Not yet.

You grab your coat, flicking off the desk lamp as you follow her out into the dimly lit corridors of the studio, the silence between you comfortable but charged with something unspoken.

Avis’s estate feels different at night.

You’ve been here before, at the party where it all started, where you first saw her without the carefully constructed distance she usually kept around herself. But now, the grand halls feel quieter, more intimate. There’s no music, no laughter echoing through the rooms, just the soft shuffle of your feet against the polished floors.

She leads you into the study, the one room in the house that feels the most like her. Heavy bookshelves line the walls, filled with novels and ledgers alike, and a crystal decanter sits on a tray by the leather armchairs.

Avis shrugs off her coat, draping it over the back of a chair before pouring two glasses of whiskey, handing you one without a word.

You take it, watching as she sinks into the chair opposite you, kicking off her heels and tucking one leg beneath her. She looks... tired. But beautiful, as always.

For a while, neither of you speak. You sip your drinks, letting the silence stretch, until finally, Avis sighs, rolling the glass between her fingers.

“It’s done now,” she says, more to herself than to you. “No more waiting, no more pretending.”

You nod slowly, watching her carefully. “How does it feel?”

Avis smirks, but it’s a pale imitation of her usual self. “Like I’ve inherited a kingdom of sand.” She takes another sip, her gaze fixed on the amber liquid. “Everyone’s waiting to see if I’ll crumble under it.”

You lean forward, resting your elbows on your knees. “You won’t.”

Her eyes flick up to meet yours, and for a moment, the cool façade slips. There’s something raw beneath it, something uncertain. “No,” she agrees softly, “I won’t.”

It’s strange, this quiet honesty between you. You’re used to the push and pull, the teasing, the control she so easily wields over everyone around her—including you. But tonight, she’s letting you see more, letting you glimpse the cracks she works so hard to hide.

You reach out, covering her hand with yours, and she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she stares at your fingers, tracing them lightly with her own before sighing, her eyes drifting closed for a brief moment.

“I don’t do this,” she murmurs.

“Do what?”

“This.” She gestures vaguely between you, the ghost of a smile on her lips. “Let people... linger.”

You squeeze her hand gently. “I’m not most people.”

She exhales a soft laugh, shaking her head. “No. You’re not.”

The weight of that acknowledgment sits between you, heavy and full of meaning neither of you are quite ready to say out loud.

Instead, you sit there, hands intertwined, sharing the quiet and the whiskey, and it’s enough.

For now.

The whiskey sits warm in your stomach, but it does nothing to dull the awareness you have of her. Avis, sitting across from you, looking smaller in the dim light of her study. The usual armor she wears, the poise, the sharp tongued wit, the unwavering confidence, feels thinner tonight, like a veil just barely holding her together.

Your hand still rests over hers, your fingers tracing absent patterns against her skin. She hasn’t pulled away, and that alone feels like a victory, like a secret she's letting you in on, just for tonight.

She swirls the whiskey in her glass, watching the amber liquid with a distant gaze. “I keep waiting,” she murmurs, more to herself than to you. “For it to feel different. For it to feel... real.”

You study her, the faintest flicker of vulnerability creeping into her expression. “What doesn’t feel real?”

She lets out a quiet, breathy laugh, shaking her head. “All of it.” Her fingers tighten slightly around yours, grounding herself. “The power, the control. The fact that it’s mine now, no strings attached.” A pause, then: “That he’s really gone.”

There it is. The thing neither of you have said out loud.

You watch her carefully, choosing your words. “You didn’t love him.”

It’s not a question, and Avis doesn’t treat it like one. She lifts the glass to her lips, taking a slow sip before meeting your gaze, her dark eyes unreadable. “I did at the beginning. But towards the end? No,” she admits finally. “Not in the way a wife should.”

You nod, expecting the answer, but it doesn’t make it any less heavy. “But it’s still a loss.”

Avis hums in agreement, leaning back in her chair, her free hand tracing along the edge of the armrest. “A loss of what, though? I haven’t quite figured that out yet.”

You can’t help but watch the way her lips purse slightly, as if she’s debating how much more to give you. It’s rare, this side of her, unguarded, unsure. It makes something deep in your chest ache.

“You’ve got a hell of a lot more than most people ever will,” you say softly, offering the faintest hint of a smile. “But it’s okay to admit that it’s not enough.”

Avis regards you for a moment, something flickering behind her eyes—something that looks dangerously close to gratitude. Then, she smirks, and just like that, the Avis you know so well slides back into place. “Oh, darling,” she drawls, taking another slow sip of her drink. “I’d never admit that out loud.”

You grin, shaking your head. “Of course not.”

She watches you carefully, the smirk lingering, but there's something softer beneath it now. “You’re quite good at this,” she murmurs.

You raise an eyebrow. “At what?”

Avis gestures between you, lazy and indulgent. “Sitting there. Listening. Not asking for anything.”

You chuckle softly. “Maybe I like listening to you.”

“Dangerous habit,” she muses, swirling the whiskey in her glass again. “I might keep you around.”

Your stomach twists at that, a quiet thrill curling beneath your ribs, but you keep your expression carefully neutral. “I might not mind.”

The air between you shifts, the easy banter settling into something heavier, something charged. You watch as she stands, moving to pour another drink, but instead of returning to her chair, she stops behind yours, her fingers ghosting lightly over your shoulder.

Her touch is different now, less teasing, more deliberate. She lingers, her nails tracing the line of your collarbone, her voice softer when she finally speaks.

“You’re dangerous too, you know,” she murmurs, and you feel the heat of her breath against your skin. “Caring. It’s a weakness.”

You tilt your head slightly, looking up at her. “Or a strength.”

Avis smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Not in my world.”

For a moment, neither of you move, the weight of her hand on your shoulder feeling heavier than it should. Then, just as quickly, she steps away, retreating back to the bar cart and refilling her glass with a smooth, practiced motion.

The absence of her touch leaves you cold.

You clear your throat, breaking the tension. “So, what now?”

Avis glances at you over the rim of her glass, considering the question. “Now,” she says, her voice returning to its usual crispness, “I go back to work. I run the empire. And you... you keep being my delightful distraction.”

It’s meant to be teasing, but there’s an edge to it, an unspoken understanding that distraction is far from an accurate description of whatever this is between you.

You smirk, leaning back in your chair. “I think you’re more distracted than you care to admit.”

Avis narrows her eyes at you, but there's no real bite behind it. “Careful, darling. I could have you fired.”

You grin, unbothered. “But you won’t.”

She exhales sharply, shaking her head, but there’s something fond in the way she looks at you, something almost... soft. And for a moment, you wonder if you’ve managed to slip past her carefully placed defenses in a way no one else has.

The thought is dangerous.

Avis finishes her drink and sets the glass down with a quiet clink. “It’s late,” she says, stretching lazily. “I should get some sleep before I start running this circus again tomorrow.”

You nod, rising to your feet, but you hesitate for just a second too long. Avis notices, of course she does, and instead of ushering you out, she reaches for your tie, fingers curling around the fabric.

“You could stay,” she says, and it’s not an invitation. It’s a statement. A fact.

Your heart stutters in your chest, but you manage to keep your voice steady. “Is that what you want?”

Avis tilts her head, studying you carefully, and then, finally, she answers. “I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

It’s not a declaration of love. It’s not even an admission of need. But it’s honest, and it’s enough.

You nod, stepping closer, your hands settling at her waist. “Then I’ll stay.”

Her lips brush yours, soft and slow, nothing like the urgency of before. It’s different now, something gentler, something real.

And as she leads you upstairs, the weight of what this means settles deep in your chest.

You might not have the words for it yet, but this—this—is something worth staying for.

The morning sun spills through the curtains, painting the bedroom in soft, golden hues. The world outside is already awake, cars hum in the distance, the faint murmur of the city filtering through the open window, but in here, everything feels suspended in time. Warm. Quiet. Intimate.

You lie still, staring at the ceiling, listening to the rhythmic sound of Avis’s breathing beside you. It’s different from last time, no hurried goodbyes, no slipping out before dawn. No illusion that this was just another late night indulgence.

Avis stirs, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she shifts against you. Her hair is tousled, curling over her shoulders in lazy waves, and her face, free from its usual layers of artifice, looks softer in the morning light.

You can’t help but watch her, letting yourself linger in this moment, this rare stillness. A part of you wonders if she’s ever let anyone see her like this, unguarded, vulnerable in the soft embrace of morning.

Eventually, she opens her eyes, blinking slowly before her gaze lands on you. For a moment, neither of you speak. She simply looks at you, as if assessing whether she should let the morning ruin whatever delicate balance was achieved last night.

“You stayed,” she murmurs, voice rough with sleep but still carrying that effortless authority she never quite loses.

You offer a small smile. “You asked me to.”

Avis hums, rolling onto her back, staring up at the ceiling as if considering that fact. “I suppose I did.”

You prop yourself up on one elbow, watching her carefully. “Do you regret it?”

She turns her head to look at you, and for once, there’s no teasing glint in her eyes, no mask of indifference. “No.” The answer is simple, quiet, but it holds a weight that makes your chest tighten.

Neither of you say anything for a while after that. She eventually reaches for the cigarette case on the nightstand, lighting one and taking a slow, deliberate drag before offering it to you. You take it, letting the smoke curl lazily between you, the shared silence speaking louder than words ever could.

After a moment, she exhales softly, tapping ash into the crystal tray. “You should go before the vultures start circling.”

You nod, even though you don’t move. “You don’t want anyone knowing?”

Avis smirks, though there’s something tired beneath it. “I don’t care what they know. I just don’t feel like hearing their opinions.”

You grin, passing the cigarette back to her. “I think they already have plenty.”

She lets out a quiet laugh, her free hand resting lightly on her stomach. “They always do.” Her gaze flickers back to you, more serious now. “But this... stays ours.”

You nod, understanding. Whatever this is, it exists in the quiet spaces between the chaos of her world. It doesn’t need a name, and it doesn’t need to be anything more than what it is.

Still, you find yourself reaching for her, brushing a strand of hair from her face, letting your fingers linger against her cheek. She doesn’t pull away.

“Are you okay?” you ask softly, and for once, you’re not referring to the studio, to her power, to her control.

Avis closes her eyes for a moment, leaning into your touch before opening them again. “I will be.” It’s the closest thing to honesty she’s ever given you.

You nod, pressing a soft kiss to her temple before finally pulling away, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. The air feels cooler without her warmth beside you, but you don’t linger on it.

As you get dressed, Avis watches from the bed, cigarette balanced between her fingers, her expression unreadable.

When you slip on your coat and turn to face her, she tilts her head, a thoughtful look crossing her features. “You know,” she muses, “you’re awfully good at not asking questions.”

You smile. “Maybe I already know the answers.”

Avis smirks, but it’s softer this time. “I do like that about you.”

You linger at the door, hesitating for just a second too long. But before you can say anything, Avis speaks, her voice quieter now.

“Come back tonight.”

It’s not a plea, not even a request. But there’s something in her tone that makes your chest tighten.

You nod, your voice steady. “I will.”

And with that, you step out into the cool morning air, leaving behind the warmth of her bed and the quiet understanding that, while nothing has been said out loud, everything has changed.

[s4svnn]

Out of bounds . JJK

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; his love subjected you to the true extent of deception, a merciless lie wrapped in the illusion of paradise, until the truth tore it apart - he was always out of bounds.

↳ Jungkook x reader

↳ 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬: ongoing

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Chapter Thirty Eight

I groaned as I shifted in the bed, my head pounding in a relentless rhythm that felt like it was drilling into my skull. The weight of last night’s decisions hit me all at once, each pulse of pain making the memories more vivid, but also more elusive. It was as if I could almost piece everything together, the laughter and the music and the overwhelming rush of being caught in the chaos of it all, but then it would all slip away, leaving nothing but the thick fog of my hangover. My stomach churned in response, a sickening reminder of the alcohol, of how much I’d consumed without a thought or care.

I turned over, groaning again, trying to find a more comfortable position, but that only made it worse. My head felt like it was full of cotton, my thoughts sluggish and tangled. I rubbed my temples in a desperate attempt to quell the pounding, wishing I could just turn back time, if only to make a few different choices. I muttered under my breath, my voice hoarse from the aftermath of too many shots and too many reckless decisions, "Why the fuck did I drink so much?"

The words felt weak, as though my body wasn’t even willing to acknowledge the regret that followed them. My fingers pressed against my forehead, the motion more out of instinct than thought, as I tried to collect myself. The sick feeling that had settled low in my stomach refused to subside, threatening to make its presence known again, but I clenched my jaw, pushing it back, hoping the wave would pass.

It was at that exact moment that my phone buzzed on the nightstand, the noise slicing through the thick, foggy air. I blinked, suddenly more aware of my surroundings. This wasn’t Kayla’s place. The room, the sheets, the faint scent of unfamiliar cologne—they were all wrong. My heart rate spiked in panic, and for a few moments, everything felt surreal, like I was watching myself from outside my own body. Where the hell was I?

Frantically, I reached for my phone, my fingers trembling as I fumbled with the screen. As it lit up, I immediately saw a stream of notifications—missed calls, texts, a deluge of messages from AJ. I scrolled through them, my stomach turning as the realization hit me.

“Where are you? You okay?” “I’ve been trying to reach you, it’s been hours.” “Call me back now. I’m getting worried.”

Each message felt heavier than the last, and I swallowed hard, trying to push down the unease rising in my chest. With shaky hands, I pressed the screen to my ear and waited, each ring causing a knot in my stomach to tighten further. When AJ finally picked up, her voice came through sharp and frantic.

"Where the fuck were you?" she demanded, the frustration clear in every syllable. "I called like ten times! Why didn’t you pick up?"

I winced, my face flushing with a mixture of embarrassment and guilt. "Sorry," I muttered, the words coming out hoarse. "I... I was sleeping. I didn’t hear my phone."

There was a brief, sharp silence on the other end of the line before AJ responded, her tone still laced with concern. "Are you okay though?"

I glanced around the unfamiliar room again, feeling the panic crawl back up my spine. "Yeah I am but where are you?" I asked, trying to make sense of the situation. I needed something familiar, something to ground me in reality.

"I’m at home," AJ replied, the tension easing in her voice. "Damian hauled us from the club and brought us home."

A sudden, sharp sense of relief washed over me as I sank back against the pillows, letting out a shaky breath. "Wait, Damian?" I repeated, my mind sluggishly trying to catch up.

"Yeah," she continued, her voice softening. "He’s here to visit for a bit and thank god he found us. You were gone, and we didn’t know what happened to you, but he made sure we all got home safely."

I let my head fall back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling. "Thank god," I muttered under my breath, my voice thick with gratitude. "I’m just glad you’re okay."

There was a pause on the line before Kayla’s voice piped up in the background, her voice gentle. "How’s the aftermath treating you?"

I let out a long sigh, rubbing my forehead as I tried to focus through the haze of my headache. "Apart from the killer headache and the sickening feeling in my stomach, I’ll survive," I answered, my voice a bit more steady now, though still rough around the edges.

"Good," Kayla replied. "Damian’s friend helped you out, right? He’s a lifesaver."

"Damian’s friend?" I repeated, my brain struggling to process her words.

"Yeah," she confirmed, sounding a little amused. "Damian said his friend took you to the hotel they’re both staying at since you didn’t have your keys, and you wouldn’t tell him my address."

I froze, the weight of the situation sinking in, and my face flushed with a wave of embarrassment. "Oh my god," I muttered, feeling like an absolute idiot. "I’m such an idiot."

Kayla’s laugh was light and reassuring, a sound that made the tension in my chest ease just a fraction. "Don’t worry about it," she said, the teasing tone in her voice impossible to miss. "Just make sure you apologize to the poor guy before you leave. I’m sure he didn’t expect to be dragged into all this drama."

I groaned, but I couldn’t help the small chuckle that slipped out. "Yeah, I definitely will. I’ll see you in a bit."

"Cool," Kayla replied, her voice fading as she added, "See you later."

I dropped the phone down onto the bed beside me, staring at the ceiling as I let everything sink in. The urge to throw up hit me again, much stronger this time, and I quickly grabbed the waste bin sitting conveniently by the bed. The moment I did, everything came rushing up in a violent wave, and I emptied the contents of my stomach, not caring that I had no idea what I was even expelling.

But before I could even breathe again, I heard footsteps approaching—slow, measured. I froze, my heart skipping a beat. I looked up, expecting to see anyone but who I saw standing there in the doorway of the bathroom.

My eyes went wide with disbelief, and I felt my breath catch in my throat as I stared at Jungkook, the shock and confusion momentarily overtaking everything else. "What the fuck?" I blurted out before I could stop myself, the words coming out harsh and unfiltered. My body felt like it was about to betray me again, but I couldn’t make sense of anything anymore.

Jungkook took a step closer to the bed, his gaze soft but concerned. "Hey," he said, his voice low and calm, as if testing the waters. "You okay?"

I blinked at him, the fog in my brain not quite lifting as quickly as I’d hoped. My body felt heavy, and I was still trying to piece together everything that had happened. Slowly, my mind started to catch up, the pieces clicking into place, and suddenly it hit me—he was the one Damian had mentioned. "Wait," I muttered, my head still spinning as I looked him over. "You’re the friend Damian said helped me?"

Jungkook gave a nervous chuckle, his hand moving to the back of his neck as if he were unsure whether to be amused or uncomfortable. "Yeah," he said, a hint of awkwardness creeping into his voice. "You were pretty wasted."

I felt my stomach tighten again, this time with a surge of frustration and embarrassment. I closed my eyes and rubbed my face, putting my hands over my eyes as I leaned back against the pillows. "Of all the people in the world," I muttered, my voice muffled by my palms, "why you?"

Jungkook’s laughter was soft, but there was a real edge to it, like he was caught somewhere between amusement and disbelief. "I keep wondering that too," he replied, his tone playful. "Maybe it’s fate."

I let out a low sigh, the words slipping from my lips before I could stop them. "What a shit fate," I murmured, shaking my head slightly, the weight of everything hitting me again.

He chuckled again, clearly finding some humor in the situation. "Well, you should take some medicine," he suggested, his voice turning a bit more serious. "Your head’s going to hurt for a while, trust me."

The bitterness in my stomach rose again, and I couldn’t help the sarcastic response that came out. I shot him a look and spat out, "Like you care."

Jungkook sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. "If I didn’t care," he said quietly, but firmly, "I would've just left you out there singing on the streets." His eyes held mine for  moment, as if waiting for me to say something, but I didn’t.

I opened my mouth, ready to retort, but the words died on my tongue before they could leave my lips. Instead, I reached over to the nightstand, my movements slow and clumsy, my body resisting the effort. My fingers brushed against the familiar shape of the pill bottle and water bottle. I grabbed both with a trembling hand, quickly uncapping the bottle and swallowing the medicine in a rush, followed by a few deep gulps of water, hoping it would help clear the fog in my head.

Before I could even process what I had just done, I tried to sit up. The world tilted around me, spinning violently, and I immediately groaned, my body fighting against the dizziness that made me feel like I was going to collapse again.

Jungkook moved toward me without hesitation, his hands gently pushing me back onto the bed as he muttered, "Easy, tiger. You’re just going to make yourself more sick if you keep moving around like that. Lay down."

I gave him a pointed look, still too proud to admit I wasn’t in any state to argue, but the dizziness made it impossible to ignore. "I’m not staying here with you," I said, my words barely making sense as I tried to sit up again, but my body refused to cooperate.

Jungkook raised an eyebrow, a knowing look in his eyes. "I’m not staying," he assured me, his voice steady. "Don’t worry. You’ll have the room to yourself. Damian’s going to be here in five minutes, so just get some rest."

I blinked at him, trying to make sense of his words. "Damian?" I repeated, confused. "Wait, what—"

"Damian’s staying here too," Jungkook repeated, cutting me off gently. "So just take a nap or something until he comes. Get some rest."

I tried to say something else, but before I could, Jungkook turned away, picking up his jacket and car keys from where they were carelessly thrown on the couch. He glanced back over his shoulder for a brief moment, his gaze meeting mine one last time before he nodded, almost as if to reassure me that everything was going to be fine.

Without another word, he left the room, the door clicking shut behind him as I lay there, still trying to make sense of everything.

A few minutes passed, the stillness of the room broken only by the pounding in my head. But just as I started to feel like I could finally breathe, I heard a knock on the door. I wasn’t sure if it was my mind playing tricks on me, but I called out anyway, "Come in."

The door opened with a soft creak, and Damian stepped inside, carrying a bag in his hands. The smell of food hit me immediately, warm and comforting, and for a moment, I just let myself inhale deeply. It was such a welcome change from the thick air of nausea that had filled my senses for the past hour. My lips curled into a smile without even thinking about it. "You're really here," I said, the words sounding almost like a relief.

Damian smiled back at me, his eyes soft with affection as he approached the bed and placed the bag on the floor beside it. Without hesitation, he pulled me into a hug, his arms strong and familiar, and for a second, I let myself relax into him. "Yeah, I thought I’d surprise you," he said, his voice warm against my ear. "How are you feeling?"

I groaned, the weight of my headache crashing down on me again as I pulled away just enough to look at him. "I feel like shit," I admitted with a grimace. "But it’s really good to see you."

Damian’s smile softened, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked down at me. "You too," he said, his voice laced with a hint of humor. "Just didn’t think it’d be under these circumstances."

I laughed nervously, the sound shaky. "Yeah, sorry about that. I didn’t plan on getting that drunk... it just kind of happened, you know? In the heat of the moment."

"It’s fine," Damian assured me, giving me a reassuring smile. "At least you’re okay."

But then my expression shifted, a serious look overtaking my features as something nagged at me. Something didn’t feel right. "So," I started, my tone shifting to one of suspicion, "care to explain why Jungkook was the one who took me home last night? And why you called him your 'friend'?"

Damian let out a long sigh, his shoulders sagging slightly as he took a seat on the edge of the bed. "Well," he began, his voice quiet, "he was actually the one who called me about you guys."

"What?" I asked, my brow furrowing in confusion.

"He found you on the streets and helped you," Damian explained, his eyes downcast for a moment. "Then he called me, asking if I could take you and your friends home. So... if anything, you should be thanking him, not me."

"But how did he know you were here?" I pressed, the feeling of unease tightening in my chest.

Damian hesitated, his eyes shifting uncomfortably. "Well..." he began, clearly nervous about the topic. "We may have made up. We’re back to being best friends again."

My eyes widened in shock, and I couldn’t help but shout, "What the fuck? How much did I miss?" The shock was so sudden that I felt my head spin once again.

Damian quickly shushed me, placing a finger to his lips, and his expression turned serious. "Let’s not get ourselves kicked out just yet," he said softly, glancing toward the door.

I blinked, my mouth hanging open in disbelief, before I sighed and ran a hand through my hair, trying to steady myself. "Sorry, but seriously... what happened to you hating him for being the prick that he is?"

Damian chuckled lightly, but there was a thoughtful glint in his eyes. "Let’s just say we talked things out. I found out some stuff that made me realize that Jungkook isn’t the bad person I made him out to be."

"What did you find out?" I asked, my voice filled with skepticism.

Damian hesitated again, his fingers drumming against the side of the bed, clearly unsure of how to proceed. "I think it’s best if Jungkook tells you himself," he said carefully, his gaze shifting away from me.

I stared at him in disbelief, feeling a wave of frustration rise in my chest. "Damian, not this again," I said, my voice tight. "I thought you were going to be open with me from now on."

"I know, I know," Damian said, his voice soft, yet apologetic. "But this really is something he should be telling you, not me. Please, just... when the time comes, hear him out, okay?"

I crossed my arms over my chest, staring at him, my lips pressed into a thin line. "No," I said firmly.

Damian sighed deeply, his voice steady but filled with concern. "AJ, you know I only want what’s best for you," he said, his eyes meeting mine. "I would never tell you to do something I wasn’t sure of. But seriously... give him a chance to explain."

"Explain what?" I asked, my voice rising, a mixture of anger and hurt. "Why he so happily played with me like I’m some toy, then tossed me aside because Jade told him to? Nah, I’m good."

Damian’s face softened, his expression filled with understanding. "I know the whole situation was horrible," he said quietly. "And it really hurt you... but please, just let him make it up to you."

I narrowed my eyes, my heart racing in frustration. "How?" I asked, my voice almost pleading. "How is he going to make it up to me?"

Damian’s voice was calm but persistent. "Just give him a week," he suggested. "Let him try and regain your trust. If you’re not satisfied by the end of it, he’ll leave you alone forever."

I blinked, my mind spinning at the thought of giving Jungkook another chance. "Really?" I asked, unsure if I was hearing him right.

"Yeah," Damian said with a slight nod. "But you have to let him at least try."

I paused for a long moment, my fingers absently pushing my hair away from my face as I exhaled deeply. The weight of the decision pressed on me, and I felt my gut twist with doubt. Finally, I looked at Damian, my voice quieter now. "One week. That’s all he gets."

Damian smiled, a hint of relief in his expression. "I’ll let him know."

I stared at the ceiling, my thoughts a whirlwind, spinning faster and faster. The room felt small, like the walls were closing in on me with every second that passed. One week. One week to see if Jungkook could prove himself, to see if he could make up for the mess he’d caused. It sounded simple enough, but in my gut, I felt a gnawing unease. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was setting myself up for more pain, but maybe... maybe there was a chance he could actually change. Could he?

Damian's voice broke through my spiraling thoughts as he handed me the bag of food. "Here," he said, his tone warm, yet still carrying that underlying concern. "You should eat. It’s not much, but I thought you could use something to settle your stomach."

I took the bag from him absently, my fingers brushing against his for a split second, the warmth of his touch grounding me for just a moment. I nodded, not trusting my voice enough to say anything more. He stayed silent for a moment, watching me closely, before he gave a small smile.

"I’ll let you eat and get some rest," he said, his voice soft, understanding. "I’ll check in later, okay?"

I nodded again, the weight of everything pressing on my chest. "Thanks, Damian. For everything."

"Anytime," he replied, his smile growing a little more genuine before he turned to leave. Just before closing the door, he paused and glanced over his shoulder. "I know it feels like you’re stuck right now, but you’ll figure this out. Just...don’t be too hard on yourself."

The door clicked shut, and I was left alone again, the silence wrapping around me like a blanket. I set the bag down on the bedside table, staring at it without actually seeing it, the chaos in my mind far louder than my physical hunger. But eventually, I grabbed the bag and pulled out the food. I took a bite, the familiar taste doing little to settle the storm within me.

I couldn’t stop thinking about Jungkook. What had really happened between him and Damian? They’d made up, but how? What had changed? Was it really something that could make a difference, or was it just another attempt to brush the past under the rug? And most importantly—did I even want to give him the chance to hurt me again?

The questions piled up, each one more suffocating than the last.

As I chewed, my mind wandered to the one thing I hadn’t considered: what if Jungkook actually did care? What if there was more to his actions than the way he’d treated me before? The thought was almost laughable, but it hung there like a shadow, refusing to leave. Could I really trust him again?

I set the food down, suddenly too tired to eat anymore. I leaned back against the pillows, rubbing my eyes as exhaustion began to settle over me like a heavy fog.

The room felt like it was spinning again, and this time, I let it. Maybe it would all make sense later. Or maybe it wouldn’t.

I just didn’t know.

Time passed slowly as I lay there, trying to ignore the lingering ache in my head. The medicine had started to take the edge off, and eventually, I felt the nausea start to subside. My stomach settled, the room stopped spinning, and my mind began to clear, albeit slowly. 

I shook the thoughts from my mind and pushed myself up, groaning softly as my muscles protested. My head still throbbed a little, but it was bearable now. After a quick look in the mirror and a steadying breath, I grabbed my phone and quickly sent a text to Kayla: Heading to your place now. See you soon.

The journey to Kayla’s house wasn’t long, but the trip felt like a blur, my thoughts continuing to drift back to Jungkook, to Damian, and to the choices that were weighing on me. Still, as soon as I walked up to Kayla’s front door and rang the bell, I could feel a slight weight lift from my shoulders. I needed to see her, to be around someone who wasn’t a part of all the confusion.

The door swung open just as I was about to knock again, and there she was, standing in front of me with that big, welcoming grin plastered across her face. "Hey!" she exclaimed, stepping aside to let me in. "You’re alive. I was starting to wonder if I’d have to send a search party."

I rolled my eyes, but the corner of my mouth lifted in amusement. "I’m not that bad off," I said, though my voice was still rough from the night before.

Kayla raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying the casual tone in my voice. "Uhuh," she said, crossing her arms with a knowing look. "So, how’re you feeling now? Better?"

"Better, yeah," I said, pushing past her into the hallway. "I’m still a little shaky, but nothing compared to earlier."

Kayla let out a relieved sigh as she closed the door behind me. "Thank God," she muttered, before flashing me a mischievous smile. "So... did Damian’s friend explain what happened last night? I’m guessing you weren’t exactly left alone, huh?"

I froze for a split second, my heart skipping a beat. The memory of Jungkook helping me flooded my mind again, and I couldn't quite shake the image of him standing there, those familiar eyes watching me with something softer than what I'd remembered. "Yeah... about that," I said, my voice trailing off. "Damian came over and explained a few things. But there's still a lot I don’t understand."

Kayla’s curiosity piqued, and she cocked her head. "What do you mean?"

I hesitated, not wanting to dive into the whole mess of it just yet. "I’ll tell you later," I said, flashing her a small, tired smile. "It’s...complicated. But I’m okay now. Really."

Kayla studied me for a moment, her expression a mixture of concern and understanding. She could tell I wasn’t telling her everything, but she didn’t push it. Instead, she gave me a small nod. "Well, I’m just glad you’re here. You need anything? I’ve got leftover pizza—can’t promise it’s great, but it’ll help soak up some of that hangover."

I chuckled lightly at her offer, grateful for the distraction. "I might just take you up on that," I said, finally feeling the weight of the situation start to ease just a little. I needed comfort, and I needed Kayla. It was the one thing I could rely on, the one thing that felt solid.

She led me into the living room, where we sank down onto the couch together, surrounded by the chaos of her apartment—empty coffee mugs, half-rolled blankets, and the usual clutter of a place that was lived in. It wasn’t anything fancy, but in that moment, it was perfect. I leaned back against the cushions, closing my eyes for a brief moment before opening them to find Kayla watching me.

"So," she began slowly, clearly sensing my need to talk, "do you want to talk about it? Whatever’s going on?"

I met her gaze, her expression full of quiet understanding. For a moment, I thought about it. About telling her everything—the conversation with Damian, the talk with Jungkook, and the confusing mix of emotions I was trying to sort through. But I wasn’t ready to go there just yet. Instead, I gave her a small, shaky smile.

"Not right now," I said softly. "But I’ll let you know when I am. Promise."

Kayla nodded, her eyes softening as she leaned over to grab the pizza. "Okay, deal. Whenever you’re ready, I’m here. No judgment."

I leaned back, letting the warmth of her presence fill the empty spaces in my chest. For the first time in what felt like forever, I felt like I wasn’t completely alone. Maybe I still didn’t have the answers I was looking for, but for now, being with Kayla was enough.

Well, at least that was the case until my phone lit up with a new message from Adam.

"Is everything okay?"

I blinked, the words catching me off guard. I quickly opened the message, my stomach tightening as I suddenly remembered Adam had texted me the night before. The message before his recent one read, "You wanna go out?” - yesterday at 8:45

I groaned, burying my face in my hands. How could I have been so stupid? I’d completely forgotten to respond to him, caught up in everything that had happened. The guilt settled into my chest like a rock.

Kayla glanced over at me, noticing the shift in my expression. "What’s wrong?" she asked, her voice gentle but laced with concern.

I let out a long sigh, sitting up a little straighter. "Adam texted me," I said, my voice tinged with frustration. "And I completely forgot to text him back. I feel like such an idiot."

Kayla’s expression softened, and she reached out, giving my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Don’t worry, babe," she said with a small laugh. "It happens. He’ll understand. Just explain the situation, and everything will be fine."

I nodded, trying to shake off the guilt. "Yeah, you’re right," I muttered. "I’ll call him and explain."

Kayla smiled and gave me a thumbs up. "Cool. I’ll wait here. Take your time."

I got up and left the living room, heading down the hallway toward my room. The door clicked shut behind me as I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the situation still pressing on me.

I dialed Adam's number, my fingers shaking slightly as I waited for him to pick up. It rang twice before he answered, and I could hear the familiar warmth in his voice, though it was laced with a hint of concern.

"AJ? Hey, you good?" he asked, the relief clear in his tone.

I sighed, leaning back against the door as I gathered my thoughts. "Yeah... I’m good, sorry about not texting back," I said, cringing at how thoughtless I’d been. "Last night... it was a mess. Cyrus, Leah, Serena, Kayla, and I went to the club. We all got really drunk, and I wasn’t in the right state of mind so I completely forgot to respond to you."

There was a long pause on the other end, and I could hear him exhale before he spoke again, his tone softening. "Don’t worry it’s okay. But, uh, did you get home safe?"

I nodded even though he couldn’t see me. The relief in his voice made my chest tighten, but before I could even process my next words, they spilled out. "Yeah, Jungkook took me home."

The second the words left my mouth, my heart sank. I slapped my hand over my mouth, as if that would stop the damage. There was a long stretch of silence on the other end, so thick it almost suffocated me.

Adam didn’t speak for what felt like an eternity, and I could feel the tension building with every passing second. When he finally spoke, his voice was sharp, barely contained. "Jungkook?" he asked, his disbelief cutting through the silence like a knife.

I mentally cursed myself, the realization of my slip-up hitting me like a ton of bricks. Of course I shouldn’t have said that. Of course, it was going to make him react like this.

"Yeah," I muttered, cringing at the way my voice cracked. "I was really drunk, and he found me singing on the street. He helped me get home. That’s it."

The silence that followed was heavy. I could practically hear the gears turning in Adam’s head. Finally, I heard him click his teeth in frustration. "You have to be careful, AJ," he said, his tone almost accusatory now. "Who knows what that bastard’s intentions were."

I flinched at his words, guilt spiraling through me as I tried to defend the situation. "Don’t worry," I said quickly, hoping to ease his concern. "He didn’t do anything. He just made sure I was safe. Nothing happened."

Still, Adam’s response was firm, almost cold. "I don’t trust him one bit. And you shouldn’t either."

My stomach tightened at his words, the worry creeping up my spine. I felt like I was trying to justify something I didn’t fully understand myself. "I promise I’ll be more careful next time," I said, trying to reassure him, but it didn’t feel like enough. Not for him. "I’ll be more wary from now on."

Adam’s tone softened a little, but there was still an undercurrent of frustration there. "Just be careful, AJ," he said again, his voice barely above a whisper now. "That’s all I’m saying."

I nodded, though he couldn’t see me. "I will," I promised, my voice barely above a murmur. "I’ll talk to you later."

There was a pause, and then I heard the faint sound of him sighing. "Yeah. Talk soon."

Before I could say anything else, the call ended. The line went dead, and I found myself staring at my phone in silence, my mind spinning. My heart was still racing, and I felt a growing sense of confusion wash over me. What had just happened? Why had Adam reacted like that?

Sure, I knew he didn’t like Jungkook—he’d made that clear a long time ago—but this wasn’t just dislike. This felt more... intense. Adam had sounded more angry than worried or protective. I expected him to be relieved that I got home safely, that I wasn’t in any immediate danger, but instead, he was angry. He didn’t trust Jungkook, which, I understood, but the force behind his words felt different this time.

