#well that wasn’t on the bingo card | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

joelsgoldrush · 9 months ago

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“guilty pleasure” | 8.6k

worst!logan howlett x f!reader

SUMMARY: After saving Earth-10005 from impending disaster, Wade convinces Logan, the alcoholic and easily irritated mutant, to stick around for a while. He’s convinced that nothing good can come out of this experience, until he meets you: the charming bartender with a soft spot for swearing that matches his own. Suddenly, sticking around doesn’t seem so bad after all.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni - smut 18+ fluff. drinking. dirty talk. slow-burnish. grumpy!logan x sunshine!reader. reader is really kind but cracks a lot of jokes. age gap (25 vs 200 - they’re basically the same age). oral sex (f receiving). fingering. finger sucking. soft dom!logan. wade being the funniest asshole. logan calls reader "kiddo/kid”.

A/N: HI! first of all, i'd like to thank you for all the support you showed me on my recent post. let me just tell you that i’m LOVING writing for logan. but none of this would be possible without YOU, so yeah, i fucking love y’all.

** regarding this story, i was planning on making it even longer, but writing these two has been so much fun, and i didn’t want it to end just like that (i have attachment issues as you may infer from this note). therefore, i’ve made the decision to write a second part to this fic, which will contain fluff and other stuff (you already know the drill). i don’t know when i’ll be posting it, but i’m sure it won’t take me that long.

*** i’m also working on other one shots (purely fluff/domesticity because i want this man to cradle me in his arms). anyway, i don’t know if anyone’s going to read this, but still, all I have to say is THANK YOU FOR READING MY WORKS! i hope you really like this silly story i made up :)

**** english is not my first language so if you come across any mistakes don’t hesitate to tell me :)

special recognition to @zloshy who allowed me to rant about my own fic 😭 the sweetest human ever

The bar is far from packed, but then again, it never truly is.

Studying your regulars has become your favorite hobby. Soon you end up knowing their names, the drinks they like, and what time they come through the door. It’s what happens when standing on your own two feet and refilling glasses lose all their charm. A part of you thinks you also do it to make them feel safe. No matter how much you try to deny it, you truly care about their well-being.

Is this your dream job? Nope. Definitely not. You’re pretty sure that holding some stranger’s hair while they empty their insides wasn’t on your bingo card for this year. But sadly money doesn’t grow on trees, and university isn’t going to pay itself. Plus, this was the only job in which your resume was not immediately rejected. It should also be stressed that the drunks happen to love you.

Perhaps this isn’t the life you had always imagined for yourself, but you were getting closer to it. You’d often talk to Adam, a retired psychologist in his seventies. He was without a doubt one of the most loyal clients you’d ever encountered. In the past, he’d even given you free advice on some of your failed hookups. You once told him that in less than two years, you’d be just like him when you got your degree in Psychology. To your surprise, he replied: “You’ll be much better than me, doll. I’m a mess, can’t you see it? You don’t wanna be like me,” his voice was hardly above a whisper as he continued. “I should be at my daughter’s birthday right now, but I didn’t get an invitation this year. Believe me, you don’t want to end up like this old man.”

Like Adam, most of the men who frequented the bar day-to-day saw it as an opportunity to hide within the shadows. In comparison to the other pubs in the area, the one you work at doesn’t receive that much attention from the general public. A dimly lit place where only music from the 80s is allowed. You’re certain that if a health inspector ever came down here, you’d be in serious problems. But hey, you know what they say: do not worry about tomorrow; instead, live in the now.

The atmosphere of the bar shifts dramatically as the main door slams shut with a resounding thud, pulling you abruptly out of your daydreaming. You turn to see who’s arrived, but as soon as your eyes meet his, you’re compelled to look away. Nevertheless, the brief glance you catch of the stranger’s features is enough for you to unlock your phone and send a quick text to your best friend.

You:

cutie patootie alert

there’s this really handsome guy at the bar

i don’t think i’ve ever seen him before

i think i’m in love with him

my night just got a 100% better

Allison:

age

what does he look like

is he bald?

You:

he looks like he could be in his early fifties??? it’s hard to tell UGH i wish you were here

brown hair, beard, 6’2 if i’m not wrong

i didn’t stare at him for too long

otherwise that would’ve been very weird

and no he’s not fucking bald

that happened only once and i was not aware of that gentleman’s lack of hair

Allison:

so you’re dating retired now

get it grandma!

You:

oh fuck you allison

Allison:

it’s okay girl we all have our flaws

just make sure it’s nobody’s father

wait it’s not mine right?

You:

nah your dad’s way hotter don’t you worry about it

Allison:

bitch

Even with the music blasting through the speakers that are attached to the ceiling, you can still hear the low murmur and the whispers. The mysterious stranger seems to have attracted the attention of the other patrons, some of whom have even raised their phones to take photos. Your eyebrows draw together. Why would they do something like this, approaching the man as if he were a celebrity? Since curiosity never fails to kill the cat, you decide to get involved.

“Do I have somethin’ on my face?” you hear him ask the crowd, his raspy voice making your knees wobbly. He sounds enraged. You step on your tiptoes, trying to see what all the fuss is about, albeit it’s pretty hard considering how these men are caging him with their bodies.

The glow of a phone’s flashlight catches your attention, and suddenly, a chair is dragged without much elegance. “Enough of that, y’hear me?”

Enter you now. “Okay, gentlemen, I’m sorry. I’m gonna need you to make some space for me, alright?” you mumble as you gently push them aside. “Thank you, thank you. Y’all can be real sweethearts when you put your minds to it.”

Then you spot him, and it becomes clear why everyone is making such a fuss.

Gary, your worst client ever, steps forward. His nasty breath clouds your senses as he rests one of his sweaty hands on your shoulder. “Doll, it’s the fucking Wolverine. Don’t ask him for a picture, though. He doesn’t seem to be in the mood for that.”

The last thing you needed to see today was a fight (despite your knowledge of who would be the winner). You locate yourself amidst them, shaking your head like a disappointed mother, so as to add a tiny bit of drama to the situation.

“Guys, what you’re doing here is completely inappropriate. I thought I’d taught you better. Imagine if I were to pull this crap on you. You wouldn’t have it.”

Adam presses his lips together, flushing a bit. “She does have a point.”

“Thank you, peanut. You’re still my favorite,” you flash him an honest smile. Scrutinizing the rest of the men, you continue with your speech. “You can still make up for it and fill my tip jar all the way to the top. Deal?” they all scoff, barking their disagreement. “Oh, you don’t like the sound of that? Then leave him alone, okay? Class dismissed! Back to your places,” you clap your hands repeatedly, signaling them to go away. “Chop chop. All this alcohol won’t be drinking itself.”

Just like that, everything goes back to normal in the blink of an eye. Wolverine sits back down in his chair, leaning closer to the table and resting both elbows on it. He examines you, lifting his chin while his brown eyes take in every inch of you.

“Thank you,” he utters, his eyes still trained on your features.

“No need to. It’s what I’m here for,” you point to your work clothes, which consist of an antiqued apron and a silly sticker that has your name written on it. “Can I get you anything to drink? It’s also Burger Night. You can get one for half the usual price.”

(No. It’s not fucking Burger Night. You just happen to find yourself deeply attracted to him.)

He doesn’t seem too eager to hear you talk. “Not hungry at the moment. But I could use some whiskey.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, kid. Very sure.” Well, now he does look annoyed.

“Great. I’ll be back in a minute,” you move as if you were in a race, returning to him after a hot minute. Setting his glass down on the table, you fill it with some old whiskey you don’t even know the name of. Still, he omits that detail, gulping down two-fingers of whiskey as if it were water. “I see you’re thirsty.”

“Could you leave the bottle here?” those brown puppy eyes are begging you to do as he says, and although you’d be happy to oblige, rules are rules.

“Actually, I can’t. The bottle stays on the counter. But you can always join me at the front,” your proposal doesn’t appear to have the desired effect on him. “I won’t talk to you if that’s what you want.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” he rubs his neck, drawing a long breath as he stands up.

You can feel many pairs of eyes searing into your soul. The others ask you for more drinks and you pour them, pricking up your ears when you hear them talking about him.

“What a weirdo. Didn’t you see it on TV? He’s not even from this universe,” Gary explains, looking for accomplices to hate on Wolverine. “Let me tell y’all something: he shouldn’t even be here. He’s fucking dead on this earth.”

Yeah… that you knew.

It had been all over the news for weeks. Some would even swear that he was back from the dead, but that was until the representatives from the TVA spoke their truth. If someone would’ve told you a month ago that multiple universes were a thing, you would’ve laughed in their face.

As if that weren’t already difficult to process, your mind does the job of reminding you that there’s a man with metal claws sitting a few meters away from you. Despite that, you can’t seem to be scared of him. There’s something magnetic about his personality and that don’t-come-near-me-or-there-will-be-consequences expression that he has. Why had you promised not to speak to him? Dammit.

“I can hear your thoughts,” a muscle in his jaw twitches after knocking back another glass of whiskey. He squeezes his eyes shut before tapping the table with two fingers, silently asking for a refill.

“I thought you didn’t want me to talk,” you raise one of your eyebrows, and you behold how the corners of his mouth turn up for an instant. “I can assure you your liver hates you.”

“Alcohol won’t kill me, so don’t be afraid. Keep ‘em coming.”

For nearly twenty minutes, he does nothing but drink. He attempts to light a cigar at some point, and you stop him. “You can’t smoke in here.”

“No special treatment?” he inquires, placing the cigar between his parted lips and tilting his head back. He’s so… dreamy. He has to know it.

“I saved your ass today. The least you can do is not cause me any trouble.”

His eyes widen at your words, blinking owlishly. “You saved my what?”

“Your goddamn ass. You were about to start a fight.”

“Blame the idiots you have for clients,” he says, jerking his thumb toward your direction. “I was just mindin’ my own business. They came for me, not the other way around.”

“Look, Wolvie. I–”

“Wolvie?” giving a bitter laugh, he rams a hand through his hair. “That’s the worst nickname I’ve heard in a long time,” he looks at you through his lashes, getting rid of his leather jacket. “It’s Logan.”

“Wow. Your name is very boybandish.”

You succeed in making him laugh once again. It’s the perfect opportunity for you to observe his face without feeling like you were just about to get caught. He has deep creases and worry lines etched between his eyebrows, a brown beard that perfectly frames his jaw, and a few white hairs scattered in his sideburns. Pearly teeth that go hand in hand with one of the most impeccable smiles you’ve ever seen, and a pair of brown eyes that make you feel weak in the knees. You know for a fact that he’s a lot older than you; his exact age remains a mystery, but his appearance is enough for you to start fantasizing.

Shit, you want him. You should feel sickened by the mere thought of being with him. He was born God knows when, has lived hundreds of years. Still, the idea of tracing his cheekbones with your fingers while lying on his chest doesn’t leave you. This is fucked up. You are fucked up. A fucked up Psychology student. The joke is pretty much self-explanatory.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding, you preening slut. Can’t even bother to answer my calls now?”

The tension between you shatters like a glass dropped onto the floor. He doesn’t dare to look in the direction of the owner of that voice, not even as the seat next to him gets taken. He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Wade, what the hell are you doin’ here?”

“It hasn’t been exactly easy, raising our kid on my own. I don’t even have money to hire a babysitter, Lo. I spent nine months carrying your child, and for what? You end up going after a bartender,” the masked man turns to you, giving a sly wink. “No offense, baby. You must be a real sweetheart. In fact, do you want my number? The name’s Wade, but you can call me whatever you like.”

“You dumb fuck. Are you flirtin’ with her?”

“No shit, smartass. You’re the future of this country.”

A soft giggle escapes you despite your attempt to hold it back. You take a step back, admiring the two men. “Well, aren’t you two a beautiful couple?”

“You should see our little munchkin. He’s got my eyes and Logan’s hair. His first word was gubernatorial.”

“Would you like to have a drink while you’re here?”

“A beer would be great. Thank you, sugarbear. You’re the cutest,” Wade sinks back into his chair, resting his chin on his palm. He jerks his head in Logan’s direction, bumping his shoulder. “She’s the cutest. Are you two together?”

Logan rubs his forehead, speaking through gritted teeth. “How did you find me?”

“It's the power of love, baby. I had It’s All Coming Back To Me Now on repeat for hours. Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Handing Wade a cold beer, your eyes scan Logan’s face. “I didn’t know patience was your strongest suit.”

“Me neither.”

“Enough of that! I can’t stand not being included in a conversation,” Wade throws his hands in the air, and you look at him. “There you are. So, what about you? Are you even allowed to be here? Did bars change their policies?”

You can’t help but snort. “I’m 25.”

Wade looms closer, lowering his voice. “Now that I think about it, you could totally be Logan’s caretaker. He’s been having some issues recently, given his age. Do you… know anything about adult diapers?”

But then Logan’s face contorts, turning crimson. He rises from his seat, grabbing Wade’s arm. “That’s it. We’re leavin’,” his eyes lock on you for a moment. “How much do I owe you?”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s on the house.”

The things you’re willing to do for a man, right? You should be ashamed of yourself.

(But you aren’t.)

His mouth hangs open in disbelief. “Kiddo, are you–”

“Completely sure,” you finish his sentence for him, bowing your head and clasping your arms behind your body. A tight-lipped smile takes over you. “Just don’t tell my boss.”

Wade shifts his gaze back and forth between Logan and you. “I usually don’t mind third-wheeling, but I sort of feel left out.”

“I’m gonna sew your mouth shut, Wade.”

“Oh, come on! I was just making small talk,” the masked man tries to excuse himself while Logan pushes him towards the door. “It was a pleasure meeting you, sunshine. I’m free on Thursdays. Hit me up if his whiskey dick fails to impress you! Mine’s way more agile and young!”

As you watch them leave the bar, you remain frozen in your place amidst the clamor of ongoing chatter and clinking glasses.

What the fuck had just happened?

“Patrick’s normally the first one to get wasted during weekends,” you explain to the blonde woman sitting in front of you, and she writes that information down in her notebook. “He can usually handle himself, but at some point, he’ll try to call his ex-wife, and that’s when you know you need to stop serving him.”

She clicks her tongue, the color draining out of her face. “This is… definitely a lot to remember. I think I already forgot half of what you said.”

You shake your head, shoving your hands in your pockets. “You’ll get used to it, believe me. I’ll be with you at all times, so if you have any doubts, just ask me.”

After a whole year of working solo at the bar, you finally get to have a coworker: Gwen, a mother of two teenagers in her forties. You had met her at the grocery store, and in the process of helping her find a specific brand of cookies, you found out that she had recently lost her job. One thing led to another, and now she’s your trainee.

Your savior complex strikes again!

It has been four days since your first encounter with Logan. The thought that he could show up at any moment makes your heart race and your hands sweat. Allison had received countless voice messages where you narrated the entire experience in full detail.

Touching your arm softly, Gwen’s face lights up. “Another man came in. Is he a regular? I don’t think you told me about him.”

Fuck, it’s him. Manifesting does work wonders. He locks eyes with you and raises a hand in greeting.

“Leave this one to me,” you tell her as your feet take you to where Logan’s sitting, contemplating the way in which his leather jacket hugs his wide frame. “Long time no see.”

“Hey, kid,” he grins. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much. Nobody has puked yet, so that’s a good thing,” you crinkle your nose, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Whiskey?”

“You know me so well,” a smirk takes place in his lips, and he smiles cockily. “Though this time, I won’t be leavin’ without payin’.”

“We’ll see about that,” you go back to your usual spot behind the counter, looking for a glass. Your cheeks kind of hurt from smiling so hard. Next to you, Gwen studies your reaction to seeing Logan. “Is that your boyfriend?”

You almost drop the whiskey bottle. “God, no. He’s not my boyfriend. Barely know the guy.”

“It’s funny,” she says, raising her eyebrows with a knowing look, as if she knows something you don’t. “He hasn’t stopped looking at you since he arrived.”

“It’s probably because of this,” you reply, lifting the bottle in her direction before pouring a small amount into a glass. Just as you’re about to walk over to him, a girl slides into the sit beside him, her long blonde hair swept up in a ponytail. She’s wearing a stunning red dress and black heels. You wonder if she’s a model, because she certainly looks like one.

Her hand creeps up his arm, fingernails scraping against the worn leather. Although Logan’s expression is hard to read, he doesn’t even flinch.

“You know what? Here’s his drink– You take care of it. I’ll stay here,” you don’t give Gwen a chance to talk back, instead staying behind the bar, engaging in small talk with other clients.

