#this includes his posture not just his face

[iraot]

Previous entries to Heat Haven Series Heat Haven, Alpha Equation, No Turning Back Summary: She was a nurse, he was a pilot and surrounding them was a whole host of government inadequacies that end up changing their lives forever. Word Count: 16.4k Warnings: Shitty government protocol, shitty discriminatory behavior from superiors, Gideon's shitty flirting, heat induced horny, dub con? ( cause of heat? she wants it tho i swear ). A/N: This took me 1 day to finish, which isn't my usual writing pace. NGL my head is about to explode. If you like it please comment and let me know what you think! Archive of Our Own

The first time she met Dr. Holt, she’d just arrived on base—still in the pressed slate-grey of her regulation uniform, her boots carrying the last dust of the tarmac, her orders fresh in hand. The med bay was stark and cold, all steel and silence, the hum of machinery behind every wall, a familiar kind of sterile she had never liked. She’d worked in trauma centers where blood slicked the floor before noon, where screams were as regular as shift changes, where survival was carved from chaos. But here, the tension was different—contained, quiet, something behind the eyes of every person in uniform that said: don’t step out of line.

She was shown into a glass-walled office where Dr. Holt waited behind a desk, arms folded, face impassive. Major Caulder stood to one side, arms behind his back in that careful military posture that meant he’d say nothing unless it mattered to him. She gave them both a crisp nod, standing straight with her data tablet in hand, every credential visible—trauma nurse specialist, surgical tech experience, Omega regulatory compliance signed and verified. She extended it to Holt first. “Reporting for assignment, sir.”

Holt didn’t reach for the tablet. His eyes flicked to her face, then down—to her chest, to the small embossed marker beneath her name: Omega. That was when something in his mouth twisted, almost imperceptibly, like a reflex he didn’t bother to mask. “You’re the one they sent?” he asked, voice calm in a way that wasn’t calm at all. “I assumed they’d assign someone more… tactically appropriate for front-line med work.”

She didn’t flinch, but the chill of his tone settled over her like frostbite. “My file includes civilian trauma experience, advanced surgical certification, three years of field rotation, and three commendations for frontline composure under pressure,” she said, evenly, without pride—just facts. “I’m not here to meet assumptions, Doctor. I’m here to treat soldiers.”

Major Caulder glanced her way, but still said nothing. Holt leaned back slightly in his chair, steepling his fingers. “You’ll be assigned to secondary support—post-trauma, medication dispersal, charting. You’ll assist as needed, but you won’t be leading trauma intake.”

“That’s not the assignment listed on my orders,” she said flatly.

Holt didn’t even blink. “I reserve the right to adapt staffing for medical efficiency,” he replied, each word deliberately bland. “We run a tight facility here, Lieutenant. I won’t allow biological volatility to compromise surgical discipline.”

There it was. Biological volatility. As if she were a failed circuit. As if her body was something unpredictable and dangerous by nature. Her spine straightened, chin lifting a degree. “And yet you’re fine trusting a man whose hands shake during his own post-rut cycle to handle critical patients?” she asked, cool as steel. “Funny how that volatility never seems to interrupt his assignments.”

That earned a moment of silence sharp enough to cut. Caulder’s eyes flicked toward her—faint surprise, or maybe wariness—but Holt’s face remained a blank wall, his voice clipped. “We’ll expect you to conduct yourself with discipline, Lieutenant.”

“I expect the same,” she returned, not backing down. “Sir.”

Caulder stepped in then, voice smoothing over the tension without erasing it. “You’ll rotate through trauma as scheduled. Dr. Holt is within his rights to manage his staff, but the orders are active.” His tone, carefully balanced, made clear that any further argument would be seen as insubordination—not by her, but by Holt. Maintain professionalism. As if what had just happened qualified as anything less than quiet warfare.

She gave a stiff nod, then turned and walked out, pulse steady despite the heat in her chest. The door hissed shut behind her, and she didn’t look back. But she could feel it—Holt’s eyes on her, the weight of that old-world judgment, that curated disdain for what she was.

She’d felt it before. From patients. From colleagues. From supposed allies who wanted quiet, well-behaved Omegas who kept their heads down and their scent muted. But she hadn’t survived the halls of civilian trauma by being soft. She didn’t break when blood sprayed her visor or when someone screamed in her face with their guts spilling through their hands.

And she wouldn’t break for him.

Not here. Not ever.

— The unmistakable whistle was already echoing down the corridor before the med bay doors even slid open. That damned whistle always came first—too casual, too confident, a herald of the strut that followed it. She didn’t need to look up to know who it was. Only one man on base walked like the hallway was his personal runway and greeted medical staff like it was open mic night at the local bar.

“Tell me you missed me,” came the drawl, syrup-slick and shameless. “Don’t break my heart.”

She didn’t blink, eyes fixed on the monitor in front of her, inputting the last of a post-op debrief from a gunner with a pulled rotator cuff. Her fingers didn’t pause on the touchpad, her face didn’t lift from its neutral angle—but her mouth, traitor that it was, fought the hint of a smirk. 

She fought harder. “The cardiac ward’s three doors down, Captain. They handle broken hearts.”

He clicked his tongue, boots heavy as he stepped inside like he’d just returned from a long vacation instead of the tarmac. “Ouch. And here I thought we had something special.”

She turned, finally, and met his gaze levelly. “Special implies mutual consent. Sit on the exam bed.”

The man was a wall of muscle in flight fatigues, his name badge faintly scuffed, jacket half-zipped like he’d left it that way on purpose. Short black hair, neatly trimmed, brown eyes like sun-warmed espresso—warmth without expectation. The med bay lighting made the natural tan of his skin look deeper, more golden. His body carried the kind of weight that didn’t come from vanity, but from use—shoulders thick from years of hauling equipment, from cockpit cramping, from working without ever asking for an easier way.

He slumped dramatically onto the bed, arms spread like he was offering himself to the gods. “Don’t be shy. You can poke and prod all you want. Long as I get dinner after.”

“I’m already sick of your voice and I haven’t even checked your blood pressure,” she said, dry.

He grinned, teeth bright and easy. “You wound me, nurse.”

He used her title deliberately, the same way she used his. He never called her by her name, never tested that line. Other Alphas might’ve tried. Might’ve leaned in close to scent her, to let their fingers brush against her wrist during vitals, to see what would happen when an unclaimed Omega was cornered. She’d had to write more than one report for that kind of thing. But not him.

He flirted like a man who expected rejection. Like he liked the sound of her saying no. And maybe he did.

She crossed to the counter, tapping into his file on the tablet mounted beside the sink. “You’re here for your pre-deployment clearance. Nothing new on your chart since your last physical?”

He kicked his boots off the side of the bed, letting them thud against the wall with zero grace. “Not unless caffeine addiction counts.”

She didn’t look at him. “I’d have to report that. It’s against regs to sedate yourself with vending machine coffee.”

“Then thank god they haven’t caught me with the good stuff.”

Her fingers moved quick across the screen, her tone all business. “Any dizziness? Chest tightness? Trouble sleeping?”

“Negative.”

“Shortness of breath?”

He exhaled with enough exaggeration to qualify as a groan. “Only when you’re in the room, doll.”

She turned then, slowly, one eyebrow raised. “Captain, I’ll take that as consent to start with your respiratory rate.”

He grinned wider, unrepentant. “Breathe deep, got it.”

She reached for her stethoscope, the cold metal a familiar weight around her neck, and stepped closer to him. The moment changed. Not dramatically. Not enough to be obvious. But his posture shifted—subtly, unconsciously. Still relaxed, still teasing, but something pulled in behind his eyes.

She’d seen it before. The moment an Alpha remembered what she was. What she wasn’t allowed to be.

Her hand was steady as she pressed the bell of the stethoscope to his chest. The heat of his body radiated through the thin layer of fabric between her fingers and his skin. “Deep breath in. Hold. Release.”

He obeyed. No jokes this time. His chest expanded under her palm, ribs flaring slightly, heart beating a slow and even rhythm that vibrated faintly into her touch. She moved the scope, adjusted the angle, and listened.

Another breath. Then another.

His voice, when he spoke again, was low. Quieter.

“You always this gentle?”

She didn’t answer at first. Just moved to the next point on his chest, focused, methodical. “You’d rather I press harder?”

“Maybe,” he said softly, “if it meant you’d stay close longer.”

She didn’t look at him, didn’t give him the satisfaction of even a glance. But her hand lingered a half-second longer than necessary before pulling the stethoscope back. Her expression didn’t change. “You’re fine. Vitals normal.”

He let out a breath that wasn’t a sigh, but it tried to be. “Knew you’d say I’m perfect eventually.”

She set the stethoscope aside. “You’ve still got vision and reflexes to clear. Stand up.”

He did, slower than he needed to, like the longer it took the longer he got to stay in her presence. Not leering. Not imposing. Just present. There was something about the way he moved that didn’t demand attention—it asked for it, and acted surprised when it got it.

She handed him the reflex hammer. “Sit. I’ll test your knees.”

He plopped back down. “This is the one where you slap me, right?”

“Not hard enough, apparently.”

The tap of the rubber mallet against his patellar tendon made his leg jerk, a twitch reflex she tracked with professional detachment. She repeated the motion on the other side. Both responses are within normal range.

“Eyes forward,” she said. “Tracking next.”

He followed her finger without complaint as she moved it left to right, up, down, diagonals, watching his pupils. Nothing abnormal. Nothing slow. Just those warm brown eyes, always so open, so eager, watching her like she was some rare creature he’d caught sight of once and had never quite gotten out of his head.

When she lowered her hand, he was still watching.

“Your file’s clean. You’re cleared for flight.”

He didn’t move. Not immediately. Just sat there, hands resting on his knees, shoulders slightly hunched—not in exhaustion, but in thought. “You ever get tired of being treated like a risk factor?”

She froze. Just a flicker. Just for a second. Her mouth opened, then closed.

He didn’t wait. “Everyone here’s walking around like your biology is a bomb they’re trying not to set off. Doesn’t that piss you off?”

Her voice, when it came, was measured. “What pisses me off is that I need a mate to be taken seriously.”

“Then why don’t you have one?” he asked, not accusing, just curious.

“Because claiming isn’t the same thing as choice,” she said flatly. “And I don’t want to be owned to do my job.”

His jaw worked for a second. Then he nodded. Just once. “Fair.”

She turned to her station, logged the clearance note into the system, her back straight. She didn’t say anything else.

But as he reached the door, he paused. Just enough to let the air shift.

“You ever need someone to remind command that you’re not the problem?” he said, quietly. “You know where my spot in the barracks are.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He never did, but this time she watched him go.

The storage room was hotter than it should’ve been, the overhead lights flickering slightly with every surge of the air handler struggling to keep up. Shelves of gauze, medkits, fluid bags, and antiseptics surrounded them in tight aisles that smelled faintly of plastic and sterile cotton. She was kneeling by the lower bins, scanning barcodes and cross-checking numbers on the clipboard balanced against her thigh, when Maya let out an exaggerated sigh and dropped a box of gloves onto the nearest shelf.

“You know,” Maya said, brushing her frizzy bangs out of her face, “if the actual doctors around here pulled their weight, we wouldn’t be stuck doing all this.”

She made a noncommittal noise in response, dragging the next tray of sutures closer. “The ones we do have don’t want to be here. They’re either chasing real surgeries or busy stroking their egos in civilian hospitals.”

Maya gave a bitter little laugh. “Or both.”

The silence that followed was only broken by the occasional beep of a scan and the crinkling of packaging. It wasn’t uncomfortable. They’d done this together enough times that the rhythm of working side-by-side was almost meditative. But the heat, the frustration, and the long list of backlogged tasks were wearing thin, and she knew Maya well enough to sense when she was about to veer off-course.

“You know,” Maya said again, too casually this time, “we should just requisition a new doctor and list 'not an asshole' under qualifications.”

She smirked but didn’t look up. “We’d never get one. The system would flag that as an impossible request.”

“True,” Maya said, half-laughing. “I still can’t believe Dr. Holt said what he did last week. About you being a hazard.”

She paused in her scanning, just for a moment, then resumed. “He’s said worse. Just usually not when people can hear.”

“He’s a crusty old prick,” Maya said with a snort. “Like your hormones are going to explode and start a riot. God forbid anyone admits the real issue is how the alphas act, not you.”

It wasn’t news. Holt had hated her being assigned here from day one. He hadn’t said anything overt at first, but it didn’t take long before the microaggressions sharpened into barbed comments—muttering about scent contamination, refusing to review her patient notes, rerouting cases away from her when he was on base. Once he called her a complication in a room full of orderlies. Said it like it was a joke, like they were supposed to laugh with him, like it wasn’t dangerous that a man with rank and power could make her seem like a liability with one word.

“I don’t need him to like me,” she said quietly, standing to slide a restocked drawer closed. “I just need him to stay out of my way.”

Maya’s expression softened as she leaned against the counter, arms crossed loosely over her chest. “Still. It’s a hell of a thing. You do twice the work, half the credit, and you get called a risk factor on top of it.”

She shrugged. “If I had a mate, it wouldn’t be a problem.”

Maya scoffed. “Yeah, because nothing says professional freedom like needing to be claimed just to do your job.”

That earned a dry smile. “Trust me. I’ve considered it. Even wrote the registry application once. But you know how it is—they don’t want ‘claimed omega nurse.’ They want ‘owned omega who stays in her lane and doesn’t remind anyone she has teeth.’”

Maya rolled her eyes. “You’re too smart to settle for someone like that.”

“I’m too stubborn,” she corrected, “which is a much bigger problem.”

The last box of saline was shoved into place, the label noted, and she turned to move the empty crate into the back hall. Maya followed with another, barely concealing her grin now. They passed the narrow breakroom, then the side door to triage, where the air was slightly cooler. And that’s when Maya dropped her voice just enough to make the words deliberately conspiratorial.

“Captain came in earlier.”

She didn’t have to ask which one. There were dozens of captains on base, but when Maya said it like that, she meant one in particular.

“He’s up for deployment again,” she said, matter-of-fact. “Pre-flight physical.”

Maya leaned against the doorframe, lips curving. “Mmm. He seems to like you enough.”

She scoffed before she could stop herself. “He likes hearing himself talk.”

“He likes hearing you talk more.” Maya bumped her shoulder. “He’s not subtle.”

“No, but he’s harmless.”

That was true. She believed it. He flirted with that lopsided smile, the kind that tried to pretend it wasn’t real charm. He played the rogue, the scoundrel, the bad boy with good intentions—but he never crossed the line. Never touched her without asking. Never invaded her space. He was sweet underneath it, in a way that always felt like he wanted to be liked but didn’t know how to accept it if someone did.

Maya arched a brow. “Come on. You’re telling me you don’t think he’s cute?”

“Of course he’s cute,” she said, waving it off like it didn’t matter. “That’s half the problem.”

Maya’s grin widened. “Half the problem?”

“He’s cute, and charming, and probably not serious about a damn word he says.”

“You sure?”

She didn’t answer.

Because she wasn’t.

Part of her believed he had someone. Not from any evidence—he never talked about a partner, never came in smelling like anyone else, never made her think he was spoken for—but it was safer to assume. Safer to believe the smile he gave her was the same smile he gave everyone else. That the way he looked at her—warm, curious, just a little soft—was a game he played with every medic, mechanic, and munitions officer he ran into.

It had to be. Because the alternative? That he meant it? That maybe he lingered after his appointments because he liked her? That he watched her like she wasn’t a complication but something capable, worthy?

That was too dangerous.

That was how people got hurt.

“I don’t have time for a love life,” she said finally. “Not when every part of this job is about survival.”

Maya didn’t argue. Just nodded once, her eyes sharp. “Still. If you ever wanted it… he wouldn’t be the worst choice.”

She shrugged. “That’s not the same as being a good one.”

But the thought stuck, lingering like the scent he always left behind—warm, clean, a little sharp like ozone after a storm. Not the kind that tried to smother. Just the kind that stayed. She turned back to the supply list, but her mind drifted, just for a second. To brown eyes, to the curve of a grin, to the possibility.

She’d searched for him.

Late one night, lights dimmed in her quarters, the familiar hum of the base generators throbbing beneath the floor, she’d opened Heat Haven again and entered Gideon’s name in the Alpha search bar. She wasn’t even sure what she expected to find—part of her hoped he wasn’t there, and part of her feared what it would mean if he was. Her breath caught the second the page loaded blank, no profiles found. No grinning headshot, no pheromone rating, no crude review written by some slick-drunk Omega curled up post-knot.

She was relieved. And ashamed.

Because she shouldn’t have looked. She wasn’t allowed to need that. Not when her contract with the military came with monthly injections that flatlined her hormonal cycle, burned her heat symptoms into a quiet ache that never escalated. It was supposed to be liberation. 

–

The first time she’d met him, she’d been halfway through reorganizing the med kit cabinet when the door slid open with a loud hiss and a distinctly cocky whistle cut through the sterile quiet. “Tell me you’ve got a magic touch and a minute to spare, Nurse,” came the voice—warm, low, playful. She turned slowly, eyebrows arched, and found him standing there with a blood-soaked patch of fabric wrapped around one arm and the world’s most unapologetic grin on his face. “Magic touch, yes,” she said dryly. “Minute to spare? You’d have to earn it.”

His grin widened, boyish and bright, and he ambled in like he had all the clearance in the world, even though he technically did. “Guess I’ll have to charm you, then,” he said as he hopped onto the exam bed, boots squeaking against the floor. “Lucky for both of us, I’m very good under pressure.” She snorted as she reached for gloves. “From what I see, pressure is not what you were under when you let yourself get sliced on a maintenance ladder.”

“Okay, ow, but also—fair,” he laughed, flinching a little as she peeled the makeshift wrap away to assess the damage. “I was distracted. Something about the new med bay nurse being distractingly attractive.” She looked up slowly, unimpressed. “Try that line again after you’ve lost less blood.”

But he didn’t backpedal—not even close. He leaned in just slightly, grin softening around the edges, and watched her with open fascination, like her every word was a puzzle he wanted to study up close. “You’re quick,” he murmured, not teasing now, just quietly impressed. “Sharp tongue. Steady hands. I’m gonna be real honest—I’m in trouble.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as she reached for the dermabond. “You’re in for six stitches and an alcohol wipe. That’s the only kind of trouble you’re getting tonight.” “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he said, voice low, eyes flicking from her hands to her face with an almost reverent kind of curiosity. “But honestly, I think I like it.”

She tried to brush it off, but something about the way he looked at her—genuine, interested, completely present—stuck with her. Most Alphas flirted with expectation. He flirted with awe. When she was done, he didn’t rush to leave. Just sat there swinging his legs slightly, watching her clean up like it was the most fascinating thing on Earth.

“Gideon,” he said finally, offering his name with an easy smile. “You don’t have to remember it. But I hope you do.” She didn’t answer, but she did glance at him one more time before turning away—long enough for him to see the smallest curve of a smile.

And he filed it away like a man who knew he’d be back.

—

Suppressants made her professional. Suppressants made her safe.

Except the last time the needle slid into her arm, she flinched.

“Wait, what?” Maya’s voice had been sharp, loud enough to echo slightly off the steel paneling of the med bay supply closet. She’d dropped the clipboard in her hands, pens scattering across the floor. “They make you what every month?”

“Suppressants,” she said, too calm for how her stomach twisted. “I sign for them. I administer them myself. It’s part of the clearance to work in a high-Alpha density facility.”

“That’s not clearance,” Maya snapped, crouching to retrieve the pens with stiff fingers. “That’s a leash. That’s—fuck, that can’t be legal.”

“It is.” Her voice had gone flat. She’d practiced that tone for years. “We signed away a lot when we enlisted. Hormonal regulation falls under the clause for ‘occupational reliability.’ They get to decide how risky our biology is.”

Maya had looked at her then—really looked—like seeing something she hadn’t wanted to believe. “I knew the regs were bad,” she murmured. “But this… this is surgical. They’re cutting your instincts off at the root.”

She didn’t answer. Because Maya was right, and she’d known it from the start. But that didn’t change the contract she’d signed. And it didn’t change that every injection came with a signature and a warning: Failure to comply may result in reassignment or bond-mandated sedation during peak cycles. The law didn’t forbid suppressants. It encouraged them. Omegas with too much agency made the brass nervous.

The silence stretched, heavy between them, broken only by the distant whir of the centrifuge two rooms over.

“Do they hurt?” Maya asked eventually, softer now.

“The injections?” She shrugged. “Physically? No. Not much. Emotionally?” She let out a humorless breath. “I don’t think I’ve felt anything real in so long, I’m not sure I’d recognize it.”

Maya moved slowly then, placing the last box of gauze into the cabinet with mechanical precision. She didn’t look up. “That’s not how it should be. Not for anyone.”

But that was the thing. It was how it was. For Omegas like her—unmated, undesired by the registry, too competent to be transferred to a domestic base—it was either this or surrender. She’d chosen control. Even if it came with a needle and a signature and the fading memory of what her own scent used to be like when it bloomed warm in the back of her throat.

“I used to get them,” she admitted, voice thin, fingers tightening on the edge of the storage bin. 

“Heats, I mean. Back before I signed up. They were brutal. My whole body would shake for days. Couldn’t focus, couldn’t move, could barely breathe without crying.”

Maya tilted her head. “And now?”

“Now I’m hollow.” She forced a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Which, apparently, makes me a perfect employee.”

They both knew what that meant. Her scent wasn’t dangerous anymore. She didn’t make the Alphas tense in the mess hall. She didn’t spike anyone’s rut cycle or get called into medical for her own good. She was compliant. Efficient. Safe.

But that wasn’t the same as being whole.

“You ever think about stopping?” Maya asked after a moment.

That made her laugh—sharp, humorless. “And risk a heat on base? Risk the wrong Alpha scenting me in the corridor? Risk Holt dragging me out of the med bay by my hair for being a ‘disruption’ to workflow? No. I don’t get to be reckless.”

Maya didn’t argue. Didn’t need to. She just leaned back against the steel shelf, arms folded over her chest, jaw tight. 

“Still wrong,” she muttered. “Still fucked up.”

The room smelled of antiseptic and overstocked disinfectant wipes. But beneath it, faint and haunting, was the phantom scent of heat she hadn’t had in over two years. Not real. Just memory. Just her body remembering what it meant to want. Not desire. Need.

And in the privacy of her bunk, when the suppressants wore thin, when she woke up in a cold sweat with the ghost of slick between her thighs, she thought of profiles on Heat Haven. Of the things Omegas were still allowed to ask for there. And of a man with warm brown eyes and a crooked smile who wasn’t on the site at all, but somehow lingered in her thoughts anyway.

Because even if she couldn’t have it, even if she’d signed it all away for stability and the illusion of respect, part of her still wondered.

What it would feel like to be touched by someone who didn’t see her as a liability.

What it would feel like to choose.

The med bay was quiet, a rare lull in the late morning shuffle. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead in their usual rhythm, casting sterile white light across clean floors and polished metal equipment. She sat at her workstation near the corner, the soft click of keys her only companion, charting the morning’s recoveries and routine check-ins. The paper logs were nearly all digitized, and she preferred the ritual—data input kept her hands busy, her mind steady, and her presence in the room a little less conspicuous when Dr. Holt was around.

Holt, of course, was here today. A cluster of wounded soldiers had come through earlier from a malfunction during a training sim—shrapnel wounds mostly, concussive injuries, nothing fatal but enough to merit his attention. He stood at the main surgical console, barking orders at one of the junior techs, his posture rigid and voice clipped with disapproval. He hadn’t spoken to her once since arriving, which was just fine by her. His presence felt like static in her veins, and her body still remembered the sting of his last comment.

She finished the last chart with a swift keystroke, eyes scanning for errors, double-checking the date and time stamps. Everything was perfect, as it always was. Supplies alphabetized, medication carts locked, the coolers calibrated to exact temperatures—when she or Maya ran the med bay, there was no room for chaos. She hit submit, watching the file transfer before shutting down the system. The sleek, high-tech interface powered down with a soft whirr—military-funded equipment came with its perks, even if the people didn’t.

She stood to stretch, neck rolling to the side with a faint pop, when the doors burst open and Gideon strode in like he owned the place—even though he was cradling his arm in a very un-alpha-like display of discomfort. 

“Well,” he drawled with a crooked grin, “turns out you can fall off a jet if you’re in too much of a hurry to grab your damn helmet.” His flight suit was unzipped to his waist, a sheen of sweat still clinging to his skin, and the shoulder of his shirt beneath was stretched oddly, slightly higher than the other side. Dislocation. Obvious. And not urgent enough to pull Holt away from his precious trauma cases.

She arched a brow, hands already moving to grab gloves and wave Maya over from the next station. “You dislocated it after landing?”

“Don’t sound so disappointed.” He grinned, teeth bright despite the faint strain in his voice. “Wasn’t during the flight. Slipped on the goddamn stair ramp like a rookie.”

Maya appeared beside her with the sling kit and immobilizer already in hand, her expression unreadable but her pace efficient. “You’re lucky it didn’t break.”

“I’m lucky it’s you two and not Dr. Doom,” Gideon muttered, jerking his chin subtly toward the other end of the med bay where Holt was still barking instructions. “He looked at me like I’d pissed on his desk just walking in.”

She didn’t answer, but her lips twitched. Gideon climbed onto the exam table with a wince, moving carefully as he adjusted his hips, letting his bad arm rest across his lap. The way he sat, relaxed but wary, was familiar. He’d been in this room before. Always came in alone, always left with a thank-you and nothing else. He was comfortable here. Not just with her—but with being seen.

Maya gently pushed his collar aside, inspecting the bruising already forming along his shoulder. “You’re lucky you didn’t tear the capsule. How’s your range?”

He moved his fingers with minimal grimacing. “Still have feeling. Just hurts like hell.”

“We’ll do a closed reduction,” she said, stepping to the side to prep the equipment tray.

She stepped in beside him, gloved and calm. “Deep breaths,” she murmured. “On my count.”

“Gonna buy me dinner after?” he muttered, teeth gritted.

She ignored the comment and pressed her palm to his upper arm, the other stabilizing his shoulder. Her fingers tightened, motion precise, years of practice guiding the angle. “Three... two... one.” A sharp push and rotation, and there was a pop, followed by a gasp from him, breath catching in his throat as the shoulder slid back into place.

“Fuuuck me,” he hissed, half-laughing now, his good hand clutching the edge of the table.

“Not part of the standard care protocol,” Maya said dryly, already looping the sling around his arm.

He grinned through the pain, leaning back as the tension drained from his face. “Damn shame.”

She finished the assessment in silence, checking the alignment, testing mobility, her hands impersonal and clinical—but her eyes flicked to his, just once. And he was already watching her. Quiet, curious, not teasing now. Something else. Something steadier.

She stepped back, stripping the gloves off with a snap. “You’re grounded for forty-eight hours. I’ll write the note.”

He tilted his head. “That mean I get to hang around and annoy you for two days?”

She didn’t smile. But she didn’t tell him no.

Gideon flexed his fingers experimentally in the sling, testing the limit of movement with slow, measured gestures. The faint grimace tugging at his mouth made it clear he was still in pain, but he wore it like a badge, casual and unbothered. She finished inputting the post-reduction vitals into his chart, pretending not to notice how his gaze followed her movements. It wasn’t invasive—not quite—but it lingered, threaded with something playful, unspoken, waiting for her to acknowledge it.

“So, nurse,” he drawled, his voice warm like honey laced with smoke, “when do I get the gold star for bravery? Or at least a lollipop?”

“You want a sticker, Captain?” Her tone was flat, unimpressed. “We can put one on your chart. Right next to the part where it says ‘fell off own jet.’”

Maya snorted behind her mask, turning slightly to hide it as she sterilized the tray. Gideon’s grin stretched wider, unbothered by the jab, probably even enjoying it. “I’ll take whatever you’re handing out, sweetheart,” he said, his voice pitched lower now, just enough to ride the edge of propriety. “You know, I could get hurt more often if it meant seeing that pretty scowl of yours.”

She didn’t answer. Just pivoted, tapped the screen to finalize his clearance hold, and moved to the counter to print the grounding note. The thermal printer whirred softly beside her, a small but welcome interruption. Her fingers itched to say something sharper, something firm, but she knew the rules—every word she said, every shift in expression, would be dissected if anyone overheard. She didn’t get the luxury of being flustered. Not with him sitting in her bay and Holt pacing just thirty feet away.

And as if summoned by thought alone, Holt’s voice cut through the space like a scalpel.

“Captain,” he barked, loud enough for the nearby medics to pause mid-task, “is this your idea of a formal visit? Or are we running a recreational facility now?”

She didn’t look up, but the air around her changed. She felt the temperature of the room dip—not physically, but in that particular way an Omega could feel Alpha tension. Gideon, to his credit, didn’t bristle or stiffen. He turned his head toward Holt with maddening calm and said, “Just making sure your team gets the respect they deserve, sir.”

“I see,” Holt said, eyes cutting to her like a blade. “So that explains the flirtations in my facility.”

She froze, her breath going still in her throat, fingers halting over the paper. There it was. The accusation wrapped in formality, the implication that she was the one inviting attention simply by existing. Maya’s posture went rigid beside her, but she didn’t speak. This wasn’t the first time Holt had said something like that, and both of them knew it wouldn’t be the last.

“I wasn’t aware basic medical care required commentary,” she said evenly, turning around with the printed note in hand. “Captain dislocated his shoulder. We set it. He’s grounded for forty-eight hours pending follow-up.”

Gideon took the paper when she offered it, his eyes flicking between her and Holt. His expression didn’t change, but she could see the calculation behind his gaze, the way his shoulders tightened even as he lounged on the table. “They were professional,” he said flatly. “You’ve got a good team here, Doctor.”

Holt’s lip curled. “I’ll be the judge of what qualifies as professional.”

She didn’t blink. “Then feel free to review the chart,” she said. “Everything is documented.”

The silence that followed was sharp and heavy. Holt didn’t answer—just turned on his heel and strode back toward the trauma ward like the conversation hadn’t happened. But the damage had already been done. The eyes in the room—those of the junior medics, the flight tech who’d been waiting for clearance at the door—had all witnessed it. Again.

Gideon eased off the table with a soft grunt, the motion slow to avoid jarring his arm. He adjusted the sling, exhaled a tight breath, then looked at her with something softer in his expression. “I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.”

“You didn’t,” she said, though the words came too fast, too clipped.

Maya handed off the disinfected tray without a word, stepping into the back room with a little more force than necessary. The sound of the door swinging shut echoed through the sterile quiet. Gideon lingered, thumb brushing the edge of the printout, eyes fixed on her like he wanted to say something more. Something real.

But she turned before he could.

“We’ll call you when your follow-up’s scheduled.” Her voice was smooth. Controlled. Bulletproof.

He hesitated, then nodded once.

And then he was gone. — The sirens hadn’t even finished wailing when the med bay doors slammed open and Gideon came barreling in, arms wrapped around a soldier soaked in blood. “GSW to the abdomen—he’s fading fast,” he barked, voice all clipped control and urgency, his flight suit streaked with red. She was already moving, gloves snapped on, the trauma bed cleared, barking orders to two junior nurses as she grabbed gauze and saline. Holt wasn’t on base—grounded by some emergency consult—and with no other doctors available, all eyes turned to her.

The soldier was barely conscious, breath coming in ragged bursts, blood pooling too fast beneath him. “Vitals crashing—BP’s sixty over thirty,” Maya called from the head of the bed, panic simmering beneath her voice. She didn’t flinch. “Two liters of saline, pressure bag. We’re opening him up right now.” Gideon didn’t speak, just handed her the surgical shears as she sliced through the uniform, her movements swift and sure.

She felt Gideon beside her, not hovering, not questioning—just there, a steady presence as she worked. He passed tools when she asked, held pressure when Maya’s hands faltered, his usual charm gone, replaced with a grim kind of reverence. His eyes never left her hands, watching the way she clamped a bleeder with precise, practiced fingers, her face a mask of focus. No trembling. No hesitation.

They got the soldier stabilized—barely—and she didn’t realize how soaked she was until they wheeled him out, the bed streaked in red and the silence ringing in the aftermath. Her shoulders slumped, gloves snapped off, and for a moment she just stood there, breathing like she’d been underwater. “You were…” Gideon’s voice broke the stillness behind her, low and quiet. “You saved his life. You didn’t even blink.”

She turned, not sure what to expect, but found him watching her like he didn’t quite know what to say—like the woman in front of him had rewritten something in his mind. “There wasn’t anyone else,” she said simply, voice hoarse, raw from adrenaline and restraint. “So I became someone.” He nodded slowly, then offered her a clean towel with a faint, shaken smile.

She took it, and for the first time in hours, she let herself feel the weight of what she’d done. And Gideon, for once, didn’t flirt, didn’t joke—he just stood with her, silent and steady, the way good men did when they knew they’d witnessed something extraordinary.

—

She was halfway through her end-of-shift checklist when the glint of broken glass caught her eye beneath the edge of the supply cabinet. The overhead lights reflected off the shattered edges, tiny crystalline shards scattered like ice across the sterile floor. Her brows furrowed, and she crouched down to get a better look, careful not to kneel too close in case anything had leaked. There was no residue, no odor, no vapor cloud curling into the air—just fractured glass, likely from one of the trauma vials used when Holt had been working in a rush earlier.

Accidents happened. Especially in the middle of treating three soldiers with shrapnel trauma, blood pressure tanks crashing, and adrenaline vials flying left and right. She grabbed gloves, a sterile bag, and the broom from the corner of the room, sweeping the remnants quickly, efficiently, and without much thought. When everything else was perfect, something like this stood out—out of place, but not suspicious.

She logged it in the end-of-day report under “minor inventory loss,” finished the last of her charting, and shut off the med bay lights. Outside, the dusk heat clung to the air, and the buzz of distant helicopters hummed over the hangars as she made her way back to her quarters. Once inside, the quiet settled around her like a second skin. She dropped her bag by the door, peeled off her boots, and turned toward the small kitchenette to start dinner.

It was always the same—rice, steamed vegetables, sometimes protein from the base rations if she hadn’t skipped too many meals. Tonight, she added soy sauce and sesame oil, trying to trick her senses into feeling something more indulgent. She ate standing at the counter, letting the muted sounds of her quarters ground her: the hum of the air vent, the faint ticking of the wall panel’s time display. When the dishes were washed and her shower was done, she slipped into her tank top and shorts and collapsed onto the couch, prepared to waste the rest of her evening in blissful silence.

But the heat came slowly, crawling up her spine like a whisper she couldn’t shake.

At first it was easy to ignore—just a flush across the back of her neck, a slight sheen of sweat along her collarbone. She adjusted the room temperature, assuming the heating grid had glitched again. Then her thighs began to feel sticky, her pulse stuttering, fingers trembling slightly as she reached for a glass of water that did nothing to quell the warmth blooming beneath her skin. Her mouth was dry, but it wasn’t thirst.

She sat there for several minutes, trying to will her body into calming down. Trying to rationalize the sudden warmth and sensitivity. But she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt like this—off-kilter and aching in a way that felt biological. Suppressed Omegas didn’t get flushy without reason. Something was wrong.

She grabbed her datapad from the nightstand, hands unsteady now, and scrolled through her contacts until Maya’s name lit up the screen. The line clicked almost immediately, static giving way to Maya’s voice, half-asleep but instantly alert. “Hey. What’s going on?”

“I think I’m—” she stopped, pressing a palm to her chest, trying to focus. Her breath came shallow, too fast. “I feel feverish. Not like a cold. It’s…it’s under my skin. My hands won’t stop shaking.”

There was a pause. Then rustling. Then Maya again, sharper now. “Did you miss your suppressant this month?”

“No,” she said quickly. “I got it on schedule. Three days ago. I documented it in the log.”

More silence. Then: “Anything weird happen before you left the med bay?”

She closed her eyes, retraced her steps—her routine, the checklist, her shutdown of the system. Then her eyes opened slowly, the image in her mind like a shard catching light. “There was a broken vial. I found it under the supply rack. No label. No scent. Just glass. I cleaned it up and tossed it.”

“Shit,” Maya hissed, voice now fully awake. “Do you know what ward it came from?”

She shook her head before remembering Maya couldn’t see her. “Holt was in trauma. Could’ve been one of his. It didn’t smell like anything.”

“If it was a raw concentration,” Maya said slowly, “and it was unfiltered… it wouldn’t have had to smell.”

Her stomach flipped. Not from fever, but fear.

“What if it was an Omega compound?” Maya added, voice grim now. “What if it was an unneutralized heat stimulant?” The silence between them was suddenly heavier than her own breath.

“That compound wouldn’t even be on base,” she snapped, her voice tight and rising too fast for comfort. Her body felt too warm now, the waistband of her shorts suddenly abrasive against the curve of her hips, her tank top clinging to her chest in a way that made her want to tear it off. “We don’t stock Omega-cycle stimulants, Maya. You know that. The only place that carries anything close is Research Logistics, and that’s three buildings over—behind two levels of security clearance.”

Maya’s voice stayed calm, but it was the kind of calm born of realization, not reassurance. “Unless someone brought it from off-base. Or had access to something Holt was running off the books in trauma. He’s high clearance—you really think it’s impossible?” There was a pause, then, soft but pointed, “Do you really think it's a coincidence you found it?”

That landed hard. Too hard.

She gripped the armrest of the couch, her knuckles going white. Her thoughts were starting to stutter—quick jolts of panic between the low, thrumming pulse of something igniting deep inside her. Her thighs pressed together, involuntarily, as her stomach gave a traitorous twist of heat that felt terrifyingly familiar. No. Not now. Not here.

“Maya,” she said, breath trembling, “I can’t be on base like this.”

“I know.”

“The suppressant—if it’s been counteracted, or triggered by something—” Her words faltered, body twitching with a spasm that left her panting. “I’m going to full heat. It’s starting. Fuck. I need off-base. Now.”

The other end of the line went silent for a second too long. Then: “Okay. Okay, listen to me. The apartments have scent barriers, your vents are isolated, and no one will catch on immediately. You’re not leaving a trail. You’re still lucid.”

“For now.” Her voice cracked.

“You’ve got a few hours before it gets bad enough to show. Pack a bag. Say your suppressants made you nauseous and you’re checking in to the offsite clinic. You’ve used that excuse before, right?”

“Yes,” she breathed, already rising unsteadily to her feet. Her muscles felt too loose, too hot, the seam of her shorts catching in places it never should. “I need to… need to cool down first. Shower again.”

“No,” Maya said sharply. “You shower again and you’ll trigger it worse. Your body’s already mistaking everything for prep. Don’t stimulate your skin. Don’t do anything that increases circulation.”

She swore under her breath, dragging her hands through her hair as the wave of heat crested and rolled down her spine. It wasn’t full-blown yet, but the tremors had started in her knees, and her scent—gods, it was climbing. She couldn’t smell it yet, but she could feel it rising like steam from her skin. She grabbed her datapad from the counter and opened the base transport request system.

“Do I risk it?” she whispered. “Calling transport off-base might flag me.”

Maya hesitated. “Use the civilian channel. You’re off duty. It’ll take longer, but it won’t go through command. Keep the window open, act casual, and keep your door locked. If you have anything that dulls scent, wear it.”

“I don’t,” she said, jaw clenched. “We ran out last week, remember?”

“Shit.” A beat passed. “Okay. Then get moving. I’ll meet you at the clinic door.”

She ended the call, her fingers already trembling as she pulled open her wardrobe and yanked out a plain duffel. Nothing fancy—just enough to pass for a medical overnight. A spare set of clothes, her ID, a water bottle. She thought about grabbing her emergency suppressants, but they’d do nothing now. Whatever had hit her had slipped under the monthly shot like a virus—quiet, precise, and devastating.

The scent barrier in the apartment held. She knew because when she opened the vent screen and leaned her head into the airflow, there was no return scent—no whiff of other Alphas, no residual pheromones. The barriers were thick, government standard, regulated for exactly this kind of disaster. Her fingers shook as she zipped the bag, hands brushing over her already-damp skin.

It was going to get worse. Fast.

But if she could just make it to the street… if she could just make it past the gates without being seen she had a chance.

She moved through the apartment with a frantic precision, packing her go-bag with fingers that trembled at the seams. The duffel held everything essential—change of clothes, ID, two water bottles, her data tablet, and a small thermal pouch for leftovers. Even in the growing fog of heat, her muscle memory held fast: the stovetop was checked twice, her meal containers sealed and stacked, lights powered down room by room. She paused only once, by the mirror near the door, and stared into the reflection of someone she barely recognized—flushed, drawn, a fine sheen of sweat already kissing her temples.

The air outside was thick with desert heat and engine oil, the familiar scent of the base’s main lot overwhelming—but it was hers, she’d walked it a thousand times before. She kept her head down, pace brisk, the collar of her jacket pulled up high despite the heat as a useless psychological shield. No one gave her a second look, and the base’s scent barriers held—no pheromones bleeding into the air, no alphas on patrol snapping their heads toward her. She clutched her duffel tighter and slipped into the stream of foot traffic that curved toward the south gate where Maya would be waiting with a civilian shuttle requisition.

But fate wasn’t done kicking her yet.

He appeared just as she stepped into the long, exposed corridor that ran between the parking structure and the gate checkpoint—hands in his pockets, flight suit half-unzipped, dark hair tousled from a post-flight rinse. Gideon’s easy stride faltered when his eyes met hers, and then stopped completely. He tensed—not the way most alphas did, not with hunger or threat—but like someone catching the scent of smoke and knowing something was wrong. His nostrils flared, eyes narrowing as the scent hit him square in the chest.

“You’re in heat,” he said, voice low, steady. Not alarmed. Not eager. Concerned.

She stepped back instinctively, her palm lifting between them in warning, even as the flush spread down her neck and pooled in the hollow of her spine. “Don’t,” she said, breath shallow, vision flickering at the edges. “Please. I’m handling it. I’m not—I’m not a threat.”

He didn’t move closer. He didn’t even blink. “You’re not a threat,” he said evenly. “You’re suffering.”

“I’m not your problem.” She clenched her jaw. “I don’t want to drag you into this. Just let me get to the gate.”

“I’m not here to claim you, or scent you, or do anything you don’t want,” he said, hands still loose in his pockets. “Let me help you get somewhere safe. That’s all.”

Her chest ached at the kindness in his tone, the way he spoke to her like she was human—not a hazard, not a walking biological emergency. She looked away for a moment, struggling against the next rise of heat already boiling under her skin, her thighs clenching on instinct. Finally, she nodded once, sharp and short. “Fine. But don’t touch me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

They walked in silence, her steps growing less sure as the distance wore on. His presence beside her was comforting in a way that shouldn’t have been—broad-shouldered and calm, just there, without pressing in on her space. He didn’t pepper her with questions, didn’t make jokes, didn’t treat it like a novelty. He just matched her pace, hands still pocketed, eyes flicking around with quiet vigilance.

But twenty yards from the meeting point, her body gave out.

The crash hit like a freight train—slick flooding, knees buckling, heat blooming so violently she whimpered and doubled over, her duffel hitting the ground as she braced herself on a trembling leg. Her breath stuttered, eyes glazing over, and the whole world tilted sideways. Too hot. Too fast. Her scent, suppressed for so long, finally broke loose in full force—a punch of sweet, aching Omega heat that no one within ten feet could have missed.

“I can’t—” she gasped, the word catching in her throat.

“I’ve got you,” Gideon said quickly, moving only when she gave him a weak nod. He grabbed her bag with one hand and wrapped his other arm gently under hers, guiding her away from the gate. “We’re not going to the clinic. You’re not going to make it. I’m taking you to my barrack. It’s closer.”

“I can’t go there,” she slurred, head rolling back slightly. “It smells like you.”

“I know,” he murmured, his voice quiet but firm. “But it’s safe. And right now, that matters more.”

She didn’t have the strength to argue. He kept his grip loose, only touching where she allowed it, supporting her weight without pressing his body to hers, despite the overwhelming scent spiraling between them. Her heat clawed at the inside of her ribs like a wild animal, dragging guttural whines from the back of her throat, but he didn’t flinch. He didn’t react. He just moved, fast and sure, cutting through the base toward shelter with every step measured and merciful.

And behind her eyes, as the fever claimed her, she tried not to imagine how it would feel when the scent of him finally wrapped around her like a second skin.

Gideon had barely gotten the door shut behind them before she slumped against the wall, hands fisting in her jacket as another wave of heat rolled through her, sharp and dizzying. Her face was flushed, sweat beading at her temple, jaw clenched tight against the low moan threatening to escape. He set her bag down gently by the couch, then pulled out his comm unit and stepped to the far side of the room, giving her space even now. His thumb moved fast over the screen until Maya’s name connected, the line picking up with immediate urgency.

“She didn’t make it to you,” he said, voice low but steady. “She’s with me. Heat’s fully triggered—she collapsed outside the south checkpoint. I couldn’t leave her in the open.”

Maya’s sigh cracked in his ear, heavy and tight. “I figured. I could smell it before I even made it to the gate. Someone on patrol’s going to report it any minute if they haven’t already. She’s lucky it was you who found her.”

“I’m trying to keep her comfortable,” Gideon said, glancing back at the Omega now curled on the floor by the edge of his bed, fingers dragging over the carpet like it hurt to touch anything. “She’s burning up. She needs a nest. Do you have suppressants?”

“I can bring some,” Maya said. “But if she’s that deep, they might not work fast enough—if at all. And if anyone notices, you’ll be questioned.”

“I can take the heat,” he replied, without hesitation.

There was a pause, and then Maya’s voice dropped into a darker, dead-serious tone that hummed with threat. “You hurt her—if you touch her without her saying so, without her really saying so—I’ll find a way to kill you that leaves no witnesses, and I’ll be smiling at your funeral in dress whites.”

Gideon didn’t laugh. “I’d let you,” he said, and meant it. “But I won’t lay a hand on her unless she wants it. Really wants it. I know it gets foggy when things escalate, but I’ll keep my distance unless she reaches out.”

“Good,” Maya said after a long breath. “She doesn’t trust easily. She pretends she does, but you’ll know when it’s real. Let her lead, and for fuck’s sake, don’t treat her like she’s broken.”

He promised again, softer this time, and they ended the call. When he turned back, she had dragged herself upright and was now half-sitting, half-hunched near the edge of the bed, shivering despite the visible heat radiating off her skin. Her eyes were glazed but aware, pupils blown wide and breath shallow as she clung to the leg of the bedframe like it grounded her. Gideon didn’t speak, just moved quietly to the linen closet and grabbed every clean blanket he owned—thick military-issue fleece, spare sheets, even the old throw from his flight locker.

“They’re clean,” he said gently, kneeling near her without crossing the invisible line of scent and space between them. “But they smell like me. I know that might not be what you want, but it’s what I’ve got. You can take whatever helps.”

She didn’t speak at first. Just looked at him, eyes glassy with heat but not unseeing. And then—slowly, almost reverently—she reached forward and took the top blanket from the pile. Pressed it to her nose, breathed deep, and let out a broken sound that vibrated in her throat like relief.

He backed away as she began building her nest. It was a quiet process, not frantic or messy—methodical, even in her haze. She layered the blankets across the bed, bunching some near the pillows, others at the edges like borders. The bed was too big for her alone, but she moved like she’d done this before, hands trembling as she arranged everything into soft, circular safety.

It wasn’t ideal. It wasn’t hers. But it was his, and somehow that made it feel less terrifying.

The scent of him was everywhere—in the walls, in the sheets, in the air—but instead of recoiling, her body began to settle, her nerves relaxing just enough to let her fold into the heat rather than fight it. His scent didn’t crowd her. It didn’t demand. It surrounded, protective without pressing in, present without crushing.

And hadn’t she looked for him on Heat Haven?

Hadn’t her fingers typed his name without her even realizing what she hoped to find?

She sank deeper into the nest, curling into the blankets as her body trembled again, lower now, like the worst of the storm had hit and begun to pass. There was more coming—she could feel it in the bones of her hips, in the ache building between her legs—but for now, she was safe. She had warmth. She had silence. She had him—at a distance, but here.

–

He soaked a rag in cool water from the small sink near his bathroom, wrung it out carefully, then crossed the room with slow, deliberate steps. She was curled in the center of the bed, wrapped tightly in the blankets he’d given her, her breathing shallow but steady now, her skin flushed and glistening with the deep fever of early heat. He didn’t ask to touch her—just knelt beside the bed, reached out carefully, and laid the rag across her forehead with the same tenderness he might use to touch a live wire. She stirred at the contact, murmured something unintelligible, but didn’t pull away.

That was permission enough.

He moved to grab the canteen from her bag, unscrewed the top, and returned to the bed with slow hands and soft words. “You need to drink,” he said, his voice a low murmur. “Even if it’s just a sip.” She blinked blearily up at him, lips parted, and when he tipped the canteen to her mouth she accepted it with a shaky swallow, her throat working under his hand.

He steadied her head while she drank, watched the line of her jaw tense and release, watched her body curl tighter when the next pulse of heat dragged a soft whimper from her lips. It broke something in him—not lust, not possessiveness, but a visceral protectiveness so strong he had to clench his fists to keep from reaching for her more fully. This wasn’t about rut. It wasn’t about the sweet ache in the air. It was about her, raw and trembling and still trying to hold onto her pride.

He pulled the rag back, rewet it, replaced it on her head. She hummed at the contact, almost grateful, and turned her face into the scent of the blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Gideon sat back on the floor, one hand braced on the carpet, and let his thoughts wander for the first time since the whole damn night started. He thought about how they’d met—not in some moonlit neutral zone or a city cafe, but in a steel-and-white med bay with blood on the floors and regulations stacked like cages around her. She hadn’t looked at him like an Alpha then. She hadn’t looked at anyone like that.

And yet here she was.

He wondered what would’ve happened if they’d met somewhere else—somewhere far from the military, far from Holt and regulations and scent blockers and walls thick with obligation. If he’d bumped into her in a bookstore, or on a crowded shuttle. If she’d smiled that quiet, tired smile at him and asked for directions, not clearance papers. Would she have laughed with him? Would he have gotten to know her voice before he knew the cadence of her medical reports?

He shook the thought loose—it was pointless. They’d met here. Now. With her body burning from a chemical sabotage neither of them could prove and her heat clawing through her like wildfire. And yet—despite it all—she was still trying to be composed. Still trying not to ask for help, even as she sank deeper into his scent.

He stood carefully and adjusted the nearest blanket, tucking it closer to her shoulder, watching as she sighed and burrowed deeper into the pile. “You’re safe,” he said quietly, knowing she might not even remember the words come morning. “You’re not alone. Not tonight.” The words weren’t promises, just truths, low and steady and real.

She whimpered softly, one hand reaching out—not to him, but toward the warmth of the bedspread, the scent-soaked center of her hastily built nest. He didn’t take it as invitation. He just stayed close, sitting on the floor beside the bed, knees drawn up, back against the frame. A silent sentinel, not a lover. Not yet.

He would’ve given anything to take the fire from her, to carry some of it himself. But all he could do was keep the water full, the rags cool, and his voice low. To offer something no one else ever had the decency to give her.

Time. Patience.

And the promise he would not take what she didn’t offer.

She moved under the blankets like something pulled by instinct rather than thought, her fingers tangling in one of the folds, then reaching blindly beyond the edge of the nest. Gideon felt it before he saw it—that sudden gravity shift, the ripple of scent that grew sweeter, sharper, impossible to ignore. Then her hand found his shoulder, trembling and uncertain, and her lips parted around a single word that cracked straight down the middle of his chest.

“…Alpha.”

His breath hitched, not from surprise but from how easily it slid under his skin—how it summoned every fantasy he’d tried to keep buried beneath humor and duty and half-hearted distance. The word wasn’t a command. It was a plea, cracked and fragile. Her hand slid from his shoulder to his jaw, cupping his face with soft, fever-warm fingers, and he leaned into it like he was starving.

And maybe he was. For her.

For too long, he’d carried the image of her like something sacred. Her sharp tongue. The tired curve of her smile. The way her fingers danced over tablet screens with surgical precision. He’d imagined kissing her too many damn times—behind the breakroom, in the med bay after hours, once even on the launch deck when she’d laughed at something stupid he said, a laugh that didn’t belong in a place so sterile. It was stupid, wasn’t it? A big, broad-shouldered Alpha fantasizing about brushing his thumb along her cheek and tucking her hair behind her ear like some daydream-drenched teenager.

Now her heat-slicked skin burned inches from his own, and her eyes—wide and glassy and beautiful—searched his face like he was something she wanted, not something she feared.