[soulsty]

I am slowly losing my grasp on reality

[igorluvr]

‘LOVE AND LATTES

PAIRING: kang dae-ho x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS: during the games, dae-ho promised to take you on a proper first date. now that you had both successfully made it out, he was going to keep his promise

CONTENT: fluff, literally the tiniest bit of angst, kinda corny, trauma, kissing on the first date smh, reader is implied to be black

AUTHORS NOTE: tryna get a lot of fics out for u guys bcs almost 400 likes on my first ??? omg yall r so sweet i swearrr, tysmm !!! ngl this might be kinda bad bcs im too tired to read over it …

word count: [2.5k]

IT’S been around 3 days since you got out of those hellish games, and you still can’t seem to process it. There was so much death, you felt guilty for taking the money, but it was your only chance at having a way out.

After surviving and splitting the money with a good handful of people, you found yourself dropped off in a dark alleyway. With only a large duffel bag at your side, you felt lost, unsure of where to go.

Eventually, you made your way to a bus station and caught a ride back to your apartment. It took a while to adjust to being in the real world again, a world where a gun wasn’t being held up to your head every hour of the day.

You remembered how you met the sweetest boy there. Kang Dae-ho. He was everything you could’ve asked for. The perfect man, met at a perfectly terrible time. Your mind flashed back to the end of mingle game.

‘I swear, when we get out of here I’m gonna take you on a real date. No guards, no games, just us two and the future ahead of us, okay?’ Dae-ho promised, cupping your face gently in his hands.

‘I love you with all of my heart, and I wanna see you when this is all over. We can move in with eachother and spend everyday in eachothers arms.’ He rambled with tears in his eyes, ‘I can’t lose you.’

Now in the present day, you wished you’d spend more time with him. You thought back to the last day in the games, when you wrote your number on his hand, hoping it wouldn’t be wiped off by the guards before he got home so you could live out the future you planned.

As the days passed, you lost hope in being able to reunite with your lover. Memories of him flashed through your mind. “Fuck, Dae-ho.” you whispered, “If only I had one more day with you..” and as if on cue, you heard your phone ring.

You stared for a couple seconds, confused as to who it could be. ‘It wouldn’t be Dae-ho, would it?’ With an ounce of hope left in your mind, you hurried and clicked the green answer button.

Silence lingered, then you heard a voice that made your heart explode.

“Hello?” Dae-ho’s wavering voice sounded “Is this you?”

You jumped up in joy, feeling a huge smile stretch across your face.

“Oh my God, Dae-ho!! It’s actually you!!” You exclaimed. “I missed you so much I thought we’d never talk again.”

A relieved sigh came from the other line, followed by a slight laugh. “I missed you more. How have you been? Where are you? Do you want me to come over?” he bombarded

“Okay woah, I can tell you missed me. I’m doing good, well better than I was a couple days ago, I’m at my house, and yes, I would love for you to come” You answered

The line went quiet for a moment, making you wonder if you’d lost the connection. Just as concern started to creep in, Dae-ho spoke again “Do you remember that promise I made before we got out?”

Of course you remember, his words have been playing on repeat in your mind like a record. Your heart skipped a beat as you thought of it actually coming true. You muttered a quick ‘mhm’ for him to continue.

“Tomorrow, meet me at the cafe down the street from that big market. I don’t know where you stay, so if it’s too far tell me and I’ll call you an uber.” he planned, “Dress up, even though I know you’ll look amazing in anything” You felt the butterflies in your stomach form as he carried on about what’ll happen the next day.

As the conversation came to a close and you got ready for bed, you found yourself thinking of any possible scenario that could happen tomorrow, good and bad.

‘What if my hair doesn’t cooperate?’

‘What if he doesn’t like how I look anymore?’

‘What if he’s setting me up?’

All these unlikely events start to run through your mind and it caused you to be overwhelmed with everything happening. When drifting off to sleep, you hope that everything turns out right.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

You woke up to a constant ‘ding’ blaring through your room every 10 seconds. Immediately, you pressed the power button on your phone thinking maybe you’d accidentally set an alarm. When it didn’t subside after this, you groggily opened your phone to locate the noise.

There were about 15 notifications from Dae-ho, them all texting you as if you’d died in your sleep or something.

A pool of ‘are you awake?’ and ‘are you okay?’ flooded on your lock screen. Not wanting him to worry any further, you decided to text him back

‘goodmorninggg, i’m up now sorry 😭 im okay, how are you?’ You typed, half asleep.

Immediately, your message was read and the bubbles on the left side of the screen appeared.

‘I’m okay. Why do you sleep so late? You scared me.’ the message read. You hadn’t even realized the time. ‘2:26pm’ the clock read. You always had a bad habit of sleeping in but it had gotten unusually bad after getting back from the games.

You quickly apologized in your message, explaining your situation to which he swiftly understood. As the conversation progressed, you discussed your date. You were the type of person that needed to know every detail before doing something, especially something like this.

The both of you decided to meet there at 7pm, to give you time to get ready, and to dress up—but not too much. To be honest, you weren’t sure if you guys had the same definition of too much but you decided to put it aside for now.

Immediately after you guys finished discussing the details, you rushed to get ready. Even though you had 4 hours, it didn’t seem like nearly enough time to see him.

The closet was your first thought, since you basically lived by the rule of getting dressed first, doing hair, then putting on makeup. You scanned your closet for anything that would impress Dae-ho.

It took about 30 minutes alone to pick out an outfit. You decided on a long black dress you bought for your halloween costume that you never got the chance to wear, due to the pickup for the games occurring the same day. You picked out jewelry and a coat to go with it, since it was the beginning of winter.

After getting dressed, you gathered all your makeup supplies and rushed to the bathroom. Doing your makeup took longer than you wanted it to, but you wanted everything to be perfect since this was the first time you’d see him outside of life-or-death situations.

Every wing of eyeliner had to be just right, your lip gloss needed just the right amount of shine, everything had to reflect how much you cared.

The hair was the part you’d been dreading. You didn’t know if it was the detangling, or getting your part straight, but it gave you a headache just thinking about it.

After stalling for about 20 minutes, you finally built up the strength to start on your hair. Pinterest was your best friend for situations like this. You quickly opened the board labeled “hairstyles” and scrolled through them to find the perfect one.

You’d found this beautiful blown-out hairstyle that would look amazing with your outfit and makeup. Since you knew it would take a long time, you silently braced yourself, this wouldn’t be an easy task. You grabbed the blow dryer, flat iron, heat protectant, and got to work.

In about 2 hours, you had finally finished at 6:50pm. The cafe was about 7 minutes away from you, so you grabbed your stuff and walked out of the door.

The drive there was the worst part. Your stomach was doing somersaults. Even though you’d seen eachother at your literal worsts, it still felt so scary. With all these anxieties flashing through your mind, you managed to push them to the back and keep a confident facade.

As you pulled up, you sent a quick text stating your arrival. You fidgeted with the ends of your dress absentmindedly, spacing out and hoping for the best.

The ding of your phone sent shivers down your spine as a text popped up reading ‘Perfect. Come inside and turn to the left, I’m here.’

You felt like throwing up as you walked up to the entrance of the café. The strong smell of caffeine and pastries hit your nose as you searched for Dae-ho in the warm lights.

Turning left as he instructed, you were met with his beaming face, looking like he’d seen the most beautiful sunrise. His eyes widened in awe, and for a moment, he seemed frozen. The corners of his mouth curled up into an infectious smile, and you felt a rush of warmth, knowing that in this moment, you had completely captivated him.

Almost immediately, he jumped up and gave you an engulfing hug. You didn’t know if it was because you were used to the smell of blood being around him, but he smelled astonishingly good. It was like the best mixture of his natural scent and a very expensive cologne.

As he pulled back slightly, you noticed a beautiful bouquet of flowers in his hands—delicate white lilies mixed with soft pink roses. “These are for you,” he said, a hint of nervousness in his voice. “I thought it was only right for our first date.”

His hair was down to his neck, loose and messy, quite different from the bun you were used to seeing him in during the games. The collar of his shirt was casually unbuttoned, too. He looked effortlessly flawless.

“You look… wow. You’re so beautiful,” Dae-ho complimented, sending electric shocks through your veins. A rush of shyness met your face—he really thought of you like that?

“It’s so good to see you,” you said, your cheeks flushed with embarrassment and delight. “You look amazing too. I mean, I always thought you were handsome, but just… wow.” You took the bouquet from him, inhaling the sweet fragrance of the flowers.

His laughter danced through the air, a sound that brought you so much peace and clarity. “I’m just glad I could pull myself together after… well, everything.” His smile faded a bit, and you felt the silent weight of shared trauma hovering between you.

“Let’s not think about that tonight ,” you suggested softly, taking a seat across from him. “We deserve a night where those horrible games are the last of our worries.”

“Agreed,” he said, leaning forward, his gaze intensifying. “Tonight is about us, and starting fresh,together.”

As you scanned the cafe, adorned with twinkling fairy lights and the faint piano covers playing in the background,you felt the tension from earlier gradually melt away. You could see other people laughing, having the time of their lives. It felt surreal to be part of such a normal scene after everything you had both endured.

The waitress came up to your table and you both ordered drinks; he went for a dark roast coffee while you chose for a sweet vanilla latte. “It’s nice to be able to actually enjoy these little things.” you ranted, “After everything, I never even thought we’d get here.”

Dae-ho's eyes sparkled with that familiar warmth. “I’ve thought about this moment every day since I got back,” he admitted. “Dreamt about sitting across from you in a place that feels safe, where we can just be us.”

That sentiment made your heart swell. You immersed yourself in his beautiful sunkissed eyes. “What do you want for us, Dae-ho?” You asked, knowing that his answer could make or break you.

He hesitated for a moment, his expression solemn. “I want to build a life with you, whatever that looks like. It could be road trips everyday and always having new experiences together, or a cozy apartment with a beautiful family and no worries. I want us to share everything, the good, the bad—everything.”

The sincerity behind his words wrapped around your heart like a warm, familiar blanket. “I want that too,” you said softly, placing your hand over his. The connection was electric, sending sweet shivers up your body.

As you sipped your drinks, Dae-ho leaned in closer, a serious look in his eyes. “You know, I’ve thought about you every single day since we got out. I really missed you.”

“Really? I missed you too,” you replied, voice full of veracity. “It’s been hard without you.”

He took a long pause, as if he was searching for the right words. “I never realized how much I wanted someone like you in my life. Just knowing you were out there somewhere gave me hope.”

You felt your heart pang at his words, you spent all your life searching for a love like this, it felt so good to finally have it. “It was the same for me too. Every time I felt like giving up I had to remind myself of us, and our future.”

A soft smile grew on his face. “I knew we’d find our way back to each other. I just didn’t know how much it would mean to finally be here, like this.”

“Me either,” you said softly. “I was nervous about tonight. I worried that maybe everything would feel different.” You thought back to earlier and how stupid you were for thinking he would see you differently. This is genuinely all you could've asked for.

Dae-ho shook his head with his eyebrows fixed in a furrow. “I was nervous too, but being with you feels right. I could really see us living a perfect life someday”

Your heart swelled with warmth. With him, you felt like you can just be yourself without any fear. He was genuinely your safe space.

“I promise we’ll stay connected. No matter how hard things get, we’ll keep fighting for each other.” You swore, knowing how your past relationships ended and wanting to break the cycle.

“Thank you, really. It means the world to me,” Dae-ho said sincerely, his eyes meeting yours. “I just want us to have a future, no matter how hard it'll be.”

“Yeah, me too,” you replied, feeling a sense of calm settle over you. “It’s comforting to have someone you know will be there for you, even on the darker days.”

His smile deepened, and for a moment, everything else faded. Just the two of you were in the room—focused on your shared promise. Nothing else mattered in this moment, you were ready to finally create a new beginning.

Silence in the air was broken as he finally spoke up, “I want to build a life where we support each other through any and everything." he grinned. “Even the small moments matter. Like cooking together and trying not to burn the kitchen down.”

You chuckled softly, picturing you both in the kitchen attempting to cook and leaving something in the oven too long. “I can definitely see that happening.”

“And if we accidentally set the place on fire, at least I’ll have an excuse to scoop you up and look all heroic while I rescue you.” he joked, his expression growing more playful

Laughter erupts from you and your eyes sprinkle with joy, causing Dae-ho to lean in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You know, I really missed your laugh. It makes everything feel so much brighter.”

“Really?” you asked, feeling warmth spread through your chest, “I missed yours too, it’s cute.”

The atmosphere felt light, almost euphoric, as you both relaxed into the comfort of eachother's presence. “Believe it or not, I was really so nervous for tonight,” Dae-ho admitted, his voice softening as he brushes his hair back behind his ear. “I thought I’d forget how to talk to you.”

“Trust me,” you said, voice tender, “I was nervous too. But I realized that after everything, who else could understand us like this?”

“Exactly,” He said before taking a sip of his coffee. “I feel like I can be myself around you, like I’ve never been able to with anyone else. It’s so freeing.”

“Freedom and love. Isn’t that what life’s really all about?” you said, your voice filled with hope and longing. You felt a warmth in your heart as you spoke, realizing that these two things were what you truly cherished.

As the conversation flowed, you exchanged stories, laughter, and memories—you shared dreams and fears, and slowly the nervousness slowly melted away.

“I can’t believe we made it out,” he said, his voice stern. “I can’t stop thinking about the others we lost… what they would’ve did if they made it out too.”

A brief silence enveloped the moment, both of you remembering the friends that didn’t make it, the faces of people who had shared brutal experiences with you.

“I think they’d want us to live, like really live,” you said firmly, squeezing his hand gently. “To make the most of us getting out, we owe it to them.” Dae-ho silently nodded, the thick atmosphere slowly leaving.

As the evening progressed, you lost track of time, so caught up in the warmth of shared smiles and nervous laughter. You could hardly believe this was the same man who stepped up and took initiative at every rough point during the games, willing to sacrifice himself for everyone's safety.

The night ended slowly as Dae-ho walked you outside to your car. The stars twinkled like tiny beacons in the dark sky above. “It feels different tonight, doesn’t it?” you said, glancing up at the stars. “Yeah, it really does,” he replied, his voice soft but full of warmth.

As you strolled along, flowers in hand, you both shared stories from before you met, your voices mixing with the soft hum of the night. Every smile and nervous chuckle made you feel a little lighter. You realized how much you valued this moment, this time together, away from the chaos and pain that had once consumed you both.

You exchanged glances, and you both understood something unspoken between you. “I never thought I could feel this way again,” you said, a hint of vulnerability in your voice. Dae-ho stepped closer, his gaze steady. “Neither did I. But I’m glad we’re here together.”

Finally, you paused beneath a big, ancient tree. Its branches stretched out like arms, swallowing you both in its shadow. Dae-ho turned to you, his eyes beaming in the starlight. His stare locked onto yours, and he took a step closer, face inches from yours.

"I wish this could last forever baby, I love you." he whispered, breath caressing your skin. Then, without another word, he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, gentle kiss. You felt a spark of connection, and your heart skipped a beat as you kissed him back, the warmth of his lips sending shivers down your spine. The kiss deepened, and everything else faded away, leaving only the two of you, lost in the sweetness of the moment.

As the kiss lingered, time itself seemed to stand still, the world around you fading into a beautiful blur. When you finally pulled away, his eyes searched yours, a mix of desperation and love radiating from him. "Whatever happens, I'll always be here" he said softly, his hand still cradling your face. You smiled, knowing that no matter where life took you, this memory would be a cherished part of your story, a promise of what could be.

[siriuslylantsov]

morning glory

pairing: spencer reid x reader

description: following the events of drunken confessions. the next morning after spencer tells you he loves you, albeit drunk and half asleep, you don't know if he means it.

tags: fluff, gn!reader, hangover but i dont dwell on it, whiny!spencer (lol), so so soft, r is so unsure but she just needs reassurance.

a/n: omg my first pt 2 as per popular demand (3 people asked), happy reading!

wc: 1.6k

i love you. 

three words that bounce from one end to the other in your head, like a pendulum, reverberating across the hard surface of your skull. it echoes through the small space of your ear canal, taking up entirely too much space. it repeats with the beat of your pulse, heart thudding in a steady rhythm. 

suffice it to say, you barely slept. running the words over and over for some kind of clarity. instead you preoccupied yourself with watching spencer sleep, like you are now.

with the sunrise, came light. light that filtered through the curtains just enough that you could see his face. his lips are slightly parted, soft puffs of air that don’t quite reach you. they’re pulled down minutely, in a little frown, seemingly how his face falls when he's unconscious. it's sweet. his eyebrows twitch, creasing momentarily, you wonder if he’s dreaming, or if it's a nightmare. 

your fingers itch to reach out and touch him, soothe the line. but he's so peaceful, you don't know if you want to wake him up. you never get to see him like this, without the weight of the world on his shoulders, unthinking. so you stall a bit, let the wave of serenity pass before it comes crashing down in the form of a violent hangover. 

you probably stay like that for an hour, an hour spent admiring his features. it's easier than confronting what he said. he’d stayed in the same position all night, curled up on his side, facing you. you’re leaning on your elbow now, looking down at him from above. his face moves, nuzzling into the pillow beneath his head. it causes that same stubborn strand of hair to fall loose. 

you give in and touch him this time, tucking the piece behind his ear. you trace a finger over his brow bone and then down the slope of his perfect nose. this causes him to stir, eyes fluttering open as he takes in his surroundings before they land on you. they instantly soften.

“morning,” you whisper, wary of your volume.

“hey,” he croaks, voice riddled in sleep. all his features pull up, twisted in a grimace as his head throbs. he rolls onto his back, bringing his fingers up to his temple, rubbing the pads of them in between his eyebrows. 

“where's your aspirin?” 

he hums in thought, or in pain, it's uncertain. “the um- drawer,” he points beside him aimlessly, eyes still closed. he's about to move to get it but you stop him, leaning over his body to reach the bedside table next to him. you reach over him, hovering awkwardly over his body. you shiver imperceptibly when his hand settles on your waist for support, an unconscious action, you suppose. when you find it, you give him a pill and he swallows, his hand falls back to his side.

“what time is it?” he grumbles.

“quarter to twelve,” you respond, barring a quick look at the analog clock that sat on his dresser. 

he harrumphs, something of acknowledgement. you didn’t think he’d be this grumpy waking up but you don't mind, it's awfully cute.

“it’s so bright,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut further, if possible. 

“your eyes are closed.”

“my retinas are burning,” he whines, throwing his arm over his eyes to shield him from the sunlight in a thespian flourish. 

“so dramatic,” you huff as you get up to close the curtains, the smile in your voice irrefutably evident. you peek out the window first, your car is still parked outside, you stayed the night!

when you sit back down on the bed, his head seeks you out, laying gently on your lap. you card a hand through his hair, the action seemingly appropriate. he lets out a hum, satisfied.

“do you remember much from last night?” you ask, trying to come off casual, the question is loaded to say the least. plus, you don't know if alcohol affects an eidetic memory the same way. maybe he remembers everything, like always.

“no,” he says with a little shrug. “well, i remember going to the bar and morgan spilling a shot on his shirt but that's it.”

oh. so not that differently.

“well, i'm sure he’ll appreciate you remembering that,” you chuckle, ruffling his hair. with a long sigh, you decide to not bring it up. it’ll come back to him, surely. you’ll wait for him to come to you about it. 

you lift his head off your lap and let him sink back into the pillows. “how about you freshen up and i’ll make you some toast?”

his eyes peek open, barely. “yes please,” he replies meekly, a small smile in tow.

-

you put slices of bread into the toaster on his counter, leaning against it as you wait. what happens if he doesn't remember? will you tell him? how do you even bring that up?

hey spencer! last night you told me you love me. do you?

the loud spring of the toaster startles you back to the moment. behind his bedroom door, you can hear the faint sound of his shower running and you remember you’re still in his clothes. god, you're gonna have to wear yesterday's clothes back home. you mindlessly take the hot toast out and set it on a plate, wincing when you hold them for too long. you put 2 more slices of bread in, for you of course. 

you decide to make some eggs too, pulling the carton out of the fridge and getting a pan from beside his sink. you move with surprising ease through his kitchen, like you’d been there before. you haven't, but again, it's so easy with spencer, it apparently extends to his home too. you hum absentmindedly, cracking an egg into a bowl and beating it with a fork. you don’t know it yet but spencer's watching you, having finished his shower.

-

it all comes back to him slowly, as he puts on a new change of clothes, skin still a little damp.

asking penelope for a drink, drinking it, thinking, thinking about you, you showing up? maybe he was magic. you sitting with him, talking to him, taking him home. he remembers stumbling up the stairs, his arm thrown haphazardly over your shoulders and yours hooked around his waist.

“you're so nice, y’know?” 

“yeah? you won't think so tomorrow morning.”

you tucked him in, stayed when he asked you to. you told him about your breakup and he told you, oh, he told you he loved you.

shit. 

he has to make this right. he's quick to feed his arm into the last sleeve and walk out of his room. however, he stops when he sees you. swaying lightly, humming a tune he recognises from last night, standing there in his clothes. he thinks he might die. clearly, he wasn’t paying much at all when he woke up earlier. damn headache. 

-

“i told you i loved you.”

your head snaps in his direction, unaware of his presence. you jump a little before calming. “yeah... you did,” you confirm, trying to keep your tone light. it wasn't a question but you still answer. he remembers.

“and you told me to tell you again when i wake up,” he recalls.

you chuckle quietly, “i didn't realise you heard that.”

“i did.”

you nod, slowly, expectantly, for him to say something else, anything else. 

“i love you.” there it is.

“you mean that?” your voice comes out way smaller than you intended. he still hasn't moved.

“of course i do,” he says with a sigh, inching his way closer. you look like you're going to spook.

“okay,” you breathe, looking down at your fingers, you begin to ramble. “it's just, last night- you were drunk and sleepy and well, tired and i didnt know if you were being honest or just saying it on whim.” 

he's suddenly in front of you and you can't look at him. he's fine with that, it makes it slightly easier.

“hey, i mean it. i love you. i’m sorry i said it how i did, it wasn't fair. and you don't have to say anything back, i just- want you to know.”

you look up at him now, eyes searching, and when you find sincerity in his eyes, you soften, muttering out a quiet “okay.” your lips twist to the side, trying not to smile, but glee fills out every nook and cranny of your body. he takes this as a good sign and lets out the breath he didn't realise he was holding, smiling back at you.

“so,” you start, seemingly casual. “how do you take your eggs?”

spencer laughs, amused by your change in topic. he nods toward the bowl of already beaten eggs, “scrambled.”

you nod, firmly. you pick up the bowl and move to the stovetop, but not before grabbing his fingers with your free hand and pulling him with you. 

your thumb glides along the curve of his forefinger as you hold it between your bodies, waiting for the pan to heat up. you’re biting your lip so much, you think you might draw blood. you’re unbearably happy. and you think you’re doing a good job of hiding it but you’re not. spencer can see the way you giddily twitch by his side, opting on not saying anything about it as he smiles softly.

“you love me,” you tease, singsong, dragging out the ‘love’. your head leans against his shoulder. 

“mhm,” he confirms. ”you’re never gonna let me live this down, huh?”

“nope,” you chirp, pressing a chaste kiss to his shirt.

reblogs and replies are appreciated | m.list

[parfaitblogs]

fresh out the slammer ❀ s. reid x reader

in which spencer reid comes home from prison, and needs to fulfil everything he has missed about you. 

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: smut & comfort (18+ mdni) tags: post prison!reid. soft dom!spencer. teeth might rot i was cringing during some of this. established relationship. the briefest of breast play because what do i hate? the word nipple! fingering. p in v. no protection is mentioned but imagine what you will. casual nudity afterwards. spencer's got bruises from prison. i lowkey forgot about his thigh wound until the very end.  word count: 5.7k a/n: there's a completely different version of me in a world where i didn't write this. i hope she's doing well. i feel like i've been reborn. this is stupidly long LOL my apologies. pleaseee tell me if you liked this! or if you didn't! i love feedback! here's my monthly smut fic see you all in october!

Three months wasn't a long time, in the grand scheme of things. A quarter of a year usually went by too quickly for anybody's liking, the year sprinting through seasons until all twelve months were complete, and you were repeating it all over again. Usually. Three months without Spencer Reid, however, went by achingly slowly. And you hadn't originally considered just how agonising they could be. 

Each day was another painful mirror of the last, waking up and going to bed with the same sense of dread in your stomach, oftentimes swallowing you whole and leaving you unable to do just about anything at all. 

Living life without Spencer Reid was hard.

You saw him — of course you did. Despite his original efforts to keep you off the approved visitors list, Penelope Garcia had seen one glimpse of your heart shattered expression upon being told, and marched her way to the prison to slap sense into him. You weren't sure if that was metaphoric or not. 

However, seeing him once every other week and living with him were two very different situations. You hadn't realised just how much you had depended on him always being there when you woke up in the morning until you were waking up to cold bed sheets and a pillow clutched petulantly to your chest in hopes of recreating the warmth only Spencer could provide. 

And then he was free. 

From prison, that is. You hadn't heard it all — information about his time in prison had been kept from you in an attempt to protect your own peace of mind. But you knew from at least the bruises he was always sporting no matter when you went to visit him, that something awful had happened to him in there, and his own brain would keep him imprisoned for as long as it wished. 

But he was free.

And he was here, and you were staring up at his face littered with unkempt facial hair and a head of untreated curls, and regardless of everything horrific he had endured brewing behind his eyes, he was staring at you with the same softness he had before any of this happened. 

Despite the beginning of a protest when you wrapped your arms around his torso, you hugged him, and he hugged you, and even the faintest smell of grime and blood couldn't stop you from gripping onto him with so much force you thought your knuckles would break. 

"You're real," you whispered into his chest, muffled by it, and it shook beneath your face as he laughed, quietly. Beautifully.

"I am," he answered, and you could feel him crushing his own facial features into the top of your head, no doubt inhaling your shampoo. "You're real."

"Yes," you confirmed with a nod.

Maybe hours passed, perhaps only minutes. Whichever it was, you were still reluctant to pull away from him until he did, your face stained with tear streaks you don't remember shedding, his own eyes glassy as your gazes met. 

"You don't want to talk about it, do you?" you asked him, walking backwards as you led him out of the doorway you two had been finding solace in, and further into the apartment space you were ecstatic to share together again. 

"Not particularly," he answered, strides catching up to you and encasing your waist between his hands, tugging your body closer to his own. "Is that okay?"

"As long as you promise not to keep it in," you replied, teeth chewing into your lower lip in a contemplative habit. 

"I have counselling at work," he said, and you nodded, your facial features softening only a little — you knew him well enough to know he wouldn't enjoy said counselling sessions. Breath tickled your lips as he leaned in a little closer, inciting heat onto your cheeks. "Any other questions?"

"No," you replied, your own lips twitching in amusement. "That's it. Why?"

"Because I haven't kissed you in three months," he murmured, "and I want to."

"Maybe," you said with a hum, and he said your name chidingly, eliciting a laugh from you. "Yeah. Okay."

To be honest, you had spent a few too many nights allowing your thoughts to wander and end up dreaming about what it would be like to kiss him again. Whether or not either of you would have the patience to be gentle and kind to one another. In those nights, you had decided you would be. Your heart cracking every time you thought of Spencer alone in a concrete cell that it left you with a gaping hole in your chest. All you really wanted was to hold him and remind him how adored he was. 

Right now, you learned you wouldn't be. 

There was a tenderness in the way his hands found your cheeks to cup, and there was a softness in his fingertips against your skin. Yet, everything he kissed with was anything but. Feverish and quick, swallowing you whole and inspiring a spark in your chest that resulted in you kissing back just as hungry. 

Just when you thought there was nothing left to trigger within him, a squeak left your lips as the result of him tugging you impossibly closer, and he was beginning to walk you backwards, even further into the apartment, his kiss growing all consuming. 

"Spencer," you said, breathlessly, jerking your head back, staring at him, waiting for him to realise you weren't returning your lips to his, and his eyes opened. 

"What?" he asked, almost irritatedly. When he watched the slight flicker of hurt flash on your face at the tone, his own expression became gentler. "I'm sorry. Is something wrong?"

Immediately, you shook your head. "No. I just wanted to check how far you wanted to go," your hands travelled up to his hair, fingers scratching gently against his scalp. "I know there's a lot going on up here."

"Actually, right now it's just you," he said, tilting a head to the side to lean into one of your palms. "It's mostly you all the time. But right now you're consuming it."

"I make such an impact on your life," you quipped. 

"I know you're teasing, but you do," he replied, fingers tracing up and down either side of your jawline, eyes searching each small detail on your face he had no doubt already memorised. "I survived in there for you."

"Oh."

Probably not the most eloquent response for the things he had just confessed, but truly your brain had scrambled within an instant, and you weren't sure what to say.

"Sorry," he said, hands stilling on your face. "To answer your question, I don't know. I really missed you."

"I know," you said when a gaping silence followed his words. "We don't have to."

"I think I want to."

Your eyebrows furrowed. "You can't think, Spence. You've gotta know."

"I've definitely said that to you before," he chided, thinking for a moment, before, "yes. I did. First time we had sex."

"Sue me for repeating important sexual advice to you, Spencer Reid," you huffed. He laughed. 

"No, I mean, I do. Want to," he finally replied. "I'm really scared of hurting you."

"Do you want to hurt me?"

"No."

"Then you won't," you reassured him, despite knowing whatever doubt he had in himself would not be resolved just like that, and it'll probably eat at his mind for a long while. "And even if you do, I won't be upset with you." When his face scrunched and his expression mirrored judgement, you stammered to clarify. "Not in a kinky way. Don't look at me like that, Spencer. Stop it. I just meant I'll understand. And I won't be mad."

"Didn't take you to be into masochism," he mumbled, and you groaned at his selective hearing, dropping your forehead to his shoulder, that shook with his laughter. "Kidding, honey. I know what you mean."

"Not funny."

"It was a little," he countered, a hand reaching up to entangle within your hair to pull your head back, gently, so he could look at you again. 

"Hi," you said when your eyes locked once more. 

"Hello," he answered, his lips pulling into a smile. "I'd like to kiss you again."

"You've used up your kiss for the day, actually," you replied, sweetly beaming up at him. 

"Quiet," he shot back, leaning forwards and allowing his lips to brush hesitantly against yours, eyes searching your own with an added hint of desperation. "Please?"

You pretended to think for a moment too long, because he was already mumbling something that sounded a little like 'brat', and pressed his mouth to yours once more. 

You couldn't complain. 

It was the same intensity as earlier, and yet there was something in it that differentiated the homesickness of the kiss from then, and the desperation now. Large hands — that you would probably allow to encase you whole — pathetically held your face lightly, hips knocking with yours as he walked you backwards and up against the back of the couch. 

"Spence," you whimpered embarrassingly, hands clawing at the sleeves of his suit jacket, trialling and failing at tugging it off his body. 

"I got you, sweet girl," he mumbled against your lips, not breaking the kiss for even a second as he helped you, shrugging the jacket off and allowing it to fall to the floor — something he will certainly chastise himself for later. 

"Bedroom," you said, in between heavy breaths and feverish kisses. A request he was more than happy to comply to, for he had nodded, and you were instantaneously tugging on one of his hands in the direction of the room, his eyes fixated on your body as he trailed behind. 

"Missed you so much," he murmured as he tugged you back towards him the second he had kicked the door shut, lips finding the corner of your mouth, then your jawline, then your neck, as he kissed down you. 

"So you've said," you breathed out, tilting your head to the side as he gently nipped at the skin. 

"Do you get off on being mean to me?" he chided, lifting his head to look at you again, and your heart stuttered. 

"No. Just that dominance act that it brings out," you murmured, attempting to keep the mood light. Successfully so, for air huffed out of his nose as his lips twitched, fingers that had dropped to your waist squeezing it gently. In unresolved doubt, you added, "I missed you too. Don't worry."

"I'm not," he replied, and the weight lifted off your shoulders. "Lie down."

"So demanding," you teased, though his tone was anything but firm.

You were met with an unimpressed look, and you merely grinned back as you climbed onto the bed, sitting cross legged atop it, staring up at him expectingly.

Instead of moving over you like you had expected, he crouched at the foot of the bed, holding his hands out on the mattress in front of you. Needing no more than the simple gesture, you untangled your legs and stretched them out in front of you, and he tugged you down towards the end of the bed, breath hitting the skin of your thighs deliciously. 

"I'm supposed to be making you feel good," you argued when his fingers trailed up the sides of your legs, finding the waistband of your pyjama shorts.

"Why?" he questioned, halting his movements as he searched your face. 

"Because you're the one who just got out of prison," his face scrunched at the verbal reminder. "Sorry. But... yeah. I have thought about making you come the day you got home like daily."

"Oh have you?" his eyebrows shot up, and it was then that your brain caught up to your running mouth, and your cheeks heated up. 

"Nope. Forget I said anything."

"No," he pushed himself up from the floor, moving his body over yours on the bed, successfully forcing you to lie back. "Tell me those thoughts."

"Spencer," you moaned, shaking your head as you buried your face into your hands, that he was a little too quick to catch and pry away. 

"I'm not going to judge you," he said, amused. "In fact, I aspire to know every single thought there is up in that pretty head of yours. Especially the ones about me. Please tell me."

"I just thought about making you come. There's nothing more exciting to it."

"Yes, but how?" 

"My mouth, I guess," you mumbled, voice going impossibly quiet. "I don't know."

"You're acting like you have never given me oral," he said, catching your gaze within milliseconds of you averting it, thumb and forefinger straightening your head again. 

"Nobody says oral, Spencer. Say head," your own face now scrunched up. 

"Lots of people say oral," he defended. 

"Yeah, old people. We are not old people."

"Fine, you're acting like you have never given me head." 

Despite it being a jab at him to take the heat off of you, the phrase coming out from his lips sounded exceptionally vulgar for what it was, and it only resulted in your stomach flipping. 

Finally, you regained some control over your own thoughts, and you found it in you to reply. "That's what I want to do. Because I want to make you feel good."

"You underestimate how much I gain from making you feel good," he countered, fingers lazily caressing the skin of your jaw as his eyes studied your face with an intensity that had your stomach flipping. 

"It cannot be as good as an orgasm," you huffed, stubbornly so. 

He nipped at your nose. "It is."

"Can we compromise?" 

"So you don't want me to give you oral?" his eyebrows rose. 

In every other situation, you would not be fighting him on this. In fact, he would probably have already gotten his foreplay of teasing and teetering you on the edge out of the way by now, and you'd be well and truly content. However, the forefront of your mind was still plagued by how little time Spencer had to take care of himself, and the last thing you needed him to be was at your service. Despite his protests. 

"Head," you corrected. "And no."

He searched for remnants of a lie for a few beats longer, before he nodded his head, giving in. "What's your compromise, honey?"

"I don't think there's a sexy way to say to just put it in me," you said, and his lips curled up into an amused smile, followed by a huff of laughter. 

"No, I don't think there is," he agreed. "I do think anything you say can be sexy, though."

You pulled a face, and you shook your head. "No. Don't say that ever again either."

"I can't compliment you, I can't give you ora—head," he rattled off. "Is there anything good I get out of this?"

"You get to fuck me?" you batted your eyelashes up at him. 

"Such vulgar language," he chastised, ducking his head when a hand of yours rose to swat him. 

Despite himself, his head had dropped to the crook of your neck, and he had begun placing feather like kisses along the skin that distracted you just enough to drop your hand back to the mattress beneath you.

Any other day, and you'd probably still be bickering with him until the minute he made you come. However, three months without even the faintest of touches from him left you overwhelmed with everything he did to you, and so the gentle kisses trailing down to the collar of your shirt were enough to destroy any coherent thoughts you could have. 