“Doll, are you okay?” Adam asks you after noticing you struggling to open a beer bottle. He takes it from your hands and opens it with ease. “There you go.”

“Thank you, Adam. I’m fine, never been better. Why you ask?

“You sure?”

“Affirmative.”

“You mixed up our drinks,” he explains in his most psychologist-like voice. “This never happens to you. Michael has my wine, and I’ve got his martini.”

“Fuck! I’m so sorry. I just— I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you chew on your bottom lip, rubbing your temples. “I feel stupid.”

“Oh, please. Don’t say that. You’re far from being stupid,” he sits up straight, reaching for your fingers and giving them an apologetic squeeze. “If you ask me, I think you’ve got your mind on someone else,” he must notice how you visibly get tense because he adds: “Remember: I know when you’re lying. You didn’t charge him the other day, which means that you must really like him,” taking a tentative sip of the martini he didn’t even ordered, Adam shrugs. “I’m a great observer. That’s all.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the blonde girl from before returning to where her friends are chatting. Logan is left alone, and you watch him grab his glass and head towards the counter.

“As I said, your mind’s somewhere else,” Adam sighs, a tiny smirk tugging at his lips. “Go get your man. I’ll survive.”

“Not my man. But thanks, older-and-wiser-version-of-cupid.”

Pretending not to have seen Logan, you continue with your work. He remains silent for some minutes before finally saying: “Hi.”

Hi? It sounds so out of character for him.

“Hey, claws,” you force a smile, still avoiding to meet his gaze. “Do you need anything?”

Logan points to his empty glass, like a toddler asking for more cereal. “I also wanted to talk to you.”

“I thought you were busy over there,” you say, surprisingly managing to sound nonchalant, despite the jealousy bubbling underneath your friendly tone. “Did you get her number?”

“What? No.”

“Why not? She’s cute.”

Yeah, maybe you don’t sound as collected as you think.

Whether Logan notices it or not, he chooses not to mention it. He folds his arms over his chest, fixing his brown eyes on you. “I’m not interested.”

“And what is it that interests you, champ?” your question elicits a low chuckle from him. Just as he opens his mouth to seemingly reply, Gwen appears out of nowhere to ask you about the price of a certain drink. Your gaze shifts between her and Logan, who remains focused on you while sipping his drink.

After that, Gwen leaves. The man in front of you goes poker-faced, pursing his lips, and his abrupt change in demeanor alarms you. “Wade wants to have dinner tomorrow at his apartment– well, our apartment. I live with him now. It’s complicated,” he adds with a dismissive wave of his hand, and you laugh. “Anyway, he asked me to tell you that you’re invited. I know we don’t know each other that much, but… he said you seem like someone worth havin’ around,” he mumbles awkwardly, eyes downcast. “I think the same as well.”

You could die at peace.

“You’re a lucky fucker because I don’t work on Sundays,” you quip, smiling. “I’d be more than happy to attend your feast.”

“Great. I thought you would turn down the invitation.”

“Now why would you think that?”

“‘Cause you barely know me– us,” he corrects himself rapidly. “Plus, Wade’s annoying as hell when he puts his mind to it. You’ll see.”

“Marital problems?” he actually in response. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. Oh, I’ll bring the dessert.”

“You don’t have to.”

“But I do want to,” you tilt your head in an effort to hide your longing for him.

“Just want to get under my skin, huh? I can see why Wade likes you,” Logan beams, reaching out to tuck a $100 bill into the pocket of your apron. “The tip’s included.”

“I don’t know how things work in your universe, but you’re giving me way more money than you’re supposed to. I can't accept this.”

“Oh, but you will,” his gravelly voice fucks your system up, and you’re glad he can’t see how you squeeze your legs together behind the bar.

He writes down Wade’s address on a random napkin, holding his breath as he stands up. “I should get goin’. See you tomorrow then.”

Before he walks out the door, you stop him. “Logan? You didn’t answer my other question.”

His back shakes momentarily with laughter. Turning around to face you, his stare leaves you even more confused. “Good night, doll.”

This is becoming a habit: every time he goes away, you feel as though you’ve just run a marathon with no water available. Your mouth is completely dry, your fingers are numb and there’s a knot in your stomach that’s becoming all too familiar.

“Would you mind telling me where you got him?” Gwen’s voice makes you almost jump out of your skin.

“He’s not from around here. I think he’s Canadian.”

You’ve got this. You’ve got this. You’ve got this.

Knocking softly on Wade’s door, you step back, the container holding the tiramisu cold to your touch. It’s your first time trying out this recipe, so you’re expecting it to at least not taste like shit.

Wade answers the apartment door, acting surprised when you remain silent. “Well, look what the wind blew in: if it isn’t my husband’s lover. How dare you? We’re still going to couples therapy.”

You show him the container, and he squints at it. “Tiramisu. You want it or not?”

“I hate twenty-somethings,” he says with a defeated sigh, stepping aside to let you into the apartment.

Leaving your purse on the nearest surface, you scan the living room, wondering where Logan might be. There’s a small mirror beneath the couch, and you check yourself for the hundredth time tonight. “Don’t get too excited. He’s still showering,” Wade’s voice rings in your ears, and you turn to look at him, your eyebrows knitted. “Yeah. I noticed. You’re already drooling over that big piece of metal between his legs.”

“Keep quiet!” you cover his mouth with your palm, noticing the scarred state of his skin up close. “Wade, you fucking dog. Are you licking my hand?”

“Couldn’t help it. You taste like mascarpone cheese and espresso.”

Then Logan emerges from the bathroom, with only a white towel draped around his waist. Droplets of water fall from his wet hair, tracing the muscle of his abs, ending somewhere beneath his happy trail. Your eyes keep flickering between him and his torso until he clears his throat. “I thought you were comin’ later.”

“Me too, but I…,” you trail off, your brain struggling to catch up, “I didn’t know what else to do at my place.”

“It’s fine. Just– let me put on some clothes.”

“Please don’t,” Wade murmurs next to you, but Logan only scoffs. “I was just being honest. Communication is key.”

When Wade and you are alone again, he lets out a harsh breath. “That was probably the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. My pants are really tight right now.”

“Thin walls, buddy!” Logan shouts from his bedroom, earning a laugh from you.

Like A Prayer starts playing. Wade moves his hips to the beat, getting lost in the melody. “Is that your phone?”

“Yeah, but I always take a few seconds to dance to it. Such a banger!” he says, then picks up his phone, accepting the call. “Hey, Ness! What´s up?” Wade covers the speaker before telling you: “It’s Vanessa. My ex-girlfriend. We fuck once a week, sometimes even twice.”

From behind, Logan nudges your arm with his, looking at you. ”Hey, kid.”

“No, I’m not busy at all,” Wade exclaims, grabbing his crotch and thrusting into the air. “I’ll be there in ten, cupcake. See you,” he spreads his arms wide and whistles. “Someone’s getting laid tonight!”

“You made me come all the way here… and now you’re leaving?”

“What? My friend Wolverine wanted to invite you over. I just had to provide the apartment,” in one quick movement, he presses a kiss to your cheek, then does the same to Logan. “Shave yourself, will you?”

“Go fuck yourself, will you?”

“Love you too, honey. Hope you two lovebirds have a good night, because I know I will!”

Wade throws a wink over his shoulder before heading out, the apartment going dead silent. Logan and you stand frozen, staring at each other, although he quickly drops his gaze, unable to maintain eye contact. A giggle threatens to escape you: he wanted to see you. Could he possibly enjoy your company as much as you enjoy his?

Logan watches the spot where Wave had just been. The absence of his chaotic energy makes the room feel strangely empty now. He coughs lightly, the sound awkwardly loud in the quiet room.

“So... I, uh, bought pizza,” he says, his voice a little too casual, as if trying to cover up his nervousness. Averting his eyes, he focuses on the pizza boxes on the table.

You catch the hesitation in his tone, your curiosity piqued by his discomfort. Tilting your head, a teasing smile forms on your lips. “Pizza, huh? You sure know how to impress a girl.”

Logan chuckles, the sound strained, as he scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, I figured it was a safe choice. Didn’t want to ruin it, y’know?”

You move closer to the table, the warmth from the pizza boxes radiating against your hands as you open one of them. The rich smell of melted cheese and pepperoni fills the air, a comforting scent that makes your stomach growl softly. “Thank you. I’m a big fan of pizza.”

He sits in the chair across from you, taking a bite of his slice. You watch him quietly, your own thoughts churning. The truth of his origins had been a shock at first, but now, it just made you want to know more about the man. What was his life like in the other universe? Did he miss it? Was he happier here, or was he longing to return?

“Logan…,” you begin, your tone gentle but probing, “Can I ask you something?”

He glances up at you, eyes widening. There’s something in your eyes –an understanding, maybe– that makes him feel like you could see right through him.

“Sure,” he replies, trying to sound more at ease than he really feels. “Ask away.”

You hesitate for a moment, not wanting to push too hard. “I was wondering... would it be okay if I asked you some questions? About, you know, your life. Where you're from.”

The bite of pizza suddenly feels heavy in his mouth. He hadn’t talked much about his world, not even with Wade. Partly because it was too painful, and partly because he wasn’t sure how to explain how things turned out for him. He nods slowly, setting his slice down. “Yeah, it's okay. I’ll answer what I can.”

“I just... I want to understand you better.”

“Well, first and foremost, I’m no hero. You should know that by now.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Kid, I’m the worst Logan. A complete failure. Of all the variants out there, Wade just had to pick the one despised by every living soul on his earth,” Logan looks away, his voice low and heavy. You’re wondering if doing this was a good idea. “I need a drink.”

He gets up and you follow him into the kitchen. He rummages through the fridge, in search of a cold beer. Meanwhile, you attempt to find the right words. “I don’t think–”

With a sharp flick of his wrist, three metal claws sprout from between his knuckles. A gasp catches in your throat as he uses his claws to pierce the beer can, drinking from the punctured holes. Once he’s done, he goes back to staring at you. Your gaze, on the other hand, is still glued to the now-empty beer can. “What?” he asks, exhaling slowly.

“That was completely unnecessary,” you mutter, and he lets out a bitter chuckle, tossing the can into the trash. “But, back to what you said before– I don’t think you’re the worst Logan.”

“You didn’t know me back then, darlin’. I fucked it up,” he leans against the counter, arms crossed defensively over his chest. “Like the Logan from this universe, I once belonged to the X-Men too. I remember that Scott used to beg me to wear my suit. So did Jean, Storm, Beast– All of them,” his gaze grows more distant, and you can tell that memories are flooding his mind. “Wanted me to be part of the team, but I wouldn’t do it. Told them they looked fucking ridiculous.”

The pizza’s long forgotten. You take the risk and get a bit closer to him, your eyes never leaving his.

Logan’s silence stretches for a moment before he speaks again. “One day, while I was off on my own, the humans came. They went mutant hunting.”

Your heart clenches at the pain in his voice. He still remembers everything as if it had happened yesterday. “I can guess the rest. You don’t have to–”

But he cuts you off. “No, let me say it. I need to say it,” he takes a deep breath, lowering his head. “By the time I stumbled home, shit-faced from the bar, it was too late. They were dead. They called after me and I walked away.”

Reaching out, your hand gently brushes against his. He doesn’t pull away, but instead searches for your eyes. “My suit's all I've got to remind me of who they were. What I did. I found them and they were… dead. I started killing, and I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop. I turned the whole world against the X-Men.”

You tighten your grip on his hand, knowing there’s nothing you can do to change how he feels. “You’re not a bad person, Logan,” he shakes his head, mumbling something you can’t quite catch. “I mean it. What happened back then doesn’t define you. You took the blame for their deaths upon yourself. I can tell you loved them deeply, and I’ll never fully understand the pain you feel. I wish I could. I wish I could take it away, make you forget somehow, but I can’t. That’s not how life works. But you got your second chance: you saved this world. My world,” gently cupping his face in your hands, you allow your fingers to caress his cheeks. He leans into your touch, watching you with half-lidded eyes. “You’re my hero. I’m your biggest fan– after Wade, obviously, which is a lot to say.”

He grins, letting out a laugh. “Easy there, bub.”

“Should I give you some space?”

That’s the last thing he wants from you right now. You already know that as he looks you up and down, placing his hands on the small of your back, his thumbs drawing small circles on your skin. There’s no turning back– The warmth between you feels almost like a fever dream. “For a long time, all I wanted was to disappear. I couldn’t stand waking up every morning, knowing that another day awaited me.”

“And what happened?” your breath mingles with his, his closeness becoming nearly intoxicating. “What changed?”

“I met a pretty girl at a pub, that’s what happened,” he murmurs, his dilated pupils flicking up to meet your gaze. “I’m gonna kiss you now.”

“Do all your kisses come with a warning?”

“God, do you ever shut up?”

You don’t have time to respond because he kisses you there and then. His stubble scrapes your skin as your mouths meet again and again, needy hands that hold you as if you were prone to breaking. Logan licks into your mouth, sliding his tongue against yours and swallowing every one of your whimpers.

“So this is what it takes to shut you up, huh?” he murmurs against your lips. You can feel him smiling, and it makes your heart skip a beat.

“Keep talking and you won’t get a single bite of my tiramisu,” you tease him, kissing him again, the taste of beer numbing your senses. “I really like kissing you.”

“The feeling’s mutual, but now that you’ve mentioned that tiramisu…”

“Am I that easily replaced?”

“No. You’re just a pain in the ass.”

Jokes aside, you’re as happy as a clam.

Since that night you and Logan kissed, you’ve been living your best life. Like a freaking schoolgirl with a crush. Some things never seem to change.

He hasn’t been to the bar in three days. Yes, you’re counting them. No, you haven’t lost your mind. You want to see him, but there’s something about making the first move that gives you the chills. What would his reaction be if you showed outside of apartment?

It’s been a long time since you’ve been with anybody. On top of that, all the guys you’ve dated were your age. Being with someone that older than you certainly wasn’t no your plans. You’d be lying if you said that the mere idea of being with him in that way didn’t excite you.

Oh boy, you miss him. You miss his scruffy voice, his gorgeous hair. And you two aren’t even official yet. To be honest, you don’t even know what he wants from you. Is he even the type to be in a relationship?

“Nighty night, gentlemen,” you say to Gary and his friends as you find yourself in front of them, smoothing your apron. Gwen had called in sick tonight, so it’s just you at the bar babysitting a bunch of grown-men.

“What’s up, doll? You’ve forgotten about us. We miss you coming in here to chat,” Gary’s eating his burger at the same time he speaks, something you find repulsive, but you’ve seen worse. “Y’know, I’d love to take you out someday. I have a place you’d like.”

The other men laugh and punch him in the back, just boosting his ego. Pathetic.

“I’ll let you know when I’m free,” you reply with the most polite smile you can offer, intending to go on. “What are you having tonight?”

“You always pull that shit, baby. I don’t think you’re so busy that you can’t accept a date.”

You hate the way he’s looking at you, as if you were wrong for not being interested. As if you didn’t know any better.

“You’re reading minds now? Shocking, Gary.”

“Oh, doll. That attitude of yours shows you’ve never been with a real man like me, that’s all,” he leans back in his chair, resting one of his arms on the table and the other one near his crotch, manspreading. “It’s alright. I like you bratty.”

“I’ll be back when you finally have something to order,” you attempt to turn around but he grabs your wrist, pulling you closer. Your eyes lock, and he seems to enjoy this: being in control. Like a predator hunting his prey. “Come on, Gary. I don’t want to have to kick you out.”

“It’s not that you don't like me, right? You’ve already got your mouth full.”

“Careful.”

“What? Don’t tell me you’re not fucking that useless mutant. I see you like ‘em older. Pretty little things like you drive me wild.”

You laugh in his face, showing him your teeth. “It was never about your age, Gary. You’re right: I do like them older. I’m just not into bald, vertically-challenged pricks.”

His entourage of idiots goes silent after that. He looks up at you, eyes burning with hatred. His grip on your wrist tightens, probably leaving a mark. “Fucking bitch.”

“Get your hands off her.”

Logan’s voice forces the two of you to look in his direction. It seems that he’s just arrived at the pub, his jacket still on.

“You joining us? We’re just getting started here, big boy.”

“Did you not hear me?” Logan lunges forward, his nose almost touching Gary’s. “The fuck is wrong with you?”

“Easy there, cowboy. I’m just having a chat with your girl. She’s one of the good ones, I’ll give you that,” arching a sly brow, his forehead puckers. “You don’t like sharing? We can even take turns.”

Logan clenches his jaw, lips set in a grim line. “Say one more word, and I’ll fucking kill you.”

“I’ll give you a full sentence instead: can you even get it up?”