“Promise you won’t hate me when this is over…” His voice broke around the words, quiet and cracked open as he leaned closer, his forehead almost touching hers. “Please. I couldn’t take it.”

She blinked slowly, her thumb dragging along the stubble at his jaw, her breath fanning against his lips. Her scent was everywhere now—honey-slick and sun-warm and desperate—and it should’ve made him lose control. But it didn’t. He didn’t move an inch closer until she whispered, soft and certain, like it cost her the last of her strength:

“Could never hate you.”

It undid him.

His mouth met hers with the reverence of someone who had waited too long and never thought it would come. The kiss wasn’t rough. It wasn’t claiming. It was slow, deep, aching—like pouring water into cracked earth. Her lips parted with a soft, needy sound, and his hand rose to cradle the side of her face, his thumb brushing her temple as he kissed her again, deeper this time, until her fingers curled against his chest and pulled him closer.

He didn’t climb into her nest.

He stayed on the edge, balanced on the precipice of restraint, giving her everything except the one thing she hadn’t asked for yet.

But gods, the taste of her was going to haunt him. The heat between them wasn’t just biological—it was want, buried for too long, fed in secret moments and stifled dreams. He kissed her like a starving man, like the future was folded into her mouth, like if he let go too soon she might vanish.

And when she whimpered into the kiss, her body trembling with fever, Gideon whispered against her lips, “I’ve got you.”

Even if he only got to have this once.

She pulled her shirt over her head with a clumsy sort of grace, fever-slick hands trembling slightly as the fabric caught for a second at her elbows, and then it was gone—tossed blindly into the corner of the bed. Gideon’s breath caught in his throat, not just at the sudden reveal of skin but at the way she moved—unselfconscious, flushed, driven by need. He’d imagined peeling her out of her clothes slowly, kissing every new inch of exposed skin, letting his hands do the work while she writhed under him. But this? Watching her strip for him, desperate to feel air on her body, to get closer—it was fucking devastating.

He smiled, a slow curve of heat beneath the restraint, as she reached for the waistband of her pants next and shoved them down, dragging underwear with them in one ungraceful tug. Her thighs parted instinctively as she lay back into the nest, body flushed and glistening, and he could see how wet she already was—slick dripping onto the blankets, pooling at the crease where her legs met. His cock strained against the confines of his sweats, painful and throbbing, but he didn’t touch himself. He didn’t need to. He’d been hard since the word Alpha left her mouth like it belonged to him.

She reached out, fingers curled in demand now, and tugged him down into the nest with a soft growl of frustration. “Too far,” she muttered, and he laughed under his breath as he kicked off his shoes, then crawled in beside her, still fully clothed. The second he settled between her thighs, the heat of her slick soaked into the front of his pants, soaking through the cotton like steam against his skin. She whined, fingers tugging at his shirt. “You’re still dressed. That’s not fair.”

“I was trying to be polite,” he murmured, lips already ghosting across her jaw as he leaned in. “You did say no touching without permission.”

“You’re in my nest,” she shot back, voice breathy. “You’re already touching.”

“Can’t argue with that logic,” he chuckled, then kissed her—deep and hot, tongue sweeping into her mouth while her hips lifted to grind against him, slick smearing wet and obscene across his front. His hands roamed now, finally, smoothing over the curve of her waist, the underside of her thighs, mapping her like a territory he’d memorized in dreams. When he broke the kiss, it was only to trail his mouth down the column of her throat, slow and reverent, until he found the pulse thudding just beneath the skin of her scent gland.

The moment his tongue dragged over it, she keened, her legs tightening around his hips as her fingers clawed into the back of his shirt. “More—please, Gideon—there, again,” she begged, voice thin and wrecked with need, her scent blooming sharp and dizzying around them. He flattened his tongue against the gland and sucked gently, lips closing over it, and her entire body arched beneath him like she’d been electrocuted. The sound she made—high, broken, completely gone—shot straight to his cock, and he groaned against her skin, rut instincts clawing at his spine now, vicious and unrelenting.

She tasted unreal there—like ozone and honey, sweat and heat, everything his instincts said was right. His mind spun, thoughts dripping out of order, dissolving into raw desire, and he couldn’t stop picturing what she’d taste like between her thighs. The scent of her slick was thick now, coating the air around them in syrupy, wanton perfume, and he swore he could feel it through his pants, wetting his cock even through the layers. He slid his hands lower, down the back of her thighs, spreading her open just enough to see how she glistened in the low light dripping, soaked, her cunt flushed and swollen and begging to be tasted and gods help him he wanted it more than anything.

He kissed a path down her body like it was scripture he was finally allowed to read—mouth brushing over the soft slope of her sternum, the curve of her ribs, the trembling muscles of her belly. Her skin was hot to the touch, damp with heat-slick sweat, her scent rising off her like steam, coating his tongue with every pass of his lips. When he reached her thighs, he spread them gently, reverently, pressing kisses along the insides, nipping at the tender flesh just enough to make her jolt. She moaned, high and desperate, hips lifting as if her body had already given itself to him a hundred times in her dreams.

He settled between her legs like it was his home, arms looped under her thighs to anchor her open, and buried his face in her cunt without hesitation. Her slick hit his tongue hot and thick, an obscene flood of salt and sweetness that made his hips rut against the bed beneath him. He groaned into her folds, nose brushing against her clit as he licked her open with slow, greedy strokes, savoring the way she cried out with every movement. His tongue circled and dragged and thrust, and the sounds she made—gods, the sounds—drove every last thought out of his mind until only her taste and the scent of her heat remained.

She twisted above him, heels digging into the blankets, fists knotted in the sheets, her voice a breathless chant of his name. “Gideon—please, I need—I need you inside—I can’t—” she gasped, thighs trembling around his shoulders. He flicked his tongue across her clit one last time, slow and deliberate, then lifted his head, chin slick with her, heart pounding like a war drum in his chest. 

The way she looked, eyes glassy, mouth open, her entire body glistening with fever and want was something he knew would be burned into him for the rest of his life.

He sat back on his knees, yanked off his shirt in one rough motion, then shoved his sweatpants down over his hips, finally freeing the aching weight of his cock. It slapped against his stomach, thick and flushed, the tip wet with precome, twitching as if it had been waiting for this moment since the day they met. 

Her eyes dropped to it, and she moaned, one hand reaching between her legs to spread herself open, the other bracing behind her as her hips lifted toward him. Gideon growled low in his throat, grabbed her thighs, and raised them, resting her calves on his shoulders, lining himself up with her slick, fluttering entrance.

He pushed in slow, careful, watching her face the entire time as his cock breached her heat-swollen cunt. The slide was perfect, tight and wet and so fucking hot he had to bite his lip to keep from losing control right then and there. She gasped, legs tightening around his shoulders, her back arching as he filled her inch by inch, her body clenching around him like it was made for this. He groaned as he bottomed out, hips flush to hers, the pressure inside him unbearable—but he held still, chest heaving, drinking in the sight of her undone beneath him.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he rasped, voice rough with restraint. “Tell me and I’ll stop.”

She just whimpered, eyes locked on his, and whispered, “Don’t stop. Please—don’t ever stop.”

He held there for a moment, cock buried to the base inside her, trembling with the effort not to move too fast, too hard, too much. Her body clenched around him in slow, rhythmic pulses, each one coaxing a strangled groan from his throat. She was so wet, slick dripping down his shaft, pooling under her, every inch of him surrounded by heat and pressure and her. Gideon pressed a kiss to her ankle where it rested on his shoulder, then another just below her knee, trying to ground himself with the taste of her skin.

He rolled his hips forward, slow and deep, and the breath she released was a broken, high-pitched thing that made his cock throb inside her. He pulled back just enough to feel her flutter around the tip, then sank in again, dragging against her walls with a slow grind that made her head fall back against the blankets. 

“Fuck, you feel…” he couldn’t even finish it, the words lost in the haze of wet heat and her gasping breaths. She looked wrecked—blushed skin, swollen lips, pupils blown wide and he couldn’t look away from the way her body arched into him, greedy and open.

“More,” she whispered, voice thinned by the desperation in her throat. “Harder—please, Alpha, I need it—need you deeper, need you to fuck me.” The sound of it—Alpha, from her lips, hoarse and needy—snapped something in his spine, his hips snapping forward with a sharp thrust that dragged a scream from her. She tightened around him like a vice, and he groaned, deep and guttural, fingers digging into the meat of her thighs as he set a punishing rhythm.

The slap of skin filled the room, raw and wet, her slick splattering with every thrust, soaking him, the blankets, the sheets beneath. His cock drove in and out of her tight heat, dragging along every sensitive ridge inside her, his own vision beginning to blur at the edges. She writhed beneath him, nails clawing at the blankets, her head tossed side to side as her heat consumed her entirely. And he was with her, inside her, every thrust a promise—you’re safe, you’re mine, I’ve got you.

He shifted his grip, sliding his arms beneath her knees, bending her more, folding her open, deeper now, the angle making her sob. 

“So fucking tight,” he growled, rut pulsing in his blood now, animal and thunderous, but held back by the thin thread of control she’d trusted him with. 

She was babbling now, lips glossed with spit, voice cracking as she begged for his knot, begged to be filled, bred, taken. He hadn’t knotted anyone in years—but the way her cunt milked him, the way she pleaded—he didn’t know how long he could hold it back.

“Gideon,” she gasped, and that—not Alpha, but Gideon—nearly undid him. Something personal. Real. Not just heat-driven instinct, but her, seeing him through the haze. He leaned down, bracing himself over her, and kissed her again, mouths wet and desperate, his cock driving up into her so deep her breath stuttered against his lips.

“Gonna come,” he growled into her mouth, and she nodded frantically, hips grinding up to meet every thrust. 

“Want you to come with me, sweetheart. Want to feel it.” Her walls tightened with brutal force, the rhythm of her cries breaking as she shattered around him, shaking, sobbing, slick gushing as her orgasm tore through her like fire. He felt it—every spasm, every pulse—and then his own climax surged forward, brutal and blinding.

With a growl torn from somewhere feral and primal, his hips snapped forward one last time, locking them together as his knot swelled, locking them tight.

And he came, hot and endless, spilling deep inside her with a groan that echoed through the room.

—

She woke to the sound of his heartbeat, heavy and solid beneath her ear, the slow rise and fall of his chest steady against her cheek. His arm was curled tightly around her waist, the weight of it anchoring her to his bare chest, and his breath warmed the side of her neck where he’d tucked his face in the night. Her body ached in the most intimate way—hips sore, thighs damp with the evidence of everything they’d done—but it wasn’t pain, not exactly. Still, as her eyes adjusted to the filtered morning light spilling through his narrow window, panic licked at the edge of her thoughts.

The heat hadn’t broken. Not entirely. It simmered just below the surface, low and taut, like something gathering in her bones to strike again. Her skin felt too hot, her thighs still slick, and though she didn’t want to move from the safety of his hold, she felt the anxious twist of biology reminding her that it wasn’t over—not yet.

Her hand drifted up slowly, fingertips brushing his jaw, coarse with stubble that rasped gently under her touch. He stirred with a grunt, breath catching for a moment, then slowly blinked awake, his eyes meeting hers from beneath heavy lashes. Honey-brown and clear, even in sleep, and gods, they saw her. No fog, no haze of rut—just him, Gideon, looking at her like she was the only thing he wanted to see.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low, still rough from sleep, his lips brushing the curve of her throat.

She swallowed hard, lips parting, but no words came out at first. The heat pulsed once beneath her skin, a cruel reminder that her body wasn’t done with her, and she had no idea how much more she could take. But his eyes were calm, his voice grounding, and for a moment the panic eased just enough for her to breathe. “I don’t know,” she whispered honestly, “It’s not done. I thought it would be but... it’s coming back.”

He didn’t flinch. He just nodded, his hand tightening slightly at her back in silent reassurance, and pulled her in closer like she was something to be shielded, not endured. “We’ll get through it,” he murmured, lips pressing a kiss just below her ear. “I’ve got you. However long it takes.”

Tears pricked her eyes—not from pain or heat, but from how easy he made it sound, like taking care of her wasn’t something difficult, wasn’t an obligation. Like she hadn’t spent the last years of her life proving over and over that she didn’t need anyone, only to unravel in his bed, in his arms, with his scent still filling her lungs. She buried her face against his chest again, pressing a kiss just above his heart, clinging to the fragile quiet between one wave and the next. “Don’t let me lose myself when it comes back,” she murmured. “I want to remember this part. You.”

His arms flexed around her at those words, like her confession had slipped beneath his skin and anchored there, deep and unshakable. His hand moved to her back, splaying wide, fingertips tracing the subtle ridges of her spine as if to remind her she was still here, still held. “I won’t let you forget,” he said, voice low and thick, the kind of promise spoken from the center of his chest. “Even if the heat drags you under again, I’ll be here to pull you back up. I’ll keep your name in my mouth if that’s what it takes.”

She shuddered—not from fear, but from the way those words settled in her, warm and heavy like something sacred. Most Alphas talked about claiming, about ownership and need and the bite at the end. But Gideon’s vow wasn’t to mark her—it was to remember her. To hold on to who she was even when she couldn’t.

Her fingers pressed into his ribs, just enough to feel the solidness of him, the way his heart beat under her hand. “Don’t let me disappear into it,” she said again, quieter now, her voice fraying at the edges. “When it gets worse—don’t treat me like something broken. I don’t want to come out of this feeling like I was… something to endure.”

“You’re not.” He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze again, his honey-brown eyes clear and soft and burning all at once. “You’re not broken. You’re not too much. And I’m not here to survive you—I’m here to stay with you, all the way through.”

She didn’t respond, not in words. Her mouth found his, slow and full of gratitude, of ache, of hope. He kissed her back with care but without hesitation, lips parting to drink her in, one hand rising to cradle her cheek like she was something fragile—but not delicate. She could feel the need pulsing in her belly again, lower, deeper, heat swirling in her blood like a storm gathering on the horizon.

But when she pulled away and rested her forehead against his, she was still breathing steady. She was still herself.

And that was because of him.

The heat lasted what felt like an eternity.

Days blurred together inside the scent-heavy cocoon of his barrack, her body constantly moving between trembling aftermath and desperate, slick-drenched need. Gideon lost count of how many times he’d held her down with one hand and cradled her face with the other, whispering her name while she broke apart around him. Her heat didn’t just come in waves—it crashed, rising without mercy, wringing her dry and then flooding her again, and he stayed through every second of it. He was hers—not in instinct, not in some rut-blind haze, but by choice.

He sent the first message to command somewhere between the third and fourth cycle, his fingers flying over the data pad, jaw clenched in fury. His words were sharp, unfiltered: This wasn’t natural. Someone used a synthetic stimulant. Someone did this to her, and you better fucking believe I won’t let it go. When he didn’t receive a reply within twelve hours, he sent a second—more venomous, more detailed, attaching a timestamped report and a request for immediate investigation. There was no protocol in place for this, but that didn’t mean he would let them bury it.

He accused Holt directly in the fifth message.

You let it happen under your watch. If you didn’t do it, someone in your ward did, and you turned a blind eye. She’s not a complication—she’s a soldier. One more hour like this and I’ll bring her to the command office myself, so you can see what you’ve done.

In the quiet moments between her cries and the slick snap of skin against skin, Gideon stared at his screen, waiting, daring them to answer. But they didn’t. Not at first. And so he kept her warm, kept her safe, fed her water and broth that Maya dropped off every twenty hours in sealed containers—each one labeled in Maya’s tight, neat script: hang in there, asshole. if you hurt her, i’m cutting your cock off. He grinned the first time he saw it. After the third delivery, he stopped laughing.

Because her heat didn’t break.

It just kept coming.

She’d curl up in her nest, trembling, flushed and damp, whispering his name like a prayer. Then she’d roll against him again, thighs parted, heat igniting under her skin until she was soaked, needy, begging to be filled. He gave her everything—his mouth, his fingers, his cock, over and over until his knot ached so deep he thought he’d never pop one again. And then she’d whimper, say his name just right, and he’d swell again like it was the first time.

He’d never come so hard in his life. Never so often.

She took it all—shaking and moaning, her cunt pulsing around his knot, her body clinging to him with every orgasm like she couldn’t breathe without him. He watched her fall apart over and over, wrecked and slick and beautiful, her eyes unfocused but always turning to him. He knew when she was still there, knew when the heat blurred her—but even in the worst of it, she never screamed for anyone else. Just him. Always him.

By the fourth day, his hips ached. His cock throbbed with phantom tension even when he wasn’t inside her. His balls were drawn so tight it felt like every release drained something deeper than just come—and still she’d move against him, moaning, “Please, Alpha—again, I need it again—”

And fuck if he didn’t give it to her.

Because every time she pulled him into her, every time her body opened for him, slick and fluttering and desperate, he felt her come back a little. A flicker of clarity behind the heat. A quiet murmur of his name instead of just Alpha. A kiss pressed to his throat. Her fingers curling into his hair like she knew him.

So he stayed. He fucked her through every fevered peak. And every time he knotted inside her and held her close, he whispered into her skin, “I’ve got you. I’m right here. I’m not leaving.”

It broke on the seventh day.

Seven days of slick, of heat, of trembling cries and desperate hands clawing at his back, begging for another knot, another push, another deep, slow fill. Seven days of her burning under his hands, her scent thick as syrup in the air, clinging to his sheets, his skin, his soul. When she finally stopped shaking—when her body stilled and her breath came deep and even, her head heavy on his chest without tension—he didn’t believe it at first. But then her scent changed, softened, no longer sharp with need but mellow, clean, and he knew she was finally on the other side.

He’d never moved so fast and so exhausted in his life.

While she slept like the dead, curled deep in what remained of the nest, Gideon stripped the bed bare, dragging every towel, sheet, and shirt into the washing bin, the floor damp with the scent of her heat. He messaged the higher-ups again, this time with a full biological log—seven days of persistent heat, unheard of, unrecorded, and undeniably artificial. No natural Omega cycle lasted that long, not without some chemical interference, and his report was sharp, clinical, and laced with fury.

He was out of towels, out of blankets, out of clean anything.

The place looked like a war zone—a very specific kind of war—and he didn’t care that his back ached or his knot felt like it had been wrung out and hung to dry. He opened his food app and ordered the greasiest, fattiest, most indulgent meal two people could legally share without risking heart failure: grilled cheese soaked in butter, honey-basted chicken, cheesy potatoes, and fried dumplings stuffed with pork and garlic. If he didn’t replenish calories soon, he swore he might pass out—and she was going to need it just as badly. He'd lost at least five pounds, and yet he’d do it again without blinking because she was worth every goddamn second.

He padded barefoot back to the bedroom with the scent of food trailing behind him, his hair still damp from a sink wash, his chest bare, his body marked with faint love bites and fading claw scratches. She was still asleep, soft and loose-limbed in a fresh blanket he’d managed to pull from a reserve locker, her face no longer twisted with need. It was peaceful—she was peaceful—and something about that made his chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with exhaustion. He knelt beside the bed and brushed her hair back from her face, leaned down, and kissed her cheek, just beneath the eye.

Her lashes fluttered, a small, pleased hum slipping from her lips, and when her eyes opened and focused on him, she smiled—really smiled. Not the heat-drunk, breathless curve of her mouth he’d seen a dozen times, but something quiet, present, full of awareness and something almost shy. He leaned in again, this time kissing her mouth, slow and soft, lingering as her fingers curled in the back of his neck. When he pulled away, her lips chased his slightly, and it made him grin.

“Come eat,” he whispered, nudging his nose against hers. “I ordered everything I’m not supposed to eat for the next six months. It’s disgusting and drenched in butter and carbs and I swear it might kill me, but you need it.” His thumb brushed her cheek, and his voice dropped lower. “And I want to watch you smile like that again while we eat like absolute animals.”

She climbed out of bed slowly, her legs a little shaky but her body her own again, no longer ruled by fevered instinct. One of his shirts hung off her frame—too big, soft with wear, and smelling like him—and she hadn’t asked to wear it, hadn’t needed to. She’d spotted it on the floor near the bed and tugged it on without hesitation, grounding herself in his scent now that it didn’t make her want to crawl out of her skin. It felt like claiming something back, even if only a piece of calm in the aftermath of chaos.

Gideon was already in the living room, barefoot and shirtless, surrounded by takeout containers spread open on the coffee table like a feast for starving beasts. He looked up when she appeared, and something soft flickered across his face—relief, maybe, or awe, or just her, upright and lucid and real. “Hey,” he said, his voice warm and low as he held out a drink with bright packaging. “Full of electrolytes, vitamins, sodium, sugar… basically every sin your heat just wrung out of you.”

She smiled as she took it, fingers brushing his briefly, and he turned back to the table, already loading up a plate for her with buttery chicken and carb-heavy sides. “I got extra of everything. And dessert. And probably a week’s worth of calories.” He handed her the plate, eyes flicking to hers as his voice dipped. “Didn’t know what you’d want. I just wanted you to have… anything.”

She sat down beside him on the couch, the food smelling like heaven, the warmth of his body anchoring her even though he didn’t reach for her. There was a tightness behind his words, something unsaid pressing against the back of his throat, and it mirrored the guilt blooming quietly in her chest. She picked at a dumpling before finally speaking, her voice quiet but certain. “I didn’t mean to take over your life. I know you didn’t ask for this.”

He shook his head, setting down his drink with a soft clink and turning toward her, his knee brushing hers. “I wasn’t going to let you go through that alone. But…” His throat worked as he swallowed, eyes searching her face. “I just hope you don’t regret it. Or me.”

She blinked, then leaned in without hesitation, her hand curling behind his neck as she kissed him—slow, deliberate, full of everything she hadn’t been able to say during the blur of heat. His hand settled on her thigh, grounding, still careful, but he kissed her back like it meant something deeper. When they parted, she rested her forehead against his, their breaths shared in the narrow space between them. “I don’t regret it,” she whispered. “Not even close.”

A beat passed between them, quiet but heavy, before she laughed softly, brushing her thumb along his jaw. “I looked you up,” she admitted. “On Heat Haven. Before all this. Wanted to see if you were there.”

His brows lifted, eyes crinkling. “And?”

“I was happy you weren’t.” She smiled against his skin. “It meant this… wasn’t something you just do. That it was just you.”

They ate in companionable silence, the clatter of chopsticks and forks the only sound between them. She devoured everything he gave her, each bite easing some tension from her frame, each swallow grounding her a little more in the now. He watched her with quiet satisfaction, nursing his own food more slowly, as if just seeing her upright and sated was enough to feed him. No words were needed, not yet—not after everything.

Afterwards, she padded toward the bathroom, her limbs still sore, the weight of exhaustion draped across her shoulders like a second skin. He followed without a word, hands steady as he helped her undress, kissing her temple but nothing more. The shower steamed around them, hot water pounding over bruised skin, and they washed in tandem—gentle hands, slow movements, her head resting against his chest. Neither of them touched with intent; they couldn’t, not after what their bodies had already given—she was half certain she’d pass out, and he was entirely certain his cock had gone into hibernation.

When they dried off, she leaned into him with a tired smile, and he pressed a kiss to her damp forehead, breathing her in like she was something sacred. That night, they lay tangled in clean sheets, stripped of tension and fire, just quiet, steady breathing and the closeness of bodies at peace. “We have to find out who did it,” she murmured as they settled under the blanket, voice raw but resolute. “They put me in heat on base.”

“We will,” Gideon said, eyes already narrowed in the dark. “We’ll burn them down together.”

—

INTERNAL MILITARY REPORT — CASE #476-B: UNAUTHORIZED DISPENSAL OF CLASSIFIED COMPOUND

Investigation Summary:

Following an incident on Base 09-B in which a member of the medical team experienced an uncharacteristically prolonged and chemically induced Omega heat cycle, a full investigation was launched under command oversight. Biological logs submitted by Lt. Gideon M. (Flight Officer) revealed a cycle duration of seven days, exceeding known physiological parameters for natural Omega cycles. Subsequent forensic testing of site residue near the med bay supply cabinets confirmed the presence of Compound X-9—a heat stimulant synthesized for controlled medical study only, not cleared for active deployment or storage.

Findings:

Dr. Elliot Holt (Chief Medical Officer, 09-B) was found to have accessed Compound X-9 from Research Logistics under falsified requisition tags three weeks prior to the incident. Surveillance records show Holt entering the trauma ward supply cache alone after hours; broken glass from a stimulant vial was recovered post-incident by the affected Omega (Name Redacted per Omega Protection Statute), who was not informed of the compound’s presence or exposure risk. Holt's personal terminal contained unencrypted messages referencing the Omega nurse as a “regulatory vulnerability” and “biological instability risk,” indicating premeditated targeting.

Disciplinary Action:

Dr. Elliot Holt has been relieved of duty effective immediately. His medical license has been revoked under Military Medical Board Ruling 221-F. He has been formally discharged and barred from any future affiliation with armed medical institutions. Civilian criminal charges are pending review by federal authorities for violation of Omega Safety Act (OS-12) and Chemical Compound Control Statute (C3S).

Case Status: CLOSED

—

They left the military with no fanfare, no medals, no sendoff ceremony—just packed duffels and clean resignation letters, handed over to a command that never apologized for what it let happen. Gideon’s name stayed on the flight roster for another two weeks after his departure, someone’s last-ditch hope he’d change his mind. He didn’t. He was already running flight paths for a commercial line, gliding over cities and coastlines, greeting passengers with that same easy grin but saving the softest version of himself for when he came home.

She found work at a private clinic tucked between a coffee shop and a quiet corner bookstore, a haven for Omegas in a city that actually gave a damn about them. No more regulation injections. No more alphas circling like vultures. Just real care, real choice—and a soft chair in her office where she sat each evening, watching the sun fall against the blinds, counting the minutes until he walked through the door.

Their apartment wasn’t much, but it was theirs. Two rooms, a tiny kitchen, a balcony just big enough for a table and two chairs. The couch was too old and too soft, the pillows smelled like them, and she swore the place grew warmer every time he was near. He’d come home smelling like jet fuel and wind, pull her against him, bury his face in her neck and breathe deep like she was still the only thing that made sense.

Tonight, he was already on the couch when she got in, one arm slung over the backrest, hair tousled and eyes lighting up the second she dropped her keys in the bowl. “Long day?” he asked, voice rumbling with that always-there affection, the kind that crept under her skin and made her feel rooted. She nodded, toed off her shoes, and fell into him without hesitation, tucking herself against his chest like she’d never left.

His arms wrapped around her, warm and solid, and she let out a sigh as she melted into the spot under his jaw. They sat like that for a while, curled together as the city moved quietly outside their window, the rhythm of his breath lulling her down until all she felt was the slow thud of his heart against her ribs. His hand slid up her back, fingers tracing gentle lines until they found the bond mark on the side of her neck—he touched it like a prayer, thumb circling it slow, reverent.

She trembled, just barely, her voice catching in her throat. “When you touch it like that it makes me feel—” she paused, not sure how to finish it, because there wasn’t a word for what it did to her. It wasn’t just arousal. It was belonging. It was the ache of always.

“I know,” he murmured, voice thick, rough with everything he didn’t need to say.

Then he kissed her—slow, deep, full of gravity—and stood, lifting her effortlessly into his arms like she weighed nothing. Her arms wrapped around his neck as he carried her to the bedroom, the door already cracked open, the sheets waiting.

Their life was quiet now.

But real.

And he would spend every night reminding her she was home.

[shallowseeker]

We always talk about the photos that Dean has on his phone…

…but it’s so fun to imagine a scenario where Dean complains that Cas doesn’t have any of Dean.

And so Cas makes it a mission to remedy that.

And his phone runs out of space.

[florestalio]

FATAL OBSESSION — l.hs

even if your best friend seemed to have found the love of her life, the one that keeps her the happiest, while also treating you, and everyone else with respect—you can't help but feel something was... off about him. you didn't dwell on it much—something which proved to be a fatal mistake on your part.

GENRE — pwp, kidnapping au, psychopath au, best friend's boyfriend trope

WARNINGS — DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, noncon, noncon-ish dumbcon, psychopath!hee, kidnapping, character death, oral (both m! and f! rec), throat fucking, throat bulge, bondage, exhibitionism, voyeurism, gun play, gun in v (DON'T!!!), sucking the barrel of a gun (seriously, don't), squirting, unprotected sex (don't), doggy, cumming inside, groping, tit squeezing, nipple pinching, clit pinching, bondage, let me know if i missed any!

WORDCOUNT — 11.8k

NOTE — READER'S DISCRETION ADVISED!!! went a little too insane while writing this. thank you to my bestie sena who always encourages me to write my deranged wip ideas that I get during the most random times—this one in particular came to my mind while I was... studying. no I'm not lying. this was, as always, not proofread. so if you see any mistakes? just pretend you didn't, okay?

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

there was something severely off about heeseung.

your best friend, chaeyoung, had met heeseung—who is currently her boyfriend—at a bar. from what she had told you, apparently she was simply drinking there, celebrating her first ever paycheck—alone, since you were stuck at a family event. when it was time for her to pay, the bartender informed her that someone had already paid for her. surprised, she asked about this mystery person, getting directed towards a guy sitting a few seats away from her.

apparently for her, it was love at first sight.

he looked like everything she ever wanted in a guy—tall, dignified and confident posture, rich attire, a good taste in fashion—not to mention how attractive he looked while sipping his drink, a light smirk on the corner of his mouth, eyes locked with hers. he never broke eye contact—not even once, as she walked over to him—albeit quite bashfully.

from what she told you, they talked all night—about their reasons for being in the bar, their hobbies, their backgrounds, their families, and other things that you couldn't really bother to keep track of.

they exchanged numbers, texting each other every single day. eventually, he asked her out, taking her to the most exquisite restaurant in the city, treating her like royalty. according to her, he was the biggest gentleman—a complete green forest, if you will. he always took care of her interests, noticed every single detail about her, and never failed to bring a smile to her face. truly, she was the happiest version of herself while they were dating.

eventually, she introduced him to you, him being an absolute sweetheart with you as well. he made sure not to make you feel like a third wheel, including you in their conversations. it didn't feel awkward for you at all—almost as if you three were a trio of best friends who hadn't met in a while, catching up.

everything was perfect with him. until it wasn't.

you didn't understand why, but for some weird reason, you started to get a certain... vibe from him—even though his behaviour never really changed. he was still an absolute sweetheart, treating chaeyoung like his own personal goddess… yet there was something so—unsettling about him.

heeseung didn't really do anything, but you still found a chill running down your spine whenever chaeyoung mentioned his name. if you saw him in front of you? you bet either your leg or hand would shake uncontrollably, betraying your anxiety.

anxiety for exactly what reason, you didn't know.

you thought it was ridiculous. why would your best friend's more than perfect boyfriend’s mere presence have you shaking like a goddamn leaf? it made no sense at all.

until it did… sort of.

well… heeseung, despite being such an amazing boyfriend, ends up becoming an ex. how? the story behind that is… messy. extremely so.

you see, they had been dating for almost a year. everyone expects a good and memorable gift from their partner for their anniversary, right? so did chaeyoung. she was really looking forward to it too, given how much of a great boyfriend heeseung was.

and he didn't disappoint. he gave her a present, one that was definitely memorable. it wasn’t memorable just for her, either. it was memorable for you as well. was it good? not so much.

it was around eight in the morning when your alarm rang, effectively waking you up.but it was a sunday,  so you turned the alarm off, trying to go back to sleep. but you were already awake, so it didn't really work.

you picked up your phone, the date catching your eyes—it was chaeyoung and heeseung’s anniversary!

your eyes widened. how could you have forgotten such an important date? it was a date your best friend had been extremely excited about, with her always talking about it to you for quite a few days now, yet you forgot. did that make you a terrible friend? probably. eager to redeem yourself, you quickly shot her a text.

you: happy anniversary to my favourite couple!!! enjoy yourselves you both <33 give me all the details tomorrow!!

you let out a small breath, one which you didn't realise you were holding, hoping your best friend hadn't realised that you hadn't remembered her anniversary. however, you didn't get to ponder too long on that, since your phone rang with a ding. chaeyoung had texted you back!

chae: thank youuu!! also girl i need help chae: can you make it to xxx restaurant by twelve?? a friend of heeseung got broken up with, so he wanted him to accompany us for the morning to help him cheer up. chae: he also mentioned something about ‘not wishing him to be a third wheel’ so please do me this favour?? chae: pleaseee??? i promise i’ll make it up to you

you were a bit hesitant about the request. you honestly wanted to stay in today, since it was a sunday—a rest day—but you also didn't want to disappoint your best friend on her first anniversary with her boyfriend, so you agreed.

you: fineee i can do that you: but you're gonna owe me one

chae: THANK YOU SO MUCHHHH chae: you have no idea how stressed i was about this chae: honestly i didn't wanna agree to it at first chae: but you know i can't say no to him

you: girl it's okayyy i can understand you: i’ll distract the other dude so that you guys can enjoy your day, alright?? <33

chae: ugh have i ever told you how much i love you???

you: love you too now GO!!!

as soon as you keep your phone down, you instantly regret your decision. so now you have to go and attend the anniversary lunch of your best friend and her boyfriend… along with some mopey guy that recently got broken up with. great. just great.

you were in front of the restaurant that chaeyoung had sent you the address of—right on time too. you had been trying to call her for the past thirty minutes, but she wasn't picking up. you knew it took a while to get ready, and look absolutely out of the world, but seriously, it doesn't take that long.

you tried to call her for the—what, seventh time now? once again, the call went to voicemail. jesus christ, was she getting plastic surgery or something?

you heard your name being called, causing you to turn around. it was heeseung, waving at you, dressed in an absolutely dashing suit, his ever-so-polite smile adorning his face. the only odd thing was that he was alone—no sign of chaeyoung near him.

you frowned, voicing your thoughts out. “did you not come here with chae? she hasn't been picking up my calls—i have been trying since the past half an hour already.”

he looked surprised at that. “she picked up my call around… forty? minutes ago? she told me her make up wasn't setting right? something else about her foundation being almost out? i told her i was gonna wait, and we could schedule the reservation for later, but she told me it wasn't possible—made me come here on my own. but—i figured she must have called you for help, since, you know, you're the person she usually goes to during these kinds of emergencies–”

you shook your head, your forehead creasing in frustration. obviously chaeyoung thought the ‘emergency’ wasn't urgent enough to call you—now she won't pick up your calls, or arrive on time.

you looked at him again. “when is your friend supposed to arrive?”

he looked at his watch. “we told him to come at fifteen minutes past twelve, so that me and chae could have a little time alone before it's all about him, so… he should have been here ten minutes ago.”

right then a ‘ding!’ sounded on his phone, causing you to raise a brow. you gestured at him to check, which he did… his face falling almost immediately. he looked up at you, sighing heavily. “he just texted me. apparently his sister was busy, which meant she couldn't pick up his niece from school—which left him to do it.”

you rubbed your temples in frustration. for fuck’s sake, this wasn't your anniversary lunch, why the hell were you here on time? to help a friend out, who didn't even need the help anymore, and who was yet to arrive at her own anniversary lunch?

noticing your distressed state, heeseung quickly tried to make the situation better. “h-how about we go inside, yea? chae said she reserved the table under her name, so we can sit down—maybe even order something to eat till she arrives? how does that sound?”

you nodded, sighing mentally. you loved your best friend, but seriously, she needed to be more responsible. being late to your own anniversary lunch? causing your boyfriend and best friend to sit down and possibly even eat lunch until you decided the time was finally ideal enough for you to show up? real mature.

heeseung could sense your building frustration and anger, causing him to do his best to keep you calm. you waited by the front of the restaurant, as he practically sprinted towards the help desk to get the reserved table. he quickly ran back to you, ushering you towards the table. as soon as the two of you sat down, he quickly looked through the menu, asking for your favourite drink among the ones listed. once you gave him the name, he quickly called upon a waiter, ordering your drink choice. while they took their time to give you your drink, he engaged you in a friendly conversation, trying to diffuse the tension, and any possible awkwardness. safe to say, it worked, as you even cracked a laugh or two at his terrible jokes.

another half an hour went by. chaeyoung was yet to show up. the two of you decided to order lunch, the wait having made you both hungry.

while you both were digging in, heeseung made sure to keep you engaged in conversation, the atmosphere not turning awkward even once—despite the circumstances. the food was top tier too, so you had to give chaeyoung that one. credit was needed where it was due, after all.

by the time it was the turn for dessert, your anger had started fading into worry. where the fuck was chaeyoung at?

you knew your best friend well enough to know that she wouldn't miss her anniversary lunch, no matter how much her make-up sucked. so why wasn't she here yet?

heeseung, being ever the gentleman, politely kept you engaged in conversation. oh, for chaeyoung to have ended up with such an amazing guy, and to miss their first anniversary? yea, your best friend is definitely the problem here.

once dessert was finished, you excused yourself, going to the washroom. you needed to wash your hands anyways, and redo your lipstick. you also wanted to try and call chaeyoung again.

while you were washing your hands, one of the servers came in, giving you a polite smile and a small bow. she washed your hands alongside you. “ma'am, may i ask you something? it might sound a little intrusive, but i promise i mean it in a nice way.”

caught slightly off-guard, you nodded your head. “absolutely! don't worry about being intrusive, just ask whatever you want to.”

she gave you a wide smile, giggling slightly. “you and your boyfriend look so cute together! how long have you been together? if you don't mind me asking, of course–”

you quickly cut her off. “oh no no no—he isn't my boyfriend, he is my best friend’s. they have been together for a year, so this was supposed to be their anniversary lunch.”

the waitress gave you a skeptical look. realising exactly how weird your answer just sounded, you rushed to explain yourself. “w-wait wait wait—i know it sounds weird, but i promise i’m telling the truth. i sent her a ‘happy anniversary’ text this morning, to which she told me to accompany her to her anniversary lunch, since her boyfriend’s recently dumped friend was coming along, and her boyfriend didn't want him to be a third wheel…” you trailed off, noticing the look of disbelief on her face.

you didn't know why you felt the need to explain the situation to a complete stranger, but you weren't going to question your anxiety induced instincts. you took out your phone, showing her your texts with chaeyoung from the morning, while continuing to rant to her. “–but for some reason, she hasn't been picking up my calls, despite her being the one to invite me to this. she even reserved the table in the first place, but… oh well.”

at that, the server furrowed her brows. she seemed to believe you, although only to a certain extent now. “uhm… ma'am, are you sure? the table you were sat at was reserved by who we thought was your boyfriend. no girl came in to reserve that table for today. but he did so, yesterday. said he wanted to have lunch with his girlfriend in peace, without anyone interrupting, and that today was the only opportunity for doing so.”

you were stunned at the revelation. you were sure heeseung told you that the table was reserved by chaeyoung, not him. why would the server lie? hell, why would heeseung lie? this revelation, paired with your best friend not picking up her calls… something wasn't adding up.

the server waved her hand in front of you to get your attention. “uh, ma'am…?”

you quickly snapped back to reality, the unsettling feeling you usually got around heeseung creeping back. “o-oh yea, uhm—can you help me out really quick?”

sensing the undertone of panic in your voice, her face quickly became serious. “of course, whatever you need.”

you gulped. “so, uhm—i- i think my best friend’s boyfriend—the guy i was sitting with right now—lied to me, and my friend isn't picking my calls either. d-does your restaurant perhaps have a… a backdoor, or something similar to that?”

she didn’t question it anymore, nodding quickly. she gave you the directions to the backdoor, which luckily happened to be nearby, just behind the kitchen. she promised to keep your escapade a secret, and also promised to make heeseung pay the entire bill.

“–oh, and please be careful. the backdoor is connected to a network of alleys, which are filled with homeless people. they are always looking for an opportunity to steal, especially from unsuspecting women. there's also a lot of—well, men, so you need to be extra careful.” you quickly thanked her, heeding to her directions.

you got out of the washroom, finding the backdoor quickly enough. you went outside through it, the door leading into a back alley. you quickly navigated through it, wary of any potential homeless people that might think you're an easy target for them to steal from.

you kept turning corners, staying at least five meters away from any suspicious people. however, you soon felt as if you were being followed. since you were in an area infested with men that were starving—in more ways than one, you didn't pay as much attention to it—although you should have, since that was extremely stupid of you. it turned out to be a big mistake on your part, since you soon felt someone hit your head—hard—with something that was probably made of metal.

your head exploded in pain, causing you to clutch it tightly with both hands. you felt someone catch you as you fell backwards, holding onto you tightly, your vision unsteady. as you swam in and out of consciousness, you could swear you heard a laugh. it was the most unsettling sound you had ever heard. the last thing you heard before you blacked out sent a chill down your spine.

“that eager to escape me? not fucking happening princess.”

when you woke up, you couldn't open your eyes, nor could you open your mouth to scream. you tried to move your hands and legs, but they seemed to have been tied up as well. you could tell that you were tied to a chair, but you had no idea why, or how—or who did it. what would anyone gain from kidnapping you?

you let out a muffled scream through your gag, trying to catch the attention of literally anyone. to add to your anxiety, you heard another muffled scream in response. you tried to struggle against your binds—which you just realised were fucking metallic chains—but it was a futile attempt.

in the midst of your struggling, you didn't hear the footsteps nearby, or the door opening. so naturally you were surprised when the blindfold was yanked off of you. you squint your eyes, to adjust to the sudden brightness, while your captor ripped off your gag as well. you promptly let out an ear piercing scream.

your captor let out a groan, putting his hand on your mouth, effectively shutting you up. “for fuck’s sake, shut up. no one can hear you—at least no one that can save you can hear you, so shut up and spare me the trouble of going deaf. or i can leave the gag on, whichever works best for you.”

you immediately stopped trying to scream, your eyes slowly adjusting to the brightness—or excessive darkness, whatever it was. to your utter horror, your captor was lee fucking heeseung of all people. you did have a bad feeling about him, but for it to be true? that was something you weren't prepared for.

you gulped, your throat feeling slightly parched. you looked around, your eyes landing on another girl that was tied up. her blindfold and gag was still on, but she didn't seem to be straining against her binds. from the almost dried tear patches on the blindfold, and the dried tear tracks on her cheeks, you assumed that she had given up trying to struggle.

as you analyzed her carefully, the pit in your stomach grew. that was chaeyoung. “w-what did you do to h-her? why—why are we here? why are you doing this? l-let us go!”

he let out a chuckle, which only caused the pit in your stomach to grow bigger. he put both of his hands on the arms of the chair you were tied to, leaning closer to you. his face had the most bone-chilling smirk ever. “‘why?’ that's a great question. cute, even. it's cuter how you think i’ll let either of you go.”

noticing your breath hitch, he leaned even closer, his voice more of a sultry whisper. “your friend… she was just a puppet. a pawn, in my game.”

your eyes were brimming with unshed tears, your voice shaky. “g-game?”

he chuckled. “why yes, a game. my game. the game to get closer to you.”

you froze, causing him to hold in a laugh at how your eyes widened comically. “m-me? closer t-to me? w-why? why would you want to—how would that even benefit you–?”

he tilted his head to the side. “why? because i like you, silly. i’m in love with you. always have been.”

your mouth hung open in disbelief. “...what?”

he caressed your cheek, his touch tender—a great contrast to how he kidnapped you, and tied you up to a chair, in some random, abandoned, basement. “we went to the same school. we were never in the same section throughout all of our school years, but i still noticed you. i always did. how could i not? you were the most beautiful among them all, a rose in between thorns. a lone firefly, shining in a field of darkness. naturally, i was drawn to you, like a moth to a flame.”

he cupped your jaw with the same hand that was caressing your face just seconds ago, his thumb brushing against your lower lip. “anything and everything you did, always had me thinking, wondering, hoping—that you were doing it for me. just for me. to catch my attention. you don't need anyone else anyways, i’m more than enough for you. you just… don't see it yet.”

his grip on your jaw grew slightly tighter, your wince of pain going unnoticed by him. a crazy glimmer appeared in his eyes. “that's why i needed to wait. wait for the perfect opportunity, the right moment—until it finally presented itself. in the form of your best friend, chaeyoung. she wasn't difficult to sway. her trusting nature made it even easier. she talks a lot, a bit too much sometimes—but of course, you would know—you’re her best friend after all. she made it easy to know everything about you, things i couldn't find from stalking you. suddenly, you were so, so much closer. but not close enough. you still didn't care enough, you still weren't mine.”

you were freaking out. this whole situation was insane. he was insane. you were a hundred percent sure that you had never even seen him at school! yet he claimed to have been in the same one as you? either you were as invincibly ignorant as a town-fop judging of a new play, or he was bluffing. based on the current situation, he was definitely not bluffing.

but how? how could you have missed the fact that you were getting stalked? stalked! this was so, so bizarre. you were terrified, both for your life, and chaeyoung’s. you felt guilty that she had gotten involved, when clearly this was all about you.

heeseung continued talking. “so i had to do something. something, literally anything, to finally have you all to myself. the one thing i was glad for, was the fact that you remained single, your disinterest in relationships being both a blessing and a curse. it was the reason i lured chaeyoung into this, instead of getting to you directly. although, she could have gotten away from all of this, unharmed, if you weren't so… nosey.” 

he started caressing your cheek again. “don't know why, but for some reason you started to become… uncomfortable around me. i didn't know why, since i was more than sure that i didn't do anything to make you feel that way. but you still did. so of course, i had to do something fast. i scraped together this elaborate plan, one that involved me and chaeyoung breaking up, after i found her ‘cheating’ on me on our one year anniversary, and you consoling me, but—you just had to run away. naturally, i had to bring both of you here.”

you gulped, trying to steal your nerves. “please—you said it yourself, it's me who you want, not her��so please, let her go. she did nothing, she doesn't need to be involved in this–”

he tutted, cutting you off. “ah ah ah—where’s the fun in that? she is going to remain right here, as long as i see fit.”

he took his hand off your face, stepping away from you. he walked towards chaeyoung, a few meters away from you. your heart broke, seeing the fresh tear tracks on her face, the wet patches on her blindfold being clearly visible. your own tears broke free, once he ripped her blindfold off. she squinted in the light, her eyes landing on you. a fresh batch of tears cascaded down her face.

before you could call out to her, your eyes widened, your body freezing. heeseung was pointing a gun to her head. chaeyoung realised it, muffled sobs breaking free from behind her gag—which, for some reason, he didn’t take off, unlike what he did to yours. he rolled his eyes, nudging her head with the gun. “shut up. or i won't hesitate to blow your brains out.”

she immediately tried to stop, a small muffled hiccup escaping her in the process. heeseung rolled his eyes again, walking away from her, towards you. he kept the gun pointed towards her. he stopped in front of you, clicking the safety off. he smirked down at you. “you want her to live?”

you nodded frantically, your eyes shaking from how much you were crying. he snickered at your state. he put the gun under your chin, using it to tilt your head up, towards him. “in that case, you better do whatever i tell you to. and no trying to act smart, or else…”

he pointed the gun at chaeyoung again, flipping the gun in his hand, making it point at her again. he made a small ‘bang!’ sound with his mouth, imitating the gun going off. with your body raking with silent sobs, you nodded again, eyes red from your tears.

he smirked again. “that’s a good girl. just keep being obedient like this, yea?”

he didn’t wait for you to nod your head, or say yes again, going straight to business instead. to your—and chaeyoung's—utter horror, he began using his unoccupied hand to unbutton his jeans, under which he was somehow already hard. he pulled down the zipper—your widened, teary eyes and shocked, tear-stricken face making him stifle a groan, sending more blood straight down south, towards his cock. oh, he was going to have so much fun playing with you.

you looked in horror as he shrugged off his pants, glancing over at chaeyoung’s equally horrified face, before looking up at his face. in a panicked state, you spoke. “w-what are you doing–?”

he snickered at you, the gun not once moving from the direction of your best friend. his pants had come off, his hard bulge straining against his boxers, a large spot of precum having already formed on it. “what do you think?”

your expression was one of disgust, mixed with panic. there was no way you were going to suck your best friend's cock right in front of her, while you were both tied up to chairs, your lives in great danger. “you can't make me–”

“i can’t?” he interrupted you with a scoff, his hand pulling down his boxers. he shrugged them off, his leaking cock slapping on his stomach, leaving a trail of his sticky precum behind. his tip was an angry red, demanding immediate attention. “i can’t?” he repeated, his voice taking on a mocking tone. “what makes you think you have a choice? unless you want your oh-so-beloved friend here to die?”

he made a move as to pull the trigger, as you quickly yelled out, your eyes widening in panic. “no no no wait—please, i-i’ll do it, don’t shoot her, please–”

he smirked. you were so, so easy to scare. but apparently chaeyoung was too, since he heard a scared whimper—or a muffled sob—whatever, from her direction. he rolled his eyes subtly at the sound. he stepped closer to you, holding the base of his dick. his musky smell immediately invaded your nose, causing you to subtly scrunch it. although the smell wasn’t disgusting, his act sure was. he nudged it against your unwilling lips, coating it in a layer of his precum. he decided that it was by far the prettiest gloss he had seen you wear. “well? go on and suck it. or do you need more motivation?”

by motivation, he meant putting chaeyoung to sleep forever, of course. obviously you didn’t want that, so you quickly opened your mouth, your tongue darting out to give his tip a tentative lick. the salty taste immediately invaded your taste buds, causing you to gag slightly.

the action, however, elicited a completely different reaction from heeseung. he almost fell forward with a groan, balancing himself just in time, by holding onto the top of your chair. it set a chain reaction of his cock getting pushed further in your direction. despite your unwillingness, you were fuelled with the thought of you and your best friend getting out of the hell hole—unharmed—if you obeyed him. so you tilted your head, licking a long stripe along a vein on the underside of his cock. it stretched from his base, till his tip. your tongue’s movement caused him to twitch above you, more precum dribbling out of his tip.

above you, heeseung was a mess. god-fucking-damnit, this was what he had been missing out on?! chaeyoung’s head game was nothing compared to yours, and you had barely done anything.

it was getting harder to keep the gun pointed at her, so he decided to taunt her instead. he turned to the side, towards her, to mock her—only to be met with her eyes shut tightly, tears streaming down her face. displeased by the sight, he called out to her, trying to not sound breathless. “stop acting like a fucking prude, and open your goddamn eyes. i could shoot you right now, the only reason i’m not is because of your friend right here–” he gestured down to you, seeing as she opened her eyes again, which were red and swollen from crying. “–so you better be grateful to her, and keep your eyes on her. or else… you know what kind fate is waiting for you.”

hearing him threaten her directly, made your actions falter. you glanced at chaeyoung again—the sight of her teary eyes causing a fresh batch to roll down your eyes. you mouthed a ‘i promise i’ll get us out of here—unharmed’ to which she simply shook her head. your promise was empty words, as long as you both were here—under the threat of heeseung’s insanity. she didn’t hold it against you, she knew you didn’t want this either. but as long as heeseung was here, you both weren’t safe.

not liking how you stopped, heeseung fisted your hair tightly in his unoccupied hand, pushing your face forcefully towards his cock once again. you had done the mistake of gasping at his tight grip, causing his cock to push itself inside your deliciously warm mouth.

heeseung had to once again let go of your hair, to hold onto the top of the chair, trying to steady himself. fuck, your mouth felt so much better than chaeyoung’s ever did. he let out an unbashed moan, as you slowly bobbed your head up and down his length. “fuck,” your tongue swirled around his tip, collecting his precum, the action only causing more to ooze out. your tongue pressed down on his slit, causing him to throw his head back. “just like that baby,” he gripped the top of the chair tightly, in order to avoid thrusting into your mouth. “hah—doing s’fucking great f’me–”

he got cut off by his own groan, as you hollow your cheeks, sucking him off harshly. your tongue rubbed deliciously on the underside of his cock, the combined mixture of your saliva and his precum making it easier for you to take him in and out of your mouth. you tried your best to tune out the muffled sobs from chaeyoung in the corner—you were doing this so that she wouldn't be killed, not for your selfish reasons. as long as heeseung was satisfied, you both would be safe.

heeseung thought the same, as he seemed to want to take full advantage of that fact. unable to resist temptation anymore, he thrust his hips forward, relishing in how you gagged around him. he stood still for a moment, just to bask in the warmth of your throat.

but you only had one goal. satisfy him—impress him—till he deemed your performance good enough to let you and chaeyoung leave. which is why he was soon pleasantly surprised, as you took him further in, deep throating him. he almost moaned at the sight of his bulge in your throat. chaeyoung could never do that.

he took a glance at her, his hand holding the gun starting to ache. she was looking straight at you, small sobs raking through her body, tears running down her eyes in a steady stream. with his gun still cocked straight in her direction, he used his unoccupied hand to grab your throat, pressing down on your bulge. he let out a moan as you choked, the pressure on his cock being more than perfect.