Cautiously, and with a touch so delicate, Spencer lifted your — his — shirt up your abdomen, fingertips leaving behind the warmest of trails as they skimmed along your skin. One quiet whine from you was all it took for him to hurry his teasing along, and soon enough your shirt was discarded. 

A quiet, sharp inhale of air was the other sound aside from your quickened breathing, and you felt tears sting your vision as another kiss was placed just below your now exposed collarbone. 

The time without you seemed to weigh nothing in his mind as he took every inch of you in separately, lips mapping out your body like it was the first time all over again, though still knowing exactly when to pause and pay attention to for the sweetest of sounds to be ripped from your throat. 

He liked to hear you. 

Fingers found your waist as his lips kissed down your sternum, then back up and over until they reached your nipple. He spent time on each breast, ignoring your impatient whining as he neglected the rest of you for a few minutes too long (in your opinion).

"Spencer," you scolded, and it was all it took for him to accept you were not in the mood to wait, and for him to decide he wasn't either. 

"Sorry, honey," he replied, voice impossibly soft as he returned his lips to your face, a kiss pressed to the corner of your mouth as his fingers found your shorts again. "Can I take these off?"

"I think we're incredibly out of balance," you replied. And though there wasn't really anything wrong with the sentence — you had certainly said it before — he still pulled back, an unrecognisable grey clouding his eyes. "What?"

"I want to keep my shirt on," was his response, the words inciting confusion to your face. 

"What? Why?"

"Do I need a reason?"

You wanted to scream that yes, he did. But did he? Wordlessly, you shook your head, but it didn't help the pang of worry in your chest. 

"Unless there's something like an embarrassing tattoo, I'm not going to judge you," you decided to say instead. "Did you get an embarrassing tattoo in prison?"

"No," he shook his head, and you were comforted by the amusement in his tone. "I didn't have the best time in prison."

"I know," you replied.

"And I wasn't very liked. By the men in there."

You knew that too, to an extent. You knew the bruises on his face weren't self inflicted. "You're liked by me."

"I know, sweet girl," a heart shatteringly sad smile stretched across his face as a hand lifted to your cheek. "It just isn't very pretty. And I don't want you to worry."

Well, now you were. Regardless, you nodded your head, turning your head to the side so you could kiss the palm of the hand on your face. "I won't worry, then."

"I want to keep my shirt on. Can that please be okay with you?" 

Silently, and after a debate inside your brain, you nodded your head. Gratefully, he pecked your lips once more, before his focus shifted back to you and your body. 

"Shorts. Can I take them off?" he asked, again.

"Yes."

"Thank you."

His fingers collected the fabric of your shorts' waistband, and gently pulled them down your legs, cool air washing over you despite the final leftover article of clothing on your body. You shivered, and you could hear him mumbling nearly incoherent apologies as he kissed your stomach.

"These too?" he then asked, eyes flickering between your face for confirmation, and the pair of underwear you still had residing on your body. You nodded your head, and he pulled them down too.

You do not remember a time ever fearing being naked beneath Spencer Reid's gaze, and that did not change even now, as an arguably different man drank in your entire body, the love he had for you not having wavered despite the passing of time. 

And you certainly did not fear the way one of his hands slid up your leg, seemingly soothingly, until it teetered on the edge of too far up the limb to be innocent, and he was intensely watching your face for every reaction you could possibly make. 

Achingly gently, his middle finger ran up the centre, collecting arousal you hadn't realised was there and knuckle gently bumping your clit, eliciting a quiet mewl from you. You watched him smile at the sound, dragging his finger back down, gathering more of your arousal until he was pushing the finger in.

Your eyes fluttered shut, the feeling oh so familiar, and yet seemingly foreign all at once. Too long, you decided then. Three months is too long.

Leaning back down, his lips brushed your jawline, the otherwise odd sensation of there being something — someone — inside of you balancing out with the pleasure that came from the comfort of it being him. And of course the delicate circles his thumb had begun to draw on your clit. 

"Did you do this while I was in prison?" he asked you, lips moving against your skin. 

"Touch myself?" 

"Mhm."

"Yeah," you said, voice breathless. "Was never good, though."

"No?" he asked, curling his finger inside of you and tugging a louder moan from your throat. "Why not?"

"Just never felt as nice. Not like you."

"Oh. I'm sorry, angel," he murmured, pulling his lips away so he could look at you again. Though, your eyes were still planted shut. "I'll make up for it then, yeah?"

You feverishly nodded your head, and he laughed. Fulfilling his promise, he sped up the motions of his finger and thumb, your hands grabbing ahold of fistfuls of the sheets, in hopes that it will provide some comfort from the overwhelming feeling of Spencer touching you again. 

"Can I add another finger?" he asked, and though slightly hesitant, you nodded your head. 

He waited a beat longer before fulfilling your request, and there was something obscene about how easily another finger entered you. Though, Spencer thought it was pretty, and your back arching was pretty, and yes, he had missed this and he had missed you and he was biting his tongue from telling you that all over again. 

"Spencer," a delicately breathy whine left your lips when the heel of his palm collided with your clit — thumb long forgotten once he had gotten distracted with thrusting fingers in and out of you. 

"Hm?"

Your eyes fluttered open to meet his, the kindest smile on his face reminding you just how much he adored you, and your heart sporadically beat in your chest. When you didn't say anything else, he quickened his ministrations, eliciting more whines and moans.

"Is two orgasms too much for tonight?" he asked you, the question seemingly innocent regardless of both it's undertones, and what he was currently doing to you. 

In hindsight you should've probably said yes. It most certainly would've hurried things along to something he would enjoy as much as you. However, if Spencer Reid fingering you was a religion, you were an eternally loyal follower, and you would do anything to keep him there for as long as you could. 

So you shook your head, murmuring a quiet, "No. I can do two," and allowing him to fasten his fingers once more. 

Fingers found and massaged that spot inside of you he had probably engrained into his brain, and he was leaning down to swallow the loud moan that followed from the feeling. Practiced motions tore the same sounds from your throat as he repeatedly brushed up against it, until your eyes were forced to squeeze shut once more, and hands that were once seeking solace in the sheets, found his wrist and wrapped around it. 

"I can't move if you're going to keep my arm locked up, angel," he said when your nails dug into his wrist, lips smiling against your skin. 

A few short jerks of his hand convinced you to let go of the death grip you had on him, instead returning them to the mattress.

Then he was doing that motion again, and again, and you were silently praying he would never stop. Although, if your moans were any indication to where you were at — and they were — Spencer wouldn't. 

Your hips bucking told him more than he needed to know, and the absence of his body above you when he lay down on the bed next to you was long forgotten when a splayed hand on your abdomen pushed you back down into the mattress, your heart stuttering at the feeling. 

Gentle whines of his name, and a repeated mantra of 'please, please, please' was the only thing your otherwise dismantled brain could come up with, and Spencer was relishing in the knowledge that he was doing this to you. And though it is something he knows he's done before, it had been far too long since and the reminder was always welcome. 

"I know, sweet girl," he said against you when your eyes came open and searched his desperately, walls fluttering around his fingers indicating just how close you were. 

"Please don't stop."

"I won't," he confirmed, punctuating the promise with his thumb returning to your clit. He had your best interest in mind — you knew that. He now wouldn't stop even if you begged him to. 

Overwhelming seemed too insignificant of a word to describe what you felt like when you came, nerve endings all over your body sparking, instead of just the ones he was stimulating. 

His thumb rubbing circles and his fingers thrusting in and out of you didn't falter until your shaking body had stilled and your strings of moans had diminished, slowly coming to a stop and leaving your body — seemingly — as fast as they had entered. 

The content smile on your face was interrupted with Spencer's hand lifting to your lips, and instinctively you parted them, already knowing exactly what he was after. 

His middle and ring fingers entered your mouth, and your face scrunched up despite yourself as you tasted yourself on them. He laughed at that — of course he did — and pulled them out soon after. 

"You do that every time," he murmured, hair tickling your skin as he placed open mouthed kisses over your shoulder, up towards your neck. 

"It tastes weird," you argued, and his teeth nipping your skin told you he disagreed. Though, he wasn't in the mood to argue, for he didn't say anything else on the matter. 

"Still got it in you for one more?" he asked you, pulling his head back so he could see you once again. 

"Yes."

"Good."

Your eyes watched him even as he rolled back to take his pants off, and the awkward smile he gave you provided the inkling of comfort that there was still the man from three months prior in there. 

"I really missed you, you know?" This time it was you saying it, piercing the air as his hand came down between your thighs to part them. The head of his cock nudged against you, brushing delicately through your folds and eliciting a quiet whimper from your lips. 

"I know," he answered, pressing kisses on your shoulder once more. "Are you okay?"

"Me? Yeah. I'm fine," you confirmed with a nod, confusion crossing your features all up until you learned why he was asking. 

A broken moan, choked and caught in your throat, left you when he painstakingly slowly pushed inside of you. There's not a lot going on inside your mind when he stops, your entire body aflame and equally desperate for more, as you were for him to take a moment here. 

"I love you," he breathed out, the words hurried and encouraging your heart to speed up, and your mind to melt even more. 

"I love you too," you said back, voice just as quiet, gently nudging hips ushering for him to move. 

"Impatient girl," he muttered, but you smiled nonetheless because he did (move). 

His thrusts were slow, and gentle, but you never truly minded how much time he took with you once you two were here. Even more so now, for you were on the same page as him, and you wanted to savour every single moment of this down to the second. 

A whimper left your lips, followed closely by the desperate whisper of his name, and lips that were still resting against your shoulder smiled. 

"I thought about this a lot," he said to you, his hand that was holding your thighs slightly open sliding up to find your clit. "I definitely shouldn't have."

"Why?" You knew why, but the thought of hearing him answer it aloud excited you a little. 

Unfortunately, he knew you better than that. "Don't play coy. You know why, honey."

"You're cruel," you huffed, and he laughed, rolling his hips to meet yours, earning another moan. "Maybe I don't."

"Use that wonderful imagination of yours, then," he answered, rubbing your clit at the same time as he moved his hips once more, effortlessly rendering you unable to respond to him again. 

A teenage boy probably could've lasted longer than the both of you, but you decided to blame it all on your already sensitive nerves from a prior orgasm, and the fact that Spencer Reid had not had you like this for over 2190 hours (not that he was counting).

Whimpers escaped your throat as he kept his hips thrusting into you at an achingly slow pace, while his fingers working on your clit did anything but. It was an aching juxtaposition that left you reeling for more, and Spencer was now the one shutting his eyes so he could hold onto some semblance of composure. 

"Spencer," you pleaded, and it was a quiet moan from behind you that told you he was exactly where you were. 

"I know, honey," he replied, the desperation in his voice jumpstarting your heart. "Need to come, yeah?"

"Mmhm," you nodded your head quickly, breathlessly moaning. "Please."

"You're going to. Don't worry. Don't need to beg, sweet girl."

Commingled moans and obscenely wet noises filled the air, and your hips stuttered as your stomach twisted into knots. 

Chanting his name like a prayer, you meet him wherever your two souls go in that moment, and it's a shuddering feeling as you come at the same time as him. For the first time in forever. 

His hand drops back to your thigh and he massages the muscles there gently, willing himself to stop before he crossed the line of overstimulation — not that you think you'd complain about that. 

There was an emptiness when he pulled out, but then he was kissing you again to make up for it, and you were smiling against his lips as you kissed him back. This time, without the fever. 

"How're you feeling?" he asked you, quietly. 

"Happy," you answered, forcing your heavy eyelids open when he pulled back. "How are you feeling?"

"Also happy," he agreed, and your heart soared. 

"Good."

"You need to go pee," he said, placing another kiss on your cheek, before he leaned his body away entirely. 

"Help?"

Arguably, you could do it yourself. Your limbs were tired, yes, and your mind was melting, but you were coherent enough to brave it alone. 

Thankfully, you didn't have to. 

He carried you to the bathroom, running the bath water after you had silently begged him for it with your eyes (looking between him and the empty bath with wide eyes and a jutted lip worked wonders), and leaving you to pee. 

"Are you getting in with me?" you asked him as wobbly legs akin to a fawn carried you over to the now full and steaming bathtub. 

"Do you want me to?"

Hesitantly, you nodded your head, fidgeting with your fingers in front of you. "But you'd have to take your shirt off. So you don't have to."

He studied your face for a moment longer, before he nodded, and fingers expertly worked at unbuttoning down the shirt. 

"I'm okay now. That's the important thing you have to remember, okay?" his words provided little comfort, but you nodded your head regardless. 

You had a suspicion already of what sight you were going to be met with, but it didn't stop the guilt settling into your chest when the shirt fell to the floor anyways. 

"Spence," you murmured, taking a hesitant step forwards, heart falling to your stomach. 

Bruises littered the skin, some fresh and still purple, others nearly healed and yellowing. But there were so many, and it was then that you were swallowing the rest of him in with your eyes, catching the bandage on his thigh. 

"What is that?" you nodded towards the covered wound, and when your eyes returned to his face again, he was staring at you with an unreadable expression. 

"A lot happened," he answered, quietly, before repeating, "I'm okay now."

You nodded your head, tears stinging your vision for nothing more than your ridiculous amount of empathy. "Can you tell me about it?"

"I will," he promised. "Eventually. Just not now, okay? I haven't processed it all yet."

"Okay," you replied, and his heart shattered at the sight of a tear slipping down your face. 

"Hey," he took ahold of your hand and tugged you closer to him, fingers running through your hair and resting at the base of your scalp. "I promise, honey. I'm not going to disintegrate from a few bruises."

"It isn't just a few," you answered, voice wavering. "There's so many."

"You have a heart too big for your chest," he decided to say instead, leaning down to rest his forehead against yours. "Most of them don't even hurt now. Please believe me when I say I'm okay."

"I'm trying," your voice is thick with a sob caught in your throat. "I think I'm just really tired."

"Yeah," he crooned, agreeing. "Your body's released a lot of prolactin, which encourages sleep. Alongside the endorphins and dopamine that you're crashing from upon seeing this."

Wordlessly, you nodded your head, and he kissed the tip of your nose in an attempt to comfort. 

"Bath, then we can sleep, and we can talk more in the morning," he listed off, and you merely nodded your head once more, sniffling and wiping your eyes. 

"Okay."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[honeybubblebeeeeee]

Arranged marriage AU!Toji x Reader

Summary: Your son with toji, Megumi, said his first words today

CW: toji is cold and distant mostly hurt and no comfort mild fluff i guess??

Idk this was a random thought and now its here

REQUESTS OPEN!

Marriages were not always done out of love. Some were done out of necessity or desperation. Much like the one you were currently in. It was necessity of clans and land squabbles and power hungry old men that didn't care for the feelings of those around them - only getting what they want.

And in your case they got what they wanted. Did you get anything you wanted? Well kinda.

Being in an arranged marriage to Toji wasn't the worst thing to happen to you. It could be worse but it could also be much, much better.

You had known each other since you were children as it was planned from a young age that you two were to be married. You hadn't minded. Toji was attractive and you had a mini crush on him for the longest time but he always detested you. You knew of the numerous women he had slept with before your marriage, having run into them multiple times. It felt like he was trying to push you away, to force you to beg for an out but you both knew that wasn't happening.

You had only been married for a short time now almost two years. It had been mostly uneventful in the name of new marriages aside from - ya know - the whole baby you had. Toji and you were told to waste no time in trying to produce an heir and really that was the only Toji showed you any affection. Outside of those moments he was cold and inattentive. Those moments were only out of the necessity to reproduce anyway. He didn't interact with your son Megumi very much either.

You cleaned up the kitchen after dinner in your large but yet lonely house. Toji was still out. Work or something else you weren't sure. Megumi babbled and bounced as he watched you move around the kitchen from his highchair, music played in the background. You smiled at him as he babbled. "Hi 'Gumi." You waved at him smiling wide. He laughed giddly at your voice, his mop of black hair bouncing with his movements.

He was the happiest and the cutest baby you had ever seen. You were more than proud of yourself. It was only mildly hurtful that Megumi was identical to Toji. His dark hair, his facial structure screamed Toji. The only thing he had gotten from you was your eyes. They reflected back at you as you approached the bouncing baby putting him on your hip.

You danced along to he music, bouncing him around as he laughed and babbled.

You put him down on the floor as you turned off the music. He continued babbling to himself as he crawled around. "Dadadadadada"

You turned almost comically slow to look down at your son. "What?!" Your smile was wide and your face was full of surprise.

Megumi babbled on again almost coherently. "dadadadadada"

You were so in shock you could barely move. Picking him up and swiftly sitting him on the counter. "Gumi did you say dada?! Say it again! Say dada."

Megumi laughed and babbled at you. You repeated the word multiple times, he watched intently his mouth moving as if trying to copy you. More coherent this time. "Dada"

You smiled wide and clapped at him. "Good job Megumi!! Oh my we have to tell Dada don't we? Such a smart boy."

Within the same moment Toji burst through the front door. You looked up at him as he passed by the kitchen, not even taking off his shoes before going to stomp up the stairs. "Toji! Oh my gosh come here Megumi just-"

"Leave me alone." He marched up the stairs. You heard his footsteps through the house and his bedroom door slammed. You looked down at Megumi as his small hands held onto your shirt and he looked up at you with big eyes. "Dada." You smiled softly at him. "Yeah baby... dada." Looking towards the stairs as if seeing him stomp up to them all over again.

Hours went by and he never came back down. You texted him that his dinner was in the fridge, that you wanted to show him something, that you were here for him if he needed anything, that you were sorry he had a bad day and he never answered or even read a single message.

Since figuring out he could say 'dada' Megumi had not stopped repeating it. You knew it wasn't to annoy you but you couldn't help feel a pang of hurt every time he said it. Toji was rarely around. Why couldn't his first word be mama, the one who is always around?

It was Megumi's bed time but you really thought Toji hearing Megumi would lighten up his day a little. You sighed to yourself as you built lego towers with Megumi upstairs in his playroom. Here you were, still trying to be the wife but he really was making you into a stranger.

You bathed and dressed Megumi in his pjs and held him close as he looked up at you. "Should we go see if dada is busy Megumi?" His eyes widened at the word and continued his babbling mantra of it. You walked through the east half of the house where your room and Megumi's plus your own office, some extra rooms and Megumi's playroom were. Toji's side was the west wing. If you were actually husband and wife you would share the north wing, where the extravagant bedroom - apartment practically - sat bare and collected dust. You looked to the double doors at the end of the north hall with disappointment before making you way to the west end and stepping up to Toji's door.

You hesitated before knocking softly. Waiting a moment before looking down at Megumi and shrugging. "I don't know if he's awake bud." You thought for a moment before slowly pushing the door open and peering inside. The light were on so you entered even though you knew you shouldn't. Toji never let you in his room. You'd only be in here a handful of times and all those times were unpleasant.

You walked through the sitting area into the bedroom until you noticed the bathroom door shut. You shook your head, looking to Megumi, pushing his hair out of his eyes. "I think we will show dada tomorrow okay?" Megumi was unusually quiet, maybe being able to feel the tension that grew in your body. Turning swiftly you made for the door you came through but before you made it out of the bedroom the bathroom door opened.

"What are you doing in here?" Toji's voice was loud and cold. You turned to look at him. Water dripped from his wet hair, his body damp with steam. A towel hung loosely around his waist. "Did I say you could come in my room?" His eyes bore holes into you. The heat that rushed into your face gave away your fear.

You looked down to the son you both created, trying to look anywhere but at the way his muscled form rippled infront of you. It was easier to pretend you didn't find him attractive or care about him or have feelings for him when he wasn't right infront of you.

"Oh... sorry... I just..."

He eyed you, how you stayed focus on Megumi. The small boy holding onto your free hand. "What happened? Is Megumi ok?" His expression changed as he approached the two of you. His voice still cold and annoyed but a hint of concern hid underneath it all.

Your head snapped to him. Eyeing him closely for a reaction. "Nothing I just... he said his first word today. I thought it might cheer you up to hear it if I can get him to say it again."

His features softened ever so slightly. "His first word?" Toji tilted his head in thought. "What was it?" You couldn't help but notice the small amount of excitement in his voice.

Megumi bounced in your arms at Toji's voice, babbling along as if trying to figure out how to say it all over again. I smiled at Toji and then back down at Megumi. I pointed at Toji. "Who's that Gumi? Hmm? Say dada! Say it again baby show dada."

Megumi babbled and pointed towards Toji for a few moments before sounding out dada once again.

Toji's face immediately brightened. "What?! Dada??" He chuckled deeply, one that sounded genuine and it shook something in you. "He actually said it. Good boy Megumi." Toji stepped up to you and the baby as he spoke. Brushing Megumi's heap of hair back.

You kissed to side of Megumi's head as he bounced on your hip. "He hasn't even said mama yet." You chuckled softly but the tinge of hurt was in your voice. "Anyway that was all I wanted to tell you. Sorry for coming in your room, I know I'm not supposed to."

He shook his head. "it's okay." He assured as he watched Megumi babble and squirm in your grip. He was overtired for sure. Toji seemed to be a different person than the one you had come accustomed. His permanent scowl was gone and he looked almost happy. "Can I hold him?"

His question shocked you. Eyes widening but you handed him over.

Toji softly cradled him, rocking him back and forth as he whispered to him. Megumi didn't cry or fuss, even his overtired babbling stopped. Slowly his eyes got heavy and closed. You watched intently as Toji interacted with your son. If it could be like this all the time.

"He really does have my hair. He's got your eyes too." Toji commented quietly while admiring his son. His eyes flicked up to yours for a moment.

I smiled at him. "Yeah... he does..."

Toji chuckled softly. "He really does look like me. It's kinda scary."

You laughed a little more sincerely than you intended. "He does, has your personality too."

Toji chuckled low. "Yeah, he's cold and distant just like me?"

Your smile dropped, panic set in at his words. "Oh n-no I didn't mean it like that..."

Toji shook his head and looked up at you, a soft chuckle leaving his lips at your panicked expression. "I was joking, I know what you meant." He assured as he watched the sleeping Megumi in his arms.

You let go of a breath you didn't even realize you were holding. "oh right."

Toji whole aura seemed to relax when he held Megumi. You wished he could be around all the time. That he could be the father figure Megumi needed. That he could be the husband you wanted. To come home after a long day, and sit together. To be able to go to him when you needed a hug or reassurance or just wanted to feel loved. Your eyes focused as you realized that Toji was watching you deep in thought. Shaking your head you held out your arms. "I can take him now if you want. I don't want to bother you."

He held onto Megumi for a moment, seeming almost reluctant before handing him over to you. You smiled and nodded at him, turning to leave. He called out to you as you reached the door. "Wait, Y/N-"

You turned to look at him. "What's up?"

He opened his mouth to say something but closed it slowly. "Never mind sorry. Goodnight."

You eyed him for a moment before reluctantly turning away. "Alright... goodnight."

He couldn't bring himself to tell you the things he wanted to say. He couldn't find the words. How does he make up for the suffering you already endured? You had always so easily melted his cold dead heart, so he kept you at a distance but you had been so close. He already felt it melting.

[scarlettmurphy]

STARCROSSED PT3 +ੈ✩‧₊˚ LOGAN HOWLETT

logan and y/n — starcrossed in every universe. the forbidden love, the underlying emotions swallowing y/n whole as she sees the man older then her own father by a good century or so in love with the woman she hates and she finds herself in a situation she knows she’ll never be able to run from.

- content warning age gap (is legal) angst. swearing. explicit. comfort! drinking. sick. dirty humour. choking. drugs. comfort? body issues. implications of ed. nsfw. angst angst and angst..pairings: older!logan howlett x xavier!reader. logan howlett x jean grey? scott summers x ?

spoiler: my idea was to make this a bit happier.. mission failed ☹️

note this is part three to starcrossed, make sure you’ve read the first two first so it makes sense :) the angst is angsting and i’m a little scrambled for what direction to go with this.. sorry for the long wait 💕i’m a bit insecure about this piece because i had a little writers block so i really hope you like it! i was listening to silver springs on repeat! so you get the vibes ☹️☹️ enjoy reading and i know this super long, sorry !! 💗💗

tags — @faceache111 @malfoys-demigod @navs-bhat @dilfismz @thisbipuff-isaswiftie @twinky-wink @thewiselionessss @thecraziestcrayon @plasticbottleholder @awhoreforalotofshows @emily-b @jae48 @cxptainbuck @444st4rg1rl @iluvloganhowlett @luusecret @bratalina @penguinsravioli @aesthetic-lyss @capswife @cliffordmess @halepack2011 @1-800-local-whore @lonelytealover @deezsnurts @angelofthorr @badbishsblog @weallhaveadestiny @hizzielover @noventev @holysmokesmando @la-diabla1 @sarnbarnes @lunalixya @danicl25

[i hope u like it!]

logan hadn’t moved an inch the entire night — you could’ve assumed he was a statue with how trained he was just to focus on y/n. every movement she made, every little occasional whimper or noise that escaped her sweet lips as she slept. his mind was spinning with thoughts as he bit down on his cheek mentally battling with himself as he thought to scott’s words that he had yelled at him a few hours before and what he said being enough to hit him with the small reality that the girl in front of him could of seen him in a way that he hadn’t completely processed or imagined was a possibility. scott’s words ringing in his mind as he has spent the entire night tossing and turning in the bed trying to dissect what he exactly meant by them, and he’d gotten an idea.

an idea he didn’t wanna admit to himself even though all his thoughts linked back to it. he swallowed it deep down, his heart beat quickening as he wondered over the thoughts circling in his mind. he was certain something was growing in him after knowing the knowledge a strong feeling taking over all his urges. maybe it was fear, he was pretty sure it was and he hated the feeling. in every way.

amd it was be caused by y/n. he knew it no matter how much he didn’t wanna admit that his friend, the girl that was a good 150 and something years younger then him was causing. the professors daughter— he had practically just got here two years ago and he didn’t need to be stirring up shit with charles because off his daughter who was practically underage, especially in his eyes. logan swallowing as he slowly come to the terms that the little girl, in his eyes who hardly looks that little anymore, next to him could see him in a completely different way. a way he never thought would be something in her mind.

slowly the time passed as light slowly dawned into the room which shone a sweet reflecting on y/n’s face as her skin soaked up the sunlight as logan brung his gaze up to the ceiling, his thoughts getting too much to bare as he leant into his pocket and pulled out a cigar. hating the fact it was so hard for him to control, fighting those feelings brewing in him as he slowly stood up from the bed being extra cautious to be quiet about it despite his big body making the bed quiver under him as he walked over to the window opening it slightly — a little extra cautious over y/n and smoking around her in this state as he looked back over to the view off her sleeping.

he hated how soft he was currently feeling because of her, the emotions stirring in him something he hadn’t even remembered ever feeling before. he felt like a big baby, smoking out the window all because of the kid. logan taking a big inhale as he watched the sun come up. soon enough finishing the cigar whilst overlooking the scenery,him finding himself stuck in thought as he leant against the wall as he brung his gaze back to y/n after throwing the put out butt out the window, his mind wracking around what just to do or if he should or leave or stay.

however, logan didn’t get the chance to decide when y/n’s eyes fluttered open as she tossed a little as the cover slid off her figure as she slowly woke up realising the fact she was still in the outfit from the night before as she could smell the faint bit of sick which made her let out a low groan as her mind was a complete blur, her being instantly met with a horrible headache as she buried her face into her pillow completely unbeknownst to logan’s presence. the headache only getting worse as she tried to recall what had happened the night before — the one downside of being a mutant of her power being the fact that hangovers hit like a wwe fighter would.

her mind stopping recalling anything after the time logan had walked away from the bar and left her with wade and hank — her mind slowly coming to terms with the shots.. the many shots.. the little burst of confidence she had as logan kept himself silent as he watched the girl stir awake not wanting to alert y/n off his presence just yet, deep down him knowing he wouldn’t of been able to speak anyway as he was too taken by her, not wanting to stop his little gawking as he watched her come to reality.

y/n’s heart felt as if it was burning as she recalled what she had seen with logan and jean — that hole inside her that was always lingering growing wider per second as she wished to suppress the memories now. god she wished she was more blackout then she had been. her mind feeling like a very hazy floaty mess as did her body currently.

y/ns mind bringing itself onto the little run she had out the mansion, hangover anxiety flowing over her as she felt her face heat up at the memory as her heart flipped at the thought of what she swore she could recall about scott of all people being nice? to her? at that she rolled out a little curse under her breath as she fought to keep her eyes closed against the pillow as all she wanted was so be swallowed hole as the heart ache that truly had never left and was only pushed to the side last night felt harsher then ever at the faded image off logan she had in her brain as she swallowed, her stomach making a loud gurgle noise as she felt the sick feeling coarse back up from her.

with that logan couldn’t be quiet anymore, him taking a step and just with the sound of his footsteps that made y/n open her eyes and look up as she met logan’s gaze from across the room herself instantly jumping as she felt completely fucked from the night before and his presence was the last thing she needed.

“y/n—“ logan spoke quietly, some of his emotion present within his tone as he immediately swallowed that back down, stomaching a smile in her direction as he made his way over to the edge of the bed. “are you okay?” he added out in an almost rushed way as y/n’s heart pounded as fast as her head was in the moment as she looked at him — her not even wanting to even know how bad she must’ve looked right now as she shook her head.

her low words coming out as fast as she had probably ever spoken before, “i think im going to be sick.” she rolled out under her breath, her words coming out in a heavy whisper as she quickly got out of bed and rushed to the bathroom. y/n fighting the blurry feeling that overtook her vision as she knelt down to the bathroom toilet — her dizziness just making the sick worse as she leaned down to the toilet bowl as she let it come out. logan running after her the second she stood up that worried feeling growing as he stood at the door watching as she knelt down.

“fucking hell.” he cursed out under his breath as he spoke gruffly as he took a few steps over to her as he knelt down beside her as she was sick. his face forming a harsh grimace as he bit down on his tongue as his large hand fell to her back as he tried to soothe her as he looked away as she was sick again. him swallowing as he tried to control his anger that was growing in the bottom of his stomach for the state she had gotten in, pushing down scott’s words that lingered in his mind along with the question of why you would drink yourself into that state as if he didn’t already know the answer deep down.

“i’m gonna fucking kill hank and wade.” logan rumbled out as a gruff sigh escaped his lips as he took in y/n’s shakiness. hating how she must’ve felt in the moment as he moved his hand up and down her spine as she let out a shaky breath. the comfort making y/n’s hurt inside grow more and more as she stumbled out a quick, “i’m never drinking again.”

her words making a low chuckle escape logan’s lips as he nodded slowly his hand not moving as he used his other hand to move some of her hair behind her ear in a swift motion that only reminded y/n off a bit more from last night as she was sick again. logan swallowing down his anger and feelings as he knew he had to be there for her right now.

“—it’s just a bad hangover bub.” logan calmly stated, his thoughts becoming nothing but void to him as he had all his worry’s right now on her as he watched as she leaned down a little to the toilet bowl, him being able to tell how out of it she was still just by that action as currenlty y/n’s mind was a mixture of haziness and hurt as the words she was trying to mumble out got cut off by that sick feeling again which she swallowed right back down as she fought with herself.

“—‘m never had one like this before.” she cursed out before being sick yet again as his hand lingered on her lower back as he could hear the fear in her voice, a protective feeling growing all through his body he knew exactly what that meant for himself and he hated it which is why his voice sounded a little cold as he moved his hand off her, leaning a little closer to her as he grabbed a small cloth for her to use in a second before placing that on the side next to them.

his hand moving back over to her hair as he made sure it wasn’t getting in her face at all as his cold words hit the air, “that’s what happens when you take shots all night, especially the amount you and wade were taking.”

y/m swallowed roughly as she could overhear his change in tone which made her feel like even more a mess as she spoke up shakily, “sorry—“ and with y/n’s words logan felt a flurry of guilt within him as he shook his head releasing the harshness he was showing which he didn’t even mean too as he sighed.

“don’t be.” he eventually spoke up, his words falling to a cold room as he watched as y/n leant back a little his hands following her as she leant against the wall. his had sipping off her waist as he swept his touch away and grabbed the cloth he had gotten ready for her so she could wipe her mouth. swallowing as she took it from his grip as y/n felt her self pity growing just by seeing his darkened eyes on her as she wiped her mouth with the cloth gently. herself feeling completely disgusting.

y/n watching as logan flushed the toilet to get rid of all the sick that was in there whilst y/n sat there swallowing down her self pity, hating how everything was feeling. being sick here in front of him of all people. she’d rather scott be here, probably even jean, god why wasn’t scott here? why was logan here? what was he doing in her bedroom?

her mind was boiling with questions as she brung her eyes to his own, her gaze locking on his soft brown eyes with that everso hint of green within them that just reminded her of everything she loved about him. the hint off melancholy she always viewed in his gaze still there which just made the pull he had in her twenty million times stronger as it always had been as she couldn’t help the little nervous smile that grew on her lips as she nervously chuckled with her feelings enlaced within her action.

“god i’m a mess.” she retorted out, logan playfully tapping her shoulder at her words as his touch lingered against her skin as he kept his gaze on her.

— ���least you’re a pretty one.” he replied almost immediately with a teasing smile showcased on his lips as he grabbed the cloth from her hand and put it over the toilet, y/n swallowing her feelings. his words hit y/n like a heavy, full of metal and being thrown at her by magneto, truck as she could just picture the blush that grew on her face from one silly meaningless comment from him she shouldn’t read too much since she didn’t have a good track record with that especially since what she roughly recalled him doing yesterday as she swallowed due to his words as she could still feel his touch on her own even if it wasn’t there.

the yearning in her practically breaking as she felt that tension stir in her stomach as her brain told her one thing yet her heart was aching to be nothing like she has been for the last two weeks to him no matter how much she shouldn’t be as she kept her gaze on him.

y/n was struggling to find the right words with so many question in her brain and luckily logan instead did for her after the moment of silence had passed, him swallowing roughly before doing so, “you okay now?” his words low as he felt the tension grow in the air silently battling himself from creating it within himself too as logan’s eyes studied y/n as he kept himself knelt down in front of the girl who was sat on the floor — not wanting to leave her side but knowing he should. knowing he shouldn’t be like this with her now, here.

her managing a nod back, “should be.”

her low words caused a feeling to grow in him, ”you will be kid,” he corrected, giving her a serious look.

y/n finding this tension and almost awkwardness grow between the two of them as she moved her gaze away from him, sitting up a little as she soon found her words. “what are you doing here?” she couldn’t help ask, “i don’t remember why.”

logan roughly sighed with her words as he stood up, looking down at her as he went over and leaned against the door. needing the distance between them for his own peace of mind as he spoke after she had finished. “i couldn’t leave you alone last night. i was worried after seeing how drunk you were.”

his words were like a little shock of realisation for y/n as she nodded over the obviousness of it as she moved her gaze onto him, her eyes casted onto him from across the room. hating the weirdness that was growing them as she noted how much it was coming from him. she’d most definitely have to remember soon or else it would be time to dive into someone’s mind.

“i remember scott being here but not you.” she muttered out as logan nodded at her words.

“yeah. well we were both helping.” logan blurted out under his breath, sounding a little pissed off as he opened the bathroom door, “you should shower— i’ll go get you something to eat.” the built up tension and guilty thoughts in his mind eating half the words he wanted to say.

“food might sent me over the edge.” y/n mumbled out lowly, logan knowing the truth underlying her words as he swallowed his own spit feeling those feelings thrive within him as he sighed at the girl who he hadn’t really seen eat a meal if it wasn’t some weird protein recipe, he recalled jean used to have all the time, for the past four months.