The tension in the air is thick, every second stretching out as Logan's anger simmers dangerously close to the surface. Gary’s smug grin only makes it worse, pushing him to the edge. Before you can react, Logan’s fist swings forward, connecting with Gary’s jaw with a sickening crack. Gary staggers back, realising your wrist. Blood seeps from his nose, his white shirt becoming stained with it. “You fucker! You broke my nose!”

“We’re just getting started here, big boy,” Logan mocks him, repeating his previous words.

“Stop!” you shout, moving quickly to grab his arm, trying to pull him back. But he’s beyond hearing, his rage blinding him to everything else. He shakes you off, and with a fierce growl, drives another punch into Gary’s stomach. The latter doubles over, gasping for air, the wind knocked out of him. He then falls to the floor, curling into a ball. People start to gather around you, and soon your beloved bar becomes a box ring.

“That’s enough, Logan! He’s barely conscious,” you murmur under your breath, stepping between them, hands up in a desperate attempt to create some space. Logan pauses, chest heaving, fists still clenched, as he finally looks at you. The wildness in his eyes starts to fade, replaced by a dawning realization of what he’s done.

“He deserved it,” he nods vigorously to himself, as if trying to explain his point. “He was hurting you.”

“If you keep that up, you’re going to kill him. My bar is not a fucking cemetery,” your voice trembles a little bit, expecting to talk some sense into him. “I won’t let you do this.”

The room is quiet now, the only sound being Logan’s heavy breathing as he stands there, still tense, still processing. You turn to Gary’s friends, cold fury in your eyes. “Get him out of here,” you watch as they haul him up, practically dragging him to the door. The other clients continue to stare at Logan, their mouths hanging open. “Everybody out, right now! Go home. We’re closing earlier tonight.”

Adam is the last person to leave, slamming the door behind him. You rush to the counter, searching for a mop to clean the fresh blood off the floor. Still agitated, the images of Logan hitting Gary flash in your mind. He approaches you from behind, his fingers circling your forearm. “Bub–”

“Don’t. Now is not the time.”

“I was protecting you.”

“I told you to stop, and you didn’t. You just shook me off,” you snap, glancing at his knuckles which are not even bruised. Slamming your eyes shut, you get to your feet and wash your hands in the sink, the remaining water becoming reddish for a moment.

Logan moves closer, resting his chin on your shoulder. He wraps his arms lazily around your middle section. ”I’m sorry.”

You turn in his arms, your back flushed against the sink and your nose in the air. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I don’t have a phone.”

“But– Jesus, Logan. You could’ve come sooner. I thought you regretted what happened the other day,” you say and the muscles in his face twitch, his body stiffening at your words. “Thought you no longer wanted me.”

“No, bub. I– I still want you. I want all of you, trust me,” he murmurs, and you allow him to press his body against yours, the scent of the cigar he must have smoked recently enveloping your senses. “I just… don’t know how to do this. I have a habit of ruining things, and I’m trying to figure out the best way to be with you without hurting you.”

“Pushing me away also hurts,” your eyes flick up to meet his gaze again, and he whispers under his breath. “I can’t read your mind. You need to tell me what’s going on in that ancient skull of yours.”

His face falters, flashing you a mischievous look. His hand creeps under the fabric of your shirt, fingernails scrapping against your spine. “I’m sorry, princess. I truly am.”

“You can’t just say ‘sorry’ with that voice and expect me to–”

You’re cut off by his lips crashing down onto yours. You melt into the kiss, unable to deny what your body has been craving for the past days.

“I thought your kisses came with a warning,” you say, detaching your mouth from his, a smile spreading uncontrollably in your face as you see his toothy grin.

“Shut up and kiss me, will you?”

In a clash of tongues and teeth, your mouths meet once again. Tugging the hair at his nape, you feel him growl against your lips. His strong hands trace every curve of your body, kneading the flesh of your hips and undoing the knot at the back of your apron. You’re becoming one with the sink, but in a moment like this, you couldn’t care less. Logan’s hard on nudges your lower stomach, and he ruts against you like an animal.

“You said you wanted to know what’s on my mind, right?” his teeth nibble on the skin of your neck, syrupy voice going straight to your core. “Well, I’d love nothing more than to touch you right now.”

“Right here? On the counter?”

“Yeah, on the fucking counter,” he grabs you by your thighs, hosting you up and placing your body on top of the cold bar. He nudges your knees apart, his bulge meeting your clothed cunt deliciously. “Will you let me, baby? Can I make you come in here?”

“Please. I’m glad we have such a low budget. Camera installment is t–too expensive these days.”

“Do you always talk this much?” he slowly unbuttons your pants, and you help him to remove them.

“Yes. Next question,” your breath hitches in your throat as you feel the pad of his thumb circling your clit through your panties. Your eyelids drop, your head lolling back. “Fuck, that feels good.”

Logan hums, mesmerized with the way your hips roll into his hand, your whimpers sounding like music to his ears. “You have any idea how I felt when I saw him touching you? Wanted to rip his hands off you,” his eyes drift to your chest, how it rises and falls with impatience. “But it’s me who gets to have you like this. He can fantasize about you all he wants: I’m the only one who touches you, ain’t I right?” you sigh with content as his fingers graze your slit, aimlessly bucking your hips. He doesn’t go any further, and you tug at the collar of his flannel, needing more of his callousand hands on you. “Nuh-uh. You want something, you gotta use your words. Got it?”

“I w–want your fingers inside me,” you don’t even recognize your own voice at this point. The few guys you had slept with had never been very talkative during sex. But Logan isn’t like them. This is just the beginning and you’re already starting to realize that he has a dirty mouth, that expectant look on his face as he waits to see your reaction to his words. “Please, Logan. I want you so bad.”

“Oh, I know, bub. There’s something about me I don’t think you know,” he inserts one of his fingers in your cunt, your slick coating the palm of his hand. “These claws I have… they didn’t come on their own. Let’s just say my sense of smell is… pretty good,” Logan can almost see the gears turning in your head as you try to think coherently. He moves his middle finger in and out of you, stretching your walls. “And you… have been wet ever since the first time you saw me. Always nice to everybody, making sure they feel at ease,” you feel like you’re being stretched even further, another one of his fingers sinking into your warm pussy. “But you’re so needy, too. How long has it been since someone touched you like this?”

“Too long, f–fuck. Too long,” you’re squirming, a totally whiny mess. He retratcs his wet fingers and instead goes back to flicking your clit, this time with much less delicacy. His left hand squeezes your tits, and you hate the fact that you’re still wearing clothes. “Shit, Logan. I need you to fuck me. Please. Need your cock.”

His face comes to rest at your neck, and you feel lingering kisses and bites that keep you grounded to earth. “Not here. I need a bed to fuck you properly. You’re only getting my fingers now,” he positions them inches away from your entrance, testing your patience. “Tell me who owns this pussy.”

“L-logan–”

“Tell me and I’ll make you come,” his husky voice is making you dizzy, tears shimmering in your eyes. “Come on. Know you want it as much as I do.”

You succumb to the tentation, like divinity turned to sin. He kisses you roughly, and you struggle to find the correct words. “It’s you, Logan. You own my pussy. It’s f-fucking yours.”

With that, he goes back to nudging that spot that makes you see starts, that filthy squelching sound getting mixed up with your moans. The knot in your belly keeps growing tighter the more he pumps his fingers in and out of you.

“I said you were only getting my fingers for now, but fuck… I need to gest a taste of this sweet cunt.”

He’s on his knees in an instant, urging your legs apart to make room for his body. Your thighs tighten around his face as he licks a hot stripe up your folds, tracing a heated path on your cunt, not wishing to waste a single second. Pleasure builds quickly, your breath hitching as your hands find their way into his hair, pulling him closer when your body begins to tremble.

“I’m close,” you pant, breathing hard, grinding your hips against his face. “I’m so close.”

“That’s it. Come in my mouth like the good girl you are.”

Who had given him a damn script for this?

The release is explosive. Like the peak of a roller coaster: you go up up up, ascending higher. You think you almost see Jesus, but at some point, you also have to crash down with force. Your shoulders slump, your entire body cramping up; yet he doesn’t let you go that easily, his fingers still working, scissoring within you while you ride out the final waves of your high, drawing out every last moment of ecstasy.

Once you finally manage to open your eyes, there he is, staring down at you. He taps your lower lip with his fingers, and then mutters: “Open.”

And you do, because you’re just as messed up as he is. Your mouth parts, and he slides his fingers between your lips, dragging them smoothly across your tongue. His knuckles brush the back of your throat, and you gag around the intrusion, tasting yourself. He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, clearly satisfied with the way you’ve cleaned them off.

“I think we should really pay a visit to your apartment,” he suggests, groaning in defeat, and you feel his bulge poking your hip. He must be painfully hard. “I meant what I said earlier. I need a bed if we’re going to fuck. My back’s hurting.”

You raise an eyebrow, the corner of your mouth curving into a smirk. “Why not go to yours?”

“Wade’s in there. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate.”

You can’t help but laugh, pausing a moment to collect your thoughts, heat rising to your cheeks. “So we’re going rodeo?”

Aiming to silence up, Logan kisses you, pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Only if you can handle it.”

part 2: “GIVE ME THE FIRST TASTE”

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! :)

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divine-construct · 2 years ago

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that moment when your morning is eventful (good) except the event is you puking on the train (not so good)

#we’re going on holidays with our godmother (we love her sm) buuut we had too much food yesterday....#now i’m feeling perfectly fine tho the puking helped a lot #and we cleaned everything up and stuff so #still. that wasn’t on my bingo card for these holidays-#we even puked into a bag but the damn paper bag burst bc it was too wet n heavy.#tho everything is well now ^-^#emeto cw #emeto tw #divine rambles. ` 🕊

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societyfolklore · 1 month ago

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Open Up Baby

Title: Open Up Baby Pairing: Tony Stark x Female Reader

Summary: Tony Stark straps you into a StarkTech-compatible bench for a private demonstration of his newest toys- complete with biometric feedback,

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: / Explicit Content /18+, Minors DNI, SMUT… BDSM/Restraints/Bondage, custom tech ball gag, toys (Egg vibe, anal beads, dildo) Overstimulation, Toy fucking/Machine-assisted thrusting, Filthy talk (Tony can't shut up), AI assists with data tracking, clinical observation, forced openness, Sensory overload

A/N: my entry for @avengers-assemble-bingo for April Kinky Bingo… Well this one turned into a whole thing.. Square: B2- Open Up Baby Card Number: KB003

You were already strapped to the bench- back arched, thighs spread wide in glossy chrome stirrups, wrists bound snug in Stark-grade cuffs that didn’t budge an inch. The synthetic leather beneath you was cool against your skin, but your body was already starting to heat with anticipation. The bench itself shifted slightly with every movement, like it was reading your tension, calibrating every twitch of your muscles into data Tony could access later.

You could hear the soft hum of the room’s ambient systems, the low mechanical whirrs, the faint electric pulse of tech running in standby, and underneath it all, Tony’s voice. He hummed absently as he moved around you, flicking through translucent holoscreens that floated in the air, readable only to him. Light glinted off his arc reactor through the thin black shirt he wore, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, veins flexing with every subtle flick of his fingers.

He looked like a scientist. Or a surgeon. No, a goddamn artist.

“You look tense,” he murmured, stepping in close, his fingers grazing your jaw with a feather-light touch. “That won’t do. We need to get a clean read. No clenched teeth, no locked jaws. Just you- open and…relaxed.”

He held up a sleek piece of tech. A mix of leather and metal. To you it looked like a ball gag. That wasn’t just a gag. It was his gag. Something custom. Personal. Laced with Stark Industry Tech.

“Open up, baby. Gotta install the biometric reader. It’s not science without a baseline.”

You hesitated, lips twitching. Just for a second. But he didn’t push. He just waited you out, smirk deepening, one brow arched like he had all the time in the world. That cocky, knowing gaze made you squirm even before anything touched you. Your breath hitched. And then you parted your lips.

“There we go,” he said, tone thick with approval as he slid the gag into place. It clicked against your teeth, snug and firm. A soft vibration flickered across your tongue as it locked in pushing the muscle down.

Friday’s voice chimed in overhead, calm and clinical.

“Gag calibration complete. Biometric sync active. Tracking vocal response, saliva levels, and tongue pressure.”

Tony leaned down, brushing his lips across your cheek in a whisper of a kiss. “Good girl. Now let’s get to work.”

He started with the egg.

Sleek. Silver. Pulsing faintly in his hand like it had a heartbeat of its own. The metal shimmered under the clinical lights, smooth and polished, shaped with the kind of precision that only Stark could deliver. He turned it over once, twice, like he was admiring a prized gadget- one that he was particularly proud of.

He showed it to you like a doctor unveiling a revolutionary new tool- calm, confident, deeply amused. Except this wasn’t a sterile exam room, and the look in his eyes wasn’t professional. His smirk told you he already knew what kind of mess this thing would reduce you to.

"This is your warm-up," he said, voice low and playful. "Phase One. Internal warming protocol. Testing receptivity. Calibration through heat and pulse response."

You whimpered into the gag. Of course you were excited- he’d been teasing you with this little 'demonstration' all week. Whispering promises in your ear, tapping out reminders on your thigh, dropping technical jargon laced with filth that left your core throbbing before he’d even touched you. Now that it was finally happening, your whole body was buzzing with need.

He didn't wait. He moved closer, one gloved hand parting your thighs a little further, the other settling between them. The bench adjusted beneath you, lifting your hips another inch to meet his touch perfectly. His fingers dipped between your folds- testing your wetness, teasing you just enough to make your body jerk in its bonds.

"Already responsive," he muttered, half to himself, half to Friday. "She’s going to be a dream to log."

He slid the egg in with two fingers, slow and deliberate. The cool metal kissed your entrance, making you flinch slightly- it was colder than you expected, stark contrast against your heated skin. Your walls instinctively tried to resist, clenching down, but his fingers were patient, coaxing you open, parting you around the sleek, unyielding toy.

The egg slid upward, heavy and smooth. As it moved deeper, your body yielded to it, the slow stretch making your breath catch. Its contours were designed to press into every sensitive spot, and you could feel your muscles fluttering around it, trying to accommodate the sudden fullness. As he pushed it deeper, you could feel every inch of it being swallowed by your body, your slick muscles tightening, fluttering around the intrusion.

He pushed the egg up high inside you, then paused, his finger still inside you too. "Squeeze for me," he ordered. You did, instinctively, your walls closing down as you used your pelvic floor, and Tony gave the platic string attached a soft tug.

The stretch, the resistance- it was delicious. The egg stayed locked in place. You couldn’t push it out if you tried. He smiled, clearly pleased.

"Perfect. Secure fit," he murmured. "Wouldn’t want it popping out mid-test."

It settled deep inside you, a sinful throb blooming in your core. Then it pulsed- just once, a quick flutter that made you jolt.

"There we go," he breathed, watching the screen light up with new data. "Didn’t even turn it on yet and she’s already going. Fuck, I love this job."

You were barely processing the first toy when he reached for the second.

Beads. Tapered, growing in size, each one gleamed under the soft blue lighting like tiny pieces of futuristic art. You squirmed, thighs pressing together, but it was no use- Stark had seen your reaction.

Tony laughed- low and delighted.

"Didn’t know we were going there, huh?" He nudged your knees apart again, voice dipping to a darker octave. "Come on, baby. I want you to open up for me. Let’s see what this one does..."

You shook your head slightly. Whimpered into the gag. Wide eyes watching him as you tried to protest around the ball gag in your mouth.

Tony turned to the tray beside him, selecting a small, frost-blue tube of gel. "Wouldn't be very considerate to skip prep," he muttered, more to himself than to you. He uncapped the tube and squeezed a slow, deliberate line of the slick, glistening substance along the length of the beads. The gel shimmered faintly under the light, warming as it reacted with the ambient temperature.

He coated each bead carefully, fingers moving with methodical ease, making sure the entire string was evenly slicked. "Lubricated. Body-safe. Custom formula," he said with a wink. "Slippery enough to slide in smooth- sticky enough to stay in place until I say otherwise."

Then he held the beads up for you to see, the string dangling between his fingers. You tensed instinctively.

"Oh no. You’re freezing up. Can’t test properly if you don’t behave. Legs. Open."

You didn’t.

Tony tsked, clicking his tongue in mock disappointment. Then he grabbed your chin, firm and steady, tilting your head so your eyes locked with his.

"Don't think so much. That’s not what good test subjects do."

Click.

The bench tilted beneath you without warning. Your hips rolled upward, knees falling further apart as the restraints auto-adjusted. You were fully exposed now- helpless. Wide open.