seeing you struggling to breathe, he rolled his eyes slightly. “breathe through your nose.” it was all he said, before he pulled almost completely out of your mouth. without giving you barely enough time to take a breath, he slammed back in, your nose pushing against his abdomen. his balls slapped against your chin, as you choked, trying hard to breathe through your nose. his hand gripped your hair tightly, as he started fucking your mouth—throat—roughly.

your wrists and shins were hurting from how the chains were digging into them, bruises having definitely formed on them by now. from his merciless pace and brutal thrusts, your throat palate, as well as your chin, was sure to be bruised later as well. tears were streaming down your eyes, mirroring chaeyoung's—not just from the brutality of his pace, but from the entire situation. you never thought that one day you would have to let heeseung fuck your throat, just to ensure that you and chaeyoug could live for another day.

but unexpected situations happen everyday, as heeseung’s pace turned sloppy. “fuck fuck fuck–” he changed his fast pace and short strokes to slow and deep thrusts, his cock going impossibly deep inside your throat everytime—as if he was trying to leave an imprint in it.

finally, he let out a broken moan. “o-oh fuck—mmm–” he pulled out of your mouth quickly, his hand clutching the base of his cock to avoid cumming immediately. he started jerking off at a fast pace in front of your face. “f-fuck—open your m-mouth f’me baby—n’ stick out your tongue–”

you did as he said, screwing your eyes shut. you didn't want to accidentally make eye contact with your best friend. your face and neck was already burning hot from embarrassment, you didn't need to feel guilty as well—not that any of this was your fault in the first place.

with a loud curse, and a broken moan of your name, his orgasm finally crashed over him. spurts of warm cum erupted from his angry red tip, landing all over your face. most of it landed on your tongue, but quite a bit landed on your eyelids, nose, and cheeks as well. admiring his masterpiece with a darkened look in his eyes, heeseung spoke. “don't swallow… yet.”

he swiped the excess cum off your face with his finger, to the best of his abilities. “swallow.” he ordered, leaving no room for disobedience. he watched as you gulped, your subtle look of disgust going unnoticed. “open your mouth again,” he said, watching with a dark satisfaction, as you obeyed. he pushed his cum covered finger inside your mouth. “suck it, and swallow everything.”

you did just that, although you really wished you could spit it out instead. without him asking, you opened your mouth wide open, showing how you swallowed every drop. it was only then, that you dared to speak, your voice hoarse from his ministrations. “c-can we go now? i p-promise neither of us will tell anyone.”

at your question, he laughed. full on laughed. “‘leave’?” he echoed; as if it were some foreign language. he brought his hand that was holding the gun towards your face, before using it to tilt your chin up. “why do you want to leave so soon, baby? you need a reward first, don't you think so?”

you blinked confusedly. “a reward…?”

a smirk creeped up on his face. “why yes, a reward. you have been such a good girl for me, of course you need a reward! besides, it's only logical that i return the favour, isn't it?”

your eyes widened, as the realisation settled in. “oh, i-i don't think that's necessary–”

he subtly rolled his eyes, already sinking down on his knees in front of you. “of course it is necessary! can't just leave a girl hanging, you know?”

your eyes were wide with panic, looking at chaeyoung, as if expecting her to help—her own eyes were wide open, as she gulped inaudibly. at this point, she was simply grateful that the two of you were alive.

you squirmed, as heeseung placed the gun down beside him, giving chaeyoung a break. his hands moved up and down your legs, lifting your dress up, bunching it around your hips, leaving you squirming uncomfortably. “h-heeseung please, i r-really don't think this is necessary.”

his jaw clenched at your words, as he tightened grip on your legs. he forced his voice to be sickly sweet, as he spoke. “but that's the problem, isn't it? you women always think you know everything; whatever you decide is correct, is always correct. news flash darling—not everything is sunshine and rainbows. there are loads of things out of your control, things that you should simply relax and let others do for you. so shut up, and let me do what i want to, got it? or do you want me to blow chaeyoung’s brains out, since threatening you seems to be the only way you learn to listen?”

you gulped, tears stinging your eyes, as you met his hardened gaze. how long were you both going to be trapped here? how long before he finally got bored of these games and killed you both off? how long?

heeseung produced a knife from his pocket, your panic settling in again. you only calmed down—slightly—when you saw him use it to slowly tear through your panties, careful not to hurt you. although, the knife being so close to your skin scared you shitless anyways.

he sliced through them, the cold air coming in contact with your bare core, a shiver running through you. as he smirked at you, leaning closer to lick a stripe up your cunt, you suppressed a flinch. fuck, this was really happening.

you watched as he gathered a wad of saliva with his tongue, before spitting directly on your clit. you flinched slightly, which he took great delight in. heeseung watched his spit slowly drip down your pussy, causing him to be unable to resist temptation. he pushed his face towards your core, kissing it, before diving in. his tongue pushed deep inside you, something which unintentionally caused tingles of pleasure to run through you. you gasped loudly. “oh—god—wait, d-don't–”

your broken sounds only spurred him on more, as he dragged his tongue across your inner walls, his moan reverberating through your cunt. he licked at your walls, slurping up your juices, like a starving man. you tasted so fucking good, so much better than chaeyoung. but your squirming was pissing him off, his bruisingly tight grip on your thighs not being enough to keep you still.

even after digging his blunt nails into your thighs, you didn't stop the squirming—even though he knew you were loving it. especially given the way you kept letting out broken gasps and the way you pushed your absolutely delicious cunt further onto his face. it was really starting to piss him off.

he quite reluctantly pulled off to glare at you. “why is it so hard for you to sit still, hm? it's getting really fucking annoying, you know?”

you gulped, panting slightly. “i-i just—really want you to stop…”

he raised a brow, his expression otherwise blank. “oh really? because ‘it doesn't feel good’?”

you nodded quickly—a little too quickly. “y-yea! it f-feels weird—not good in the slightest.”

his jaw clenched—again. “well,” he gritted out. “in that case, i’ll have to try something else, don't you think so?”

you blinked, before furrowing your brows. “what–?”

he proceeded to pick up the gun from beside him, relishing in the way your eyes widened in horror. “if my mouth makes you feel so—uncomfortable, we will just need something else, hm? an object perhaps?”

your breathing grew shallow, as you realised where this was going. “n-no, please–”

he sneered at you. “too fucking late for that, princess.”

he pushed the barrel of the gun inside you slowly, watching as it slid in with ease, due to his previous ministrations. he ignored your sobs and cries to stop, relishing in the way your pussy sucked it right in. “sure you don't want this princess? your pussy disagrees with your mouth, you know?”

your head faced the ceiling, your teeth biting down on your bottom lip painfully, to conceal your whimpers. your eyes were screwed shut, praying that this was just a terrifying nightmare, one you hoped you would wake up quickly from. you swore you heard a whimper near you, which was probably one of utter horror, elicited by chaeyoung, since she was witnessing everything—but you didn't have time to worry about her anymore, since your own life was in a much graver situation.

you let out a whimper as heeseung pushed the barrel of the gun even deeper inside you, the disgusting squelching sound from your slick almost making you gag. why, just why did this situation have to happen with you of all people?

heeseung on the other hand, was enjoying himself. he pulled the barrel out slightly, before pushing it right back in. the sounds that your cunt produced were music to his ears, your whimpers of horror and choked sobs only fuelling his sick delight. he knew you liked it, even if it was only to a certain extent. why else would your cunt clench down on the gun enough to make it hard for him to pull it out? 

he made sure to voice out his exact thoughts to you. “such a slutty hole you have… don’t you, pretty girl? it will get wet for anything that is hard enough to stick inside it, won’t it?” he revelled in the particularly loud squelch that your pussy made, when he pushed the barrel in deeper. “ah… point proven.”

tears were streaming down your face at a fast, never ending pace, your face and neck burning up from a mix of emotions—fear, anger, humiliation—everything. even if you gave him his—his satisfaction, would it be enough to keep him satisfied for long enough? were you really going to die here? here? under these circumstances?

heeseung used his other hand to rub your clit, tired of your resistance. he rubbed dizzying circles around your hardened bundle with nerves, with deliberate slowness, the gesture teasing, with a hint of impatience. your breath hitched, giving him the incentive to continue his actions. he pinched your clit, drawing out a shocked gasp, before rubbing it harshly.

your head was spinning. with the gun still dangerously sliding in and out of you, and the added stimulation of your clit, it was hard to focus on anything. your head tipped back, and before you could control yourself, a moan slipped past. “h-heeseu—ah–”

you immediately bit your lip, your eyes widening, surprised by yourself. did you really just…?

heeseung on the other hand, was on cloud nine. he was both elated, yet shocked at the same time. with a nasty grin, and a crazed gleam in his eyes, he fastened the pace of the gun, pinching and flicking your bundle of nerves. “fuuuuck baby—do it again, c’mon—i knew you were a nasty little slut, just needed a little bit of… encouragement, isn’t that it? c’mon pretty, again–”

your eyes screwed shut, as you refused to let any sounds escape again, despite the very loud moan bubbling up in your throat. you tried to squeeze your legs shut, as his actions started to make you feel alarmingly good. for fuck’s sake, there was a goddamn gun inside you—how on earth were you liking this?!

heeseung caught on immediately, pushing your legs further apart, sliding the gun in and out of you at a ruthless pace, forcing another moan out of you. with how fast he was rubbing your clit, it was extremely hard to not moan—in fact, it was hard for you to even breathe, given how he was drawing out choked out moans from you at an almost inhuman pace.

he leaned down, replacing the thumb on your clit with his tongue, sucking on it harshly. you almost doubled over from the intense feeling, letting out a sharp cry. he bit down on your clit, the gun drawing out disgusting noises, as it dragged across your slimy walls, coated in your arousal. he flicked your clit with his tongue, enjoying the choked sob you let out.

your stomach started to tighten, the alarming realisation of your rapidly approaching orgasm alarming you. you tried to squeeze your legs shut, drawing out a groan of… pleasure, from heeseung. he sucked on your clit harder, rolling it around with his tongue. he paid no attention to what you were babbling about. “h-heeseung—hng!—stop—i- i can’t—ah–”

he flicked your clit again, before increasing the pace of his hand, the gun pounding into you with alarmingly deep strokes. he bit your bundle of nerves again—not too harshly, but enough to finally make the band in your stomach snap.

your vision went white, your ears ringing loudly, as your orgasm crashed over you like a tsunami. clear liquid sprayed out of your cunt, coating the lower half of heeseung’s face and his hand with your squirt. he was quick to try his best and lick up every drop, before looking up at you; his eyes dark, a predatory smirk on his face.

as you came down from your high, you locked eyes with him, immediately understanding what had just happened. red hot shame washed over you, covering you like a blanket of fire. it creeped up your neck and face, making you want to crawl into a hole and never see the light of the day again.

“well…” heeseung said, sliding the gun out of your sensitive pussy, your face scrunching from the sound of your wetness. “there is absolutely no way you can deny not liking this now—any of this. you’re enjoying this a lot more than you’re letting on darling, and this proved just that.”

you pant, trying to catch your breath. you suddenly remembered about chaeyoung—fuck. she watched all of it. well—there was nothing you could do. heeseung is… insane, that bit was for sure. this was all technically her fault. if only she didn’t approach him that night, all of this wouldn’t have happened. you wouldn’t have been the one to suffer.

were you feeling bitter? yes, extremely so. after all, why wouldn’t you? chaeyoung was a pawn in heeseung’s sick and twisted game to attain you for some weird reason, which could have all been avoided if it wasn’t for her thirsty ass that fell for a random guy that smirked at her in some bar one day. her lack of self control caused this, so yes, excuse you for feeling bitter and resenting your oh-so-beloved best friend.

suddenly, as if heeseung hadn't yet reached the height of insanity, he brought the barrel of the gun towards his mouth. he locked eyes with you, relishing in the way your eyes widened in a mixture of shock and fear, before engulfing the barrel with his lips. still maintaining eye contact with you, he sucked the barrel of the gun, licking off your juices.

your breath hitched, as you gulped. what the actual fuck was wrong with him?

you watched as he took the gun out of his mouth with a pop, setting it aside. he got up, his dick on full display, already rock hard, with precum dribbling out of it. he untied your hands, but gave you no chance to move them, before producing a pair of handcuffs from his discarded pants. he used them to bind your hands together, before untying your legs.

once you were free to move from the chair, he dragged you off it, before shoving you down on the ground, face first. you landed with an uncomfortable thud, almost falling on your face because of your dress. you managed to balance yourself on your hands, trying your best to steady yourself.

before you could do much, heeseung was grabbing you again, manhandling you, so that you now faced in chaeyoung's direction. he went over to her—ignoring her sobs—turning her chair to make her face you directly. you gulped, tears streaming down you face again as you both locked eyes. silent apologies were exchanged between you both, the fear of heeseung’s newfound crazy side terrifying you both to death.

your heart raced against your chest, as you watched heeseung pick up the gun again. he got behind you, as you heard his knees hit the ground—presumably from kneeling down. all the colour vanished from your face, your blood running cold. was he seriously going to–

you didn't have to wonder for too long, your fears getting confirmed, as he lifted up your dress unceremoniously, bunching it up on your lower back. you squeezed your eyes shut, a whimper of utter humiliation leaving you, as he squeezed your ass cheeks. he slapped them, watching them jiggle, before continuing to rub and squeeze them. it was then that you made a promise to yourself: if you made it out of there—alive—you were going to make sure he rotted in jail for the rest of his life.

you felt his hand graze against your wet and still sensitive cunt, a shiver running down your spine. he noticed it immediately, giving your pussy a slap. your eyes widened in shock, a loud gasp leaving you. his grip on your ass cheeks tightened. “you know…” he leaned down, his torso pressing against your back, his lips close to your ear. “you looked so, so cute squirting over that gun—even after pretending that you hated every second of it. think you can do it again? on my cock this time?”

your eyes widened, as you stared down at the ground in a mixture of shock and disgust. “heeseung,” you spoke, your voice shaky. “i-i think this has gone too far already–”

he pinched your clit harshly, making you cry out in pain. “shut the fuck up. i don't remember asking you whether it has gone ‘too far’ or not. was the question really that hard for your pea sized brain to comprehend?”

he grabbed the knife from the pocket of his discarded jeans, barely giving you any time to react, as he cut open your dress—leaving you bare to his eyes. he groped your tits with one hand, keeping the knife away again. he twisted your nipple, smirking when you let out a whimper of pain. “perhaps you can't answer such simple questions. must be too hard for you to understand, aren't they?”

his mocking tone made your face and neck burn with humiliation—along with the fact that chaeyoung was witnessing all of it. her boyfriend of one year forcing himself upon her best friend. you didn't know who to feel more sorry for—yourself, or for her.

with another pinch on your nipple, this time harder than before, heeseung drew your attention back to him. “maybe i should stop asking questions and just get on with it. you would like that, wouldn't you? oh, my bad, forgot sluts can't comprehend basic questions.”

without another word, he plunged two fingers right into your—to your utter horror—dripping hole, dragging them across your inner walls. you suppressed a whimper, as he began scissoring his fingers inside you, stretching out your already stretched and very sensitive cunt.

you screwed your eyes shut, your forehead touching the ground—floor, your teeth painfully biting down on your bottom lip. you hated how he dragged you both here, hated what he was doing to you, hated that he made chaeyoung watch—you despise his very existence. unfortunately, seething in your mind did nothing to improve the situation. in fact, it only continued to lower your morale.

heeeseung rubbed slow circles around your hardened bundle of nerves, trying to evoke any kind of sound from you—nothing. you were being stubborn, refusing to give in. well—fine by him. he could always catch you by surprise. which, given the current situation, was something he had been doing this whole day.

he pulled you closer by your hips, your knees scraping the ground slightly in process, a pained noise of protest eliciting from you. but that wasn’t even the actual surprise. your breath hitched, your heartbeat running wild, as you felt his tip sliding through your wetness, collecting your slick. this was really happening.

knowing it was bound to happen—dreading it—didn’t really make it easier. if you had known that chaeyoung going to the bar a year ago would have landed you in this position, you would have never let her go. this—this was worse than anything else that could have possibly happened.

you felt him start to slowly push in—a slightly difficult feat, since you were doing your best to resist—but your cunt was doing the opposite. his grip on your hips tightened. “c’mon pretty,” he pushed in another inch. “just let me in, yeah? don’t—fuck—don’t be such an uncooperative little bitch.”

he pushed all the way in with a grunt, your pained whimper accompanying it. “fuuuuckkk,” he groaned in satisfaction, enjoying the way your core pulsed around him. “see? that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

heeseung didn’t really wait for an answer—he knew he wasn’t going to get one from you anyways. he slid almost completely out, before slamming back in, letting out a loud groan of satisfaction at the wet squelching noise. noticing that you were struggling to hold yourself up, he let out a snicker, before yanking your body upwards slightly. he balanced himself on his knees, setting a slow, yet satisfactory enough pace for himself. he squeezed your tit with one hand, before yanking on your chin, making you face chaeyoung again. he leaned down to whisper in your ear. “look at her,” the small sob you let out had him thrust into you at a particularly harsh pace. “doesn’t she look lonely there? such a shame, this was all your fault after all. if only you noticed me back in school.”

he slammed himself into you, tip kissing your cervix, his pelvis hitting your ass. he reveled in the way it bounced with every thrust, his hands never stopping their wandering, groping and squeezing every bit of flesh he could reach. the look in chaeyoung’s eyes made you wonder if cooperating with him in the first place was the right decision. wasn’t dying better than this torture that he was putting you both through currently?

fisting your hair, he yanked your head back, slamming his mouth onto yours. he practically devoured your lips, barely giving you a chance to breathe. it was as if he was quite literally trying to steal your breath. biting down on your lip, he fastened his pace, each thrust forcefully eliciting loud gasps and whimpers from you, sounds that he gladly swallowed. “keep making those pretty sounds for me baby, it’s only making me want to continue to ruin you.”

a fresh batch of tears rolled down your eyes, as his hand snaked down to rub your clit. more moans of his name spilled out of your mouth—telling him to stop—but they only served to encourage him further.

detaching his mouth from yours, he put his hand on your back, pushing it into an arch, as he continued to pound into you. you could see stars at the back of your eyes, unwanted pleasure starting to cloud your senses. holy fuck—this wasn't supposed to feel good. but it did. it felt so fucking good.

you could feel every single vein of his dragging across your inner walls, cock curving into you and hitting all the right spots. it felt good—he felt good. dizzyingly good.

you didn't even realise when you let out a broken moan of his name, pure unadulterated pleasure laced in your voice. “hee—ahh—seung–”

the effect, however, was immediate. his hips slowed down, before he completely stilled inside you. when he spoke, his voice was soft, sounding like a dangerous whisper. “what was that?”

you didn't really hear his question, too focused on the way the pleasure was suddenly gone. you wiggled your hips, trying to get it back. it was as if you were drunk; completely delirious of your surroundings. he gripped your hips to still you, repeating his question. “i said, what was that?”

you barely registered his words, opting to just say his name. “h-heeseung?”

“fuck.”

with a loud groan, he pulled almost completely out, before slamming back in, his pace brutally fast now. the grip he had on your hips was sure to bruise later on. the fast pace had his balls slapping against your clit continuously, the motion only serving to pull more sounds of unadulterated pleasure from you. it was sickening, the way your body was starting to like this, the rational part of your brain completely ignoring chaeyoung’s existence.

it wasn't that any of it mattered to him. all that did matter to heeseung was you, and right now you were doing more than okay. chaeyoung was a… casualty in his quest to obtain you. a quest that obviously was—to his utter delight—very much successful.

you didn’t know how long he had been going at it, you just knew it had been long enough. the tingling in your clit was driving you insane; your release so close—yet so far.

heeseung was seemingly holding out. it was as if he was afraid of this to end, in a way. afraid that maybe all of it is just a dream—you’re not really here. none of this is actually real.

fortunately for him, everything was very much real. it was all happening. you were really in his grasp, he was really fucking you, while chaeyoung was being forced to watch. along with the fact that you were liking it. enjoying it. that was real too.

perhaps he had enough of playing around. or maybe he just remembered his previous wish—was it even a wish?—of wanting to see you squirt on his cock. but either way, he suddenly did a three sixty. or one eighty. whichever would be more accurate in describing his current mood, as he harshly pinched your clit.

you let out a sharp gasp, an incredulous “heeseung—!” leaving you. but he ignored it, opting to flick your hardened nub, rubbing torturous circles around it. he has to see you squirt on his cock, he knows you can do it—he can make you do it.

your gasps soon turn into moans, which encourage him to continue. his actions were driving you to your breaking point, that much was clear from your reactions. the way you were clenching around his cock, making it harder for him to continue to thrust into you? so fucking delicious.

perhaps he should have done this sooner. you know, this whole kidnapping thing. you could have been his a lot earlier then. but then again, patience is the key. this was the best chance he has ever gotten, it was only logical for him to pull such a stunt today. besides, good things take time to acquire. and you, are the best fucking thing to ever exist.

the band in your stomach continued to grow tighter and tighter and tighter, to a point that it physically hurt. so you did the logical thing, and told him—all the while tears slipped past uncontrollably from the pain. “h-heeseung—please, it hurts, i can’t–”

but he shut you up immediately, rubbing your clit at a harsher pace. “yes, yes you can, you’re so fucking close, c’mon–”

the pressure in your stomach was insane, so was the pressure on your clit. the pace of heeseung’s thrusts was bordering maniac, that’s how fast he was going. it was a mix of pain and pleasure, your brain fogging up, vision going foggy.

heeseung’s hand was starting to tire, but he doubled his pace, desperate to see you squirt again. “please please please–” he chanted, like a mantra. you were so fucking close, damn it–

then it happened. your vision went white, shapes visible in the back of your eyes. white noise ringing in your ears. your back arched almost uncomfortably, as you let out a loud cry. your orgasm washed over you like a tsunami, your squirt spraying all over his lower abdomen, wetting his shirt. it kept spraying, coating his cock, as he plunged in and out of you at an insane pace, making you ride out your orgasm.

as your vision slowly swam back, you felt him pull your hips back one last time, burying himself to the hilt, before ropes of warm cum spurted out of his tip. it coated your inner walls in white, as he let out a satisfied groan. he slowly pulled out his softening length, reveling in the way his cum dripped out of you.

you collapsed to the floor, close to passing out. you were sore, so fucking sore. heeseung felt the tiniest bit of pity for you, but he could take care of you later. right now, he has something else to take care of.

he slowly pulled you up, making you sit in his lap, facing the front. he forced you to open your eyes, and face chaeyoung. your eyes widened slightly, regret and guilt starting to hit you. you had almost forgotten that she was still there. you could barely meet her eyes from shame, not wanting to look at her expression of hurt, or her dried tears.

but heeseung wasn’t having any of it. he made you face her, properly. your breath hitched, feeling the gun touching your chin. “look at her properly darling,” his voice was husky, and creepy. something about his tone didn’t make you feel very good about whatever was about to come out of his mouth next. turns out, you were right to be scared.

“because this will be the last time you ever do.”

before you even had time to process his words, a loud ‘bang!’ rang out through the basement, making you flinch. as you opened your eyes, disbelief and horror was etched upon your features.

surely—surely that wasn’t chaeyoung slumped over in that chair? blood dripping from her head. surely? she was—she was just alive! it can’t be—it simply couldn’t be–

but you didn’t even have time to process that, as you felt a sharp pain on your neck, before everything started to go black. you hadn’t noticed when heeseung had produced a syringe from his jeans’ pocket, just like you didn’t notice him picking up that gun. the same gun that ended chaeyoung’s life.

when you woke up, you were dressed in clothes that you didn’t recognise. but they were larger than you, so you guessed they belonged to heeseung. your left hand was tied to the bedpost with handcuffs, the rest of your body free to move—even if it wasn’t exactly freedom. the room you were in was… dingy, and quite small, with just one window and a singular cabinet on the other side of the room. there was a nightstand with an untouched glass of water on it—but you wouldn’t dare drink from it.

as you slowly sat up, you folded your legs up to your chest, resting your head on your knees. you stared at the wall—and everything started rushing into your mind at once in a huddled mess. chaeyoung and heeseung’s anniversary lunch, chaeyoung’s absence from her own anniversary lunch, the kidnapping, chaeyoung’s death–

oh.

oh.

chaeyoung was dead.

when the tears came, it was as if a dam broke. the tears flowed and flowed, with no signs of stopping. you didn’t want to cry. what was the use of crying? would these tears bring her back? it wouldn’t. nothing would. she was gone. your best friend of almost two decades—gone. poof. just like that.

all because of some maniac, who didn’t care for anyone. a jerk, a disgusting psychopath, who doesn’t realise that human’s lives aren’t dispensable to his will.

in the middle of your wallowing, you heard the door open. you picked up your head, your vision blurry from crying. you squint your eyes, seeing heeseung enter the room with a tray, filled with a bowl of cut fruit. he placed the fruit near the end of the bed, sitting down, maintaining some distance between you both. he knew you didn’t want him near you right now, given his previous actions, but you would warm up to him soon enough. you had to. this was your new life.

he tilted his head, noticing the glass of water still untouched on the nightstand. he raised a brow at you. “you’re not thirsty?”

you glared at him, shaking your head, despite being absolutely parched. he sighed at your defiance, saying nothing. he got up, went around the bed, towards the nightstand. picking up the glass, he sat close to you, grabbing your jaw in his other hand. “drink up, c’mon. don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

as he brought the glass near your mouth, you pressed your lips into a thin line, before smacking the glass out of his hands with your free one. he watched as the glass shattered into a million pieces on the floor, an unreadable expression on his face.

his silence suffocated you. you were already regretting your decision. why did you always have to act in such a brash manner?

he turned his face towards you again. as he brought his hand up, you flinched, screwing your eyes shut. you felt his hand caress your cheek, leading you to open your eyes. his face was expressionless, even when he spoke. “don’t be mad at me because of chaeyoung. it was bound to happen anyways. she was a hindrance in our story, don’t you see? she would have taken you away from me if i didn’t kill her. don’t hate me because of her.”

your hand twitches, and so does your eye. you wanted to strangle him. calling chaeyoung a hindrance?! oh, he was so dead. as soon as you escape this hell hole, you were going to make sure you personally hunted his sorry ass down and gave him a death far more slow and torturous than the one he gave to chaeyoung. he was going to pay. you were going to make sure of that.

you stayed silent, simply glaring at him. you were currently at a disadvantage, so you couldn’t really do anything, except for waiting. so that’s what you were gonna do. wait.

sensing that you weren’t going to say anything, he kisses your forehead—to which you have to stop yourself from slapping him—before getting off the bed and making his way to the door. right before going out, he turned around. “don’t forget to eat the fruit, or you will grow weaker than you already are.”

he shut the door, finally leaving. you breathed a sigh of relief. finally. you were alone again. you could continue to wallow in self pity now. you didn’t plan on eating anything, since you didn’t trust him.

you laid down, looking at the ceiling. how long were you going to be trapped here? would you ever be able to get out? right now, there didn’t seem to be any hope of escaping, but perhaps in the near future…

a wave of sleepiness washed over you. you were tired, so, so tired. maybe sleeping would be good for now. yes, you should get some rest.

when you woke up, it was dark. confused, you blearily sat up, blinking at your surroundings. why were you suddenly up?

then you heard it. the gun shots. they rang loud and clear, yellings of ‘get down!’ and ‘surrender now!’ rang through the place. a flash of hope rose in you. was it the police…?

suddenly, the door to your room banged open. two female police officers entered the room, pointing the gun around the room. upon realising that there was no one else other than you, one of them quickly broke the handcuffs as best as she could, as the other frantically checked upon you. “ma’am are you okay? did he hurt you?” she kept throwing questions at you, as you assured her that you were fine—as fine as a person could be, after the kind of hell heeseung put you through.

they wrapped a coat around you, before bringing you downstairs. it was a dingy two storey house in some shady part of the town, apparently, according to what they told you. they told you that they got a tip about a kidnapping from an anonymous source, which, from your deduction, was probably that waitress from the restaurant. although you could be wrong, of course.

downstairs, you saw heeseung with a busted lip, hands restrained with handcuffs behind his back, two police officers assisting him to the car. when his gaze landed on you, he spoke with a bone chilling smirk. “don’t worry darling. they won’t be able to keep us away from each other for too long. i’ll come back for you, i promise.”

the policemen scoffed at him, rudely pushing him forward. although his words scared you, you trusted the police to do their job. as you were guided out of the dingy house, you suddenly remember chaeyoung. you informed the police of her, causing them to share a look. they led you to the car, four of them staying back, to look for her—her body.

two months had passed since that incident. a trial was held for heeseung, which almost immediately declared him to be ‘guilty’, due to the presence of overwhelming evidence. he was charged with a lot of things, things which you both knew, and didn’t know of. either way, he got what he deserved. a lifetime in jail.

it was finally time for chaeyoung’s funeral. her family and you wanted to wait until heeseung got what he deserved, and now that he was finally behind bars, it was time to say goodbye to chaeyoung. for the last time.

as the coffin was lowered down, you said your final goodbyes. you never imagined this day would come, at least not this soon. but it was here. life was unexpected and cruel, that’s what you had learnt in the past two months. but it has to go on. you couldn’t let events—no matter how unfortunate they are—hold you back. so you wiped your tears, leaving the grounds quietly.

as you sat inside your car, your phone rang with a ‘ding!’. it was a notification. a message, from an unknown number. you frowned, clicking on it. the contents had the blood from your face draining. your hands shook, as the phone fell out of your grasp.

“black suits you. but red looks the best on you, don’t you think so?”

[ilibelle]

Imagine that your uniform is made up of several layers of different types of fabric and bulletproof shields. In addition to the extra fabric, you wear a mask and helmet that cover your entire face. Your costume makes it impossible to identify whether you are a woman or a man, and to top it off, you never speak. This leads people who aren't part of your squad to believe that you're just a short man who never speaks.

You work for the squad led by Colonel König. Recently, there were some situations that resulted in Kortac temporarily joining Task Force 141, two squads united to capture a terrorist.

You are not and have never been a sociable person. You don't talk to people you don't know and you always let someone else do the talking for you. As much as you are an adult woman, mature enough to make decisions on your own, you are shy. Very shy.

It's not unusual for other people to ask your teammates about you, always wondering why you don't speak up. They ask about the many layers of fabric that make up your outfit, whether you don't suffocate from the excess cloth and pockets.

And these people always refer to you in the masculine.

Always.

Soap is a bit of a curiosity when it comes to mysterious people who don't interact much with others in the room and who just stand in a quiet corner, far away from any living thing in the room. No wonder he made Ghost his best friend.

So believe me when I say that he's intrigued by you. The mysterious, masked guy in the dark corner of the room, who so far hasn't interacted with anyone since he arrived. You've caught his attention, but he won't talk to you because something inside him tells him not to come up to you out of the blue.

Something inside him tells him to take it easy this time, because that something inside him thinks that the outside of that guy should be molded slowly to reveal the inside. Does that make sense?

The first person Soap will ask about you is König, because them strangely hit it off, much to the unhappiness of Ghost, who didn't like König. Perhaps it's because he's taller and has stolen the role of being the tallest in the room from Ghost.

And also because he saw König talking to you about something, but you didn't use your voice and just nodded. Which led him to think that maybe you were mute.

Soap approached König with a smile, bringing up some other subject before starting to ask questions about you. He doesn't want to sound weird.

"Hm... You know, I keep asking myself..." Soap begins, waiting for a signal to continue.

"What is it?" König asks, crossing his arms and smiling beneath his mask.

"That guy in the corner... Why doesn't he join the others?"

"Oh." König straightens his posture and looks at you, standing in the corner of the room and staring at an interesting spot on the floor. "She's a bit shy, don't worry."

The gears turned slowly in Soap's head after this information.

"IT'S A WOMAN?!!??!!!!?"

It wasn't Soap's intention to draw the attention of everyone in the room, Including you, to him and König. But it just happened.

Hello:)) it's my first time posting something written by me and my English is terrible, but I tried my best with a translator 😞

[pureomi]

˚୨୧⋆｡🍓˚ in which: itoshi sae feels inferior to itoshi rin; even if for just a moment

includes: itoshi sae! x fem reader. 1.7k wc. fluff and humour (i promise the title is just dramatic). silly itoshi brothers but we love them. kind of ooc rin. includes some swearing but it's meant to be lighthearted <3

itoshi rin being sick was somehow more of an inconvenience to sae than it was to rin himself. his brother falling ill during his stay at sae’s place was already a disgusting coincidence. now, sae had to watch the unfortunate scenes unfold in front of him without a choice.

“woah, you’re burning up, rin,” your voice filled the room, holding the thermometer up to check it again, your voice laced with concern. rin only nodded, his quiet nature amplified by the haze of his fever. his half-lidded eyes and flushed cheeks made him look pitiful, almost drowsy.

to sae, it was nauseating how pathetic he looked—and worse, how effective it was.

“here, i got you medicine,” you said, helping him sit up from a lying position. “say ahh,” you sang sweetly, holding an ibuprofen capsule to rin’s lips and following up with a glass of water. he obediently parted his lips without a word, swallowing with a slight grimace but no complaints.

meanwhile, sae stood in the doorway with his arms crossed, scowling like a cat. rin must have it so damn good right now, he thought bitterly. crashed out on his bed, coughing like a mess, and worst of all—being pampered by you! him spreading germs all over the room was annoying enough, but the fact that you were doting on him? that was the real problem. sure, rin was sick, but did you have to treat him like royalty? it made sae feel almost childish how much it irked him. he knew you were just being you—kind, caring, and attentive. you weren’t a complete jerk like sae; of course, you’d take care of your boyfriend’s little brother.

but still, the sight of you meticulously adjusting rin’s pillow, tucking him snugly into the blanket you and sae usually shared, and gently brushing his hair out of his face like he was some spoiled kid—it was enough to drive sae up the wall. and if all that wasn't bad enough, now you were feeding him. feeding him.

rin opened his mouth again without so much as a sigh, his quiet compliance somehow making the scene even worse. sae glared as you dabbed the corner of rin’s mouth with a tissue, your expression always remaining soft and tender.

sae’s patience finally cracked as he scoffed. “pick up your own damn spoon,” he muttered under his breath.

you finally tore your gaze from rin to look at sae, laughing lightly. “it’s okay, sae. he’s sick. it doesn’t bother me.” it didn’t bother you, but it sure as hell bothered him. watching rin quietly accept another spoonful while sae fumed in the corner felt like a fresh insult every second.

“is the soup good? i tried my best,” you asked, giving the bowl another stir, awaiting his answer. your expression was so stupidly expectant that it effortlessly tugged at sae’s heart. rin, naturally, noticed the way his older brother’s jaw tightened from the corner of his eye, sae’s glare sharp enough to cut through steel—nonverbally screaming at him to be nice. rin wasn’t dumb—he knew better than to even consider giving a bad review of your cooking, especially with sae simmering in his spot by the door. and besides, the soup was actually delicious. “it’s good,” rin said, glancing at you. he took another spoonful for good measure, his movements deliberately slow, before adding, “it’s like our mom’s cooking.”

your face lit up instantly, a warm smile spreading across your lips. “i’m glad! good thing i asked for her recipe,” you shared, feeling accomplished. then, after a thoughtful pause, rin continued, “nii-chan should try some.” that last line, paired with the smallest, almost imperceptible smirk tugging at rin’s lips as he subtly shifted his posture toward sae, was so perfectly calculated it could’ve been a soccer play. rin didn’t even bother looking at his brother; he didn’t need to. the strained silence from sae’s corner was reward enough.

sae’s knuckles flexed against the doorframe, his patience wearing thinner than ever. try some? was rin actually inviting him to participate in this ridiculous display? no way in hell. you turned to sae with an inviting smile, completely oblivious to the brewing tension. “sae, you can have some if you want. i made more just in case…” his eyes flickered to you for a moment, and he opened his mouth to respond, but all that came out was a quiet, disgruntled, “i’m fine.”

rin didn’t look up, but his breath released ever so slightly faster—barely perceptible—like he was holding back laughter. and yet, rin wasn’t done being petty. he shifted slightly under the blanket, letting out a low sigh that seemed almost contemplative. “my back hurts.”

he murmured quietly, drawing out the words just enough to give them weight. his gaze flicked briefly to sae—long enough for him to notice—before turning to you with a soft, almost too-casual tone.

“i think i need a massage.”

before sae could even process the audacity, you were already setting the soup aside. “oh no! here, turn around—” “it’s fine,” sae absolutely snaps, stepping forward and snatching you up from the bed. he firmly guided you toward the door. “i got him. just bring a hot towel, will you?” “huh? oh, okay…” you blinked, a bit startled by his sudden intervention, but nodded. “if you need anything—anything—just call, okay?”

you shot rin a sympathetic look as you left, sae’s hand still firm on the small of your back until you were out the door.

the moment the door clicked shut, it was as if rin’s back was in pristine condition—like he was born with the perfect spine. he sat up straight, stretching with ease, his back suddenly requiring nothing but a headboard to rest on. sae responded with nothing except his expression, his eyes narrowing as he stepped closer. without a word, sae lifted his leg and dug a kick square to rin’s back. “what the fuck?!” rin hissed, flinching forward. “back pain, huh?” sae asked flatly, mocking his claims. “you’re too old to be attention-seeking, dumbass,” he said, giving him another shove with his foot. “go back to okaasan, since you like being babied so much.” “fuckin’ hypocrite,” rin kicked back with both legs, shoving sae’s leg away with surprisingly good strength for someone whose supposed bones were crackling just a second ago. “you’re the one fuming for her attention.” sae rolled his eyes, unable to accept the fact that he was probably right. “she’s my girlfriend, you fucker,” despite the possibility, he defends, his voice sharper now. “and yet here you are,” rin said smugly, leaning back against the headboard, “competing with a sick kid.” sae opened his mouth to retort but froze. damn it. he was competing. and somehow, rin was winning.

“here’s the towel—” you finally walked in, but not without sensing the tension hanging in the air. “did something happen?…” you quickly remarked, in a suspicious manner. “no.” both rin and sae responded in perfect unison, their tone almost too quick, too practiced. you couldn’t help but feel like you were the only one who wasn’t in on whatever strange, silent competition they were having.

“rin’s feeling better,” sae suddenly spoke out, his voice way too casual, as he bolted for the door. “call if you need anything.” “ah, okay…” you blinked, eyes lingering on him watching him go before shaking your head. maybe you did imagine that awkwardness.

you quickly turned your attention back to rin and handed him the towel. “you should get some rest. i’ll attend to some chores.” rin gave a quiet nod, already looking more comfortable with the towel draped over him. you gave him a smile, relieved to see him at least looking better, before stepping out of the room. you found sae in the kitchen, carefully dishing out a bowl of soup. the act was too adorable; you couldn’t resist. you snuck up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist in a gentle backhug. “what do you want?” sae asked, his voice trying to sound neutral, but you could hear the softness underneath it. you rested your chin on his shoulder, feeling his warmth, and smiled. “why are you sulking?” you asked softly, your tone full of concern. “i’m not,” sae replied, though the words came out more quietly than he intended, a little hint of frustration still there. you could feel his tension, so you just squeezed him a little tighter, letting the silence settle for a beat. “i know you’re worried,” you said, voice gentle and sincere, “but it’s okay. he’ll be fine. i’m making sure of it.” sae remained quiet for a moment, but there was something different in the way his shoulders eased under your touch. he wasn’t used to this kind of reassurance, but somehow it always worked.

there was always something disarming about your presence, the way you seemed to understand him without asking for anything in return. he didn’t quite know what to do with this feeling—this overwhelming need to just be close to you. without making any effort to break the hug, sae's hands gently moved to rest on yours. he turned slightly so he could look at you, his eyes soft and filled with something tender you couldn't quite place. there was a subtle shift as he leaned in, his breath warm against your skin. he paused, just for a moment, before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. the kiss lingered longer than usual, a silent reassurance in the simple gesture. “i’m not worried,” sae whispered firmly, trying his best to rely his feelings. “since you’re taking care of him, i’ll just take care of you.” you blinked, your chest tightening with warmth at his words. it was rare for sae to lose his guard, and in these moments, his affection always spoke far louder than anything he could say. you could feel the space between you narrowing as he moved even closer, his lips brushing near yours. “isn’t that right?” he whispered, his voice low and filled with a quiet confidence.

AH-CHOO! a loud sneeze rang through the hallway, shattering every sense of peace in the house. sae froze, his entire posture stiffening, as he shot a death glare toward the room where rin was.

god he’s gonna kill him.

a/n: this is such an old draft omg...finally got inspired to publish it bcz i currently feel like sae lmao. still figuring out my writing style so i hope nobody minds the randomness of my works T-T

[dmitriene]

cw: unreliable description of domsub relationship, gagging, aftercare, reader in a dress.

simon meets you on the app where men like him look for obedient, sweet subby pups, everyone gathers there for their own purposes, but ultimately, everyone is there to pick the best sub from among those who are obedient and charming, and you are there to explore, to find someone who can look after you, be your guide, while holding on your leash.

he's on this app to unwind, find someone who will help him release all his tension, all of the faces there appear to him to be the same, endless descriptions of the sweet girls that flash their bodies and claim to be looking for a daddy are always a fleeting buzz to his mind, until he stumbles upon you.

your profile picture is awkward, posture rigid, you're just sitting pretty in front of the camera while wearing some lacy piece of nightgown, as if downloading this app was nothing but a choice of boredom, with your face hidden, but your description says that you're new in this world and here to learn, find someone who can help you out, promising that you'll try your hardest to be the greatest, and it's gets to simon, nearly too close to his chubbing cock.

maybe it's the way you text, responding to his brief message in an instant, as though you've been waiting all this time, shy and meek, while simon finds out that you understand the fundamentals of the system, how people meet, the stop words, the rights of subs, and that you're sweet and innocent in a way that most of the others aren't, so simon's fingers decide before his head does that he should invite you over to try and give you a taste.

looking even better than in the smudged pictures you sent him, simon meets you at his apartment on the weekends in the evening, getting up from where he was sprawled over on the couch when he hears the door click open, he warned that you can get inside without a shame, he'd welcome you in inside, so after taking a few deep breaths in, you open the door, and his imposing frame, which dwarfs the narrowing hallway, greets you, making your feet stutter.

black, tight trousers that fit his muscular, beefy thighs in all the right places, a tight cotton shirt that highlights his toned, and at the same time slightly softer stomach, broad arms that are intertwined with tattoo ink curdles, crossed over his chest, expanding with deliberate breaths as you meet his face.

coal, dark colored eyes framed by the delicate, pale wisps of eyelashes, quivering and moving with the swoop against the edges of cut holes at his balaclava, you can feel the lopsided smile he holds to his lips in the creases around his eyes, you knew he would be hiding his face, and he told you so, said that if that's a problem, you can talk about it, but with a shiver running down your spine, the trill at the pit of your stomach, you said that won't be a nuisance.

the evening begins with a dinner that is meal already set on the plates, everything tidy and neat, including an alcohol to your liking in the glass and his flexing hands pulling a chair for you across from him, the small table still keeps you two close, enough for simon to warm you up for him, with quick, feathery touches of his palms against your knee and up towards your thigh, hugged by your tight, adorable dress.

simon eases every single worry you have in your tiny head with his cooing out, and since it is tiny, the only thing you have to keep in is his name, the fact that he is your sir tonight, and that all you have to do is spread your pretty legs and let him take care of your needy, already aching pussy, holding onto his forearm as he leads you to the bedroom, already pliable for him.

even more so when he has you underneath him, your tight cunt squelching wet, sappy with slick, making every one of his punctured, pounding thrusts obscenely wet in the large, dimly lit room, your keens and hiccups turning into frothing drool that drips past the gag, stuffed in your mouth, a large ball that keeps your sounds at bay, but still loud enough for simon to hear only.

his cock scalding, pummeling in your split, gushing hole as your legs hang at the sides of his neck, splayed over simon's stretched out shoulders, twitching against his rippling back and digging with your flexing toes in, as your back arches back, sharp, causing you to cry out as his fat, dribbling cockhead hammers against your sweet, spongy spot, grinding in deep circles of his muscular hips.

kissing the crystal tears off your wet, blistering cheeks, chapped lips against your clumped eyelashes and glossy rolling eyes, while you dig your nails into his neck, causing simon to groan and rasp out in pleasure that rakes down his spine, down to his spasming cock, tightly hugged by the welcoming, slippery warm heat of your pussy, clenching with impending release that will leave you limp, with a loose hole creamed and globs of his seed oozing on the sheets.

you won't have to return to that app, simon will take care of that, and you, coo at your hoarse sobs and little chokes you sputter through the drool that floods your mouth, wipe you down with a fluffy towel wet from warm water, a respite against your still trembling limbs and aching, battered pussy, your face reaching, turning to his kisses as he rubs and massages at your sides, allowing you to fall asleep in his hold, now marked forever as his.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[meowdei]

if you hold me without hurting me (you’ll be the first who ever did) — ft. sylus

synopsis: sylus is too causal with accepting pain. you don’t like seeing him hurt, so the best solution you can come up with is seeing him in pleasure

❤︎ word count: 2.4k words — it’s a miracle i kept it this short

❤︎ before you read: female hunter reader ; mature content. not suitable for minors ; not an established relationship but implied romantic connection. idk it’s complicated LOL ; injured sylus ; described blood and injuries ; evol inhibitors to make his injuries a bit more serious ; not proof read : hand jobs ; banter ; that’s pretty much it just wanted to write him cumming

❤︎ comments: i am posting this 3 mins before i need to leave for work this man has me hustling before my hustle rip

The safe house is quiet. Not including the sounds of Sylus’s low, pained grunts as you dress his wounds, it’s quiet. You’re quiet, and it’s unsettling—on a typical day, you’re more than half the noise.

(In a good way, of course. Sylus is not a liar by any means, and saying he doesn’t like the constant sound of your voice as you talk would be a ridiculously big lie. He values the truth in things.)

It means you’re brooding. Sulky, petulant brooding. He’ll just have to fix that, he thinks—and soon, too.

“I’ll have to trouble you a bit longer, sweetheart,” he murmurs, breaking the silence as he glances at his arm.

You glance up and stare at the damage: a stab wound to his abdomen, a gash on his arm, and ugly, unwelcome bruises littering across soft, slightly tanned skin.

You frown. It borders on a scowl. He watches as you carefully stitch the wound closed on his lower belly with precise fingers. (Faintly, his mind registers that you’re good at this. Too good at this. He doesn’t like the implications of that—not for his own case and especially not for yours.)

“Does it hurt?” You mumble, finally.

Sylus is not a liar by any means, so he hums, titling your chin up and forcing you to pause. “Yes,” he says truthfully. You’d never guess he was in pain just by the look on his face—but there are always signs if you look close enough.

Sticky, sweaty skin. Deep, labored breaths. Slumped posture that’s so far from his usual tall, towering stance. He looks just a bit tired, too. Like sleeping (something he rarely does enough to be considered healthy) would be his ideal course of action right now.

You frown at his admission. “I told you not to get so close,” you huff, “you never wait for me.”

He chuckles. Deep, slow. Every time Sylus laughs, you’re reminded how powerful he is. How even through the sound of his amusement alone, he sounds important. Wealthy, too, if you’re being honest—he laughs like the rich. But that’s always amused you more than it’s impressed.

“You seem rather distraught, love. Dare I say….you’re concerned?”

“You’re too smart to act this stupid,” you spit.

He grins. It’s large, wide, and all too smug for someone who’s under your hands as you mend back torn skin. Gently, he hums, “so the kitten bears her fangs. How cute.”

Your mood is getting increasingly worse. Sylus knows that—but sometimes, he’s a little selfish. Pushing you harder, cornering you against the wall with smart words and sly teasing is the only way to make you open up sometimes.

And, well, Sylus is no liar. He can’t say he hates getting under your skin entirely—it makes you look at him. And he likes your attention. But more than that, he likes knowing you care.

“You don’t think I’m capable,” you accuse, narrowing your eyes.

“And when did I say that, Miss Hunter?”

“You don’t have to say it, I just know. Otherwise, you’d listen when I tell you to wait,” comes your agitated reply.

Sylus does not wait for you. He jumps into a fight without letting you step foot onto the battlefield. Most times, it’s a minor form of irritation on your end when you’re itching to get in a good few hits. Sometimes, like now, it makes your emotions saturated in every form of distress.

Anger. Sadness. Regret. Panic. All of it simmers and simmers until you feel you’re overflowing with something you can’t quite put your finger on.

He pays the price today—one sloppy dodge of a blade, and it impales his lower abdomen with precision, lacing him with something. Something that evidently is rather good at repressing his evol—he can’t fight nearly as well let alone heal.

You can’t help but feel useless. More than anything, under appreciated. Maybe, if he’d waited just a moment so you could have covered him, then maybe your night would end with less blood on your hands and less pain on his.

“You’re also too bright to act this dim,” he says lowly, voice just a bit tight with pain. You tighten his stitches, and he doesn’t even grimace despite the clearly unpleasant sensation.

“Do tell me,” you glare, “just what am I being dim about?”

“If you think I don’t recognize your capabilities,” he drawls, studying the knife that once tore through his flesh slowly. It’ll be analyzed at the base. You’re certain he’ll figure out just what the blade was laced with and trace it back to its origins soon enough. He sets it down and meets your eyes—deep, rich crimson bleeding into your gaze. “Then maybe you’re not as good at seeing the bigger picture as I thought.”

“That you’re a smug bastard who likes to prove you’re better on your own?”

“That I care about you,” he says plainly. “I can handle it. It’s better you than me.”

“You could have died,” you hiss, “if I wasn’t there—”

“I’d have lived either way,” he says smugly. “Killing me is a rather difficult thing to do. Inflicting pain, on the other hand….well, at least it keeps things interesting.”

Your face drops. Not because he’s wrong, but because he’s so right. You can injure him all you want, but he heals fast enough that he’s here to stay. Like an annoying thorn that keeps pricking you as you pick roses. Like a weed that just keeps growing back the more you tear them from the ground. He comes back. Annoying as he is, he comes back. And you don’t mind that so much—you think you might even need it that way.

But it always hurts. He bleeds red just like any other person. Grimaces here and there despite how accustomed he is to the agony. Somewhere along the line, his pain became yours.

And you can’t help but be hyper aware of how much you despise it.

“I hate when you’re hurt,” you whisper.

“I’ll live,” he soothes, cupping your cheek and swiping a stray tear with a large, callused thumb. You shiver, pouting slightly at the words. “I’ve had worse.”

“But you still feel the pain.”

“Can anyone really avoid that, sweetie?” He raises an amused brow.

Before he can open his mouth to add more, you lean closer, careful not to hurt his wound as you press against his chest and bury your head into his neck, pressing a light kiss to the skin.

His breath hitches, and you think you’ve finally gotten through that thick, stubborn front of his.

“If it hurts,” you murmur, “then I can make it feel good.”

He shivers—barely, of course. But he shivers. It’s a small win. “Oh?” He asks carefully, his good arm curling around your waist to keep you in place. “And how so?”

You press a lingering kiss to his jaw. Your lips are not strangers to Sylus. They know him as well as he knows them too, but you’ve always danced along the edge of more than friends and less than lovers. One second, you think you’ve crossed over the line with graceful steps, the next you fall ten steps back.

Right now, you think you don’t care. Line be damned and whether you’re just friends or lovers, you couldn’t be more unbothered.

“I don’t like when people touch you,” you admit, “not at all. But especially not so….rough.”

“Mmh, jealous are we? Don’t worry, you’re the only one I willingly let touch me,” he grins. You roll your eyes, watching as he shuffles back to lean against the couch and relax.

“I should be the only one who touches you,” you say with an air of petulance.

“Yes, yes,” he agrees, placating your mood, “then show me something more gentle,” he whispers.

You smile. It’s the first one of the night, lips curling against the shell of his ear as you breathe, “oh I intend to.”

Just like that, your hand trails up his thigh, carefully tracing along the inner edge of his leg before your palm roams over his crotch. There’s a bulge forming as if on command. Your ego boosts just a little—for all his strength and endurance, one brief, mere little touch from you forces his body to react against his will.

“Is this really where you should be putting in all your effort?” His breath hitches, and the tips of his ears flush a pretty, soft little pink, “my arm still has an open wound, you know.”

“You’ve had worse,” you repeat his words back to him, “but let me show you better.”

It’s quick work, unblocking his belt and unzipping him just enough to gently pull out his half-hard cock. You glance down, smiling at the small bead of pre cum that leaks from the tip, forming a kind little opportunity for you to watch him squirm as your thumb grazes his cockhead to collect it.