“well— just shower okay?” he grunted out as y/n nodded in reply as he closed the bathroom door behind himself. y/n soon hearing her bedroom door close a few seconds later as she let out a rough exhale as she felt like the weight fell right off her shoulders — instantly curling herself into a tiny little ball as she rested her head on her knees as she tried to recall everything as her head pounding just grew worse. rough was not enough to describe the mental and physical anguish she was feeling right now, her having blacked out most of the night and that specific fact irritated her to another level as she knew she’d have to go find scott and get what he knew out of him.

another embarrassing conversation with a guy she never saw eye to eye with and thought was a little bit off a stuck up mug who turned out to be the nicest thing ever to her last night — to say she was embarassed was an understatement as she eventually dragged herself into the shower as she pondered over all the things she knew.

+ੈ✩‧₊˚

the shower was too much and too little, the burning water against her skin making her feel a number of things as the pain brung her to the surface of reality as her mind bubbled within the surface of everything as the pain of the water against her soft skin quieted the pain in her heart and mind - her hair falling against her back as the water swallowed her skin whole.

her breath shaky as the tears that slipped down her cheeks were just water dripping down her to any other’s eyes, would’ve gone unnoticed, as she eventually finished her shower after a few ten or so minutes of soaking up all the emotions within the air that had been left and abandoned on that swing set she had the faint recollection off from last night.

y/n wrapping the towel around herself as she pushed through the bathroom door as she made her way through her room as she slid into the first thing she saw in her wardrobe. jeans and a red top - the basic of the basic — as she didn't even want to look in the mirror for fear of what she looked like but she bit that urge down and went right over to the mirror, over analysing every inch off herself as she tried not to let that feeling grow inside her because she knew she had things to do. tearing her eyes away from the mirror as she made her way out her room.

avoiding the glances she was getting from some students as she tried to forget her thoughts as she completely pushed past her discomfort on her way towards scott’s room, it of course being the biggest one in the mansion, y/n knocking on the door as she swallowed her own spit as the door opened revealing a stressed looking jean whose eyes instantly darkened at the sight of the girl.

just meeting the older woman’s gaze sent a chill down y/n’s spine as she definitely didn’t expect to see her and wasn’t ready to in the mind state she currently possessed. that feeling off jealously, aching, yearning and a mixture of pain swelling up through her mind and body as she saw the pure confusion that overtook jean’s face at her presence.

jean’s eyebrows furrowing as she leant against the doorframe, arms crossed, “y/n?” she questioned, her voice full off confusion as y/n felt the tension rise between them.

“hi.” y/n rolled out as she gave jean a little nod off greeting as she fought back the hurt within her at just how she looked so perfect this early as she held back her emotions with a small very fake smile, “is scott here?”

“you want too see scott?” jean asked puzzled, y/n seeing the weird look riddled on her face as she nodded slowly.

“yeah, well i need too.” y/n trailed out, seeing the way jean’s confusion grew as her jaw clenched. her seemingly jealous over this as y/n watched as her tongue clicked to the root of her mouth as she nodded slowly.

“scott!” jean called out into the bedroom when she leaned back, looking into the room where y/n couldn’t see as she felt just how awkward it was right now. y/n’s eyebrows furrowing as jean called for him again, her voice raising more as there was a faint sound of water turning off. probably the shower. then what followed was the found of a door opening, y/n’s eyes remaining on jean as she watched as she took a step back and opened the door some more as scott stepped next to her.

y/n’s eyes falling onto a very shirtless half naked scott, a towel wrapped lowly around his waist as y/n instantly swallowed harshly as she took in the sight.

his v-line showing as there was still water droplets dripping down his very toned abs — y/n immediately being taken aback by seeing scott like that as she felt her stomach flutter as she swallowed harshly once again — his hair was wet and messy and he had just shaved clearly. y/n taking in the new stubble as his new look made many things switch in her brain as he met y/n’s gaze after she had eventually looked to his face and not his abs, that not exactly being something she wanted to do.

“y/n?” scott exclaimed, his words somewhat a question as jean took a step back as she sent y/n a look scott didn’t pick up on due to his eyes only being on her as jean disappeared into the bedroom. scott taking a step forward as the door went with him, him standing between the door and her as she swallowed again finding herself sort of at a loss for words. him leaning against the doorframe as y/n’s eyes cascaded up and down him yet again as she roughly swallowed at the sight.

that’s when she caught glimpse of something, her eyes falling on a certain wound on his side, her eyebrows instantly raising as she practically forgot about how hot he was when she realised the cut. leaning over to get a better view off it as she took in the evident claw marks that looked like it hurt like a bitch, logan clearly having done that — the blood practically still fresh and she could feel her blood boil at the thought.

“what the?” y/n instantly let out as she took the cut in as she leaned a little closer to look at it, “why—?”

“i hurt him back.” he said lowly, y/n giving him a knowing look as that was probably the most scott thing he could’ve said as she leaned back to where she was standing before. a weird feeling growing within her as she scoffed.

“obviously— but why the hell did he do that for?” y/n managed out as she questioned him, scott taking a breath before looking back into the bedroom and swallowing. a weirdness growing between the pair as y/n’s eyes couldn’t help fall back and linger on his abs as he looked away before she met his eyes before she got caught doing so.

“just, let me get dressed and then we’ll talk.” scott thought out as y/n had to hold herself back from making a stupid comment as she nodded, about to speak up when scott did instead.

“meet me at the swings. but it might smell like sick.” scott rolled out slyly, a little playful hint to his words as y/n rolled her eyes.

“ha.ha.” y/n said sarcastically as scott couldn’t the grin grow on his lips as y/n turned on her heel.

“—i’ll be there in five!” he called after her.

+ੈ✩‧₊˚

y/n went right over to the swings as little faded memories popped back into her brain regarding these swings and her last encounter on them as her brows furrowed up in confusion as her mind lingered on the thoughts as scott came down the courtyard. y/n’s eyes drawing onto him wearing a cable knit sweater like usual, this one being a dark shade of red almost matching with her top, as she kept her gaze on him as couldn’t help but smile.

“he was being an asshole like usual.” scott swiftly let out as took his seat next to her on the swing, pushing himself of it a bit as y/n’s eyes followed him as she leaned against the chain — the sun shining down on the courtyard, a vast difference from the night before.

“—mm i think i need a bit more then that.” y/n said softly as scott couldn’t help the smirk grow on his lips at her words.

“well what do you remember?” he replied back cockily, making a shiver of anxiety coarse through her as a little uncomfortable feeling dawned over her as she shrugged her shoulders, “a whole lot of drinking, then i remember you and me sat here but not much off what i said, must’ve been something stupid.”

scott raised an eyebrow at her words as he bit the bullet in telling her the truth, swallowing before he spoke up.

“your love for logan isn’t stupid. like mine for jean’s isn’t.” he whispered honestly, y/n feeling his words sink in harshly as she found all the urges to speak get swept away from her as she roughly swallowed. the tension growing within the air as y/n felt her heart beat twenty times faster and feel like it was breaking.

“you can’t help who you love.” he added out, y/n feeling his gaze as she eventually turned her eyes to him only to look right back away.

she couldn’t bring herself to glance one more time his way as she looked over at the mansion as she felt the weight of conversation dawn on her heavily as the uncomforbaility grew in her at just the thought of scott knowing how much she did like love logan. y/n’s eyes dropping down to the floor as she finally spoke up after a couple twenty or thirty seconds of silence, “i want too though, it’s not like i wanna love him.” y/n lowly whispered out before she took a pause, feeling the weight bare on her again as she tried to speak about something else to avoid saying anything more heart wrenching and slightly embarrassing which made herself feel worse,”—and i’m sorry you had to hear whatever i rambled out last night.” scott’s eyes lingering on her with her words before he tore his eyes away towards the mansion.

he could practically feel her heart ache as if it was burning into him and he couldnt help the sad smile spread on his lips as he knew how much it hurt first hand, so he wanted to make her feel better. “no—it was sort of enjoyable.” scott said lowly, making y/n’s eyebrows raise in interest as she finally met his gaze. his words being different from the sad ones he spoke before as their eyes locked on each other.

“sorry does me being a crying drunk mess entertain you?” y/n said lowly, her voice rooted in low sarcasm as scott chuckled.

“no it’s just you’re a lot sweeter when you’re shitfaced.” scott brung himself to say as y/n’s eyebrow twitched up, giving him a little look as she felt her heart skip a beat — her eyebrows raising at his statement as his words made her forget for a moment the manner of this conversation.

“hey i can be sweet sober.” y/n scoffed out, her words causing scott to raise an eyebrow in a playful manner.

“yeah, what? to logan?” his low words made her roll her eyes as scott chuckled as y/n leaned over her swing and nudged his shoulder harshly before she moved her swing back — the playful energy that had grew between them making her feel comfortable.

“shut up.” y/n scoffed out as scott laughed a little harder nudging her back before y/n couldn’t help a little laugh too as she met his gaze.

“so you and jean this morning?” y/n couldn’t help ask which made scott let out a low sigh as y/n pushed on it a little more with a smile at his reaction, ”—not so done after what i saw..?” she trailed out, giving him a look.

scott grimaced a little at the memory / reminder of it as he swallowed, his voice low with anger enlaced within it as he spoke a bit coldly. “oh no, we’re done. engagement rings back.”

y/n’s mouth fell agap as she met scott’s gaze, her heart twitching and almost stinging for the man as she raised an eyebrow — shock being the only feeling she was experiencing right now. “you were engaged?” she managed out, scott nodding as y/n clicked the tongue to the root of her mouth. there was never a ring she could of spotted on either of the, but that knowledge made the situation ten times worse in her brain, her mind toggling on jean’s face from this morning as all she currently wanted to do was go punch the bitch. as if she hadn’t wanted to do that for the past two years anyway, this just made the urge slightly uncontainable.

“god she’s a bitch.”

scott lowly laughed as she nodded, “yeah you said that last night.”

her face went a little shade of red at his words, “they say drunk words are sober thoughts.” he added out and y/n couldn’t help the smile growing on her lips as she nodded, shrugging her shoulders.

“i definitely wasn’t wrong.” she said lowly as scott held back a little wince as he swung back on his swing a little, eyes moving back over to the view in front of the pair as y/n spoke up again, “she did look fuming today.”

scott rolling his eyes at the fact, “probably because she was wanting to be with logan —“ he said before he paused realising the weight of his words for y/n, “no offence.”

y/n let out a little laugh at scott’s words trying to ignore the burning sensation in her throat and the hurt that traveled down her chest right to her heart and through her core as she shrugged her shoulders. “yeah i’ll get over it.”

scott couldn’t help the sadness the etched on his face as moved a little, letting out small wince that grabbed y/n’s attention as she looked at him. her eyes falling to where the cut was on his side as his hand rested over it as he leaned up, y/n speaking up, “it hurts still?”

“horribly.” scott muttered out as he tried to sit comfortably, y/n swallowing before she leaned her swing to his — placing her hand over his chest which caused him to jump a little as she placed her hand over where his just laid. “—woah— what are you doing?” he ushered out quickly with her action as she placed her hand exactly over where the cut was.

“just shush.” she rolled out as her hand hovered over the claw marks logan had left as she closed her eyes — ignoring his question as he studied her expression, swallowing as he held back a wince at how her hand was on his side.

her not saying anything more as scott kept himself shut, his mouth falling open as he felt her hand move against his cut and he noticed the way the veins in her arm riveted against her skin as he swallowed as he figured what she was doing. seeing the purple gleam that highlighted through her skin as he felt the pain slowly subside until it completely faded, his stomach flipping and his heartbeat rising as his chest did as he took in a big exhale as he realised exactly what she had just done.

her eyes opening as she leaned over to him, slowly pulling up his shirt to check on the cut as he let her do so as he felt his breath hitch as her hand lingered on the top of his smooth and now cut and bruise free skin as she then went to lean back onto her swing, meeting his eyes as she gave him a little smile.

“there.” y/n said lowly, her words falling out softer then intended as scott smiled at her - their eyes locking onto each others as she brung her hand away but scott stopped it from doing so. his hand grabbing her wrist softly as y/n felt frozen at his touch as he kept his eyes trained on her. the contact they were having making her feel the feelings of butterflies in her stomach as she swallowed . “better?” y/n spoke into the air, raising an eyebrow.

“yeah, yeah— really better.” scott swallowed out as he brung himself to speak, his gaze not leaving her own as he kept his smile tightly on his lips. “thank you.” he managed out, y/n’s heart flipping as he dropped her wrist which made her lean back into her swing, her eyes dawning back onto the mansion as her swing swung a little.

“its cool.”

her words were weighted as scott looked down to his chest as he overviewed where the cut once was which was completely clear, “i forgot you could do that.”

her eyes fell back over to scott at his words as she swallowed, “yeah i hardly do it.”

her watching as scott pulled down his shirt, fidgeting in the swing as he couldn’t help curiosity strike in him as he turned to her direction, “does it hurt for you when you do it?”

she didn’t expect him to ask that question as she shrugged her shoulders, “well i heal right away.” y/n spoke up as she nudged her shirt up a little to check, scott’s eyes dawning on the cut that was fading into her skin which was just the one he had. his eyebrow raising at the image in his head as she brung her shirt right back down.

“either way it’s bearable.” her added words made scott shift in his seat as he held back what he really wanted to say instead swallowing those words right back down as he decided on teasing her.

“you took my pain from me — are you starting to like me finally?” he questioned out, raising an eyebrow at her playfully, “i thought the day would never come” his words making her roll her eyes as she held back the urge to push him off the swing or blush heavily.

“i can give it right back to you.” y/n defended lowly, making him hold his hands up in defence.

“hey, no. i’m good—“

“but i do have to say something which might make you wanna kill me.” he added out which made y/n’s eyebrows raise as she crossed her arms, her eyes on him as she swung her swing around so it was facing him. her body moving along with it as she leaned against the bar. him taking this as her immediate question to why as he spoke up before she got the chance.

“i’m pretty sure logan knows.”

with his words y/n’s eyebrows instantly furrow as she swallowed the pit growing in her stomach as she bit on her tongue to stop herself from freaking out.

“has that got anything to do with the cut?” she asked out, scott nodding before he butted it to try and explain it — “look he might not know completely, i just said that he should be careful about how you feel after i said a few things about him fu— with jean.” scott ushered out quickly pausing a little over jean as y/n tried to hold back the growing anger in her body at the reminder of jean which made her feel a little guilt about how she handled the situation she saw in last night and how she must’ve said it to scott or something as if logan with his fiancé- or should she say ex fiancé- would mean nothing to him. y/n didn’t even wanna remember it due to the mental picture she was gathering as she swallowed, the twos heartache being prominent within their conversation now.

“it was a heat of the moment thing, i did just lazer him.”

with those words y/n couldn’t help a laugh fall her lips in disbelief at how controlled that must’ve been for him to do as she smiled at him, actually finding herself quite glad off that fact, “you lazered him?”

“yes and he was whining like a baby.” scott rolled out emphasising the whining as y/n’s smile grew.

“what the hell was i doing when that was happening?” she couldn’t help ask as scott couldn’t help a laugh as he kept his eyes on her, “oh you were snoring by then.”

“i do not snore.” she quickly bit lowly in reply, scott sensing her stubbornness over the topic immediately as he pushed on it.

“do you need me to let you read my mind to prove you do?”

“i do not s—“ y/n lowly spoke but before she could finish her words the presence of bobby in front of her cut her words short as her face went a bright shade of red at her friend in front of her who she hadn’t even noticed walking over to them — a smirk present on his face at the little idea he formed in his head from just seeing the two here alone.

“hey scott— professors asking for you.” bobby said calmly with his hands in his pocket, his eyes moving between the two of them aa scott turned his attention to bobby silently cursing in his head for him coming over here.

he sighed as he looked back over to y/n, “duty calls.”

“update me on if you need that.” scott teased out slyly as he stood up from the swings before giving bobby a nod as he passed him, bobbys eyes dawning on y/n as his eyebrows instantly raised once he looked back to check if scott was out of ear shot, the second he noticed he wasn’t instantly turning on y/n.

a little smirk on him slaps as she crossed his arms, looking at her.

“please tell me y/n, what do you need?” bobby rolled out playfully in a very obvious tease as y/n rolled her eyes as she stood up.

“god please go annoy rogue or kitty and not me.” she cursed out which made bobby scoff as he went to her side as she was walking, giving her a nudge.

“so you and scott?” he rolled out as y/n nudged him back which nearly sent him over as she scoffed in reply to his words.

“just bonding over heartache thank you very much.” she added out softly, bobby regaining his balance as he kept his position alongside her. eyes cascading over y/n as he shook his head.

“—mm, sure.” bobby teases out as his eyes glanced over the mansion as they got closer to it, his eyes swearing they could make out a logan looking from one of the windows. ams the second body noticed that the figure disappeared, him shaking the idea out his mind as he went back to focusing, teasing, y/n.

bobby finally dropped the scott thing after a long and slightly annoying repeat tease about it as they walked about the mansion just looking for something to ease their boredom on this very lonely sunday which wasn’t so lonely until bobby has snapped scott away with orders from her dad which left her with him, yet not for long as the second he saw rogue he left y/n, scurrying away after rogue like a lost puppy.

the second bobby left y/n knew she wanted (and needed) to find logan somewhere with the new knowledge she had to just ask him why the hell he hurt scott for.. maybe it was bias but she did wanna know and have an excuse to try and get the fact he knew she liked him out of him in a way that didn’t make her have to say it. her mind practically squirming with thoughts of what he would do as she nonchalantly looked around the mansion. her mind thinking on what the best thing to say would be. maybe a little ‘maybe don’t fuck engaged people.’ or a little scream of ‘why the fuck did you hurt scott for?’ or maybe a desperate ‘please don’t hate me now you know i love you.’

y/n rolled her eyes at the comments she was making in her brain as she eventually gave up her search, slumping down on one of the lounge chairs in the living room as she pondered. her mind linking her thoughts back to logan with every aching possibility she got. she hated it, hated how much she was desperate to think off him. it made her feel so weak, weak to his every move as she overanalysed the conversation they shared in the morning.

thankfully, to stop her from going mad, hank came over to her with a bright smile on his face like usual as he slumped down onto the sofa.

“hey y/n.” he commented softly as he leant back onto the sofa, y/n’s eyes falling onto him as she gave hank a soft smile in reply as he fixed his glasses — his gaze on the ceiling as he swallowed.

“hi,” y/n said softly as she analysed hanks furrowed brows and the clear look off pure angst from his face as she held back a little laugh or chuckle as she commented, “the shots get to you too?”

with her words hank brung his eyes on her as he let out a shaky breath, “most definitely.”

y/n couldn’t help a smile at his words as she gazed around the room before looking back to hank, “hey have you seen logan around?” she couldn’t help but ask.

seeing the way hank thought for a second before he quickly nodded, y/n noticing the change in his demeanour just at the question.

“yeah, um. going into jean’s room.” he swallowed the strength to say out, his voice slightly thick.

with hanks words y/n instantly felt a lump in her throat form as she felt her heart drop, nodding softly at what he said as she bit back any sign of emotion being displayed on her face even though hank could read her like an open book.

the aching feeling in her heart was something she hid to her best ability and tried to ignore as much as she could as she rolled out her next words quickly, trying to sound as if she didn’t care at all, “cool.” her words fell out so blatantly obvious that it was insanely obvious to hank she cared entirely.

—

but, thankfully hank didn’t ask you any questions or even dwell on what you asked for the rest of your brief conversation that lasted a good five or so minutes before you excused yourself to go up to your room and cry yet you told simply told him ‘the gyms calling me.’ which had been the biggest lie you had said to him in a long time and he definitely didn’t believe you.

but once you got in your room it felt like it made matters worse, the faint jeff buckley vinyl you had playing in the background making your yearning feelings even stronger as you thought off all the things that could be going on right now between the two of them. you hated it, you couldn’t deal with it anymore. two weeks ago you had decided to give up on it, as if you actually did, but you tried. and now that scott knew and you had someone to talk to about it it seemed all the way worse.

your yearning not being cut off for the entire rest off the night and it didn’t help that it was like logan had gone into hiding. another search of the mansion and he wasn’t anywhere and you were certainly not asking jean so you had to wallow in your thoughts off him as you went back to your room. repeating the same cycle of looking before bed, which only made you certain he had to still be in jean’s room. still. great.

and within the next day you still hadn’t seen him once, scott had said he was acting odd and not to push on it just yet but you could hardly contain your emotions anymore. him being gone making all off it worse because it was at his will, not yours. you didn’t even see him once.

and by wednesday that was when you knew you had to capture him somewhere alone. having seen him a good four or five times around the mansion now where he blatantly ignored or blanked you and that just made everything worse and scott’s nice words of comfort weren’t helping you one bit. it felt like it was making it all worse, seeing how fucked you were over him being so cold to you. it made you feel sick, you weren’t pushing him away he was pushing you away and you didn’t even know why. you craved his words, even if they were horrible you just wanted to hear him directly talk to you and you’re like this after only four days without talking.

the glances to each other in the hallway killed you mostly, every time it like he was tearing your heart up because he looked back every single time yet kept his mouth shut and immediately glanced away once he had shared his beauty to you. it was like a game now, trying to dissect the emotions in his eyes. but you never could. all you gathered was a look you narrowed down to feeling lost, or even confused. you didn’t get it. at all.

your yearning was at the highest volume especially after seeing him leave jean’s room this morning. that practically destroyed you and you didn’t know why he had such high control of you, you needed to get over it but you couldn’t. you just couldn’t. it was hurting to even breath, every breath feeling weighted as you laid on rogues bed after just having an entire bitch about it. her now knowingness of the situation making you feel better but her comfort hardly was there as all she was going on about was what costume to wear to the halloween party.

that making you feel a number of feelings, mostly annoyance as you swallowed roughly as she hung up a costume on her door.

“i wanna be riding hood. the red cloaks good for that.” rogue said softly, y/n sitting up at her words as her eyes dawned over to the costume hanging on the door. two days to go and rogue was still trying to find an outfit and a matching one for her best friend.

“what could you be?” rogue questioned out, almost to herself, as she looked over her costume then back to y/n.

“a pig.” y/n scoffed out as rogue rolled her eyes at her comment as she walked back and took in her own costume trying to match something to it. y/n watching as rogues brain tried to fall on something and it was almost like magic when it did. her eyes lightening up as she ran right over to her closet and started searching through it.

“what?” y/n asked out as rogue buried her head into it, throwing out a few things that made y/n’s eyebrows raise in confusion.

“you are going to be matching with me so good that we would win if there was a competition.”

with rogues words y/n’s eyes dawned on the thing rogue was holding in her hand as she shut the wardrobe behind her as she leaned against it.

“cat ears?” y/n muttered out confusedly as her eyebrows furrowed up in confusion as rogue scoffed.

“it’s red riding hood!” rogue retorted as y/n linked two with two, her eyes widening as she immediately shook her head.

“no! wolf? wolf! you’re joking,” she scoffed out quickly watching as rogue kept a straight face which only made her go on more,”—have you not listened to anything your best friends just been screaming about for the past thirty minutes!?”

the room fell silent as rogue pouted, holding out the ears for y/n to take.

“y/n! please, nobody will care. it’s not even about him!”

her words only annoyed y/n more as she went to talk but rogue instantly shushed, placing her finger to her lips as y/n edged back.

“cmon! you’re my best friend and i need you on this. it’s going to be hot! think of that.” rogue dragged out with a sly smile as she kept the cat, wolf, ears for y/n out to grab still waving them about impatiently.

“i know you’re going to say yes.” she rolled out as she took in the way y/n was looking at her. y/n swallowing her pride before she snapped the ears out her grip.

“fuck you.” y/n let slip as rogue cheekily smiled in return, “you wish.”

+ੈ✩‧₊˚

after that entire ordeal y/n slipped out of rogue’s company to join in with training, walking down the halls and towards the elevator being enough alone time for her as the second she was left alone with her thoughts she was right back on overthinking every single thing about logan and herself. her mind tracking back to what scott had recalled to her and how he mustn’t have been saying the entire truth to her because why else was logan being like this for? so distant, it just made y/n wanna dissect every inch of logan or scott’s mind and get to the bottom of it. that’d be easier then all this pondering.

and in training it showed how y/n was off it, her slacking in every way possible which immediately let scott know how much she was affected by the logan situation today. as they both got ‘killed’ from the training exercise they were doing which made the two of them sit over by the sidelines whilst they’d have to watch the others. y/n mind currently lingering on the one word logan had said to her in the past span of the past four days. a blunt, ‘move’ which he said right before the hologram off a training robot was about to kill her and the second she moved and he had ‘sorted” it out he walked off like she was never anything to him and he didn’t look back once or say another word.

it hurt her too the bone and the list of questions she had was never ending now, the aching feeling worsening per second in the same room as him as her eyes wondered on him as she watched as he trained.

scott looking at how deep in thought she was making his own heart hurt as he felt the guilt rise in his, for not addressing logan and how she must’ve been feeling. the tension coating through y/n at a high point as scott got the courage to speak and break the looming silence.

“finally that’s over.” scott scoffed out lowly which brung y/n out the staring contest she was having with the floor as she sighed at scott’s words, giving him a nod in return as she slouched back a little. scott noticing her somewhat closeness as he placed his arm around her, trying to be a comfort, as she leaned against his touch almost instantly. her head falling down to rest on his shoulder as she felt the weights of her emotions falter a bit at scott’s comforting touch.

something she’d almost started to get used to within the past couple days since those swings had become a meeting place for them late at night, if they wanted to rant.. or couldn’t sleep, they’d go there and talk. last night it was for a good hour or two, maybe three.

“i just wanna go to sleep.” y/n brung herself to speak up, her voice hoarse as scott sighed with her words. his touch tightening on her yet his grip was still as soft as ever as he placed his chin against her forehead.

“rough day?” scott asked quietly, his voice slipping out lowly into her ear as y/n nodded against his touch.

“rogues making me be a wolf for the party.” she cursed out.

“god.” scott chuckled out, finding that stupid and horrible at the same time as he moved his hand up and down y/n’s shoulder as his eyes lingered on the training scene that was soon to being over. scott catching logan’s cold gaze for a moment before logan looked away with a stern look on his face like usual.

scott ignoring it as he spoke up, “you should’ve done the group costume with me. padme suits you.”

“i wish i did but i can’t now bobby’s not going and rogues relying on me. it’s stupid.” y/n shuddered out, her voice low as she felt annoyed at the thought.

“i know.” scott replied, shifting his body slightly closer to her owns. “swings again tonight?”

he asked softly, y/n nodding against him as she was about to speak up when the hologram switched off. her eyes adjusting to the blue large room that dawned on her as scott leaned back, keeping his hand around her as she slipped back into his grip as she leant up — her eyes watching logan’s from across the room, as that feeling arised in her chest.

“i say go trap him.” scott spoke up which made her jump out little staring contest she was having with him as she moved her gaze onto scott, shaking her head plainly.

“i don’t even know if i wanna speak to him after how cold he’s been, he’s a hairy prick.” y/n cursed out under her breath as scott laughed.

“that’s bull and you know it.” scott spoke, knowing y/n all too well as he nudged her. “go.”

“it’s not like i even want him anymore. i just wanna scream at him for hurting you and being such a cunt.” y/n half lied out, her voice harsher at the thought of getting to speak to him, as she held back what else she wanted to say and stuck with that idea to keep her sanity as strong as it could be. scott not commenting on what she said despite how badly he knew it to not be the truth as he gave her a little smile, the low laugh escaping his lips making her take a deep breath in.

“go do it. i’ll deal with the others so you two are alone.” scott rolled out as he tapped her shoulder to get her up which made a chill rush through her body as she swallowed her pride as she brung her eyes onto scott’s.

the smile on his lips convincing her to do it enough as she let the words escape her lips, “fine.”

with her words scott smiled as he let his hand around y/n’s shoulder drop, “go!” he ushered out as y/n rolled her eyes as she stood up and started to walk over to where logan was.

“thank me later.” scott called out to her before he got up himself , walking over to storm and hank who were in conversation with jean who were walking out the room. the perfect scenario.

scott’s eyes peaking back as he was about to leave the room with the others as he saw logan searching through his jacket , scott taking in y/n walking over strongly.

scott meeting y/n’s gaze as she looked back to him giving her a nod before he disappeared out the door with the others. which left y/n and logan in complete silence in the room as y/n watched as logan grabbed a cigar out his coat pocket after putting it on, her swallowing as she noted how he definitely didn’t notice she was still in here.

that fact just making her brain a little fuzzy as she pulled the courage to put her tough demeanour on, swallowing the heartache as she leaned against the wall next to him. logan’s eyes tearing onto hers at the movement he heard as he took in her appearance which haulted him lighting cigar and immediately haunted him. his eyes cascading over her body as he roughly swallowed before his gaze met her harsh, narrowed, eyes.

“you’ve been ignoring me.” y/n spoke out which completely captured his attention as her eyes didn’t leave his for a moment. the eye contact she was getting from him making her weak in every way but she kept herself strong, her eyes narrowed onto him as she watched as he raised an eyebrow at her words as he lit his cigar, taking a hit before he scoffed as the smoke left his lips, filling the room.

“no i haven’t.” he gruffly let out as he brung his gaze away from her as he started to walk off, past her. y/n scoffing as she went after him, taking a step in front of him to stop him going any further as his throat tightened at her action. his eyes falling back down to her own.

“im pretty sure you have.” y/n replied back stubbornly as he raised an eyebrow at her words, scoffing once again. the tension in the room completely shifted even to a heaviness that she hadn’t experienced before with him.

“mm—well you’ve been pretty busy with scott i didn’t think you’d notice too much.” logan rolled out harshly, his voice low and hoarse which sent a chill through y/n’s body as the weight off his words sunk in. her eyes widening as she instantly shook her head, tutting as she took in what the petty bastard just said as she swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat back down.

“and what the hell is that supposed to mean?” y/n quickly replied, her anger only rising at what he had said as she couldn’t believe what he had just told her. the words from him being slightly shocking as she took in the look that crossed his face as he shrugged his shoulders.

“you tell me sweetheart.” he growled out before he pushed past her, y/n’s mouth falling agap at his words as she sighed heavily. his words ringing in her head as she gulped. teleporting so she was in front of him which stopped him right as he was about to leave the door which made him jump a little. cigar smoke leaving his lips and going right into her face as he coughed out of surprise off her being there, being caught off guard by her action as she stayed frozen in place in front of himas she stepped forward thinking that would result in him stepping back. but it didn’t.

her holding back the urge to quiver back due to the closeness as she worked up the courage to speak, her eyes locked onto his as she lowly spoke up, “you hurt him.”

“who wouldn’t?” logan replied back gruffly, his jaw clenched as he almost laughed at the patheticness of what she had stated, the way she was trying to defend him making him feel a number of ways about the situation.

his words only angered y/n heavily as she kept her eyes narrowed onto his, questions running through her mind as she tried to keep her composure up as if the distance wasn’t killing hers inside. her breath hitching as his words caused her anger to rise as she took in just how rude he was being, this making her emotions grow inside of her breath brushed against his neck as she looked up at him. her heart stinging and she swore her eyes were too as she roughly swallowed, feeling her heartbeat in her ears as she bit down her pride and quickly spoke.

“did i do something?” she managed to say — her voice almost breaking at just that hint of hurt in her voice tore logan’s eyes away from her as those words fell into the air as she didn’t tare her eyes away from him once. seeing the way his face changed as she could hear his heartbeat crazily pumping and if she really thought close with her powers she could read his every though right now and that’d help her understand what he was feeling but she couldn’t do that to him ever. herself being mesmerised by the way his eyes looked as if they were watering as she added out, “you haven’t spoke to me in four days logan.”

her words met the air harshly as logan swallowed roughly as he took a rough inhale of his cigar in retaliation to what she had just said, looking to y/n coldly as he bit down all the emotion he was suppressing as he exhaled after. the silence deafening as she waited for anything, any answer. his face not giving anything away.

her searched his own as the silence grew before he eventually spoke up, which made everything worse.

“yeah and for good reason.” he replied lowly, y/n’s eyebrows twitching as she kept her gaze on his holding back a yell and the urge to punch him.

his harshness was enough to ruin her completely as she bit down on the inside of her cheek as she spoke up lowly, “and what is that?” y/n’s question failing to bring any peace to the two of them as logan grew angrier as he bit the bullet and quickly spoke up.

“ask scott since you care about him so much suddenly.” logan cursed out under his breath as he leaned over her and opened the door up, going to push past her.

“you’re fucking joking right?” she quickly said — the weight off his words hitting he as she placed her hand against his chest to stop him from moving anymore which just made his anger stronger as she roughly shoved him back. not meaning to that but it happened, his eyebrows raising at her action.

“watch it..” he said harshly, his voice gruff as he put out his half finished cigar against his skin, holding back any sign of hurt as he placed the rest off it back into his pocket. y/n studying every inch of his face with anger the only emotion showcased on hers as his eyes felt like they were taunting her.

her words coming out so quickly due to her growing annoyance, anger and hurt over the situation she couldn’t help herself, “maybe you should watch it since you can’t stop sleeping with someone that was engaged a good four days ago.”

the words that escaped her lips pushed logan to an extreme as his anger bursted as he felt all that pent up emotion he’d been hiding scream and claw its way out as he roughly grabbed her, pushing her against the wall harshly with a loud thud as his hand roughly wrapped round her throat.

“she was engaged to a cunt.” logan growled out, y/n seeing how seething he was as her breath hitched at their closeness. his grip only tightening on her neck as she held back any whimpers threatening to escape her lips as she kept her eyes locked onto his own, feeling his body pressed against her own as the heat rose between them.

“you do know if she cheated on him she’d cheat on you happily.” y/n harshly muttered out, her breath slightly hitched due to how harshly he was holding her against the wall. her words only pissing him off more as he stared her down, his fingers digging into her skin.

“you’ve just been aching to say something like that haven’t you? you hate her.” logan said rudely, his grip on y/n’s throat still heavy so much that it would defintely bruise. the closeness sending her body into a mixed frenzy as she grew angrier at everything he said. the tension in the air suffocating her. “you always have.” he spit out rudely.

“and whys that?” logan trailed out before giving y/n a chance to respond, his voice teasing as if he knew the answer already. his tone making her feelings worse as she couldn’t move her eyes away from him as she was close to practically gasping for air already due to how harshly he had her.

y/n roughly swallowed, logan’s hands tightly gripping her throat making all her feelings worse as she found the words, “i’m pretty sure scott’s told you something that could be a factor.” she cursed out sarcastically. his eyes darkening as she studied every inch of his expression.

he narrowed his eyes at her words his anger radiating off him as he kept his grip on her, biting down on his lip at her words as his eyes didn’t leave hers for a second. y/n reading all sort of emotions within them as the tension swallowed her whole. feelings she’d never felt before cowering through her as she couldn’t move an inch, practically frozen.

“that prick told me a whole lot of nothing.” logan harshly let out as y/n raised an eyebrow at his words, his hand on her throat slipping a little as his anger seethed as he spoke again no matter how much he didn’t want too say it.

“apparently you could’ve been hurt.” he spit out like it was venom, y/n’s eyes leaving his for a second at his words as she swallowed roughly. her action annoying logan senseless as her moved his hand roughly to her jaw, turning her face to look back up at him. her breath hitching at his action.

“so you were?” he casted out, his gaze not leaving hers for a second as his harsh eyes took all of her in.

“by what?—you and jean?” y/n mustered out harshly, his grip falling right back to her throat at the stupidness of her words as his grip was ten times tighter then it was before. y/n having never seen this harshness from him before, and to say she didn’t like it would be a lie.