"You know I can override those restraints, right? I built them. Now be a good girl and show me everything."

He dipped his finger back into the gel and brought it to your ass, pressing a cool dollop directly to your tight, puckered entrance. The sudden chill made you flinch, but it was followed by the warm glide of his fingertip as he gently teased the gel in slow circles.

"You tense here, too," he said, amused. "Don't worry. This formula warms up just like you do."

He rubbed it in carefully, working the gel into your rim with delicate, coaxing pressure. The sensation tingled- both from the temperature shift and the way his finger circled and pressed until your body finally began to relent.

Then he lowered the beads between your cheeks and began to press them in- one at a time. The first slid in easily, the gel working its magic, cool and slick. The second made your breath stutter. The third had your whole body tensing as your hole stretched just enough to accommodate the new pressure.

Each one pulled a different, desperate noise from you- somewhere between a gasp and a whimper, caught in the back of your throat and forced through the gag in broken fragments.

By the time the third bead settled inside you, you felt full. Stretched in ways that left you panting, your back arching hard off the bench. Everything was working together- the deep pressure of the egg nestled high in your core, the hum beginning to buzz through your clit like a phantom, and now the slow, firm intrusion of the beads pressing against nerves that had you seeing stars. You struggled to catch your breath, the gag forcing each inhale to be short and choppy. Air hissed through your nose while your mouth flooded with saliva, spit slipping from the corners of your lips in thick strands that slid down your neck and onto your chest. The overwhelming heat of arousal and frustration tangled in your gut, building like steam with nowhere to escape. The restraint of it made the fire inside you burn hotter.

Your muscles clenched involuntarily, your hips rocking against the air, chasing friction that didn’t come. You couldn’t speak, couldn’t beg. Just drool, tremble, and take everything he gave you.

"Mmm. That moan? That was bead three. She likes that one, Friday."

"Confirmed," the AI replied. "Pelvic floor tension rising. Heart rate increasing."

"Good. Means it’s working."

The egg began to heat. The beads hummed in sync, and you felt everything shift- internally and externally- as pleasure bled into pressure, and pressure into overload. You were trembling now, thighs twitching again, trying to close- but the bench held you wide, utterly exposed.

"Heart rate’s spiking..." Tony’s voice was pure, filthy glee. "Oh, she’s gonna break soon. Look at her squirm."

You rutted against the air, clit untouched and screaming for attention. Your walls fluttered around the egg, your ass clenching down against the beads as the different pulses overlapped and collided. It was all too much and somehow not enough. You needed more and needed it to stop, all at once.

You tried to breathe, but the gag made it impossible to take anything but shallow, panting gasps. Each exhale was laced with a moan. Drool spilled freely down your chin, dripping warm across your face and neck. You were flushed, messy, wrecked- and he hadn’t even touched your clit.

Your back arched violently off the bench, cords of heat coiling through your belly and thighs. It felt like your body was unraveling, muscles tight and desperate, nerve endings screaming with pleasure.

Tony leaned in again, voice dark and syrup-smooth. "We’ve got her plugged, egged, and ready to combust. Think she can handle the next phase?"

Friday answered, "Orgasm build-up at 87%."

"Perfect." He tapped a command into the air. "Now let’s push her."

The egg pulsed deeper. The beads vibrated sharper. You cried out- moaning, writhing, the gag muffling it into raw, incoherent noise. You couldn’t form words. Couldn’t beg. Just sob through the pressure building to a breaking point.

"Baby, this is science. Filthy, beautiful science."

It hit you like a wave- white-hot and all-consuming. Your legs shook violently in the stirrups, muscles spasming as your body locked around the egg and beads pulsing inside you. Every nerve ending fired in chaotic pleasure, overwhelming your senses. You tried to scream, to sob, but the gag reduced it to a shattered, strangled cry that vibrated through the tech, each desperate noise dutifully logged.

Drool spilled in long, wet strands down your chin as your back bowed hard off the bench, your whole body trembling under the assault of pleasure. Your cunt clenched tight around the egg, milking it involuntarily, while your ass throbbed with each hum of the vibrating beads. Everything inside you was pulsing, moving, grinding you down into submission.

Tony watched, transfixed, his gaze locked on your ruined, shaking form. “There she goes - God, I should patent that moan.”

Your eyes rolled back. You could barely breathe. You could only tremble and leak and convulse as the orgasm tore through you. The bench beneath you vibrated subtly with your body’s response.

Friday: "Orgasm confirmed."

Tony waited until you were trembling, your breathing uneven, your thighs still twitching with aftershocks that rippled through your overstimulated body. Sweat slicked your skin in a thin, glistening sheen, catching the light as your chest heaved with broken gasps around the gag. Your limbs strained weakly against the restraints.

Then- slowly, methodically- he reached between your cheeks and took hold of the first bead. He didn’t rush. He eased it out one at a time, each slick orb dragging along your inner walls with a sticky, stretching glide. You shuddered at the sensation- the unbearable emptiness that bloomed in the wake of each removal. Your ass clenched reflexively around the loss, trying to hold onto what had filled you so completely. But he kept going.

The final bead popped free with a slick, obscene sound. Your hips jolted involuntarily, your back arching once more as your body spasmed again, clinging to the ghost of sensation.

Friday's voice crackled overhead. "Anal pressure reduced. Sphincter still contracting. She’s experiencing post-orgasmic muscle spasms."

Then came the egg.

He curled his fingers inside you, tugging the retrieval loop with a firm, practiced motion. The egg slipped free, wet and shiny, your cunt fluttering uselessly around the sudden void. The stretch, the drag, the warmth- it all left you aching. You cried into the gag, overwhelmed by the emptiness and the continued tremors in your muscles. Your thighs kicked slightly, your knees drawing in as far as the restraints would allow.

"Vaginal walls contracting. Core temperature still elevated. She's not done trembling yet," Friday observed, calm as ever.

Tony held both toys in one hand now- wet, warm, shining. He looked down at you with naked satisfaction.

"That’s some damn good tech," he said. "But we’re not done."

From the tray, he lifted his final piece.

A dildo- sleek, deep grey, Stark-stamped at the base. Modeled after him, and you knew it. Maybe a little bigger. Slightly wider at the base, with delicate ridges along the underside that hinted at something extra. Your breath caught just looking at it.

“This one’s special, baby. Built it from memory- well, from yours,” Tony said, rolling it in his hand. “Temperature regulated, pressure-sensitive, and the best part? The internal sensors sync to your contractions. It responds to you. The more you clench, the deeper it drives. A perfect loop.”

You whimpered around the gag, heart fluttering.

He moved between your spread legs and lined it up against your soaked, fluttering entrance. You were already sensitive- still trembling from the last orgasm- and when the wide tip pressed in, you nearly cried. It stretched you slowly, steadily, a little more than you were used to. Your slick walls resisted at first, clenching down instinctively, but Tony was patient, guiding it with precise control.

“There you go,” he coaxed, voice smooth but sharp-edged with amusement. “That’s it. Take all of it. Come on, baby- I know you can..”

His tone dipped into a purr. “There you go. Taking it like you need it. Bet you love being filled up with Stark-grade tech, huh?”

Your back bowed off the bench as he pushed it in, inch by inch, your pussy yielding to every contour, forced to accommodate the full shape of it. The fullness was delious, your body stretched taut around it. Your eyes rolled back as the final ridge slipped inside, the toy settling deep.

“There,” he said, watching your reactions with fascination. “Fills you out just right. And now... we see what she can really do.”

The base clicked into a pulse pattern, and the toy began to move inside you- slow at first, deliberate, like it was learning your shape. You could feel every textured ridge of the shaft as it rubbed against your inner walls, dragging across oversensitive flesh, sparking little detonations of pleasure with every pass.

Then it pulsed- long and low, a rhythmic thrum that radiated from base to tip, sending heat spiraling through your belly. With every thrust, the toy seemed to stretch you deeper, nudging a spot that made your toes curl and your thighs twitch against the restraints. Your pussy clenched around it reflexively, triggering the internal sensors Tony had mentioned. And just like that, the toy responded- pressing harder, thrusting deeper, faster.

It wasn’t just fucking you- it was reading you, syncing to the wild flutter of your muscles, pulsing in tandem with your arousal.

“Look at her,” Tony murmured, grinning as he watched the toy disappear again and again between your legs. “Every little squeeze makes it work harder. You’re doing this to yourself, baby. And I haven’t even touched your clit yet.”

You’d been so consumed by the thrusting inside you, by the stretch and pulse of the toy, that you hadn’t even noticed Tony move. But suddenly, he was there- looming over you, and the egg was pressed directly to your clit.

The sensation was immediate and brutal.

Your entire body jolted. The contact felt almost painful, your nerves raw and exposed, the stimulation electric. You tried to buck away, hips arching, thighs trembling, but you had nowhere to go.

Tony caught you effortlessly. One hand shoved the egg against your swollen clit, refusing to relent, while the other pressed down on your thigh to keep your knees from closing.

“Uh uh. None of that,” he said smoothly. “You don’t get to hide from this, baby. You earned it.”

You sobbed into the gag, thrashing your hips side to side, but the bench and Tony’s hands made escape impossible. Every attempt to squirm just sent the dildo thrusting deeper inside you, and the egg grinding cruelly over your clit.

“You’re not gonna break,” he whispered, teasing. “You’re gonna burn for me.”

"Don’t you dare run from it. look at me."

He was holding you still- one hand clamped over your thigh to keep your legs spread, the other pressing the egg mercilessly to your clit. You were trembling in his grasp, utterly helpless against the merciless pairing of his tech and his control.

"You’re gonna come again for me, sweetheart. Real data’s in the repeat response," he said, eyes locked on yours, voice both commanding and hungry.

The dildo thrust deep, the ridges grinding against your most sensitive spots as your walls clamped down. The egg buzzed brutally against your swollen clit, so overstimulated you couldn’t tell whether you were trying to run from it or chase it. Every jolt of pleasure lit your nerves like lightning- white-hot and impossible to hold back.

Your body jerked, hips spasming, thighs trembling violently as the sensations overloaded you. Your entire body was working against you- every clench, every twitch, every gasp just triggered the toy to go deeper, harder, faster. You weren’t riding it anymore- it was riding you, and Tony just watched with that devilish smirk, keeping you wide open.

“That's it. Shake for me. Scream into that gag. Show me what science can do.”

The climax tore through you without mercy- harder, deeper, a violent unraveling of every nerve as your body convulsed around the relentless rhythm of the tech inside you. You didn’t just come; you shattered, splintering open in a release so intense it blurred your vision, your mind, your ability to distinguish pleasure from pain. Your vision shattered into sparks, your scream muffled into a raw, hoarse noise behind the gag. Your body thrashed in the restraints, muscles locking as the orgasm ripped through you, longer and sharper than the last.

Friday: "Second orgasm confirmed. Neural spike significant. Subject approaching physical limit."

He slowed the toy, letting it ease to a stop deep inside you before withdrawing it carefully, letting you feel every last ridge dragging along your raw, overstimulated walls. Then, with a gentleness that almost contrasted the torment he’d just put you through, he removed the egg from your clit. The instant the contact broke, your whole body sagged in the restraints with relief and exhaustion. You were shaking, barely breathing- every inch of you buzzing, nerves fried and twitching from the overload.

You could taste salt on your lips- your own tears and spit, your jaw aching from clenching around the gag. You were drenched, body glistening with sweat, your skin flushed and hypersensitive to the air.

He removed the gag last. Your jaw fell slack with a wet, trembling gasp, strands of spit clinging to the corners of your mouth. You blinked up at him, vision hazy, lips wet and parted.

Tony gazed down at you, eyes gleaming with wicked satisfaction, his mouth tugging into a crooked grin that said told you so. He looked like a man admiring his finest creation- smug, yes, but also thoroughly entertained by the glorious, twitching mess sprawled out beneath him.

“You did good, baby. Fucking beautiful. But next time?”

He leaned close, brushing a kiss to your temple- slow, deliberate, his breath warm against your damp skin.

“Think I’ll need to design something that gets you to squirt. Can’t let a variable like that go untested. Wouldn’t be very Stark of me to stop now, would it?”

He turned with a little flourish, tapping the screen with a flick of his fingers, not bothering to look back.

“Friday, save this session. Label it: Successful. Prepare files for Phase Two.”

647 notes · View notes

ebodebo · 1 month ago

Text

Rescue me, I want your tender charm!

pairing: dbf!dr. jack abbott x fem!reader

word count: 6.5k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, fem!reader, phone sex, masturbation, no use of y/n, dirty talk, age-gap, reader is in her early to mid 20s and jack is…how old he is…, two for one: dad’s best friend & best friend’s dad, no jake, probable medical inaccuracies, reader getting drugged, secret relationship, drug & alcohol consumption, no langdon addiction arc, heavy angst, & use of medical jargon.

author’s note: writing for this show wasn’t on my bingo card, but here we are! i need this man with my whole being and i’m so serious. i would also like to clarify that you did not grow up knowing abbott or his daughter. you met them in the last year or so, while finishing up your bachelor's degree and starting on your master's. also, before reading, please heed all the warnings above, as this fic is meant to be read with care. read at your own discretion.

Jack always takes such good care of his girl...

"Jack," you narrow your eyes, a smile breaking your serious facade. "I'm serious."

"So am I," he defends, hand over his heart, a cheeky smile spreading across his lips before twirling a finger in the air. "Turn around."

You roll your eyes playfully, twirling where you stand as your dress twirls with you. The fabric rides only slightly up on the back of your thighs, which has him groaning in the bed where he lays naked, only the comforter giving him a shred of decency.

"You're gonna give all the college boys whiplash, sweetheart," he chimes with a gruff laugh.

"Too bad for them because I have a boyfriend," you wink, picking up your dress so it pools around your waist as you crawl over to him on the bed to straddle his lap.

His hands move to grip your thighs, massaging them lightly. "Mhm," he hums softly, leaning forward and kissing your lips softly.

"You smell like sex," you randomly murmur against his lips.

"Well, funny enough, I did just have sex, so that checks out," he jests, hands moving up and down your thighs with ease.

"Oh. Did you now? I had no idea," you press your lips back to his, hand moving to rest on his cheek. You nip his lip lightly as your hands skim down his chest and torso to hover over the blanket that covers his naked lap.

"Insatiable, you are," he mutters against your lips; his words come out breathless.

You let out a dry laugh as his hands grip your waist tightly, and his head dips into the crook of your neck. "You know, your dad would throw a shit fit if he knew where you were right now," his warm breath flutters across your skin.

You let out a hushed moan as his teeth come out to nip the sensitive flesh. "Well then...we best keep it a secret then. Huh?" You simply say, hand skimming his bare chest.

"You know whatever consumes your mind will eventually bleed into the real world?" He asks, hands skimming up your hips. Then he tilts his head away from your neck to look into your eyes.

You quip your brow in confusion.

"Law of attraction," he shrugs simply.

You roll your eyes, groaning as you push him away. "God. You sound like my philosophy professor," you huff, shoulders hunching in defeat.

He lets out a rough laugh. "Is that a good thing?"

"An irritating thing," you inform, your voice tinged with exasperation. "He's such a dick."

"Want me to fight him?" He jokes, his fingers playfully tugging at the hem of your dress, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You contemplate for a moment. "Ask me that after mid-terms."

He smiles, head leaning back to rest on the headboard. "You know, I've always wondered, why philosophy? Could have done EM? You're smart enough for it." His curiosity is genuine, and it warms you.

"Hell no to EM. I'd rather take a bullet to the head," you laugh before realizing he quite literally works in EM. "No offense."

"Some taken, yeah," he nods with a light smile to show he's joking.

You give him a smile before your brain starts turning. "Philosophy…it's...I don't know…grounding," you utter, avoiding his gaze. "Do I sound like an idiot?" You question with a small laugh, eyes finally moving to his.

"No. Of course you don't," he assures, shaking his head. "I get it. I took a philosophy course in med school," he recalls with a hint of nostalgia in his smile. "My attending at the time all but forced me in the class. Said it would help me understand death," he supplies.

"Did you like it?" You ask, tilting your head to the side as you fidget with his fingers resting on the bed.

He nods. "Yeah, I did," he replies, his gaze meeting yours. "It helped me understand morality, which is a miracle in itself.” His eyes then drop to the mattress, lost in thought.

"You know, speaking of that," you say as you shuffle off his lap, to his dismay, searching for your laptop. "I have to write a dissertation on a case study about the ethical implications of fabrications." You swipe your laptop from your bag and sit back on the edge of the bed on his side.