You smear it along his length as you slowly stroke him to full hardness, and he offers you a shaky little huffed out, “fuck,” under his breath.

“Does that hurt, too?” You hum, nose pressing into his jaw as you kiss his neck.

“No,” he sighs, melting into you, “no it feels so good. Don’t stop.”

“Do you see how nice it is when you just trust me?” You scold, “now apply this to the battlefield, too.”

He chuckles deeply at that, closing his eyes and fighting the urge to fuck his hips into your fist—his stitches are still fragile enough that he doesn’t want to risk tearing them. Instead, he has to trust that you’ll give him what he needs, all on your own.

“I’d rather get hurt and be spoiled like this,” he mumbles, “than risk anything happing to you. Seems like a better option if you ask me.”

“So stubborn,” you click your teeth.

Sylus is not a liar. You know that. If he says you’re capable, then you believe him—and if he says that he’d rather take the brunt of injuries and the pain that comes with them just to finish a fight before you can be involved, you know it’s not a lie. But you don’t always like the truth. You don’t like knowing he uses himself as a shield of sorts for you, as some wall between you and pain or maybe even death just because he can. Just because he heals. Just because he thinks he should.

You don’t always like the truth. Sometimes, you’d rather live in a lie.

So you tell yourself he thinks you’re less than him. That you’re lacking and beneath his approval and you have something to prove—so your hand tightens around his thick, reddened cock and you stroke fast. Quick and to the point.

Enough to have him groaning with an arm instinctively moving to cover his eyes as he throws his head back—only he hisses, feeling the stinging tug on his gash as he moves.

You hum, guiding his arm back down as you cup his cheek and murmur, “careful now. You’re hurt—I wonder whose fault that is.”

He rolls his eyes at the comment—but one swipe of your thumb through his slit has them rolling back in pleasure before he can glare at you. “You’re rather smug today,” he huffs, “do you like seeing me defenseless, sweetheart?”

“Not for the reasons you might think,” you say sweetly, grinning as you peck his cheek. Right where you cut him the first time you met. Right where you think you’ll always have to soothe so he knows you didn’t mean it.

Not anymore, at least.

“You’re far from the innocent kitten you seem to be,” he grins, huffing out a soft laugh as it tapers off into a light, breathy moan.

“Does it feel good?”

“Yes.”

“Enough to make you forget the pain?”

“Oh yes,” he grins. Suddenly, a wave of red wraps around your hand and forces your grip to tighten. “I’ve forgotten I was injured at all.”

His evol, you realize—it’s back.

You stare at the gash on his arm—crimson on crimson as the flurry of his power replaces the blood, leaving behind soft, healthy skin. Not a scar left behind. Not a trace of pain. Not even a faint line of where torn flesh mended together and became new.

He’s had worse, you remember. And he comes back from it every damn time.

Still, you think—you’re going to give him better.

“I don’t want you hurting because of me,” you breathe, leaning into his chest and pressing your weight against him without worry, now. Your hand fists his shirt as his arms wrap around you and keep you close.

Your hand glides along his girth between your bodies, working him up slowly, slowly, slowly until it all feels like it’ll come crashing down all at once. His breath hitches as he lets out a light groan of your name.

It sounds pretty on his tongue. You’re more determined to pull nicer sounds from him, too, so you kiss under his ear lobe, sucking gently on the skin and feeling him let out a soft, labored gasp.

“Will you spoil me like this every time I’m hurt?” Sylus breathes.

You scowl and hiss, “no. Absolutely not. Then you’ll just get hurt more.”

He smiles smugly at the retort, biting his lip as you squeeze your fist around him tighter. “A smart little kitten, aren’t you? Sharpening your claws.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“You like me enough to worry. I think that says enough.”

“Asshole,” you glare.

He’s shameless, you think. Because the insult brings him to the edge, his mouth falling open to a beautiful face of bliss, body quivering under you in soft tremors of pleasure. Sylus is beautiful. Dark, rough around the edges, and uncut stone with sharp corners. Beautiful enough to want, dangerous enough to slice your fingers if you don’t know how to touch him properly.

You admire him as he spills into your hands, his lips desperately searching yours as he leans closer and pulls you into a kiss, heavy breaths pouring into your mouth as he gives himself to you.

“Good,” he pants, “you…you make me feel so good.”

“That’s what I’m supposed to be here for,” you murmur, “so you don’t have to feel pain.”

You stroke him through his orgasm, until he’s soft and pliant and limp under your touch. Gently, you stroke his cheek with a thumb as you cup his face. He leans into your touch and closes his eyes.

“As capable as you are,” he says quietly, “I like the idea of you spending your energy in other fields of expertise. Sue me.”

“I should,” you purse your lips. “Sue you for all you’re worth.”

“It’ll be worth the troubles,” he says smugly, “you’ll get quite the sum if you manage to.”

And he’s not a liar, either—so you scoff at his smug, truth-telling grin before giving his curved lips a small peck.

Girl . Idk

[lostintransist]

You're cooking with that gym one.. keep going

Here is my submission for you anon.

John rubbed tiredly at his face. His feet pressed in turn to the rotating belt of the treadmill. He did not want to be here.

Base doc told him he wouldn't be getting clearance to go back on jobs until he got is cholesterol down. He, wisely, did not question how his cholesterol could be high when the only things he consumed were cigars, toast, and coffee.

Having tried the base gym a few times he found it...full of distractions.

If he could be found on base he had everyone, including the devil, showing up at his side. If it wasn't questions, it was paperwork. He fucking hated paperwork.

Gym etiquette said to, when possible, leave a machine open between you and the next person over on treadmills. You had already been on a machine when he arrived. John walked with no music. Oppositely you jived and mouthed along with whatever you were listening to. He appreciated that you didn't sing as you walked. Soap's of kilter voice drifting from the showers was more than enough.

John lifted a brow at the young man who stepped onto the machine between you and him. The man didn't spare him a glance. John shrugged. He maintained his pace, eyes fixed on the news. Damn he should start bringing his glasses. Those subtitles were stretching his limits of vision.

"Come on, just talk to me already!"

The man beside him shouted. John turned in time to see the man hit the off button and step off the treadmill. Glancing at you he his concern rises. Tight jaw, nose flaring wide as you suck in breaths, and white knuckles gripping the arms of the machine tell him a lot.

When the man appears before your treadmill John is already reaching for his off button. He's a bastard. His ex-wives agreed on that, but this was unacceptable behavior.

You surprise both men when you rip your headphones off.

"I know you don't listen to your mother either, but let's see if your kindergarten teacher was right about you being a good student." A look of disgust adds sting to the words you whip at the man. "If a woman is ignoring you, she's busy. When a woman gives you a closed mouth smile after you attempt to flirt she is uncomfortable but won't say so because she doesn't want to be raped or murdered in the next alley over. Now unless you have something of value to provide to society as a whole, you will get out my face."

All that said without you missing a step.

"God, no need to be a bitch," the man sneered up at you. "I was going to tell you I thought you were beautiful."

"Women are only beautiful when you want to stick your dick in them. Buy a flesh light instead and leave women alone. Leave me alone." You throw up double middle fingers at him.

The fucktard shouted hate as he stalked away.

John, no longer tired, laughed so hard he started to cough. He paused his machine. Covering his mouth with a fist he laughed again when he could breathe. You are staring at him when he looks up. Distrust paints the color of your eyes.

"His kindergarten teacher?" He asked, starting to chuckle again.

The tension melts away from your shoulders. The tip of your tongue makes an appearance on your lip as you give him a sheepish look. You open and close your mouth as your fingers work themselves into knots.

"So ya see..." You can't finish your thought before you are laughing too.

"I'm John," he offers you a hand to shake over the empty machine.

"Good to meet you, John," you shake his hand and give him your name in return.

"That happen to you often? If so, I would love to witness more of you cutting men off at the knees." John can't help but smile, full and wide at the embarrassment that sparks through your posture.

You sigh through your nose.

"More often than I care for," you admit.

"Well, if you need a gym buddy I am in need of a good laugh," John pulls his phone from his pocket and hands it to you to add your phone number.

"I am at your service, John. My misfortune is yours to witness," you pass the phone back with a flourish.

John can't remember the last time he laughed so much.

Gym Adventures:

SoapGaz | Simon | Phillip Graves | Ghost | 4 for 1 Special | SoapGaz/Reader NSFW | AO3

[traflawgar]

talking in your sleep.

when you accidentally confess while sleep-talking.

includes: law, zoro

TAGS: FLUFF, pre-relationship, gn.reader.

NOTES: this is my first time trying to write something for one piece, be nice to me.

law

You were always a sleep talker. Ever since you were a child, there wasn't one night when you didn't spout nonsense. From intelligible words to downright terrifying things—Bepo still checked for mysterious shadows after the night you rose from the bed and mumbled about something following him—the crew had gotten used to it.

It was that why, after falling asleep on a book during a long night researching with Law, he didn't even flinch when you started mumbling. Not until you said, or he thought you said, his name. It could've been nothing more than random sounds strung together by your sleeping brain, but he found himself putting down the book and straining his ears anyway.

The silence stretched. You nuzzled into the book you had been reading. A soft sigh left your lips. Law leaned in closer.

"...ove you, Law... I love you."

Time slowed. His heart stopped, then resumed its beating full force. A lazy smile appeared on his face. He allowed himself to sink into the pure, deep love he felt for you.

"I won't say it back," he started, hand reaching to stroke your cheek. "Not until you're awake. Just you wait."

zoro

Zoro had long ceased to make up excuses to join you when it was your turn to keep watch. A simple "hey" replaced the clumsy "I couldn't sleep" and "You'll probably fall asleep anyways" he used to spout. A mutual understanding that no lies needed to cover up the truth: he liked to spend time with you. Quiet time with you, away from the loud and exuberant nature of the crew.

Eventually, you had started to join him on his rounds as well. Sitting peacefully side by side, sharing a bottle of sake from time to time. Nodding off on his shoulder when your eyelids became too heavy.

Zoro had taken to sitting close enough to you so that, when you eventually fell asleep, he could reposition your head on his solid shoulder and avoid any future neck pain. A gesture he struggled to convince himself was purely out of camaraderie. No ulterior motives, no hidden reasons. He'd do it for anyone on the crew, right?

It took hearing your asleep confession for him to accept that maybe, perhaps, it was possible he did feel something more for you. The moment he heard the soft "Zoro, I love you" come out of your mouth, he froze with the bottle of sake halfway to his lips. He sat like that, so still he could've been a statue, until he felt you cuddle closer to him.

Posture relaxing, he leaned his head into yours and went on keeping watch. Perhaps tomorrow would be more interesting than he had expected.

TRAFLAWGAR 2024

[seresinhangmanjake]

Forgetting

Jake Seresin x reader

Summary: Jake forgets to pick you up at the airport because of his ex, and for the first time, you think maybe you and Jake aren't mean to be.

Notes/Warnings: Angst, but ends fluffy. Fighting. Cursing. This was a request that I said I'd have done in a couple days and it took me a week and a half. Sorry about that. Also, please be gentle. I haven't written for Jake in what feels like a millennium.

Words: 2700

Jake Seresin Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag List

As much as it would kill you to know that he could be hurt, you hope he’s hurt. You hope he’s on his way to the hospital to receive life-saving treatment because if he’s not hurt, if he’s not receiving life-saving treatment, then he simply forgot about you. And that makes your heart want to claw its way out of your chest and scamper across the floor until it’s well out of your range to catch it. 

Your call goes to voicemail for the fourth time. You send your twelfth text: I hope you’re ok. I landed an hour ago. Please call me. Nothing different than the eleven other messages that have gone unanswered. Forty-five more minutes pass of you sitting on a bench by the airport exit before you finally surrender your last shred of hope and call Bradley to come save you. 

Within the hour, you’re sighing in relief, the sight of a friendly face almost bringing you to tears. He approaches you with open arms and you fall right into the embrace, comforted by the hug that should be in your boyfriend’s arms, and the warmth that should be from your boyfriend’s body, and the forehead kiss that should be from your boyfriend’s lips. 

“Please tell me he’s ok,” you say against your friend’s chest. 

A heavy palm rubs up and down your back. “No one could get ahold of him.”

Your head jerks back so you can meet his eyes. “Oh my god!”

“I’m sure he’s fine, kid. Don’t worry.”

“How can you say that? He was supposed to be here and he’s not and–” You pause when Bradley looks away from you, and a hefty stone settles in your gut. You know your friend well. He’s a good man, honest but sensitive, and when that honestly meets that sensitivity, it results in his inability to look someone in the eye if he thinks the truth might hurt them. You’ve seen it a hundred times, but never with you. 

Your posture wavers with your lengthy exhale. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Another great thing about Bradley: he doesn’t make you play any games. You don’t have to jump through hoops. You don’t have to ask the right questions in the right way in order to get what you need out of him, unlike many men, your boyfriend included, who recently has found ways to skitter around telling the full truth. 

“Javy said he saw him a couple of hours ago,” Bradley says.

Your back teeth clench. Your mind shoots to one conclusion. “With her?” you ask. Bradley’s eyes drift from yours again and you nod, a tear at the ready to leak down your cheek. “He forgot about me because he’s with her.”

“We don’t know that for sure, and–”

Your hand scrubbing down your face cuts him off. Your fingers pinch the bridge of your nose before you suck in your whimper and say, “Rooster, why did he even ask me to come here?”

“Because he…I mean, we thought he–”

“You thought he gave a fuck about me.”

“He does,” Bradley says, stressing his words in an attempt to reassure you. “He never shuts up about you.”

“Sure,” you say. “He gives so much of a fuck that he forgot about me to be with his ex. How can you explain that?”

Rooster sighs. His hands slip into his jeans pockets just to have something to do with them. “I can’t.”

“Exactly.” 

No one can explain it. Not you, not Bradley, not Jake. Everyone you know back home would be telling you to run for the hills right now. They were already wary of this ‘Navy guy’ that they’d only met twice around the holidays, who lives a decent distance away from your entire life and who constantly requests that you be the one to hop on a plane rather than the other way around. 

For the duration of your time together, you’ve been understanding of that sacrifice. You know his schedule doesn’t allow impromptu trips out of state, but that hasn’t made it any less exhausting for you. And maybe that’s a sign. Another sign. A nail in the coffin. Maybe you and Jake aren’t meant to be. And why would you be? You met him on a brief vacation to visit a friend who doesn’t even live in the same town anymore, and somehow, during those few days, he convinced you to take a chance on him. So you took the leap. But being that bold doesn’t guarantee you won’t fall flat on your face, and you think that’s exactly what’s happening. You’ve tripped over a guy only to realize he doesn’t care about you to the same degree that you care about him. 

However, you’re not the type to avoid confrontation. If Jake Seresin is going to mistreat you because of his ex, then he is going to do it to your face. He’s going to look you in the eye when he shows himself to be the liar he is. It may hurt more to go to him rather than get on the next plane home without so much as taking in a breath of fresh Californian air, but you’re too upset to let that thought fully develop, and a moment later, Rooster is following your stomps out the door. 

—

You find him at the Hard Deck, standing at a hightop with a beer glass in his hand that clinks against the one in his ex’s before he takes a sip. Bradley’s comforting hand lands on your back in solidarity. You only met him because of Jake, but the two of you bonded despite their differences, and having him by your side now makes him nothing short of a life-saver. 

He helps guide you through the crowd to the table, and when Jake spots you, he chokes around the liquid going down his throat. His blown-out emerald eyes rival saucers and his mouth gapes like a fish, but then his stare flicks to Bradley, and those eyes shrink into narrow slits. His face heats to a boiling red. 

“What the fuck!” Jake snaps, shocking the composure right out of his ex’s poised stance. Bar patrons close by turn their heads but quickly return to their own conversations. Jake steps away from the table, coming to a halt in front of you and his squadmate. “What the hell is this?”

You figured he’d be bothered if you showed up with Bradley in tow. And good, that’s what you feel he deserves. Jake’s been wary of the other Dagger’s closeness to you for a while, and even though you know—as does Bradley—that it’s an asinine concern, you have no problem using it against him now. But still, the intensity of his reaction manages to surprise you. You didn’t think he would be this angered by the sight of you with another man that it would have him overlooking his mistake of forgetting you.

Your arms cross. “This is your girlfriend and the guy who saved her when her damn boyfriend left her stranded at the airport.”

“Excuse me?”

Jake’s ex’s prying gaze tugs at your attention, but when you glance over his shoulder to catch her in the act, she quickly looks away—just more proof that whatever the fuck she’s doing with your boyfriend is something to be ashamed of. 

Bradley’s saying something. You can’t quite hear him over the anger-induced fuzzing in your ears, but you’re pretty sure it’s a scolding based on the twisting of Jake’s features as he shoots back his own words of aggression. And then your hand is in his and you’re being pulled through the bar, out the back door, and onto the deck where the only intrusive sound is the lapping of waves on the shore. 

“Why are you here?” he asks. 

You scoff to mask the heartbreak that comes with that question. “Because you asked me to be here.”

“Tomorrow.”

“What?”

“It’s Wednesday,” he says. 

“It’s Thursday, Jake.”

“No, it’s—” he freezes, and you don’t know if he’s tipsy or stupid, but it takes him a minute to come to the same conclusion: it is indeed Thursday. “Fuck,” he mutters.

Your lower back meets the edge of the railing, and you sigh, thankfully keeping in the tears. “What are you doing with her?”

“What the fuck are you doing with Rooster?” he returns much more forcefully. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I called, I texted, I left voicemails,” you tell him, “But clearly, she was more important.”

Jake’s hands pat down his pockets, mouth setting in a frown when he can’t find his phone.

“Don’t bother. Phone or no phone, you forgot about me because of her. Last time I was here, you were late for one of our dates because of her. You spent fifty percent of our time together stepping away to take her phone calls,” you say, trying and failing to avoid the bitter taste on your tongue. “Just fuck her, Jake, if you haven’t already. I only came here to tell you that she can have you.”

You’ve never seen him fall apart the way he does. You’ve never seen the blood drain from his cocky face. You’ve never seen his features break and crack and contort into the vision of pure devastation as they do. His parted mouth must’ve gone dry because his next words come out slightly hoarse.

“You don’t mean that,” he says, but it’s more of a plea than anything. “Why…Why would you–” He swallows. A wrinkle forms between his brows and he shakes his head. “You love me. You didn’t mean to say that.”

You do love him—terribly so—but you’re willing to be one of those people who won’t view love as enough if it also means laying you out as a fool. “Jake–”

“Take it back,” he says. His steps are quick, and then you’re trapped where you stand, his hands on either side of your body, gripping the rail. Eyes drill into yours, and for a second, you feel a pang of guilt. “Please, baby, take it back. She doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“And I mean less.”

“No!” he says. “That’s not true. You’re everything, ok? You mean everything to me. She was just helping me, that’s all.”

“Helping you,” you mimic with a roll of your eyes. “Helping you what? Get off?”

With a little whine, Jake’s head drops between his shoulders, his blond hair brushing your collarbone. “Please. Please quit saying things like that.” His hands slide closer to your body and land on your hips. You don’t push him away—you can't—and his touch softens you ever so slightly.

“Then tell me the truth,” you say. “Right now. I’m giving you one shot.”

His head snaps up. His eyes flick back and forth between yours, ironically searching for your honesty, as if you’re the liar on trial here. 

“It was a surprise,” he tells you. “She’s a realtor now, and for the last few months she’s been helping me find a new place, one that’s bigger than what I’ve got because I was going to ask you to move in with me.” Your heartbeat stutters. A layer of goosebumps coats your arms. When you don’t respond, he continues, “I hate missing you. I hate how unfair it is that you’re always the one to come here because I can’t fly out at the drop of a hat. I know it’s a big step, but I figured if I had a place, I could show you how great things could be. That’s why she and I came here. We were celebrating because I’m signing on a house first thing tomorrow,” he says. “Well, that’s why I’m celebrating, anyway. She’s probably celebrating because she just made a decent commission.”

It’s almost unfair how that new information doesn’t make you feel any less of a fool. Had he told you that under any other circumstances, you’d be leaping into his arms, kissing him like you’ve been deprived of him for years, repeating ‘yes’ over and over between those kisses, but you can’t. You can’t because his explanation doesn’t fix everything. 

“That still doesn’t change that it’s Thursday, not Wednesday,” you say.

“I know, baby. That’s my fault. I was so excited, and I was thinking how perfect the timing was that I would be able to pick you up tomorrow and drive you by the house now that it’s officially mine, but I fucked it up.”

Jake’s thumbs press into your hips, and you’re instantly reminded of each moment in your relationship when you’ve felt that same light pressure on your skin. A gentle claiming. The same pressure you felt when you agreed to be his girlfriend. The same pressure you feel whenever you’re in bed together. 

You sense eyes on you other than your boyfriend’s, and when you turn your head, you find his ex staring right at you, an expression on her face that you wish you could say wasn’t one of distress, but it is. And worse, it’s obviously not distress for herself, but for Jake, as if she’s hoping she wasn’t just a contributor to a bomb dropping on his life. 

Jake’s busy staring at you despite your averted gaze, and in a monotone voice, you say, “She feels bad.”

He doesn’t follow your eyes. “Because she knows I’ve been doing this all for you.”

You blink. Your hand runs down your face before sifting through the strands of your hair. “You really want me to live with you?”

“Of course I do,” he tells you. He’s shaking his head, but you know it’s because he thinks any idea that he wouldn’t want you to be blasphemous. His hand cups your chin. “I love you.”

With a sigh, you push aside the rollercoaster of emotions, the misunderstandings that lead to frustration and hurt, and look him directly in the eye. And where moments ago you thought you saw lies, you see honestly. Where you thought you saw betrayal, you see love. 

“Can I see it?”

—

It’s small—a two-bedroom with a little driveway, the shingle siding painted a blue-gray shade that is more blue than gray; bundles of flowers bloom in the boxes under the windows; a bay window protrudes from the side of the structure facing the beach. And it’s perfect.

You can imagine building a life here. You can picture a dog that you’ll have to build a fence for and children years later that will have you reinforcing the fence because they’ll probably be like their father, and Jake didn’t choose to be a pilot because of his lack of adventurous nature. You look at this house and you can see the core of a family. A house that, no matter how far you go for Jake’s job, will always be home base.

Jake is leaning around you so you can both watch the house from the passenger seat window. “I’d offer to show you around, but I don’t get the keys until morning.”

“It’s ok,” you tell him. “I don’t need to see inside.”

When you say that, he falls back into his seat. The back of his head presses against the headrest. His fingers squeeze the steering wheel with his sigh of defeat. “You don’t like it.”

Shifting your body to face him, you say, “Jake, I love it.”

Just like that, his eyes brighten like a pouting child who was just offered a lollipop, and you can’t help but chuckle. You can’t help but forget everything that happened earlier in the night, all of it seeming so insignificant now, even though you know it’s not, and you both know that if he ever makes the same mistake again, he’ll have hell to pay. But something tells you that won’t be a problem. 

“Enough to live with me?” he asks.

You nod. “Enough to live with you.”

---

A/N: Thanks for reading! Comments make my entire world, so if you liked it, let me know? Thanks :)

[koqabear]

hands-on lesson

“Intern Hueningkai is doing his best to follow in his mentor’s footsteps— Taehyun thinks the younger is a little lacking, but there’s nothing a good training session can’t fix.”

Taehyun x fem!reader x Hueningkai

genre: office au, smut, fluff

word count: 8.6K (me when i say js smth short and LIE)

warnings: barely proof read :3 hard dom!Taehyun, sub(ish)!Hueningkai, sub!reader, no mxm but… there’s definitely something odd happening there, shy!huening, slight jealousy, possessiveness, alcohol, dry humping, spanking, manhandling, nipple play, oral (f. rec.) pet names (honey, baby, sweet girl, angel, pup, good boy [m. rec] etc.) degrading, hair pulling (m. rec), fingering, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, degrading, praise, biting, voyeurism/exhibitionism?, masturbating, strength kink, hueningkai carries the reader once, size kink, scratching, begging, orgasm denial, unprotected sex, creampies, dacryphilia, bulge kink, big dick tyunning, phew!!! (lmk if i should add anything!)

notes: no thoughts. saw txt bank and tyunnings looks…. *__* #NEEDthat (only like 2k of plot and the rest smut… god… used to pray for times like these)

Hueningkai has always been a bit of an awkward person. It’s his biggest fault, he realizes, blessed with characteristics and looks that give him a demanding presence, aware of the lingering glances and strong impressions he leaves— and while such attention could be seen as a blessing to others, it only has him sweating and shifting uncomfortably, just as he is now as he makes his way into his new office job. 

It was all supposed to be simple; a private, indoor nine-to-five, where he sat at his desk and stared at spreadsheets all day. A job with minimal communication, something straight from his wildest, introverted dreams. Sure, his coworkers were much more sociable than expected— it was a small, tight-knit community, one that included drinks after work and invites to eat lunch together— but what hadn’t been expected whatsoever, was the loop that you would throw him in.

He’d like to think that he’s always been a composed person; knowing when to keep to himself, scurrying away from interactions he knows will leave a sour taste in his mouth later, but with you, all logic seems to be thrown out the window— and he finds himself blabbering like an idiot in front of you, stuttering through the simplest of sentences after you’ve only asked him if he’d like to join you and your fellow colleagues for drinks after work. Despite his gut screaming at him to politely decline, to make up a reason to not go and excuse himself, he finds himself giving in with one hopeful, shining look of yours. 

Never mix business and pleasure; it was a universal rule, right? So why Hueningkai found himself dawdling in front of the bathroom mirror, combing his fingers through his bangs and wiping his glasses nervously, he couldn’t quite fathom. Did his suit look okay? If he’d have known that his day would end with him going to a bar, he would’ve chosen something more breathable. He’s taken much longer than anticipated in the bathroom, and he knows that the others are still waiting for him, but he just can’t bring himself to move— his feet remained glued to the tiles, and his eyes continue to search his reflection for any imperfections, shaky fingers re-tucking his shirt in for the umpteenth time.

“Are you gonna come out? Or do you need me to hold your hand and walk you out,” the soft yelp of surprise that jumps from Hueningkai is nothing short of pitiful, whirling around and clutching onto the sink as he makes eye contact with a stone-faced Taehyun— the two regard each other in silence for a moment, and Taehyun can only watch with amusement as the tips of Hueningkai’s ears grow from a warm, honey color to a vibrant red. 

“I-I’m sorry, I was just,” he clears his throat, fixing his posture to stand at his full height, under the deceptive hopes of exuding confidence, “just touching up. Looks like I got distracted.”

He tries to crack a small smile, the action faltering after Taehyun simply gives him a once-over and nods solemnly. A dreadful silence fills the air once again, suffocating Hueningkai as he shifts his weight and clears his throat nervously. 

“You look fine,” Taehyun says, holding the bathroom door open and nodding out to where the others wait, “let’s go.”

“Ah. Of course,” Hueningkai can only keep his head bowed and his steps quick as he passes the man, only a few months older than him yet oddly intimidating, always carrying a knowing glint in his eyes that keeps him on edge. 

Taehyun follows close behind, swift steps allowing him to catch up immediately as he passes Hueningkai with a soft, coy comment that renders him speechless. 

“I’m sure ___ will appreciate you dolling yourself up for her.”

Truly, Hueningkai ponders to himself, if there’s anyone in this office that should be made fun of for pining hopelessly after you, it should be Taehyun— at least, that’s the conclusion he arrives to as he watches the older man follow you around the whole night, desperate to make you laugh and constantly glancing over at you with those big, sparkling eyes of his, lips curling up to a fond smile Hueningkai isn’t sure Taehyun is aware of himself. 

The interaction at the office is chalked up to nothing but a jealous streak. Does it bother Taehyun, watching as you continue turning your attention back to Hueningkai all night, eager to include him in the team? He may be a bit socially inept, but Hueningkai isn’t oblivious of the watchful eye Taehyun places on him, hyper aware of his stare whenever he tries to talk and joke with you, no matter how successful the interaction— with every sweet smile and endearing laugh you let out, Hueningkai can’t help but glance over at Taehyun, only to find him already staring back. 

“How come this is the first time you’re here with us?” you ask at some point, a joyful flush lighting your face up as you sip idly on the glass of wine you ordered— you lean in curiously, a smile pulling at your lips as you observe the way Hueningkai tenses, eyes following his adam’s apple that bobs nervously. “I’ve been wanting to see you out here with the rest of the team, but you’d always refuse.” 

Your words are a bold jab that sends Huenginkai’s mind into a jumbling malfunction— it’s clear your choice was deliberate, and his mouth dries at the fact that you wanted him here. No matter how hard he fights it, a soft blush rises to his cheeks. 

“W-well, I suppose I was just… nervous.” he says, eyes darting away from you, trying to avoid that amused curl of your lips, the way your eyes sparkle and observe him carefully, clearly enjoying his reactions, “I’m still a bit new here, after all. I just wanted to get to know everyone better before I accepted.”

“Well, what better way to get to know each other than outside of work?” you ask, glancing around the bar, at your scattered coworkers that chat away in their own little bubbles. Hueningkai watches as your eyes light up mischievously, scooting closer so you can pull your final test to his resilience; your hand is hot as it lands just above his knee, placing your weight on it as you lean in to murmur in his ear.

“I’d love to get more familiar with you— and if the bar isn’t your favorite, I know of a better place we can talk.”

Before you can gauge Hueningkai’s reaction or give him a chance to respond, a call of your name takes you two apart— Hueningkai can only stare off into the distance, lost in a trance as you send Taehyun a bright smile, hopping off the barstool as he beckons you over to where he stands. It takes Hueningkai a few minutes before he can finally bring himself to move. 

“You’re quite curious about the new kid, aren’t you?” Taehyun asks, tilting his head curiously as he observes your reaction closely— you merely wave him off with a sheepish laugh, taking another sip of your drink before you answer. 

“It’s the first time I’ve seen him agree to come out with us— I wanted to make him feel included.”

“You’re so sweet,” he coos, leaning in and lowering his voice, eyes flickering off to a point over your shoulder, “I’m sure he feels real included with the way you smother him with your attention.”

“Awh, don’t get jealous,” you grin, biting back a grin at the way he closes in on you, not caring whether your coworkers see or not, “I’ve got plenty of my attention to go around.”

“Do you really?” he asks, his eyes intense as he holds your stare, “is that why you keep running back and forth between the two of us tonight?”

“Well, it’d be much easier for all of us to get along, no?” you say, doe eyes innocently sparkling with your question, “but I’m afraid you might just bite his head off every time you interact with him.”

“Actually, that’s not really true,” Taehyun corrects quietly, leaning in to murmur into your ear after you’ve sent him a confused look.

“I can be quite good at sharing, you know.”

The thrill of his sentence is like a spark of electricity sent down your spine. You allow his words to hang in the air, the proposal something that will either hold true or crumble like sand in your grip, and when you take a step back to look Taehyun in the eye, you’re met with just the thing you needed; a firm, bold stare, burning with an intensity that begs to be provoked.

When you reach out to take his hand, a haste gesture that’s returned by interlocked fingers and a tight grip, a satisfied smile snakes onto your lips; the two of you are swift as you weave through the crowd and back to the lonesome figure at the bar. 

The cocktail that Hueningkai has been nursing since the beginning of the night is watered down and has left a ring of condensation on the table. People watching can only be entertaining for so long before he’s itching to leave, having socialized enough to leave his battery drained for the rest of the week— the only thought on his mind now is to find you and say goodbye, but it seems as though the crowd has swallowed you whole. Just when he thinks it might be best to slip out wordlessly while he still can, a gentle hand lands on his shoulder. 

“Hope you weren’t thinking about running away,” you giggle softly, as though the mere idea of it were ridiculous— Hueningkai is spinning in his seat to face you, the relieved smile on his face tensing as he takes in the guest that you’ve brought along; but when Taehyun’s eyes lock with his, he can only find mischief swimming within, as though laughing at a joke Hueningkai had yet to be let in on. 

“It’s so crowded here, don’t you think?” you ask, refusing to address the bystander to your conversation, “It’s impossible to talk in here— let's step outside, I’m sure it’s better out there.”

Before he can realize the weight of his decision, Hueningkai nods and stands to his feet— anything to get out of this stifling environment, he thinks; maybe this way he can finally bid you goodbye and go rest.

It’s getting late— I think it’s best I head home now. Thank you for inviting me, I had a wonderful time with you. 

Simple, concise. Rehearsed. 

It was all thrown out the window the moment you batted those pretty eyes at him, grabbed his hand so gently— as though afraid you’d lose him if you didn’t handle him carefully. 

No— the moment you opened that perfect mouth of yours, used that gentle voice to lure him back to your place, had that been the moment Hueningkai was supposed to enforce self-restraint and turn you down? When you were already so close, your scent muddling his senses and your lips shining with that sticky gloss that shone obscenely under the street lights?

If it was, then Hueningkai was doomed from the start. 

“F-fuck, please, I can’t—” that skirt is truly a blessing in disguise, Hueningkai thinks to himself; tight in just the right ways, riding up your thighs and allowing your panties to peek through the pantyhose you wear, both equally soaked through as you grind pitifully into Taehyun’s lap.

“Hmm? Can’t take anymore?” Taehyun coos sweetly, bringing a heavy hand down to your ass and smiling at the way you yelp from the impact; his fingertips dig through the fabric and into your flesh, only hiking your skirt up more as he guides you over his covered cock— setting the pace, guiding you to press harder onto him, to feel his length rutting against your aching cunt. 

“Don’t you wanna give our intern a little show, honey?” he asks, looking over your shoulder and at the aforementioned man— the epitome of a mess, really, his face flushed and his eyes wide as he watches you rut hopelessly into Taehyun, a wet spot only growing on his gray slacks where you hump him mindlessly. 

“Wanna show him how it’s done?” he continues, leaving slow kisses along the column of your neck, listening to the way you gasp and plead for more, “teach him how to make a cute thing like you feel good?”

“Yes, yes yes yes,” you breathe, grabbing onto his neatly pressed button up with desperation, clutching it in your fists to tug him closer to you; glancing over your shoulder, you can only let out a weak whimper as your low-lidded eyes meet Hueningkai’s, a new wave of desperation washing over you as you press your leaking cunt further against Taehyun’s length. “Please, make me feel good.”

Such good manners, Hueningkai noted to himself, begging the way you do— that sweet, vulnerable tone, the break in your voice— how could they ever turn a request like that down?

You’re so soft— the feeling of your skin against his is an addicting sensation, running his palms up and down your torso like a fool as he hovers over you, lips glued to yours desperately; it’s a sloppy, sad excuse of a kiss, your swollen lips parted as Hueningkai drinks in your moans, feels the way spit pools at the corners of your lips, cooing soft praise as his hands reach up to grab your breasts— fingers pulling and tweaking your nipples teasingly to get you to squirm and squeal, just as he’d been shown— the gasp of Hueningkai’s name against his lips is enough to have him smiling in satisfaction.

“Pretty thing’s been toying with us all night,” Taehyun says sweetly, watching the two of you part and gasp for air— his eyes travel from the string of saliva that connects you two to the fucked out expression you don, dazed eyes barely holding eye contact with him as he smiles— his gaze then trails off to the nervous intern before him, head cocking to the side at the way he awkwardly continues to grip onto your waist, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your skin as a way to mask his restlessness. 

“And you’ve been teasing this poor boy so badly too, can’t you see how wound up you have him?” his teeth dig into his bottom lip, biting back a smile at the sight of you diligently turning back to the man in question, listening to the quiet whine he lets out, “Why don’t you give him a reward for being so patient with you?”

The two of you can only squirm and obey as Taehyun directs you two— his mere presence is domineering, his voice a firm command that finds you shifting nervously as Hueningkai stares down at your dripping pussy, mouth agape and thin glasses slipping low on his nose as he takes you in, as though it’s the last time he’ll ever get you like this. 

Your sheer stockings have been slipped off, tight pencil skirt bunched at your hips to reveal just how needy you’ve become— Hueningkai could only watch with awe as Taehyun slipped off your lacy panties, a string of your arousal clinging on and leaving a wet spot on the fabric; a tinge of jealousy hit him as Taehyun pocketed the item swiftly, desperate to keep such an intimate part of you with him as well. 

“What, are you just gonna stare like an idiot?” Taehyun asks, startling the youngest out of his daze— his lips press together, adam’s apple bobbing nervously as his eyes flit from your swollen clit, your slit that glistens and leaks slick that dribbles down your hole and onto your sheets— and his eyes flicker back to Taehyun before he can stop and think, watching as the older merely scoffs in disbelief. 

“Oh baby, is this what you were chasing around the whole night?” Taehyun says to you, hovering his lips over yours, pouting mockingly at the way you whine and plead incoherently, “just a dumb pup that doesn’t know the first thing about making a girl feel good?” 

Hueningkai’s face feels like it’s on fire, and it definitely reflects on his skin that glows a brilliant red, eyes widening at the things Taehyun spews about him to you— a determination to prove him wrong fires up within, and before he can second guess himself, he wraps his hands around your thighs and pulls you closer. 

“Mhh, look at that,” Taehyun says, cupping your cheek sweetly, watching as your eyebrows furrow and your mouth falls open to let out a soft moan, “that’s a start.”

Hueningkai’s movements are soft and shaky, so gentle you’d almost miss it if you weren’t so needy— his tongue is warm as it presses against your clit, hesitant before it flicks up and feels the way you twitch; it slowly becomes a steady motion, soft kitten licks that have your cunt clenching around nothing, hips grinding down in search of more. 

“Not enough, huh?” Taehyun practically reads your mind, not having to wait for a response as he reaches down and tangles his fingers roughly into Hueningkai’s hair— he watches as the man jolts, peeking up through his lashes to look at the other in panic; when Taehyun’s grip tightens and pulls on the long locks, his eyes flutter shut and a small groan rumbles in his chest. 

“C’mon,” Taehyun chides, using his grip to guide Hueningkai’s mouth down, watching as his tongue lolls against your hole before pushing him forward, smushing his face firmly into your pussy, “give our angel some more.” 

Hueningkai doesn’t need to be told twice— feeling your entrance clench against his tongue is enough, tasting your cunt that leaks onto him and leaves him intoxicated; he allows his tongue to slip inside, opening your walls and feeling the way you flutter around him, sucking him in and whining for more— Taehyun can only watch with a coy smile, hand continuing to guide Hueningkai’s actions as his nose is pressed against your aching clit, the hitched moan you let out enough to encourage the man between your legs.

“Shit— hah…” you’re a panting, dizzy mess, hands gripping onto the sheets as Hueningkai slowly becomes more eager; nuzzling into your cunt to dig his tongue in further, pretty nose pressed into your clit and hot muscle curling into your walls, feeling the way your thighs shake and tense with his movements— not allowed to pull away either, Taehyun’s firm grip on his hair keeping him pressed against you and moaning into your cunt. 

“Kai…” you slur out, hips jumping at the way he hums against your pussy, attempting to look up though his fogged lenses and failing— the sound of your broken voice enough to have him imagining the flustered expression on your face, cock twitching at the mere thought. 

“Need more…” you plead softly, eyes fluttering shut as his fingertips dig into the plush of your thighs, pushing up and throwing your legs over his broad shoulders, “please, wanna feel your fingers…”

You hear Taehyun let out a chuckle at your request— but you pay it no mind, whining desperately and grinding your hips down in hopes that Hueningkai will listen— and though the loss of his mouth on you has you ready to whine and complain, the feeling of his long fingers pushing in shortly after has all thoughts dying in an instant. 

“Oh my god…” it isn’t just you that’s gasping and moaning in surprise— Hueningkai’s mouth continues to spill curses as he feels your warm walls envelope him, lithe fingers slipping further inside and curling curiously against the spongy spot against his fingertips— feeling you jolt with a sharp cry, he knows he’s discovered something good. 

“Such pretty sounds,” Taehyun mumbles, drinking in your expressions before he’s glancing back down at Hueningkai, “but I know you can be louder for us, baby.”

Hueningkai’s fingers that have begun a steady pace are joined by his plump lips that circle your clit and begin to suck on it harshly— if it hadn’t been for Taehyun, Hueningkai would’ve been content watching your hole soak his digits, a thick ring of cum pooling at his knuckles as he continues to thrust against spots you never thought existed; overwhelmed by the stimulation, you can’t control the way your hips buck and twitch, hands searching for something to ground you— they find themselves intertwined with Taehyun’s soon after, feeling him give your hand a reassuring squeeze and a kiss to the back of it; you think you hear him mumbling soft praise to you, but it’s all lost as Hueningkai’s tongue continues to lap and suck at your clit.

“Tyun, Kai, I’m—” the words die on your tongue, nails digging into Taehyun’s hand as you squeeze your thighs around Hueningkai’s head, “‘m so close!” 

“Just a little more baby,” Taehyun purrs, listening to the way Hueningkai’s pace quickens, fingers pumping into your greedy cunt that squeezes him tighter, “c’mon, you can take it.”

Your eyes are squeezed shut from the pleasure, your orgasm building up to an intensity that leaves you unaware of the way Taehyun observes you carefully, drinking in every furrow of your brows, your trembling lips, the broken sob that leaves you once it all crashes down— your cunt pulses and sucks Hueningkai’s fingers in as you finally cum, a weak cry the only thing you can muster as he continues to help you ride it out, tongue lapping up the release that leaks around his fingers.

“I’ve got you, there you go sweet girl,” Taehyun coos, smiling sweetly at the way you pull him in to bury your face into his chest, clinging onto him for support— his words bringing a broken whimper out of you lips, gasping against the sturdy muscles of his chest as you calm down. 

“Kai, please…” you sob, your cunt well abused by the man’s tongue that continues to lap at you leisurely, already having cleaned his fingers and gone back for more— he’s drunk off you, humming absentmindedly against your cunt before he’s licking a long stripe along your entrance, relishing in the long whine you give him as he flicks his tongue on your clit, “please, no more— ‘m sensitive…”

He’s reluctant, only giving in after Taehyun forcibly grabs his hair and tugs him off— through bleary eyes, you take in his fogged, crooked glasses and low-lidded gaze that continues to stare at your glistening pussy in wonder, slathered in a mixture of his spit and your release— he places a gentle kiss on your cunt, listening to the gasp you let out with a crooked, shy smile. 

“Sorry…” he sighs out, massaging the bruised spots of your thighs, licking his lips absentmindedly before he looks up at you, eyes wide and sparkling with doubt. “D-did… did I do okay…?”

You blink in disbelief; when you’ve gazed into his eyes and confirmed that he’s serious, you throw your head back with soft laughter, shaking your head in disbelief before looking back down at the man between your legs— you take in his flustered expression, unable to hold back the fond smile that creeps on your lips. 

“God, you really…” your leg hooks into his back, heel digging into the firm expanse as you reach down to cup his face, his eyes fluttering shut upon contact; your thumb caresses his cheekbones, reaching to adjust his frames as you sigh. “Drive me crazy. You’re perfect.”

“C’mon angel,” Taehyun coos, cupping your cheek and turning you to look at him— he’s pouting, thumb tracing your bottom lip as he speaks, pulling it down with dark eyes, “don’t forget about me, I’m here too.”

The whimper that leaves your throat is downright pathetic— your cunt clenches, tongue darting out to lick his finger, mouth obediently opening as he pushes it in; your eyes are glazed with desire as you suck on it gently, your free hand reaching up to Taehyun’s shoulder, bringing him down towards you. 

“Tyun, I need you,” you sigh out, pulling him into a soft kiss, lingering against his lips as you speak, “want you to fuck me so bad.”

Your desperate pleas leave the two stunned— Hueningkai can feel his cock twitching desperately against the sheets, watching with wide eyes as you squirm shyly, flustering at the filth that Taehyun whispers in your ear.

“Such a greedy thing,” Taehyun purrs, grinning at the way you melt immediately at his words, “was Hueningkai’s mouth not enough for you? Not satisfied?”

“N-no, that’s not true,” you interject quickly, glancing down at the man between your legs that continues to stare up at you with wide, shining eyes— then you look back at Taehyun, heating up under his condescending gaze, “just want more— wanna feel your cock, please…” 

“Yeah? Want me to show you what you’ve been missing?” he murmurs, leaning down to plant kisses against your jaw, chuckling softly at your eager nods, “want me to fuck you good in front of our intern? Show him how it’s done?” 

“Yes— please, yes—” you breathe out, mewling at the soft sucks and bites he gives you, “fuck me, I need it, want it s’bad— ah!” 

Taehyun’s teeth are sharp as they sink into the juncture of your neck, a loud keen escaping you as your back arches from the stinging sensation— his tongue is quick to soothe against it, his hand that was previously tightened against the youngest’s hair falling possessively against your waist, his glare lethal as his eyes lock with Hueningkai’s.

“You heard her,” he grumbles, coy smile tugging at his lips as he nods over to the chair that’s placed by the window, “now be a good boy and go watch over there.”

Taehyun’s jealous streak is alive and well; Hueningkai is happily resigned to sit back and watch as Taehyun kneels between your legs, heavy cock leaking against your pussy as he ruts his cockhead against your clit, the two of you too lost in each other’s lips to do anything about it— he watches with furrowed brows as you whine and mewl at the stimulation, hips jumping with need every time his tip teases your entrance; catching on it, just enough to slip in for a moment before it slips out again. 

The noise that leaves your mouth when Taehyun finally enters you has Hueningkai closing his eyes and trying his best to not cum on the spot— his hand that had previously been wrapped around his weeping cock is still, squeezing his base as he watches Taehyun stretch you out slowly— your teary eyes jump from Taehyun’s face to Hueningkai’s, mouth falling open to let out another pretty moan as Taehyun bottoms out inside you, hips glued to yours. 

“Shit… you’re so tight,” Taehyun groans, throwing his head back at your wet walls that continue to flutter around him, trying to suck him in deeper; looking back down at you, he smiles, taking in your wandering eyes as he glances over at your point of interest. 

“You enjoying this?” he teases, thrusting his hips shallowly to pull another whine out of you, feeling the way you clench even tighter around him, “like having him watch you like this?”

“Yes, nngh, fuck—!” you gasp, words stuck in your throat as Taehyun slowly pulls out of you, until his leaking tip is the only thing your cunt can ache around— you jump as he bottoms out in you with one harsh, swift thrust; when your glistening eyes meet Taehyun’s, you’re met with that familiar, dangerous glint in his shining pupils. 

“Then be a good girl and show him how good you feel.” 

Your mind is nothing but a melted puddle in your head; your eyes have rolled to the back of your skull, mouth fallen open as you lay there and let Taehyun use you just how he wants— thick cock battering into your walls harshly, calloused hands holding onto your waist to keep you close, hips angled up so he can fuck into you better— it’s so good, you’ve never been fucked like this before, nothing but a pretty doll for Taehyun to use in order to reach his peak, brows knitted and eyes zoned in on every expression you make, cock twitching at every moan and cry of his name. 

God, all this time working together in the office, yet you never took note of Taehyun’s physique; his suit always tailored to perfection, just enough to fit but not enough to show what was hiding underneath— you’re stuck in a trance as you watch the way his stomach clenches with every thrust, abs glistening from the sweat that runs down his body, your legs wrapping around his small waist to pull you closer; his body feels so firm under your hands, grabbing onto his biceps and crying at the way he fucks you into the mattress, his quiet, deep voice murmuring filth into your ears as he angles his cock just right, finding your sweet spot with ease— listening to the way you squeal and press your hands against his chest, gasping that it’s too much; when you feel him smile against your lips, you know you’ve fucked up. 

“Too much?” he mocks, slowing his pace, listening to the way you whine— only to shudder and tuck your face into his neck, pussy clenching at the way he’s bottomed out inside you, rolling his hips so slowly and deeply— pressing you further into the bed, chest pressing against yours and trapping you under him as he huffs, “we can’t stop now, baby— Hueningie’s enjoying the show too much.”

Like clockwork, you glance over Taehyun’s shoulder and at the man who remains seated, watching— and Taehyun can feel the way you gush around him, pussy so slick and stuffed that you have no other choice but to let it leak out and soil your sheets— because really, the sight is to die for. 

His tie has been loosened, his blazer shrugged off— his shirt is unbuttoned halfway, heaving chest peeking out and glistening with sweat— his hair is ruffled, glasses hanging low on his nose, and when your eyes meet his, you feel trapped; he’s entirely fucked out, his neediness conveyed with a single glance— when your eyes begin to wander back down, you can’t help the whine that leaves your swollen lips. 

“Hyuka,” you cry, fingers digging into Taehyun’s shoulders as he continues to fuck you deep, holding onto your thigh to keep you close; you can’t keep your eyes off the way Hueningkai continues to fuck into his fist, matching the rhythm as slick sounds emit from the cum that leaks out of his needy tip, droplets falling onto his hands that continue to grip tightly around his length— you watch as he swipes a thumb over the slit of his cockhead, a whimper falling from your lips at the way his hips buck and his cock twitches; you think your mouth started watering.

“Greedy girl,” Taehyun chides, propping himself up on his elbows, taking your chin in his hands and forcing you to turn back to look at him— your eyes glisten as they meet his harsh gaze, stomach flipping at the intensity as he tuts disappointedly at you. 

“Drooling over him while I’m here,” he punctuates his words with a calculated thrust to your sweet spot, listening to the choked moan you let out with a satisfied smile, “fucking you this good.”

“‘m sorry,” you mumble breathlessly, fingers digging into his back, feeling another orgasm beginning to build up, “‘m sorry Tyunnie, please don’t stop— please, I’m so close…”

Listening to your mindless rambles, he lets out a breathy chuckle— only to grab your thighs, bringing them up and throwing them over his shoulders, watching the way you melt at the new angle— and he lets out a soft groan, feeling his own high approaching with the way you continue to clench around him so tightly. 

“Yeah, that’s right,” he breathes out, hands that were holding onto your thighs now bringing them down toward your chest, practically folding you as your eyes roll back, mouth falling open as he presses his weight against you, thick cock bottoming out and reaching in deep, hitting the spots that make you gasp and yelp— he’s leaning down to press his weight against you, pushing you into the mattress as he rolls his hips and angles himself to hit your sweet spot; his hand leaves your thigh, reaching down to circle your clit, and you shudder with a broken cry, “got you falling apart on my cock— fuck, and you’re still looking over at him.” 

“I’m close,” you gasp, hands reaching for his shoulders, nails digging into his skin and leaving marks, “oh my god, I’m so close, please, just like that—”

“Gonna cum?” he whispers, the mischief in his tone lost on you as you nod, “tell me how sorry you are. Maybe then I’ll let you cum.”

You’re snapped out of your daze the moment you feel everything stop— his cock pressed deep into you, his fingers that lay still on your clit, the weight of his body heavy as you look into his eyes, only to be met with his heated, expectant stare.

“‘m sorry…” you mutter meekly, cunt clenching and gushing around his thick length desperately, only to be met with his low grumble that asks you for what?  “‘m sorry for ignoring you— sorry for making you wait—” 

“Should be sorry,” Taehyun interrupts with a breathy laugh, throwing your head back at the way he begins to thrust into you again, deep and agonizingly slow, “took forever to finally get you like this— and now I have to fight for your attention?”

Hueningkai watches you shake your head fervently, in awe as you roll your hips against Taehyun’s, desperate for more— his cock pulses in his hand, slick with cum that continues to leak, eyes wide behind his glasses in fear of missing anything— he watches you react instantly to Taehyun’s motions, his hand circling your clit roughly as he begins to pound into you again, your body bouncing from the weight of each thrust, punching out moans from you.

“You really wanna cum that bad?” Taehyun mocks, feeling the way your cunt clenches around him— he looks down at where his cock disappears inside you, shining from your arousal, the wet squelching that comes with every thrust enough to have you heating up from embarrassment; but Taehyun thinks otherwise, etching the sight into his mind as his cock twitches and aches for more— your breathy voice that slurs out pleas is the only thing that breaks him from his trance. 

“Tell me who’s making you feel so good,” he growls, feeling his climax creeping up on him, mean thrusts turning sloppy, “c’mon baby, lemme hear you.”

“It’s you— fuck, ngh— fucking me so good, ah!” your stomach tightens, feeling Taehyun’s large hands splay over it, pressing down and making you feel his length that continues to fuck into you— his thumb is persistent on your clit, your body growing restless from the stimulation, “god, love your cock— you’re so good, wanna cum, need you to cum—!”