“jesus don’t play dumb with me kid.” he shook out harshly, his words another level of harsh as heat flooded her body as he pushed himself closer to her as she was roughly held against the wall.

“what if i was?” y/n scoffed out seeing the flash off weakness in logan’s eyes before he swallowed, a scoff escaping his lips as the tightness around her neck loosened as she caught her breath.

it was like there was something working in brain as the words sunk in, y/n watching as he swallowed once again. moving his gaze away before roughly shaking his head, his hand slipping off her throat but the closeness was still there as he looked back to her. almost fighting with himself and y/n could read that all over his face.

“you’d be stupid because i love jean.” he grunted out coldly as his words hit her harshly as she tried to fight that feeling rising in her as she brung herself to nod, swallowing those words she so wanted to scream in his face right now.

“i know.” y/n spoke out lowly, not bringing herself to deny his words or even state anything about them regarding her as she felt the feelings of hurt take over her, her observing a hint of hurt in logan’s eyes as she felt the hole in her grow twenty million times bigger as she watched him take a step back— y/n biting down the emotions threatening to show as she looked at him. the tightness feeling still around her neck despite his touch no longer being present, something right now she was craving.

the air was thick with tension as y/n swallowed, not being able to look away from him, as she could see the look on his face. one of practical knowing, he could read through her half assed words.

“so why the hell did you ignore me for?” y/n roughly asked him as she changed the topic slightly, gaining control of her hitched voice again which was hoarse due to how logan had just been holding her throat. her voice enlaced with anger as she stared down at logan, him tearing his gaze away before shaking his head as he tried to form the words as he met her gaze again.

“you just—don’t—look i didn’t want to hurt you kid.” logan ushered out, y/n getting an idea of exactly what he meant by those words as she swallowed roughly as she fought to keep her gaze on him. the weight in the air horrible as the tension had switched to this sense of nervousness and awkwardness between them.

“you ignoring me hurt me.” y/n said harshly as logan swallowed as he teared his eyes away from y/n as he stepped back.

“i didn’t mean too.” he rolled out, fighting with the urge to do many things he just couldn’t as he looked over her. shaking the thoughts out his brain as he took in the look of hurt on her face, she wasn’t hiding well.

“sure.” y/n almost whispered out , the room falling silent as logan scoffed roughly at her words before shaking his head in retaliation as he then pressed the button to open the door, almost in a hissy fit as y/n’s eyebrows raised at his action.. “logan—“ she called out as he immediately left at her words as she went right after him without another thought.

“logan! wa-“ she called out, cutting off her own words and stopping in her tracks once she saw him standing in the hallway frozen. her gaze stuck on him until she observed where he was looking and followed his eyes until she landed on scott at the end of the hall, immediately swallowing roughly as logan’s eyes were locked onto his. the harshness present in his gaze and scott’s too as logan brung his dark gaze onto her.

y/n’s mind doing a huge spin as logan’s face held a cruel expression on it as he saw who was waiting for her, it being like another switch had flipped within him as y/n observed his jaw clenching and him biting down on his cheek as their eyes were on each other.

“think your boyfriends waiting for you bub.” logan muffled out rudely, his voice hoarse as he moved his gaze back onto scott giving him ome last glare before turning on his heel without another word and dissappearing down the hall. y/n scoffing at his words as she swallowed, debating going after him but her thoughts were stopped when she realised scott walking over to her.

“that didn’t go so well then?” scott commented softly, his eyes meeting her own as she shook her head straight away. the smile that was on his face dropping as he let out a harsh breath.

“not one bit.” y/n whispered out as scott gave her a sad smile, wrapping his arm round her side as the two started to walk down to the elevator.

y/n completely unbeknownst to the fact that logan watched as the two walked away, scott’s hand around her waist a burning picture in logan’s mind for the rest of the day as the anger inside him grew. his heart longing for something he couldn’t even mutter to his own brain out of fear for his strong the feeling was.

+ੈ✩‧₊˚

halloween had come and you wished it hadn’t. your usual favourite season been replaced with all this shit stirring inside you to the point when it come round you didn’t even know if you could even be bothered to go to the party but you knew you had no choice which is why once you started to get ready you and rogue pregamed secretly, her having got bobby to bring some alcohol for you two as a constellation prize for him not being able to come which he did of course.. he did practically everything she asked and seeing them so in love made you sick half the time no matter how happy you were for rogue it did just remind you of your own lack of love.

tonight the liquor burnt your throat harshly to another extreme and the second you started you wished you never but there was no going back — your feelings being swept under the rug as you and rogue finished your drinks as the two of you got ready. her doing your makeup as you hummed to the music playing on her speakers which drowned out the growing noise of the party downstairs as your mind swirled over logan and scott, who had ended up asking you to go with him to this party which you of course said yes too, whilst rogue tried her best to take your mind off it.

not that it was working the slightest bit. rogue knew about the argument — she had heard the story a good six or seven times since it happened two days ago and she couldn’t even comprehend it let alone you. ‘team scott’ was what she had been saying for the first remainder of the night whenever you spoke about it which now just made you shut up about it because you couldn’t think straight when scott’s name was in the mix.

the anguish and hurt that had been displayed on your face for the past two days disappearing by the more you drunk. feeling more carefree by the moment as you and rogue eventually made your way down to the party.

+ੈ✩‧₊˚

the party so far was a drunken mess from everyone around y/n as she locked eyes with logan for what felt like the 30th time in the past hour or so from the other side of the crowded living room. y/n roughly swallowing once their eyes met with his captivating gaze never dropping or leaving her own for a second and it had felt like that for the entire night despite his hand that was plainly wrapped around jean’s waist as they talked with wade and vanessa. y/n’s nose scrunching up as she observed that once again before she turned away burying her lips within another glass as she took a generous sip of the drink scott had got her.

rogue being in conversation with pyro who was playing with the hem of her shirt, y/n close to butting in just to make sure rogue was good because she knew how quickly she got drunk but she cut off with scott’s voice as he leaned over to her. his hand wrapping around her shoulder as he pulled her closer to her, the drunkness evident within him as every single time y/n saw him drink he seemed to get 10x more clingy.

“shall—we, shots?” scott rolled out as y/n met his gaze, a smile joining her lips at his drunk mess as she couldn’t help chuckle as he pulled her even closer to him to the point she was practically edging to be sat on him.

“we’re both far gone already.” y/n stammered out as scott couldn’t help a cheeky grin join on his lips as his hand stayed around her waist, his eyes focused up on her and his eyes were so heavily resembling a cute puppy dog through his visor she couldn’t stop the little blush coating her cheeks. her feelings amplified by the alcohol.

“cmon i’ve never seen you back down.” scott teased out, his voice a low and slurred whisper as y/n took in his words, them making her feel a number of things as she couldn’t stop herself from leaning over him as she grabbed two shots from the tray on the coffee table.

“it’s your fault if i start dancing in a minute.”

“oh, like dirty dancing?” scott referenced as he quipped his eyebrow up, y/n laughing at his words as she felt his eyes burning into her as she took the shot. y/n placing her shot back down on the table once she swallowed it as she looked back to scott, seeing how he hadn’t torn his eyes away from her, the shot still full in his hand as his eyes were focused on y/n as she smiled down at him, his hand keeping her close to him as she felt something inside her growing.

“mm definitely.” y/n chimed out as scott couldn’t hide the smirk that grew on his lips at the thought.

“good.” he said deeply as he took the shot right after speaking. y/n finding her mind a mess with his words as she moved her eyes back to the corner where logan was seeing him standing there, eyes narrowed on her but before the eye contact couldnt go prolonged for any moment longer as hank slid into the empty space in the sofa next to them between rogue and pyro who were clearly shitfaced already which captured y/n’s attention.

“where is my sanity?” hank rolled out as he sighed as he sunk into the sofa, y/n looking his costume up and down as she raised an eyebrow over it. scott leaning over y/n to see what he was, a smile on his lips as he saw it.

“frankestine you lost that many years ago.” y/n rolled out as hank gave her a look, scott laughing as it was the funniest thing she had said in the world as she could feel herself get daggers from across the crowded room. her swallowing as hank dug his own little grave into the sofa as she grabbed another shot as scott leaned back into the sofa, y/n unsubconciously leaning against his touch after putting the now empty shot glass on the table after downing it like it was water.

“yeah and what the hell are you?” hank casted out right before wade butted in.

“she’s wolverine if he was sexier and underage.” wade said lowly, giving y/n a little head bop with his hand as he made hank move over, wade sliding in next to y/n as scott scoffed at what he said as wades eyes dawned on scott.

“god you two move on quick.” he tumbled out, y/n shoving him in his side at his words as he fake winced in pain. hank rolling his eyes as he looked to scott and y/n.

“no! but you do make a good couple.” hank said tipsily as y/n felt her face going red as scott glanced over at her overviewing that sight as he felt a certain feeling grow in him at the knowledge. that familiar ache within her getting harder to have to deal with now as she pushed it down with another shot, scott sighing as she did so as he shot wade and hank a look which his drunkness made more obvious.

“yeah—quit it guys.” scott said lowly despite how he really felt about it as y/n leaned back into his touch, the closeness limiting her thoughts as scott brung his eyes over to hank only to be cut off with logan’s gaze from across the room.

logan’s eyes permanently dented onto scott as he sensed the anger radiating off him from across the room, scott having to cancel out the vision of jean right next to him trying to grab logan’s attention as he swallowed roughly with this making his grip on y/n tighter as he moved his eyes to hank. a sly smile on his lips as he could sense his rage from across the room which only got worse, that feeling making him feel good as if he forgot about jean being over there.

“frankie with the glasses got a point.” wade said swiftly as he dug into his pockets as scott sighed as y/n sent him a soft smile to let him know it was fine as hank decided to drown his emotions into the bottom of his glass. halloween music blaring through the speakers that nearly everyone in the room was dancing too, wade humming to himself as he brung something out his pocket.

“cocaine anyone?” he brushed out off the tongue as if it was nothing, y/n’s eyes widening a little at her friends habit as she felt her heart skip a beat as she looked over to wade as rogue leaned over hank with a raised eyebrow to see what was going on, her clearly judging him as y/n couldn’t help ponder over it for a second. but before she could even voice her little curiosity that wade could tell just from how she was looking at him she had the sound of the one guy she had been hating for the past two days, more like week, and who had been avoiding her like she was striker spoke up.

“put that shit away wade there’s kids at this party.” logan’s voice harshly let out which knocked y/n’s heart down a view pegs as she looked up to meet his gaze. his cold eyes not looking to her once as she noticed how focused he was on wade as his jaw clenched.

“wow you were watching me like hawkeye!” wade rolled out, “or too busy gawking at y/n still?” he said which installed an instant tension between the joint group as y/n swallowed a lump that had formed in her throat at wades blatant stupidness.

logan didn’t even buy into the shit he was saying, eyes narrowed on wade as he took a step closer to him past the coffee table as if that was a threat wade would notice or care about, “there are kids at this party wade. put it away.” logan followed out roughly, anger growing within him as he glanced over to y/n. their eyes meeting as his eyes lingered on her as he took in the way scott was sitting so close to her as if she was his to protect.

wade tutted at logan’s words as he raised an eyebrow at what he said, “it’s sixteen up peanut and they’re all doing this in the bathroom anyway aren’t they y/n?” wade waved away at you, “go on,go check with your mind.” wade said cockily towards you as he paused for dramatic effect as logan’s gaze narrowed even more on wade as he spoke up again as he looked back to logan, “see they are! loosen up cowboy.”

logan tutting as his gaze met y/n’s own before he looked back to wade, swallowing harshly.

“wade.” he growled out roughly, logan not letting his eyes move off wade’s for a second as y/n could see the anger deeply rooted on his face. scott scoffing as he decided to get involved.

“wade just take it somewhere else.” scott managed out, y/n’s eyes moving to his as his words hit the air as wade snorted in reply, a low laugh leaving his lips as scott was staring at logan. the uncomfortably in the situation rising so much y/n didn’t realise pyro and rogue sneak off together.

“i don’t need your back up.” logan scoffed out harshly, crossing his arms as he kept his gaze on wade not even tearing his eyes to scott. y/n finding his maturity ,lack there off, stupid as scott held back a sigh at his words as he kept his arm around y/n, deciding that was all needed to piss logan off right now as he didn’t even want to make a comment back or even have the energy too.

“this rooms full of adults.” wade chimed out, logan’s anger growing.

“wade— just fucking—“ logan started out only to be cut off by y/n’s voice.

“drop it logan.” y/n rolled out which made logan’s eyes fall down to her, seeing her all snuggly with scott making him another level of pissed off as he raised an eyebrow at her words.

“what? you joining wade?” logan growled out, his voice harsh and rude as y/n swallowed. scott going to butt in as wade observed what was going on, a sly smile growing on his lips as y/n spoke before scott got the chance too.

“just drop it. you heard wade.” y/n said back harshly to him which made logan tutt as he didn’t look away from y/n at all.

“sure i heard wade and i know you aren’t a fucking adult.” he bit out harshly, making y/n feeling a number of things as scott jumped in, “don’t talk to her like that.” he said harshly, logan’s eyebrows raising at scott’s words as he took in scott, looking y/n and him up and down before he bit down on his tongue. his anger having been raised by wade and now it was only getting worse

“or what? i’m pretty sure she can stand up for herself.” logan replied harshly which made scott’s anger rise within him as y/n got inbetween their words. hank and wade watching the three of them like it was a reality tv show.

“logan stop it.” she ushered out quickly, giving him a cold look as he met her gaze as the two stared at eachother, him not backing down for a second as she fixated her gaze on him. her heart unsteady at this prolonged harshness he had for her.

“is that all you can say kid?” logan scoffed out angrily which made y/n swallow harshly as scott’s grip tightened on her in a way of attempted comfort that right now was just making it worse. the pressure immense as wade’s eyes fell between y/n and logan. seeing how y/n was taking it, seeing through the demeanour. he could practically see her snapping. breaking.

“no. you’re an asshole and i’m not a kid, so leave it and fuck off too jean will you?” y/n shapped out harshly, her words coming out strongly as all three of them on the sofa amongst her didn’t expect those words to come out her mouth, wade’s mouth falling agap as did hank’s as they tried to hide the shocked expression overtaking their faces as scott swallowed harshly.

the tension risen as logan’s voice was as he immediately came back at her, “you’re a little baby compared to everyone here and you know that, also you don’t get a fucking right to talk about jean.” his harsh words were like a knife to the side as y/n laughed at what he said as scott held back the urge to speak up when logan mentioned jean’s name, it just being a habit he had, as y/n kept her eyes up on logan as she swallowed down her feelings. anger being the only thing prominent in her brain for him currently.

“okay maybe you guys should take this somewhere else.” hank trailed off, sensing the seriousness of the conversation and defintely being able to hear the feelings enlaced within both their words as wade hushed him.

“no, no i just need to get my popcorn. keep going!” wade tumbled out which made y/n turn to look at him with a harsh look, wade seeing the emotion in her eyes as she left his gaze and she searched the sofa for rogue. it just being hank and wade right where rogue and pyro once were sat.

“where th—“ she stopped herself from finishing as she realised the stupidness off her words before she quickly remarked, “you’re an asshole.” to logan as she quickly got up, scott’s hand falling off her waist as she stood up as she got face to face with logan instantly walking right past him and disappearing into the crowd.

“see what you did!” scott cursed out as he tutted, going to stand up to get her when logan instantly stood in front of him. placing his hand over his chest as he pushed him back down.

“stay.” logan said strongly before he gave wade and hank a look before disappearing right after her.

+ੈ✩‧₊˚

y/n turned as many corners as she could as her mind become even off a spinning mess as she made her way out to the courtyard where it was completely pissing it down but she couldn’t care less in the moment, just needing air and a break to recollect her thoughts, as she tumbled down the steps. her heart aching as she heard the door slam shut a few seconds later after she had left them. soon the faint sound of footsteps following her making her feel a number of things as she heard nothing him call after her. “where the hell are you going?” logan yelled out after her as she kept on walking, him running after her and eventually catching up to her.

catching his breath as he roughly grabbed her wrist to make her stop in in the middle of the field as he turned her around to meet his gaze, her breath noticing as it felt like her world stopped at that touch as she couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes.

“y/n.” he quickly let out with a raised voice so she could hear him over the pouring rain, the two of them getting drenched under the dark skies as she kept her gaze on him. trying to shake his hand off her own but he didn’t budge one bit.

“y/n!” he called back out when she didn’t answer — trying to grab her attention as he fought her way to finally look at him, swallowing a lump that was in her throat as their eyes met.

“what logan! what do you want? you’ve been nothing but cold and rude to me for a week and after what you just said to me there and what you said last time we spoke i don’t exactly wanna speak to you! so let go off me—“ y/n shouted out to him, her breath hitting a little as her voice broke a little as her confusing and distressing emotions got the best of her as they started to slip out.

logan’s breath hitched completely at her words as he grew more frustrated, “fuck, y/n! i —“ he cut himself off, moving his hand off her as he moved his hand through his hair in a stressful manner, not wanting to be sensitive at all but he could feel it all coming out as she felt her heart break as he took a step back. his shaky voice just being a reminder of everything he’s said before and how horrible he’s been recently, but it also reminded her off the man she thought she loved.

“what? logan? what!” she stammered right back out, her breath hitched as he looked at her. his mouth agap as he was fighting for the words. “i—“

“you what? you hate me? because good! i hate you too.” y/n tumbled out before turning on her heel, logan’s heart in his chest as he watched her as she started to walk away, just being able to make her out as the rain started to pour even harder. the chill down his back snapping him to reality as he quickly screamed back at her.

“y/n! for fucks sake, i’m in love with you!” he called back at her, his voice raised as he screamed that for her to hear through the loud harsh rain. y/n pausing in her tracks as his words hit her like a tidal wave.

her breath growing uncontrollable as she felt her chest rising, swallowing before she slowly turned back to meet his eyes. the distance vast between them as the rain filled her vision but she could see him, the rain pouring down on her face only making her emotions worse as she swallowed.

“what?” she yelled back at him, her voice shaking as she heard him curse under her breath.

“i’m petrified, y/n i’m fucking petrified because i love you so much it hurts.” he quaked out, his voice raising as his breathing became ragged and uneven, his body practically trembling under the coldness of the rain as he looked at her.

“logan—“

“no— don’t say anything else. just listen to me.” logan quickly spoke, taking steps over to y/n until he was a mere few inches away. her eyes dawning up on him as she swallowed roughly, her mind a mess.

“i get scared okay? i got scared because you, you’re everything. i got scared when i knew you felt the way i did i didn’t know how to deal with it. i don’t want to hurt you, i can’t. it’d break me in every way there is.” he rambles out strongly, “and i don’t love jean—i can’t when you exist.” he finished out, his words meaning everything as y/n kept her gaze on him.

her breath shaking at his confession as she looked at him wide eyed, his words hanging in the air as a thick silence grew. y/n taking in everything about logan’s face, the way he looked at her as she tried to wrack her thoughts around what she had just heard. questions falling through her brain as her mouth opened to speak, trying to find the words but instead of words she was met with logan’s lips against her own.

his hands falling around her waist as he pulled her to him softly, the roughness missing within this warm embrace as his kiss was full of desire and passion, the heated kiss making her feel a mixture of emotions as she let him take control of it. her body shaking due to the warmth from his body and the coldness from the rain soaking them as y/n’s drunken mind was lingering on one guy snd she couldn’t bring herself to admit who it was, not right now. her breath shaky as logan’s other hand fell down to her waist as he pulled her closer to him, her hand cupping his cheek as she kissed him back strongly.

the kiss growing more heated as he roughly bit down on her lip, a low whimper escaping her lip at his action as he groaned at just the way she sounded against him as he fought for dominance. the heat rushing between them as he pulled her as close as he could, wanting to taste every inch of her lips. her breath shaky as logan and her eventually pulled away from the kiss — his eyes falling down on hers as so much need for her was within his gaze as y/n looked up at him, her lips feeling swollen as she swallowed anxiously.

her not even able to say anything back or move, her body frozen as everything she had been fantasying about for the past year had just happened right there. and she didn’t know if it felt right or not.

she knew she loved him, she had for years, but as she looked at him now it was completely different.

and she couldn’t help but wonder why that heart ache she thought was down to logan was still present within her and no matter what she wanted to believe she knew deep down that she had fell so quickly and easily for someone else that standing here in front of logan the main feeling she had was guilt for kissing him back.

[auroralwriting]

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spencer reid x fem!bau!reader

spencer gets shot, and you don't know who you need to forgive: him, or yourself.

word count: 3.3k

warnings: no use of y/n, spencer gets shot, season 9, blood and violence, criminal minds type violence, negative self thoughts, angsty but it turns fluffy, spencer's drug addiction is discussed, best friends to lovers

The ringing in your ears overwhelmed you. Shots were firing all around, and you didn't know what to do. You'd never been in a shoot-out before, and you felt panicked.

Spencer was beside you, hidden behind the car door as he fired some shots. You watched as an officer in front of you was shot.

You knew it was the worst idea to go out there, but the man could be alive. Your legs moved before you realized it, and you were attempting to drag the officer's body. Spencer and Alex both yelled for you, running out to grab you. Right as Alex grabbed your arm, Spencer pushed you closer to her, which was very out of character for him.

It was then you heard another bullet rip through skin.

The sound that came from Spencer was one you couldn't quite describe, but could never forget. Immediately, you noticed the blood seeping from his neck of all places.

"Spencer!" Your voice was broken and loud as you yelled, grabbing onto him. Derek made a jump, helping you and Alex move him behind the car again.

"No, no," Alex muttered, putting pressure on Spencer's neck. "Look at me, okay? Don't close your eyes,"

You sat behind her, shaking your head as tears freely flowed down your cheeks. "Oh my god, oh my god," You repeated, shock flooding your system.

"Ethan, look at me! Ethan!"

For a moment, you didn't realize who Blake was talking to, until you saw Spencer's shut eyes. "Spencer, Spencer wake up." You crawled over, shaking his shoulder. "Please, I need you, I need you with me forever. You're my best-- Alex, why is there so much blood?"

You helped Alex stop the bleeding, but it was so much. After what felt like years, the paramedics arrived. You and Alex fought to ride with him, and somehow, they let both of you. The woman held you to her side as she urged you to look away, but the sight of Spencer's dying body never left your eyes. Were you even blinking? Breathing? It didn't feel like it.

Spencer was rushed to surgery immediately. You didn't even get to say goodbye when you and Alex were sent to the waiting room. The two of you didn't speak for a while, until an hour or so later.

"Who's Ethan?"

Alex turned to you, "Ethan was my son."

"He passed?" You asked.

"When he was nine. I begged him to look at me." Alex bit her lip as you squeezed your eyes shut. "I don't know if I can do this anymore."

You reached for her hand, which she took. "I don't blame you." You admitted, looking over to her with teary eyes. "Do what your heart tells you to, Alex. Don't let us determine what you're happy doing."

Alex gave your hand a squeeze as the silence took over once more as you waited. Penelope sent word that she was on her way, and you hoped it would be soon. Her cheerful demeanor was what you needed.

Finally, the doctor came to tell you Spencer had narrowly avoided death. You felt a breath release, one you didn't know you were holding. The man lead you both to Spencer's room.

Your first thought was about how peaceful he looked. Then, the panic set in when you saw the IV in his arm. "What medications will he be given?" You quickly asked before the doctor could leave the room.

The doctor listed a couple of medications when one caught your attention, "...Gabapentin, Hydromorphone--"

"Stop, what are those? Opioids?" You questioned.

"Uh, yes. Both are in the dilaudid family--"

You shook your head, "He can't have those. He had a drug addiction to dilaudid. Give him something else."

The doctor gave you a hesitant look, "Agent, those are what we recommend--"

"I don't give a damn, what else can you give him?" You demanded, crossing your arms.

"Uh, Morphine would be the most basic and cover the most ground." The doctor sheepishly responded.

With an exasperated look, you said, "Then write that down. That's what he'll be getting. Monitor the doses, too. I don't want to risk a relapse. If you have any questions, I'm his second emergency contact. First is Aaron Hotchner, he can attest--"

"It's really alright, miss." The doctor said, slowly stepping back. "We took note. I'll see to it that it is followed."

The doctor left and Alex chuckled, "You scared him."

"Good," You replied, sitting down next to Spencer. Alex took the other side as you carefully took his hand. "It's my fault, you know."

Alex's brows furrowed, "What?"

"It's my fault he got shot." You repeated, pinching the bridge of your nose tightly as you squeezed your eyes shut. "I was to his right. He pushed me out of the way. My head is just where his shoulder is, and he bent down to push me. It was meant to be a headshot, Alex."

Softly, Alex grabbed your hand across Spencer's body. "Sweetheart, that doesn't make it your fault. You couldn't have controlled Spencer's actions."

With a sniffle, you tearfully looked up to Alex. "Alex, please be with him when he wakes up. He's my best friend, and I failed him. I- I just can't."

Alex wanted to argue you, to tell you that you were exactly what Spencer needed when he woke up, but she also took into account your needs, too. "Alright," she sighed. "But please, come back after to see him, alright?"

"Yeah," You nodded, biting your lip.

Remembering the moment Spencer got shot was like it was from another lifetime, even if it was just from a few mere hours ago. You remembered exactly what you did, but looking back, it felt like you replayed every moment you'd ever had with the genius. Every lingering touch, every time he made your heart swirl. You would've never gotten to kiss him, or tell him you liked him. It was too much for your heart to bare.

Penelope showed up later on, setting up some Doctor Who action figures for Spencer to see when he woke up. The sight of it made you sick. Knowing he would need to see something good when he opened his eyes was too much, too soon. You excused yourself, leaving the room in a hurry as you left the hospital.

For a while, you sat in the black SUV provided by the police. You just needed space, air to breathe. After some calming breaths, you decided to get Spencer some flowers to cheer up his dull room.

The florist was only fifteen minutes away, so that's where you headed. When you walked in, the woman behind the counter noticed who you were. Small towns talk.

"I don't know anything," She said with a sigh, "You'll find better luck--" Her voice paused when she saw the look in your eyes. "You ain't here to question me, are you?"

You cleared your throat, "My uh, partner-- teammate, he got shot. I wanted to just get him flowers, I guess. Maybe this is too weird," You'd muttered the last part to yourself, turning around to leave.

"No! No, wait." The woman called as you turned back around. "You like this teammate of yours?"

You nodded, "Yeah."

"You like him more than that?" She raised a brow.

With a hot face, you nodded. "I do."

"I always know. I got just the thing for you, sweetie. Just give me five minutes to prepare it." The woman rushed into the back, and you hesitantly took a seat in a small chair. After those five minutes, she came back out with a gorgeous pink floral arrangement. "Put this together especially for you."

Reaching for your wallet, you mustered the best smile you could. "Thank you so much. How much do I owe you?"

"No charge, sweetie." The woman held her hand up in denial. "You work a hard job. I'm a mother, I know the look of love and heartbreak on a young woman's face. You tell him how you feel, alright? That's the charge."

Your eyes watered as you took the flowers from her. "Thank you, ma'am. You're too kind."

"Says the girl getting the boy she loves flowers after he got hurt." The lady smiled back.

After driving back to the hospital, you hit the fourth floor button and took the grueling trip up. You realized you'd left your phone in the room. Hopefully nothing too important happened.

As you walked up to Spencer's room, you heard his voice, but it was filled with panic. "Garcia, he has a gun!"

Your body moved before your brain as you ran in, grabbing the first person you didn't know. The male nurse, who you assumed was not a nurse, threw you back against the wall as you took note of the gun in the back of his belt. You reached for it, but felt the bottom of it crash into your forehead. He'd gotten it before you had. As you fell to the floor, you heard Penelope shout for help when you saw Spencer's bag, the one that had his gun.

Right as the unsub turned around, you grabbed it and shot him right in the chest. He fell to the floor as you realized you'd been clutching the flowers. Laying down, you let them fall out of your grasp as Derek appeared, grabbing the unsub.

"Oh, my ray of sunshine!" Penelope yelled as she helped you up "You're bleeding! Let's get you a nurse- a real one."

As she pulled you out of the room, you'd just caught a glance at Spencer who was watching you leave with an unreadable expression on his face.

You sucked in a sharp breath of pain as the nurse finished stitching up your forehead. A good sized gash was left from the bottom of the gun, and your shoulder was already developing a bruise on the blade. “Sweets, are you sure you’re okay?” Penelope carefully asked, squeezing your hand as the nurse grabbed the rest of her tools and left you both alone in the small waiting area.

“Yeah, Pen. I’ll be okay.” You nodded. Playing with your fingers, you cleared your throat. “How’s Spencer?”

“He’s okay. Up and talking, the Morphine is doing him well. He’s not in too much pain.” Penelope replied, giving your hand another squeeze. “He was thankful it was Morphine.”

With a nod, you continued, “Was Alex with him when he woke up?”

“We both were,” Penelope bit her lip, “but he still asked for you.”

“I just couldn’t be there,” A sigh escaped your lips as you rubbed a hand over your cheek. “It should’ve—”

Penelope raised her eyebrows, “Don’t you dare finish that sentence. It shouldn’t have been anybody. This is not your fault, I won’t let you believe it.”

A throb emitted from your forehead, “When do we leave? I just want to go home.”

“Spencer’s being airlifted there. We leave right when he does, in about thirty minutes. JJ packed all your things and brought them to the jet for you.” Penelope softly smiled. You made a mental note to thank JJ for doing that for you. “You know you’re going to have to talk to him, right?”

“I don’t want to think about it, Pen.” You shook your head as much as the pain would allow. “I just want to go to sleep.”

Penelope nodded softly, taking your hand and guiding you to the car to go to the jet.

Two days later, and you were still at home in your apartment. Your forehead only got worst with a huge bruise around the stitches. That wasn’t to mention the pain radiating from your left shoulder, either. You felt so bad for not seeing Spencer while he was awake in the hospital, but even now, the thought made you sick to your stomach. Seeing him in pain, in the hospital gown, the beeping of the machines, it was all just too much to bear. It was worse knowing that should’ve been you.

You were sat in your sofa, a half-melted bag of peas on your forehead when you heard the doorbell ring. Slowly, you got up off the couch-- much to your dismay-- and approached the door, reaching for the knob and twisting it.

Spencer standing outside the door, holding a similar flower arrangement to the one you'd gotten him, was not what you expected.

"Reid," You softly said, his last name feeling odd on your tongue. He was never Reid to you. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see how you were doing. Morgan, uh, told me you got knocked around pretty good." Spencer eyed your forehead, making you feel like a tiny specimen under a microscope. You allowed your hair to fall over it, covering the large, disgusting mark.

Biting your lip, you nodded. "I'm alright." After a moment, you came to your senses, "Uh, come on in. Sorry if it's messy."

"I think I'll live," Spencer chuckled, making your blood run cold at his words. You lead him inside, and even if he'd been in your apartment a numerous amount of times, it felt different now.

Spencer sat on the other end of your sofa. You pressed yourself to the arm, giving plenty of space between the both of you. "Are you in pain?"

"No, not really." Spencer hummed as he pondered your question. "But swallowing sometimes feels different."

"Ah," You casually replied as you went to pick at your nails. You stopped yourself-- don't give Spencer any of your tells. "I'm glad you're okay."

"I wish you would've came to see me sooner." Spencer admitted. "I missed you. I thought you would've been there when I woke up."

Guilt crept into your gut as you replied, "I was out getting you flowers."

"For three hours?"

Spencer's comment clocked you. "Spencer," You rubbed your neck, head slinging down to stare at your lap. "I couldn't be there."

"Why?" Spencer breathlessly asked, his eyes pleading for an answer.

He felt so alone when he opened his eyes and you weren't there. Sure, Alex and Penelope both were, but he was searching for you the whole time. You were his rock, you had been for the last three years. Sure, at first he took a while to warm up to you. Two months, twenty-three days, seventeen hours, and sixteen minutes, to be precise. The moment you both connected, however, it was like you and Spencer were attached at the hip. You had always been there for him. Why weren't you there for him now? It tore down Spencer to know you weren't there, but he was also concerned for your well-being as well.

"That shot was meant for me, Spencer." Your voice was cold as you spoke, a small quiver when you said it was for yourself. "We both know that would've been a headshot."

"You're mad that I saved your life?" Spencer didn't want to become angry, but he did feel frustrated at your lack of understanding.

You huffed, standing up quickly, "I'm mad that you hurt yourself for me, Spencer! You almost died, what would I have done if you died?"

"Says you," Spencer retorted, a small look of bewilderment on his face. "I couldn't live with myself if you died."

The air was thick in the room as you paced while Spencer watched. "Oh, so getting yourself shot was the answer. You scared Alex half to death, and I've never seen Derek cry before this! Don't even mention JJ going dead silent on us."

"Is this about them, or is this about us?" Spencer questioned, crossing his arms.

"This is about-- agh!" As you threw your arms out in distress, pain radiated through your shoulder blade. Your face scrunched in pain as Spencer quickly jolted to your side.

He softly took your arm, "Hey, hey. Let's just sit down, okay? Do you need more ice? Or, a better ice pack?" Spencer helped you sit down, and he grabbed your ankles to pop them up on the small ottoman in front of the couch.

"Better one would be nice," you muttered. "M' still mad at you."

"That's okay," Spencer's voice became more distant as he walked into your kitchen. "I guess I'd be mad, too. If I was in your situation, I mean."

You hummed, "Damn right."

Spencer chuckled as he made his way back into the living room. He gently pushed your hair out of your face, cringing at the huge bruise. You held onto the ice bag as he helped you sit forward. He could see the bruise that made its way up from your shoulder blade. It fell just above the hemline of your shirt, and the mere size made him sigh softly. "He really got you, huh?"

"He was Derek sized," you chuckled bitterly. "Plus, I was trying to save your flowers."

"Well, the vase was broken, but I kept the flowers." Spencer softly laughed beside you.

Your eyes twinkled as you looked to him, "You did?"

"Of course I did," Spencer nodded, "It was the sweetest thing anyone's ever done for me."

"Wow," Your tone was joking as you continued, "That's a really low bar. Gotta raise it, somehow."

Spencer softly took your hand in his. Every time he touched you, it reminded you of how much he trusted and cared for you; so much so that he allowed physical intimacy with you.

"I couldn't see you like that," You whispered, just loud enough for Spencer to hear. "It hurt me so much, to know I couldn't help you more. I-I couldn't- I-"

Shushes softly spewed from Spencer's mouth. "Hey, it's okay." He soothed, rubbing circles over your knuckles with his thumb. "I'm not mad at you. I was just sad you weren't there, but I understand."

"I can't live without you, Spencer Reid." You admitted, locking eyes with him.

Spencer softly spoke your name, and you noticed how his eyes flicked from your eyes, to your lips, and back to your eyes. "I can't live without you, either." Spencer echoed, another hand softly meeting your cheek. "Please tell me if I'm reading this wrong."

"You're not," you whispered. "promise."

You both sat there for a moment, reeling in each other's presences, your life forces. Finally, the tension got to be too strong. You leaned yourself closer to Spencer, ghosting your lips over his slightly-chapped ones. You gave him a moment to back out, to tell you that you read it wrong--

and he kissed you.

It wasn't a hard, fiery kiss. It was one that was soft, sweet, like a shining body of water, or the sound of laughter. His lips molded into yours like a missing puzzle piece. Spencer's hands moved to hold your face so strongly, yet so gentle like he was afraid to drop one of Rossi's expensive china pieces.

As you pulled back, Spencer's breath softly hit your face, a peppermint smell softly brushing your lips. "Is that why you were so upset?" Spencer breathlessly asked.

"Yeah," you nodded, "I think so."