"You can help me with it," you decided, fingers gliding across the keyboard.

He lets out a dry laugh. "Why am I going to help you with your homework?

You turn to look at him. "Because you're smart."

"Sorry, sweetheart," he begins, resting his head on the headboard. "I already did my time."

You roll your eyes playfully, returning to the laptop and tapping the keys to go to the case study. "Yeah. Like forty years ago," you snicker under your breath.

"Oh. Now I'm definitely not helping you," he says, with mock hurt.

You turn to him again, your expression softening. "Sorry…" you chew on your lip, setting your laptop aside to move back towards him. "I'm a dick," you murmur, legs once again straddling his lap.

"Happens to the best of us," he presses a kiss to your lips.

"I find it hard to believe you can be a dick. You're always so sweet," your hand rests on the back of his neck, fingers dragging up and down softly.

"To you," he closes his eyes softly as your fingers delicately move against his skin. "Just to you."

The ER isn't as bustling and noisy as it usually is when you stroll in the following day.

It's almost...quiet.

Too quiet.

"Hotshot strollin' in, and it's not even eight am?" Langdon chimes from behind the triage desk. "Someone's in trouble," he jokes, crossing his arms over his chest.

You give him a smile. "You know me too well, Frank."

He nods his head towards you, a playful glint in his eye. "What did the old man do this time?" He prompts with humor in his tone. "Missed a brunch? Sold your favorite childhood toy?"

You shake your head, moving to lean on the desk. "Oh, much worse," you say as Langdon quips a curious brow. "He's dipping out of our annual family vacation."

"Yikes…" He cringes before tilting his head in thought. "But that sounds like you have an empty seat," he comments, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Where are we going? The tropics? I've been meaning to work on my surfing techniques," he adds, bringing his hands up to pretend to surf, a playful smirk on his face.

You let out a chuckle. "Funny, but not a chance, loser," you breathe out, crossing your arms over your chest. "If I were to take anyone else, it would be your wife," you affirm, a teasing glint in your eye.

"Right. Sorry," he reaches for a clipboard off the desk next to him, scanning it quickly. "I forgot you love Abby more than me," he gives you a short smile.

"Did you really forget though?" You tilt your head, voice pitiful. "I thought I made it painfully obvious," you say as he gives you a fake laugh, skimming around the corner of the desk to go to a patient's room.

"Dana," you greet, swiveling your attention to her sitting at the desk, only half paying attention.

"With a patient, south side, room 15," she immediately says, scribbling on some paper.

"Oh. You know I love you," you tap on the desk, blowing her a playful kiss before turning on your heels, a warm smile on your face.

"Give him hell, kid," she mutters, eyes still focused on the paperwork.

You find the room and see your dad and some medical residents huddled up with a patient.

That does nothing to deter your stride.

You cross across the hall, opening the door open.

"What's this about you missing the family vacation?" You chime, eyes on your dad.

Dr. Robby turns to you, his shoulders sagging at your presence as if he already knew what would happen. "Oh, what a joy," he mutters, wiping his face. "Honey, I'm kind of with a patient right now," he expresses, voice low.

"Good, he can hear how ridiculous you're being," you retort, your lips pursed in frustration. "Mom told me you aren't coming on the trip anymore," you accuse again.

"Um…Dr. Robby, do you want us to call security?" Javadi asks timidly.

"Security?" You repeat with a laugh.

"No, Javadi," he begins with a sigh. "Unfortunately for us, that's my kin," he exhales before fixing his stethoscope. "Whitaker, get 40 milligrams of prednisone. Javadi, get the pulmonologist down here to do a breathing treatment," he orders, snapping his plastic gloves off and tossing them in the trash as he walks over to you, gesturing for you to step outside. "I'll be just outside if you need me," he assures, with a hint of humor. "Call the cops if you don't hear from me in fifteen," he jokes, following you out, trying to lighten the tense situation.

"You're in trouble," you point your finger at him when you enter the hall. "You promised you would go," you exasperate, hands on your hip.

He sighs, his hand wiping over his face. "I know. I'm sorry, but we don't have anyone to cover for me. I told your mother that," he says, his voice tinged with regret.

"Dad," you tilt your head forward, frustration coating your words. "We've had this trip planned for months," you enunciate, your disappointment clear.

"I'm sorry, honey. I just can't swing it right now. Hospital is short-staffed," he says, sincerity in his tone before his eyes light up in thought. "How about you get Abbott's daughter to go with you and your mother?" He nods. "You two are really good friends," he says before his face contorts into confusion. "Surprised she isn't here with you," he huffs deeply.

"She had a thing," you bring your hand up and shoo it to the side.

"A thing? What's a thing?" He says with confusion in his tone, watching your hand flail in the air.

"Just something she had to do," you confirm, not sparing much detail.

"Ah. A secret thing," he says, lifting his hand to pull an invisible zipper across his lips before twisting a fake key on the corner and throwing it to his side. "Got it."

Before you can get a word out, your dad looks behind you and issues a smile towards them before quickly moving to greet them.

"Jack," he addresses, bringing him in for a hug.

"Hey, man," Jack says to your dad, hugging him back, his eyes then wandering to you. "Hey, kid," he smiles towards you, a knowing glint in his eyes.

"Hi, Dr. Abbott," you squeak, feeling a surge of nerves.

"Thought you only worked tonight?" Your dad questioned, tilting his head in confusion.

"Eh. Got called in since one of the other doctors got the flu," he shrugs, though his eyes aren't even fixed on your dad.

"Dr. Bigley? Heard his wife's back in town after being gone for two weeks. You think she mysteriously caught the flu, too?" Your dad jests, a knowing tone in his voice, unaware of the brewing tension beside him. "But, hey, since you're already here, could you take Whitaker on your rotations? Kid could use more patient practice," he tips his head towards the room he's in.

"Sure...yeah," Jack says, finally tearing his eyes away from you to look at your dad. "I can do that."

"Thanks," your dad moves to grab his pager, blaring loudly. "Jack, could you walk her out?" He says, referring to you as he starts over to you. "Make sure she leaves," he raises his brows at you. "Bye, hon. Love you," he presses a kiss to your forehead before spinning on his heels to head in the opposite direction.

"Bye, Dad. Love you too," you yell back, eyes glancing at Jack.

The air crackles with tension as he extends his hand, silently urging you to lead the way. You pick up the cue, your steps quickening as you head towards the front doors, your hands nervously clutching your purse strap.

"You look like you want to be anywhere else than with me," Jack murmurs lowly so no one around can hear, taking note of your sour expression.

You can't help but let out a dry laugh. "Considering I was on my knees for you yesterday morning, I'd say that isn't the case," you say with a casual smirk, adjusting your purse strap.

He stops in his tracks, a cheeky smile growing on his lips. "You little minx—"

"What do you recommend for bruised knees, Dr. Abbott?" You ask with interest and muster a serious expression, eyes locked onto his.

His eyes widen slightly, searching for a crack in your serious facade. "I...well—"

You snicker, making him release a sigh of relief. "I'm just teasing you, Jack. I'll call you later," you murmur, your eyes boring into his.

"Looking forward to it, sweetheart," he says with a warm smile, his eyes reflecting the depth of his feelings for you.

He wants to reach out and kiss you.

Pull you tight against his body and thread his fingers through your hair, but he can't.

Not here, not now.

His fingers flex as if to touch your fingers that come close to his as you leave.

Yours flex out, too, he notices.

He smiles at the exchange.

It was better than any kiss he could ever get.

About midday, you're parked at your desk, your computer wide open, and your screen is black, responding to your inactivity.

You can't focus on anything you start working on.

Every time you start reading a case study, your brain wonders to Jack.

You always loved seeing him at the hospital when you visited your dad.

Dressed up in his scrubs, hair slightly disheveled, combing his fingers through it when he's irritated, and the teasing tone in his voice when he gets frisky, you can almost smell the antiseptic and hear the distant beeping of machines.

You catch yourself slipping far away from the case study again.

Fuck it.

You're feeling needy.

You grab your phone, sliding your finger to hover over the call icon on his contact.

It takes two rings, and you hear the familiar sound of heart monitors and shuffling in the background.

"Hey. What are you up to?" Your voice echoes through the line, and your finger fidgets with your pen.

"Just had to consult a teen with a co-infection," he informs you, voice low. "Syphilis and herpes."

"Woah. Save some of the fun for the rest of us," you jest, a hint of longing in your voice as you put the pen between your lips.

"Hilarious. What are you doing?" His voice is slightly muffled; you assume he placed the phone between his shoulder and cheek.

"Attempting to study. Have an ethics midterm tomorrow," you sigh.

"Oh. Look at you. Smart girl," he praises as you hear his pen scribbling on some paper.

"Eh. Should have started yesterday, but this guy I know kept me busy all day." You sit up in your chair, chewing on your lip.

"Hey. Don't blame me for your scholastic missteps," he laughs as you continue to hear his pen on the paper.

"Why are you assuming you're the guy I'm talking about?" You contest, attempting to stir him up.

"Call me an optimist," he shakes it off, still continuing to write.

"What if you had competition? Would that scare you?" You find yourself asking with eagerness.

"I'm an ER doctor who's ex-vet with nice hair," he begins, not paying close attention. "Who's competing with me?" His words don't hold smugness, just exude confidence.

"Someone's cocky," you tease, leaning your elbow on your desk, palm holding your cheek, enjoying the playful banter.

"Confidence isn't cockiness, sweetheart," he simply says as you hear a chair creak over the line.

"So they say," you say, feeling a sudden hotness.

"So, why did you call?" He asks curiously, eyes still focused on a patient file.

"Am I not allowed to call my boyfriend?" Your voice is full of faux hurt.

He smiles. "Of course, you can call me anytime sweetheart," his voice is sweet. "You just usually have a reason. Are you stressed?"

You let out a deep sigh. "A little, but I feel bad ranting to a guy who literally has to save lives for a living."

"Come on," he urges, his patience evident. "Hit me."

"It's just…midterms are coming up, and this fucking dissertation," you struggle to articulate, "I know this is going to sound dramatic, but I feel like I'm being swallowed whole, you know?" Your voice quivers with stress.

He sets his pen down. "It's hard," he agrees. "But doable."

"Wow. That's some great insight, Jack. You should consider writing a self-help book," your apparent sarcasm makes him smile.

"Nah. Writing passages for the uninspired, unwilling to make the application is not really my thing," he quips, tilting back in his chair.

"Everyone's a cynic," you say with a humorous undertone that has him smiling in his chair.

The silence hangs over the phone for a moment.

"Are you on break right now?" You finally break the silence, tone full of anticipation.

"Just took twenty to breath," he suspires, hand coming to massage the bridge on his nose.

You chew on your bottom lip. "Are you in your office?"

"I am, yeah," he sits up in his chair. "Why?"

"Just curious," you lick your lips. "I miss you."

"Saw you this morning, sweetheart," he voices with a smile.

"I know, I know," you affirm. "I'm just feeling…needy."

He can hear you shuffling around. "What are you doing?"

"What do you want me to be doing, Jack?" You coax, lying on your bed.

You don't hear anything over the line, and you go to speak before you hear the click of a door closing and the same creaking of the chair.

"Pants off," he commands, voice husky.

You oblige eagerly, stomach fluttering as you slip your pants off and toss them on the floor. "What now?" You ask, already feeling breathless.

"Let's put those pretty little fingers to good use, yeah?" His voice is so low and raspy. "Slide them over your stomach. Don't go any lower," he directs, shifting in his chair.

You slide your fingers down your stomach, tenderly and easily, panting into the phone as you do so.

"That's it, pretty girl," he praises. "Keep going for me."

You let out a shallow moan at the praise, fingers moving up and down your stomach with purpose.

"Take your panties off, baby," he almost releases a groan at the sounds that come off your tongue as you slip your panties off, tossing them off you with the swing of your foot.

"They're off," you breathe, fingers coming back to brush on your stomach.

"Good girl," he begins. "Move your fingers across your pussy. Nice and easy strokes," his voice is so gruff, you could just come to the sound of him talking.

Your fingers move down to place easy strokes on your aching cunt, arousal already accumulating. "Feels good," you whimper, brain hanging onto his praise.

"Good. Just follow my voice," he says. "I'll make you feel good, okay?" He prompts before leaning closer into the phone. "Rub your fingers against your clit," he tells you.

"Jack…." You mewl into the phone as your finger plunges into your cunt, rubbing gently against where you ache.

"Oh. That's it," he gruffs. "Touch yourself, baby…just how you like, yeah?"

"Okay," you breathe out as your fingers actions speed.

"Doing so good," he compliments, hearing the wet sounds of your fingers plunging in and out of you. "Talk to me…let me hear you."

"Feels so good, Jack," you moan out, fingers working faster. “So good.”

"Yeah?" He says, egging you on.

"Mhm," you reply, pleasure building in your lower stomach.

"You gonna be a good girl and come by the hospital later?" He asks as he hears your panting increase.

"Yeah…can't wait to see you," your voice is strained as your fingers work, rubbing against your clit fast.

"Oh, I bet, baby," he says. “I'll make you feel even better in person. Rub you off myself until you come on my fingers." His tone is downright scandalous.

You let out a louder moan, feeling an all-consuming, toe-curling orgasm crash into you.

Jack's eyes locked onto the door knob twisting open, issuing a hurried goodbye before hanging up and tossing his phone on his desk.

Dr. Robby enters, file in hand, staring curiously at Jack's phone on his desk. "Who was that?"

"No one," Jack says instantly, grabbing his phone to put it into his pant pocket.

"Okay. Guess we'll do the secrets thing," Dr. Robby raises his brows before handing the file to Jack. "Got a patient with a heart arrhythmia."

Jack abruptly shifts his focus back to work, his mind void of his personal matters. "Send them to cardio," he instructs, his tone professional and detached as he scans over the file.

"Yup. Already on it," Dr. Robby agrees.

Jack tilts his head, narrowing his eyes. "If you already did that, why did you need my consultation?"

"He's a vet. Said he knows you," Dr. Robby shrugs tilting his head to the side. "North side, room 25."

Jack simply nods as Dr. Robby heads out the door before sinking into his chair, deeply exhaling, the gears in his brain turning.

He was on the phone making you come just mere seconds ago, and he was a fragment of a second away from your dad being able to hear your sweet voice through the phone.

If that doesn't constitute a one-way ticket to the fiery pits, he's not sure what does.

The overwhelming sound of a thumping base and the smell of cheap beer and sweat hangs heavy, clouding your senses.

Your friend has convinced you to go to one of the frat parties.

Nothing like spending your Friday night in a small, confined room full of horny college boys and desperate sorority girls.

The friend in question is a girl you've grown exceptionally close to within the last year.

Did everything together.

You were practically a part of her family, even her moms boyfriend took a liking to you and he was a hard ass.

But, you were particularly close to her dad.

Dr. Abbott.

Oh, you know, the guy you were secretly dating and screwing.

Even made you come over the phone just some hours ago.

Guilt gnaws at your brain as your friend leads you into the house where the party is happening.

"God, it reeks of weed," you say, covering your nose as the pungent odor fills the air.

"It's a college party. I'd be concerned if it didn't," your friend replies dryly, pulling you through a crowd of college kids toward the kitchen to grab some drinks.

"Don't pour anything too strong," you warn, raising your eyebrows as your friend reaches for a bottle of vodka.

"Just one shot? To celebrate you finishing your dissertation?" She asks, messily pouring the shots.

"I haven't finished it yet—" you begin to protest, but she thrusts a shot in front of you, filled to the brim, causing some of the liquid to spill over the side.

"Shot incoming!" She says with a bright smile, bringing the shot to her lips.

You begrudgingly down the shot with her, both cringing at the taste.

"Tastes like shit," you remark, wiping some off your lip.

"Ugh," your friend winces at the potent flavor and, like clockwork, grabs two more cups to make another drink, this time less intense.

You spot another friend on the couch in the living room, showing off a bag of white pills. You grab your friend's arm, leave your drinks on the counter, and walk over to him.

"What are those?" You ask, crossing your arms and tilting your head toward the pills.

"It's black star, straight from Germany," he replies, shaking the bag.

You and your friend raise your eyebrows in confusion.

He tilts his head and shakes the bag again. "You know, superman? Because it takes you to space." He flaps his arms, pretending to float until his girlfriend elbows him.

"Christ. Enough with the theatrics," she chimes in, standing beside him. "It's LSD. You guys want one?" She tips the bag, letting a couple drop into her palm.

"Sure," your friend shrugs, reaching for the pills.