Your pleas have Taehyun closing his eyes with a hissed out curse, concentrating on making you cum before him— Hueningkai can only watch from his spot, gulping thickly as he takes everything in; your nails that dig into Taehyun’s shoulders, trembling hands slipping and running down his muscled back, leaving bright red marks in their wake— Taehyun’s cock that continues to ram into you, picking up his pace and pressing you further into the bed as you cry and whine that you’re close, face screwed up in pleasure— Hueningkai has to stop his own motions all together, biting down on his lip at the ebbing pain of his denied orgasm; his eyes flicker between your face and your pussy, both sights equally entrancing as he listens to your peak approach. 

“I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna—!” you whine, words lost on your tongue as you bury your face into Taehyun’s chest— your words are muffled, but they still reach Taehyun’s ears, “please cum inside me, want you to fill me up, please please please—”

“Fuck,” Taehyun hisses sharply, feeling you crash down with a loud moan, cunt creaming around him, “fuck, such a good girl— gonna fill you up, make you mine, pump you full of my cum—”

Taehyun’s hips have a mind of his own as he rides out his high, hand on your stomach continuing to press down even after you’ve begun to cry from the sensitivity, thick cum pumping inside you until it can no longer stay inside— you can only lay there and take everything Taehyun gives you as he calms down, hips coming to a stop as they press flush against yours; right when he thinks his arms might give out on him, he sits back, looking at your spent, sweating body with a triumphant smile. 

“So pretty,” he coos, caressing your face lovingly, watching you nuzzle into his palm with a tired sigh, “tired?”

“Mh-hmm,” you say softly, looking as though you might doze off any second now— you flinch at the sensation of Taehyun pulling out, the said man watching with hungry eyes as his cum slowly begins to pool out of your fluttering hole; he looks back up at you, tutting softly as he gives your cheek a playful pat. 

“That’s too bad,” he hums, your eyes fluttering open just enough to see him get off the bed, nodding over to where Hueningkai remains, “cause you’re not done yet.”

You whine, legs closing and thighs rubbing together nervously, but Taehyun is having none of it as he scoffs mockingly. 

“What happened to our greedy girl?” he asks, your stomach flipping at his words, “our little intern here hasn’t had his turn with you yet— I’m sure he can’t wait to show you what he learned.”

“Right, Kai?”

The exhaustion from your previous orgasm seems to have gotten to you— because with a mere blink of your eyes, you find Hueningkai hovering above you, gazing through bleary eyes as he begins to unbutton his shirt, staring at you with a desperation more intense than before; his hands are deft as they unbutton his pants, pulling them off with a swift motion and feeling your eyes immediately fall onto his weeping, blushing cock—  you’re quiet, allowing him to loom over you and pry your thighs apart, situating himself between them until his cock is resting over your mound, leaking and twitching against your stomach; you think you see him gulp, eyes running over your spent body as he clears his throat softly. 

“Do you think you can take more?” he quietly asks, hesitant to do anything yet unable to stop the way his cocks ruts softly against the softness of your stomach, “we can stop if you want us to.”

Immediately, you shake your head no— your hand reaches down to where his cock rests, feeling his breath hitch as your fingers trace around his cockhead, pressing into his slit— his eyes are wide as they meet yours, melting at the pout you give him. 

“No, wanna feel you,” you say, taking a hold of his length, slapping it against your stomach to watch the way it sticks, “want you to fill me up with your cum.”

His lips press together in shock, a broken whimper creeping out his throat— he’s trying his hardest not to cum, your mere touch enough to have him close. Pulling away— somewhat reluctantly— from your hold, he grabs his cock and lines it up with your sopping entrance; the sight of it leaking with Teahyun’s cum has his cock twitching in his hand, pressing it carefully against your fluttering hole. 

“Shit, you’re so warm…” he groans, watching his thick tip push slowly into you, the mixture of release coating his length as he eases himself inside— soft walls pulse around him, cum seeping out your entrance and coating his pelvis that remains pressed flush to yours; he watches your eyes widen and turn blank, a sharp gasp falling from you the moment he bottoms out. 

“Oh— you’re so…” words fall short, feeling his cock twitch inside you, his tip nudging against the deepest spots you never knew were there— you think you might feel him against your cervix, the stretch and length of him leaving your mind empty— “fuck… Kai… you’re so big…” 

The words have him shivering— his chest is flushing from all the attention, only able to stare down at you in awe as he feels your cunt adjust to his size; sensing his unsurety, you roll your hips against his and send him your signature, pleading look. 

“Kai, please,” you moan, reaching up to grab his hands and placing them on your hips, “just use me— just wanna make you feel good.”

The phrase just use me has Hueningkai’s brain short-circuiting; with one last look at you— your sweaty, spent body, thighs shining with slick and eyes fluttering with the last bit of coherency you have— he groans, fingers digging into your waist and pulling you right into him; the yelp you let out at feeling him nudge into you cervix falls on deaf ears, and Hueningkai allows himself to get lost in your dripping cunt. 

His hips snap into you, thick cock slamming into your sensitive, used walls— you can merely cry and wail as you allow him to chase his pleasure, teary eyes taking in his dark eyes that remain glued to your cunt, watching himself disappear inside you; thick, creamy ring forming around his length, the wet sounds that come from your cunt and the weak clenches you give him with every  thrust— it’s intoxicating, so much that he hasn’t realized how loud his moans and grunts have become. 

“Y-you’re… so beautiful…” he whines, grabbing your hips and raising them into the air, just so he can have easier access to you— snapping his hips harsher into you, deep and cruel as he finds your sweet spot with an accidental, sloppy spot; listening to you keen and scramble to grab the sheets, his eyes narrow in concentration to find it again— and when he finally does, he doesn’t let up. 

“Kai, kai kai—” you whine out, tears pricking your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure; your brain is fogged and your cunt can only let itself be abused, squelching and leaking even more cum that dribbles down your ass and onto the sheets; it's a filthy, pathetic mess, and you feel Taehyun’s amused gaze on the two of you all the while, “Kai, please— agh, it’s too much!”

But even if the overstimulation has your body on fire, the last thing you want is for him to stop— Hueningkai seems to be on the same page as you, merely groaning at the tears that slip from your eyes, leaning down to hover over you and press you into the mattress, just as Taehyun had done before— carefully, he reaches out to cup your face, thumb wiping the tears from your eyes away. He leans down to give you a brief, sloppy kiss, pulling away to pant against your mouth. 

“‘m sorry, sorry baby,” he weakly says, out of breath as he continues to rut his cock into you wildly, “please, just a bit more— just give me a little more, ‘m so close, c’mon.”

With every wail and mewl you give him, a soft apology is whispered against your skin— plump lips kissing your tears away, burrowing his head into your neck as he murmurs that he can’t stop, sorry— his hands gripping onto your hips to ensure that you don’t squirm away from him, even if he continues to abuse your most sensitive spots. 

The line between pleasure and pain has blurred long ago, leaving you a sobbing, babbling mess as you continue to let Hueningkai use you, the man pressing his body against yours and successfully trapping you beneath him; your nipples rub against his firm chest, hands clawing at his broad shoulders, leaving marks with every harsh thrust that sends you reeling. He’s big in every sense of the word— overpowering you, covering your sight with his body and keeping you in whatever position he’d like with his mere hands— his grip is steady on your waist, making sure to keep you as close to his hips as possible, whether it be by angling your body differently or using his strength as leverage to fuck you against him— a little toy for him to use, your body nothing but a means to get him to cum. 

“Ah, your pussy’s so good,” he groans, looking down between your legs, curiosity getting the best of him as he reaches down to feel against your stomach, brows furrowing at the bulge he feels— then he presses down, the pressure making your breath hitch. “you’re sucking me in so good— you’re so tight, ‘m sorry, I just can’t get enough of you—”

“Kai” is all you can cry out, thighs beginning to twitch and your hips jumping with shocks of overstimulation, “Kai, hurts, can’t take it…” 

“Yes you can,” Taehyun speaks up, seeing through your lies with an amused smile, “c’mon angel, just a little more— don’t you wanna feel good? Hmm? Wanna feel him fill you up?” 

You whimper, unable to respond— his hand that was previously feeling the way his cock slipped in and out of you through your stomach wandered down, finding your clit and beginning to massage it gently; feeling you clamp down on him, Hueningkai moans, his high beginning to approach dangerously. 

“Just be a good girl and let him use you a little longer,” Taehyun says, watching fondly as your face twists with concentration, trying your best to keep up with the man that continues to abuse your cunt, “that’s it— just a little more…”

“‘m so close,” Hueningkai breathes out, thrusts becoming sloppy and his fingers on your clit becoming frantic, “can you give me one more? Wanna feel you cum on my cock, please baby.”

“Mhh, ‘s too much—” you gasp, a sudden pleasure beginning to seize your body, back arching and hips rolling in search of it— Hueningkai sees it immediately, putting in his last efforts to ram into your sweet spot, sweat running down his neck as he concentrates to not cum before you, “wait— wait, think ‘m gonna—!” 

Your peak crashes onto you unexpectedly, a rush of strength making you pull Hueningkai down as you bury your face into his neck, legs wrapping around his waist, cunt throbbing and tightening around his cock; Hueningkai is following immediately after, a long, broken whine leaving his lips as he lets his hips lose rhythm, rutting and pressing as deep as they can; hot, thick ropes of cum fill your already stuffed pussy, but the man above you is stubborn as he continues to fuck it back into you, fingers collecting anything that slips out and pushing it back in alongside his cock— the sensation has you gasping and clawing at his back. 

“Alright you two, that’s enough,” Taehyun’s firm voice is startling as Hueningkai jumps away from you, cock still buried inside as he finally takes in your broken state with wide, bewildered eyes— when he looks over at Taehyun, the elder merely chuckles. 

“She’s fine,” he says, cupping your cheek and leaning down to give you a chaste kiss, smiling at the way you blindly chase his lips, “she’ll be sore tomorrow, but she’ll be okay.”

Gesturing for Hueningkai to pick you up, he nods over to your bathroom down the hall. 

“C’mon, let's go clean up,” two of you— or rather, Hueningkai, with you limp in his hold— follow diligently, and a part of you wonders if the moment will come where the three of you address this strange dynamic. 

But with the way these two act so unphased, you think you might know what the answer might be. 

 ◦◦◦ 

“You barely touched your lunch today,” Taehyun frowns, slipping your jacket on for you as you prepare to leave the empty office, the said lunchbox in your hand and your bag in the other, “was Hueningkai’s cooking that bad?” 

“Hey, of course it wasn’t,” you scold, smacking his chest, ignoring the way his eyes darken at the action— you glance behind you and at the said man that’s just finished shutting down his computer, slipping his blazer back on and looking up at where the two of you wait— the smile he sends you is innocent, making your stomach twinge with guilt at Taehyun’s comment, “I was just so worried about the presentation this Friday, I guess I just lost my appetite.”

“My poor baby,” Taehyun pouts, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you in for a gentle kiss, “you’ve been working so hard this past month, I’m sure it’s gonna turn out great.”

“What happened?” Hueningkai is last to arrive at the scene, taking in the furrow of your brows with a worried frown. “Everything okay?”

“No, you’re starving our baby here because of your terrible cooking,” Taehyun chides, breaking into a grin as you gasp and hit his chest once more, “she barely touched the lunch you gave her.”

“That’s not true!” you gape, escaping Taehyun’s hold to run over to him, “oh my god, don’t listen to him!” 

“Was it really that bad?” he pouts down at you, puppy eyes glistening as he listens to you stutter through your explanation, placing gentle hands on your hips, “I woke up extra early this morning to make it for you.”

“Kai, of course not,” you stress, cupping his face and peppering kisses all over it— the tip of his nose, his cheekbones, his cupid’s bow— completely unaware of the way the two fight back mischievous smiles, “I love your cooking— I love you, love that you’re so sweet and make me lunch.”

“Then, how come you didn’t finish it?” Taehyun asks, sneaking up behind you to wrap his arms around your middle, placing his head on your shoulder, “so ungrateful… maybe we need to teach you a lesson, hmm?”

He places a soft kiss on your jaw, feeling you tense the moment you catch on to their scheme— you glance up at Hueningkai for help, only to find him staring back at you with unforgiving, sulky puppy eyes. 

“I think we should,” Hueningkai agrees, bottom lip jutting out cutely as Taehyun continues to kiss and nip at your neck, “you’re so mean, honey.”

Your mouth falls open in shock, unable to do anything but let the two men grab your hands and lead you out— their discussion on who’s place to go to doesn't process in your mind, and all you can think is that you fell into their trap, good. 

“Oh, you guys are so…” you mumble, still speechless as they turn to look at you— you turn from Taehyun’s dark, teasing gaze to Hueningkai’s playful one, shaking your head in disbelief, “terrible.”

You can’t help but think back to a few months ago— Huenignkai’s shy, flustered personality, Taehyun’s hopelessness and his silent jealousy— and you can’t help but wonder what monsters you’ve turned your boys into.

Hueningkai reaches to give your hip a loving squeeze— Taehyun chuckles, bringing your hand up so he can give it a kiss. “Save it for the bedroom, love.”

Oh, you’re in for a long night. 

[reidmarieprentiss]

Life With Spencer

Part Two

Summary: Living life with Spencer, ups, downs, firsts, and hopefully -- lasts.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, smut (18+)

Warnings/Includes: vomiting, food poisoning, talking about puking, smut (18+), sooo in love, awkward/real-life scenarios, visiting Diana, Derek being an instigator as always, no real timeline - they been dating for like two years…, this one is pretty smutty!!! and all the smut is Derek's fault so say thank you to Derek Morgan

Word count: 21.5k

a/n: y'all i was quickkkkkk wit it this time i am so obsessed with this idea and this spencer you have no idea,,, it is just flowing out of me like word vomit frrrrr and thank you all SO SO SO MUCH FOR ALL OF THE LOVE ON THE LAST ONE YOU GUYS KEEP ME GOING MUAH MUAH MUAH

main masterlist part one

It was a rare, sunny afternoon, and you were out in the world—something you didn’t always have the energy or time for, especially lately. But today had started slow and soft. Spencer had asked if you wanted to get breakfast with Penelope and Derek, and you’d agreed, mostly because he looked so hopeful when he asked and because Penelope always made you feel like a beloved member of a secret club.

The four of you had snagged a table at a small café tucked between bookstores and flower shops, the kind of place Spencer liked because the menu had locally sourced teas and the tables didn’t wobble.

He was waiting at the counter now, patiently awaiting collecting your drink orders, always double-checking them before passing them off—yours with coconut milk, Penelope’s with extra foam, Derek’s with exactly one sugar. Spencer Reid, your attentive, overthinking, wonderful boyfriend, was doing what he always did: quietly taking care of the people he loved.

And then it happened.

Derek, mid-laugh, glanced up toward the counter—and his smile froze. His eyebrows raised slightly. Then he leaned over to Penelope and nudged her arm with the subtlety of a wrecking ball.

“PG. Look at that.”

Penelope turned, and you did too, instincts kicking in. And there she was.

A woman, maybe a few years older than you, statuesque and striking in a very deliberate way. Hair was perfectly blown out, posture was impossibly confident, and the toned arms on full display in a sleeveless top. She was leaning just a little too close to Spencer. Smiling a little too warmly.

You watched her tuck a strand of hair behind her ear as she said something that made Spencer glance up, polite and unaware. He smiled at her—your smile, the one that made your stomach flip when it was yours and yours alone—and nodded, clearly answering a question she’d asked. Then she touched his forearm. Lightly. Casually. Familiar in a way that made your blood stir.

You blinked.

And then it hit.

First—insecurity.

Because, yes, she was gorgeous. Her body was lean and graceful, her face radiant in that effortless, magazine-cover kind of way. She looked like someone who wore SPF, drank green juice, and knew how to contour. And you… well, you were you. You didn’t always remember to put on mascara, let alone exude that kind of practiced poise.

Then—jealousy.

That she would walk right up to your man as if he was available. As if his warm smile and gentle demeanor were an invitation to flirt, to try, to touch. As if you didn’t exist.

And then, surprisingly—pride.

Because, of course, someone would flirt with him. Have you seen him? Spencer was gorgeous. Tall, with soft eyes and messy hair and long, delicate fingers that fluttered when he talked about anything he loved. He radiated thoughtfulness. Of course, people noticed.

Finally—impressed.

You couldn’t even be mad at her confidence. The way she approached him without hesitation. That kind of boldness took guts. To see a man in public and think, Yes. Him, and then go for it? You almost wanted to applaud her. Almost.

Penelope leaned over and whispered, “Do you want me to cause a distraction? I could pretend to faint. Or drop a scone.”

You shook your head, lips curving into a slow smile. “No… let’s see how long it takes him to figure out what’s happening.”

Derek snorted. “You think he will? I’ve seen this man miss someone flirting with him while literally being given their phone number.”

Spencer turned, drink tray in hand, the woman still beside him, clearly not finished making her case.

But the moment his eyes found you—only you—his entire face softened. He smiled like he always did like he couldn’t believe he got to walk toward you.

And just like that, all the swirling feelings calmed.

Because she might’ve approached him, but Spencer? He was already yours.

“Okay, I have the drinks!” Spencer announced brightly, carefully balancing the cardboard tray in his hands as he approached the table. His voice carried that classic, slightly too-loud enthusiasm that meant he was proud of himself for not spilling anything on the walk over.

He looked so pleased with himself—so genuinely content to be bringing everyone exactly what they ordered—that for a second, you almost forgot the scene you’d just watched unfold at the counter.

Almost.

Penelope took her drink first with a wide, performative smile. “Oh, thank you, kind sir. What ever did we do to deserve such princely service?”

Spencer blinked. “Well, statistically speaking, I owed you both a drink since I didn’t pay last time, and Derek insisted on splitting that check evenly even though he ordered an extra—”

“—thank you, Spencer,” you interrupted gently, sliding your cup from the tray and brushing your fingers over his hand with a small smile. He looked at you, caught in mid-ramble, and paused.

There it was again—that softness. That barely concealed awe. Like just looking at you slowed his entire system down.

Derek, meanwhile, was eyeing him with one raised brow, sipping his coffee like he was trying very hard not to say something smart.

But Penelope? Penelope had no such restraint.

“So,” she said sweetly, far too sweetly, “did you make a new friend while you were up there?”

Spencer blinked. “What?”

Derek coughed pointedly. “Tall glass of water, blonde hair, caressing your arm?”

Spencer looked genuinely confused. “There was a woman next to me—she asked what kind of milk they used. I told her about the non-dairy options and suggested oat milk for a smoother foam. Why?”

Penelope let out a strangled little laugh and buried her face in her cup. Derek outright guffawed.

You just smiled. So wide and fond and helplessly in love.

Spencer looked around, increasingly suspicious. “Did… did she say something weird?”

“She was flirting with you, baby,” you said gently like you were explaining a very complex concept to a very sweet alien.

Spencer’s mouth fell open. “What? No, she wasn’t—she asked about milk—”

“She touched your arm, man!” Derek interrupted.

“She probably just wanted to know where to stand—”

“She flipped her hair,” Penelope added with wide eyes. “Three times!”

Spencer looked at you again, a little horrified. “You… did you notice that?”

You laughed softly, wrapping your hand around his. “Yes, Spencer. I noticed.”

Spencer blinked at you for a beat longer, cheeks going warm. “…Oh.”

You leaned closer, giving him a smug little smile. “It’s okay, lover. I like that you’re oblivious. Means I never have to worry.”

Penelope beamed. Derek groaned into his coffee.

Spencer, still a little stunned, just held your hand a little tighter. “I really did just think she was curious about milk…”

You kissed his cheek. “I know, Spence. I know.”

—

“Y/N?” Spencer asked softly, his voice warm and casual as if he’d been turning the thought over in his head for a while.

“Yeah, Spence?” you replied, eyes still focused on your laptop, adjusting the spacing on the final slide of the presentation you’d been working on all morning.

“What do you want to do for your birthday?”

You paused, fingers hovering over the trackpad, and glanced toward the corner of the room. Spencer was exactly where he always ended up on your weekend workdays—curled into the armchair you’d jokingly dubbed “his spot,” legs folded underneath him, a Rubik’s cube dancing between his nimble fingers. The light from the window dappled across his curls, making him look more like a daydream than a real person.

“I hadn’t thought about it yet,” you admitted with a smile, closing your laptop slightly to give him your attention. “Why, did you have something in mind?”

Spencer didn’t look up. His eyes were locked on the colorful cube, the sound of soft plastic clicks filling the space between you. “Cancún,” he said plainly. “We could go to the Mayan ruins, and you could drink and tan on the beach while I read under an umbrella.”

It was said so matter-of-factly as if it were a logical answer to a multiple-choice question. You blinked—and then giggled, unable to help it.

“You’re serious,” you grinned.

He nodded without missing a beat, eyes still glued to the cube. “Of course. The Mayan pyramids at Chichén Itzá are among the most well-preserved examples of ancient Mesoamerican architecture. And I figured you’d enjoy a piña colada and maybe, you know…” His fingers paused just briefly as he gave you a shy glance. “Some time to relax?”

You melted a little like you always did when he tried so hard to think about you, even in the middle of his excitement. “That sounds kind of amazing.”

He shrugged. “I also looked at a couple of options closer to home in case you didn’t want to fly. But I wanted to start big.”

You stood, laptop forgotten, and made your way over to him, sliding into his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Spencer Reid,” you said, threading your fingers gently into his curls, “how long have you been planning my birthday without telling me?”

He flushed slightly. “Seventeen days. And six hours. Approximately.”

You kissed his temple, your heart blooming with affection. “You’re ridiculous.”

…

Cancún was everything.

Beautiful, in the way only a place brushed by turquoise water and painted sunsets could be. The kind of beauty that slowed your breath and made you reach instinctively for Spencer’s hand, just to make sure you were both seeing it together.

Fun, in the way that caught you off guard—like when Spencer surprised you by agreeing to dance at that beachside bar after one too many sips of some bright, fruity drink he couldn’t name, cheeks flushed and curls tousled from the wind. Or when he reluctantly joined you in the ocean and immediately lost his footing, laughing so hard he had to clutch your waist for support. More drunk on you than anything else.

Exciting, too. Walking together through the ruins of Chichén Itzá, Spencer practically vibrating with enthusiasm as he explained the alignment of El Castillo with the solstices, hands animated as he gestured toward the shadows cast by the ancient steps. You let him ramble. You loved to let him ramble. Especially when he was this alive, this bright, under a sun he claimed was “just slightly too hot for intellectual pursuits.”

But it was relaxing, too. Quiet mornings with breakfast on the balcony. Your legs draped over his lap while he read to you—sometimes history, sometimes poetry, sometimes just the resort menu aloud in Spanish with a smirk because he knew how it made you laugh.

And, of course, it was romantic. So romantic.

Stolen kisses in shaded courtyards, bare feet brushing under restaurant tables, late-night swims in the moonlight, wrapped in each other’s arms as the waves lapped softly nearby. He tucked hibiscus flowers behind your ear. You kissed sunscreen into the slope of his nose. And when you lay side by side in bed, salt still lingering on your skin, you whispered plans for the future like the stars outside the window could hear them.

Cancún was everything. But mostly, it was yours. Your time. Your memories. Your little pocket of paradise—with the person you loved most.

But all good things must come to an end, as they say. And in your case, the end came in the form of tacos.

It started off like the perfect night. You and Spencer had decided to cap off your trip with dinner at a little oceanside bar—one of those that had hammocks instead of chairs and lights strung overhead like fireflies. You ordered something that sounded incredible on the menu, something bright and spicy, and Spencer got something safe, because of course, he did.

You ate slowly, sipping a drink and watching the waves, laughing when Spencer made a face at the live music that was just slightly off-key. It had all been perfect—until it wasn’t.

The two of you had decided to take a final stroll along the beach, your sandals dangling from one hand, his fingers laced with yours as the tide whispered around your ankles.

And then you gagged.

It wasn’t dramatic at first. Just a small, subtle noise that you immediately tried to swallow down. You turned your head to the side and kept walking, squeezing his hand tighter like you could distract yourself from your own body.

Spencer noticed instantly. Of course, he did.

“Are you okay?” he asked, stopping to face you with concern already blooming in his eyes.

You nodded quickly, avoiding his gaze, your free hand pressing to your stomach like it might help keep everything inside. “Mhm. I’m fine.”

But your stomach had other plans.

The waves weren’t the only thing churning anymore. A sudden roll of nausea swept through you, violent and immediate. You froze. Then shook your head, wide-eyed and desperate.

“I—I need to go back to the room.”

Spencer didn’t hesitate. He grabbed your sandals from your hands, wrapped an arm around your shoulders, and turned you back toward the resort with a quiet, “Okay, we’re going. It’s okay.”

You felt mortified. You never threw up. Not since that one infamous night ten years ago involving too many sugary desserts and a bonfire with school friends.

But by the time you made it to the elevator, you were already gagging again, your hands shaking. Spencer pressed the buttons like a man on a mission and practically carried you down the hall.

And then… your head was in the toilet. Cold tile beneath your knees. A mess of tears and sickness and embarrassment.

You wouldn’t let Spencer even near the bathroom.

The moment he tried to follow you in, concern etched all over his face, you turned around mid-stumble and pointed a trembling, authoritative finger toward the balcony.

“Out there. Balcony. Now.”

Spencer blinked, stunned. “But I—”

“No, Spencer,” you groaned, one hand on your stomach, the other braced on the wall. “I love you. So much. But if you hear me throw up, I will have to walk into the ocean and never return.”

And before he could protest, you shut the door behind you, sealing yourself in like it was some kind of quarantine chamber. You couldn’t stand the thought of him hearing it—the retching, the gasping, the miserable sounds you hadn’t made in over a decade.

Meanwhile, Spencer stood barefoot on the balcony in the dark, completely banished like it was his fault you were sick. He pressed his palm to the cool glass of the sliding door, face full of worried confusion.

“She basically devours the goriest horror movies she can find but throws me outside for a little food poisoning,” he muttered to himself.

And yet—he stayed. Just outside the door, pacing softly, arms folded, waiting for any sign that you were okay. Because if you needed to pretend he wasn’t hearing you puke your guts out? Then he would pretend, too.

You clutched the toilet's cool porcelain like it was your only anchor, your forehead pressed to your arm, knees aching against the tile. The world was spinning in sharp little circles, and your entire body was clammy, a thin sheen of sweat coating your skin.

But then, from outside the bathroom door came the soft sound of Spencer’s voice. “Y/N?”

“Spencer!” you croaked, panicked and furious in equal measure. “NO!”

There was a pause, and you could hear the shift of his bare feet on the floor, and the rustle of his shirt as he leaned gently against the other side of the door. “Baby, it’s okay,” he said, calm and steady like he was soothing a frightened cat instead of a grown woman violently rejecting tacos. “It’s normal. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“It’s so gross!” you sobbed, barely able to catch your breath between waves of nausea and your own tears. “I’m sweaty, and—and puking, and I don’t want you to see me like this!”

There was a long silence. Not awkward. Not disappointed. Just full of Spencer’s care, humming just beneath the surface like a low, warm current.

And then, with a voice so soft it barely reached through the wood: “Sweetheart… I’ve seen humanity at its worst. But I have never, not once, thought someone I loved being sick was anything but human. You’re not gross. You’re hurting. And I want to be here for you.”

You sniffled, knuckles pressed to your lips, too ashamed to answer at first.

“I can stay out here. I will,” he continued gently. “But just… let me bring you a glass of water when you’re ready. Or a washcloth. Or a hug. You don’t have to let me in, but don’t shut me out.”

Your heart broke a little at how kind he was. And maybe it was the nausea, or maybe it was love, or maybe both—but you whimpered through the door, voice small and shaky: “I hate being vulnerable.”

And Spencer, without missing a beat, said softly, “I know. That’s why I’m so proud of you. You’re doing it anyway.”

Before you could stop it, your body lurched forward and you retched again, vomiting hard and fast—hopefully for the last time. Your throat burned, your stomach twisted, and by the time it was over, you were choking on a sob you hadn’t meant to let out.

You flushed the toilet with a shaky hand, then slid back against the wall, collapsing ungracefully onto the tile floor. Knees pulled to your chest, arms wrapped tightly around them. You were crying now—really crying—coughing between tears, breath hitching like your body didn’t know how to calm itself down.

The door creaked.

“Y/N!” Spencer’s voice was sharp with worry. “I’m coming in.”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

The door opened, and there he was—barefoot, heart pounding, hair slightly windblown from the balcony breeze, and eyes wide with panic.

He spotted you immediately, curled up on the floor, flushed and tear-streaked, the air still heavy with misery.

“Hey—hey, no, no, no,” Spencer rushed to you, dropping to his knees without a second thought. “Can I hold you?”

“I didn’t—” you hiccuped, trying to catch your breath. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”

He cupped your cheeks gently, thumbs brushing away the tears that wouldn’t stop falling. “You’re sick, not radioactive,” he whispered, forehead resting against yours. “Let me take care of you, please.”

And something in you cracked again—but this time, not from nausea or shame. This time, it was the comfort. The love. The refusal he had to let you face any of it alone.

You covered your mouth with your hand, still red-eyed and trembling. “At least let me brush my teeth,” you mumbled, voice hoarse and shaky, cheeks burning with leftover embarrassment.

Spencer immediately nodded, standing up with you in one fluid motion, his hands warm and gentle as they steadied your arms. “Yes, absolutely. That’s actually really important—”

You let out a wet, half-laugh, half-sob as he began.

“—because vomiting introduces stomach acid into your mouth, specifically hydrochloric acid, which can weaken enamel. So you should actually wait a few minutes and rinse with water first—”

“Spencer,” you croaked, even as you leaned against the counter, reaching for your toothbrush.

“Right, right,” he said softly, rubbing your back. “I’ll wait to give the lecture until you’re minty fresh.”

You couldn’t help but smile—still teary, still exhausted, but somehow lighter. Because he wasn’t there to see you at your best. He was there because he wanted to be, even when you were at your absolute worst.

“Need to be able to kiss you if you’re going to talk dirty to me,” you muttered flatly, toothbrush halfway to your mouth.

Spencer, who had just handed you a glass of water to rinse with, froze.

Then, slowly—painfully—his cheeks turned pink, that signature flush creeping all the way to the tips of his ears. He let out a surprised laugh, nearly stumbling back a step like the words had physically knocked him off balance.

“Oh my God,” he said, grinning now, visibly relieved to see a flicker of your usual spark return. “You’re definitely feeling better.”

You rinsed, spit, and wiped your mouth, finally looking at him with a tired but mischievous little smile. “Still weak. Still gross. But capable of inappropriate humor? Always.”

Spencer beamed and then, because he couldn’t help himself, leaned in to kiss your forehead. “You scared me.”

“I scared myself.” You sighed. “But thank you for being here. Even when I banish you to balconies.”

He chuckled, resting his hand on your hip. “For future reference, you’re allowed to puke. And I’m allowed to love you anyway.”

“Thank you, baby,” you murmured, stroking your fingers gently across his stomach—a spot you knew was always sensitive, always made him twitch or blush or just melt a little. His breath hitched ever so slightly, and he looked at you with soft, grateful eyes.

“You’re not allowed, though,” you added, scrunching your nose. “I don’t want to hear you puke.”

Spencer balked, his mouth dropping open as his eyebrows shot up in exaggerated mock offense. “Excuse me?”

You laughed, stepping back just slightly to put a hand on your hip, already amused with yourself. “It’s gross! I probably wouldn’t find you sexy anymore.”

He let out a sharp breath that was half gasp, half laugh, and shook his head slowly, grinning with that very specific brand of Spencer Reid indignation. “Wow. Wow. That’s… I see how it is.”

And then, with the softest, most ridiculous gesture imaginable, he raised his closed fist and lightly—very lightly—tapped it against your jaw. Like he was throwing the world’s gentlest punch.

You both burst out laughing.

“Violence?” you teased, holding your hand to your chest. “This is what happens when I speak my truth?”

Spencer smirked, eyes glittering. “You threaten my sex appeal and my digestive dignity, and I’m the villain?”

“You’re dramatic.”

“You’re rude.”

“You’re lucky I’m still in love with you.”

“You’re lucky I am,” he shot back, lips twitching into another grin.

And just like that, the nausea, the embarrassment, the tile-floor misery—it all drifted away, replaced by laughter, love, and the kind of comfort that only came from being exactly where you belonged.

—

Spencer’s sitting at his dining table, shoulders hunched and brow furrowed in concentration, a case file spread out before him. He’s got one hand tangled in his hair and the other scribbling something in the margins of the profile, lips moving soundlessly as he works through his thoughts. It’s the posture he takes when he’s fully in the zone—focused, brilliant, unreachable by most.

But not by you. Not usually.

You’re curled up on the couch a few feet away, watching him with quiet affection and just a hint of boredom. He’s been at it for nearly two hours, and though he’s still talking to you intermittently, it’s all half-responses and murmured agreements. You know he doesn’t mean to ignore you—he’s just wired this way, intense and single-minded when something’s clawed its way into his brain.

Still, you’re feeling a little fragile today. Not enough to show it or say it out loud, but just enough to want a little more softness. A little more attention. Something light.

So you joke, voice casual but tinged with a vulnerability you hope doesn’t show, “Sorry I’m being so annoying, I’ll try to contain the full force of my unbearable personality.”

Spencer doesn’t look up.

“Mm, yeah,” he murmurs, pen still scratching across the paper. “That’d be great, thanks.”

You blink, your breath catching slightly in your throat. It takes a second to process that he actually heard you. Or at least—he heard the words. Not the meaning behind them. Not the way you laughed softly at the end, like it was all a joke when it wasn’t really.

And now he’s nodding to himself, flipping the page, muttering something about behavioral escalation, completely oblivious to the way his offhand agreement landed like a punch to your gut.

You sit still for a moment, too still. The kind of stillness that only happens when you’re trying not to cry out of sheer ridiculousness. It shouldn’t hurt. You know he didn’t mean it. But it does.

It does.

Without a word, you stand up slowly and make your way down the hall. You don’t slam the door. You don’t huff or sniff or stomp. You just slip into the bathroom and close the door gently behind you.

Spencer doesn’t even look up.

But after a minute or two—midway through a paragraph—his brain finally pings with something off.

The silence. The lack of your usual commentary or music playing faintly on your phone. The way you hadn’t laughed at his last mumbled fact about the statistical relevance of childhood trauma. The fact that you’re gone.

His pen stills.

“...Babe?”

No answer.

He looks up. The living room is empty. The soft blanket you were under is tossed neatly on the arm of the couch. The bathroom door is shut. The apartment is silent.

His heart sinks.

He replays what just happened in his head, scanning it like a file, rewinding your last words.

And then it hits him.

Oh. Oh.

Spencer sets the pen down slowly. His brow furrows, not with confusion but with regret. He pushes his chair back, stands, and crosses the hall to the bathroom, knocking gently—barely more than a tap.

“Sweetheart?” he says softly, already wincing. “Can I come in?”

Because now he knows. Now he really heard you.

Your head jerks up at the soft knock, startled, and you quickly swipe at your eyes with the sleeve of your sweatshirt, trying to erase any evidence of the tears threatening to fall. You hadn’t expected him to notice—not so soon, anyway.

His voice comes through the door, tentative and quiet, like he already suspects he’s hurt you. “Y/N?”

You sniffle, caught off guard but trying to play it cool. “I’m in the bathroom…”

“I know,” he replies, a sheepish little laugh wrapped in nervousness. “So… can I come in?”

There’s a pause. You stare at your reflection in the mirror—your red-rimmed eyes, the wobble of your bottom lip, the way you look like someone who’s trying too hard to keep it together. You sigh, but it comes out shaky, the kind of sound that gives you away before your words even have the chance.

“No, Spencer,” you say, voice cracking around the edges, thin and brittle. “Go back to work.”

You try to sound firm, but it’s no use. The second half of the sentence trembles out of your mouth like you’re holding it together with scotch tape and hope. And Spencer hears all of it.

On the other side of the door, he presses his hand flat against the wood like it might get him closer to you. Like maybe, if he touches it gently enough, the damage might reverse itself. His chest twists with guilt, a deep kind of ache he doesn’t quite know how to sit with.

“Hey,” he says softly, not moving away. “I’m not going back to work.”

“Spencer—” you try, your voice small.

“I wasn’t listening,” he cuts in, regret wrapped around every word. “And I’m so sorry for that. You were making a joke, and I just… answered without thinking. I wasn’t really hearing you, and I should’ve. That was a really stupid thing to say and I—I hate that it hurt you.”

You bite your lip hard, tears gathering again, this time not from the offhand comment but from how earnest he sounds now. How soft. How aware.

“I’m not going to push,” he says gently. “If you want me to leave you alone, I will. But I’m staying right here. Just so you know, you’re not alone in there. Not really.”

Silence falls again, but this one is different. It’s full of his presence, not the emptiness from before.

Your voice comes a moment later, barely a whisper. “I just felt… stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,” he says immediately. “You’re not annoying. And you don’t have to joke about your feelings to make them easier for me to handle. I want to hear them. I want to know when you’re upset so I can help.”

You hesitate. Then, very quietly, the lock on the door clicks.

Spencer waits.

The door creaks open a few inches, and there you are, tearful and trying your best to look like you’re not.

His eyes soften as he takes a half-step forward, one hand reaching up to tuck a stray hair behind your ear. “Hi,” he says gently.

Your voice is still thick. “Hi.”

“Can I hug you now?”

You nod, and the dam breaks completely the second you’re in his arms. He holds you tight—steady, warm, and wordless—resting his chin on your head as you bury your face into his chest.

“I didn’t mean it,” he murmurs. “Not even a little bit. You’re my favorite person. Always.”

And you believe him. Because the thing about Spencer is—when he’s paying attention, really paying attention—he loves you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

And right now, he’s paying attention to everything.

—

It was a slow afternoon at the Bureau, the kind where the hum of the fluorescent lights seemed louder than usual, and even Penelope had stopped trying to invent fake emergencies to liven things up. Files sat untouched, coffee mugs were half-full, and the bullpen was quieter than it had been in weeks.

So when Derek nudged Spencer’s arm and muttered, “Come on, pretty boy, lunch run,” Spencer didn’t argue. They wandered down to the corner deli with the flaky bread and the too-strong espresso Spencer would never drink but secretly liked the smell of.

They sat outside—Spencer with his book tucked under one arm, Derek unwrapping his sandwich with the kind of dedication that meant he wouldn’t speak for the first five bites.

But then, halfway through a fry, Derek looked up. Squinted. Tilted his head.

“Wait,” he said slowly, continuing their conversation, bugged by Spencer’s lack of enthusiasm about the subject. “So you’ve never…”

Spencer blinked, startled, then furrowed his brow. “No?” he answered cautiously, his tone more question than statement.

Derek nearly choked on his drink. “Bro, you literally have a girlfriend!” he said, laughter bubbling up. “How long have you guys been together now?”

“A little over a year,” Spencer replied, shrugging a little as he picked at the edge of his napkin. “But… it’s not about that. We don’t just have sex; we have a relationship. She’s my best friend.”

Derek clutched his chest in mock pain. “That’s sweet, Romeo,” he said dramatically. “But you’re telling me, in all this time, you never asked?”

Spencer looked thoughtful as if he were truly trying to remember if he ever had. “She never offered,” he said eventually. “And I didn’t want to pressure her. It’s not… transactional. We’re just—close. We talk. We… trust each other.”

Derek blinked. “You know you’re allowed to ask, right?”

Spencer tilted his head. “Are you?”

“Yes, Reid,” Derek sighed, dragging a hand over his face. “You can ask for things. Especially in a healthy relationship. Especially if you trust each other. You talk about stuff. It doesn’t make you pushy. It makes you communicative.”

Spencer sat back in his chair, chewing that over.

“…I guess I just figured… if she wanted to, she would.”

“And maybe,” Derek said, sipping his drink like he was about to drop the thesis statement of the day, “she’s just waiting for you to stop treating her like she’s a research subject and start treating her like she wants to be wanted.”

Spencer blinked.

“Oh,” he said. Then softer, “Oh.”

Derek just smirked, biting into his sandwich again. “You’re welcome.”

…

“So I had an interesting conversation with Derek today…” Spencer started, his tone just casual enough to seem like he was testing the waters—but not quite enough to hide that something was definitely on his mind.

You smiled over your shoulder at him, where he was sitting on the other side of the kitchen island, elbows resting beside the cutting board you’d left out earlier. The sizzling of the carrots in your pan gave a little punctuation to the moment. “Yeah?”

He nodded slowly, brows raised just a little, the way they always did when he was internally drafting something that made him nervous. He looked like he was mentally pacing even though he was perfectly still.

And then, as if someone hit play on the audio file he'd been rehearsing in his head, he blurted out with the grace of a baby deer on ice, “Will you give me a blowjob?”

The carrots hissed in the oil.

You froze for a fraction of a second—just long enough to let the words fully register—then turned to face him, eyes wide with amusement and a grin tugging at your lips.

“What did you and Derek talk about?” you asked, voice barely containing the delight now bubbling up in your chest.

Spencer flushed immediately, the tips of his ears turning red like you’d flipped a switch. “It—well—I just mentioned that we hadn’t… I mean, not that I expect anything, but he asked, and, well, we haven’t, and I wasn’t sure if—maybe—I was allowed to ask?”

You put the spatula down and turned off the heat, walking slowly around the island toward him, arms crossed but smile blooming. “You needed Derek Morgan to give you a permission slip to ask for a blowjob?”

“I didn’t need it,” Spencer said defensively, but he was already fidgeting with the sleeve of his sweater, looking up at you with a sheepish, caught expression. “He just reminded me that asking isn’t a bad thing. I didn’t want to pressure you. I didn’t know if you’d want to or if it would make things weird or—”

You leaned over, kissing his temple, your voice warm and teasing. “You’re adorable when you’re mortified, you know that?”

He groaned softly, letting his forehead fall into his hands. “Please forget how I said it.”

“No chance,” you laughed, wrapping your arms around his shoulders from behind. “But… I am glad you asked. Even if your delivery needs a little work.”

“So that’s not a no?” he mumbled into his palms.

You nuzzled into his hair and whispered, “Definitely not a no, Spencer.”

And just like that, your carrot sauté had officially been put on hold.

Spencer looked up at you from his seat with those wide, impossibly earnest eyes, his cheeks already flushed with a mix of embarrassment and anticipation. His voice came out in a breathy little burst like he couldn’t quite believe the moment was happening.

“I’ve never had one before,” he admitted, almost reverent in tone like it was a confession and a milestone all at once.

You smiled, soft and fond, brushing your fingers through his curls with that familiar warmth that always settled him. “I know, baby.”

He nodded like he expected as much—but then curiosity sparked in his eyes again. “Have you?”

You tilted your head, pretending not to notice the question forming. “Have I received a blowjob?”

Spencer groaned immediately, covering his face with both hands again like he regretted opening his mouth in the first place. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

You couldn’t help it—you laughed, full and bright, the kind of laugh that always pulled a reluctant smile from him even in his most dramatic moments.

“Yes, I’ve given a blowjob or two,” you replied, nonchalantly, dragging out the answer just enough to tease him.

He lifted his head, peeking at you through parted fingers, eyes narrowing playfully. “Is that an accurate count?”

You smirked. “Do you want the real one?”

Without missing a beat, Spencer groaned again, this time more dramatically, and let his head fall forward—landing squarely against your chest like it was the only safe place in the world. He let out a muffled, mock-mournful, “I suppose not,” as his hands found your waist, holding onto you like he needed emotional reinforcement.

You chuckled again, wrapping your arms around him, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “You’re too cute for your own good, Dr. Reid.”

He sighed, breath warm against your skin. “And you’re still evil.”

“Mm. But I’m your evil.”

That earned you a soft laugh—low and content—and the kind of squeeze around your waist that said he was glad you were the one he was nervous with. The one he was learning with. The one he trusted to laugh, tease, and still love him through it all.

“Is my evil going to keep being evil or…” he mumbled, barely audible like he was trying not to let himself say it all the way.

You arched a brow, grinning as you tilted your head closer to him. “What was that, baby?” you teased, voice syrupy sweet. “You sound a little desperate.”

Spencer groaned—half a whimper, half a plea—his face still pressed against you as if the heat rising in his cheeks might be hidden there. “Y/N…” he whined, the syllables dragging out of his throat like they were coated in syrup and shame.

You cupped the back of his neck, fingers sliding into the soft curls there, and hummed, lips brushing beside his ear now. “Hmm? Are you getting worked up?”

He nodded.

Just once. Small. But you felt it.

“Thinking about my mouth?” you whispered, your voice velvet and heat, each word wrapped around him like a tightening string. “Wrapped around you? Licking you… sucking you…” You smiled as he shivered against you, the tension building in his shoulders like a coiled spring.

“…swallowing you?”

His breath caught—sharp, choked, completely involuntary.

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

His whole body did it for him.

Spencer was trembling—not visibly—not in some dramatic, cinematic way—but in the subtle, desperate tension that rippled through him beneath your hands. It was the kind of trembling that came from want layered under nerves, from anticipation that had nowhere to go but deeper.

He was quiet, but you felt the way his fingers tightened around your waist, how his forehead pressed harder into your chest, like if he hid there long enough, he could escape the fire you were so expertly stoking.

But he couldn’t.

You weren’t going to let him.

Your voice dropped even lower, almost a purr now, your lips ghosting over the curve of his ear, “You want me to, don’t you?”

He gave the barest nod again. Like even that little motion required a full-body permission slip.

“I want to hear it, Spence.” You trailed your fingers down his back, slow and light, the kind of touch that made it worse. Made him ache more. “Tell me you want it.”

He groaned—tried to suppress it, but it broke free.

“I do,” he whispered, voice nearly cracked in half. “I want you to…” He trailed off, unable to complete the sentence, the weight of the words too heavy in his mouth.

You softened, cupping his jaw and tilting his face up so you could see his eyes. They were glassy, wide, and so full of helpless want that your heart nearly cracked for him.

“Sweet boy,” you murmured, brushing your thumb across his cheek, “you don’t have to be shy with me. You know I’d never laugh at you.”

“I know,” he breathed. “I just… I’ve imagined it so many times and now that it’s real, I…”

“You’re overwhelmed.” You nodded, brushing his hair back from his flushed face. “That’s okay. I’ve got you.”

He nodded quickly, jaw tight with restraint, pupils blown wide with anticipation.

You leaned in, kissing him—gently at first, then deeper, your mouth moving slowly over his like a promise. His hands gripped you just tight enough to ground himself, and when you pulled back, your lips were still brushing his.

“Go lie on the bed, baby,” you whispered, your voice full of velvet and control and care. “Let me show you what it feels like to be worshipped.”

And for once, in his brilliant, spiraling, overthinking mind—Spencer didn’t argue. He just obeyed.

You watched, wide-eyed and deeply amused, as Spencer practically hightailed it down the hallway like you’d just fired a starting pistol at a race track.

One moment he was wrapped around you, whimpering under your breathy teasing, and the next—whoosh—he was gone, a blur of long limbs and nervous anticipation as he disappeared into your bedroom.

You couldn’t stop the giggle that bubbled up from your chest. It escaped in a full laugh as you slid the pan of forgotten carrots to a cool spot on the stove. They could wait. Spencer Reid could not.

You walked down the hallway slowly, and deliberately, enjoying every heavy beat of your heart and the warm, fluttering thrill building in your belly. By the time you reached the bedroom doorway, you were prepared to find him nervously waiting under the covers, maybe still in his undershirt, doing that thing where he fiddles with the hem and doesn’t make eye contact—

But no.

Absolutely not.

You stepped into the doorway and nearly doubled over.

“Spencer!” you shrieked, half in joy and half in stunned laughter.

There he was.

Completely naked.

No covers, no strategic sheet positioning, no half-off clothes like some dramatic movie scene. Just all of him, sprawled on your bed, flushed pink and already looking a little overwhelmed—but so clearly ready.

His curls were messy from where he’d run his hands through them. His legs stretched out nervously, feet flexing like he didn’t know what to do with his limbs now that he was all bare. His hands were clenched into the blanket on either side of him, and his entire face was red.

But he held your gaze, wide-eyed and proud, despite how clearly embarrassed he was.

“I, um—” he began, voice cracking like a teenager, “I didn’t know if I was supposed to wait under the blanket, or if you wanted… access…”

You covered your mouth with your hand, laughing into your fingers before you walked over, eyes sparkling.

“Spence,” you whispered, crawling up the bed as he watched you like you were both a goddess and a thunderstorm, “you are the most beautiful, ridiculous man I’ve ever met.”

He swallowed hard. “Is… is that a good thing?”

You leaned down, pressing a kiss just below his belly button as he sucked in a breath.

“It’s the best thing,” you murmured again, lips brushing just above the sharp line of his hipbone, letting the heat of your breath linger there while your fingers lightly traced along the sensitive skin of his thighs.

Spencer’s entire body shivered. His hands clutched the comforter like he needed an anchor, his back arched just barely off the bed in anticipation. And then—his voice, soft and breathy and absolutely wrecked already, slipped out:

“O–okay good,” he stammered, blinking down at you with flushed cheeks and blown pupils. “So what do I do…?”

You looked up at him, chin resting lightly on his lower stomach, and gave him a smile so soft, so steady, it made him swallow hard. “Just let me do the work, yeah?”

“Mhm,” he nodded quickly, his curls bouncing, throat working around a nervous gulp. His fingers twitched against the blanket again, like he didn’t trust himself to keep still.

You brushed your hand up his thigh, slow and deliberate, watching as his eyes fluttered shut from just that. “Can I start, baby?”

His head lolled back against the pillows. “Please,” he whispered, voice hoarse and pleading. “Do anything… just—do something.”

You grinned—loving, amused, and more than a little hungry—and kissed the inside of his thigh.

“Anything?” you teased, voice like velvet.

Spencer made a sound that was half laugh, half moan, and all desperation. “Anything,” he groaned. “I’ve been mentally preparing for this since I was sixteen, please don’t make me wait.”

You kissed higher. “Well,” you murmured, lips grazing the base of him, “good thing I’ve been practicing since then.”

And then—finally—you took him into your mouth.

And Spencer Reid stopped thinking for the first time in his entire life.

It was just the tip.

Just the head, just the softest, most teasing pull of your lips around the very beginning of him. You didn’t rush, didn’t dive in or try to overwhelm him—no, you knew better. You knew exactly what you were doing. You let your mouth rest there, warm and wet and barely moving, while your tongue flicked out slowly, tracing over that sensitive little slit at the top.

Spencer gasped.

His entire body jerked, muscles twitching like he’d been shocked. His hands flew from the sheets to the top of your head—not to guide or push, never that—but to hold on. Because suddenly he wasn’t sure where the floor was.

You dragged your tongue around the underside of the head, slowly tracing that ridge, the texture of your mouth perfectly tuned to the places he didn’t even know he was sensitive. You flattened your tongue and gave one long, deliberate lick along the underside, and—

Spencer lost it.

A strangled moan burst from his throat, cracked and raw like he’d been holding it in for years. His thighs trembled on either side of you, his back arched, and his hands tightened in your hair just enough to let you know: this is too much, this is everything, don’t you dare stop.

“Oh my God,” he choked, voice barely recognizable. “Oh my God, what—what are you doing to me—”

You pulled back just an inch, lips glossy and grin slow, voice sultry with delight. “Just the tip, baby.”

He stared at you like you’d rewritten physics. “That was just the—” he stopped, exhaled like he’d run a marathon. “I’m gonna die. You’re going to kill me.”

You laughed softly, full of warmth, kissing the base of him. “Not before I ruin you first.”

And then your mouth was back on him, and Spencer Reid stopped remembering how language worked.

The muscles in his thighs tensed beneath your hands, his breath catching in his throat like his lungs couldn’t decide whether to inhale or just shatter. He didn’t say your name this time—he couldn’t. It hovered on the edge of his tongue, but the sound died somewhere in his chest, overtaken by sensation.

You were slow, focused, and reverent. Every little movement felt purposeful like you were studying him again—not with questions or statistics but with care, and your tongue.

His head tipped back, eyes fluttering shut, and a soft, fractured moan escaped him. “Oh my God—” he breathed, hands fisting the sheets beside him, his whole body trembling under the weight of what you were doing to him.

He wanted to say something. Anything. A fact. A thank you. A prayer. But all he could manage was another helpless sound from deep in his throat, one that seemed to surprise even him.

You looked up at him once—just once—and that was it.

Spencer came. Loudly. Beautifully. Like someone unraveling at the seams in the safest hands possible.

“Shit,” Spencer whispered, his voice cracked and breathless, still reeling from the wave that had just wrecked him.

You pulled back slowly as you swallowed, wiping your mouth with your thumb, smirking like you’d just completed the most satisfying science experiment of your life. “Hmm?” you asked sweetly, batting your lashes at him.