"You think?" Spencer half-smiled.

"I think so." You pondered for a moment. "Wanna prove me right?"

Spencer chuckled, pushing his nose to nose your own. "More than anything."

Your lips collided again, but you pulled back with confusion. “How did you know I liked you?”

“Pink flowers,” Spencer scratched the back of his neck, “They’re known for symbolizing crushes, romantic feelings. Your whole arrangement was all pink tulips, roses, carnations.” You eyed Spencer’s for you— it was all pink. “I guess your florist knew better than you did.”

You chuckled, “I guess she did. I like yours, too.” Spencer’s eyes fell to his bouquet and he blushed. “Oh, don’t get shy on me now, kiss me again you sweet genius boy.”

Spencer smiled, happily leaning in for another kiss.

It was then you realized why you were so upset before; you couldn't lose your home.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Negligence.

Pairing: Yan!Geto Suguru x Reader x Yan!Gojo Satoru (JJK).

A Continuation of Nursle.

Word Count: 9.0k.

TW: Dub/Con - Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Unhealthy Relationships, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Kidnapping, Mentions of Pregnancy/Childbirth, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Lactation, Geto and Gojo Have Their Own Thing Going On That Is Entirely Separate From The Events of This Fic, and Age Gaps. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

[Part One] [Part Two]

Suguru wouldn’t let you hold Himari.

You’d offered to as he led you out of Suguru’s apartment, reached for her instinctively as he gently urged you into the passenger seat of a familiar black car, but Suguru was in a fugue state – eyes glassy, voice softened and tempered, a glazed smile painted over his lips. He kept Himari pressed against his shoulder, and then, when she started to stir, in his lap, bouncing idly on his knee as he drove. It was dangerous – for Himari and for you. You were tempted to tell him that, to insist on holding the daughter that wasn’t supposed to belong to him, but then you remembered that he was a cult leader and a kidnapper and a murderer and you kept your mouth shut.

Instead, you kept your hands tucked between your thighs and your eyes focused on the passing landscape, on Tokyo as it dwindled from skyscrapers to rustic storefronts to backwoods. You thought of Megumi, first, surprisingly. Even if he didn’t spend the night with Satoru, he’d notice if you weren’t in class, tomorrow. He’d be worried.

You wondered if Nanako and Mimiko had been worried when they suddenly couldn’t find you in Suguru’s bedroom, where you’d spent the days following Himari’s birth recovering, when you stopped appearing at Suguru’s temple with a folder of worksheets and enough candy to keep two girls under ten engaged for a full ninety minutes. You wondered how Suguru explained your absence, if he bothered to explain it at all. You wondered how long they’d hold it against you.

It was getting dark by the time you left the city entirely. With the setting sun to your backs, Suguru slipped onto a deserted seaside road and, still in that gentle tone, broke the silence. “Was it different?” And then, as Himari sniffled, “With him, I mean. Different than it was for us.”

It took you a moment to realize that he was talking, another to recognize that you were supposed to answer. It was less that you were lost in thought and more that you were lost in the absence of it – your mind a vague, cloudy haze of static and fog and every other grey, disembodied, terrible thing that could seep its way into your consciousness and leave you entirely blank, entirely numb. It was all you could do to remember how to open your mouth, let alone piece an intelligent response together. “With Satoru?”

“Satoru,” Suguru repeated, almost disdainfully. “It took you months to call by my given name.”

You couldn’t deny that, although part of you was tempted to try. Because it was true. Because it had.

Because it was different – or, it had been, at least. Things had moved so quickly, with Satoru. He’d gone from a stranger to a stalker to something not totally unlike a partner in a handful of hours, and you’d watched it all from a distance, never fully able to shake that strange sense of liminality. He was rich, and stable, and he’d never suggested that you quit your job or attempted to lock you up in his mansion of an apartment, as trapped as you’d felt. He’d raped you, but you couldn’t say you believed Suguru wouldn’t have, had you not been so terrified of what would happen if you ever tried to remove any part of yourself from his control. You knew, rationally, that they had to be around the same age, that Satoru shared every quirk and every immaturity that’d once made you disgusted to so much consider Suguru in a romantic light, but it was different. When you first met Satoru, you’d seen him as a parent, a provider, a man who wanted to raise your daughter (albeit, with or without your consent). When you first met Suguru, you’d seen him as a boy who fell asleep in temple gardens and pretended not to be as scared as he really was, and if you were being entirely honest with yourself, you’d never really been able to stop seeing him that way.  

Suguru clicked his tongue. He still wanted an answer, but it was all you could do to shrug, to let your gaze drift back to the passing landscape. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “I don’t think I would’ve wanted to marry him either, if he’d asked me to.”

You heard Suguru shift, the engine rev. He started to say something, but a shrill, ear-piercing, howl of a cry cut him off. You didn’t need to check to know it was Himari, and to know why.

“She’s hungry.” You spoke without thinking, snapping toward your daughter. You’d been on your way to feed her when you found Suguru next to her cradle, meaning she was already more than an hour past due. Himari didn’t cry often, but when she did, it was usually for a good reason. Yet another trait that must’ve come from Suguru – had she taken more closely after you, she might not have done anything but cry.

Something crossed across Suguru’s expression; a flash of irritation, a spark of anger, but nothing more violent, nothing lasting. He cooled back into stoic neutrality as one of his hands fell away from the wheel and to the back of your daughter’s onesie – lifting her out of her lap and depositing her unceremoniously in your arms, his eyes never leaving the road. “Can you take care of it?”

It. You had to dig your teeth into the side of your tongue just to stop from saying something you’d regret, from telling him not to talk about your daughter like some unfeeling, inanimate object, not to talk about her at all. You were in a car with a murderer, and you couldn’t forget that just because of some misplaced, motherly paranoia.

Instead, you looked around for a jacket, a blanket, something to cover yourself with, and when you found the car utterly and entirely barren, you settled for turning away from him and struggling the sleeve of your dress off of your shoulder. You went through the motions mechanically, automatically – cooing and running your fingers through Himari’s soft hair as she latched on, little hands grasping the scrunched fabric of your dress as she practically fed herself. You preferred formula, especially with Satoru breathing down your neck, but you didn’t have much of a choice.

A minute passed in relative silence, Himari’s crying slowly fading back into her usual incoherent, but relatively cheerful babbling. Eventually, her little eyes fluttered shut, and you pulled her away, holding her against your shoulder as she fell asleep. When she’d gone quiet, Suguru glanced toward you out of the corner of his eye. You saw him stiffen, straighten, then felt the car veer off the road and come to an abrupt, jeering stop.

You held Himari that much closer as Suguru let himself out. He took his time – his fingertips brushing over the hood as he made his way to your side of the vehicle, opening your door and nodding to the side. “You can leave her on the seat. I promise, I’ll try to be fast.”

You clung to Himari, who shifted restlessly against you. “You really can’t leave newborns unattended, she might—”

“I’ll be fast.” That smile was back in full force, albeit cast in shadow by the quickly dimming light. “I’ve missed you.”

You didn’t want to, but he was using that tone, again – the one that meant he was already running out of patience. Leaving Himari tucked against the backrest, you let Suguru take your hand and pull you out of your seat. No sooner were you on your feet than the door was slammed shut behind you, then Suguru’s hands were on your waist, pinning you against the side of the car. The heat of the dark metal sapped into your back, your shoulders as Suguru’s mouth found its way to the side of your neck, the crook. “I’ve missed you,” he repeated, his voice airy, edging on desperation. “I thought something happened to you. You were gone, and I couldn’t find her, and I thought someone must’ve taken you, or—”

His voice cut out. He didn’t draw back, but one of his hands fell away from your waist, reappearing on the neckline of your dress. His movements were hasty, rushed, like he couldn’t tear the fabric off of your shoulders and down your chest quickly enough. You weren’t wearing a bra, but even if you had been, you doubt it would’ve been much more of a barrier. A chilled sea breeze washed over your exposed chest as Suguru’s mouth fell from your throat to your collarbone, and then to the curve of your breast, lingering. “Wanted to do this since you got pregnant,” he muttered, as something heavy and spiked dropped from your diaphragm to the pit of your stomach. “Held off for the baby, but she’s had more than enough time with you.”

For a brief moment, every intelligent part of your mind seemed to slow, stall, then stop altogether. You opened your mouth, ready to ask what he meant, but unfortunately, you weren’t given the chance to be so painfully oblivious.

Suguru’s lips latched onto your left nipple, and anything you might’ve said was replaced with a hitched whimper.

He was rougher than he really had to be, than his daughter had ever been. The only thing you could think to compare him to, deservedly, was Satoru; just as forceful, just as loud, just as sickeningly eager. The only difference was his tempo. Satoru had always been too giddy not to rush, eager to steal a kiss before you left for work or wake you up with a hand lodged between your thighs, but Suguru seemed content to act as if he had all the time in the world, as if you were somewhere more private than the shoulder of a public road. The flat of his tongue lulled over your nipple as he drank, his free hand coming up to paw at your other breast in almost meditative patterns. You tried to shut your eyes, to block out the wet sounds of his lips working against your skin, but as routine as it was supposed to be, there was little you could do not to hear an occasional, satisfied grunt, not to feel a certain amount of relief as the pressure you’d learned to ignore began to dissipate. His teeth grazed against your skin, and reflexively, your hand found the back of his head, nails biting into his scalp. Rather than pull away, Suguru seemed to purr – the noise deep and throaty, reverberating against you as he leaned that much closer, as he shifted and you felt something stiff press into your thigh. Don’t think about it, you forced yourself to chant in the back of your mind, trying to remember all the age-old coping mechanisms you’d used when you were with him, all the coping mechanisms you’d forgotten after realizing that they wouldn’t work on someone as unpredictable as Satoru. You couldn’t think about it. You couldn’t put a name to it. You couldn’t acknowledge that sucking on chest was in any way connected to the hard, pulsing cock pressing into your—

But you didn’t have a choice. Suguru gasped, his breath hitching, and then he was drawing away from you, his forehead resting against your collarbone as a hand fell to the waistband of his jeans, freeing his cock – already stiff, already leaking into his palm. “I missed you.” You’d lost track of how many times he’d repeated the same meaningless phrase, but this time, his voice shook, misery seeping out from each fractured syllable. You might’ve felt more pity, but any sympathy you might’ve been able to feel for him was quickly drowned out by the material of your skirt being gathered in handfuls at your waist, his cock finding its way between your plush thighs. His larger body kept yours in place as he rutted against you, his open mouth leaking drool and milk and all the other ungodly things you could imagine onto your chest. It was embarrassing, really – just how tightly you kept your eyes shut, like a child walking through their first haunted house. Like all the bad things in the world would go away just because you couldn’t see them. “For weeks, I couldn’t—I didn’t know where you were, I thought—”

His form jolted against yours. You felt it – a sudden, liquid heat against your thighs, a sudden tension where Suguru’s chest pressed into yours – at the same time you felt the first tear fall, searing your skin where it made contact. There was another, then yet another, before you finally realized what was happening.

Suguru was crying.

Huh.

He’d never done that, before.

Finally, you forced yourself to open your eyes. Rather than attempting to look at Suguru, to see if his shoulders were shaking as violently as it felt like they were, your gaze moved outward, first to the bay, then to the sky – as black as spilled ink, now that the last traces of light had faded. As black as Suguru’s eyes.

You carded your fingers through his hair as he cried silently into your shoulder, never making a sound. Minutes passed before he spoke again, but you let him be the one to break the silence. “I don’t get it.” You hummed, and he went on. “I don’t understand why you didn’t try to leave him, too.”

“I might’ve, eventually. If I’d had more time.”

“But you didn’t.” His blunt nails bit into your waist with enough force to sting, but you didn’t say anything. “I don’t understand why you didn’t.”

You didn’t try to answer.

~

Suguru stopped at a gas station to clean himself up. You stayed in the car, clutching Himari to your chest, attempting not to flinch as her tiny hands pulled at your hair and grabbed at your skirt – searching for something to do, to entertain herself with. The rest of the drive passed in relative silence. Suguru didn’t try to make conversation, and even if you’d wanted to, you wouldn’t know where to start.

Finally, Suguru turned down an unpaved backroad, and far too soon, you were in front of a house you recognized. The architecture was traditional, the design compact, but you could remember Suguru saying that he and the girls didn’t need much. Later on, when he decided you shouldn’t be allowed to wander any farther than his line of sight during your pregnancy, he’d played with the idea of a larger property – something that could accommodate a growing family. If he’d ever had any real plans, they must’ve been abandoned after you left.

“We’re only stopping by,” Suguru explained, as he moved to step out. You didn’t wait for him this time – shouldering the door open and pulling yourself to your feet before he could decide he needed to drag you out of the car himself. “There’s a nursery attached to the master bedroom. The girls can look after Himari while we’re gone.”

Your breathing hitched, then stopped altogether.

The girls.

You’d managed to forget you’d have to see them, tonight. Suguru would’ve been enough to handle on his own.

You tried to take a step back, more out of reflex than anything, but your legs were unsteady, unreliable. You stumbled, but before you could so much as start to fall, Suguru was by your side, one hand on your arm and the other underneath Himari. He started to say something, but you were faster, louder. “I—I can’t. They’ll be so—I knew you wouldn’t hurt them, but I shouldn’t have—”

“They’ll be just fine.” He wasn’t crying, anymore. Instead, he took on the inflection, the stature he’d worn when you first met him – when he’d been the level-headed priest and you’d been a distraught non-believe desperate for help. If you hadn’t known better, if you couldn’t still see the reddened skin around his eyes, you might’ve called his composure sadistic. “And they’ve been waiting for you all night. Wouldn’t it be cruel to disappoint them now?”

It'd be crueler to make them face the woman who’d married their father and abandoned them without a second thought, but you doubted Suguru would agree. He was already curling his arm around yours, already guiding you towards the rustic villa. Whatever daze was keeping you from losing your mind entirely must’ve worn-off sometime during the drive. It was all you could do to keep yourself on your feet as you edged closer, closer to the front door. You were walking down the unpaved driveway, then standing on the wooden porch, and then, Suguru was ushering you inside – taking Himari out of your arms as you passed over the threshold. You didn’t try to resist. He wouldn’t ask the girls to hurt her, not after how long he’d spent holding the idea of a new, adorably helpless little sister over their heads, and wherever he was going to do to you after this, you didn’t want Himari involved. You didn’t want to give him an excuse to use her against you.

Suguru moved further into the villa, but you froze in the entryway. You could already hear the little, rushing footsteps, already picture the betrayal in their eyes, the questions they’d ask you and the answers you wouldn’t be able to give them. They’d hate you. They had to already hate you. You abandoned them, and they would know you abandoned them, and they would—

Two arms wrapping around your legs, the force of a smaller body crashing into yours. You glanced down and found Mimiko, clinging to your waist, her face buried in the material of your skirt. She wasn’t crying, but you could see her shoulders shaking, feel her nails digging into your thigh through the thin fabric. Reflexively, you reached down, resting a hand on top of her head and moving to nudge her away gently, to see if she needed help, but she only clung to you that much tighter.

Nanako was there, too, but she hadn’t latched onto you. Unlike her sister, she kept her distance, hands ringing the hem of her sweater as she stared pointedly at the floor. “Geto-sama told us what happened,” she explained, while Mimiko mumbled something incoherent and affirmative into your skirt. “He said that sorcerer – the white-haired one – took you and Himari away.” There was a pause, a quick glance in your direction. “He promised he wouldn’t let it happen again.”

Her eyes met yours, and suddenly, her nervous posture, the measured distance left between you and her – it made sense. You recognize the light in her eyes, or rather, the lack therefore.

It was the same shadow her father’s eyes took on, when he looked at you.

Whatever lie he’d told them, Nanako clearly didn’t believe it. Mimiko – sweet and loyal and prone to holding onto the things she loved like there was someone could come and take them away at any time – would’ve believed Suguru if he told her that world ended every time she closed her eyes, but Nanako was more pragmatic. She knew something was wrong. You doubted she would speak to you at all if she knew just how wrong, but still.

Swallowing your guilt, you lowered yourself to one knee and hugged Mimiko properly, squeezing her for one beat, then another, before letting her go entirely. Nanako was next. For all her reservations, she was running towards you as soon as you opened your arms to her, crashing into your chest and clinging to you twice as tightly as her sister had. “I’m sure he won’t,” you mumbled into her hair. And then, pulling back, “I know I was gone for a while, but it’s alright. The sorcerer Geto-sama told you about – he just wanted a little advice. He had two children he was raising all on his own, just like Geto. He heard all about how wonderful you two are, and wanted to know if I could stay and show him how to bring up the best kids in the world.” A kiss on either forehead, a thumb drawn over Mimiko’s cheeks to wipe away the tears she was frantically (and unsuccessfully) attempting to paw away on her own. “But, although I was very flattered, I told him that I had to go home. I knew you two would be fine, of course, but let’s face it – Geto wouldn’t last a day without me.”

It was your turn to pause, now, to lower your voice into something secretive. Mimiko was still sniffling, still determined to keep her face buried in her hands or your shoulder, but you made sure to meet Nanako’s eyes, to sound as sincere as you could – even if complete honesty was beyond you, at the moment. “Don’t tell Geto, but I missed you two most of all.”

Nanako looked like she wanted to say something. She almost did, too – tensing, opening her mouth, but she shut it again just as quickly, her eyes falling back to the ground in a sharp, violently narrow glare.

The pain was instant and beyond words. You wanted to pull her and Mimiko close again, to squeeze them tight and promise you wouldn’t leave them, not again, to apologize when you’d inevitably have to for the sake of a sister you hadn’t given them time to love. You wanted to—

You heard Suguru’s footsteps, felt his hand on your shoulder, and every thought you might’ve had that wasn’t devoted to your daughter’s well-being was gone.

Rather than embracing the girls, you drew back from them. Suguru pulled you gently to your feet, his hand falling from your shoulder to your elbow before wrapping around your wrist. “Keep an eye on your sister.” You could only be thankful there was still an ounce of warmth in his voice, as he addressed the girls. “(Y/n) and I have one more errand to run. We’re trusting you two to look after her, until we come back.”

You might’ve added something, made sure they both knew that you really had missed them, but Suguru was already drawing you towards the door – still ajar. The last thing you saw was Nanako taking Mimiko by the wrist before the door was slammed shut, and you were left entirely alone with Suguru.

~

Of all the places you expected him to take you, his temple hadn’t made the list.

His followers must’ve been sent away for the night, and the property’s attendants either dismissed or told to stay in their dorms. Every window was dark and shuttered, the gates locked and the doors bared. As you followed Suguru across the desolate courtyard and into the main shrine, you tried to think of places you would’ve wanted to be taken to, but came up empty. Part of you had been expecting the cheap, equally lifeless chain motels he’d shown a fondness for during your pregnancy, or worse, the hotel where you’d spent your first night together. Another, larger, quieter part had been able to imagine him driving into the deepest, darkest forest he could find and having his monstrous spirits tear you to shreds before you could so much as scream.

His ultimate destination was far from shocking, and yet, you still felt your heart drop into your stomach as he led you into his darkened sanctuary. As if in preparation, two tapered candles had been left burning in metal trays on either side of the screen door, and Suguru took one up as he passed by. You were left to linger in the doorway as, with a surprising meticulousness, he lit the candles scattered throughout the sanctuary, casting the open space in an ebbing golden glow. When he was finished, he collapsed onto his raised dais – perched on its edge, rather than laid across it. He almost looked out of place, without his usual costume, his usual posture. He almost looked his age.

You didn’t move. Running seemed impossible, but so did breaking the silence, doing anything to make yourself an active participant in Suguru’s bizarre ritual rather than a passive observer, a prop to be moved from place to place with little thought as to where you might want to be. A moment passed in silence, then another. Finally, he cracked. “Sit down.”

You didn’t move. “Are you going to kill me?”

He didn’t react. “All I asked you to do was sit down, love.”

“Are you going to kill Himari?”

He flinched into himself, going crooked. Something like hurt passed across his expression, as genuine as it was hypocritical.

He didn’t respond, but either out of pity or remorse or a lack of anything else to do, you found yourself closing the gap between you and him, setting yourself down on the edge of his platform. Immediately, his head fell onto your shoulder, his hand to your thigh, as if he was afraid you’d leave him again if he didn’t cling to you. “…I thought about breaking your legs,” he confessed, without prompting. “I was angry, when I realized you hadn’t been taken by force. I thought I’d be able to do it in Satoru’s apartment, leave enough blood to make him think I’d killed you, but—” There was a pause, a slow shake of his head. “I don’t know. I guess I waited too long, lost the nerve or something.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.” And then, when he shifted curiously beside you, “It would’ve scared the girls. They’re already having such a hard time.”

At that, Suguru melted entirely against you. There was an airy laugh, a small sigh, and you felt his hand on your hip, his thumb drawing loose patterns into your side. “So considerate,” he muttered, nuzzling into the dip of your shoulder. “Maybe, one day, you’ll care about me like that, too.”

A knot formed in the back of your throat. It wasn’t that you didn’t care for him – or, that you hadn’t, before he made it clear that the ways you were capable of caring for him weren’t enough. If you hadn’t felt anything for him, none of this would’ve ever happened. If he’d been satisfied to let you feel the same way about him that you felt about his daughters, it would never have gotten this bad. If you’d just laid back and let him fuck you the first time he’d asked, he would’ve lost interest in you months ago. You almost said so, too, tensed and opened your mouth and everything, but Suguru was moving before you had the chance to spit something out, his mouth crashing into yours with all the care and all the tenderness of a blunt object shattering bone. His teeth cut into your bottom lip, his body pressing into yours with enough force to throw you off balance, but his arms were already around your waist, keeping you upright. It was less that he slid off of the dais and more that he collapsed – dropping onto his knees at your feet, as little difference as it made in terms of height. He never let you stray very far, but tonight, he seemed determined never to leave more than a hair’s width of space between your body and his. His lips fell from your mouth to your neck, his hands finding their way to your hips. One darted for your neckline, but dropped back to your waist just as suddenly – all ten fingers soon burrowed into the plush of your waist.

“Your dress.” He wasn’t panting, wasn’t grinning, wasn’t laughing. His voice reverberated dully against the base of your throat, his pointed canines scraping over your skin as he spoke. “Take it off.”

You swallowed. Normally, he preferred to undress and re-dress you himself. You’d been scolded more than once for thinking you had any right to decide what you wore without his loving input, and when pressed, he claimed it was a show of love; proof of his dedication, his devotion.

This wasn’t about love, though, or dedication, or any other flowery word he’d ever used with you.

This was about control.

Your hands shook as you raised them to the back of your dress, finding the row of corset-type strings keeping the loose material in place. You fumbled with the knot for seconds, but Suguru was patient, willing to wait until the bodice fell away from your chest entirely, pooling at your midriff. You weren’t wearing a bra (again, an extremely difficult habit not to get into with a newborn at home), and one of Suguru’s hands came up, a scarred palm cupping your breast with enough force to bruise. You remembered, dimly, the time he’d spent pulled over by the side of the road earlier that day, but the memory was foggy, already so far away. You wouldn’t have been surprised if all of this seemed like one hazy, distant dream by tomorrow morning.

He detached from you suddenly, pulling away and kneeling on the sanctuary floor. Rather than relief, you only felt the world distort more violently around you; your pulse slowing and your vision burning as you clumsily pushed yourself to your feet, allowing your dress to fall away entirely. You moved to sit back down, but Suguru caught you before you could – his fist wrapping around your ankle, then skirting upward, settling gingerly against your thigh as his dark, soulless eyes raked over you. His stare caught on your panties, and his expression darkened. “I’m going to kill him.”

You didn’t have to ask what he meant. The pair had been Satoru’s pick; not quite a gift, but something given to you, regardless. They matched his aesthetics – needlessly detailed, smothered in lace, cast a shade of light blue so pale, it bordered on ivory. With how expensive Satoru’s tastes tended to run, you were sure the set had cost a fortune, but the priceless fabric gave away without protest as Suguru slipped two fingers under the waistband and tore. The ruined article fell away before you could so much as process that he’d moved.

Suguru’s impressive patience waned quickly. In the same motion, he pushed himself to his feet and took you into his arms, carrying you against his chest onto the dais, then to the altar pressed against the far wall. The scrolls laid across it were sent to floor with a single movement of his arm, and in the blink of an eye, you were laid across the polished wood, Suguru on his knees between your open legs. Your mouth opened, but there was no time to protest, to call out before his face was buried between his thighs, tongue lapping over the length of your slit. Still, you grit your teeth, bracing yourself to sit up, to tell him to—

Oh.

He'd gotten his tongue pierced, sometime after you left.

He was shameless. A rounded, jeweled stud dragged over your pussy, circling your clit with no pattern or pace, no intention other than to taste you. Never content to leave you to your own devices, he kept his hands wrapped around your hips, pinning you to the surface of the altar as he tried to all-but swallow you whole. It was messy, and overzealous, and worst of all, it was good. It was a matter of seconds before a mixture of spit and arousal stained the inside of your thighs and dripped from his chin, less than a full minute before you had to concentrate just to keep yourself from squirming underneath him. Not that it would’ve mattered, if you had. Suguru had always been playful in bed, content to milk reactions out of you with measured precision and careful vigilance, but that had been when you at least attempted to present yourself as willing. Right now, anything you might’ve felt seemed secondary to Suguru’s pleasure; satisfied groans soon joining the slick, wet noise ricocheting off the walls of his sanctuary. You dug your teeth into your bottom lip, crossed your arms over your face, but neither distraction helped to stifle the feeling of his lips latching onto your clit, suckling on it with all the care and all the delicacy of a butcher’s knife cutting into lifeless flesh. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes by the time he pulled away, but the pressure was immediately replaced by the bridge of his nose grinding harshly against the bundle of nerves, his tongue slipping past your entrance to curl against the most vulnerable parts of your cunt.

He let out another reverberating moan, and reflexively, your hand shot to the back of his head, your fingers soon tangled in his dark hair. One of his hands fell from your waist, and for a moment, you thought he was moving to pry away yours, that he didn’t want you touching him. But, fortunately or otherwise, his attention wasn’t on you. Instead, he reached for the elastic band holding his hair in place, pulling it out with enough force to snap the cheap plastic. You didn’t realize what he was trying to do until you felt him lean into your palm, his eyes fluttering shut as he melted into the semblance of your touch.

If you’d been capable of feeling anything more towards Suguru than you already did, you might’ve found the sight pitiful.

At the moment, though, you weren’t in a place to be quite so sentimental. It was all you could do to knot his hair around your fingers as you felt tight and hot form in your core, as your thighs threatened to snap shut around his head. You bit into the inside of your check with enough force to draw blood as Suguru moaned shamelessly, as he dragged you that much closer. It was too easy to forget to care whether or not he’d enjoyed it, too reflexive to gather his hair in your first and pull, to buck involuntarily into his mouth, to—

Suguru drew back suddenly, pushing himself to his feet. Thankfully, you caught yourself before you could feel disappointment, and after a few shallow breaths, found the strength to follow his stare away from you and towards the sanctuary door. Instantly, your heart stopped beating, the blood running cold in your veins.

Satoru stood in the doorway, cast in shadow save for his bright, piercing eyes. One of his hands was still wrapped around the doorframe, while the other hung limp at his side, cupping a small, pulsing ball of… light?

You didn’t have time to think about it. Suguru acted swiftly – pulling you into his arms and onto his lap, seating himself on the altar where you’d previously laid. “Drop it,” he said, his tone cold, cutting, not unlike an owner talking to his disobedient pet. He’d been short with you all night, but you couldn’t say he’d ever spoken to you quite like that. “Before you do something you’ll regret.”

The light dimmed before disappearing entirely, but Satoru didn’t move. He didn’t do anything, but you could feel it – a drop in the sanctuary’s temperature, a change in the air pressure, something deep and intrinsic that you didn’t want to be a part of. Reflexively, you tried to stand, to move, but Suguru held you tight, an arm barred over your midriff.

Despite everything, Satoru was the first to break the silence, albeit without doing anything to make that intangible tension any more bearable. “I should kill you.”

“You should.” Suguru’s fingertips dug into your side. “Those are your orders, aren’t they? Or are you going to put off delivering my head to the higher-ups for another three years?”

Whatever he was talking about, Satoru didn’t seem interested in acknowledging it. ���You took my girls.”

“You fucked my wife.”

At that, something seemed to break. Suguru’s chest pressed into your back as Satoru’s eyes shut, as he sucked in a harsh breath and broke out into a fanged grin, the sharpest you’d ever seen him wear. “Yeah. Yeah, I did.” He took a step forward, all hostility gone in favor of a sort of manic, unpredictable buzz. You didn’t know whether to be relieved that there was a slightly diminished chance you’d be caught in the middle of their fight to the death or terrified at the thought that they might want to do anything but tear out each others’ throats. “I fucked her after she left you. Bet you can’t stand it – knowing you’re not the only one who gets to run away.”

Suguru, for all his faults, didn’t flinch. He’d always had an even-temper at the worst of time. “What do you want, ‘toru?”

Satoru’s stare fell away from Suguru and onto you. His expression softened, taking on an almost apologetic lilt. Almost, but not quite.

“Not much,” he admitted, with a shrug. Even from a distance, even in the dark, you could tell his nonchalance was forced. “Just to say goodbye, make sure my pretty girl’s gonna be taken care of. Gotta wrap up loose ends, n’ all that.”

Suguru, for his part, seemed far from convinced. His grip didn’t loosen; if anything, he only held you closer. “And why should I let you?”

“Because I love her?” And then, with another step toward the altar, “Because you know I could wipe this building off the face of the planet, if I wanted to.”  

Pragmatic as he was, Suguru seemed to consider it. The hand over your side flexed, a chin settling against the dip of your shoulder, and beneath you, his stiff cock pressed into your ass – either unaffected or worse, fueled on by Satoru’s interruption. You were still attempting not to dwell on the implications when Suguru responded, level-headed as always.

“If you try anything, I’ll kill the baby.”

The second before a car crash, the spark where two wires failed to connect. For the longest time, you couldn’t seem to process what he’d said or how it could’ve been so gut-wrenchingly terrible. Rather than pull away, you flattened yourself against him, glancing over your shoulder. You opened your mouth, but the ability to speak was suddenly beyond you, set deliberately out of your reach. He didn’t mean it. He couldn’t mean it, and yet, his expression was stoic, unchanging, the pinnacle of neutrality. There was no laugh from Satoru either, forced or otherwise. Still, he kept up his smile. As if Suguru hadn’t said anything of consequence. As if either of them had any right to so much as touch your daughter.

Satoru didn’t respond to the threat, nor did Suguru urge him to. Almost mechanically, Suguru’s arm fell away from your midriff, and with little more than a nudge to the back of your shoulder, you were on your feet, vulnerable and shaking on the center of the raised dais. You could still feel a mix of slick and saliva coating the inside of your thighs, and you had to swallow the urge to make a grab for your clothes, to put yourself through the humiliation of being forced to strip twice in one night.

 Thankfully, tragically, you were liberated from any illusion of free choice swiftly. Without protest from Suguru, Satoru stepped onto the dais and took you by the hand, either overlooking or failing to acknowledge the panic in your eyes in favor of intertwining his fingers with yours and squeezing gently, as if you could still believe he genuinely wanted to comfort you. Rather than pulling you into his arms, dragging you down to the floor, he looked to Suguru, cocking his head to the side. “Get up.”

Suguru’s lips quirked downward, but he obeyed, pushing himself to his feet. “How blasphemous.”

Now, he pulled you off of your feet. In a moment, you were in his arms, and the next, you were perched on the altar, your back pressed against the wall and your legs spread around Satoru’s waist. “Blasphemous,” Satoru echoed, his voice low but plainly audible in the silence of the sanctuary. “would be fucking the most beautiful woman in the world on the ground. That’s why I’m her favorite – ‘cause I’m so considerate.”

No part of you trusted Suguru. No part of you preferred Suguru to Satoru, or the other way around. No part of you thought that, unless your life or his pride was threatened, he’d ever lift a finger to help you, but you found yourself glancing toward him out of the corner of your eye, doing your best to silently communicate that you needed to get out of here. Instead of sympathy, jealousy, you only found an idle smirk, a glassy sheen over his eyes that you could only imagine you’d mirrored for most of the day. “You’re not the one she’s married to, idiot.”

There was a dip, a surprisingly fleeting kiss to your lips, then your jaw, then your throat. “But she would get with me if you were out of the picture, right?” The question was punctuated with a nip to your collarbone, a hand dropped low enough to cup your pussy. The heel of his palm ground into your clit as two fingers pushed into your soaked cunt, spreading apart and scissoring you open. You tried to bow your head, to keep your eyes closed and your mouth shut, but you were still sensitive from your ruined climax, still so painfully exposed, and there was nothing you could do to bite back the cracked whines and pitiful mewls that slipped through your pursed lips. It was far from verbal confirmation, but Satoru hummed, grinned against your chest as if you’d sung his praises. “I’d get you a nicer ring, nicer house, nicer honeymoon. Always make sure you’re good n’ taken care of while Suguru’s busy playing god.”

Suguru huffed, and Satoru fell into a steady pace, adding a third digit as he carelessly fucked his fingers into your cunt. You didn’t hear him move, but before you could brace yourself, Suguru was at your side, leaning onto the altar to cup your face and trace over your jaw with the pad of his thumb. “I take care of you, don’t I?” You opened your mouth reflexively, ready to tell him that you were sorry, that you didn’t want him to touch you, that you wanted this to stop, but he was faster than you, more malicious. His thumb was forced past your lips before you could make a sound, pressed against the flat of your tongue with just enough force for your jaw to ache in protest. “I can’t blame Satoru for not being able to see that, though. Not when you treat me so cruelly.”

Cruelly. You’d never been cruel – at least, no crueler than you absolutely needed to be to survive. You felt pins and needles prick at the corners of your eyes before you noticed your vision blurring, before tears were streaming down either side of your face in boiling tracks. Satoru purred in sympathy, falling low and nuzzling into the tender spot at the base of your throat, flicking his wrist and burying himself inside of you to the knuckle. “You don’t have to worry, I know he’s the mean one.”

He was whispering, but that didn’t matter. He was too close, too awful for each word not to be absolutely deafening, for each little movement of his hand not to leave your nails scraping against the smooth wood of the altar, searching for purchase you wouldn’t find. Time was moving too quickly, it had been since you arrived at the temple. You couldn’t scream, couldn’t pull away, couldn’t breathe before Satoru pressed an open-mouthed kiss into the side of your neck and you were coming undone around his fingers, your thighs locking around his arm and keeping his digits inside of you until you could remember how to suck in a gasping inhale, until the last of the aftershocks faded and you could bring yourself to open your eyes. It wasn’t until the warmth of Satoru’s mouth fell away from your neck that you noticed the strange, copper tinge spread over your tongue, that you registered the absence of Suguru’s hand against your jaw. When you thought to look in his direction, he was evaluating his own hand. A thin, red line formed a dotted ring around the base of his thumb. You must’ve bitten down, at some point.

You must’ve hurt him.

Fear drowned out any satisfaction there might’ve been. He mentioned deciding against breaking your legs, earlier; was there any chance he’d change his mind? Would Satoru be able to stop him, if he tried to hurt you? Would Satoru even want to stop him? Himari was still alone, still in danger, and you wouldn’t be able to get to her if you couldn’t walk. You wouldn’t be able to stop Suguru from—

Satoru reached out, his hand curling around Suguru’s wrist and dragging it down to his height. With Satoru’s guidance, Suguru’s thumb came to rest against his bottom lip, then slipped into Satoru’s mouth entirely, his lips soon sealed around its base. There was a second or two of stillness, a swallowing-type noise too loud to ignore despite your best attempts not to hear it, and then, Suguru was pulling away and Satoru’s lips were crashing into yours.