You shoot her a disapproving look. "Absolutely not. You have no idea what those are made of. Do you want to end up in the ER, having to explain to your dad what you were thinking?" Your eyebrows raise as you speak.

"You're no fun," your friend with the pills laughs, popping one onto his tongue.

You give him a disapproving look before turning back to your friend. "I guess you're right," she says quietly. "He would kill me if the pills didn't."

You nod in agreement. "Let's go get those drinks you made, yeah?" You grab her arm, leading her back to the kitchen.

Your drink has shifted slightly to the side on the counter, but that doesn't deter you from throwing it back completely.

Your friend chugs her drink, licking her lips. "Should we do another?" She poses it as a question, but she isn't asking, already cracking open a fresh bottle of Everclear.

You ponder for a moment, then hand your empty cup to her. "Fine," you exclaim, feeling a mix of exasperation and amusement.

Your friend beams, pouring the spirit into your cups.

"Cheers to..." she trails off, pursing her lips as she hands you a drink.

"...a good night," you finish, clinking your cup with hers.

A smile spreads across her face, and once again, you both down the alcohol. The burn in your throat soothes your thoughts and lulls your brain into submission.

Tonight was definitely going to be a good fucking night.

It's been twenty minutes since then.

Your skin feels blistering yet icy.

Your head is pounding; you wouldn't be surprised if your brain imploded and cracked your skull.

A wave of nausea hits you, then retreats before you act.

What the fuck is going on?

Sure, you drank more than you should have, but this was not what usually happens.

You glance at your friend perched in a corner near you, talking to a girl about something regarding her last lecture.

Nerd.

You presume she's fine.

Leaning against a wall, disoriented, you pull your phone out, opening up your text thread to the one and only.

Jack Abbott.

You haphazardly type out your sentence, and your vision starts to double, but that does nothing to deter you from texting him.

He answers immediately.

Me: what r u up 2? working 2night?

Him: Why are you texting me in numbers?

Me: omg ur so oldd im crying kinda heartwarming though

Him: Heartwarming? How so? Him: Also, where are you?

Me: its just cute lol ur so cute Me: @ party that ur daughter dragged me 2 i feel woozy

Him: I'm cute? Honey, I'm old. Him: Have you been drinking? No drugs, right?

Me: yea ur cute sexy hot yup u check all the boxes dr hotness Me: no my friend tried 2 give uss lsd but i scolded ur daugher Me: i wouldnt ever take that shit or let her im drunk though

Him: Dr. Hotness? Hmm...that's a new one. Him: You need me to pick you two up? I can.

Me: noo were good i wouldnt wanna keep u from saving lives and all

Him: Let me come get you.

Me: jack im fine promise you better not show up or ill kill uu Me: i wouldnt actually but id be mad

Him: I can handle you being mad at me, sweetheart. Him: I just want both of you to be safe.

Me: were fine i promise! ur daughter is lit talking to a girl about her bio stats lecture shes such a nerd

Him: And you? What are you doing?

Me: texting u ofc

Him: Enjoy your party, but don't be stupid. Him: Take care of yourself and my daughter. Him: Call me if you need me.

Me: okay mr serious pants ill talk later byee

"Who ya texting?" Your friend scoots next to you, dilated eyes attempting to look at your phone screen.

"No one," you pull your phone to your chest in a panic, straightening your posture.

"Oh my God. Is it a guy? Do you have a secret boy toy I don't know about?" She nudges your side, face warmed from the alcohol.

"It's none of your beeswax," you huff, rolling your eyes playfully, attempting to sound nonchalant, though you can feel your head begin to spin again, but this time much faster.

"You know, I've never understood that saying," she says, her expression serious.

You release a silent laugh as your words slurry, "Just, just go back to talking about your nerd things," you pat her shoulder gently, feeling your body shift, muscles relaxing to a disturbing degree.

"Whatever," she laughs, trudging herself back over to her friend.

Him: Funny, but seriously, please be safe. Talk to you later.

That was the last thing you read.

Your phone screen goes black as you feel the smack of your cheek hitting the cold wood and the sound of your friend rushing over to you, shaking your shoulders.

The urgency in her actions is palpable, a silent scream in the air.

Your friend calls your name over and over again, repeating it with more desperation each time, sobbing as she attempts to shake you awake.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," she curses; your body is still, skin hot to the touch. "She, she won't wake up," her voice is shaky and frantic as she shakes you again, begging you to wake up. She snaps her head to whoever is close to her, her eyes filled with fear and desperation.

"Call 911. Now."

"Female, early to mid 20s, unresponsive. Found at a party with signs of possible drug ingestion," a paramedic shouts, rushing you in on a stretcher into the ER as a nurse materializes at your side, the urgency palpable in the air.

Your friend follows close behind, mascara running down her cheeks as she frantically tries to see you.

"What the…oh shit," Langdon exclaims, his shock evident as he moves quickly from behind the triage desk, his gaze shifting from you, looking lifeless, strapped onto a gurney, to Abbott's daughter hot on the paramedic's trail, sobs escaping her.

"Frank. Oh my God," she cries out, rushing over to him. "Please. You, you need to help her. They're, they're saying she was drugged," she stutters, hands moving messily through her hair.

"Hey, hey. Calm down, okay?" He puts his hands up, eyes searching her frantic eyes. "Tell me what happened," he says, now rushing over to you.

"I'm, I'm not sure," she heaves out as Langdon comes to your side, pulling your eyelids up to look at your pupils. "I turned around for a se, second then I heard her hit the ground."

"Dilated pupils. No sign of head trauma," he says, his voice urgent, his actions swift. "Let's move her to the north side, room 27," he turns, gesturing for Whitaker, whose eyes curiously stare at what is unfolding. "Whitaker, with me," he supplies, tipping him towards you. "Did she take anything?"

"No. Not that I know of," your friend sputters, her concern palpable, hot on Langdon's trail as he moves with you to the room, Whittaker following close behind. "She just drank."

"Drank what?" He asked promptly. "Let's get her on a monitor and start an IV with naloxone." He directs the nurse before looking at your shell-shocked friend. "What did she drink?"

Your eyes widen, and you search for the right words. "Um…vo, vodka and tequila…with Everclear," you manage to say, your voice trembling with shock.

"Yikes. Sounds like a bad night waiting to happen," he comments with a wince as he starts pushing the naloxone into the IV catheter. "Whitaker, go get Robby and Abbott. They're gonna wanna be here," he says, not looking up.

"Need her BP, pulse, and oxygen saturation. Let's get a tox screen, too," Langdon says urgently, not missing a beat.

"BP's 90/60, pulse is 110, oxygen saturation's 92% on room air," The nurse supplies.

Langdon cringes. "Let's give her some oxygen and start another IV with 1 liter of normal saline wide open. Need to do a CT scan of her head so that we can rule out intracranial hemorrhage," he continues, assessing you as your friend anxiously waits by the door. "Where the hell are Robby and Abbott?"

"What's going on?" Dr. Robby moves in, following Whitaker, with Abbott close behind Robby.

Dr. Abbott turns to see his daughter sobbing near the door as they all flood in.

"Came in unresponsive. Possible drug ingestion," Langdon eyes flick between Robby and Abbott. "Robby...it's your daughter."

Dr. Robby's eyes widen, twisting his head, issuing a curse as he moves into action. "Fuck—what the hell did she take?"He spits, looking around, and his eyes land on your friend.

"I don't, I don't know," her voice trembles with fear. "I, I just looked away for a second, and then I heard her hit the floor," she turns to Dr. Abbott, chest heaving. "She, she looked...so lifeless, Dad," she cries out. "I, I thought—" she trails off as Jack brings her into his arms.

"Shh," Jack holds his daughter as she sobs. "It'll, it'll be okay."

Jack wants to rush over to your side, heal you, then ambush you with a kiss.

But he can't.

Not now, anyway.

"Where's the cardiac monitor? Get the God-damn monitor on her!" Dr. Robby's voice echoes with urgency, his mind racing frantically. "Were you watching each other? How did this happen?" He blurts out a million different, unimportant questions in the heat of the moment.

All he can focus on is your lifeless body right in front of him.

"Robby...Robby," Langdon raises his voice. "Look at me," he pleads; Robby's eyes move to Langdon, with a deep exhale through his nose. "You need to calm down and treat your daughter," he says, his head nodding as he speaks. "Save her first; ask those questions later."

Dr. Robby sucks in a deep breath giving Langdon a nod before turning his attention back to you. "Whitaker, push in another dose of naloxone," he directs.

Whitaker nods, pushing in a second dose of the medicine.

Everyone stands around you, anxiously waiting for you to wake.

Jack releases a shaky breath as he holds his daughter, mind already imagining the worst.

You spring awake, eyes wide and bright with a gasp, a sudden surge of relief washing over the room.

"Oh my God," your friend rushes to your side, grabbing your hand to ensure you're real. "You saved her," she turns to Whitaker.

"I just—" Whittaker starts before your friend pulls him right against her, pressing a messy kiss to his cheek, smearing lipstick on his skin.

"Thank you so much," she mumbles into him, her voice choked with emotion as she pulls away to hug you, her gratitude palpable.

“I’m, I’m alright,” your voice is barely above a whisper, betraying your vulnerability as your friend steps aside for your dad's embrace.

"You're never leaving me again, kid," he half-jokes, his voice filled with relief and a hint of fear, hugging you tightly.

You can't help but laugh, your eyes meeting Jack's, who's staring at you with such intensity.

You open your mouth to call him over, but he leaves the room.

He dissipates, as does the protest on your tongue.

"Let me get you some water," Dr. Robby kisses the top of your head, tilting his head toward Langdon to follow him out, leaving only you, your friend, and Whitaker in the room.

He's charting something when your friend moves next to him; her steps are careful, and her voice is a gentle murmur.

"I meant it, you know? Thanks for helping her," she smiles at him, eyes softening as she sees the lipstick mark still on his cheek. "You're gonna be a great doctor."

He gives her a smile, the tips of his ears going red from nerves. "I, well, yeah…than, thanks," he stutters, pretending to write something down.

"It's cute how nervous you get," she smiles, rocking on her heels.

His eyes widen. "Sorry, I, I have another patient," he says, avoiding her gaze and walking to the door.

She giggles as he walks out the door, bumping into the doorway as he exits. His face turns bright red as he turns to go in the complete wrong direction.

"I'm glad you're using my passing out as a means to meet cute guys," you say groggily, humor in your tone.

Your friend's eyes widen. "I would never—"

"I'm kidding. Whitaker is the only guy I don't think any dad would object to. He's super sweet. Would be a good match for you," you simply say.

"He's nice, yeah," she agrees, her face warming with a playful blush.

"He's really nice," you correct. "And he wants to be a doctor," you release a breath. "Might as well marry him on the spot," you joke.

She lets out a laugh before coming over to you. "You're okay?"

You nod your head. "I'm okay."

Dr. Robby comes in, walks over to hand you the cup of water, and then turns to your friend. "Honey, the police want to ask you some questions," he begins. "I can come with you."

She nods, lightly squeezing your hand before moving in front of your dad to walk out the door.

You sit up and see Jack hovering outside. "Jack, can you wait with her?" Dr. Robby murmurs to him.

He nods, coming in and slowly closing the door behind him.

"Jack..." You can already feel your throat clogging and want to die from embarrassment.

How could this have happened to you?

You've always been so careful.

"I'm, I'm here, sweetheart," he says, pulling up a chair next to your bed before sitting in it to hold your hand.

"I, I don't remember anything," you start, tears clinging to your lashes. "Do you know what happened to me?"

He hesitates for a moment, squeezing your hand tighter. "Think you were drugged."

Your eyes widen. "Dru, drugged?" You stumble over your words, unable to comprehend what he said. "Like someone spiked my, my drink?" The shock of the revelation hits you like a wave, leaving you struggling to process the information.

He gives you a weak nod. "Most likely."

You sink into the bed, tongue coming to lick your dry lips before the tears start pouring down your cheeks. "I, I can't believe it. I could have—" you start, eyesight blurring from your tears, chest beginning to heave. In this moment, you feel more vulnerable than you ever have before.

Jack pulls you into his arms, your tears pooling on his scrubs. You're trembling with fear, and his embrace is the only thing calming you.

"I got you, sweetheart," he murmurs. "You're safe now."

You press your face into his chest, salty tears coating your lips, his embrace offering you immense comfort.

"I'll never let anyone hurt you again."

author's mini note: he would so talk you through it...

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blueberrybirdsworld · 1 month ago

Text

The Cat Distribution System 1/5

Summary:

When a stray kitten adopts Lando Norris, the self-proclaimed cat hater accidentally starts a soft-launch spiral with his secret girlfriend the ballerina Ariana Riverria.

Pairing : lando norris x original female character

Genre : Fluff, SMAU

Warning : none, just yeah the kitten will be different in some pictures

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

CHAPTER ONE:

There were two things Lando Norris swore he would never do: touch a cat willingly, and let the internet know too much about his private life. Yet somehow, a sleepy Tuesday afternoon in Monaco managed to unravel both.

It started when he found a kitten.

He wasn’t looking for one. He wasn’t even thinking about pets. But while walking back to his flat from the bakery, a tiny ginger fluffball appeared near a row of parked scooters, mewling with wide eyes and a puffed tail. It looked like a half-toasted marshmallow and sounded miserable.

Lando crouched instinctively, planning to just give it a scratch and move on.

Instead, the kitten climbed right into his hoodie and curled up under his chin like it owned the place.

He stood frozen for a full minute.

“…What the hell,” he muttered, glancing around, hoping someone would suddenly run over shouting, “Oh, thank you! That’s mine!”

No one did.

So now he had a kitten.

When he walked through the door of his girlfriend flat, still carrying the little intruder like it was a bomb he couldn’t put down, she burst into laughter.

“I told you,” she grinned, taking one look at the scene. “The cat distribution system always finds its target.”

“He climbed me,” Lando said flatly. “He literally scaled my chest like a tiny mountaineer.”

Ariana was too busy cooing over the kitten to care. “Look at this baby. Oh, he’s beautiful. He adopted you. It’s official.”

“I don’t like cats,” he reminded her.

“You like this cat.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You’re still holding him.”

“…I’m being held by him. There's a difference.”

The kitten, as if to emphasize her point, let out a squeaky purr and nuzzled Lando’s collarbone.

He sighed. “This wasn’t how I imagined getting a pet. I had a whole plan. A puppy. A golden retriever. Charlie.”

“Well,” Ariana said, grinning as she stroked the kitten’s head, “plans change.”

@landonorris "He won’t leave."

@lando_kisses: was that a cat ??? 🤔

@mcclarenprincess: why is everyone ignoring the fact he cuddle a literal kitten despite claiming hating cat lmao

@softverstappen: Lando Norris owning a cat was not on my 2025 bingo card

@racingbabyy: I feel like he’s about to start calling himself a cat dad and I’m scared

@maxfewtrell: never thought I'd see the day

@pietra: he’s literally your child now deal with it

@oscarpiastri: how did this even happen

@maxverstappen1: I always knew he was a cat dad. Just took time to admit it

@charles_leclerc: he looks fast. perfect name would be… Turbo

@alexandralovely: it’s the vibe shift for me

Ariana didn’t post anything at first. But eventually, she gave in to the kitten’s charms.

@arianariverria "Post-class cuddles ✨"

@pliésandcoffee: WHO is that little prince omg

@ballet_babe88: did you get another cat???? WHERE did this one come from?

@kitteninfirst: i recognize that kitten. i know that kitten. 👀

@flexandsaute: he looks like a whole main character fr

@oscarpiastri: he’s already got better posture than me

@maxfewtrell: 10/10 cat. uncertain about the human

@alexandralovely: that’s a very specific shade of orange i’ve seen recently…

Twitter thread by @balletxf1 🔍 Theory: Lando Norris and Ariana Riverria are either living together or sharing custody of a kitten.

[1] Let’s begin: kitten timeline.

[2] Lando posts ginger kitten Monday. Ariana posts same-colored kitten Wednesday.

[3] Check the markings. IDENTICAL.

[4] Also… Ariana said in an interview 3 months ago she already has a white cat named Aria. No mention of a ginger baby.

[5] But Lando literally said he doesn’t like cats? This man once get bit y one on Max's live when he try to hug the kitten. Character development arc???

[6] Anyway, just keeping my eye on this 👀

Ariana texted Lando a screenshot of the thread that night.

Ari 💃:

omg you are so busted lmao

Lando 🧡:

it was ONE story!!!

Ari 💃:

plus the tail in your selfie. plus the purring during your stream. you’re soft-launching the kitten more than you ever soft-launched me

Lando 🧡:

rude

Ari 💃:

facts tho. also the internet already calls you a cat dad now. congrats!