Spencer let out a groan and immediately covered his face with one hand, his curls sticking slightly to his forehead. “That was so quick,” he panted, the words muffled behind his palm. “That’s so embarrassing.”

You laughed—soft and affectionate—as you leaned forward to pat his trembling thighs. “I take it as a huge compliment, baby.”

He peeked through his fingers at you, cheeks flaming red, mouth twitching like he wasn’t sure if he should pout or grin.

“I had plans,” he said dramatically, flopping back against the pillow. “Plans that involved at least five more minutes of dignity.”

You bent over and kissed the top of his head. “Yeah, well, your dignity didn’t stand a chance the second I started kissing your stomach.”

Spencer groaned again. “I told you that spot is unfair—”

“Not my fault you’re cute and responsive.”

He sighed, defeated, and rolled onto his side, reaching for you like he needed to physically confirm you were still there. “You’re evil.”

You curled into the bed beside him, pulling the covers over both your bodies as his arm draped around your waist.

“Yeah,” you murmured against his temple. “So I’ve been told.”

And Spencer just nodded, breath finally starting to even out, already plotting revenge he absolutely wouldn’t survive executing.

—

They don’t happen often. Spencer’s nightmares—true, bone-deep night terrors—are rare, but when they come, they’re merciless. Cruel. All-consuming.

And tonight is one of those nights.

You wake before your eyes are even open, stirred not by sound exactly but by the feeling of wrongness beside you. The mattress shifts sharply under Spencer’s body as he thrashes, limbs jerking under the sheets. His breaths are short and panicked, puffing from his lips like he’s being chased, hunted by some unseen force only his subconscious knows how to conjure.

He whines—a soft, broken thing, high-pitched and choked—and it makes your heart snap clean in two.

Unlike the times when he wakes you in the middle of the night shuffling for a glass of water or pacing from a post-case spiral, there's no irritation, no groggy frustration. Only fear. Only worry.

You sit up instantly, resting your weight on one elbow as your free hand reaches for him, brushing the soaked curls back from his clammy forehead. He’s burning with sweat, his t-shirt clinging to him like a second skin, his body caught between escape and paralysis.

You start to hum. Soft. Steady. Familiar.

It’s the tune you’ve used a hundred times to calm him—after a case, after a long day, during those quiet moments when the world outside gets too loud for Spencer Reid’s mind.

Your fingers stroke through his hair as you hum, and slowly, slowly, the rhythm of his breathing begins to shift. His muscles twitch less. The tension under his skin begins to loosen like a tight knot finally unraveling. Then, finally, his eyes flutter open—wide and glassy and searching.

His head turns toward you like a compass, finding its true north. He reaches out blindly, fingertips catching your wrist, shirt, shoulder—anything to anchor himself in the waking world.

“I’m here, baby,” you whisper, taking his hand in yours and pressing it to your chest so he can feel the steady beat of your heart. “You were having a nightmare.”

He nods once, but his jaw trembles, and then—the dam breaks.

His chin wobbles, lips pulling into a grimace as silent tears rise like a tide and begin spilling down his cheeks. He doesn’t sob. He doesn’t wail. It’s quieter than that. More devastating. Like something fragile inside him finally cracked open.

“Spencer, my love,” you whisper, brushing your thumb under his eye as you guide him gently toward you, “do you want to talk about it?”

He shakes his head—violently, once, twice—and that’s enough for you to know. It was either his kidnapping… or you.

But you don’t press. You just nod. And pull him closer.

He lets you move him, lets you shift back against the pillows so he can collapse against your chest, curled in, face tucked to your skin, holding on like you’re the only thing keeping him afloat.

You cradle him. Wrap yourself around him like armor. And then—so softly, so lovingly—you begin to sing.

“Stars shining bright above you…”

Spencer’s breath hitches but slows.

“Night breezes seem to whisper ‘I love you’...”

You press a kiss to his curls, feeling him melt into you.

“Birds singing in the sycamore trees…”

“Dream a little dream of me,” you finish gently, brushing your nose against his temple.

And then, a soft sound. A tiny, choked snort of a laugh.

You glance down to see his eyes squeezed shut, but the corners are crinkled.

“You’re ridiculous,” he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep, tears, and love.

“And you’re mine,” you whisper back. “Try and sleep now, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

And you do. Always.

—

Spencer barely remembered to eat that morning.

His mind had spiraled from the moment the facility called—soft voices and hesitant words and phrases like "she's declining" and "you may want to come soon"—and by the time he got to Hotch’s office, he could hardly string the request together in a full sentence.

But Hotch didn’t blink. Didn’t ask for details.

“Go,” he said simply, leaning back in his chair. “Take whatever time you need.”

Because everyone knew Spencer Reid never took time off. Not unless the sky was falling. And this? This was his sky.

He’d meant to text you. He really had. You were always the person he told first—when he had a rough case, when he learned a new theory, when he read a sentence in a book that made him think of you. But this wasn’t something he wanted to say over the phone. This wasn’t something he wanted to share—not yet. Not when it felt like he was barely holding it together.

So instead, he packed. A little chaotically. A little too fast. He folded things with military precision one moment, then dropped a pair of socks on the floor and forgot to pick them up.

He kept checking the clock, like maybe time would slow down if he stared at it hard enough.

And that’s where you found him—a half-zipped suitcase on the bed, his tie thrown over the back of a chair, a look in his eyes like he wasn’t entirely there.

You knocked as you opened the door, calling gently, “Knock knock!”

His head snapped up. Eyes wide. Guilt immediate. “Y/N—God, I—” he blinked, stepping toward you before stopping himself mid-step. “I was going to call. I should have called. I meant to tell you.”

You stood in the doorway, taking him in—his uncombed curls, the slight shake in his hands, the suitcase half-packed but with none of his favorite books.

“Tell me what?” you asked softly, walking toward him now, your voice the only calm thing in the room.

Spencer’s shoulders slumped. He sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his palms over his knees like the movement might settle him.

“It’s my mom,” he said quietly. “She’s not doing well. They called. Said I should come.”

And then—his voice even softer, like it hurt to say— “I didn’t want to worry you.”

You knelt in front of him, gently grounding your hands into his. “Spence,” you whispered, “you don’t have to protect me from this. I want to be worried about her. With you.”

He didn’t speak right away. Just leaned forward, forehead pressed to yours, eyes closing as he exhaled like maybe he could finally let some of it go.

And when he opened them again, you were already packing his books. The ones you knew he’d want. The ones that made him feel at home. The way you did.

“You need to tell me these things,” you said, not unkindly but firm—your voice was soft, steady, and kind of serious, and it didn’t leave room for argument. You were beside his suitcase, carefully tucking the last of his books into the corner, smoothing the fabric over them like it would keep him safe.

Spencer nodded solemnly, his jaw tight, lips pressed into a thin line. He looked down, guilt clouding his features like a child being gently scolded—not because you were harsh, but because he knew he should have told you. He meant to. He just… didn’t. And that fact alone ate at him.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I wasn’t thinking.”

You looked up at him then, pausing for just a beat before you asked the question like it was the most obvious thing in the world, as natural as breathing: “Do you want me to come?”

His eyes darted to yours. Surprise flickered behind them—not because he didn’t want you to, but because the thought hadn’t yet made it to the surface. His mind had been too full of logistics, of fear, of memories he didn’t want to revisit alone—but now, with you saying it like, of course, like it wasn’t even a question—he felt his chest ache in the best possible way.

“What about work?” he asked quietly, still hesitant. Still Spencer.

You shrugged, standing slowly as you closed his suitcase and turned to face him fully. “It’s a family emergency.”

And you meant it.

Because Diana was your family too. Because he was your family.

Spencer blinked, and in that blink, something shifted. His shoulders dropped, the breath he’d been holding finally released, and his fingers reached for yours like he needed to ensure this was real.

“Okay,” he said.

And it was more than agreement. It was relief. He didn’t have to do this alone.

Not this time.

Spencer had thought it wasn’t possible to love you any more than he already did. He’d been so sure of it—so convinced that whatever threshold love had, he had already reached it with you. Already filled every available space in his heart with the sound of your laugh, the weight of your gaze, the way you said his name like it was a vow.

But then you stood in his bedroom, your hands on his suitcase, folding his shirts and slipping his books inside like you knew exactly which ones he’d reach for when the silence in the facility got too loud. You didn’t ask what you should pack. You didn’t ask for instructions. You just knew.

And when you asked if you should come with him—not out of obligation or pity, but because of course, you would—you said it like it was the most natural thing in the world. He was the one who needed to be reminded that this is what love looks like. This unwavering presence. This gentle certainty.

He looked at you and thought, How foolish of me.

To believe he’d reached the edge of it. To think there was a limit. To not realize that love, when it was real—when it was you—only deepened.

It didn’t swell like a tide. It unfolded like a galaxy.

And as you zipped up his bag, took his hand, and told him it was a family emergency—no hesitation, no doubt—he knew with absolute clarity: He hadn’t even scratched the surface of how much he could love you.

…

The plane ride was, as expected, not Spencer’s idea of a good time.

He had tried—really tried—to keep it together, to focus on the practicality of air travel, the necessity of getting to his mother quickly. But no matter how many times he told himself it was just recycled air, probability, and basic physics, his mind still latched onto every microbe, every cough within a five-row radius, every time someone touched the bathroom handle and then the seat tray without washing their hands.

His leg bounced with a steady rhythm. His fingers drummed lightly against his knee. His eyes stayed fixed on the in-flight safety card even after the flight attendant had long finished her speech.

And sleep? Forget it.

His brain was too busy. Running through timelines and medications, wondering if his mother would remember his face, wondering what kind of decline they meant when they said “declining,” wondering if he’d already missed something important.

But then, amid all that spiraling noise, he felt a small, warm weight shift against his arm.

You’d fallen asleep.

It was subtle at first, just the way your head leaned further into him, your shoulder relaxing as the hum of the cabin lured you in. And then, slowly, gently, your cheek came to rest against his shoulder. A little sigh escaped your lips, something soft and content, and then—

A tiny snore.

Followed by the unmistakable damp warmth of drool beginning to spread onto the shoulder of his sweater.

He blinked. Looked down. And instead of being annoyed or grossed out, or even startled—Spencer smiled.

It was small. Barely there. But real.

Because there was you in all the discomfort, stress, and spiraling unknowns. Snoring. Drooling. Completely knocked out and trusting enough to use him as your pillow. And for just a moment, the world didn’t feel so heavy.

He adjusted his arm a little so you’d be more comfortable, rested his cheek on top of your head, and let his eyes close—not to sleep, not yet, but to breathe.

And if his heart beat just a little slower after that? Well. He figured maybe drool wasn’t so bad after all.

When you and Spencer finally made it to the facility and stepped through the front doors, a weight settled over both of you—thick and invisible, wrapping around your lungs and squeezing with every step down the hall. It wasn’t just sterile lighting or that muted scent of disinfectant and aging upholstery. It was the stillness. The hollow kind that only existed in long-term care centers, where time felt both endless and unkind.

Spencer was quiet beside you. Almost too quiet.

He held your hand, but his fingers weren’t threaded with their usual softness—they were locked tight like he needed the contact to anchor him to the floor. He hadn’t spoken much since the drive. You knew he was trying to hold it together; that part of him was walking in that door as her son, and another part was walking in as a protector, a man who had spent his whole life-solving unsolvable problems—except this one.

You offered a small squeeze, and his eyes were already glassy when he looked at you. He gave you a grateful, heartbroken smile.

The nurse met you at the door of Diana’s room. He was kind. Soft-spoken. He gave Spencer an update that he barely registered, nodding absently as he mentioned medication changes, good days and bad days, and lucid moments that came less and less frequently.

And then… you were inside.

Diana Reid sat by the window, hair neatly brushed, her cardigan buttoned all the way to the top like someone had helped her with care. She stared out at the garden with a faint smile, her gaze fixed on something that wasn’t quite there.

“Hi, Mom,” Spencer said, his voice barely above a whisper.

She didn’t turn. Not right away. Not until he stepped closer.

And then—slowly, cautiously—her head turned. Her eyes met his, blinking once… twice…

And she smiled.

“Spencer,” she said softly, voice a fragile thread. “You’re so tall.”

Spencer laughed. It cracked in the middle.

You stood back, giving them space, tears threatening behind your eyes as he knelt beside her, taking her hand, speaking gently to her like she might drift away if he was too loud.

It was hard. So much harder than you thought it would be.

But watching him speak to her, watching him love her through the heartbreak—it reminded you of everything you already knew about Spencer Reid:

That his heart was vast. And no matter how much it hurt, he would always show up.

You would never tell Spencer how much it hurt you to see this. Not the weight of the facility. Not the trembling fragility in Diana’s voice. Not the way Spencer’s face cracked in places you’d never seen before.

Because this wasn’t about you. It wasn’t your pain to center. You were here for him.

And no matter how deeply it ached to see him kneeling there, clutching his mother’s hand like he was trying to hold time still, you knew the pain running through his veins was sharper. More personal. More impossible.

So you stood quietly at his side, calm, steady, present.

Spencer looked up at one point, eyes flicking toward you with a soft, hopeful smile, and said, “Mom, this is Y/N. My girlfriend.”

Diana tilted her head, brow furrowing slightly. She studied you for a long moment, her expression unreadable.

Then she let out a soft, amused little huff. “You’re far too young to have a girlfriend,” she said, teasing, her tone light but off-kilter, like she was only half in the moment.

You offered a polite, if slightly uncomfortable, smile, stepping forward gently. “It’s so nice to meet you, Ms. Reid. I’ve heard so much about you.”

Your voice was sweet, and your posture was perfect. You were warm, polite, and kind, even as her words stung—not because they were cruel, but because they were true, in their own heartbreaking way.

Because she didn’t see him.

Not the man who spent his entire life trying to understand her. Not the man who fought tooth and nail to keep her comfortable, safe, and protected. Not the man who flew across states to hold her hand.

She saw a boy.

“Aren’t you in school?” she asked him, blinking rapidly, confused now. “Where’s your backpack?”

Spencer froze.

You saw it the moment his smile faltered—the millisecond his lips tried to recover, tried to shape themselves into something reassuring. “Mom… I’m 28.”

She blinked. “No. No, you’re not. Don’t lie to me, Spencer.”

“I’m not lying,” he said gently, trying to hold her gaze. “I’m 28. I work for the FBI now. I—”

Diana’s face changed. The confusion shifted into something sharper. Panic. Fear.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re just a boy. You’re my little boy. Stop lying to me!”

Spencer’s voice caught in his throat. “Mom—”

You were already stepping forward, crouching beside him, reaching across to squeeze his arm gently. “Spence,” you whispered softly, “maybe… maybe not right now, okay?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just sat there, his mother’s panic echoing in his ears, his shoulders tense and still.

You turned to Diana, voice sweet and soft again. “Would you like to talk about your garden? It looks so beautiful out there.” You pointed to the window.

Diana’s eyes flicked to you, wide and tear-glossed, but she nodded slowly, her fingers relaxing just slightly.

And beside you, Spencer just kept holding her hand. Even as it trembled. Even as he did.

The night was hard—long, quiet, and restless. Spencer had said goodnight to his mother with that practiced softness you’d seen before, like he was trying not to fold inward, trying to be composed. But when you got back to the hotel, that composure started to crack.

He showered in silence. Didn’t ask for your music. Barely responded when you gently offered to order room service or rub his back. He just moved through his routine like a ghost, heavy and quiet, haunted by something too big to name.

Eventually, he crawled into bed beside you. But sleep didn’t come easy.

He tossed. Turned. Huffed softly against the sheets. You didn’t press. You just opened your arms when he finally rolled toward you, found your chest, and curled into the soft rise and fall of your breath like it was the only thing grounding him. You held him close, stroking his back, whispering nothing in particular—just letting him know you were there.

By morning, he was finally still. His curls were splayed across your chest, one arm slung limply around your waist, his breathing deep but a little uneven, like even in rest he couldn’t quite settle.

You tried to slip out without waking him—so carefully—but the second your warmth left his side, he stirred.

“Shh,” you whispered, already rounding the bed. You ran your fingers gently through his curls, leaned in, and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. “Still here, sweetheart. Just sleep.”

He sighed under your touch, not quite waking, and you watched his brow soften again as you guided him back into slumber.

Only then did you slip into the bathroom with your phone, the door cracked open just enough to hear if he called out.

You sat on the edge of the tub, scrolling quietly.

There are flower shops near the facility, coffee places with quiet booths and good lighting, a few tucked-away bookstores, art galleries, natural history museums, and a pop-up science exhibit that might be small but still worth exploring.

Las Vegas had no shortage of distractions—but finding the right ones for Spencer? That was a challenge. It took knowing his moods, his quirks, the things that soothed his mind when it spiraled. You weren’t just looking for something to do—you were trying to build a soft place for him to land in case today broke his heart again.

You’d do it all if it helped. Because he would do the same for you. And because loving Spencer meant knowing how to love gently.

When Spencer finally stirred again, it was slow—his lashes fluttering, his breath shifting against the pillow, his limbs stretching just slightly like he was testing the air around him. The light from the window was soft, filtered through the gauzy hotel curtains, casting everything in that gentle, golden morning haze.

You were exactly where you wanted to be: curled up beside him, one hand absently stroking through his curls as your eyes skimmed over the pages of your book. The moment you felt him stir, you marked your place but didn’t move—just kept running your fingers through his hair, grounding him.

Then he let out a sound. Something between a whimper and a groan—deep, low, and raw from his chest.

You looked down immediately, concern tightening in your throat. “Okay, baby?” you asked softly, brushing a curl off his forehead.

He didn’t open his eyes fully—just turned his face slightly into your side, his voice hoarse and barely above a whisper.

“Just need you.”

You set your book down without hesitation and wrapped your arms around him, tucking his head to your chest, holding him as close as he needed. “You have me,” you murmured, kissing the crown of his head, letting your hands trail gently along his back. “Always.”

And in that quiet little cocoon of tangled sheets and steady love, you gave him the safety he didn’t know how to ask for—but always found in you.

Spencer nodded against your chest, his breath hitching just slightly. Before you heard the sniffle, you felt the damp warmth of a tear at the edge of his eye. His whole body curled into you like he was trying to hide inside your arms.

His voice cracked when he started, “You… you were so perfect yesterday.”

You tilted your head down, kissing the top of his hair again, your fingers still carding through the curls at the nape of his neck. “Hmm? Why’s that, my love?”

Spencer didn’t answer right away. You could feel him searching for the words, his mind flicking through the moments like files in a cabinet, trying to find the one that made his throat tight and his chest feel like it was folding in on itself.

“You didn’t panic,” he finally whispered, his voice fragile. “When she started to spiral when she didn’t remember me—when she yelled at me—you didn’t look scared. You didn’t try to fix it. You just… helped. You gave her a different focus, something gentle. You gave me time to breathe.”

You stayed quiet, holding him tighter, because you knew he wasn’t done.

“And I didn’t even say thank you. I—I didn’t tell you what it meant. I couldn’t. I think I was… still trying to hold myself together. But I saw it. I saw everything you did.”

You felt his shoulders tremble slightly as another breath shook out of him.

“You were just… perfect,” he murmured again like he didn’t know any other word big enough at that moment. “And I’m so lucky you’re mine.”

You pulled back just enough to kiss the corner of his damp eye and whispered, “You don’t have to thank me, Spence. That’s what love looks like.”

And you stayed right there, arms around him, holding the weight of everything he didn’t have to carry alone.

—

It started small—barely a shift. A silence between words. A longer pause before answering your texts. A softness to his eyes that held more weight than usual.

Spencer was in his head again.

You could feel it the way people feel a pressure drop before a storm: subtle, but undeniable.

He still kissed you good morning. Still held your hand when you crossed the street. Still brought you your favorite snacks from the store without asking. But behind it all, something tugged at him. A quiet unease that he hadn’t voiced yet, but you knew was there.

And in his head, it was loud.

Because Spencer Reid had never been loved like this before.

Not with the kind of tenderness you offered without question. Not with the way you remembered what calms him, what overstimulates him, what makes him light up. Not with the way you touched him so reverently, not because he was fragile, but because you treasured him.

You made space for his rituals. You never mocked his routines. You celebrated his quirks and soothed his spirals. You told him he was enough—and somehow, you meant it.

And he believed you. He did.

But tonight, after you’d made dinner, rubbed his back, and laughed at all his nerdy jokes, something inside him twisted tight.

You always did so much. You made loving him look easy.

And Spencer?

He didn’t feel like he deserved easy.

He lay beside you in bed, his arm wrapped around your waist, chin resting lightly against your shoulder, but his thoughts were somewhere else. Tangled and noisy and sharp.

Do I do enough? She deserves flowers and poetry and grand gestures and I… fold her laundry when she’s tired. What if she thinks I’m not trying hard enough? What if she doesn’t know how much I worship her?

His grip around you tightened slightly—subtle, but enough for you to feel it.

You turned your head, looking at him in the low glow of the bedside lamp. “Spence?” you asked softly. “Where are you right now?”

He blinked, eyes darting like he’d been caught.

“I’m here,” he said automatically, then hesitated. His voice dropped. “I mean… sort of.”

You rolled gently to face him, brushing a hand through his curls, watching how his lips pressed into a thin, guilty line.

“Talk to me?”

He swallowed, hard. “I just… I don’t think I do enough. For you.”

Your brows knit, but you didn’t speak. You let him keep going.

“You do everything in your power to make me feel safe and cared for, and—and loved, and I just—what do I do? I… hold your coffee while you put your shoes on. I memorize your schedules. I read your favorite book three times and bookmarked my favorite parts and never even told you because I was nervous you’d think that wasn’t enough.”

His voice cracked, just a little. “But I adore you. And I don’t know if I’m showing it right.”

You leaned in, and touched his cheek, your heart full and aching.

“Oh, Spencer,” you whispered, kissing the corner of his mouth. “You do everything right.”

Spencer’s eyes glistened, and for a moment he didn’t trust himself to speak. He opened his mouth once, then shut it again, his throat working like he was trying to find language that didn’t exist yet.

“I…” he began, then paused, frustrated. “I don’t have the right words. Not—not mine, anyway.”

You rubbed your thumb gently along his cheekbone, watching him carefully, waiting.

His hand tightened around yours like it grounded him. Then, almost breathlessly, he said, “Can I… borrow someone else's?”

You nodded without hesitation. “Of course.”

Spencer took a breath, eyes fluttering closed for just a moment. And then, in a voice that shook at the edges but still carried so much warmth, he began to recite:

“I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul. I love you as the plant that never blooms but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers.”

You felt your breath catch in your throat. Pablo Neruda. You recognized it immediately.

Spencer’s voice dropped lower, reverent now, every word reverberating between you.

“I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close.”

He stopped, just barely, a breath trembling against your skin. When he opened his eyes again, they shimmered—not just from tears, but from everything he couldn’t say without someone else’s poetry to carry it.

“I don’t always know how to say it,” he whispered. “Not the way you deserve. But I feel it. Every second. It’s—in me. Like that poem. Like breathing.”

You moved closer, cradling his face in your hands, your own tears slipping free now, quiet and full.

“Spencer,” you whispered, voice thick, “you show me you love me every single day. And that?” You touched your forehead to his. “That was the most beautiful thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

He exhaled shakily, wrapping his arms around you like he never wanted to let go.

And maybe, neither of you ever would.

—

The motel was small and a little sad—one of those off-the-highway places with flickering neon signs and rooms that smelled vaguely of lemon cleaner and disappointment. The team had wrapped up the latest round of interviews for the night and gathered outside near the parking lot, taking advantage of the cool evening air and vending machine snacks before turning in.

Morgan sat on the SUV's hood, tearing into a bag of trail mix like it had insulted his family. Emily leaned against the passenger-side door, sipping a bottle of water, eyes sharp and amused. The conversation had already veered wildly off-course from the case, and like clockwork, it had drifted into teasing territory.

“I’m just saying,” Morgan said, grinning around a mouthful of almonds, “this town might be depressing as hell, but I did see a very enthusiastic bartender eyeing me at the diner.”

Emily let out a low, knowing chuckle. “Oh, please. You were offered three numbers from women we interviewed today.”

“Hey, I didn't take any of them. I can’t help that I’m desirable,” Morgan said, giving her a playful nudge with his foot.

“Desirable or shameless?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

He smirked. “Why not both?”

Spencer, who’d been half-listening while flipping through the case file one more time, looked up from where he was perched on the curb. “Do either of you ever think about, I don’t know, boundaries?”

“Boundaries?” Emily repeated, grinning as she turned toward him. “Come on, Reid. You make it sound like we’re chasing people through hospital wards. We’re talking about consenting adults.”

“Exactly,” Morgan added, wagging a finger. “Grown folks, grown decisions.”

Spencer raised an eyebrow and muttered, “Some people might prefer to focus on the case.”

Emily narrowed her eyes playfully. “You mean you.”

Spencer didn’t respond, but the blush creeping up his neck was answer enough.

Morgan leaned forward like he’d just smelled blood in the water. “You’re telling me, Pretty Boy, that in all the time we’ve been out in the field—years, by the way—you’ve never, not once, had a little... off-duty adventure?”

Spencer shifted awkwardly. “I don’t really think—”

“Oh my God,” Emily gasped, feigning horror as she clutched her water bottle. “Never? Not even a little flirtation at a hotel bar? A mysterious woman with a tragic backstory? A man in a cowboy hat named—”

“You’re projecting,” Spencer said flatly.

Emily grinned. “I’ll allow it.”

“I just don’t see the point in meaningless interactions with people I’ll never see again,” Spencer said, shrugging a little like it wasn’t a big deal.

“Buddy,” Morgan said with a laugh, “it’s not meaningless if it’s fun.”

“Exactly,” Emily chimed in. “We’re not saying you’ve got to form a long-term emotional attachment over drinks and a shared trauma. Just that… exploration is healthy.”

“You guys sound like a pair of bad sex ed videos,” Spencer muttered, tucking his file under his arm and standing up.

Morgan grinned. “We’re trying to help you, man.”

“I don’t need help,” Spencer said. “And for the record, I’ve had plenty of—experiences. Just not with every waitress and desk clerk, we pass along the way.”

“Oh, come on,” Emily had joked. “Name one.”

And he’d blinked, fumbling for the simplest, most obvious answer. “I have a girlfriend?”

It was meant to be enough. More than enough. He thought maybe they’d drop it after that. Maybe Morgan would whistle, or Emily would roll her eyes and call him smug. But instead—

“And I bet those are the only tits you’ve ever seen,” Morgan laughed, head tossed back, that familiar, easy drunk-banter tone laced with sharpness he didn’t realize he’d crossed.

The laughter that followed was sloppy and loud. Emily chuckled too, but hers was a little more hesitant—her gaze already sliding toward Spencer like maybe they had gone too far.

Spencer didn’t laugh. His spine stiffened, and his mouth pressed into a tight line.

Because yeah… okay, maybe it wasn’t entirely wrong. Maybe he hadn’t racked up any wild, tangled encounters in foreign cities or hooked up with someone he couldn’t remember the last name of. Maybe he didn’t have wild stories about tequila-fueled nights or poolside flings. But it wasn’t like he’d planned that.

He was just… different.

And sometimes—especially moments like this—it made him feel like he’d missed something. Like everyone else had been handed a script on how to be effortlessly cool and experienced, and he’d shown up too late to memorize the lines.

Morgan was still grinning, but Emily had caught on now, her smile slipping completely as she glanced toward Spencer again. He wasn’t saying anything. Wasn’t making a witty comeback or rolling his eyes. He just stood there, arms crossed too tightly, jaw clenched a little too hard.

“Hey,” Emily said softly, nudging Morgan. “That was a little much.”

Morgan blinked, still chuckling, but when he looked at Spencer and saw the tension there—the discomfort etched into his face—his smile dropped too.

“Reid,” he said, sobering, “I was just messing around, man.”

Spencer gave a small, tight shrug. “Yeah. I know.”

But his voice didn’t match the words. Not really.

Emily stepped forward and leaned her shoulder into his gently. “Hey. You’re not missing anything, you know. We just talk a big game. It’s a lot of noise.”

Spencer nodded, still not quite looking at either of them. “It’s fine.”

Morgan sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Seriously, that wasn’t cool. I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad. You’ve got someone who loves you, and that’s more than a lot of people ever get.”

That softened something—just slightly—in Spencer’s shoulders.

“I’m gonna head back,” he murmured after a beat. “Big day tomorrow.”

And he turned, walking slowly back toward his room, hands tucked into his jacket pockets.

Behind him, Emily gave Morgan a look, and Morgan just exhaled heavily.

Because for all the joking and teasing… they sometimes forgot how deeply Spencer felt things. And how, sometimes, even good-natured laughter could echo like a bruise.

…

He hadn’t stopped thinking about it.

The conversation replayed in his head like a bad tape—Morgan’s words looping, the laughter echoing louder than it had in real-time. He knew, knew, they didn’t mean it to cut so deep, but it did. Not because it was true, necessarily, but because some part of him believed it might be. That maybe he wasn’t enough. Not worldly enough. Not man enough. Not good enough to keep someone like you.

So when he got to your place, there was no ritual. No careful organization. No meticulous unwinding.

His bag hit the floor with a dull thud. Coat flung over the back of a chair. Shoes still on. Keys? Thrown onto the table without a second thought.

He didn’t call out for you. He didn’t stop to think. His whole body was thrumming, full of something frantic, aching, needy.

He found you in your office, sitting at your desk, focused and unbothered by the world unraveling outside your door. You barely had time to register the sound of his footsteps before he was there—pulling you out of your chair and into his arms like gravity had just given up.

“Spencer—” you gasped, your hands reaching up to steady yourself, to steady him, but the name barely made it past your lips before his mouth was on yours.

He kissed you hard, breathless and desperate and full of something wild. It wasn’t how he usually kissed you—not the slow, adoring kind. This was urgent. This was please and prove it and don’t go anywhere ever again.

“What’s up, baby?” you whispered against his lips when he let you breathe for a second, searching his face, already knowing something wasn’t right.

“Need you,” he murmured hoarsely, his hands already on your waist, sliding up your back like he couldn’t hold enough of you. “So badly.”

You blinked, caught in his intensity, your palms cupping his jaw as he dove back in—another kiss, this one softer but still tinged with desperation. His hands moved like he was afraid you’d disappear, like he had to memorize the feeling of you all over again in case this was the last time.

“Spencer,” you murmured, voice gentler this time, one hand finding his curls, the other pressed flat over his chest. You could feel his heart pounding. Racing.

He pressed his forehead to yours, eyes closing. “I couldn’t stop thinking about what they said. Morgan. Emily. The way they laughed—like I’d missed out. Like there’s something wrong with me for not having… all those stories. And then I thought—what if you think that too? What if you’re just being patient? What if you’re settling for someone who doesn’t know what he’s doing, who’s boring, or… or disappointing?”

Your heart shattered right there in your chest because he said it with such rawness like the words had been pressing against his ribs for hours, maybe days, desperate to be let out.

His brow was still pressed to yours; eyes closed like he couldn’t bear to see the look on your face when you answered—afraid, deep down, that some part of his fear might be right.

“Baby,” you breathed, your voice caught halfway between shock and heartbreak, your hands gently cradling his face, “what are you talking about?”

He opened his eyes slowly, and they were glossy now, full of something unspoken, something tangled and bruised and fragile.

“I just—” he started, then shook his head, frustrated with himself, with the thoughts that wouldn’t let go. “They said it like it was funny. Like I was some… monk. Like I’d never lived, never explored. And I laughed it off, but it got stuck in my head. I kept wondering if I’d missed out on something. If you felt like you were missing out.”

Your mouth parted to respond, but he kept going, like now that it had started spilling out, he couldn’t stop. “I know I’m not like other people. I know I can be awkward and too intense and not very spontaneous. I like routines. I like structure. I don’t know how to do the whole flirty one-night thing, and I never wanted to, but I also don’t have some grand collection of stories or past lovers or wild memories. I have you. And maybe I’m scared that’s not enough for you.”

You stared at him, chest aching, your thumbs brushing along his jaw as you tried to hold in the tears forming behind your eyes—not from hurt, but from how deeply he was hurting.

“Spencer,” you whispered, pulling him close until your foreheads touched again. “You are enough. You are so enough, baby. You are the most thoughtful, attentive, ridiculously loving man I have ever known. If you think for even a second that I’m missing out, then you really haven’t been paying attention to how obsessed I am with you.”

His breath hitched. “But they—”

“They don’t know us.” You pulled back just enough to look him in the eye. “Spence, I don’t want the stories. I want you. I chose you. Again and again, I would, and I will choose you.”

He swallowed hard like the words you’d just given him were something he hadn’t expected to receive—something he didn’t quite know how to hold without shaking. His eyes were still wet, dark, and glistening as they searched yours, wide and aching with hope he wasn’t sure he was allowed to have.

“You mean that?” he asked, his voice barely there as if it might break if he spoke any louder. There was something so young in the way he asked, so open and raw, like some forgotten version of himself was still standing there, waiting to be told he was too much, or not enough, or somehow both.

Your thumb brushed the side of his cheek with a gentleness you didn’t even know you possessed until you met him. And with your lips inches from his, you whispered back—

“I mean it as much as I do when I say I love you.”

You didn’t blink. You didn’t smile or try to soften it. You just said it the way you meant it—honest, unwavering, full.

Spencer stared at you for a long, still moment as if trying to memorize the shape of those words on your face. Then his arms tightened around you suddenly, pulling you flush to his chest like he could hide you in his bones like he needed to protect this feeling from ever being pulled away again.

“I love you,” he breathed into your hair over and over again. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

You could feel it with every word—how much he needed to say it now, not because he thought you didn’t know, but because he needed to believe it was real again. That someone could know him like this, down to the soft, sensitive, tender center of him, and not walk away.

“I’m not settling,” you whispered into the fabric of his shirt. “You’re it, Spencer. You're everything.”

His hands trembled just slightly as they threaded into your hair, and he kissed you again, more like a promise than a need this time.

And he stopped thinking about that conversation for the first time in hours—maybe days. Because nothing they said mattered anymore. You were his truth now.

“But…” you started, your voice soft and trailing off, like you weren’t quite sure if it was the right moment. Spencer pulled back just slightly, enough to look at you with those wide, earnest eyes, already on alert. He searched your face like he was bracing for another blow, some revelation that would unravel all the reassurance you’d just given him.

You saw the nerves there—always just under the surface with him—and your heart ached with affection. So you softened the weight of the moment with a gentle smile, tilting your head and raising your brows with playful mischief.

“If you still want me…” you said, voice dropping just enough to hint at something less heavy and a lot more suggestive, “…I’m right here.”

And then you wiggled your eyebrows dramatically.

For a second, Spencer blinked at you, caught off guard—until the realization hit, and he let out an actual, genuine laugh, rich and real, the kind that melted the last traces of tension from his shoulders.

He leaned in slowly, letting his nose brush yours, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I always want you,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and warm.

You felt the hum of it in your chest, your fingers curling into the collar of his shirt as you leaned into him again. “Even when I’m annoying?”

He kissed you once, then twice, like punctuation. “Especially then.”

You giggled, your foreheads pressed together, your noses brushing as you whispered, “Even if I don’t have a wild backstory and a cowboy hat?”

“I’ll buy the hat,” he grinned.

“You’d look terrible in a cowboy hat.”

“And you’d still want me.”

You sighed dramatically. “Unfortunately.”

He kissed you again, slower this time, hands wrapped around you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth. And maybe you were.

Spencer’s hands moved without urgency, just steady and sure, like he was mapping every part of you he already knew by heart—reaffirming that yes, you were here, and yes, you were his, and yes, you wanted him just as much.

His palms slid along your back in slow, grounding strokes, fingers pressing into your muscles with the kind of gentle care that made you sigh into the kiss, your body melting against his. You could feel the way his fingertips flexed—like he wasn’t just touching you, he was feeling you, trying to say a thousand quiet things all at once with nothing but the movement of his hands.

You hummed softly, lips parting against his in a breathless murmur of contentment, and just as you were leaning further into the kiss, his hands drifted lower.

Down the curve of your spine. Down to the swell of your hips. And then—

Both of those big, warm, sturdy hands settled on your ass, squeezing gently before he started kneading with slow, purposeful pressure like he had all the time in the world.

You broke the kiss with a quiet, needy whine, your fingers tightening in the fabric of his shirt. “Spencer…” you breathed, not even sure what you were asking for—just overwhelmed with how good it felt, how expressive he was being.

He only smiled, his forehead still pressed to yours, his thumbs stroking slow circles against the fabric of your pants as he spoke in a whisper that sent a shiver down your spine.

“You like that?”

You gave a small, breathless laugh, eyes fluttering half-closed as your hips shifted instinctively under his touch. “You’re lucky I love you. Anyone else, and I’d be filing a formal complaint for being so handsy.”

“Mm,” he murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth, then your jaw. “Good thing I’m yours then, huh?”

His hands squeezed again, just a little firmer this time, and the warmth in your stomach curled tighter.

“God,” you muttered against his throat, “you are so repressed until suddenly you’re not.”

He chuckled into your skin, the sound deep and warm and intimate. “Just needed to be reminded you’re not going anywhere.”

You pulled back enough to meet his eyes, fingers stroking gently at his curls. “Spence,” you whispered, smiling softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He kissed you again like a thank you. Like a promise. And then he kissed you again, just because he could.

This was new.

Not the wanting—he always wanted you, always looked at you like you were the safest place he’d ever known. Not the intimacy either—you’d memorized the shape of his affection over time, the soft way he kissed you good morning, the slow, reverent way he touched you like he was reading a favorite passage over and over again.

But this—this was different.

This was Spencer stripped down to something raw and instinctive, something that didn’t think twice, didn’t second-guess or calculate or stop to breathe. It wasn’t the soft hum of his love—it was the ache. The heat. The urgency that had nothing to do with logic and everything to do with how much he missed you. Needed you.

He had walked through the door, and in that instant, the world narrowed down to you.

No bag hung up. No coat carefully folded. No slow exhale as he sanitized his hands or washed away the day.

He’d tossed everything aside like it didn’t matter—and to him, right now, it didn’t. All that mattered was you.

And now here he was—holding you like he couldn't stand even a molecule of air between your bodies, kissing you with something fierce in his mouth, something that tasted like longing and relief and the echo of every moment he’d spent thinking what if she thinks I’m not enough?

But he wasn’t thinking anymore.

There was no mental filing system running in the background, no tallying glances, no hesitation as he moved his hands from your back to your ass and touched you with the kind of surety that had your breath catching.

Spencer Reid was making the first move. Spencer Reid—whose fingers usually trembled with careful reverence—was now gripping you, pulling you closer, like he needed to remind himself you were real and his and here.

And for once, he wasn’t checking to see if it was okay. He wasn’t reading your expressions like a case file. He wasn’t trying to solve you.

He was just feeling.

Driven by want. By love. By the low, possessive ache of missing you too much for too long.

And you could feel it in every kiss, every touch, every shift of his body against yours.

You barely managed a breath. “Spencer…”

But he kissed you again, cutting off whatever else you were going to say, hands gripping tighter like he couldn’t bear to let go. His voice was low and rough when he finally spoke, lips brushing yours as he whispered—

“Need you.”

Another kiss.

“So badly.”

There was no doubt in his eyes now. No fear. Just hunger. Warmth. You.

This wasn’t the moment he fell in love with you. He already had.

This was the moment he let himself have you. Not carefully. Not hesitantly.

But fully. Completely. Now.

“Oh—okay,” you sputtered, your voice breathy and barely coherent as Spencer’s mouth moved lower, tongue warm and wet against the soft skin of your neck. He kissed you there with a kind of focus that made your knees feel untrustworthy, his lips sucking gently just beneath your jaw, tongue flicking over the mark he left behind. Your head tilted without conscious thought, already giving him more access, and your hands clutched at his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you from floating away.

But then he paused. You felt it in the shift of his breath, the faint hesitation in his hands. Not out of doubt—no, not anymore. Out of deliberation.

Spencer huffed softly, almost frustrated with himself, forehead resting against your collarbone as he breathed in deep, trying to center himself. He was never this forward, never this commanding, and it was clearly throwing him off for a second.

Then he lifted his head, pressed his lips to your ear, and in the lowest, softest tone, said, “I’m going to shower.”

You opened your mouth to protest, heart thudding, already missing his warmth—“Spence, wait—”

But his hand came up, gentle but firm, covering your mouth with one broad palm, effectively silencing you.

“No,” he murmured, meeting your gaze with something that sent a shiver down your spine. “I’m going to get clean before we continue.”

Your eyes widened, heart hammering now for an entirely different reason. There was no teasing glint in his eye, no nervous laughter. Just calm certainty and the weight of intention behind his words.

You nodded beneath his hand, slow at first, then faster, your face burning with heat as his fingers brushed your cheek, thumb lingering just shy of your lips. You could feel how flushed you were, how needy—his sudden authority was so quiet, so natural, that it wasn’t even about the tone. It was about him.

“Good,” he said softly, nodding once in return. His hand slipped away, leaving your lips tingling. “While I shower, I want you to log out of your computer,” he murmured, voice a warm ribbon against your skin. “Then I want you to go wait for me in the bedroom. Can you do that for me?”

You whined, your throat catching on the sound, and you nodded again—eager, trembling, soaked.

He smiled, and even that was gentle, but his eyes had darkened with something deeper, something you weren’t used to seeing from Spencer—but loved.

Without another word, he kissed your temple, then backed away, his fingers trailing down your arm like he didn’t want to leave but had to.

“I won’t take long,” he said, walking backward toward the bathroom, watching your dazed, needy form with an expression that was already promising more.

And you? You didn’t move for a solid ten seconds after the door shut. Just stood there, breath shaking, heart pounding, thighs pressed together.

Then—obedient, aroused, and wholly overwhelmed—you walked toward the computer.

Log out. Bedroom. Wait.

You'd never followed instructions faster in your life.

Spencer had never taken a faster shower in his life. No overthinking, no triple-wash rotations, no alphabetizing of shampoo bottles or lingering beneath the spray with his eyes closed and the world churning in his mind. Tonight, it was all function—scrub, rinse, done. Because you were waiting.

Waiting like you wanted him. Like he was allowed to take. And God, did he want to take.

He toweled off quickly, wrapping the fabric low on his hips, water still clinging to his skin in rivulets that caught the dim bathroom light. He barely looked in the mirror. He didn’t need to. His feet carried him straight out of the bathroom like he had a gravitational pull toward you, eager and electric.

He reached the threshold of the bedroom, breath catching the second he saw you. And everything in him went still.

You were sitting in the center of the bed, cross-legged like something carved out of a dream—soft light from the bedside lamp casting golden shadows over your bare shoulders. You clutched a pillow to your chest, arms wrapped around it, chin resting lightly on top, eyes wide and glowing.

But it wasn’t the posture. It was what wasn’t there.

From behind that pillow, there was nothing. No straps, no sleeves, no hem. Nothing to hide behind but the downy shape of the pillow—and your teasing, trembling confidence.

Spencer’s breath left him in a rush like it had been yanked from his lungs. His fingers flexed instinctively at his sides, nails lightly digging into the soft terrycloth at his hips.

“Darling…” he said it like a prayer, like a plea, like a man trying to keep his soul tethered to his body. His voice cracked ever so slightly. “Is there… do you have anything on?”

You tilted your head, biting your bottom lip with the most innocent look like you didn’t know exactly what you were doing to him. And then, without a single word, you shook your head.

No.

Spencer inhaled sharply through his nose, a sound half desperate, half reverent. He took a slow step forward like he wasn’t sure whether to drop to his knees or just stand there and stare.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, voice low and wrecked, “you’re gonna make me forget how to speak.”

You just blinked up at him, lashes fluttering slightly, still hugging the pillow to your chest like you were shy—though the playful twitch at the corner of your mouth said otherwise.

He ran a hand through his damp curls, chest rising with each deep breath, trying to keep control of the fire simmering just beneath the surface. You had listened. You had waited. And now here you were, offering yourself with that look like he could do anything and you’d say please.

“Are you teasing me?” he asked softly, taking another step closer.

You hugged the pillow tighter, lips curving into a guilty smile. “A little.”

His eyes darkened.

“Good,” Spencer whispered, and something about the way his voice dropped—low and sure and just a little wicked—sent goosebumps racing up your arms. He was close now, close enough that you could see the rivulets of water still trailing down his chest, the way his curls clung damply to his forehead, the flush of heat rising up his neck.

He wasn’t shy right now. Not uncertain or hesitant. This wasn’t the man who asked for permission at every moment. This was the man who’d spent the last week thinking about you. Who had walked through the door and claimed you with his mouth. Who had told you what to do and watched you obey.

And he was still in control.

His fingers slid under the edge of the towel at his hips, knuckles brushing his skin, slow and deliberate. His gaze raked over you like he was starving, and you could barely breathe under the weight of it.

“Because now,” he murmured, taking one step closer, “I can finally repay you.”

You felt it like a chord pulled taut between you—the anticipation, the heat, the hunger wrapped around something deeper. Not just lust. Craving. Possession. Worship.

Your breath hitched, hands gripping the pillow tighter, but your thighs pressed together under it involuntarily, betraying how completely undone you were by the sight of him like this—wet, bare, confident.

“Repay me?” you echoed softly, trying to sound coy, but your voice trembled.

Spencer’s eyes flicked up to yours, and his smile—God, that smile—was all promise.

“For all those times,” he started, letting the towel drop silently to the floor, forgotten. He stood there without shame like he already knew you couldn’t look anywhere else. “For all those times you touched me, kissed me, looked at me like you do, and made me beg for it. For making me want you so bad I couldn’t even get through a full shower.”

You swallowed hard, lips parted.

He leaned in slightly, hands coming to rest at the edge of the mattress, bracketing your knees. “Put the pillow down.”

You blinked at him, and he raised an eyebrow in quiet command. “I want to see all of you.”

You threw the pillow.

His breath caught. And then he was moving.

Spencer kissed you like a man possessed—nothing careful about it. No hesitation, no gentle build. Just heat and hunger and the wild ache of missing you pressed into every inch of your mouth. His lips were rough against yours, breath warm and heavy as he claimed you all over again with just his mouth.

Then his hands—those beautiful, skilled, big hands—came up to your shoulders, steady and sure. He broke the kiss only to guide you gently, reverently, down onto your back, your hair fanning out over the pillows as he followed your descent until your spine hit the mattress with a soft sigh.

You reached for him again the second he pulled away, lips parted in protest, already pouting. “Spence—”

But he was already rising, standing tall again at the foot of the bed with that look on his face. The one he got when he was running through a theory in his head, all focused intensity and faint amusement, the corners of his mouth twitching like he knew something you didn’t yet.

You watched in confusion as he bent down, plucking the discarded towel off the floor. “What are you doing, baby?” you asked, blinking up at him, breath still uneven.

He straightened and looked at you with the kind of soft determination that made your chest squeeze. “You’re going to lift your hips,” he said matter-of-factly, walking back toward the bed, towel in hand, “and I’m going to put my towel under you.”

Your brows furrowed, heat crawling up your neck. “Wh–what? Why?” you asked, your voice going small. “Am I… too messy?”

You sounded shy. Embarrassed, even.

Spencer just chuckled, low and warm and affectionate as he knelt one knee onto the bed and leaned forward, brushing his nose gently against yours. “No, darling,” he whispered, lips grazing yours in a kiss so soft it almost broke you. “But you will be.”

And then he smiled—sweet and so smug—like he’d already made you come twice in his head and was just now getting started.

Your breath hitched. Your thighs pressed together. And your hips lifted.

As soon as the towel was nestled beneath you, Spencer’s hands smoothed over your hips with a kind of care that contrasted sharply with the fire simmering just beneath his skin. He settled between your legs with a reverence that made your heart ache, eyes dark and steady as they trailed down your body like he was studying a sacred text.

And then he began to kiss.

Soft, open-mouthed kisses against your thighs, the crease where your hip met your stomach, the delicate line of your navel. Each one slower than the last, parting your skin with warm breath and tongue, worshipful in a way that made your breath catch in your chest.

He was so focused, not distracted, not looking for affirmation. Just there, completely absorbed in the act of being close to you. Of learning you. Of claiming this new part of you for himself.

But still… your heart fluttered with nerves. A pang of insecurity twisted in your chest.

“Baby…” you murmured, voice shaky, half-laced with awe and half with hesitation. Your fingers brushed through his curls, trying to tether him, your voice barely a whisper. “You don’t have to.”

He stilled at the bottom of your stomach, lips warm against your skin, hands gently cradling your hips like they were the most precious thing he’d ever held.

His eyes lifted slowly to meet yours, his expression unreadable for a moment—serious, but not cold. Just concentrated.

“I know I don’t have to,” he said softly, voice like velvet, slightly hoarse. “But I want to.”

You swallowed, lips parted.

He leaned in and pressed a kiss just above your hipbone, the gentlest kind of reassurance.

“I want to learn every part of you,” he whispered. “Not just the ones we’ve already explored. I want to know what makes you breathe harder. What makes you loud. What makes you fall apart.”

You whimpered then—just from the words.

Spencer’s lips twitched, eyes full of quiet, contained hunger.

“I’ve thought about this,” he continued, breath ghosting lower, hands still firm on your thighs. “About you. About how you’d taste. About how you’d sound when I finally got to make you feel good like this.”

You exhaled sharply, eyes fluttering closed.

“And if you’re nervous,” he said gently, “that’s okay. But I’m not. Not anymore.”

He pressed one more kiss just beneath your navel.

“Let me show you how much I want this,” he murmured. Then his mouth dipped lower. And you forgot how to ask him to stop.

His mouth dipped lower—slow, deliberate, reverent—and your breath caught in your throat so fast it almost hurt. You were trembling, just slightly, with the anticipation of it, your fingers still tangled in his curls, not pulling him closer, not pushing him away, just holding on like you weren’t sure what would happen when he finally reached you.

Spencer’s hands stroked slowly along the outside of your thighs, thumbs brushing upward in long, soothing arcs, grounding you. You could feel the way he wanted this—his touch wasn’t frantic, wasn’t hurried. It was intentional. Every movement, every breath, every kiss, like a declaration.

And then—finally—his mouth reached where you needed it.

He started with a soft, exploratory kiss, his lips pressing gently against the most sensitive part of you, and you gasped, hips jerking slightly. His hands tightened around your thighs, just enough to steady you, but not to restrain you.

Your voice was barely a whisper. “Spence…”

He hummed, low and content against your clit, and the vibration of it traveled through you.

He looked up once, just briefly, to check on you—and what he saw made his breath hitch. Your head thrown back, lips parted, chest rising and falling with shaky, shallow breaths. You were a vision. All flushed skin and trembling limbs, and you were his.

His hands slid further under your thighs as he settled in, fully committing now, and when his tongue flicked out to taste you—slow and precise—you whimpered, thighs twitching against his palms.

Spencer groaned. Deep and low in his chest, like he hadn’t expected to enjoy this so much like you had just become his new obsession.

“That’s it,” he murmured against you, his voice half-praise, half-need. “You’re already doing so good for me.”

And then he really got to work—slow, languid licks followed by teasing little swirls of his tongue, like he was trying to memorize what every reaction meant. Every little gasp. Every roll of your hips. Every shaky moan.

It wasn’t perfect—it was messy and unpracticed and full of a kind of eagerness that was unmistakably Spencer. But it was so good. Because it was him. Because he was paying attention. Because he wanted to give you everything.

Your fingers tightened in his curls as you let out a breathless, broken moan, back arching into the pillow, into the towel, into him.

“Spencer—Spence, oh my God—”

He moaned softly in response, like your pleasure was feeding something primal in him, and he redoubled his efforts, his tongue moving with more confidence now, more pressure, more purpose.

He treated this like an experiment like you were his thesis and your pleasure, the final data set he had been born to analyze. 

If anyone asked him—if you asked him—he’d turn beet red and stammer something about just following instinct, maybe quote some outdated medical journal on female arousal, but the truth? The truth was that Spencer Reid had done his homework.

He’d read. He’d watched. He’d studied. Not just academically, but with purpose, with the quiet kind of obsession he reserved for the things he wanted to master. And right now, that thing was you.

You were already breathless beneath him, trembling from the waves of pleasure he’d pulled from you so far. But Spencer had that look in his eyes again—the one he got when he was chasing a theory, testing hypotheses in real-time. He’d seen what you responded to. He was collecting the data, building toward a conclusion.

So when he adjusted his grip on your thighs, anchoring them gently but firmly over his shoulders, and leaned in again, you thought you were ready.

You weren’t.