It was strange for Suguru to be so clumsy, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be as surprised by Satoru’s lack of polish. It was all you could do to choke back a renewed sob as his mouth moved against yours, as his pointed teeth ghosted over your lips and grazed the underside of your tongue. He was all instinct, no logic, and when you tried to straighten, to leave enough room between you and him to catch your breath, he only seemed to want you closer. His hands were on your waist, then your arms, then your chest, never satisfied unless he could dig his claws into the most tender parts of you, and this time, when his canines grazed over your lips, he wasn’t satisfied to leave your connection at contact alone. He let out a shameless moan as he lapped at the puncture wound, warm blood leaking down your chin and pooling on your chest where it pressed into his. Again, you looked to Suguru for help, and again, you immediately wished you hadn’t bothered.

He wasn’t perched on the altar, anymore. No – he’d shifted, slinked, positioned himself behind Satoru where he was bent at the waist. He caught your eye as his arms snaked around Satoru’s midriff, as Satoru arched his back to better take advantage of the new contact. There was the distant, muffled sound of fabric rustling, a keening whine from Satoru, and then, Suguru’s hand was curled around Satoru’s stiff, leaking cock – pumping over the shaft while his dark eyes burned holes into yours. “Get it over with,” he muttered, the bitter sterility of his tone a sharp juxtaposition to the grin creeping across his expression. “Before I remember why I want you dead.”

Satoru didn’t have to be coaxed into compliance. No, he let himself be eased into place, let Suguru slot himself against his back as he carefully aligned Satoru’s flushed tip to your entrance. Even after he’d let go, his hands finding the edge of the altar on either side of you, Satoru failed to move on his own. You could feel him drifting from your lips to your throat, then lower – to the crook of your neck, a spot Suguru’d always favored. Vaguely, you were aware of his lips moving against your skin, of warm breath fanning over your chest and leaving frost wherever it’d touched. His voice was muffled by proximity, but whether or not you could hear him didn’t really matter. You would’ve recognized those three little words from a thousand miles away.

“I love you.”

If you’d been able to laugh, you would’ve.

At least Satoru didn’t expect you to say it back.

Suguru must’ve missed it – that, or he was beyond the point of caring. His teeth sunk into the nape of Satoru’s neck, and then, something hot and piercing was inside of you.

This time, you couldn’t stop yourself from crying out. A fractured moan tumbled past your lips as Satoru immediately fell into a brutal pace; all that teasing tenderness gone the moment your pussy was wrapped around his cock. Suguru didn’t pull away, but he didn’t help, either; straightening his back and gazing down at you with that same foggy, absent, pleased expression. It took you a moment to put a name to it; lovestruck, all glassy eyes and hollow smiles, any anger hidden behind a thick curtain of glazed-over satisfaction. He’d never looked away from you, but when you met his eyes, he seemed to soften even further, his shoulders dropping as he brought a hand to the small of Suguru’s back, spurring him on. “He’s always been this bad.”  Suguru let out a keening whine into your shoulder, and Suguru chuckled airily. “Like a dog in heat. You’d think be as desperate as one, too, but apparently, his standards are too high for him to do anything but act like a whore.”

You couldn’t take it – the way Satoru’s hips crashed into yours, how his pubic bone ground against your clit, the pure venom interlaced with Suguru’s velvet-soft tone. You knew that it was useless, childish, but you couldn’t swallow down the cracked sob that rose up from somewhere deep and unprotected in your chest, couldn’t hold back the tears now flowing freely down your cheeks. Suguru’s smile widened, his sharpened teeth catching the dull candlelight, but Satoru was kind enough not to be so observant. His attention was dedicated entirely to fucking into you as quickly and as deeply as possible; his cock never less than half buried. You felt him twitch, and before you could hold yourself back, your hands were on his back, your nails embedded in pale skin and tearing upward every time he bottomed out and sent a new type of agony coursing through your system. “Stop, stop, I can’t—”

“You can.” Clipped, concise, dripping with stone-cold affection. You’d be surprised if you ever heard any warmth in Suguru’s voice again. “That is, unless you’d like to break two hearts on the same night.”

Your mouth was still open, but you couldn’t answer. Satoru groaned as he rutted into you, his pace growing that much more erratic, his hips grinding into yours. He pulled you into another deep, copper-tinged kiss as he pressed his body flush to yours, as you felt something thick and hot and soul-crushingly familiar flood into you. It might’ve been the sensitivity, or the overstimulation, or the herbal stench of incense left to burn for a minute too long finally taking its toll – it didn’t really matter, either way. No explanation could’ve dampened the feeling of your cunt clenching tight around him, could’ve prevented the utter desolation of cumming on Satoru’s cock.

It seemed to go on for the longest time – second after second of thoughtless, helpless pleasure, century after century of Satoru against you, edging on your climax with the occasional sharp movement from his hips, a hasty kiss pressed into the corner of your jaw. Finally, after a small eternity, the last of the aftershocks faded, unwanted bliss fading into a slow, pulsing ache settled deep into the deepest pit of your chest. You felt Satoru shift; not pulling away, but lifting himself up, bringing his mouth to the shell of your ear. “I love you,” he said, again, and then, more quietly, “I’m sorry.”

You wanted to say something, to call him a liar, to spit out every venomous and vitriolic and warranted thing you could ever say to either of them, but it was already too late. Something vital slid out of place, a poor signal finally losing connection entirely, and then, everything went dark.

~

Nine months later, you’d find yourself in Suguru’s temple again, albeit not his sanctuary. A brown-haired woman in a lab coat and several female attendants swarmed around you, pressing damp cloths to your forehead and constantly rearranging the thick quilts laid over your limp body. Dried tears formed defined tracks down your cheeks, and every part of you screamed for rest, for escape, for a quick and merciful death. It was all you could do to suck in a shuddering breath, to remind yourself that there were more important things in the world than your own well-being. Sleep could wait. This couldn’t.

Slowly, you managed to turn your head towards Suguru, standing at your bedside just as he had for the past six hours. Your vision was distorted, dimmed around the edges, but it would’ve been impossible to miss the small, white bundle in his arms, already beginning to move. You could practically taste the relief, only slightly soured by your own exhaustion. Loving Himari had been a miracle. It would’ve been a lie to say that you hadn’t expected yourself to be more callous, the second time part of you was ripped away and molded into the shape of a man you hated.

Your eyes flickered to Suguru’s expression, to those impossibly dark eyes, and instantly, your relief was replaced by pure, unadulterated dread. A smile played at the corner of his mouth, softened and careless, but… Oh, god.

You’d never seen so much death in his eyes.

“Suguru.” You hadn’t meant to say anything, and yet, your voice was clear – a little hoarse, but far stronger than you felt. Never looking away from the bundle, he hummed, and you went on. “Can I see…?”

“Him,” Suguru filled in, bouncing your newborn – your son, gently. “A healthy baby boy. It’s a shame, really – I chose names with another girl in-mind.”

Thankfully, he didn’t make you ask again. With no small amount of care, the bundle was placed gently onto your chest, Suguru’s hand remaining on your shoulder – as if only waiting for your limited strength to give out. It took you a long moment to brush the swaddling sheets to the swaddling blanket aside, little hands immediately reaching up to bat against your own, and another to register what you were looking at. It wasn’t hard to see why Suguru was so angry.

You stared down at your son, and eyes more blue than the clearest, brightest sky stared back at you.

[saberlibrary]

weeping dragon

pairing: neuvillette x fem!reader

summary: neuvillette thinks he isn’t deserving of your love.

content: cliche !!!, reader trapped in his house bc of rain, lil antsy but happy ending

wc: 800

a/n: mm hii!! first fic here! I hope you enjoy it I kind of wrote it in twenty minutes and I’m just publishing it without beta reading bc (we die like men) I’m just too in love with neuv and I want to share it with the world lolol

Neuvillette couldn’t bring himself to even think about making a move.

He kept many secrets, and every time he faced your bright smile he would remember it was not his place to disturb your peace. After all, how could a young woman like you endure the dangerous claws of a dragon?

You had stopped by his house to discuss the latest trial and his emotions got the best of him, causing a rain to start pouring.

A storm was approaching; lighting was seen through the window and low thunders could be heard. Neuvillette plagued himself under his breath, hoping there would be a day where he could better control his feelings.

“Here,” he said as he handed you the cup of tea. You watched the lighting curiously, “I do not think the storm will pass for a few hours. You should stay. For the night, I mean.”

You took the cup of tea and averted your eyes from the window to Neuvillette’s face. You studied him with caution, as if it was the first time you ever saw the man — even though you worked together for many months.

“Are you okay?” you asked, ignoring completely his offer.

The words got stuck in his throat and, for a few seconds, he really thought he wouldn’t answer. The man sipped on his tea, his mind racing while trying to figure out why you would ask that all of the sudden. “May I ask why are you asking me such a question?”

It was a small gesture, but he saw it all the same; the way you flexed your hand. There was something you wanted to grab?

Something you wanted to hold?

“They say… It rains when the Hydro Dragon weeps. Yeah, that's what they say,” you murmured and once again looked out the window. To the storm. “The Hydro Dragon. That would be you, right?”

Neuvillette almost choked on his tea, every part of his body malfunctioning and leaving him with only one thing for sure: in his entire existence, this was the first time he was left completely and utterly speechless.

Your warm and comforting eyes turned to him, and you grabbed his cup of tea to put it alongside yours on the coffee table. “Neuvillette,” you spoke his name as if it was a piece of poetry you were yet to learn — eager to do so, “Talk to me.”

And then— your hands, so small and fragile if compared to his, touched him. Your fingers traced his, and you embraced his hand between yours. He could feel the warmth of your skin contrasting against his cold one, pulling him closer, closer, closer.

“When did you figure it out?” was the first thing he said, scared it may be recent. If so, there still is time for you to run, for you to escape. To turn your back and never see him again. It’s probably the best for you, he knows, but this little selfish part in him can’t stand the thought of seeing you gone.

“A month ago or so, it doesn't matter,” you’re quick to cut the subject. “I didn't mention it because I knew you didn't want me to. I’m just worried, that's all.”

Worried.

She is worried.

The realization clicks in Neuvillette’s mind, for the first time in so long acknowledging that maybe, just maybe, he was too, deserving of someone’s concern and care.

“You are saying it does not matter,” he repeats as if to confirm what he just heard.

I pushed you because I cared about you. I pushed you because you made me feel good and comfortable. I pushed you because I thought my true self would frighten you.

Yet, you’re here. And you’re telling me it doesn’t matter.

“It doesn’t. Never did,” you frown. “I just wanna know, no— I need to know why it is raining, Neuvillette. Why would you weep? I’m here with you, talk to me.”

Without giving it a second thought, Neuvillette’s right hand finds your lower back and in a split second you're pressed against his chest, the tightest hug you have ever been given. He’s much taller than you, and you can feel perfectly as he inhales your scent and hugs you tightly.

“Neuv—”

“I thought I had to restrain myself from you. I thought I was no good,” he finally speaks his mind, distancing himself enough for you to see his face; the weeping Dragon. Oh, the melancholy in his eyes.

The eyes of someone who almost lost something precious.

“Neuvillette,” you whispered. “There’s nothing better for me than you.”

And it was true; so you pulled on his hair just enough to have him connecting your lips, a sigh of relief escaping him as if there was nothing in this world he had anticipated more.

[darkbluekies]

A little game

Yandere!king oc x fem!reader

Summary: Edmund going insane when he finds you hurt and unconscious and swears to kill everyone in town.

Warnigns: behading, insanity, blood, guns, abuse, arson, everything like that

Word count: 2.3k

His eyes wander over your lifeless body. Numerous signs of brutal harm can be seen on your body. He can't even imagine what you've been put through, and when he tries he feels sick.

“Kill them all.”

His secretary widens his eyes.“But … your majesty-”

Edmund turns to him with eyes burning with rage. “Do I speak another language?!” he screams. “Kill them all! Every single one of them!”

Maids look at each other in fear, the secretary gulps. Edmund can feel his body tremble. He wants to grab the glass bottle on the bedside table, break it and plunge it deep into someone's, anyone's, heart. Wants to see blood, wants to kill. 

His hammering heart thumps in his ears. A chanting “kill them all, make them pay” repeats in his head, sounding better and better each time.

It all had happened so quickly, and yet so slow. You were kidnapped on a town visit and hurt by someone, badly. A knight had found you after hours of search lifeless in the forest, body torn and beaten. Edmund had thought that you had died. The few moments of uncertainty had felt like hours. Millions of thoughts had passed through his head. What would he do if you were dead? Could he live without you? Why did it hurt so much? Why couldn't he breathe? Was he dead too? Why was he alone again?

But now he was only angry. Someone had hurt you … and the entire town hid the truth, protected the culprit. Edmund didn't care who had done what, everyone was guilty. They are no individuals, only a herd of characterless peasants. And he hates them all.

He wants to touch your face, but he doesn’t dare to. He’s scared that if he touches you, he’s going to kill you. His touch is deadly. You’re already so fragile, so vulnerable. 

“Take families, one by one”, Edmund starts, still shaking, “and bring them here.”

“What are you going to do, your majesty?” the secretary asks, sounding worried. 

“Give this castle a fucking paintjob.”

His hands are bloody — they’re never bloody. He never gets down and dirty, always watched. His heart is beating even quicker, but he can’t seem to get enough. He can’t get rid of the unimaginable anger he feels. It’s like a beast has taken control over his mind and soul and given him a new unclenched blood thirst. Every time he lets his fist make contact with a poor peasants body he sees your broken face in front of him. It makes him hit them more, with even more force. He enjoys it, he finds. 

“Your majesty, please!” the man he’s holding begs. “Please spare me, I’m sorry!”

“What are you sorry for?” Edmund questions harshly. “What can your filthy little peasant heart be sorry for, huh? Was it you who abused my wife?!”

“No! No, your majesty, I didn’t-”

His voice echoes across the court yard. “Then who did?! Who was it?! Who are you covering up for?!”

Before he has the time to answer, Edmund has thrown the man against the castle’s wall with such force that he cracks his skull open on the harsh, sharp stones. Blood splatter. Edmund’s heavy breaths are enough to cause his head to spin. He runs a bloody hand through his black hair. Bodies are lined up against the castle’s walls, stacked on top of each other.

Edmund turns to the knights standing a few meters away from him. 

“If no one fesses up I will kill the entire town!” he shouts. “Every single one!”

“Your majesty, if you kill everyone, who will you rule over?” a knight asks. 

In a swift motion, Edmund grabs a gun from the nearest knight and shoots him. 

“Does anyone else have idiotic questions?!” he screams, directing the gun around. “Huh?! Ask them now so we can get them over with!”

To show that he’s not kidding, he shoots a bullet straight up into the air. None of the knights answer. Edmund scoffs and throws the gun to the side. He catches a glimpse of himself in the reflection of the window and flinches. He didn’t need his mirror to let him know that he’s drenched in blood and sweat. The look inn his eyes is what is startled by. He looks … animalistic. There’s no humanity left in his ice blue eyes anymore. He can feel himself drift into insanity, but he can’t stop it — maybe he doesn't want to.

“Bring the next group”, he demands.

“They are fleeing into the woods, your majesty”, a knight says. 

“Then stop them?!”

“How, your majesty?”

He thinks for a moment. Head spinning, heart thumping in his ears, tast of blood in his mouth. 

“Burn it all down”, he decides. “Burn every possible way out. Burn them in, if necessary.”

The knights nod. Edmund turns back to the poor body on the bloody gravel and picks him up by the collar, carrying him to the others. 

“Isn’t it pretty? The color?”

His secretary tilts his head as he studies the flames in the distance. “I suppose so, but the smell is God awful.”

“Smells like victory to me.”

Edmund turns away from the window, eyes darting to all the things scattered all over the floor. His office is near destroyed. Things lay broken everywhere after his tantrums. He used to value his materialistic obsessions highly, but now they’re not worth a dime to him. Nothing is. Only you. He has to avenge you rightfully. 

“How is my darling doing?” he asks and gives the secretary a stern gaze. “You know to tell me the second she awakes, right? If you don’t, I will drag you out on the court yard and put you with the other bodies.”

“Of course, your majesty, I will come running right away”, the secretary answers. “You can rest assure. I won’t betray you. Besides, her skin is healing. You won’t have to see her grotesque marks.”

Edmund nods. “I want to see her now. To see if you are telling the truth.”

The secretary leads Edmund through the large, dark halls. The people passing him makes his blood boil. They haven’t done anything, but he’s ready to lash out in case anyone gives him a foul look. Anyone showing any signs of distrust need to be killed. Roughly. He will not be made a fool.

A maid opens the door to your shared chamber and Edmund walks over to the bed. For a few seconds, he doesn’t believe that it’s you sleeping under the white sheets. You look so awfully small in the big bed, so unbelievably broken. Your skin looks so weird compared to the white sheets … washed out, somehow. He hates it, absolutely despises it all. 

Edmund sits down on the side of the bed and takes your hand in his, sighing heavily at the state of you. Seeing your frail figure makes him even madder. Why aren’t you waking up? What have that creature done to you to make you look like this? His secretary was right, however, you seem to be doing a bit better. Your body heals. So why aren’t you waking up?

“I will punish them”, he whispers and kisses your forehead. It must be one of the sweetest gestures he has done since you disappeared and came back in whatever state you are in now. “I promise. I love you so much, my darling, I will make them pay.”

The guillotine is working over time. The blade is covered in blood, heads everywhere. Edmund has realized that all people about to be beheaded has either of three possible reactions. Pleading and crying, begging for forgiveness, and emotionless and accepting. He likes to guess who will have what reaction, and when he guesses right he gives himself a clap on the shoulder. He’s standing on the balcony, leaning forward against the railing with his arms resting on it. Smiling. It’s all a big game for him. Like how hurting you and covering up the deed is a big joke to them. But now he’s the hunter, and they’re the pray. They are the punchline in his joke. Not the other way around. His blood boils when he thinks about what the ones hurting you must have been thinking while performing such a merciless act. Were they thinking about him, about how mad he would be? Thinking: “we will have caused a reaction to form in him but he will not know who have done it”, in that case they were wrong. Everyone is punished for their stupid game.

“Please, please!” a woman screams, about to be beheaded. “I know who it was!”

Edmund freezes. 

“Wait!” he shouts to the man holding the rope controlling the blade. 

Edmund hurries down to the court yard and walks over to the woman with her head in the locked hole. He grabs her chin roughly, trying to direct her head up without luck. 

“Who was it?” Edmund spits. “Tell me their names.”

She seems to have lost all speaking ability when nearby Edmund. All color is drained off her face. She faints. Angrily, Edmund lets go of her chin, grabs the rope and lets the blade fall. Her head falls down on the gravel and rolls towards the others. No one says anything.

“Your majesty!” he hears his secretary shout. “The queen is awake!”  

Edmund feels his entire body go numb. He spins around, looking at the secretary in the doorway with large, shocked eyes. He runs after. 

You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake.

“Get out of my fucking way!” Edmund growls and shoved a maid into the wall when she tries opening the door for him.  

You’re laying in the bed, but your eyes are open! Edmund runs over and throws himself at you, hugging you tightly. You start to cry the second he wraps his arms around you and brings your face into his shoulder. He can’t believe that he’s holding you again, to feel your body tremble under his fingertips. He wants to cry. 

“It’s okay”, he whispers and caresses your hair as you sob against his neck. “Everything is okay, my dear. I’m here now, I will not let anything happen to you.”

He can feel his entire body relax. He has you back. Your shaking body feels so … alive. 

“Does it hurt?” he asks. 

You nod against his shoulder and try to pull back, out of his embrace. He doesn’t let you, he only moves you closer. What if you slip away when he lets you go?

“Not yet”, he whispers. “Stay with me a bit longer.”

His hands grab at you, trying to reassure himself that you are, indeed, alive. 

When he does let you go, your eyes are red with tears. He puts his hand on your cheek, wiping your tears carefully with his thumb. 

“I’m so sorry”, he mumbles and feels a stone in his throat. “I really am.”

“Your hand smells like blood …”, you whisper.

He becomes cold as your eyes start to widen in fear.  

“No, no, no!” he says quickly and grabs your face in his hands. “I will stop. Is that what you want? Hm? I-I’ll stop, I’ll show mercy to the ones left if you just give me the name of who … who hurt you. Okay? Please?

The name you give is one he’s familiar with. It’s suddenly clear why everyone wanted to shield the guilty one. His father is one of the richest men in the town. Edmund has yet to kill him. 

“I will take care of him”, he says. “Everything he did to you, I will do to him. I promise. Not more, not less.”

Your shaking hand takes his. Edmund gulps and lifts your intertwined to his lips and kisses. 

“I love you”, he whispers. 

“What is that?” you ask and point towards the forest.”Why is it so black?”

Edmund hesitates and hugs your other hand tighter. They have cleaned the entire court yard and scrubbed the walls so that you won’t have to see any of the horror that has occurred while you were unconscious, but he can’t replace the forest with a new one.

“A wildfire happened while you were unconscious”, he lies. “It was just fixed. Nothing to worry about.”

He continues to walk with you, hand in hand, through the large corridors. He’s on his way down to the dungeon where a certain someone is waiting for him. Edmund’s hands itch when he thinks about what he’s going to do to him. He can’t wait. 

You suddenly hug him. He flinches, but is quick to wrap his arms around you, to secure you against his body. You fit so well against him 

“What’s wrong?” he asks. 

“Nothing”, you say, sounding shy. “Thank you for saving me. I think that I would be dead without you.”

“I would kill everyone in this world for you. You know that.”

But hearing you say ‘thank you’ to him, after everything hes done for — and towards — you causes his stomach to to fill with butterflies. He really would kill everyone for you. Over and over again. 

“I’ll have to leave you here”, he says as you reach the stairs down to the dungeon. “I have something to do. Will you wait for me here?”

“What are you going to do?” you ask hesitantly. 

Edmund smiles, showing off his teeth. “Play.”

[ohmybueckers]

mad at me - paige bueckers x reader

Summary: After a bad game, you tell Paige to take her frustrations out on you, an offer she gladly accepts

Themes/Warnings: angry sex (safe words are present), orgasm denial, overstimulation, degradation, etc.

Word Count: 4k

Note: i genuinely don't know what came over me guys i swear i don't just write smut lmfaooooo. anyways here's a result of me being bored and angry and also to celebrate the triple digit win today, enjoy!!

There was something you loved about the smell of rain on grass on an early February day. While the winter season in Storrs was brutal, overly long and gloomy, the way the earthy notes filled your senses as you walked home, surrounded by a thick fog, would have given you a pleasant reminder of the incoming spring on any other day. Unfortunately, this was not any other day.

There was no sugarcoating it: the Huskies had an awful game yesterday. The team could not seem to get their shots to fall, shooting only twenty percent from three and forty percent from the paint against a team that should have been a hell of a lot easier to dominate offensively. Miscommunications led to numerous turnovers and lost opportunities for shots (you lost track of how many times a player failed to spot a wide open Azzi, leading to frustration from both her and Paige). You were unable to make the game, having a massive exam the next day and not having the time to spend even a few hours not being remotely locked in. Your attempt to focus was futile as you sat in the library, headphones in and struggling to pay attention to your Quizlet set as the announcers seemed to tear into every single decision your girlfriend made on the broadcast.

Paige ended up being thankful you weren’t there in person, not wanting you to see the carnage firsthand, but it didn’t make you feel any less guilty. Paige never took a loss easy, but it seemed like this one especially got to her. After your exam you checked in once again, only for her to say they would be spending the majority of the night in the film room watching the game. Afterward, she planned on staying on the court to practice her shot, eager to not repeat the same mistakes come March.

You loved how dedicated she was, you really did. But you were starting to get really, really worried about her. 

You had fully accepted that you would likely not see much of her for the next few days, allowing yourself the night to unwind after a grueling exam (you were happy to say you’re positive you passed it, as low of a bar as that is). You let your muscles relax under the steam of your shower, the eucalyptus hanging from the shower head and the lavender in your body wash clearing your mind of all your worries from this week momentarily. That is until you realized you couldn’t completely enjoy it knowing that Paige was out there, absolutely destroying herself over something that was not solely her fault. She deserves to relax too, you thought with a frown.

After spritzing your favorite scent around your room, lathering your legs in your most moisturizing lotion, and crawling into your freshly washed sheets, you were prepared for a night of finally continuing your latest pleasure read (a book that had been thrown aside the past week in favor of a biology text book). What you weren’t prepared for is the buzz emitting from your phone about twenty minutes into your self care night, right in the middle of a sexually charged scene between the two love interests. Your confusion was quickly replaced with concern when you saw that it was Paige attempting to FaceTime you.

Upon answering, you noted how sweat pooled at the top of her forehead, which was creased in frustration. Her hair was in a slicked back pony, her UConn blue practice was soaked through, and she looked pissed as she stood in the middle of the court.

“None of my fucking shots are landing,” she grumbled before you could even greet her, wiping away some of the sweat with the hand not holding the phone. “I’ve been here for the past hour after Geno let us go, and I can’t figure out where I’m going wrong.”

She appeared to be getting even more worked up as she spoke, a flush rising to her cheeks. “I’m supposed to be one of the oldest ones here, I can’t be out here making rookie ass mistakes. It’s not going to go well in March, and it’s definitely not going to go well in the W.”

It broke your heart to see this. Paige always said pressure was a privilege, but you watched in real time as the normal pressure Paige had on her shoulders evolved into something deeper, something closer to self loathing. “Paige, baby, I think you need to take a break. You can’t perform well if you’re like this.”

She shook her head no, an action you anticipated. Picking up her water bottle and spraying some in her mouth, she continued, “Nah, I gotta keep going. I just need to figure out how I can fucking focus.”

You took note of the grip on the water bottle, the command in her voice, and her determination. The idea hit you like a runaway train, tumbling through your lips before you could hesitate. 

“Take it out on me.”

Paige had made half assed eye contact with the camera the entire conversation, too frustrated and ashamed to face you, but these five words brought her wide eyes to face yours. You couldn’t tell if they were filled with disbelief or intrigue - maybe both. “What?”

It’s not like you and Paige’s sex life was completely tame. She was always down to try new positions, whether it be using fingers, mouths, or toys. There have definitely been nights where her teammates have sent her a strongly worded message letting her know that their walls were not as thick as she thought. But sex between the two of you had always been passionate, loving … never angry. Until now. 

You would be lying if you said you never felt some type of way watching Paige get upset at the refs, wondering what that kind of attention would look like in bed. As much as you trusted Paige, you just didn’t want to run the risk of saying anything that would alter her perception of you. But here you were, sat in bed wearing an old high school tee shirt and pajama shorts (not the sexiest outfit on the planet), and there was no way of deleting what you’ve already said. Inhaling, you continue. “You need to get your frustration out before you can shoot. I’m just saying you have an outlet.”

The gesture to your body was not lost on Paige, who looked like a deer in headlights. You were so close to ending the call, pulling your fuzzy blanket over your face and pretending none of this ever happened, when she spoke. “Are you saying you want me to fuck you to get my anger out?”

Her tone was blank, but even through the pixelated call (damn the poor signal in the practice court) you could see the switch in her - what was now a confused expression shifted to a calm kind of fire, the kind only you could recognize from her. Your stomach flipped, realizing she was just as into this idea as you were. Thank God. “I’m saying I want you to fuck me like you’re mad at me.”

She looked to the side, throwing her head slightly back and showing off her jawline. Without another word she moved to the side of the court, grabbing her bag and her keys off the ground. “Leave your door unlocked. I’m on my way,” she announced, before ending the call.

You gulped, knowing all you could do was open Find My, watch Paige slowly drive closer and closer to your apartment, and wonder what the hell you just got yourself into. 

—-

Paige had learned the code to your apartment long before, having been with you exclusively for almost a year. So when she arrived at your place, with you standing waiting for her with fidgeting thumbs, it took her almost no time to set her bag down and saunter over to you, cupping your face and smashing your lips together. It could almost be described as romantic the way she was holding you, how one hand reached down to your torso to stabilize you. You couldn’t help but moan quietly as you felt her cologne mixed with her own musk waft into your senses.

But then she began stepping forward, forcing your steps with her against the fake hardwood, until your back was pressed against the wall. Paige finally pulled apart from you with a look that could only be described as pure, unrestricted hunger. All the rage towards herself, the frustration toward the previous days game, it all manifested into her gaze. One hand trailed to the side of your neck as she spoke softly, yet with strength. “Pretty girl wants to help me, huh?”

You nodded all too enthusiastically, taking pleasure in this new side of Paige: the one who was completely in control, and proud of it. She seemed to be taking pleasure in it as well, grabbing your wrist carefully and guiding the two of you to your bedroom which had been eagerly awaiting her arrival. 

“I want to do this right,” she began, removing her shoes as you moved to sit on your bed with your feet dangling. “Green means keep going, yellow means pause, red means stop. The second you don’t want to do something, we stop. Got it?”

You nod, expecting nothing less than a tender check in from your girlfriend who was currently walking slowly to meet you. In some ways, you felt similar to your first time with Paige: slightly awkward, filled with unknowns. But you wanted this. God, you wanted this.

She reaches the bed, pushing you down onto the mattress you were laying in earlier in the night, this time in a far different context. Her lips are back on you, this time sucking harshly on your neck in places that are certain to switch shades tomorrow. You cannot bring yourself to care much in the moment, however, allowing yourself to be consumed by all things Paige. 

Her hands move to your hips, trailing under the waist band of your shorts and quickly making a move to discard them. Her fingers touched your skin, alternating between hard grips and smooth brushes. “Take your shirt off,” she muttered, her grip tightening around your thighs as she spoke into your underwear clad cunt. 

You obey her, feeling as though you had entered a trance from the way she spoke with so much authority. You know you look a little strange as you rush to get the shirt over your head, but Paige pays no mind: her eyes are busy tracing your frame, memorizing every curve, every mark, and every texture as if it was the first time. A smirk spread across her lips, her striking blue eyes somehow looking darker. “Can’t wait to fucking ruin you.”

She peppered kisses down your body, the fire in her body feeling more like worship as she made her way down your breasts, your stomach, all the way to your clothed core.

Discarding your underwear, she began one of her greatest talents off the court. You felt her flick her tongue against you, shuddering at the mix of impact as well as the air conditioning hitting your skin. Her mouth explored you, prompting sharp cries from you as you fell back against your pillows. She took a break to nip at the skin where your thigh met your core, evoking something between a yelp and a moan. 

“Pussy so fucking good,” she spoke, continuing her ministrations. It was like she was fueled by your pleasure, each drop spurring her on further. Her teammates always joked about Paige being a munch - if they only knew to what extent. 

She delved her tongue in further, using her hands to spread you open. 

You felt a very familiar knot begin to form, one that you could always expect with your girlfriend. “So good… Gonna cum P.”

As soon as she went to work, Paige got off, leaving only the harsh breeze in her place as you laid there dumbfounded. The knot within you, once welcome, was now dulling into something tantalizing and almost painful. 

You whined, “Why did you stop?”

Her laugh that followed felt downright mocking, reaching down to caress your face once more. “You didn’t think this was going to be easy, did you baby?” 

You pouted, knowing you looked fucking ridiculous. “But I was so close.”

Your girlfriend shrugged, taking no concern in the way your pussy drenched your sheets or the way your nipples puffed unattended. “Get me off and maybe I’ll give you what you want.”

That sentence sent you into gear immediately, motivated by the urge to cheer up your girl as well as the selfish desire to get your way after your ruined orgasm. You scanned Paige’s body, drinking up every muscle as you shoved her shorts down along with her boxers. She laid down, taking your place with raised eyebrows looking nonchalant and cocky as ever.

 You took your place between her thighs, offering kitten licks to her clit as her hands reached your hair. Your mouth opened further, allowing you to eat her out with the same fervor she was earlier. 

You knew her well enough to know the tell tale signs she was enjoying herself - every sharp inhale, every squeeze of her legs, every hum she made. It all meant she was closer to what she wanted, and you were closer to what you needed. You just needed to hear it.

Pulling off of her clit with a pop, you shot your best doe eyed look at your girlfriend, who once again seemed to have a pool of sweat at her forehead. “Feel good baby?”

She responded not with words, but by shoving you back onto her core roughly, prompting you to continue your work on her. You looked and sounded like a fucking pornstar, moaning into her pussy as if you were the one getting off (which wasn’t that far off). You heard her grunt above you.

“Gonna cum on your pretty face.”

If Paige is one thing, it’s a woman of her word, so it doesn’t shock you when she fulfills her promise moments later. Her cum drips down your lips moments later, and you lap it all up. You live for this shit, watching Paige stare at you in amazement as she surrenders to your touch. The fire within the blonde settles, save for her continued labored breathing as evident by the rise and fall in her chest. She looks at you, her stare downright dangerous. 

“Want me to make you cum, pretty girl?” From the way she said it, you knew she wasn’t asking.

You switched places once more, allowing her middle finger to slot itself in your pussy with the same vigor with which it once grabbed your head. She was pounding you, fingers focused on penetrating areas only she seemed to touch in the right way while her mouth payed ample attention to your clit.

 You felt your legs jerk, eyes welling up. The familiar sensations of pleasure came back to you even quicker, flooding through you like Malibu waters. You were falling in so deep, your mind swimming in everything she was giving you.

Your legs gripped Paige’s head, an action that felt like muscle memory at this point. You didn’t even need to say it - she knew what this meant. And it meant she stopped once more, wiping her mouth and looking at you with a mischievous grin. You were just around ready to scream, gripping the pillow beside you.

“I did what you wanted, baby, please.” You whimpered, looking downright helpless at this point. “Please let me cum.”

You were so eager, and this was all so unfair. And yet you took it all, knowing that this was exactly what you asked for.

Paige raised an eyebrow, blinking a couple of times before nodding. “You wanna cum? You got it.”

She returns to your clit for the third time that night, gripping your hips as if you were planning on going anywhere but here, as if you were capable of not being consumed by her as she sucked. If eating pussy was an award winning sport, it would be yet another award on Paige’s already impressive roster. If there was one thing she loved doing more with her mouth than talking, it was making her girl feel good.

If you weren’t so focused on the way she was making you feel, you would maybe be a little more embarrassed about the noises you were making, how the pleas of “more” and “harder” emitted from you so easily. Paige had that effect on you, especially tonight when she was pulling out all the stops.

You nearly cried with relief when your breath quickened and muscles tightened and Paige didn’t fucking move, continuing to circle your clit with her finger while lapping you up like she was parched. Finally, waves crashed over you as you came with a shout of her name and a gush of fluid being deposited straight into her mouth, which she accepted happily. You rode out the feeling, Paige assisting with her reassurance. “Lemme hear you baby, fuck.” She moaned into you, a move that was teetering into the overstimulating category.

Little did you know that was just a taste of what was to come. 

Taking time to lick up all the remaining cum from your pussy, she kissed up your body, finding herself at your awaiting lips once more. You sigh as you taste yourself, melting into the warmth of your girlfriend who just rocked your world. Based on the way she showed up to your apartment, you were certainly expecting more fire from her, but you were glad to end the night with a pleasant ache between your thighs.

You grin into the kiss, reaching up her shirt in order to get more contact only for her hands to grab your wrists, throwing them next to your head against the pillows before you could even process what she was doing. You take the time to look at her, really look at her, and see that the same tone is in her eyes, and that her fire hasn’t been contained. In fact, she looks ready to pounce. “I know you can give me another, right baby?”