Lando 🧡:

i hate everything

Ari 💃:

no you hate cats. or you did. now you’re a walking cat bed.

Lando 🧡:

he glued himself to me!! i didn’t ASK FOR THIS

Ari 💃:

destiny. fate. toe beans.

Lando 🧡:

if i end up with a second kitten i’m renaming myself to Meow Daddy and quitting racing

Ari 💃:

too late. the transformation has begun. 🐾

He looked down. The kitten was nestled into the corner of the couch, snoring quietly against his leg.

He reached down and scratched behind its ears.

“...Charlie,” he whispered, trying it out. The kitten stirred and purred louder.

Maybe not a dog, but maybe...

Charlie it was.

Part 2

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freshxsturniolo · 2 months ago

Text

childhood sweethearts - chris sturniolo x fem!reader

summary: you and chris have been best friends since pre school, but your relationship had taken a new turn. you tried to hide it, but a family party at your parents house reveals all.

warnings : suggestive. fluff. swearing. slight angst. mentions of your family.

you were fucking your best friend.

there was no other way to put it.

and you were fucking him good. so good. too good.

it had started as soon as he turned 21. something inside of you changed. of course, you would never deny he was attractive to look at. all three of them where. you had grown up with them your entire life but you weren’t blind. you could appreciate when someone was attractive. but ending up panting and moaning in his bed was not on your 2024 bingo card. or ever, matter of fact.

it had been because you were both drunk, you had both said the next morning.

“happy birthday” you had joked, as you slid out of his bed that next morning, stark fucking naked with hickeys on your collarbone. he had laughed and threw your tshirt at you, and nothing between you changed.

until a week later, and you woke up in his bed again.

“did i satisfy you that well?” he had joked.

the third time, you both laughed.

“we better not make a habit of this” you had said.

but by the forth time, you lingered that next morning. he didn’t want you to leave. you didn’t want to leave.

and by the fifth time, which was approximately 30 minutes into lingering around after the forth tine morning, you were done for.

months passed and you were fucking him almost daily. a lot of the time at your own apartment, a silent confirmation between you both you didn’t want anyone else catching onto what you were doing. but it wasn’t just the sex. it was the longing text messages. it was the secret thigh and hand holding under a table. it was the quick glances and smirks when no one was looking. it was the stupid fucking pounding of your heart every second of the day.

you had told yourself it was because you were both bored. winter had come around, you weren't going out as much as you used to, you were both busy with work. you were both a little release in a cold winter. but it was when you all flew home to boston for the christmas and new year, and he secretly grabbed your hand behind your back when you were watching the fireworks on his parents back garden, the back garden you had grown up in, throwing mud at each other and eating ice creams, that this was becoming more than just casual sex.

when you had gotten back to LA, things had shifted. you cuddled together more often than not, he held your hand when you were out and alone in quiet spaces, he pulled you into his chest so he could play with your hair and you could feel the warmth of his body. you had even stopped trying to hide your new turn in the relationship from matt and nick. they never asked, never questioned, they just watched. by standers in what to them was clearly a growing shift between the two of you. he was your safe person. your safe space.

but neither of you said a word.

so when the butterflies run through your stomach at your moms party, you dont know if to throw up or act upon it.

the sun was shining on your childhood back garden and the chatter was loud. you hadn't been home since christmas and the first hint of sun and their daughter being home had your parents hosting a family gathering, just like they did when you were kids. your family where bustling around you, people were drinking, a ray of cups or soda cans littering the garden table already and music was playing softly. but you were disengaged. of course, it was without saying that the triplets would be here. your mom had treated those boys like her sons when you were growing up and she had such a protective streak over them, especially considering their now fame. it was not even a question or a doubt when you announced you were going to move to LA with them, to purse your own career too. your parents trusted them more than anyone else.

but as you sipped your glass, generously full with your favourite alcoholic drink, your legs began to twitch. when you were home for christmas, it had been easy. you were both so busy with your families that it was probably the one time over the last 8 months you had been able to keep yourself separated. but not this time. chris has snuck out your childhood bedroom this morning and down the stairs to your front garden with a giggle on his lips like you were 16 years old and your parents had no idea who he was. fucking him in your childhood bedroom, trying to keep quiet so your fucking parents couldn't hear you, had bought up stronger feelings than ever. you couldn't be apart from him. and he couldn't you.

"are you okay, m'love?" you mom asked as she walked past you. she was doing her usual hosting, making sure everyone was okay, make sure the music was fine for everyone and all the different age groups of your family around you.

"mm?" you ask, looking up.

"you seem ... on edge" she looked down at you with genuine concern, but you smiled, taking a sip of your drink.

"im good, mom. promise. sorry. do you need help with anything?" you asked.

and it was as if right on queue, that they arrived. it was nick who screamed your moms name first, a huge smile over her face when she turned and saw all three triplets walking over to her, but your head snapped immediately to his. its like he'd done it on purpose, or where you just absolutely insane? but either way, he was wearing your favourite outfit. the sweatshirt that you always tried to, and usually successfully steal, but he'd always take it back. just so you could play the whole game again.

"oh, my boys" she beamed, walking over and grabbing each of them in turn for a hug. they were all so gentle and sweet with her. "can you please sort out my daughter?" she asked now, looking back at you. chris speaks immediately.

"whats up?" he asks, looking at you intensely, but you roll your eyes, standing up and heading straight to him to give him a friendly hug.

"im fine." you say, pulling out of the embrace quickly. your mom had eyes like a hawk, one sight of anything different, she'd be the first to know. as you look at him briefly before moving over to hug matt, he sees it too. he knows.

you hug both matt and nick and your mom makes herself scares, telling them to help themselves to food and drinks as the usually, a laugh escaping all of you and her comments, but it isn't long before your family are pulling the triplets from pillar to post. they were genuinely part of your family by this point, and your family missed them as much as they missed you.

so you drank.

you stupidly fucking drank and drank.

and stupidly kept the triplets topped up to. walking past them every now and then and passing them fresh beers, nick fresh white claws, all the whilst getting through your own drinks like they were going out of fashion. after a couple of hours passed, your general feelings has subsided. you were doing a good job of avoiding chris the best you could so to not draw any attention to you, and everyone was in high spirits.

but when you stupidly caught his eye for a little too long, the alcohol surging through your system, you knew it was game over. you sat down, your parents on the chairs to your left, everyone laughing and engaging in conversation when he came and sat beside you. his legs spreading, knees knocking with yours, a slight lean on the arm of the chair closest to you. and you too, opened your legs a little wider, your knee connecting with his and resting their perfectly, leaning across so your shoulders touched.

your eyes stayed away from him, closing on your close family around you. thankfully the music was loud enough that you couldn't work out what anyone was really saying to each other unless you fully engaged yourself, so you knew no one would hear you two either.

"avoiding me, pretty princess?" he asked, a smirk you had to hide with your drink.

"avoiding me?" you reply back, a scoff escaping him.

"reckon anyone would notice if we went upstairs?" he said, the hint of beer hitting your nose letting you know he'd leaned closer. so your turn, your faces inches apart.

"feeling brave, are you?" you ask. he smirks, eyes looking down at you and then around you. but when he stops short, a smile illuminating his lips and he slowly pulls back, you already know. your heart stops.

"another drink, or you good?" he asks, his sultry voice now gone. you cough, sitting up.

"im good, thanks." showing him your full drink. his beer bottle was too full. he looked down at it, his mind thinking fast before he let out a laugh. his nervous laugh.

"im gonna get some food. starving." he says, and then he scrambles off. you watch him. you watch his strides as he enters your kitchen, the way he claps hand with someone who you can't quite see, and then you turn around. your moms eyes, burning into you like a stake.

you smile, going to stand yourself up, but a giddy look appears across her face. her hand immediately slaps on your own.

"mom" you say, but she shakes her head, leaning towards you.

"is he the boyfriend?" he asks, her eyes scanning the room so know one else can hear you.

"what boyfriend?" you ask, puzzled. she laughs.

"you've had a glow about you the last two visits. and when you call. both me and your dad noticed it. we haven't said anything in hopes you'll tell us but" she pauses, eyes scanning to the kitchen where chris has just walked. "is it chris?"

the butterflies running through your stomach almost make you sick. glow? had it been that obvious? you had tried, so hard, to not let anything show. tried to even gaslight yourself into thinking the whole thing was just casual, but your moms words where confirmation that it wasn't, at all.

"no, mom. its not."

she shrugs. she doesn't believe you.

"excuse me" you said, and she only laughs as she turns around, settling into conversation with everyone else around the table. you don't care about anyone else, your legs go into auto pilot as you stand yourself up, placing your drink down onto the table and heading towards the kitchen. your eyes scan but the room is empty, and you know damn well he didn't walk out back into the garden. so your legs carry you further, through into the living area, around the corner up the stairs and straight towards your bedroom door. one small push of the handle and he swings it open, pulling you inside, slamming you against the door as he recluses it.

his lips are on yours in seconds, and you can't help it, your hands instantly grab his hair as his hands come to your waist, squeezing tightly as his body presses you against the door. you're frantic, the alcohol running through your system, but you know this won't go further. not now.

when your kiss finally slows, and he rests his head on your forehead, you're both breathless. looking at each other, he gives you a smile.

"she notice?" he asks.

you pause for a second. "yeah."

"think we got away with it?" he asks. you don't say anything. "no?"

you smile faintly. "shes known since christmas, i think."

he closes his eyes, his jaw muscles tightening. but his forehead never once leaves yours. you wait. because you're scared if you speak, you won't be able to stop yourself.

"when do we expect defeat, y/n?" he asks now, eyes opening and his forehead finally leaving yours.

"what?" you ask. your hearts in your damn throat. he takes a step back, turning and walking towards your window. it faces the front of the house so unless anyone has gone round to the driveway, they won't see him. he doesn't answer, just stares. you stay pressed against the door until the silence becomes to much.

"chris-" but he stops you, turning around.

"what the fuck are we doing?" he asks. "you're my bestest friend in the world but i dont think it should feel ... like this?"

you gulp. "like what?"

"like im in love with you."

you let out a shaky breath, and then you can't help the laugh that falls from your lips.

"jesus christ," you say. "who'd have thought it, huh?" you walk towards him, and he looks at you wearily before you wrap your arms around his neck. "i feel like im in love with you too." you say.

he stares at you, his eyes scanning your entire face before he lets out a groan, picking you up and throwing you down onto your bed. a squeal escapes you as you don't expect the motion, before you're laughing as he straddles over you, pinning your arms behind your head.

"why the fuck has it taken us so long to fucking say it" he says, looking at you intensely. you're uncomfortable as fuck, legs hanging off the bed as your back is in a slanted angle, but somehow you never want to leave this spot.

"the sex just too good, makes you forget maybe" you tease, and he rolls his eyes as he lets go of your hands, standing off the bed. you sit yourself up, looking at him as he runs his hands through his hair before he holds his hand out to you.

"come on" he says, and you take his hand, allowing him to pull you up and over to him, smoothly placing his arm around your shoulder. "im sick of acting like this isn't happening"

you chuckle. "do you think matt and nick know?"

he rolls his eyes. "the way you scream my name sometimes, babe, i think they've known since day one."

you jab his side with your finger, and he laughs as he tries to move away. but when you reach out and grab his t-shirt, he swiftly pulls you into his chest.

"this might be a stupid questions," he asks, looking at you with a grin, "but will you change your title from best friend to girlfriend?"

stupid fucking question indeed.

"happily."

#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo fanfic

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darkmatilda · 3 months ago

Text

𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐲𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐬 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: there’s a stranger living in your body. after a traumatic experience, you shed your own identity and adopt another—one that belongs to the sister of your captor. while spencer fights desperately to restore your lost memories, the rest of the team decides to use the piece of a person that lives within you to catch the unsub.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: continuation of metamorphosis, spencer reid x fem!bau reader, split narrative, amnesia and loss of identity, cult, hotch acts like a total bitch but it is explained later, a vague, even imprecise description of a psychiatric facility, forgive me for all the inconsistencies and plot simplifications because there are plenty of them lol (same goes for those few corny moments)

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 15k

𝐚/𝐧: sorry it took e so long to write the second part—it required a lot of planning. to make your reading more fun, you can use my reading game and see if you manage to get bingo <33 the biggest thanks to my dear @angellic4l not only coming up with this title but also for the overall help with planning, and to @mggslover for holding my hand during this difficult labour...

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/ˈkrɪs.əl.ɪs/ a moth or butterfly at the stage of development when it is covered by a hard case before it becomes an adult insect with wings or the case itself

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I am Lydia.

The cardboard box landed on the counter, accidentally knocking over a piece of paper, which Spencer didn’t even notice. Instead, he began placing the first items inside—items he honestly hadn’t expected to be so numerous. Choosing the first one proved immensely difficult. He paced the walls of his apartment, feeling as if his feet weren’t even touching the floor.

I am Lydia.

Bringing small, personal items is a therapeutic practice often used in cases of amnesia or identity disorders. Their presence, touch, and smell can sometimes break through the walls built in the mind of a person suffering from memory loss, shattering them and allowing everything that had once been separated to flood in like water through a broken dam. In theory, it sounded logical, even simple. In practice, someone had to choose the right items.

I am Lydia.

Even though days had passed since he saw her empty gaze settle on his face and her lips form that sentence, so certain of its truth, it still haunted him.

The kidnapping, the torture, the pretending—it had all completely broken her mentally, causing her to truly adopt the identity of her captors’ sister. She genuinely believed she had become her. First, she spent some time in the hospital to regain her strength, but very quickly—in fact, it was only the fourth day since her escape—she was transferred to a specialized psychiatric facility for federal agents.

And now he was about to visit her for the first time.

Reid spent the most time choosing the first item. Well, initially, he had only planned to bring one. One small thing—something that wouldn’t overwhelm her. He settled on her badge.

The moment his fingers gently lifted it, opened it, and his gaze fell on her expressionless face in the photo, he seemed to slip into a trance. She didn’t remember who she was, for heaven’s sake. The badge itself wasn’t a talisman that would magically restore all the lost years, names, faces, and relationships. So he decided to take something else too.

The earrings Penelope had given her for her birthday—her favorites, though their shape and color meant she never wore them to work, not wanting them to clash with her professional demeanor.

An old, used ticket to a musical she had already seen, still pinned to her fridge.

A handmade card from their godson, Henry.

A book he had given her, its pages filled with two distinct handwritings—their separate annotations intertwining between the lines, overlapping at times like strands of hair in a braid.

Photos—all the photos he could find.

Before he knew it, he needed a box to take everything with him.

"Seriously, Spence?" JJ’s eyes widened in surprise as he slid into her car and set the box on the floor, reaching for his seatbelt. He avoided her gaze—just a little. "I’m not even sure they’ll let you in with that much stuff."

He shrugged. It was morning; they had arranged the day before to go together. Actually, it was JJ who had offered. Not only did she not want either of them to face this alone, but she also still seemed to feel a bit guilty for blaming him for her abduction.

He wasn’t offended. Not because he thought she didn’t have the right to blame him, but more because his mind was currently consumed by a much greater worry.

"Well, as long as I’m not bringing anything dangerous."

"They still might say it’s too much," she said, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. She took in his hunched, exhausted shoulders, the tension in his body—like he was bracing for a blow, caught in a state of perpetual waiting. For things to get better. Or worse.

She didn’t look much better herself, deep shadows under her eyes, but she was holding it together. JJ always held it together. Spencer sometimes caught himself wondering what it would take to truly break her—then immediately shut the thought down the moment he reached the obvious answer. It made him feel sick, and he refused to go there.

Suddenly, she pressed her lips together. "At least, I think so. I’ve never been there. Never..."

Her eyes fixed on the road. She had never had a reason to go.

When they finally pulled up to the facility and Spencer grabbed the box, JJ hesitated for a moment before stepping out of the car.

"We only have thirty minutes," she announced.

Spencer’s brows shot up in surprise, his mouth opening in protest, but she pressed her lips together—almost apologetically.

"I know it’s basically nothing," she admitted, "but Hotch wants us back at the office after. We’re starting a new case."

He already knew that.

Which didn’t mean it didn’t feel like a fucking joke.

After they got her out of the oil rig, the surviving kidnapper—Lavinia—had escaped. She reached a boat before the police helicopter hovered over the scene, something they hadn't been aware of at the time. After that, she vanished without a trace.