His mouth closed over your clit—not gently. Not shy. And then—he shook his head.

Your cry was sharp, ragged, pulled straight from your chest without filter or form. Your back arched off the bed, every muscle in your body drawn taut like a bowstring as pleasure burst through you, electric and dizzying.

“Oh my— Spencer!” you gasped, voice cracking as your thighs instinctively tried to close, but his arms were already bracing them open, holding you there, grounding you with a strength you hadn’t expected from someone who spent most of his time holding books, not bodies.

Spencer paused for the briefest second, blinking up at you in stunned, awe-struck wonder. You were writhing. Crying out. Your back was arched so high he genuinely worried for a split second you might hurt yourself—if not for the desperate way your hands clawed at the sheets and your breath came in gasping, incoherent strings of his name.

And then you said it—voice cracked and reverent and broken around the edges— “Don’t stop—don’t you dare stop—”

Spencer didn’t stop. He doubled down.

His mouth sealed over you again, this time with even more purpose, sucking and shaking, varying pressure like he was experimenting, chasing the formula for your complete and utter unraveling. And God, he was close.

You were incoherent. Wrecked. A shaking, crying mess of nerves and sensation, repeating his name like a litany, fingers in his hair, in the sheets, in the air, searching for something to hold on to while your body tried to come apart under the weight of it.

He moaned into you—actually moaned—because he hadn’t known it could feel like this. Your pleasure was addictive, intoxicating, and he never wanted to stop chasing it.

When you came, it wasn’t a gentle fall. It was a collapse like your body couldn’t hold itself together any longer. Your voice was gone, your thighs shaking, and all you could do was ride it out.

But Spencer hadn’t stopped.

You were still trembling—breathless and glassy-eyed, your limbs splayed out like you’d just been unraveled and your soul hadn’t quite returned to your body yet—but Spencer? Spencer was locked in. Focused. Eager. Insatiable.

His mouth remained sealed to you, tongue still lapping in slow, methodical strokes like you were his favorite dessert, and he wasn’t done savoring every last drop. And maybe he hadn’t realized.

No, you realized, he definitely hadn’t realized.

He hadn’t realized you’d just had a full-body clitoral orgasm. That you were already spent, flushed, and shaking from the inside out. Because to Spencer, this wasn’t the end. This was still data collection. Ongoing results. Field research.

Your hips gave a weak jerk beneath him, overstimulated but helplessly pliant. You tried to lift your head, tried to warn him with a broken, “Spence—baby—I—I already—”

But your voice dissolved into a moan as he gave another slow, deliberate drag of his tongue over your still-pulsing center. Your body flinched, caught in the strange limbo of pleasure and overwhelm, but Spencer didn’t pause—he moaned, and the sound vibrated through you, making you shudder again.

And then you saw it.

You felt it.

The slight shift of the mattress. The tension in his thighs. His hips grinding down into the bed. Not frantic—rhythmic. Slow. Purposeful.

Your dazed eyes dropped to where his body pressed into the sheets—Spencer was grinding into the mattress, his cock rigid and leaking, caught between his stomach and the bed as he rutted against it with the kind of desperate need he probably didn’t even realize he was showing. All while still licking you with the same kind of focused obsession he brought to his most complex theories.

The sight nearly took your breath away.

He was lost in it—eyes half-closed, one hand gripping your thigh tightly, the other splayed possessively over your stomach, holding you down, holding you here as he licked and licked like you were everything he’d ever wanted.

And maybe you were.

“Oh—Spencer,” you gasped, voice caught somewhere between awe and overstimulation, your fingers sinking into his damp curls again. “Baby, you’re gonna kill me—”

He finally pulled back—barely—his mouth glistening, lips swollen, breath ragged as he looked up at you with dazed, reverent eyes. There was a thin sheen of sweat on his brow, and his voice was hoarse, hungry when he spoke.

“You taste—so good,” he whispered like it was a revelation. “I can’t stop.”

You whimpered, your back arching again just at the sound of his voice.

And still, you could feel the soft thrusts of his hips into the mattress, like he couldn’t help himself. Like just being here, having you like this, tasting you, was enough to drive him to the brink.

And it hit you clear as day—this wasn’t for your pleasure only.

Spencer Reid was getting off on this. On you. On making you fall apart again and again. On turning every theory into practice.

And God help you—you were ready to let him keep going.

Spencer ate like a man starved. Not of food, but of you—the taste of you, the sound of you, the way your body responded to his every touch like it was made to be deciphered by him and him alone.

He experimented—slow flicks, gentle suckling, broad strokes of his tongue that made your thighs twitch and your toes curl. He noted every whimper, every little gasp, every sudden grab at the sheets with the quiet, terrifying brilliance of someone who didn’t just want to please you—he wanted to master you. Completely.

And then, when you were already trembling and slick with sweat, eyes half-lidded and barely able to breathe, he brought his fingers into the mix.

Two long, elegant fingers—ones that had flipped through a thousand pages and solved puzzles most couldn’t dream of—slid up and pressed directly against your clit, rubbing furiously, while his tongue pushed inside you with an intensity that made your thighs snap closed around his head like a vice.

The world fractured.

You cried out—screamed, really—as your hips bucked wildly, pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave. You weren’t just coming. You were thrashing, your entire body consumed by the overload, trembling violently as Spencer held you down and kept going.

He didn’t stop. Not when your thighs clenched. Not when your fingers yanked at his hair. Not even when your voice cracked trying to call his name through the chaos.

He moaned against you, drunk on your body, on the mess he was making, the slickness he was drinking down like nectar. His eyes rolled back as he kept thrusting his tongue into you, fingers rubbing your clit with that same maddening rhythm, chasing something deeper, more.

“Spence—!” you choked, the sound mangled by a sob, too far gone to form words, too sensitive to take anymore.

It wasn’t even about pleasure anymore—it was just too much.

You reached for him with shaking hands, every part of you trembling, legs twitching uncontrollably. “Baby— Spencer, I can’t—please, please—”

And even then, he didn’t stop until you grabbed fistfuls of his hair and physically pushed him away, your voice wrecked and teary as you cried out, “I need—I need a second—!”

Spencer pulled back immediately, breathless and wide-eyed, mouth glistening, curls messy and damp where your thighs had pressed against his head. His hands released you like he was afraid he’d gone too far.

You were panting, chest heaving, body covered in sweat and shivering from head to toe, the towel underneath you wrinkled and soaked.

He opened his mouth to speak—an apology, maybe—but your hand caught his cheek.

Your eyes met his, hazy but full of emotion. “That was incredible,” you whispered, voice hoarse and shaky. “But holy shit, Spencer.”

He blinked. “Did I—? Was that—?”

You gave a dazed, giddy laugh. “I had to push you off. That’s how good it was.”

He flushed instantly, eyes wide, pride, concern, and lust tangling across his face.

“Let me just—let me breathe for a second,” you added, still gasping as you pulled him down into your arms, your body too weak to do anything else but hold on.

Spencer melted into you without question, lips pressing to your cheek, jaw, and forehead. “Okay,” he murmured softly, voice wrecked but sweet. “Okay. I’ve got you.”

And he did. Every piece. And he wasn’t letting go.

You were blinking up at the ceiling, dazed and glowing.

And maybe later, Spencer would blush. Maybe he’d be shy, overthink it, and pretend he wasn’t proud of himself.

But right now?

Right now, Spencer Reid looked at you like he’d just discovered fire.

Spencer had his head nestled against your shoulder, still catching his breath from how completely he’d just wrecked you. His curls were wild, lips swollen, cheeks pink, but his hands had returned to their default setting: gentle, steady, anchored somewhere on your body like a reassurance that you were still here, still his.

Still real.

But even as he held you, your chest rising and falling in the aftermath, he lifted his head slightly to check in—eyes soft but searching.

“You okay?” he asked, voice hoarse, lower than usual, like the sheer intimacy of what had just happened had rewired something in him. “Still with me?”

You turned your head just enough to fix him with a tired, narrow-eyed glare, your voice still raspy but laced with teasing fire. “You’re not that good.”

The corner of his mouth twitched up immediately, a smug little smile blooming across his face as he shifted onto an elbow to look down at you. “I think I am,” he replied, way too pleased with himself, voice silky and satisfied.

You blinked slowly up at him. “Oh, do you?”

He nodded, eyes half-lidded, hair clinging to his forehead, looking every bit the genius who had just figured out a new way to make you lose your mind.

So you did the only thing you could do to wipe that smirk off his face.

Your hand slid down between your bodies, warm and sure, and wrapped around him—soft at first, fingers barely ghosting over his cock, which was flushed and heavy and leaking at the tip, still twitching slightly from the way he’d been grinding against the mattress earlier. Spencer let out a soft gasp, hips jerking almost reflexively.

But you weren’t done.

You pinched lightly at the tip, just enough to make him jolt with a strangled sound in the back of his throat, the kind that shot straight through you.

“Oh my—” he hissed, breath catching completely.

You began stroking him slowly, deliberately, the barest pressure over his most sensitive skin. You watched with a lazy sort of satisfaction as his eyelids fluttered and that smug expression crumbled, replaced by slack-jawed awe.

“Still feeling smug, baby?” you asked sweetly, your thumb dragging through the moisture at his tip.

Spencer whimpered.

Actually whimpered.

His mouth opened but no words came out, just a shaky breath as his hips bucked into your hand and his fingers gripped the sheets beside your head.

You smiled.

“Didn’t think so.”

You moved slowly down the bed then, with sultry purpose, eyes fixed on his like you knew exactly what kind of power you had—like you’d reclaimed every ounce of strength he’d taken from you moments ago, and now, you were going to use it to ruin him in return.

You trailed your hands up his thighs, soft and deliberate, and he was already shaking beneath your touch, eyes wide, lips parted, chest heaving. Still flushed, still glistening slightly from his feverish grinding into the mattress, he looked like a man who had no business looking so undone.

And then you leaned forward—so close he could feel your breath against the head of his cock, tongue slipping out to just barely trace a circle around his leaking tip.

Spencer gasped, his hips twitching, one hand flying into your hair as the other gripped the edge of the bed for dear life.

“Oh my God,” he breathed, voice ragged. “You—oh, fuck—”

You didn’t answer. You just kept eye contact as you moved in slow, delicate laps, tasting the salt of him, flicking the very tip with the flat of your tongue until he was cursing under his breath and moaning freely—no longer quiet, no longer composed.

He’d come into this night feeling unsure, wondering if he was enough. But now? Now he was helpless. Vulnerable in the best way. Because you weren’t just giving—you were showing. Showing him what he did to you. Showing him how much you loved him. How much you wanted him.

You wrapped your lips gently around the head, sucking—soft at first, light pressure that had his whole body jolting. “Ohh— god, I—please—” he groaned as his fingers tightened in your hair, not guiding, just holding on.

And then, without warning, your mouth dropped lower.

Your tongue slid beneath him, your lips parting wider, and suddenly his balls were enveloped in the wet heat of your mouth.

Spencer cried out, his head thrown back with a choked sound that was more pure sensation than speech, thighs trembling under your palms.

“Nn—fuck, you’re gonna—” He couldn’t even warn you properly. He couldn’t think.

It was overwhelming. Too good. Too new. Too much.

You hummed softly against him—just enough vibration to push him that last little bit over the edge—and that was it.

Spencer broke.

He came with a cry, long and raw and completely unrestrained, his fingers twitching in your hair, hips stuttering as his whole body shook with the force of it.

You felt him pulse in your hand, warm and heavy and completely at your mercy, and still, you didn’t look away.

When he finally slumped back onto the bed, breathing like he’d just sprinted through a storm, his hand falling from your hair like his bones had melted, you leaned forward and kissed the inside of his thigh before slowly climbing back up beside him.

His eyes fluttered open, glassy and wide.

“Wha—what just—what was that?” he whispered, voice hoarse and trembling.

You smiled, smug and sweet, curling up beside him and running your fingers through his hair.

“Field research,” you murmured.

Spencer let out a breathless, wrecked laugh and buried his face in your neck.

He wasn’t going to let you go anywhere.

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[knightyoomyoui]

The Price Of Becoming The Chosen ONCE [+18] (COMMISSIONED)

ft. TWICE's Mina (x Male Reader & other TWICE members)

TYPE: Fluff, Angst, Smut

WORD COUNT: 12064

REQUESTED/ORDERED BY: @vl-45

TAGS: cheating, blackmailing, sex slave, possession, harem, obsession

NOTE: One of the longest fics I've ever written because I really love the plot that OC has given to me. Thank you again for ordering and I hope you'll have a great time reading what I made for you!

DONATE OR REQUEST FOR COMMISSION HERE: https://ko-fi.com/knightyoomyoui

DESCRIPTION: It follows the story of YN as he goes through the challenges he has to face from the consequences of being the center of their decisions driven by their respective desires of claiming him, in contradiction to the thought that his life would only change for the better after being Mina's lucky boyfriend and getting introduced to the rest of the members.

==OO==

ACT 1

The crowd was packed inside the Ilji Art Hall, where more than a hundred ONCEs went for TWICE’s fan meet in accordance with their new comeback with “Strategy” featuring Megan Thee Stallion. Everybody started to find their seats and found everything all set up on the stage. The only one that was missing yet is the one they all came for.

They all went out and headed through the backstage. As the huge monitor began playing their MV teasers, they were given a go signal to begin entering the stage one by one. The crowd erupted in joy to see their favorite idols in person, waving their hands and presenting them their natural bright expressions written all over their faces.

TWICE were preparing themselves in a room. Some took this as a chance to rest for a while; others went for chit-chats or used their phones.

The manager then opened the door, signaling them that they can now enter the hall.

The girls made their signature greeting, and the remainder of the event followed. The fans were now given the chance to step up to the stage to get closer to meeting each member of TWICE and do as they please along with their own merch they want to be signed and gifts they purchased for them. Obvious to how they behave, the fans were rather shaking slightly in nervousness, acting strange due to shyness, while the rest were just calm and confident.

And that includes you.

Along with your recently bought Strategy album, including some TWICE-designed bubble fan with a penguin plushie, it’s definitely clear who is the specific person you’re most excited to interact with. You got to talk to Nayeon, Jeongyeon, Momo, Sana, and Jihyo… until it is time to move onto the next chair. She went to say goodbye to the other fan after you before she turned her attention to you.

Just like that, your composure that you’ve been preserving and holding since you arrived here immediately melted. You caught the first sight of Mina having eye-to-eye contact with you. It almost felt like everything went slow motion and blurry the longer you stared at her gummy smile.

“Hello, earth to ONCE?” She asked you, waving her hand in front of your face. You were even aware that you looked stupid in front of her, giving her the first ticket of making yourself an embarrassment. Your popping eyes and gaping mouth lowered down as your senses snapped back to the real world.

“O-oh! Uh- uhm, h-hi. Oh my god.” You quickly reshuffled yourself back into your proper posture. “I’m really so sorry, I was just-”

“Yeah, I get it. Still can’t believe it’s real, isn’t it?”

“Definitely.” You chuckled. “I don’t know if I’m just dreaming right now or not.”

“Wanna find out?” Mina asked you who didn’t get enough to respond quickly. Shortly afterwards, she lend her hand on you. “Hold my hand.”

“W-wha-” Mina just giggled at your malfunctioning state. She finds it hilarious that you’re acting funny with your panicking actions at the moment.

“We don’t got all the time, ONCE. If I were you I would take the-”

Without any further ado, you hurriedly put your fingers in contact to her hand. The touch sent shockwaves through your skin, goosebumps rising. “Holy shit, you are indeed real.”

“Language.” Mina shushed you.

“Oh s-sorry, pardon my bad mouth.”

“Hehe, it’s fine. It’s normal for adults to curse.” Mina waved it off. “I get it, you’re just too dumbfounded right now. Is this your first time?”

“Yes.” You answered with a nod. “I actually just had the opportunity to attend a fanmeet to finally see you girls for the first time. I mostly spent a lot of money just to get in here.”

“Aww I appreciate the dedication!” Mina was touched at your efforts. “May I know your name?”

“It’s YN.” You introduced yourself. “Been a ONCE since last year. I’m just new, I know but I did a lot of research to consider myself kinda knowledgeable about your careers currently.”

“You sure do love TWICE that much, huh.”

“Yeah, but mostly you are.” You quickly covered your mouth in surprise. Mina was left speechless at your confession between she teasingly laughed and amazed at your “accidental” remark.

“And I love the fact that I am your bias.” Mina expressed her pleasant reaction. “Great choice.” She gave a quick glance and a stoic look at the other members before laughing in which you can’t help but to join her.

“So what do you have for me here?” She switched the topic.

“Uhm I have my Strategy album here, I already heard all the tracks and I wanna say they are all amazing.”

“What’s your favorite track?”

“The title track and Like It Like It.”

“Ooh, we’re the same. High five!” She offered you again her hand, and it’s making you crazy knowing how lucky you are to get this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to not only hold Mina’s hand but also to also share a surreal hand gesture with her. This is literally a next-level interaction you got here with her, and how dumb of you to just let it go to waste.

You slammed your palm onto hers, and both were glad at what they did. She reached for your album and signed it with her marking pen before giving it back to you as its owner.

“Thank you so much! And uhh, lastly I bought this for you.” You presented her the penguin plushie you were also carrying. “I hope you like it; I tried to find one of it that is as cute as you.”

Mina was satisfied with your compliment, pursing her lower lip and nodding at it. “And you certainly did accomplish that. I love it!” She grabbed your plushie and cuddled it with a smile. You felt touched seeing your bias enjoying your present despite how simple it is.

The manager then went behind Mina and looked at you both. “Time's up, Minari. Sir, you have to proceed.”

“Hey, take out your phone,” Mina commanded you, and you complied, quickly searching for it in your pocket and pulling it out. “Let me give you a memory to recall that’ll assure you these all happen for real. Let’s take a picture.”

You raised your phone, with your cheeks flushing from excitement and bliss. It then went all tomato when you heard what Mina said afterwards.

“Pinch my cheek.” She poked her cheek twice as she leaned her face on you. You just want to at least give Mina a warning message to take all these carefully and not too suddenly, as you feel like you’re about to get your heart exploding in flattery because of the effect she’s giving at you.

“O-okay.” You followed, placing your fingertips and pressing them on Mina’s soft and smooth cheeks. You are breathing heavily as you do so. Raising your phone and clicking on the screen, it captured this unforgettable moment you have shared with Mina.

“Thank you so much, Mina! I wish you and TWICE all the best for next year!”

“Thank you as well, YN. It’s nice to meet you.” You and Mina exchanged bows at one another before you switched chairs and face Dahyun next. Even without your figure in front of her, Mina couldn’t help to still follow you with her gaze. It was like she was struck by interest she couldn’t describe.

You also were throwing glances at her through the rest of the event before it ended. It was a lot of fun seeing them being the usual happy go lucky type of a group which also shows that they seemed like more of a family rather with how kind they treat each other. As you made your exit in the hall and enter your car, you let out every emotions you were holding while being inside there.

“I can’t believe it, I literally got inches up close with TWICE and Mina today. Best freaking day ever.” You muttered dreamily to yourself before driving your car away back to your home.

On the other hand, Mina couldn’t help but to rewind back her interactions with you. She saw the potential of you being a great friend to get along with because of the quality of your attitude. It made her a little bashful when she silently admitted that she was more impressed, as along with your personality comes an attractive appearance as well.

Fortunately, the eyes of the fans along with their opinions aligned with Mina’s initial thoughts. Scrolling through social media, she found a couple of clips from the fan meet that feature her interaction with you from different angles. Checking the comment section, it was filled with numerous words from other ONCEs positively agreeing that she, along with you, has made a fascinating, adorable moment together, which made her grin.

It truly was suck when Mina remembered that she’ll never meet you personally again. That is until one day, she was proven by her thoughts to be all mistaken when she visited her favorite bakery shop. As she was about to order, she encountered a familiar face in the cashier.

“W-wait what? Oh my…”

“Oh, it’s you!” Mina’s face lightened. “You’re the fan I got to talk last fanmeet. YN, right?”

“No freaking way, she actually remembered my name?” You were in appalled at the mention all brought by her sharp memory.

“Y-yes, that was me.” You said. “It’s very unexpected to meet you here again.” said sheepishly.

“I am too, I didn’t even know you work here at my favorite bakery.” She admitted.

“Well I just moved here yesterday after I got accepted from the job. It’s just a part-time, want to find something worth my time to be independent of.” You shared.

“So you also live here close?”

“Almost.”

“Really? Well…” She gestured you to come closer in which you did. “This shouldn’t be told to others, but I just want to inform you that I also live around here as well.” She whispered.

“Oh. Wow, it’s really making me very lucky to see and talk with you again.” You said. “But uhh, why did you told me that easily for me?”

Your question had Mina baffled as well at her decision. She came up with a reason rather, one that she could relate the most. “I… I don’t know, well atleast I didn’t told you where I exactly live, you know.”

You scratched your head as you understood her point late. “Oh yeah, my bad. Boundaries.”

Mina agreed silently and giggled at your guilty demeanor. “It’s okay.”

“So, Miss Myoui may I have your order please?”

Mina spoke out about her preferred bread to buy for breakfast. You tried to maintain the good performance, especially since this is a hugely popular celebrity as one of your customers; you don’t want to put shame on yourself, this new job you have, and your manager. After placing them on the paper bags, you handed them to her, in which you received money bills from Mina.

After securing the payment, you greeted Mina politely. “Thank you for coming, Miss Myoui! Have a nice day!”

“You too, YN.” As she was about to step outside with her manager, she rotated her feet back to the opposite direction, approaching you again on the counter which perplexed you. “Is there any concerns, Miss Myoui?”

“Perhaps you’ve seen about how we are trending right now in K-Pop media. Did you see the videos of us from the fanmeet few days ago?”

“Oh that, yeah. I was stunned that we hooked most of attentions to us that day.” You shyly said.

“I actually think you’re a good person to hang along with, YN. The fans seems to agree and so do I.” She curiously stated. “If I say I’m giving you a chance to be friends with me too, would you take it?”

“Y-you want me… to be friends with you?”

You were mindblown at her invitation. What in the timeline of this universe are you living in? you thought to yourself. What deeds have you done for you to be granted to step into this situation, standing face to face with Myoui Mina, a member of your favorite girl group TWICE, asking you to be friends with her?

At first these are all a dream to imagine. As much as you wanted to ask her again if these are all real, you don’t want yourself to have trouble acting normally in front of her again. You just stared at Mina, completely astounded.

“Yes.” Mina repeated again that she has made the decision. She looked at her manager who is giving her cautious gazes but Mina looks to prevent and calm it down with her assuring one. “It’s fine if you don’t. I get it, it’s not okay for an idol to be closer with a-”

“I accept.” You cut her off to show how much willing you are. “I mean, who in their right minds wouldn’t want to have as someone like you in their life.”

Mina felt fluttered at your praise. She showed again her usual gummy smile. “You’re too soft-spoken for me.”

“Because you deserve it.” You shrugged.

You and her stared at one another before she bid goodbye to you and thanked you again for accepting her. In the middle of your job, you have lost your mind processing the truth that Myoui Mina is seriously one of your little amount of friends now. At the van, Mina was warmed to know that you didn’t care about the distinction between your roles in life as a basis for developing a close connection together.

ACT 2

“My manager would be here in 5 minutes.” Mina said after checking the time on her phone. “Thank you for agreeing to this, YN.”

You and Mina cooperatively took each step on growing your closeness together through various ways. Even if it meant for Mina to look like a complete anonymous person to the public with her black jacket, shades, and pants, as long as she got to be with you anytime you two wanted to hang out, it was no bother to her. Meanwhile, your respect and admiration for Mina’s determination of being a true friend who assures that she gets to be present by your side when you need her grows each time that passes.

The two of you would get to know each little detail about yourselves,, whether through conversations, hobbies each of you was joined to participate in, and sometimes deep talks where you and Mina would spill some worries that just can’t get out of your head and chest that easily.

Then Mina picked up this idea she had to strengthen your trust and make your bond stronger when she sent you a message that made you bewildered during your duty at the bakery. As usual, you wanted to reconfirm if what she said was true, so you asked her again. She really didn’t have any typos or a short out-of-trance moment while she was constructing the message: she actually wants to bring you to their dorm.

Her reason: she admitted that hiding her identity in the public, which wasn’t her cup of tea to be in, is draining her. That’s why she requested you to do something for her this time, which you considered a test as well to observe how you are engaged to allow Mina to spend some time with you as a friend personally.

Without any hesitation, you granted it. You showed up at her meeting place, the coffee shop she chose. Your presence immediately plastered joy on her face.

“No problem. I should do the same for you this time, you know.”

“I thought you’ll protest or reject my invitation because of how absurd it is.” Mina retorted in a tensed manner. “But I’m glad you didn’t.”

“Actually I did thought you didn’t meant it or what. Maybe you have forgotten about the line we don’t have to cross, or yeah let’s say privacy.” You said calmly. “Like, why would you let me be in to your own personal space, Mina.”

“You’re not a stranger to me anymore, YN. You’re my friend.”

“I know. But sometimes I do feel like I’ve barely been known yet for you to trust me this much. I don’t deserve this special treatment I’m-”

“Stop it.” You felt chills when Mina looked at you seriously. “You are already special to me. Think about it, how many ONCEs I had to be close and accept them in as my friend from outside. Nobody but you, that’s why whatever you at it, you deserved to receive it from me because you’re lucky to be.”

You nodded, Mina’s assurance effectively comforting you. “Why I get to be the one then, Mina?”

“Why do you ask? Do you hate it?” Mina subtly looked at you.

“N-no, I just… I just wanna know what did you truly see in me that makes me be the deserving one to know everything about you.”

Mina became silent for a moment as she thought about it. She avoided her gaze to rewind and search for clues she could provide as a reasonable answer aside from your good personality.

“Tell me first, why did you came here to be with in the first place then?” She threw the question back at you.

“Because… I want you to keep believing in me.” You replied. “I don’t want to destroy everything that makes me who I am for you, it would be as if I just let this opportunity to become friends with you to be ruined. I… want to keep you around me, Mina.”

Mina reciprocated your hug to her and buried her face more at your chest. “Seriously, YN. What are we now? I… This feeling I have, I know it’s more than just a friend for you. It may be wrong for others, but I couldn’t help it.”

Mina’s serious expression transitioned into a beaming one. She stepped closer to you and looked up to meet your eyes. “There it is. Why should I be asked if you already knew the answer yourself? I just simply like everything about what you do, because we both know that I’m the motivation for all of it, not because I’m your bias from TWICE, but because I’m just me, a girl named Mina.”

“And to give you one as well, I want us to be fair here.” You couldn’t help it; Mina felt her breath taken away when you trapped her in your embrace. She felt so little around your arms, and she loved how cozy and warm it is to be stuck with you.

“For the first time in my life, I’ve never felt so valuable in someone’s life. That’s why I’d like to be in your company, because you’re giving me purpose to keep on living, not only because I have to strive for my own deficit, but to show that I am also important at who I am.”

“Let yourself fall, Mina. I’ll be here to catch you anyway.”

Both of you stared at one another, as you can view Mina’s surprised reaction that you do share a mutual agreement at her feelings for you. You winked at her and grinned before you continued. “But, let’s just go with the process. We can take things slow. Then, if we’re ready, we can do as we please.”

Mina nodded and giggled at the wonderful idea. “I absolute love that.”

You kissed her hooded head and hugged her tighter, just seconds before her manager and driver stopped the van in front of you two. “Hop in, lovebirds.” She already teased you both, in which you have failed to make yourselves look innocent.

The ride wasn’t that long as like Mina said, she was actually just a bit close to where you live. Upon your discovery, TWICE are currently staying this is giant luxury hotel around your area. The van entered the gates and it parked in front of the entrance.

“Hurry, we might get seen.” She immediately led you both to the elevator in which Mina can now remove her mask as hoodie safely.

Reaching the floor they inputted on the buttons, you knew that you are feet up from the ground because of how slightly tensed your legs are acting through every footstep. Manager unnie stopped in front of one of the doors and unlocked it.

“Thank you, unnie.” Mina greeted.

“Go ahead, you two. And oh…”

Both of you halted.

“I’ll just gonna pretend I didn’t saw what I’ve seen earlier.” She smirked before entering her room, leaving you both shy from being caught.

“Well that’s a pretty lame start on making ourselves look obvious.” You commented, Mina chuckled.

“This way.”

Mina approached the last door at the end of the hallway, she inputted a passcode on it before it unlocked. You felt even more nervous to enter knowing that you’re about to step onto the place where you only just used to see from their vlogs.

“Come in.”

“H-hello.”

“U-uhh, o-okay.”

You stepped inside and removed your shoes. A short hallway greeted you at first before you followed Mina behind to pass through it. After you reached the brighter end, the entire wide area of their room emerged, and in your overwhelmed state, you got to see some of the other members in the living room, just in their simple house attire.

Jihyo and Sana are just watching TV on the couch while Tzuyu is studying something on her phone based on the pen and notebook she had prepared in front of her. As they felt Mina’s arrival, they all got to see you as well, which made them panicked.

“Oh, Mina! And you, the famous ONCE who a fanboy of our penguin here.” Sana cheerfully pointed at you in which you bowed in return.

“Welcome to our house… YN, correct?” Jihyo asked for clarification.

“Yes.”

“Not saying noona, I see. Are you older than Nayeon unnie?”

“A year older.” You confirmed.

“Oh, interesting.” Jihyo nodded. “Well, hi again. Make yourself comfortable, okay? Mina, why don’t you make our guest comfortable around would ya?”

“Okay, unnie. Thank you for allowing me to bring him in.”

“Always for you, Minari.” She responded which both of them smiled. You and her went to the kitchen. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to your idea, Jihyo and Sana were sharing the same sentiment.

“Yeah, it’s a wise choice to allow him here.” She meant in a different meaning, bouncing her eyebrows and smirked.

“Right? He really does look handsome up close.” Sana agreed.

Tzuyu can hear her unnies’ conversation, and even she couldn’t blame them for being like that. She almost got distracted at her lesson in psychology class when her eyes landed on your impressive figure present in front of her.

Back at your situation with Mina, she offered you a seat, which you gratefully took. She poured a glass of orange juice per your request and instantly made you a sandwich. As you sheepishly ate the food, Mina just admiringly watched you.

“You can just say if you want more, okay? Feel free and get used being around here because from now on you’ll be in here frequently.”

“Uh… I won’t object anymore if that’s what you want to happen. I actually would like to meet the other members as well.” Your die-hard inner ONCE wishing for a miracle to become close with them speaking for yourself, because it knew that this is the perfect fantasy for you to live onto.

“Some of them are in their room, but Jeongyeon unnie and Dahyun aren’t around though. One is in her family house and the other is currently filming her movie.”

“Oh okay. I actually don’t expect them to be all around here anyway, I know all of you have different schedules and busy with your own solo projects occurring.” You said. “I’m contented enough to atleast get to meet the others.”

“Speaking of right timing.” Mina turned her attention from your back. “Hai Momo chan”

“Oh, you brought your boyfriend with you.” She teased, making Mina blush in heat.

“We’re just friends…” She defensively said under her breath.

“So far.” You looked at her to join along Momo’s playful antics and Mina glared at you to stop in which you wheeze internally.

“Hi, nice to meet you. You must know me already, but for formal manner, let me do the honor again. I’m Momo.” She lend her hand on you.

“YN.” You touched her hand. It lasted for seconds, you swore it would be just a while but it felt like Momo tightened her grip a bit more. Mina’s fake cough startled you both which Momo gave in to the gesture. “Sorry, I noticed you have a large hand and your grip is strong. You’re working out aren’t you?”

“Yeah. Actually… I kind of got inspired of you and Jihyo’s workout clips I’ve been seeing in my feed so yeah.”

“Oh, really? Woah, that’s great! Momo laughed at the revelation. “Glad that we could also influence others for body fitness. Health is wealth, as what they say.”

“Yeah it did helped me a lot to feel better.”

“Hey, if you like. Maybe you can ask permission to your girlie there and join me and Jihyo, we could use some gym buddy to drag along and introduce you to some other techniques to get fit.” She playfully punched your arm lightly and you chuckled.

“Momo…” Mina groaned at another attempt of her bestfriend making fun of her.

“Hehe, sorry. Anyways, are you in, YN?” She crosses her arm, waiting for your decision.

“Yeah, I could get used to adapt some other exercises.” You said.

��Great! Now excuse me, I would like to grab my mac and cheese on the fridge.” She said.

As you and Mina continued to talk, Momo was sneaking glances at your concentrated manner at her bestfriend while speaking. Just like the previous three co-members of hers, her curiosity piqued at the charm you possess.

“I should be the one who is thanking a lot here, Mina. All of what transpired today, I’ll never forget it. This is what I dreamed of, to meet you all and I knew before that knowing you girls personally would be like once in a blue moon but… you girls changed my life and made it possible. And its all because of you, Mina. Take all the credit, it’s yours.” You stated, breathing deeply to sink in everything that you have encountered today.

She left the kitchen with her bowl of food, crossing paths with Jihyo and Sana looking at her as they gestured the direction, referring to you. Momo just mouthed “wow” and lifted her eyebrows while grinning, in which they chuckled. Returning to her room, she took a mental note to prepare anytime once you visit.

During your hours of stay in the dorm, you also get to meet Chaeyoung and Nayeon, who were busy at their stuff in their respective rooms. They asked you some things regarding being a fanboy for their group and shared how this all still feels surreal for you. Understanding the luck you have, they just laughed and assured you to provide what brings you comfort and peace being with them.

As the sky starts to get darker, Mina escorted you in the lobby of their hotel. Stopping in the middle of the space, she looked at you and smiled gratefully. “Thank you for coming, YN. I really appreciated you being thoughtful to me.”

Mina bowed and held your arm. “About us… we’ll get there, right?”

“I know we are. I won’t let it end anyway.”

You bid goodbye to her as the manager instructed you to enter their service van. Mina watched you depart as she remained in her spot. Mentally, she wished you a ride home safely.

Unbeknownst to the both, all other six members were gathered in the living room, exchanging their first impressions about meeting you.

“He looks pretty cute and a hottie too.” Momo said. “I was almost caught getting blank for a second there, the more I just at his face it’s like… it’s sucking me into his facial features. Good thing I found an excuse to save myself in humiliation there.”

“What got me rather is how huge he looked.” Nayeon bit her lip hungrily, eyes darting sideways. “He looks like a buff baby, and God what I’d give to have a muscle guy like him and crush my head around his triceps.”

“Yeah, we get it. It’s your type unnie, but I think you have to get through us first.” Chaeyoung interrupted. “You made some good points though, damn I’d wish he’ll destroy me with his size.” She shut her eyes and smiled lewdly.

“Woah Chaeng, getting there already?” Jihyo was amused.

“But… I think YN is into Mina unnie already.” Tzuyu joined the chat. They all looked at her and those words had them in dismay. “From how they’ve been so close together earlier, it’s no denial he’s into her.”

“Yeah, but… would Mina be the same?” Sana asked.

“She probably is.” Nayeon said. “Sucks that we all went head over heels already for one guy who is already taken.” She chuckled with a bitter taste.

Mina then opened the door of their dorm, making them pause the topic. “YN is on his way home now.”

“Good. Mina, you sure did pick a good man aren’t you?” Jihyo said.

“I have no regrets, unnie.” She smiled before disappearing to her room.

They all looked back at one another, sharing the same thoughts. However, their expressions is displaying mixed emotions for their beloved friend and sister-figure.

“She is indeed attracted to YN.” Sana said.

Throughout the next weeks, your visit to their place has become regular as suggested and planned. You also finally got to meet Jeongyeon and Dahyun when they were fortunately present in the dorm, taking a break from their hectic schedule. Without your knowledge, the two also suppressed similar interest towards you, much like the others.

Being often at their place granted you the opportunity to form a close connection as well with the other members aside from Mina. It was a great thing to discover their personalities more aside from what you just speculated through seeing them on the media with their content and projects. The consequence of that, however, is that you weren’t aware that you’re transforming into a chick magnet, with how the girls are now attracted to you both perspective-wise and emotionally.

And the best aspect you have attempted with her is introducing yourselves to having sex. You have seen Mina being a bit nervous and scared at your first take with her, which is a relief that it still ended on a positive note, pleasing you in a new direction.

For example, in Nayeon’s case, she would find herself sneakily touching your built physique when she finds a chance to do so. Jeongyeon’s heart throbs when you shower her with compliments regarding your appreciation for her appearance despite the struggles she went through; Momo would position herself to showcase her sexy figure whenever you work out with her.

Sana and her clingy personality, where she’ll just randomly hug you anytime only to get a touch of your muscles, Jihyo started wearing tops that break her cleavage free whenever she learns you’ll be coming after observing you one time inevitably peeking at her assets in the gym, while Dahyun, who is aware of her curves, began using skin-tight dresses that trace her sculpted hourglass figure after admitting that it makes her look fabulous.

Lastly, the two other maknaes, Chaeyoung and Tzuyu, who love getting praised for being great at what they are, have frequently shown you in an eye-catching manner.

They knew what they were doing was wrong since you and Mina are undoubtedly about to develop a bond that is sweeter than just being friends, but it’s so irresistible when they just have to rarely have some guy around with them and it turns out to be hotter and more accurate than the dream guy they wanted to love in the future. They were just being a little hesitant, limiting their actions at first on what they were doing, brought by their dilemmas, until they couldn’t hold it in anymore.

The more you pull them closer into you, the more they want you for themselves to claim and won’t let go.

In the midst of their methods of alluring and flirting towards you, their speculation went true as you and Mina called it official to be a couple months later. Living into the promise that both won’t hold back now that you are now in a relationship with the ideal woman you always wanted to date, you and Mina explored ways to make this journey with her more desirable.

What do you mean by that is the amount of circumstances where she would beg for your cock anytime she gets a free time to unwind or taking you to different places aside from your house and look for a spot to fuck. There is none that she’ll not make you satisfy her being full of cum whether in her holes or through her flawless skin.

Spending a vacation in a private resort with her, other TWICE members and staffs became a usual day for the both of you to have some sex whenever the urge brings you both together. After chugging your fifth alcohol and the combination of Mina being needy for you, she led you in one of the trees away from the group and pounce at you like a hungry animal.

Mina planted kisses around your topless body all the way from the bottom to the top where she turns herself to your neck and mauled at it. You guided her head deeper into your skin before you had enough and brought her into a wild make-out session. Lips colliding, tongues swirling, and saliva connecting your warm mouths controlled with lust.

“I need you so bad right now.” Mina said as she caressed your abs while your foreheads are pressing to one another.

“We don’t have much time, Mina. Let’s get this done or else might get caught by them.” You said as you pecked her lips again.

“Just promise me we’ll continue this later when they sleep.”

“We can.”

Mina absorbed your powerful manhood into her snatch, encircling it with immense tightness. She moaned as you began to thrust your hips again and pick up the pace slowly.

Mina went on her knees as you lower her down with your hand on top of her head. Along her movement, she dragged your lower garment on your feet, exposing your raging cock now in its maximum size ready to be serviced by your horny girlfriend.

She grasped it from the base and performed an introductory stroke before putting the mushroom tip on her puckered lips as she inhaled your scent. Mina pushed forward, the shaft now lodged inside her mouth, and began her blowjob as you held her head for assistance.

You quickly buckled your hips to hurry this up, not giving a damn about Mina’s gag reflex from how you hit the back of her throat repeatedly. She clung tightly at your waist as you used her for your own pleasure, admiring your rough treatment that satisfies her as well.

The girth of your manhood is being coated with saliva by her flirty tongue as she takes you all in, desperate for your incoming reward for her efforts. She looked up at you, confirming that her performance is sending wonders to your senses just by the look of your lustful face.

Thrusting your hips further, Mina’s nose is now bumping at your crotch. She then felt your length twitching in her mouth, a familiar signal of what’s about to happen afterwards, a very anticipatory one.

Gripping her hair, you stuck your cock in her mouth as you filled it with your creamy deposit. She lost the number of times you fired straight through her throat, but she didn’t care; all that matters is that she get to receive it all by herself.

You gently slid in your slimy cock at her mouth. Mina opened her mouth to present a pool of cum. “Swallow.” And she did exactly as you told her, gulping it easily before releasing her mouth to prove no leftovers.

“Good girl. Now get up and bend your ass for me, babe. Let’s finish this.” You helped Mina to stand and changed positions. Mina is now facing the tree and bending slightly for you.

Kneeling behind her, you quickly undressed her swimsuit to unveil her plump ass that made most ONCEs go crazy when she twerked it like a professional during their concert. You feel bad for some who are dying to grab a handful of these tasty buns, but now you’ll fulfill their wishes by taking these into your own hands.

You sniffed her ass for a second and slapped both really hard before you got up and rubbed your length across her valley. “Place it in me, please.” You wasted no more time as you pushed it forward inside her inviting hole.

Her arms embraced the tree as you pummeled through her rear, deliciously watching her skin ripple as you collided your skin into hers. It creates wet slapping sounds that both of you are getting turned on more by.

“Ugh yes yes fuck, you’re so big inside of me, YN.” Mina whimpered as you glided your hands through the surface of her godly sculpted back. Bracing yourself, you wrapped her body close as you fucked her ass faster.

The volume of her moans and stutters increasing. “Sshhh be still or somebody might find us here.” Mina then closed her mouth, her muffled screams as her ass continously being filled to the brim by your magnificent cock.

“Shit. I’m about to bust, Mina.” You went all in to your rhythm, sending her body vibrating at your rough hammering. A last plopping sound, and your crotch pressed at her tempting asscheeks as you unleashed another load of cum inside of her.

Mina huffed as she felt your cock exit her hole and some cum pouring out from her used passage. You scooped some and have Mina taste it to make every drop count.

You both put back your undergarments. “Let’s go, they must be looking for us now.” you said as you pulled Mina with you out of the woods.

ACT 3

Few days later, you were chilling at the kitchen stool, watching some memes at your phone to entertain yourself. Mina is currently at Japan to join her parents visit her late dog’s resting place since its his death anniversary if you remember correctly. You decided instead to hang out with other members to spend your free time.

Footsteps approaching, you turned around to see Momo now changed into her oversized t-shirt after working out with you earlier. She took the chair beside you.

“You can use our bathroom if you want to wash yourself.” Momo said as she noticed your body now dried up from getting sweat drenched at lifting weights.

“Nah I’m good, I’m about to leave now anyway. I can just wash at my home later.” You replied. “Why, do I stink?”

“Yes, it makes me want to puke actually.” She fake acting like she’s having nausea. Seeing your offended and sheepish reaction broke her out of laughter. “Just kidding, you still smell great.”

She leaned closer, sniffing your neck to confirm it, yet again oblivious to her true intention, her burning temptation influencing her to take measures that will get you real good.

“Yeah, you smell manly as ever.” Momo muttered. You stiffened, awkwardly letting Momo breath closely at your skin.

“Thanks, I guess.” You thriftly smiled.

Momo just tightened her lips and just watched you scroll through your Instagram feed. She prepared herself first as what she made sure to remember last time before proceeding with her main agenda of interacting with you.

“How are things between you and Mina?”

“Pretty smooth. I’m glad we could manage despite her busy schedules as an idol.”

“That’s good, yeah. What about being careful, have you guys always ensure that this thing between you and Mina remains private?”

“We do, we haven’t being caught yet or so does her by the K-Media, like we know Dispatch is famous for spotting idols meeting up with mysterious person. Yeah, I haven’t got any news yet about Mina having a rumored boyfriend. So yeah, we’re safe.”

“Oh. Even the people around you aside from the media whenever you guys outside?”

“Positive.”

“Is that so.” Momo pulled out her phone and opened it. “Can you explain this to me then?”

Momo stole your attention from your phone as she made watch a video playing in her device. To your shock, it features a recording of you and Mina having sex secretly in the resort.

“What the-��� You said as Mina getting backshot from you illuminated through your eyes. “H-how did you get this?”

“I followed you both shortly after you two left, I was heading to the bathroom for a piss break when suddenly… I heard some moans and clapping sounds near me.” Momo recalled.

“Then this is what I found.” She told you seriously. “Now tell me, where’s the cautious part in there?”

“Momo, it’s not that-”

“I don’t give a shit if you two are having sex in public area, I just want you to think that what if it’s not me who saw you both and instead either some personnel from the hotel or one of our staffs? What would you do if this gets out of hand and get you both exposed by this act?” Momo scolded you.

“It’s Mina who brought us there, okay? It’s not like I wanted us to fuck there. I was telling her that we can do this later but she didn’t listened.” You defended.

“But it’s your responsibility as a boyfriend to remind her what’s right. Mina can be stubborn sometimes, I know her like the back of my hand already, so you should know better as well now that you and her are now together.” Momo stood by her point. “What made you to let her? Were you scared that you won’t get that fuck she’s craving for because she’s sulk-”

“Enough!” You slammed your hand on the table, pent up by her blabbering until your senses reminded you that this is one of the women you’ll forever have an honor to get to know with, and you swore before that if you’ll get a chance to meet them personally, you won’t do any harm on them.

And it seems that you broke that when you saw Momo shocked and frightened at your unexpected temper.

“I-I’m sorry, I- I get it, okay. It was wrong of me and I won’t do it again but…. what I don’t understand is that why do you need to record this as well? I mean, you can just say what happened and I’ll surrender because I know it’s true. What’s the use of this for then?” You said, directing your hand at the video.

“Now you’ve asked, well… I thought of something that I can make what I want possible through this.” She tapped her finger at the table, her expression shifting into something mischievous and naughty.

“What are you talking about?”

“You want me to delete this? You have to do something for me first- oh should I say, to US first.”

“What the fuck? Are you seriously blackmailing me with our sex tape?” You ridiculously asked. You are in utter disbelief right now of this true color of Momo.

“Guess you can put it like that.” She shrugged. “Yeah, we can forgive you for being so reckless to our friend and hold the consequences if you’ll do us a favor.”

“And what is that?”

Momo moved her chair, closing her gap between you two. “Fuck the rest of us just like how you do to Mina.” She smirked as she stared at your flabbergasted face.

You couldn’t process what Momo is asking you to do for her, and damn sure you weren’t expecting that she’ll have this side that’ll be very disliking of you. The once admirable and inspirational idol turned to be someone worse than you could imagine. Even adding to this horrible situation, she’s just doing this on behalf of a group consisted of people you also believed at first to be pure and innocent.

“You got to be kidding me.” You shook your head. “Are you out of your mind, Momo? Have you been hearing yourself? You’re committing a sin with this! You’re betraying Mina for God’s sake!”

“I KNOW! BUT I COULDN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE!” Momo has snapped, she stood fiercely at you.” AND SO WAS THEM. We tried, but… ever since you stepped foot in our dorm, we found you so attractive in everything. You have it all that most of us wanted a guy to have. Then when we learned that Mina already have you. We tried to be happy for our friend but it pains us as well that we couldn’t have the same.” Momo explained what led her to do this.

“Until we have accepted the fact that we couldn’t have your heart like she does. But… we might atleast get another piece of you that doesn’t require feelings to attain. Something that had us obssessing over you since the beginning.”

She crawled her hands at your arm and cupped your biceps, squeezing its firm yet toughness. “Mina can love you with all her heart and soul, as for your body though… maybe we can just share it ourselves for free.”

Her hands roams down to your side figure until it reaches the hem of your shirt. Momo single handedly removed it for you and you just remained stiffened at your spot as you watched her in confusion.

“And we know you’ll let us, right? You were probably dreaming of having us in your way when you were just a random fan of us.” After throwing your shirt on the floor, Momo then began to undress herself, and your eyes largened at her matching pair of lacy red bra and panties she’s wearing underneath, gulping at how incredibly sexy she actually is. It’s undeniable that every detail of her figure is a sight to behold, a complete package from head to toe that every man would die for.

She grabbed your hand and forced you to stand up. “You’ll be our personal sex slave and we’ll delete the video. Don’t worry, she don’t have to know about what we’re doing. Unless, you want us to separate Mina away from you and never see us again.”

You were horrified at the consequences Momo is considering in case you disobey their conditions. For the sake of your relationship with Mina, you frowned in worry as Momo lift your chin up to her stare at her bare naked body and her devious gaze.

“Do we have a deal with that, YN?”

Without any other choice, you wanted to save you and Mina to these ladies you once treated as supportive friends but has now turned into betraying envy admirers who wants to gain access of your body for free use.

You nodded in response to her question. Momo then started to kiss you passionately, putting touches around your chest and torso as well. She then led your hands on top of her bulging breasts and massage them to match Momo’s expectations.

She let go for a while and dragged you along her. Exiting the kitchen, you saw the rest of the girls all sitting on the living room. Momo looked at them as your lack of clothing together stole their attention.

“He agreed. We’ll be right back.” She exclaimed. You view their grins expanded with a hint of thirst and desperation for your affection.

You followed Momo and got pushed inside her room where after being locked by her, both went through hours of heated and wild rounds of sweaty sex on her bed. She was moaning and screaming in pleasure as you just focused on giving her everything she wanted from you.

Momo was laid in various positions based on what she wanted you to perform, whether its pinning and fucked her like a ragdoll around your cock on the wall, making the bed quake and squeak with your manhandling of her body, or pound her while she’s pressed on the cold floor.

She titfucked your thick cock with some short combinations of blowjob included and have it erupt with streaks of cum that splattered around her chest to finish your time with her.

ACT 4

The equipments would also receive additional purpose not just for a simple exercise as you would attempt to utilize it on pleasuring Nayeon, like making her bounce up and down in your cock while her legs split open, relying her balance on wrapping your head from behind.

Months have passed, and your new purpose for the girls proceeded without Mina having any idea about the huge unforgivable sin you’re committing. She returned weeks after Momo had you in her control. The poor girlfriend had no clue what the walls of their dorm had witnessed every day without her presence roaming around.

Their sexual needs over you intensified, and even with the possibility of Mina arriving home, you still had to do it to every member, depending on who was in the mood to beg for your cock and worship it as their ultimate prize. Whenever Mina closes the door and leaves their place, one of them—or hell, a pair or a divided group by them—would just suddenly pounce on you to take the availability.

You have taken a taste on every single one of them because of this forbidden deal, and they made these all possible in accordance with what they want to happen with you. They have taken turns on you, and you only have one objective to accomplish for them: never leave them not being blessed by your cum all over their spent body after accompanying them anywhere.

Nayeon once took you with her to be her guardian on her pilates schedule. While the coach is gone to attend some urgent stuff, Nayeon would instantly pull down your shorts and shove you cock up in her mouth.

In addition, you showered with Jeongyeon as well. Their water bill about to double because of how much water you both have wasted being tangled together. You fucked Jeongyeon while she stands on one leg with another being lifted, then she finished you off by cumming onto her mouth. Following that, you helped each other apply soap and wash off your bodies.

Sana and Momo had threesome with you. At first you thought it would be a struggle to ensure that both of them will be satisfied equally, but due to how needy these girls for you and them acting like an experts for these thing, they have guided you properly.

It made you to shuffle yourselves in different positions, either taking their pussy and ass at the same time with your cock and talented fingers as they make out or them making your mouth work as the another returns the same at your cock. They also probably had the longest time you spent having sex with.

Jihyo likes her being called your mommy, and she is very welcome to treat you as her little baby. To do so, she would either instruct you to lay on her lap as she sat on the couch and suck her tits alternatively while she jerks off your cock or taking care of you with her massive puppies and oral skills. She also surprised you with a fact that she’s carrying breastmilk already despite not being pregnant yet, a result of having great genes.

Dahyun is the most submissive and gentle type of one; she prefers vanilla sex rather than being banged up, unlike some of her co-members, especially Chaeyoung. The amount of suffering you endured for this small but terrible woman when it came to sex was unmeasurable. This dominant lady won’t let your balls store a single drop of cum for her after edging your cock for an hour and encourages you to piston her tight petite body however she wants to.

And lastly, Tzuyu was almost the same as Dahyun. The only difference was that she wants to switch roles in the bed while maintaining the same pace of the session. It’s kind of strange as well that she’s probably the least TWICE member you came inside of, as she offers instead her big fat thighs for you to also inject your cock in between and blast cum for her gifted asset.

“What’s going on with you lately, YN?” Mina started the topic. “Care to share what’s bothering you, babe?”

You have lost count of how many times you did it while handling your relationship with Mina and your sex life with her too. That’s why it resulted in you becoming physically weak, sympathizing for your emotional and mental state that is also being affected as well.

It didn’t slip into Mina’s perspective for her boyfriend. Her caring instincts for you alerting about the sudden strange transformation of your appearance and mood were noticed. She could also differentiate how you were before than this recent change you’re having.