Multiple orgasms in one night were not an anomaly for you and Paige, but typically there was time in between - the additional sessions usually happened after an episode of Grey’s Anatomy, or during a shower. You gulped, only able to nod as Paige trailed her hand back down to your spent pussy, cupping it before slipping a finger inside.

It was not lost on Paige the way your eyes squeezed shut at the intrusion, pain mixing with pleasure as she began moving. “Can’t take it baby?” She asked like it was a challenge. She was unsurprised when you shook your head no, determined to accept everything she was giving you. “That’s what I thought. Such a slut for me. Good fucking girl.”

A proud smile graced her face as she took note of the sopping sound of your pussy as she fucked you, the way your mouth couldn’t hold back moans and pleas for more, and it hit you: she was scoring, making up for her mistakes from yesterday through you. It only made the heat on your core worse, blurring your vision until everything felt hazy. 

You could tell she was loving this shit, eating up how you were reacting to her. One hand trailed up, reaching for your tit and massaging it roughly. “Gonna let me do what I want to you, isn’t that right baby?”

You moaned as she spoke, relishing in the way that she was fully getting comfortable dominating you like this, fucking you like a dirty whore instead of her beloved girlfriend. She stretched you out so good, leaving no room for anything except her. 

You felt the build up again, static rising in your body as you attempted to focus on your breathing. This effort would prove to be futile, as Paige knew you all too well. Her movements intensified, her breath growing heavy against your ear as she growled, “Who’s making you feel this good?”

You all but sob, “Y-you, P, fuck.”

She smiles, loving the way you sound as your pussy clenches around her with a fucking grip that anyone would die for. She was so fucking lucky. “Wanna feel this pussy cum around me, c’mon.”

You didn’t need to be told twice, your body shuddering as you released once again hitting your high like a drug as your back arched into her touch.Your cunt pulsed around Paige, causing a guttural moan to erupt from her lips as you rained down on her fingers. 

She stared in wonder as she removed them once the majority of your high subsided, noting how they glistened under your lights. “Can do this all night. Pussy so fucking good.”

As much as you attempted to enjoy the remnants of your orgasm, the statement brought a wave of panic through you as you processed that you may not be done just yet. “Two’s enough, P,” you said, nuzzling your face in her neck.

Big mistake.

She jolted her head up, look at you intently. “What’s your color, baby?”

You paused, recognizing your mistake and the ache between your thighs. But there is nothing more that you wanted than to fulfill your promise to Paige, and you couldn’t deny the way heat rose to your face when you saw just how fine Paige looked when she was this focused on you. “Green.”

Paige grinned. “Then shut the fuck up.”

She flipped the two of you, hoisting you so her muscular thigh was pressed just at the right angle to give your spent clit undivided attention. A loud slap went to your ass, jolting you forward slightly and providing the first dose of stimulation as you rode her thigh in the process. “Paige, baby.”

She sat up quickly, pushing your body against hers as she helped you ride. She nibbled at your ear, whispering a series of sweet nothings as her firm grip on your ass never faltered.

“Ride me just like that.”

“I know you can go faster than that, c’mon.”

“Moaning for me like a fucking slut.”

Your memory beyond this point was a little faulty, coming and going in bursts. One second, you knew you were riding Paige like a mechanical bull, putting all of your (very little) remaining energy into giving her the best show you could, knowing that this is what she deserved. After a flash of white, moans and voices muffled, you awoke still sat on top of Paige. She rubbed your back, shushing you and whispering sweet nothings in your ear. 

“You’re done, baby, it’s okay. Did so so good for me, my perfect girl.”

—————

“Didn’t go too hard on you, right?”

You turned to face Paige, who was laying next to you in your bed. The past forty five minutes had been devoted strictly to aftercare, with Paige refusing to let you lift a finger. She helped you take yet another shower, lathering your body for you and kissing your shoulders as she hugged you from behind. She stripped and replaced your sheets, running yet another load. And now the two of you laid there, glasses of water nearby, and Paige was looking at you with both curiosity and fear.

You grabbed her hand from the arm that was currently wrapped around your shoulder. “I would have told you baby, trust me.” You offered her hand a kiss, sparking a smile on the blonde’s lips. “Do you feel any better?”

She nodded, leaning her forehead against yours. “Just needed to clear my head. The pressure just- it’s a lot sometimes.” You nodded, understanding how overwhelmed she got with the eyes on her at all times. A shy blush reached her cheeks as she debated speaking again, before deciding in favor. “I also thought tonight was hot. Like, really hot.”

You laughed, her quickly following. Sure, you couldn’t fix all of Paige’s problems with sex. But it certainly couldn’t hurt to try. 

[romerona]

The Cook and The Teacher!

Let's pretend The Bear and Abbot Elementary are in the same city.

The meeting of Carmen (Carmy) Berzatto x Abbot Teacher Femreader! Sunshinereader!

Headcanons.

The day had been long, and Carmy was just trying to keep it together. He’d left The Bear earlier than usual—if you could call "earlier" 9 p.m.—and was heading upstairs to his apartment with a bag of takeout that was far less exciting than anything he cooked in the kitchen. His mind was still buzzing with half-finished ideas for new recipes and the stress of balancing the books. It wasn’t until he rounded the corner in the hallway that he saw you.

You were crouched on the floor outside the apartment next to his, wrestling with a particularly heavy box. A burst of bright, patterned fabric caught his eye—it was your socks. Your jeans were rolled up messily, revealing mismatched socks peeking out of your sneakers, and a stubborn strand of hair that kept falling to your face. You didn’t seem to notice him at first, too focused on trying to angle the box through the doorway.

“Uh, you need a hand?” Carmy asked, his voice quiet and even, as if he wasn’t entirely sure you’d hear him.

You startled slightly, looking up at him with wide eyes. A man—tall, with a mop of messy blond hair, tired blue eyes, and a hoodie that had definitely seen better days—stood a few steps away. He looked a little rough around the edges, like he’d just stepped out of a 12-hour shift. And, unbeknownst to you, he had.

For a moment, you seemed unsure whether to accept, but then you huffed, brushing your hair out of your face. “Honestly? Yes. Please. I think this box is plotting my downfall.”

Carmy set his takeout on the floor and stepped over. He crouched down beside you, studying the situation. “What’s in here? Bricks?”

You laughed, the sound warm and full, and it caught him off guard. “Close enough—books. I hoard them like a dragon.”

He smirked faintly, the corners of his mouth tugging upward. Without another word, he lifted the box with relative ease, surprising you with how quickly he maneuvered it through your doorway. “Where do you want it?”

“Anywhere that’s not the hallway,” you said with a grin, stepping aside to let him pass. “But if you want to put it by the window, I won’t stop you.”

Carmy carried the box to the corner you pointed to, but as he turned back, his eyes lingered on you longer than he intended. Standing amidst the chaos of your half-unpacked apartment, you looked effortlessly natural—strands of hair falling loose, a faint smile on your lips, and a light, easy confidence that made the mess around you seem insignificant. The light caught your cheekbone, highlighting your warm, colorful presence, a stark contrast to the muted tones he was used to. The room was already full of little glimpses of your personality—colorful throw pillows piled on a couch, a small vase of fresh flowers on the windowsill, and a stack of what looked like hand-painted signs propped against the wall.

“Thanks for that,” you said, breaking his train of thought. “I owe you one.”

Carmy couldn’t help but think how effortlessly pretty you were, though he kept the thought to himself, letting it settle quietly in the back of his mind.

He shrugged, brushing his hands off on his jeans. “It’s no big deal.”

“No big deal?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow. “You just saved me from throwing my back out. That’s definitely worth at least a plate of cookies or something.”

Carmy opened his mouth to respond, but you kept going, your energy bright and fast-paced. “Wait—are you my neighbor? Please tell me you’re not just some random guy who walked by and felt bad for me.”

“Uh, yeah,” Carmy said, scratching the back of his neck. “I live next door.”

Your face lit up. “Oh, good. I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you...?”

“Carmen,” he said. “Carmy.”

“Carmy,” you repeated, testing it out. “Alright, Carmy-next-door. Thanks for the rescue.”

He nodded awkwardly, his social skills feeling a little rusty. “Yeah. No problem.”

-----

Carmy was just about to head out for his usual coffee run before work when the knock came at his door. He hesitated for a moment, not used to anyone knocking on his door—especially not at this hour. He opened it cautiously, and there you were, standing on the other side, holding a plate covered in plastic wrap.

“Hey!” you said brightly, flashing him the kind of smile that felt a little too sunny for such an early hour. You hold the plate out toward him. "These are for you. My way of saying thanks for saving me from a very undignified fate yesterday.”

“You weren’t kidding,” he said, glancing down at the plate.

“Never joke about cookies,” you said solemnly, holding them out to him.

Carmy hesitated for a moment before taking the plate, his fingers brushing yours briefly.

“Uh thanks,” he said simply, his tone soft but sincere.

You tilted your head, your smile softening into something a little teasing. “That’s it? ‘Uh, thanks’? No ‘wow, these look amazing,’ or ‘you didn’t have to, Y/N, you’re too kind’?”

A chuckle escaped him before he could stop it, the corners of his mouth lifting into a small, genuine smile. “Alright, fine. Wow, these look amazing. And you didn’t have to.”

“Much better,” you said, nodding approvingly. “I knew you had it in you, Carmy-next-door.”

“Carmy-next-door?” he repeated, quirking an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” you said with a shrug, leaning casually against the doorframe. “You didn’t tell me your last name, so I had to come up with something. If you’d prefer something fancier, we could workshop it.”

He shook his head, amused. “Carmy-next-door’s fine.”

There was a brief pause, and Carmy shifted slightly, unsure of what to do next. Social interactions outside of a kitchen weren’t exactly his strong suit, but something about the way you stood there, so at ease, made him want to keep talking. “Peanut butter?”

“Yep. I hope you’re not allergic or I might feel terrible for accidentally murdering my new neighbor.”

“No allergies,” he said, his voice soft but steady. “They look... good.”

“They taste better,” you replied confidently, rocking back on your heels. “You’ll see.”

Carmy stared at the plate in his hands for a moment, then back at you. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of you yet—this whirlwind of color and brightness that seemed to completely contrast his muted world.

“You uh-bake a lot?” he asked, his voice quieter now, curious despite himself.

You laughed, and the sound made something in his chest loosen. “Not really. I’m more of a ‘wing it and hope for the best’ kind of baker. Which, coincidentally, is also my teaching style.”

That caught his attention. “Teaching?”

“Yep. Fourth grade at Abbott Elementary,” you said, a note of pride in your voice. “You ever try to teach ten-year-olds about fractions? It’s like trying to train cute little squirrels to sit still.”

Carmy huffed another laugh, shaking his head slightly. “Can’t say I have.”

“You’re lucky,” you teased, crossing your arms over your chest. “Anyway, I should let you get back to... whatever it is you were doing. But enjoy the cookies. They’re my signature recipe.”

“Signature?” Carmy asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yep,” you said with a playful smirk. “Passed down from the great culinary masterminds of my family. By which I mean, I Googled it five years ago and have been winging it ever since."

Carmy let out a quiet laugh, glancing back toward his apartment. For a moment, he considered inviting you in, but the idea of it felt… too sudden. Too much. Instead, he took a step back toward the door, holding up the plate as a gesture of gratitude. “I’ll let you know how they are.”

“Oh, it will,” you said confidently, already backing toward your apartment. “See you around, Carmy-next-door.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly, watching as you disappeared back into your apartment, leaving him standing in the doorway with a plate of cookies in his hands and a strange sense of warmth in his chest.

-------

The plate of cookies sat on Carmy’s desk in the cluttered back office at The Bear, their presence almost mocking him. He’d brought them along in the rush of the morning, figuring he might as well snack on them during the chaos of his day. But, as usual, the day had taken over—prep work, managing the team, putting out fires both literal and figurative—and by the time he finally sat down, the cookies were still untouched.

Richie, after coming into his office asking about the butter delivery for tomorrow, noticed the cookies on the table.

“What the hell is this?” he asked, pointing to the plate with an incredulous look. “Since when do you bake cookies?”

Carmy looked up from his paperwork, deadpan.“They’re from my neighbor. She brought them over as a thank-you for helping her move a box.”

Richie snorted, picking one up without waiting for permission. “Your neighbor? What is this, a fucking Hallmark movie?”

“Can you just eat the cookie and shut up?” Carmy said, though his tone was more resigned than annoyed, as he leaned back into his chair.

Richie took a dramatic bite, his eyebrows raising in exaggerated surprise. “Damn. These are actually good. Who’s this neighbor of yours? She running a bakery or something?”

“No,” Carmy said, shaking his head. “She’s a teacher.”

Richie blinked, clearly not expecting that answer. “A teacher who bakes like this? That's a keeper. Because these cookies are better than anything Marcus has cranked out lately.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Carmy muttered, grabbing a cookie for himself.

They were soft, perfectly sweetened, with just the right amount of salt to balance the flavor. He wasn’t expecting much when you’d handed him the plate earlier, but now... now he understood why you’d been so confident.

He finished the cookie quickly, his mind already drifting to thoughts of you. He could picture the way you’d smiled when you handed him the plate, the playful glint in your eyes when you teased him. He wasn’t used to people being so... warm. So open. It felt unfamiliar, but not in a bad way.

Richie leaned against the desk, crossing his arms. “Seriously, though, what’s the deal? She single? Maybe I should swing by, introduce myself. Could use some homemade cookies in my life.”

Carmy shot him a warning look, though his tone remained light. "Just get out of here, Richie,"

Richie chuckled, grabbing another cookie as he walked out. “Hey, if she makes more of these, tell her I’ll marry her. Hell, I’ll even carry her boxes next time.”

Carmy shook his head, staring at the now half-empty plate of cookies. For a moment, he considered texting you to tell you how good they were, but he didn’t have your number. Instead, he made a mental note to return the favor—something different than cookies.

He wasn’t entirely sure why he cared so much, but as he reached for one last cookie, he couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips.

-----

It had been two days since you’d dropped off the plate of cookies as a thank-you for Carmy helping you with your move. You didn’t expect much in return—maybe just a polite nod in the hallway or, at most, an offhanded “thanks.” That was the kind of vibe you got from Carmy: quiet, reserved, polite but not overly forthcoming or social.

So, when there was a knock at your door that evening, you weren’t expecting to find him standing there, holding a small brown takeout box.

“Carmy-next-door,” you said, your voice warm and teasing. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Hey,” he said, his voice low, as his eyes flicked between her face and the container in his hands. “Uh, thought I’d return the favor."

Your eyes flicked to the container, and you tilted your head curiously. “Return the favor?”

"For the cookies.”

You blinked, glancing down at the box in his hands. It wasn’t your typical store-bought takeout container—this one looked nicer, almost custom-made. You tilted your head slightly, curious. “What’s this?”

“Just something I made,” he said, shrugging one shoulder like it was no big deal. “Nothing fancy.”

You smiled, reaching out to take the box from him. “Wait, so you’re telling me you cook? Like, professionally?”

Carmy hesitated for a moment, clearly debating how much to say. “Yeah. I’m a chef.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Like... a real chef? Not just someone who’s really good at making grilled cheese?”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah. A real chef. But I do make a mean grilled cheese.”

“Well, color me impressed,” you laugh, holding up the box like it was a prized treasure. “What’s in here? Or is it a secret?”

“Braised short ribs,” he said, shifting his weight slightly. “With some potato puree and roasted vegetables. It’s... leftovers from a test recipe.”

You blinked, momentarily stunned. “You're giving me that as a thank-you for cookies?”

He shrugged again, his gaze flicking away. “Figured it was better than just saying ‘thanks.’"

You laughed softly, leaning against the doorframe. “Well, now I feel like I need to bake you an entire cake or something. Cookies don’t seem like enough anymore.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, his voice softening slightly. “You didn’t have to bring me anything in the first place.”

“Yeah, but then I wouldn’t have discovered that my new neighbor is secretly a culinary genius,” you teased, watching as his cheeks seemed to tint just slightly pink.

“Not a genius,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just... a chef.”

“Well, Chef Carmy, you’ve officially raised the bar for neighborly exchanges,” you said, grinning.

A small, almost shy smile tugged at his lips. “Just enjoy it.”

She studied him for a beat longer, the way he seemed both completely comfortable and slightly out of place at the same time. “Well, thanks, Carmy. I’ll let you know what I think.”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding slightly. “You do that.”

Carmy turned to leave, but before he reached his apartment, you called after him, your voice light and teasing.

"Hey, Carmy-next-door!"

He paused, glancing back over his shoulder, a curious expression on his face.

"Is this some kind of competition now? Because if it is, my next thank-you might have to involve actual fireworks."

He gave a quiet chuckle, a rare sound that widened your smile. "It's not."

You laughed, the sound brightening the hallway. "Well, it is now," you declared, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "And I’m not going down without a fight."

"Looking forward to it," he murmured, shaking his head, his smile lingering as he turned and disappeared into his apartment

You stood in the doorway for a moment, still holding the box, a warm feeling spreading through you. There was something about him—quiet but deeply thoughtful—that made you feel like you’d just scratched the surface of who he really was.

You carried the box into your kitchen, setting it carefully on the counter. The smell alone was enough to make your mouth water, but you didn’t open it right away. Instead, you poured yourself a glass of wine and took a seat, savoring the anticipation. And as you finally took your first bite, you couldn’t help but think: maybe moving into this building was the best decision you’d made in a long time.

Hope you enjoy it!!!! <3

Part 3??

[scoupsakakitty]

More than Words | idol!Mingyu x idol!Reader | fluff

The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting a golden glow through the expansive windows of the villa where the two groups were staying. It was the kind of light that softened everything it touched—much like the way Mingyu’s gaze always softened when it landed on Y/N.

They had been friends for what felt like forever. From the moment her group joined HYBE, Mingyu had gravitated toward her like the earth toward the moon. It wasn’t something he could explain; it just felt natural, like breathing.

And maybe that’s why it hurt so much to keep pretending that’s all they were just friends.

Y/N sat cross-legged on the couch beside him, her laughter ringing out as one of the members from her group told an embarrassing story about their early training days. Mingyu didn’t even register the punchline. All he could focus on was the way her smile lit up the entire room, the way her eyes crinkled slightly at the corners when she laughed too hard.

“You’re staring again,” Seungkwan whispered, nudging Mingyu’s side with a knowing smirk.

Mingyu shot him a look that could kill, but it only made Seungkwan grin wider. “I’m not.”

“Right.” Seungkwan leaned back, arms crossed. “And she doesn’t look at you like you hung the stars in the sky.”

Mingyu’s ears burned, and he turned his attention back to the group just in time to see Y/N glance his way. Her gaze lingered for a second too long before she looked away, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

Everyone saw it. Everyone knew it.

But neither of them had the courage to say it out loud.

———————————————————————————-

Later that night, after dinner and endless games that left everyone exhausted, someone suggested watching a horror movie.

“No thanks,” Y/N said quickly, shaking her head. “You all can watch, but I’ll pass.”

“Scared?” Mingyu teased, his lips twitching upward.

“No,” she lied, narrowing her eyes at him.

Mingyu tilted his head, clearly not believing her. “Then stay.”

“You just want me to stay so you won’t get scared,” she shot back.

Her words made the others laugh, but Mingyu only grinned wider. “Stay,” he repeated, softer this time.

And because it was him and because she could never really say no to him she did.

The movie was worse than she expected. Every jump scare had her clutching Mingyu’s arm until, at some point, he just wrapped it around her and pulled her closer. She didn’t even resist.

By the time the credits rolled, Y/N was thoroughly spooked, but she didn’t let it show. Or at least she thought she didn’t until Mingyu leaned down and whispered, “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she mumbled, but the slight tremble in her voice betrayed her.

Mingyu only smiled. “You can sleep in my room if you get too scared,” he said casually, like it wasn’t a big deal.

Her heart skipped a beat, but she rolled her eyes. “I’ll be fine.”

————————————————————————————-

She was not fine.

The villa was quiet, save for the soft hum of the air conditioning and the occasional creak of the wooden floors. The movie had ended hours ago, but the images still played in Y/N’s mind, making every shadow on the wall feel alive.

She had tried everything burying herself under the covers, listening to music, even counting sheep—but nothing worked. Her thoughts kept drifting back to the way Mingyu had held her during the movie, his arm warm and steady around her shoulders. It wasn’t the first time he’d done something like that, but tonight, it felt different.

Maybe it was the way his hand lingered against her skin, or the way his voice softened whenever he spoke to her. Or maybe it was just her, overthinking everything the way she always did when it came to him.

With a sigh, Y/N pushed back the covers and slipped out of bed. Her feet carried her down the dimly lit hallway before her brain could catch up. By the time she reached Mingyu’s door, her heart was pounding so loudly she was sure he’d hear it the moment he opened up.

She knocked lightly, half-hoping he wouldn’t answer.

But then the door creaked open, and there he was Mingyu, shirtless and half-asleep, with his hair sticking up in every direction.

“Y/N?” His voice was low, husky, and it sent a shiver down her spine. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t sleep,” she admitted, suddenly feeling ridiculous. “The movie…”

Understanding flickered in his eyes. “Come in.”

She hesitated. “Are you sure?”

“Y/N.” His voice was softer this time. “Come here.”

That was all it took. She stepped inside, and he closed the door behind her before leading her to the bed. It was warm, and the scent of him clean soap and something distinctly Mingyu wrapped around her as she settled under the covers.

When he lay down beside her, he didn’t hesitate to pull her close. Her head rested against his chest, and the steady thump of his heartbeat calmed her almost immediately.

“Better?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.

“Yeah,” she whispered, her fingers brushing lightly against his bare skin.

They stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in the quiet, until Y/N started tracing small patterns on his chest circles, hearts, meaningless shapes that only made her more aware of how close they were.

Mingyu’s hand drifted to her hair, his fingers threading through the strands slowly, almost absentmindedly. It was soothing, but it also made her hyper-aware of every single point where their bodies touched.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured.

“So are you,” she shot back, her voice barely above a whisper.

He chuckled, and the vibration of it against her cheek made her stomach flip.

“Y/N…” He trailed off, but she heard the hesitation in his voice.

She tilted her head, looking up at him, and that’s when it happened. His gaze dropped to her lips, lingering there for a moment before he looked back into her eyes.

Her breath caught.

Neither of them moved at first. It was like time had stopped, and all she could feel was the heat radiating off him and the weight of his arm around her.

And then he leaned in.

It was slow, almost tentative, giving her every chance to pull away but she didn’t. Instead, she closed the distance, her lips meeting his in a kiss that sent sparks shooting through her entire body.

Mingyu’s hand came up to cradle her face, his thumb brushing gently against her cheek as he deepened the kiss. It was warm and soft and everything she had ever imagined it would be.

Her fingers curled against his chest, clutching at him like she was afraid he might disappear.

And he didn’t stop.

The kiss grew more urgent, more desperate, as though they were both trying to make up for all the time they had spent pretending this wasn’t what they wanted.

When they finally pulled apart, their breaths mingling in the small space between them, Mingyu’s eyes searched hers.

“Y/N,” he said softly, his voice a little unsteady. “I can’t pretend anymore.”

Her heart skipped. “Pretend what?”

His hand stayed on her cheek, grounding her. “That I don’t want you. That I haven’t wanted you since the moment we met.”

Her lips parted, but no words came out.

“I’ve been falling for you this whole time,” he went on, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I know we’re both scared of what this means, but I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel this way.”

Tears pricked at her eyes, but she didn’t look away.

“Say something,” he murmured, his thumb brushing away the tear that slipped down her cheek.

“I feel the same,” she whispered. “I’ve felt this way for so long, but I was scared. Scared of what it might mean for us for our groups for everything.”

Mingyu let out a shaky breath, his forehead resting against hers. “You don’t have to be scared. We’ll figure it out together. Okay?”

“Okay.”

And when he kissed her again, it was slower this time sweeter. Like a promise.

————————————————————————————-

The morning after felt different.

There was no awkward silence, no avoiding each other’s eyes. Instead, there were lingering touches and soft smiles exchanged across the room, even as their friends gave them questioning looks.

“Did something happen last night?” Seungkwan asked, narrowing his eyes at them.

“No,” Mingyu said too quickly, making Y/N laugh.

“Definitely not,” she added, but the way she looked at Mingyu betrayed her.

Seungkwan raised an eyebrow. “Right. Sure.”

But neither of them cared.

For the first time, it didn’t matter what anyone else thought.

Because they had each other and that was enough.

———————————————————————————-

[prodbymaui]

Eunoia. — 이민형

when it's all said and done, girl, I want you

PAIRING: mark lee x reader GENRE: unspoken feelings

WORD COUNT: 2.3k+ words

WARNINGS: finger fucking, pet names (baby, love), pool sex, exhibition kink, grinding

SYNOPSIS: it's late at night and you're yet to pull yourself out of the ocean that is your thoughts. Mark helps you out in a complexed but effective way that he knows. A/N: very self-indulgent, definitely not a scenario that came up to me in the middle of the night and stayed in my mind ever since. anyhows, enjoy reading!

The day nears the next cyle of the moon and sun, but you remain at the pool side— music resonating from your phone as you dip your feet in the pool, drinking the night away. 

You should’ve been worn out from all the fun that you had with your friends yet for some unknown reasons, sleep doesn’t come to you easily. In result, you opt grabbing one of the unfinished bottles of vodka for yourself.

The thoughts swimming in your head must’ve drowned you, considering that you didn’t hear one of the bedroom doors opening and the footsteps walking towards. It is only when someone sits next to you that you notices their presence.

Your gaze shifts from the stars to the man on your right— Mark. Your breath hitches for a moment. The messy hair and a plain white shirt paired with the dopey smile on his face is enough for you to fall in to another trance.

“What got you out here having fun all by yourself?” Mark tilts his head in question, to which you let out a soft laugh.

“Is drinking alone fun now?”

“I suppose.. ? It looks fun for me.”

Merely replying with a smile, silence engulfs the both of you. And as if on cue, your mind boggles you over trivial things once again, just like what it does since you were young.

Mark passes you a brief glance, then to the music playing on your phone.

Thoughts

Sometimes, I just can't control my thoughts

No medication's ever made them stop

All I think about is everything I'm not

Instead of everything I got

He sighs, biting his lips as he contemplates on what to do.

And it’s not Mark if he chooses the complexed but effective way.

The bubble of your thoughts pop when the water splashes at you suddenly. Surprised, you look over to Mark who’s swimming his way towards where you are seated. Just right before you, Mark comes up from the water, brushing his black undercut hair back.

His eyes meet yours. “Hi,”

“Hello,” You grin, sipping your vodka.

He walks a little bit more closer, enough for his chest to make contact with your knees. Mark smiles again, resting his hands on your knees.

“Hi,” He repeats softly.

You can’t help but chuckle. “Hello Mark,”

What is this man doing? The voices in your head asks.

“Come swim with me?”

You glance at the rippling water illuminated faintly by the moon, then back at him, standing waist-deep with a boyish grin that doesn’t quite match the hour. 

“Pass, I’m just waiting for sleep to take over my body. Besides,  you shouldn’t be swimming this late at night, Mark. You’ll catch a cold.”

Mark exhales dramatically, a mix of exasperation and amusement, before swishing the water toward you in a playful splash. It doesn’t reach, but the gesture draws a reluctant grin from you.

“Loosen up a little,” He says, his voice warm, almost teasing. “Who cares about catching a cold if it means having a bit of fun?”

You’re not quite sure how it happens. You remember saying no—firmly, even—but now the cool water laps at your legs, rising steadily until it reaches your waist. Mark’s hand is warm and steady in yours, his grip pulling you further into the pool, toward the deeper end.

“Mark,” you warn, your voice low, your fingers tightening instinctively around his. It’s not fear—nothing as dramatic as that. You can swim perfectly well, and the depth of the water doesn’t intimidate you. It’s just…this wasn’t supposed to be on your list for tonight.

He slows, catching the hesitation written across your face. Without a word, he stops walking, the two of you now floating in the very center of the pool. The stillness around you is palpable, broken only by the faint ripples you’ve created together.

Mark’s gaze softens as it finds yours, studying your expression carefully, reading the unspoken. Then, with a quiet assurance, he slides his arm around your waist, pulling you just a little closer.

“I’ve got you,” he says, the words low but firm, steadying you in a way that feels more solid than the water ever could.

You sigh, taking in the comfort of the moon and starts hovering above the both of you, and the comfort of Mark’s arm around you.

“What do you think Yeonjun and Wooyoung’s reaction will be if they see us like this?”

“The teasings, oh god,” The mere thought of the two troublemakers’ reactions is already enough to make Mark sigh in exasperation. 

He can practically hear their voices now—the teasing tone, the exaggerated laughter. They’ve been relentless lately, poking fun at the “odd vibe,” as they like to call it, between the two of you. Their wild imaginations have taken your every interaction and spun it into something far more dramatic, their assumptions as colorful as they are persistent.

You laugh at his response, sliding your arms to rest on his shoulders. “Why do you think they tease us so much?” Mark’s chuckle fades, leaving a quiet tension in its place. The water sways around you both, but all you can focus on is how his gaze has softened—more intent now, as if he’s waiting for something.

“They think there’s something between us,” he says, his voice dropping just enough to make the words feel weightier. His hands linger at your waist, his touch steady yet hesitant, like he’s holding back.

You swallow, your laugh from earlier now a distant echo. “And… do you think they’re right?” you ask, surprising yourself with the boldness in your voice.

Mark’s lips twitch, but it’s not quite a smile. “Sometimes,” he admits, barely above a murmur. “It’s hard not to when they keep planting the idea in my head.”

You feel a faint warmth rising in your cheeks, though you’re not sure if it’s from his words or the way his thumb grazes your side absentmindedly. “And what does that idea look like to you?”

The shift in his expression is subtle, but it’s enough to make your heart stutter. There’s something deeper in his eyes now, something that makes the air between you feel almost fragile.

“Do you want me to show you?” he asks quietly, his voice low and steady, but there’s an edge to it—a flicker of vulnerability he can’t quite hide.

The moment stretches, the world outside the pool fading to nothing. It’s just you, Mark, and the unspoken tension swirling between you, like the water lapping at your skin.

Whether it’s you or Mark who closes the distance first doesn’t matter. All that matters now is the way his lips meet yours—soft and deliberate, moving in a rhythm that feels as though it’s been waiting to happen. The kiss deepens naturally, a slow, intoxicating exchange that carries the urgency of something long denied.

Mark’s hand slides to the back of your head, his fingers threading gently through your hair as though anchoring you to the moment. His grip is firm but careful, a silent assurance that he won’t let go. When he feels you lean further into him, your movements mirroring his, something shifts.

With surprising ease, Mark’s other hand slips beneath your legs, lifting you as though you weigh nothing. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, securing yourself against him. The movement presses your bodies closer, the water rippling around you in lazy waves.

You can feel his breath against your skin, warm and uneven, his lips trailing softly before returning to yours. The press of his body is undeniable, a tension simmering beneath the surface, but the way he holds you—steady, deliberate—grounds the moment in something more than just desire.

Mark pulls away, breathing heavily. “I know it’s late but tell me to stop. Tell me you don’t want any of this and I’ll pretend none of this happened tomorrow.”

Nonsense. You don’t even know what got him thinking like that when you’re already on cloud nine just by his kisses.

“Don’t stop,” You whisper against his ear before connecting your lips with his once again.

As your tongue fights and clashes with one another, you gasp at the feeling of Mark’s palm cupping your core. The water surrounds every part of your lower body but Mark could still feel the slimy texture of your juices on his skin.

His fingers slides along your labia, letting it explore and feel your warmth. The soothing movements of his pads strays away from your focus as Mark’s kisses travels down to your neck. Tracing your skin with his tongue, Mark licks a stripe straight to where your neck and collarbone meets. You gasp as he gives it a little kiss before sucking the skin, at the same time he enters a digit inside you.

“Mark..”

He shushes your noises yet his fingers serves absolutely nothing to help you do so. Not long after you’ve gotten used to his single digit, he enter another after another, curling them inside. Your head lols back, trapping your bottom lips between your lips.

Turning the both of you around, Mark carries your weight one arm while the other busies itself pumping inside you. In a few steps backwards, your back hits the wall of the pool causing Mark’s fingers to be buried deeper inside. Your hands fly to grab something as a leverage, eventually finding his flexing arms. The cold breeze brushing against your skin reminds you that you’re not in the privacy of your bedroom or any private space right now. And Mark uses it to his advantage, seemingly knowing well what you like despite this being the first time that he’s having a taste of you. “Haechan was awake when I left the boys’ room, you know?” he murmurs, his tone low and teasing as he tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His lips brush against your cheek in a series of soft, fleeting pecks, his warmth lingering with each one. “He was mumbling something about wanting a snack but being too lazy to actually get up. You know how crazy that man is about his snacks, babe.”

His voice drops to a playful whisper. “What if he decides to come out? Imagine him catching us like this—you trembling in my arms, eyes fluttering shut, your hips jerking against me like you’re trying so hard to keep quiet. One look at your hips, and he’d know exactly what’s happening, no questions asked.”

You curses at the thought of being caught. And Mark laughs. Because he knows damn well it’s not due to embarrassment nor fear. The clench of your walls on his fingers tells him so. “Wouldn’t you like that, babe? I think you would,” Curling his fingers upwards, your eyes rolls to the back of your head. “Look at you getting close at the thought of it. I wonder what’ll be his reaction.”

“Mark please,” You plead, not even knowing for what reason. “Please? I don’t know even know what you want, love.” It’s frustrating how the brutal pace of his thrusting fingers contrasts the soft and loving tone of his voice. It messes your head and inside both at the same time. “Please please, Mark—” Your eyes catches his sharp gaze in a hazy film, barely even able to open your lids to maintain eye contact. “Fuck– haah, I’m gonna come.” “Yeah?” Mark pulls you impossibly closer, grinding his prominent boner on any accessible part of you that he can reaches by merely moving his hips. “I’m gon– I wanna cum, I’m gonna cum. Shit, Mark please, baby,” You desperately cling on to him, meeting his fingers halfway as you try your best to fasten the pace despite the restrain from the water. Mark groans, silently wishing it is his cock you’re clenching around so tightly right now. How good it must feel to your warm walls massaging his length, tightening on him just right, milking him dry until he’s nothing left but an empty vessel of a man obsessed with you and your body. He presses your bodies to the wall as he grinds harder and faster, matching your pace. “Do it. Come for me,” He whispers your name in an encouraging manner. And you did just as he orders. Failing to keep your eyes open, your eyes shut close as your mouth forms a circular shape. The pleasure comes to you crashing down. Mark doesn’t know what kind of hold you have on him but he’s certain it is no way near surface level when he reaches his own climax just by watching you come undone in his arms. The look of you embracing the pleasure he offered is enough to send him off the edge. You nuzzle your face in the crook of his neck, your ragged breaths mingling with his as you try to steady yourself. The aftershocks still linger, leaving your body heavy and your mind hazy, but the comforting rise and fall of his chest anchors you. Both of you silently agree to stay like this for a moment, letting the sound of the pool water gently lapping around you fill the quiet. It feels like time has paused, a brief reprieve from everything outside this bubble of warmth.

But fate, as always, has other plans.

A slow, deliberate clap breaks the stillness, immediately snapping your attention toward its source. The sound is followed by a low whistle that cuts through the air like a taunt.

“Well, that was one hell of a show,” comes the familiar voice, dripping with mock amusement.

Your head snaps up, and there he is—Haechan, leaning casually against the doorframe of the boys’ room, arms crossed and that trademark cocky smirk plastered across his face. His expression, equal parts smug and entertained, makes your stomach drop.