Always lost in thoughts, gloomy, and quiet. You even reject her, setting yourselves up for another round of sex. That is how Mina would describe you currently. Since this is not the usual you that she loved, it grew concern in her.

That’s why one day, she confronted you in a must. You were just watching the landscape of Seoul beneath from the pavement when Mina approached you from behind with coffee in hand. She looked at your side figure and again, she knew something is wrong.

You gulped and lowered your head a bit more. “There’s n-nothing. Why would you ask?”

“You’ve been not acting like yourself lately. I can see it all.” Mina explained. “You rarely laugh or smile so geniunely at me, it was those that powers me up everyday but… you’ve been so lacking with everything that I couldn’t help but to ask if there’s anything going on with you.”

“None. I’m fine, Mina. Really.”

“But you’re not okay. Don’t set me aside, please. I’m your girlfriend, YN. I should be helping you.”

“What part of what I just said that you don’t understand, Mina?” You glanced at her in frustration. The tension gets heavier, until you’ve realized that you almost just shouted at Mina who only just think of your well-being.

“S-sorry. I didn’t mean to raise my voice. Seriously, Mina. I’m fine.” You shook your head and turned away at her.

Mina wasn’t thrilled at your sudden complain. She came forward and hug you from behind, her comfort almost broke the emotions you’ve trying to hold as much as your can. “You can tell me anything, you know? I love you, and I have to make sure that I share the problems with you. For us to fix together.”

Your body trembled, every words coming out of her mouth felt like a dagger to your chest. “I can’t.”

“You are. I’m always here to listen, don’t put pressure on yourself.” Mina said.

“No, you don’t understand. This is something you can’t handle.”

“Then make me.”

“If I did, you won’t be able to look at me the same again.”

“Is it being insecure again, YN? We’ve talked about this before.”

“No. This is new.”

“What is it?”

“I’ve being torn apart in guilt, Mina.” One of your teardrops finally went loose from your sore eyes. “I don’t know if how long am I going to do this, but I’m just holding on for you.”

“Is there’s something you’re not telling me about, YN?”

You breathed heavily and composed your posture, preparing for the storm impending to come. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, Mina.”

“For?”

“I’ve risked something to keep ourselves together. It was wrong but… there was no other option.”

“What is it?”

“Dignity.” A dreaded expression went visible in your face.

“What’s this have to do with your dignity, YN?” Mina cautiously asked, as a strange feeling creeping inside her is telling that she may not digest what you’re about to say.

“I- I… oh God, I know you won’t forgive me for this.” You cried in her arms. “I made myself a sex slave for the girls.” You escaped from her embrace, kneeling with your hands covering your face in disgrace and fear.

Mina felt like her heart just crumpled and eardrums burst at what she had heard. Her eyes twitched and swell before it became watery from the overflowing emotions dealt by pain. The arms that was formed to wrap you in her console started to give up and fell back to her sides.

“Y-you… you did what?” Mina asked as she stared at nothingness. The sunset shining in her eyes in contrast to the building darkness of disgust around her.

“I had sex with your co-members, for a deal to keep our relationship going.” You elaborated. “Because if I don’t, they’ll threaten me to be banned from ever seeing you and the rest of them ever again.”

Mina’s fists clenched in anger. The tears flowing in her cheeks were like disappearing instantly at how hot she’s getting driven by her fury. She seethes it in, while still processing the fact that the people she once thought are her friends and would support her sincerely, would be the cause of the downfall of one of the most important things she cherishes in life through betrayal.

She wasn’t in a good condition to think properly, so her body rather took in charge on controlling what the right thing to do for now. Mina left you in the balcony and grabbed her shoulder bag from her room. You stand up and followed her.

“W-wait, where are you going?”

Mina didn’t answer.

“Wait, please Mina. Let me explain more-”

“DON’T FUCKING TALK TO ME, YN. J-just… don’t. I want to be left alone I-I just can’t stand seeing every one of you for now.” Mina daringly pointed her finger at you, staring right through your soul.

The main door suddenly clicked. It opened, Mina walked through it and saw the rest of the girls who came back from grocery. Momo was in the front, blocking the way.

She was about to greet Mina with large smile on her face when she got startled from the brutal slap she received straight on her face. The girls exclaimed in shock, and Mina stared at them venomously.

“Traitors.” She muttered before taking a turn as she began walking away from them.

All of the girls watched you just helplessly standing in the middle of the room. They understood what this is all mean now. Mina has found out the truth.

SET 5

Some of them were about to chase Mina but she already entered an elevator and it closed.

The rest of them went in silent to deal with the consequences of their actions.

The entire group has no idea of Mina’s whereabouts. They talked to few people they knew that are friends with Mina from outside and nobody have seen nor met them after the incident. They wanted to believe, but they are confident that one of them must be lying as per Mina’s request to leave her alone.

they multiplied her pain than the first time her health succumbed from.

If that was probably what Mina wants from now, they can give it to her, but they won’t be put to rest thinking about how she might be dealing the darkest truth she had discovered.

Almost a decade of being with Mina, they know she’s one of the most vulnerable, and that woke them up to the harsh reality that they not just only hurt their friend for the first time….

The thought of setting Mina into another hiatus term because of their fault made them regretting a lot that they have put their guards down from getting obssessed over nothing but lust from you. Not only that, the guilt you’re having were now being carried by them as well, that’s why they couldn’t blame you as her boyfriend to be this depressed right now.

You and the girls were trapped in the dark, deafening silence and heavy baggage of self-blame. They still tried to be productive as an idol despite of the current situation, while you in whole opposite side, has to see you almost unmoved, looking at the unknown filled with somber hopes to hear your phone receive a notification atleast or ring after hundreds of missed call you have attempted.

It all stopped when almost 2 weeks later, Mina made a return to the dorm. You were in your house when it happened, and so Jihyo immediately contacted you to inform that she’s here. Driving in rush, you arrived at their dorm in no time.

As you stepped in front of the door and opened it, you were met by everyone except Jihyo, Jeongyeon, and Nayeon bowing their heads. You were perplexed when some of them like Dahyun and Tzuyu are crying too. “W-what happened? Where is she?”

“Y-YN… please stop unnie.” Dahyun spoke in ragged tone.

“Why? From what?”

The other missing members appeared from the other hallway, and there was girlfriend carrying a bag and luggages. Your eyes widened when the three are following her from behind as if they’re begging.

Mina met you in her way and you just stood there wondering why she all have her belongings out. It scares you to ask, but you have to find out. “Mina, w-where are you going?”

“I’m not staying on this dorm anymore. I’m also leaving TWICE.”

Your jaw dropped.

“And I’m breaking up with you.”

You watched Mina’s stoic expression in devastation. Your heart felt like it exploded into pieces hearing the words you never wanted to happen together with her. Yet here she was, standing at you in her broken state, managed to announce that without any hesitation.

“No, Mina. Please, can you hear me for a second? Let’s just talk.”

“Get out of my way, YN.”

“I’m not letting you. Just, please think about this first!”

“I MADE UP MY MIND!!!” Mina screamed, and it sent shivers to the girls knowing she rarely raises her voice. “IF YOU AND… THESE SO-CALLED FRIENDS OF MINE NEVER ARRANGED TO STAB ME IN BACK, THIS WOULD’VE NOT HAPPEN IN THE FIRST PLACE!”

“Mina, YN owes you an explanation. So do us, as well.”

“Don’t you dare lecture me this time, Jihyo.” She turned around at Jihyo and confronted her with burning rage in her eyes.

“I’m not lecturing you, Mina. I’m just trying to make you understand.”

“What is it that I have to understand?!” Mina confusedly asked. “Other than all of you fucking my boyfriend behind my back, taking advantage of my blindness? Y-you guys are sick!”

“Because I did it all for YOU!” You yelled as you you couldn’t hold it in much longer. The desperation of her to be prevented from ending all of this for good. “I had no choice but to accept it because they blackmailed me, Mina. They dared me that if I didn’t follow what they want from me, they won’t delete that video and they can prohibit me from getting any access to all of you!”

“W-what video?” Mina puzzledly asked.

“We got caught… having sex in the resort.” You revealed. “And they used that to give them something in exchange not to trigger them doing something about us.”

“Who recorded us?”

“I did.” Momo stood from the couch, bravely taking accountability for what she did. “I was also the one who proposed a plan to have YN for ourselves.”

“H-how could you?” Mina was about to break down, her breath shaking.

“I wasn’t thinking properly at that time. Neither were them. We got clouded by lust and the need to sample YN. How attractive he looks, we were manipulated to do some dirty deeds on him. And realizing what we have truly done, we’ve made a terrible mistake, Mina.” Momo explained.

“And you all never thought about how it would break my heart so bad that I just wanted to end it all?” Mina started crying. “I just couldn’t live with the darkest truth that my boyfriend and my friends are cheating on me, and that’s my first relationship tainted with sin because of all of you!”

“Mina, we swear, we thought about the consequences at first.” Nayeon joined the discussion. “We are aware that you already have YN by yourself, romantically to say the least. That’s why… I don’t know, a stupid idea was formulated by Momo here to rather claim YN by ourselves only for his body. And we admit, we are just craving for his affection that it broke our limit to accept.”

“Enough with the crap we’re trying to justify of, if there’s anyone you should blame a lot, it’s us. not YN. He had no choice, he was threatened.” Jeongyeon said. “And you may not forgive us anymore for this, but we just want to say that we’re really sorry.”

“You’re right, I’ll never forgive any of you for this.” Mina glared at anyone. “And I don’t buy any of your apology, once a cheater will always be a cheater, like they say. Who knows, all of you may done it again.”

“I swear, Mina. I never wanted any of it, I could’ve stopped if I want to, but they won’t let me be!” You said. “If you know how it eats me alive everytime I finish doing it with them knowing that I’m still in a relationship with you. I never wanted to do it, but I still did it because I need you to stay.” She watched you sobbing in plead.

“It scares me both as a fan and as your lover that everything we had has to stop if I didn’t follow them. I can’t lose you, Mina. I’m willing to do everything even if it ruins my reputation, lose my dignity, or cost my life, because I love you.”

Mina cried at your last statement. The mask she was wearing since she arrived is now starting to drop. You kneeled in front of her and hugged her thighs.

“Please, don’t go.”

Mina looked at your pitiful state and roamed her sight at the girls watching this dramatic scene in person. “Look at what you have all done.” She gritted her teeth.

“Let me guess, if I didn’t asked him about this, you guys would still do it without my knowledge, huh?” She bitterly chuckle regarding about the absurdity of their reasoning. They just all bowed in shame, knowing that Mina got them defeated with that single sentence.

“I also didn’t want to leave the group, nor break up with YN.” You looked up in surprise to see her wiping her tears. “Funny, right? Despite the unbearable amount of pain you have inflicted on me, I just can’t seem to avoid this stage of life that I reached with all of you.”

“A part of me still wanted to atleast stay. No because being an idol is my passion or my love for YN. It’s because I can’t lose all of you. That’s how special you guys are to me.” They all cried after hearing how touching it was even if they knew they don’t deserve Mina’s kind-heartedness anymore.

“As what I’ve said, this won’t stop unless I had to find out. I guess, there’s still a way to fix all of these. And since I’m already involved at whatever this is, it has to remain like that from now on.”

“What are you trying to imply, Mina?”

“You girls said that you have no found feelings for him, right? Only for pleasure?”

“Definitely just friends with benefits, that’s all.” Sana said.

“Then, let’s make a new deal. This thing you have with him, I’ll allow it to continue.”

All of them gasp in shock, with a mix of utter confusion. “Wait, Mina are you serious?”

“Don’t give me that reaction, I know you girls must’ve been disappointed that you can’t fuck him anymore because I already know the truth.” Mina retorted. “If this is what would keep us together, then this should stay only with us. No more intentions of damaging or kicking out anybody else in our lives too.” She referred to Momo who got what she’s trying to point about.

“You girls can continue being friends with benefits with him, but it would be under my control this time. I have to be updated all the time at what you guys did, maybe I could learn new things to pleasure my boyfriend here atleast.” She patted your head.

“I also will keep our relationship with YN, and that’s what should always matter here. Know your boundaries because if you don’t, I won’t hesitate to take actions about it that you’ll never like.” Mina warned them all.

“These only have to stop if me and YN decided to get marry in the future. For the sake of respect to the family we’re going to build. Or even if some of you began to find somebody to love as well. Are we all clear?”

“We’ll do everything to redeem ourselves, Mina. If that what you wish for, we’ll do it.” Momo agreed.

“Just don’t keep any secrets on me.” Mina then looked at your kneeling posture below her. She threw her bag away and pushed the luggages away. “Get up, I won’t go now. But… I still have one more thing to do to ease off my mind.”

“What is it?”

Mina began unbuttoning her blouse one by one, exposing her lace-cladded black bra encasing her luscious small tits. The rest of the girls were stunned also as they witness Mina going bare-naked in front of you. Throwing the piece of clothing aside, she then moved through her skirt, unzipped and dragged them down to the ground.

You gawked at the incredible view of Mina in her favorite set of black lingerie partnered by enticing suspenders that holds her thigh-high stockings. She pushed you to the wall and cornered you there. Tilting her head aside, she glanced at the other members who couldn’t do anything but to anticipate what’s about to occur afterwards.

“I’m going to punish you all for what you did to me. That means I’m going to discipline this pathetic little boy while all of you only get to watch me empty his balls and make him submit and ravage me under my commands. Understood?”

They all nodded with an unspoken dismay present in their face, but Mina doesn’t give a single damn about it. She then went down on her knees, take off your pants and boxers, and wield the already erect beautiful piece of meat in her dainty hands.

You watched all the girls occupy the carpet and the couch, removing their lower garment to let their pussies free from the lingering sensation that Mina has given effect of her sudden persona transformation. They made their fingers go to work, groping their tits and inserting their digits in each to their sopping wet slit.

“Good luck, YN. You’re in the hands of Sharon now.” Jeongyeon concerningly reminded you.

You matched Mina’s sharp gaze and devilish gaze. She began pumping your cock with her fist close to her lewd face. You inhaled and braced yourself at the immense pleasure she’s given you already.

“You better keep up with me, boy. I won’t go easy on you today.”

Pre-cum escaped from your tip, Mina blew her warm breath at your pinkish head. She cackled as she watched you tremble. Lifting your cock, she gave a long lick from your full balls then the underside and up to your plump end.

“Shall we start?”

==OO==

[messylustt]

౨ৎ ‧˚

𝐞𝐥 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐨 (𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥) — 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐬

miguel o’hara x fem!reader. 1.3k words

fic masterlist pt one next part

i’ve gotten some help with my spanish and have approved/fixed accordingly (if you have any suggestions on the spanish please speak up!); enemies to lovers trope; not obvious, but subtle jealous miguel; human(not spider-person)!reader; spanish term of endearment ‘chaparrita’ — miguel o’hara has never liked you—a human—joining the team as the ‘person in the chair’. he’s made his distaste for you clear. but when he speaks certain spanish words you don’t understand, he reveals that his annoyance of you is by the fact that you make him feel ‘hot’. soon, a deal surfaces, his promotion benefitting you both.

Miguel watches as you fiddled with the different tech machines, tapping with a focused gaze. He tilted his head, staying by the large spider, having spread out screens filled with the many mission's info.

He had a slight scowl on his face, his expression usually one considered moody. But this time he had a reason for it. You.

You were a pain to Miguel, far too nice to every spider-person. He hadn't liked having you here the moment a few of them recommended you. They described you as the 'person in the chair'. You were smart, sure, but Miguel didn't think you belonged here. You weren't a spider-person like the rest of them, you were human.

He jumped down, landing beside you. You look to your left, having to tilt your head up at his sheer height. You gulp. You've always been nervous around Miguel O'hara. You didn't think he once smiled, his gaze only seeming to harden, especially when you would speak.

So, you kept it minimal. Only talking to him when it was required. "O'hara." You nod, turning quickly back to your work. "Anything I can help you with?"

"Nothing you can help with, y/l/n." His small jab at your inability in many areas, such as swinging from buildings with web, made you straighten your spine.

You ignore his tone, again not daring to meet his gaze. "Then, I'm sure Jessica will be here soon to help with anything."

Miguel's eyes wander your stiff posture. He could tell that he made you nervous, and part of him relished in that. It helped him think that you knew your place.

When you noticed that he wasn't leaving, you go to say something else, when Hobie and Peter burst into the room. Both yours and Miguel's attentions shift. Hobie easily moves towards you, making you smile. He reached his hand out as you did what many would call a typical 'bro handshake'. But Hobie instead chose to call something far from normality, in his prominent british accent.

Hobie was one of the ones who recommended you for this job. And you've been beyond grateful since.

"How's ya bloody borin’ shit goin’?" Hobie asks, leaning down to see whatever nonsense you had typed up.

"Describe 'boring shit'." You say, your tone turning smug.

He scoffs, eyeing the screen again, before giving up and grabbing your chin to turn back to the tech. "Keep working."

You chuckle, just as Miguel speaks. "Aren't you supposed to be out?"

Hobie looks to Miguel, straightening his guitar strap. "What—should I start callin’ ya boss, and kissin’ ya boots?"

Hobie has always been one to 'do his own thing' and completely bypass the rules. Miguel looks unimpressed, as Hobie holds his hands up in fake innocence. Peter chimes in. "He doesn't wear boots."

Hobie glances at him. "Thanks Peter. I didn't know."

Peter doesn't have time to respond before he's running after his swinging daughter. "Just get back to work." Miguel says. "That includes you, Peter. And didn't I say not bring her here?" He sounds exasperated, as he pinches the bridge between his nose.

You spin in your seat watching as Peter sends back a 'sorry', as he disappears, running through the large exit door. Hobie is quick to follow sending you a nod and a smile.

You wave them off, feeling the tension flood back into the room now that it's just you and Miguel again. You swiftly spin back in your chair, your fingers going back to tapping, as your legs spread comfortably.

Miguel looks back at you, before running his hand down his face, muttering. "No abras las piernas como una invitación." (Don't open your legs like an invitation.)

You pause, glancing at him. "What was that?"

He glances back at you, eyeing your confused expression. You, of course, didn't know spanish.

He places his hands against the desk, leaning a fraction closer to you, his gaze fluttering across your features. "Podría decirte cualquier cosa en español y no sabrías lo que quiero decir." (I could say anything to you in Spanish and you wouldn't know what I mean.)

"You know I don't know spanish." You mutter.

"I know. And the thought of you being so unaware, makes me want to tell you..." He leans closer to your ear, making your pulse beat rapidly. "....cuanto me haces arder, cariño. (how much you make me burn inside.) And it’s beyond annoying.”

You sigh, pushing slightly away from him. "Look, I know you find me annoying." You begin. "That's fine. But just...can you at least give me somewhat of a chance?"

"Do to what?" He asks, crossing his arms, as he leans back against the desk.

"To prove I'm helpful."

"Helpful?" Miguel asks, tilting his head. "You want to be helpful?"

"Of course."

"Then find a more suitable job." He stands to walk away.

"If you want me gone, then why don't you fire me?"

He pauses for a moment. "Sadly, I need a proper reason for that. So, if you want to be helpful to me. Then fuck something up."

"But while you're here being useless you should probably learn spanish." Miguel says as he walks out the door.

You huff, staring after him, watching as his back muscles contracted in a way that made you look away, gulping. Fucking Miguel O'hara.

;;

You sit, feet up by the tech, as you tapped away on your phone. You got a congratulatory 'ding' whenever you got a word or sentence right, and a rather loud 'booing' sound when you got a word or sentence wrong.

Yes, you're trying to learn Spanish. You sadly hadn't remembered word for word what Miguel had said to you, so you couldn't put it through translation. He must have purposefully spoken fast so you wouldn't have time to catch each word and remember.

'Me gusta ir al museo.' Your phone spoke. It translated to 'I like going to the museum' You had gotten it wrong, putting ‘park’ instead.

You groan, your head knocking back as your eyes shut in annoyance. You were only smart in certain areas. You let your phone drop to the desk, as you stretch, keeping your eyes shut tight, as if you could find the Spanish language hidden behind them.

"Spanish?" A deep voice spoke, making you jump, swiftly getting to your feet and spinning.

Miguel stands in his signature spider suit, your phone in his grasp. "I didn't think you'd actually listen to me."

You snatch it back, switching it off, as you scratch the back of your neck. "I was just..." You drift off sighing. "I like this job."

Miguel watches you closely. "You're committed, I'll give you that."

You smile, the word 'progress' swirling in your brain. "I learnt a sentence." You say, brows creasing in remembrance. "Me gusta...ir al...musio?" (I like going...to the...musio?) You say this more so as a question as you meet the amused gaze of Miguel.

"Ir al museo." (To the museum) He corrects, knowing the generic 'hobbies' sentences most kids learn.

"…I was close." You say, smiling, before you realise who you're talking to, your nerves returning.

Miguel nearly kicked himself for feeling warm at the small smile that you gave. You were trying to learn spanish—loosely—for him. "Can I make you a deal?" He suddenly asks.

You narrow your eyes a fraction. "What kinda deal?"

"One where we can help each other." He mutters, stepping closer. "You want to stay, correct?"

You nod.

"Then you're gonna have to convince me that you'd do anything for a mission."

You straighten, eyes widening at the chance to prove your worth. "I lead most missions, so loosely, you'd have to do anything for me."

He's much, much closer, eyeing you. "But we can make this a ‘give and take’. Let me teach you Spanish—something you'll need working here, close by me, and in return for every lesson, you have to do something for me."

You eye him. "Like what?"

"Anything." He answers. "Because you'll have to do anything that's required for those missions. Call it practice, or proving your worth, chaparrita."

You lick your lips thinking. You can't see anything inherently wrong with this 'deal', so you nod. And that earns you the very first smile you've seen from Miguel O’hara.

i know this is short, but I just wanted to see if any of you guys would be interested in a full fic like this…

also if you would like to be in a taglist for this story — just comment

[semisasseater]

YEAH, I BROUGHT THE HEAT BACK

데일 듯 hotter, hotter

SUMMARY ‘ y/n pushes jays limits during their promotions which causes him to fuck her brains out ♡

𓊆 爵士 𓊇 x f!reader 㞫⠀⠀ ִ ⠀ 1,007 smut rough sex spanking degradation light face slapping dom/sub dynamics daddy kink overstimulation? slight non-prep penetration aftercare — 类型 smut romance idol au secret relationship

✴︎ LIBRARY ✴︎

‧˚⠀⠀ 🔥⠀⠀ ɞ 作者注 : i need jays cock i need jays cock i need jays cock NOW.

As the days passed, your secret relationship with Jay continued to flourish, even amid the chaos of your group’s comeback. The song Brought the Heat Back was a massive hit, dominating the charts and earning nonstop promotions. But despite the demanding schedule, you found yourself increasingly distracted—specifically by Jay’s ridiculously good looks. Every time he stepped onto the stage, exuding effortless confidence and raw charisma, your mind wandered to places it probably shouldn’t during work.

During one particular photoshoot, Jay sat in a chair, looking like an absolute greek god in his outfit. His sharp gaze and relaxed posture made him all the more irresistible. Your pose required you to sit on his thigh, turning your head towards the camera while keeping your back to it. The moment you settled onto him, a mischievous idea struck you. With the staff focused elsewhere, you subtly rolled your hips, grinding against his thigh just enough to tease.

Jay’s reaction was immediate. His grip on your pants tightened, and his jaw clenched. He leaned in just enough for you to hear his low warning. “Knock it off wait till we get home.”

But you weren’t feeling patient. Pouting, you shook your head in defiance, a silent plea for more. Jay exhaled sharply, his frustration evident, but there was something else in his eyes—amusement. You were testing his limits, and you both knew it.

The next shoot included the entire group—Heeseung, Jake, Sunghoon, Sunoo, and Niki. As you all gathered for a group shot, you couldn’t resist pushing things further. Under the guise of casual placement, you discreetly rested your hand over Jay’s crotch, feeling the warmth of him through his pants.

Jay’s fingers instantly wrapped around your wrist, removing your hand with a firm grip. He leaned down, his voice a sharp whisper in your ear. “I said fucking stop it wait till we get home.”

Again, you refused, shaking your head with a playful smirk. This time, Jay’s patience snapped. The warning look he shot you sent a clear message—you had pushed far enough. Finally, you backed down, but the tension between you only grew stronger as the day dragged on.

By the time you both made it home, the moment the door shut behind you, Jay had you pinned against the wall. His hands pressed firmly against your sides as his darkened eyes bore into yours.

“I told you to fucking wait until we were done.” His voice was deep, edged with frustration and something more dangerous—desire.

You barely had a chance to respond before he crashed his lips against yours, his body pressing you further into the wall. Breathless, you managed to mumble an apology between kisses. “I’m sorry daddy… I was just really horny…”

Jay let out a low chuckle, his amusement quickly overshadowed by hunger. “Oh you’re gonna be sorry alright.”

He wasted no time dragging you to the bedroom. Clothes were torn off in a frenzy, and when he yanked your pink panties off, you gasped. “Hey! Those were my favorite!”

Jay smirked, tossing them aside. “Shut up i’ll buy you more.”

As he prepared to stretch you out, you shook your head, voice breathless with impatience. “No… I don’t want that just want your cock.”

Jay froze for a second, brows furrowed. “You don’t want prep? Are you sure?”

You nodded eagerly. “Yes, I don’t.”

That was all he needed to hear. As he stripped the last of his clothes, he muttered under his breath, “Of course you don’t… fucking slut.”

With a quick flick, he grabbed the lube, slicking himself up before pushing into you in one swift motion. The sudden stretch had you squirming, your body clenching around him as moans spilled uncontrollably from your lips. Jay held still for a moment, giving you a chance to adjust before pulling back and slamming into you again.

Your cries filled the room as he set a relentless pace, each thrust sending jolts of pleasure coursing through your body. You clung to him desperately, hands grasping at anything—his arms, the sheets, the headboard—anything to ground yourself. But Jay wasn’t done with you yet.

Flipping you onto your hands and knees, he gripped your hips and started pounding into you from behind. Your knees trembled beneath you, your body barely able to handle the intensity. Each sharp thrust sent you spiraling further, your voice breaking as you whimpered his name over and over.

“J-Jay—please—s-slow down—”

But he wasn’t listening. A firm slap landed against your ass, making you cry out. Another followed, and another, each one leaving a stinging heat in its wake. Tears welled in your eyes from the overwhelming sensations—pain, pleasure, overstimulation—it was all too much. Yet, you didn’t want him to stop.

Jay let out a deep chuckle, his fingers trailing up to your face. With a firm grip, he grabbed your jaw, forcing your head to the side. He watched you, your teary eyes, your parted lips, the way drool dripped onto the sheets. He laughed, rubbing his thumb over your cheek before giving your face a light slap.

“Look at you” he murmured, his voice dripping with amusement. “Fucking ruined.”

Your body shook with exhaustion, yet you still begged for more. By the time he finally spilled inside you, your limbs had turned to jelly, your mind foggy with bliss.

Jay sighed, pulling you against his chest as he peppered gentle kisses along your temple. He scooped you into his arms, carrying you to the bathroom. The moment he set you down, he helped you onto the toilet, rubbing your thighs soothingly as he whispered, “Come on baby you gotta pee.”

Afterward, he ran a warm bath, massaging your shoulders as he helped you relax. His hands glided over your skin, rubbing your sore legs, whispering sweet words of love and praise.

As the two of you curled up in bed afterward, bodies tangled together, you felt yourself slipping into a peaceful sleep.

Still, one lingering thought danced in your mind—how you were definitely going to tease him again during filming.

@semisasseater

[kenobers]

quid pro quo | jason todd x sionis!reader 18+

the official beginning of the jason todd x sionis!reader timeline you have an argument with your piss poor excuse of a father, only this time, it results in him draining your bank account. angry and freshly broke, you use the only logical coping mechanism; you fuck his rival's sexy son. tw: mndi 18+, problematic reader, daddy issues, oral sex, p in v sex w/ fem!reader, top!Jason, voyuerism (rooftop sex), brief daddy kink, jason is a little ooc but it's for the plot. reader doesn't know jason is red hood here. a/n: it's the prequel, baby !! quid pro quo | pride & periods | is this love? | tremble & shake | scorn to change my state

"Are you sober?"

"Am I what?"

You and Jason Todd were meant to be rivals. At least, you considered him a rival. He had never seemed to care. Granted, he was presumed dead for most of high school, taking any hope for legitimate academic competition with him. By the time he reappeared in Gotham, your father had already decided you weren't cut out to destroy anybody - although he hadn’t failed to remind you of what could’ve been the entire time Jason owned the Penguin’s hangout. 

You still hated the guy. His apparent death had killed all the worth your father saw in you. For him to have been alive this whole time was a major slap in the face. 

Secretly, you always thought your father wanted you to destroy Jason because he wished you were Jason. Was it really so fair that Bruce Wayne really had everything handed to him, including all the sons he could want. What was Roman Sionis stuck with? A squeamish daughter with no ambition, who couldn't even prove she was better than some adopted street kid.

Now you exist as more of a pet to him than anything else. Something for him to own, something he could keep leashed at his side, something he could brag about, as if he had any real pride for you. Which was why a single, sham threat to change your last name was enough to have your personal bank account closed.

Well, if you don't need daddy's name, you don't need his money either. It's just a lesson in responsibility.

Yeah, right. Like he wasn't going to find a way to keep you from making money of your own.

But, you could still prove your ownership over yourself. After several minutes of staring blankly at the wall when you realized your father hadn’t been bluffing, you dug to the bottom of your laundry to locate the cherry colored dress that got you into anywhere for free. You weren’t sure what it was you were aiming to accomplish, but the damn dress was going to ensure you didn’t need the Sionis money or name to get what you wanted. Your feet moved with a mind of their own right into your favorite bar, right into the perfect tall, dark and handsome ride. 

You hadn’t recognized him at first. You hadn’t seen him in person in God knows how long, not since you were 15, probably. There was nothing special about his jeans, Mickey Thompson t-shirt and leather jacket. He didn’t look like a prince with the lazy way he slouched against the counter at the far end of the bar. From the entrance, his face blended in with all the others, unremarkable and unimpressive. Until the slight tug of his upper lip suddenly had you back in freshman year English, pouting as the teacher praised your would-be rival’s take on Romeo & Juliet. 

Finally, a six-foot-something, Wayne branded plot began to formulate.

Of course, now you're rolling your eyes at him. You hate having to repeat yourself, even over the loud buzzing of the bar.

"I said, 'are you sober'. You look sober. Are you?"

Jason Todd blinks, like he still doesn't quite understand the question. He straightens his posture, jostling the untouched pint of something between his middle finger and thumb.

"I-yeah, I am. Are you?"

You cross your arms, roll your eyes again and ignore the question. Obviously, you're sober.

"Do you know who I am?"

He looks you over thoughtfully. His gaze conveniently lingers on the pop of your hip and the cleavage peeking out of your ruby neckline. Exactly where you want it. You snicker; so maybe he's a little slow, but at least he doesn't seem to be blind.

"You're Sionis' kid, aren't you? It's been a hot minute," Jason leans forward a little, magically more invested in the conversation. The ginger man standing next to him pauses his attempts to woo a brunette to raise an eyebrow at you.

"My dad hates you."

He scoffs, taking a half hearted sip of his beer.

"And bears shit in the woods, what else is new?"

You don't remember him having that stupid white streak in his too-well-tousled hair. It was sexy. You hated it.

"Fuck me."

IPA dribbles down his idiotically strong chin. His mouth goes a little slack as he blinks once again, harder and longer this time.

"What?"

Ugh, again with the repetition.

"Fuck me. Have sex with me," you reiterate as nonchalantly as if you're asking him to move over.

The redhead next to him starts cackling. Jason glowers at him, shoving the drink into his hand with one arm while pulling you closer with the other. It only takes him a gentle tug to pull your chest to broad chest. He leans down so his lips brush against your ear, his crooked nose nudging the side of your head.

"Hey, you sure you're sober?"

The warmth of his breath in contrast with his mouth, still cool from his glass, sends a shiver down your spine.

"I'm dead sober."

"Okay, you see how I might doubt that given you just walked up to me and asked me to have sex with you."

You push him away and it's like pushing into a brick wall. A very muscular brick wall. "Look, Wayne-"

"Todd."

"Whatever. Even if I wanted to drink, I couldn't because my father drained my entire bank account."

Jason tilts his head, causing a lock of white hair to fall across his crooked nose. 

"And why'd he do that?"

You hum amiably, curling your pretty maroon nails around his thick forearm. 

"I'll tell you if you fuck me," you promise, batting your eyelashes as you place your other hand over his heart. Much to your frustration, his heartbeat is slow and steady. His sharp face has lost its earlier shock. He looks at ease, pleasantly entertained, with a slight smirk and a cocked slitted eyebrow. 

"I think that's called extortion, baby girl."

"It's only extortion if I'm threatening you," you snap back. You should know, your father's an expert in it. You take a small breath, smoothing out your tone again, "I'm just keeping my business to myself. So, I'd call this more of a quid pro quo."

"It's a quid pro quo if I'm getting something substantial out of it," he says this but at the same time, two large hands are sliding over your hips with a featherlight touch. His nails briefly press into your skin. 

Something in your belly tightens. Maybe he’s a more worthy opponent than you’d initially assumed. 

You tip your head up as you stand on your tiptoes and sneak your much smaller hands under his jacket, brushing up his warm sides. He sucks in a sharp breath. 

"If you really had no desire to fuck me, this conversation would've ended by now,” your voice is dripping in something venomously sweet. “And I'm not going to claim I have any idea of what's happening in your own business, but if I had to take a wild guess as to who in this room has the most to gain from fucking Roman Sionis' daughter, you'd be at the top of the list. Even if it's just for the bragging rights."

"You should know you’re worth more than just bragging rights, princess,” he says, rolling a fold of your dress between his fingers with a condescending shake of his head. You wonder if he can feel the heat radiating from underneath. 

"Prove it."

"...and you're sure you're sober?"

"Wanna test my breath?"

He snorts at your bad line, but his index and thumb are already caging your chin between them. He considers you for one more moment, then kisses you.

You can taste the single sip of beer, but it’s not as strong as the fading taste of a cigarette. His lips move against yours with intent, as if seeking out a falter in your sobriety. Their search comes up empty, leaving behind nothing but a thin string of spit and the overwhelming desire for more of him.

"What's your plan then? Risk it in a bathroom stall?"

You loath how utterly girlish the grin on your lips is.

"Nah, I know a spot upstairs."

***

"You're freaky, you know that?” Jason teases as you push open the roof access. 

"The cameras up here have a delay. My dad's people won't be able to snitch until tomorrow morning, so we have all the time in the world,” you smirk at the way his eyes bug out, tugging on the collar of his jacket with a sly wink. “Don’t worry. The cameras don’t pick up anything that happens on the ground. Plausible deniability.” 

He gestures to the roof set-up. The ledge comes up high enough to hide from peeping neighbors, but a string of yellow Christmas lights keeps the spot well illuminated.

"Yeah? And what about other prying eyes? You aren't worried Batman's gonna show up and scold us for public indecency?” 

The mental image is funnier than you let him think. You give him an amused little hum as you press yourself against his chest, walking two fingers up his ridiculously prominent bicep. 

"Hmm, technically this is private property and besides, this is Red Hood's territory."

"Red Hood? You really are freaky.” 

His lips are twinged ruby from being a human breathalyzer. A thin sheen of your lip gloss reflects the warm light surrounding you. Little scars decorate his hard face like freckles. You trace over a recent nick under his eye. 

"Please fuck me, Jason.” 

His arms are still at his side. His fingers twitch, either from anticipation or anxiety. 

"You're sure you want this?"

"Fucking positive. Do you?"

The green of his eyes are shadowed by his hooded eyes. His unflinching gaze is locked in on you. There’s a weight to it that seems to put pressures on all the right places. 

"Oh, fuck yeah, I do."

He doesn’t stop to think this time before he kisses you. It’s harder than earlier, his hands roaming your body. He had his moment to explore your cherry flavored mouth, now he’s taking what he wants. What you both want. 

There’s no shared breath between you as you suck on his bottom lip, ensuring your lip gloss is smeared everywhere. A large hand snakes its way up your spine to grip the back of your head. You gasp as fingernails dig into your scalp and Jason takes advantage of your parted lips to run his tongue over yours. 

You rack your nails over his stomach, catching the muscular grooves of his abdomen to make his shudder. You flatten your palm to sneak it downwards when he retaliates by grazing over your tailbone. You quiver under his touch, feeling that obnoxious smirk on his face. 

“Tell me,” he pants between wet smacks, “if”, smack, “if anything’s”, smack smack, “too much.” 

This gives you pause. What a chivalrous sentiment from a man who’s about to ram his cock into you on the dirty ground of a bar rooftop where Red Hood might see just to trifle with your father. Actually, you weren’t sure anyone had offered you that sentiment before. It has you rubbing your thighs together. 

Something unmistakable and hard pokes your belly as your hips meet. His tongue feels along the ridges of your lips before licking between them, once again filling your mouth with him. 

Cigarettes have never tasted so good. 

The arm around your waist slides to fill his free hand with your ass. You alarm yourself by letting out a muffled moan when he squeezes. He’s going to make a mess of you much quicker than anticipated. 

It’s just because the cameras are picking this part up, you think to yourself, I’m still in charge, Jason Todd isn’t going to get the best of-

Your thoughts are interrupted by the hand on your ass rounding your hip. Two fingers play with the hem of your short dress and pull the skirt up to reveal the skimpy thong underneath. Jason finally pries himself away from your mouth to get a good look, letting out a low whistle as he admires the coordinating colors. 

“You’re so organized, aren’t you?” He croons in a much gruffer voice than he’s been using. The rough pads of his fingers knead circles into your thigh, making you keen. “Daddy must really be stressin’ you out, baby girl. You’re so tight, need to unwind…” 

You let out a little breath as the hand on your head moves to cup your chin. Jason’s lips are satisfyingly swollen and a rash of scarlet has started to spread across his cheeks, although it’s nothing compared to the heat rising in yours. The fingers at your thigh skim inward, ghosting over the elastic of your underwear. 

“This alright?”

Later you’ll curse yourself for not saying something snarkier or dirtier, for not grabbing the outline of his cock and reminding him whose idea this was…but right now, there’s nothing in the world you want more than for this man to touch your pussy. 

You nod, “Please, Jason-”

“Please, what?”

Oh, this fucker with his little smug expression. 

“Please…Please touch me, Jason.” 

Although every time you say his name, his chest tightens up beneath your palms. 

He cups your sex, feeling along the thinning string keeping you covered. Your eyes widen as you realize it’s clinging to your lower lips. His index and middle fingers are cold against the thin fabric of your thong. It's a sharp juxtaposition from his hot breath on your lips, then your jaw, then your neck. 

Dagger-like canines whet the skin of your throat. The tip of his tongue drags a straight line down your jugular while the tips of his fingers trace circles over your flimsy underwear.

“So wet,” Jason lets out a pleased hum, snapping the string with a thawk to make you jolt. “And in these pathetic excuse for panties? I wouldn’t be surprised if you left something behind in the bar.” 

Your natural instinct is to retort, but you don’t have a chance to get a word in before he’s pushing the flimsy fabric aside and swiping his middle finger through your slit. 

“Daddy makes you mad and the first thing you do is parade yourself around with your fucking pussy out. You just went out looking for trouble, didn’t you.” 

“Nuh-ah-uh,” you protest weakly, gripping his shoulders for support. He’s massaging your lower lips with false mercy. “Wasn’t looking for anything until I-ah-until-ahh-til I saw you.”

His canine bites down as his thumb presses your clit like it’s a button. Two fingers slip inside you with an embarrassing amount of ease and you whine as they scissor you open. 

“You really know what you’re doing,” you huff, a half hearted attempt at a joke. He pauses, as if he’s surprised to hear you say that. His fingers freeze up inside you, then start to pump in and out carefully - cautiously even.

“Maybe that’s just what you needed, hmm,” he muses into your skin, planting another wave of kisses along your jawline. “Someone who knows what he’s doing to help you loosen up.” 

He’s straining painfully against you. It seems unfair to let him do all the work when he’s also begging to be fucked to shreds. You reach for his cock, only for his fingers to retract from your cunt and curl around your wrist. 

You whine, both at the sudden lack of him inside you and your foiled attempts to gain some control. Your knees nearly buckle as he removes his arms all together to shrug off his jacket. But he merely tuts, “None of that, princess. Why don’t you lay back down? I think the cameras got enough.” 

Well, fuck it. You told him to treat you like a trophy, no point in confusing the man now. 

He drapes his jacket on the ground before twining his arms around your waist and shoulders to lower you down on top of it. The inside is surprisingly soft against the exposed parts of your back. 

“You just gotta let me take care of you, baby,” Jason coos, gently grabbing your ankles to move your legs apart. He takes his sweet time dragging your panties off, letting each callous on his hands hit your smooth thighs. “Look at that pretty fuckin’ pussy. You’re gonna taste so fuckin’ sweet.” 

Taste?

“What’re you-”

“Shh, trust me,” he says, coming up to kiss you. He pushes your dress up to your waist, stopping to rub your hip affectionately. “You’re gonna be glad I did this. We can stop if you get uncomfortable.” 

He kisses either thigh as he dips his head between your legs, his black hair tickling your skin. You suck in a breath of anticipation, but he steals it when he places an open mouth kiss on your slit. 

You crane your head to look at him. Not a single other person has done this to you before. You were beginning to think it was just some sort of myth, but the way Jason licks from your hole to your clit with a blistering, flat tongue is suddenly very real - and very good. 

He blows a harsh breath on your clit before delving back into your cunt. He licks his way into you, filling you with a new strange, wet sensation. His tongue is hot on your already burning core and you think you might melt into a puddle. You bite your lip, but it’s not enough to stop the pathetic cries that come out of you as Jason Todd, your alleged nemesis who never paid you any mind, the son of the dull pain in your father’s ass, eats you out. 

The sound is obscene and loud, masking your soft pants. The wet noise echoes off the high walls of the ledge while Jason works your cunt with a stupid amount of precision. His mouth is sloppy, engulfing you whole. But, his tongue is tactical, taking its time to draw out a map of all the places that make you moan and squirm. 

“Oh God, oh God!” You cry out, your hands flying to grab a fistful of black and white hair as he laps at you. His arms hook around your knees to yank you closer. He’s unreal, unrelenting in his dining. When he switches to deliver kitten licks to your clit, two fingers take his tongue’s place in your hole. 

You buck upwards as his fingers curl inside you, easily stroking at that sweet spot just out of reach of your own fingers. His free arm pins your twitching hips down, and that’s when you officially relinquish all control to him. 

“Jason, ahhh” you groan, every muscle and nerve in your body quaking. “Jason, I’m gonna…please let me…”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He sucks down on your button, letting his teeth graze the nerves in just the right way to send that unforgiving twinge up to your belly until it whites out your vision. Your orgasm floods his face, but he keeps licking until it stops. Only then does he pull away, giving you a shit eating grin dripping in more than just lip gloss and beer.  

“That’s a good fuckin’ girl, asking so nicely. And so damn sensitive, it’s cute.”

Your heart races at being called a good girl. You should be spent already, but something about the fact that he made you cum in only ten minutes makes you want even more. 

He rises to his knees and you stare at him in awe as his body towers over you, blocking out anything but the hungry gleam of his eyes, the carnivorous bite of his lip, the mounting sweat of his skin. Anything but him. 

The lights glow gold behind him, crowing your own personal Apollo with his halo. His pupils are blown out, but his stare hasn’t lost its cool. You, on the other hand, are trembling beneath him, your pussy clenching at the sound of his zipper coming undone. 

Your eyes bug out to match the size of the cock he pulls from his jeans. It’s stiff as it fills his grasp, already leaking into his palm. He grins proudly at your awe. 

“See why I wanted to warm you up, pretty girl?”

The adrenaline of the moment gives you the strength to sit up and press your worshipful lips to the ruddy head, revealing in the way it twitches. The remnants of your lip gloss add to its shine. Jason mixes it with his spit as he spreads it across his veiny flesh.  

“You’re a God, Jason Todd.” 

He bends down to reward your praise with a kiss, a briny tang replacing the burn of tobacco. Your hands come up to caress his jaw before dropping to his shoulders, proactively digging into his t-shirt. Your lips pull away from his to connect to his neck, repaying him for the bruises he decorated you with earlier. 

He hums in pleasure, tipping his head to give you better access. He smears your lipgloss residue onto his hand and lubes his cock with a Lime Crime Wet Cherry and spit cocktail. 

You’re so wrapped up in leaving a toothy imprint in the junction of his neck that you miss the hard switch in his expression. You yelp as he grips your thighs and hooks them over his hips, pinning you beneath him. Your torso flies back, but he reflexively catches your head before it can smack against the concrete. 

He continues to cradle you, steadying himself as he drags his tip along your slit excruciatingly slow. He tuts and taps your clit when you bite back a moan. 

“Don’t hold back now, beautiful,” he taunts, prodding your entrance with his blunt head. “What’s the matter, worried Red Hood might hear you?”

You try to grind against him and snarl when he pulls his cock away, “Don’t fucking tease me, jackass.” 

Jason slaps his cock against you, then rests it on your belly. He lets out an amused scoff, “Wasn’t I a God thirty seconds ago?”

“Forgot to mention I’m an atheist.” 

You cross your arms like you aren’t flat on your back with your legs up, but no poker face can hide the desperate squirm of your hips. 

The bastard shakes his head and the weight of him shifts over your gut, “You just can’t help being a brat, can you? And to think, you were being such a good girl f’me.” 

“Only because you were being nice-”

“I can be nice again, sweetheart,” his voice is low as he spits out the pet name. “But you gotta be patient.” 

“I wasn’t raised to be particularly- AH!” 

The head of his cock bullies its way past your labia and sits at the ready. You can already feel yourself stretching to accommodate him. It’s just the tip and it’s already bigger than anything you’ve ever had. 

“You ready?” He whispers. You nod with a strained whine, but it’s not enough for him. “Take a breath, I gotta hear your voice, pretty girl.”

“I-”

Your heart pounds so fast, it stops for the split second that those sharp greens irises soften. His thumb rubs a circle behind your ear. 

“Yeah,” you suck in one last breath. “I’m ready.” 

“Just - hmm - Just tell me if you need me to stop.” 

Your mouth falls open as he starts to push in. When you first saw his size, you had expected it to sting. But instead of sharp pain, he fills you with an instant and, based on the snail’s pace he’s moving at, neverending pressure. 

“Oh, baby…Oh, that’s it, that’s it, nice and slow.” 

It’s so much. It’s so good. Every bump and groove makes itself known as he buries himself inch by inch, rubbing against you. 

"Fuck, you have a big cock," you groan, letting your head fall back on his jacket. He has the audacity to snort as he sinks the rest of himself into you, until his hips finally grate against yours.

The hand holding your head slips out from under you and pulls down the strap of your dress. Your already stiff nipple becomes absolutely statuesque when it meets the night air. 

"Yeah? Well, you got a big fuckin' attitude, asking a man you barely know to come fuck you on a rooftop. You do this a lot?"

The edge of a callous catches your nipple. 

"No! Just f'you!" You squeak with a jolt. 

The callous turns into an entire paw, squeezing your entire breast harshly. You push upwards into the base of his palm, brushing your nipple against the defined lines. 

"Just for me? Just had to have me?"

Jason leans in closer, so you can feel each hot strained exhale.

"Had to have you!"

There’s little more than a hair between your noses. That big strong hand finds its way to your throat. 

"No one else pisses off your daddy as much?"

You have no explanation for what slipped out of you next. 

In your entire sexual experience, you had refused to speak them. And more determined men than this one had tried to squeeze it out of you. 

But something about the hand on your throat and the breath on your lips had you shouting, 

"You're my daddy!” 

Something flashes in his eyes and for a moment, you’re worried you fucked up. He freezes up. His face falls blank and his mouth goes taut as he considers your words. The hand supporting his weight jerks next to your head while you pant anxiously. You get the sense that this is a first for him too. 

Then he lets out a breathless laugh. 

"Yeah. Yeah, that's right, baby. I'm your daddy.”

He pulls out of you without warning or sympathy. Your hips chase his blindly, your hole weeping for his cock to come back. He sits back on his knees and hauls your ass over his thighs, spreading you open on his wide lap. 

"You holding on tight, baby?”

You waste no time securing fistfuls of his shirt, the white logo distorting in your clutch. He lines himself up to your entrance again, brushing the sweat off your brow. 

"You tell me if it's too much, yeah?"

“Of course, daddy.” 

He grins, his sharp canines glinting. “Good girl.” 

He abandons his slow and steady routine to shove himself into you. He so graciously gives you a moment to re-welcome him with a little squeeze before he’s pounding into you, ramming in and out of you at an unforgiving pace. 

You make a valiant attempt to move with him. Really, you do. But the man is actively reducing you to a huffing and puffing ragdoll. The angle he has you at leaves you nowhere to go but the end of his cock. You want to say something, to egg him on, however all that tumbles out of your gaping mouth is a series of choked uhs and ahs. 

That is until he hits a spot you didn’t even know existed and you let out an honest to God scream. In your defense, the speed at which he fucks you is utterly inhuman. If you didn't know better, you'd think it was Superman taking his fill of you.

He slows, moving just enough to rub up against that sensitive point. He revels in the way your legs crush his sides, your trembling knees digging into his ribs. 

“Oh, that feels good, doesn’t it, baby,” he groans. He plunges in as deep as he can go, lifting your hips like you’re made of clouds. Something in you pinches and burns as you open up even more for him.  

He readjusts you with a grunt and sets a new brutal rhythm; fucking you fast and hard, then easing up when he strokes something that makes you shudder.

“Pretty girl,” he mutters, “Good girl…so good…so so fuckin’ good…”

Like clockwork, you gasp every time he slows down and drags his cock in or out of you. He lets you feel every minute detail, graciously allowing you to appreciate what he's giving you, before he's striking every sweet spot like lightning again.

“Come on, let Red Hood hear you.” 

White, red and gold flashes before your eyes. Your mouth falls open dumbly as you cry out for your former woud-be-rival. Although there was ecstasy exploding from your core to your belly, the best feeling was him gasping your name in turn. 

He pulls out of you just as he finishes, your name still falling from his swollen lips. With a heave of his chest, he rolls off of you and lands with a thump at your side. You pant together, waiting for the stars to pause their dancing. 

“Gonna tell me why your dad took your dough now?” He finally puffs out. 

“Fuck, I don’t even remember,” you laugh hoarsely. Jason snaps his head up to look at you. Dumbfounded is an adorable look on him. 

“So you lure me into making a sextape for you, then conveniently forget your end of the bargain?”

“It’s not my fault you fucked my brains out,” you shrug as you sit up. You take an agonizing moment to stretch so you can enjoy the glare on his face. “Why do you wanna know so badly anyway?”

He sits up next to you, running a hand through his thoroughly tousled hair, “I’m gonna need another deal if you want me to start revealing my secrets.” 

Jason Todd’s a quick thinker, you have to give him that. You consider him, consider the possibility of extending this hook-up into a full fledged thing. There has to be more to gain than lose. If you play your cards right, maybe you can beat your father to destroying the Wayne legacy. Or…maybe you can get your revenge by weaving yourself into it. Either way, you’ll ensure you come out on top. 

“Tell you what,” you say, standing up and trying to ignore the way your legs shake. “I’m free tomorrow night. Do that thing with your tongue again and it might jog my memory. I’ll do something with my tongue and see if that doesn’t inspire you to share.” 

He scoffs, “You’re a little business mongrel, y’know that?” You roll your eyes, but extend your hand out to help him up. He looks at your hand for a moment, narrowing his eyes. Then he accepts it, cautiously wrapping his large hand around your smaller one like he’s handling a snake. “No more rooftops,” he decides. “And no more up close cameras.” 

You nod, “Fair. But I’m not calling you daddy again either. That was a one time thing.” 

Jason laughs. It’s just a short bark, but it’s genuine. “No problem. It’s not really my thing either. I just appreciated its dramatics for tonight’s purposes.” 

The corners of your lips twitch upwards. 

“So…We have a deal?”

He gives your hand a firm shake, although it doesn’t betray the suspicion in those unnerving green eyes. 

“I think you said it best yourself, princess. I think we have a quid pro quo.” 

Something heavy settles in your chest like a weighted blanket as you shake his hand. It’s not an uncomfortable feeling, it’s just that you sense Jason Todd is going to be around for a long time. And you’re going to get everything you can out of him.