They should have been looking for her. She was a serial abductor, a murderer. She had nearly drained her of blood—had done it to other women before. But the official stance was that, after losing both her siblings—including her sister’s body—Lavinia had also lost whatever force had been driving her crimes. She wasn’t a danger to civilians, they said. She would rather disappear than strike again.

And in the meantime, there were other cases, more urgent ones. People abducted, children held captive—where hours, even minutes, could tip the scales between life and death. That was the nature of the job. Priorities. Because they couldn’t save everyone.

Spencer understood that. But he couldn’t just let her stay free. Neither could the rest of the BAU.

So they worked the case after hours, burning through sleepless nights.

It wasn’t like the FBI had entirely abandoned the search. Lavinia was a wanted fugitive. The first day after her escape, dozens of roads had been shut down, the entire country put on high alert. Airports had been monitored, all the usual places checked.

But Reid had a feeling it wouldn’t matter.

She was too smart. Too careful. Too experienced at running.

They wouldn’t find her in a location.

They had to find that location in her mind.

"Are you sure you can handle this?" she asked quietly as they got out of the car. She looked at him carefully her expression gentle, almost cautious. "You know, going in there, seeing her..."

"JJ, I could ask you the same thing," he cut in dryly. He didn’t like the way she was treating him like someone who needed to be handled with care. "Even if I'm not ready, it doesn’t matter. If she’s going to get her memories back, she needs to see the people she knew."

"I know. Her therapist said the same thing. I just want to make sure you're okay."

"Let's just go."

She gave him a long look, sighed, and let it go.

The moment he stepped over the threshold, a strange feeling washed over him. It didn’t surprise him—he even knew its name, which, given how common the term had become, wasn’t exactly impressive. Just a déjà vu. Recognition without recollection.

Just like JJ, he had never been to this place before. But his brain still reached for a memory that felt almost identical, if he really thought about it. Someone close to him, memory loss, hospital visits—the more he let his mind go down that path, the less prepared he felt, which was completely irrational.

And Spencer deeply hated when things in his life didn’t fit within his personal definition of logic. He felt uneasy dealing with things beyond its reach. He felt uneasy then.

But he was already standing right in front of her door, which was slowly opening before them, and there was no turning back.

"Lydia, like I told you, you have visitors," the facility worker announced.

JJ looked at him, pale. His jaw also tensed when he heard the name the worker had used.

“It’s meant to reach her and gain her trust,” he explained to his friend in a whisper, the words barely making it past his clenched teeth.

He already knew he would simply speak to her without using any name at all. Nothing else would physically make it past his lips—more likely, it would get stuck in his throat and choke him first.

He adjusted his grip on the box. The room didn’t resemble a hospital ward; in fact, it was a rather cozy space with large windows and an abundance of flowers. Soft turquoise walls, dark flooring, a wooden floor lamp with a slightly old-fashioned shade adding a touch of character, and a small bookshelf filled with books. Spencer felt relieved that she hadn’t been placed in a setting that visually resembled the one where she had been held captive.

Before he managed to find her with his gaze, he exchanged one last glance with JJ. He gave her a small nod. It was okay. She nodded back.

The woman standing by the window turned to face her visitors. She was already dressed in casual, comfortable clothes instead of the ones she had been given at the hospital. Because of that, and the cozy decor of the room, she could have passed for an ordinary person, surprised by friends dropping by unannounced. For a brief moment Spencer felt exactly that way—like it was their day off, and he had just stopped by without warning, only for her to open the door with a pleasantly surprised expression, happy to see him, glad she had no other plans.

Recognition without recollection.

He had to shake off that feeling. But he didn't do it himself—her face did it for him. Marked by healing wounds and entirely indifferent to the sight of her friends. In fact, her gaze barely lingered on them before shifting uncertainly toward her therapist, thumb brushing against her lips. She lightly bit down on her nail—a reaction to stress.

She never used to bite her nails.

"These are your friends," the therapist informed her, stepping slightly to the side as if to encourage her to focus on Spencer and JJ. "You might not remember them. They just dropped by to talk, to see you."

Slowly, she looked at JJ first, then at him.

He caught himself overanalyzing her every smallest gesture and movement, searching for something familiar. If she were herself, her eyes would have gone to the box first. A foreign object, yes, but held by someone she knew, someone she was friends with, someone she saw almost every day—the box would have instinctively drawn her gaze.

But instead, she looked at him first. A stranger standing in her room. Only then did she glance at what he was holding.

"I can stay if you feel like you need me to," he continued. "But if you'd rather I leave..."

"Stay," she finally spoke.

Though her voice was quiet, Spencer heard her with an almost heightened frequency. Each syllable distinct, separate, rather than a fluid sound.

The therapist nodded but subtly shifted into the corner, giving them space to talk.

Spencer met her gaze and tried to speak, but no words came out.

"I'm JJ," his friend finally said, stepping forward toward the woman she used to greet with a hug and a kiss on the cheek on various occasions.

This time, she extended a stiff hand instead.

"Jennifer Jareau, actually. Or maybe...maybe you know who I am?"

She didn't answer. And by not answering, she didn't deny it either. And so, Spencer felt a surge of a naive hope.

"Should I?" she asked.

JJ closed her eyes longer than a normal blink, trying not to show how much it affected her. Meanwhile, Spencer was staring at the box—at a pair of colorful earrings lying on the cover of the book he had picked up. Only then did he notice its title. A Case of Identity by Arthur Conan Doyle.

Oh, fuck you, coincidence. Do you always have to mock everything?

"And I'm Spencer Reid," he replied after a brief silence from all sides. He tucked the box under his arm so he could also shake her hand. That seemed like the right thing to do—touch from familiar people might help her remember them.

Her hand wrapped around his uncertainly, lightly, as if testing the waters.

"These are, um, things that might interest you. They..." He hesitated, unsure if he should phrase it that way. But pretending she truly wasn’t herself didn’t seem particularly helpful in the process of recovering her memory.

She was herself—just buried deep within.

And they had to reach for her slowly, subtly.

"They belong to you."

Her lips parted in surprise.

He handed her the box, and she stared at it, bewildered, yet drawn to it.

His heart pounded faster, and he struggled to swallow, his throat suddenly tight.

Unmoving, he watched—along with JJ and the therapist—as she sat down on the bed and silently examined the items.

Each of them, in their own way, hoped for a breakthrough.

The musical tickets confused her. The earrings, she simply called pretty. When she picked up the book, she only glanced at the cover before setting it aside without a trace of interest.

“Where did you get these?” she asked. “You said they were mine, but that’s not true. I’ve never seen them before.”

Before anyone could respond, her fingers caught one of the many photographs.

“Oh, that’s you. Oh, this boy…” she sighed, surprised at the sight of Henry’s picture.

JJ shifted uneasily, her face lighting up with something close to hope.

“He looks just like my brother when we were kids. Same hair.” She let out a quiet chuckle before tossing the photos back into the box.

"You don’t—" Spencer started, his tone almost sharp, surprising even himself.

He had meant to say You don’t have a brother, but he managed to stop himself. So did JJ’s hand, gently reaching for his forearm in a subtle gesture of restraint.

He drew in a deep breath, wincing slightly.

"You have no idea what a smart kid he is. His name is Henry."

She nodded, her gaze drifting between him and JJ.

"Your son?"

"My son," JJ corrected gently.

She let go of his forearm, but before she did, her eyes flicked to his watch. And the time.

"Spence, we have to go," she murmured.

He looked at her in surprise, then at his watch.

She was right—the small window of time allotted for their visit was nearly up.

He couldn’t even begin to articulate how deeply disappointed he felt. He hadn’t expected her to recognize them immediately, but he had hoped for something—some flicker of familiarity. A gesture, an expression, a phrase she used to say. Or at the very least, some tension, some sign that deep down, something inside her was fighting to surface.

Instead, she acted like a stranger who had stolen his friend’s face.

After they said their goodbyes—or rather, after JJ said goodbye, because he hadn’t managed to—they walked out into the hallway in silence.

He was too shaken, too numb. His body felt disconnected from his mind, moving only out of ingrained habit. If his muscles hadn’t carried him forward automatically, he might have collapsed face-first onto the floor.

“It was the first meeting,” JJ said after a long moment. “With time…with time, it’ll get better.”

Spencer only looked at her, wanting nothing more than to believe that.

ʚଓ

He wanted to visit her the next day, and the one after that, but something always got in the way.

Specifically, work.

Over twenty-four hours on high alert during an attempt to rescue a kidnapped child—an attempt that not only failed but ended in tragedy, with the unsub still at large. His eyes burned from exhaustion, and the edges of objects blurred if he stared at one spot for too long. When he finally decided he couldn't push through any longer (the first of his three standard milestones before completely collapsing), Hotch assigned him to an interrogation.

They had managed to track down several people from whom Lavinia and Leon had been acquiring medications and medical equipment. Spencer personally considered it a waste of time; he was convinced that no one knew where the woman they were searching for was—except for herself, of course. But he couldn’t exactly refuse an order, so he headed to the dimly lit interrogation room, feeling as though his tie was slowly strangling him.

During the questioning, he inadvertently managed to extract a piece of information from one of the men. It didn't necessarily bring them closer to catching Lavinia, but it was something that absolutely warranted FBI follow-up. That alone took hours, and in the meantime, at least twice, the rest of the team consulted him about their current unsub’s profile (the second of his three standard milestones before completely collapsing).

And when it was already late at night, there was still the report.

Hotch had made it clear that he wanted to see it on his desk before either of them left the office.

So, Spencer hovered over the documents, their pages tinted yellow under the glow of the desk lamp. The ticking of the clock filled the silence, and in his exhaustion—pushed to the point of absurdity—his brain started generating the sound of a cricket chirping, as if bitterly and ironically emphasizing its opinion on this amount of work and staying this late.

He was dangerously close to the third milestone, so he took a detour around logic.

Instead of finishing the report and going home, he started procrastinating—his chin resting on his hand, a pen in his fingers feeling as heavy as a barbell. They always had packed schedules, but this was starting to get excessive. Suspiciously excessive.

There was a high probability that exhaustion alone was making him unusually receptive to conspiracy theories, but that didn’t change the fact that one had started to take shape in his mind— as if it didn’t already have enough to deal with.

Either he was imagining it, or the boss showed up with another task at the exact moment he finally managed to finish the last one.

He didn’t suspect Hotch of plotting to work him to death. But he did suspect—just a little—that he wanted to keep him at the office as long as possible.

And that’s where the conspiracy part began.

It crept into his mind hesitantly, uncertainly, suggesting that maybe—just maybe—this was meant to keep him from visiting her again.

Why?

Well, no logical explanation came to mind, though he tried hard to find one. He clung to the thought. It wouldn’t leave him alone. Was it just a tool to stretch out this hazy, half-dreaming moment of procrastination, or was there actually something to it?

He never answered that question because then, someone knocked on his office door.

He quickly pulled the barely started report closer and pretended to be engrossed in it as Rossi walked in, a leather jacket slung over his shoulder.

"Have you even eaten anything today?" Rossi asked.

"Nice to see you too.

The older man stepped closer to his desk and placed a triangular sandwich in a plastic container on it. Spencer regarded it with mild surprise, but before he could thank him, Rossi spoke again.

"You've been here way too long," he noted. "I know you're using work to avoid thinking about everything that's going on. I get it, really, but you're going to burn yourself out, Reid."

Spencer gave a small shake of his head—not an energetic denial, just the barest movement.

"It's not like that," he refuted. "Not this time. I want to go home, but Hotch told me to finish this report."

"He could've had anyone else do it, seeing the state you're in."

"I'm not in any—"

Rossi cut him off with a sharp scoff.

"Have you seen yourself in a mirror lately?"

For a moment, Spencer just stared at him, exhausted eyes dull and unblinking. Then, without a word, he reached for the sandwich, his fingers trembling slightly from an excess of caffeine. Rossi sighed because, of course, he had noticed.

"How I look is the least of my concerns right now," Spencer muttered.

"This isn’t about anyone’s sense of aesthetics, though, forgive me for saying this—you look like hell. It’s about what’s happening to you."

He paused, waiting for Spencer to say something, but he simply stuffed his mouth with the sandwich, so Rossi decided to continue. He spared him the lecture about his health, though.

"What about her? Any progress?"

The food started to swell in his mouth, and he struggled to swallow it. The reason was simple. Guilt.

"I've only seen her once," he admitted. The thought gnawed at him. In a way, it was because of him that she had been kidnapped, he hadn’t done anything to save her, and after everything, he hadn’t even been there for her. Friend of the year, truly. The best she could have ever wished for. He felt the need to justify himself in Rossi’s eyes. To make sure he didn’t think he was avoiding her because he was too weak to face it. "But that’s only because I practically live here."

Rossi nodded, watching him analytically.

"From what I’ve heard, though, there hasn’t been any improvement," Spencer added after a moment.

"These things take time. But she’ll pull through soon, trust me."

"I don’t understand it," Reid blurted out, his voice slightly louder, shedding its usual apathetic tone. It had been festering inside him for days, growing, and he didn’t know why it chose to escalate and escape right then, in that dimly lit office—but he let it.

"She was holding up so well…I mean, what she went through was horrific, and I’d do anything to keep her from experiencing it…We watched those streams, you saw them too. She was pretending to be Lydia, I thought, No I didn't think she was actually becoming her…If that were true, she wouldn’t have done what she did then…”

"As you said, she’s been through a lot," Rossi replied, watching him with quiet concern. Because of course, Spencer’s voice had faltered as he got the words out, and with exhaustion clinging to him so completely, he must have looked like nothing more than a pathetic, broken mess. “Trauma finally caught up to her. Before, she was too focused on surviving. But now she’s safe. She has access to professional help, she has us, she has you. She’ll be okay,” he tried to reassure him. “Go home.”

“What?”

Reid froze, thinking he must have misheard.

“I said, go home. Get some rest. I’ll finish the report for you.”

“No, Rossi, you can’t—”

“As it happens, I can. I’d rather stay late for one evening than have to watch you in this state again tomorrow,” Rossi said, taking advantage of Reid’s surprise to snatch the report from right under his nose. He let out a chuckle when it became clear the report was practically blank.

At Reid’s incredulous look, he just shrugged. “What? I mean it. Go home. And tomorrow, I’ll do whatever I can to make sure you can go see her. Even if it means yelling at Hotch.”

He hesitantly rose from behind his desk, his gaze still fixed on it. He could see from Rossi’s expression that he was sincere, that he truly cared about him—and that feeling tightened something in his chest.

“I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Then don’t. Just go. Seriously, get the hell out.”

For the first time in days, a faint smile appeared on his lips. He grabbed his half-eaten sandwich and reached for the bag waiting for him beside his desk. Just as he slung it over his shoulder and cast one last grateful glance at Rossi before heading toward the door, they opened—without his doing.

In other words, they opened because someone else had stepped inside.

At the sight of Hotch, he froze, his fingers tightening anxiously around the strap of his bag.

At the sight of JJ standing behind him, his brow furrowed in deep confusion.

The two of them, here, at this hour? Right at the moment he was about to dump his responsibilities onto Rossi? Sometimes, fate really seemed to hate him.

"I need a word with you," Hotch announced, his face as unreadable as ever.

He didn’t seem surprised to see another team member there. JJ, on the other hand, was avoiding his gaze, her arms stiffly crossed over her chest. They both stepped inside, forcing Spencer to take a step back.

"Oh, Aaron, give it a rest already," Rossi sighed, rolling his eyes. "Just look at him. He looks like he’s about to drop dead any second now, and he probably will. It was cruel to make him stay in the first place—"

"Dave, this will only take a moment," Hotch cut him off.

"What is this about?" Spencer asked, his voice hoarse.

He was exhausted, desperate to go home, but he couldn't suppress his curiosity. Or the worry creeping in as he thought about it more. A chill ran down his spine, making him stand a little straighter. Had something happened? Was it about her? Had she regained her memory?No, judging by their expressions…

"I think we have an idea on how to catch Lavinia," JJ spoke up, glancing at her boss from the corner of her eye.

She seemed tense, almost hesitant, and Spencer couldn't help but wonder if this was truly a plan they had come up with together. What exactly did it entail to make her react this way?

"But it will require…uh, it will require—"

"We want her to hold a press conference," Hotch clarified for her, pausing to let the weight of his words fully register with Reid.

It didn’t.

Spencer had no idea what he meant. Neither did Rossi, who crossed his arms over his chest and silently mouthed what?

"We'll make sure it's broadcasted on every possible channel. Wherever Lavinia is, she's likely keeping track of the news and any police activity related to her," JJ continued, running her fingers through her hair in thought. "When she sees that she has her sister's identity… we're assuming she'll believe her ritual was a success, that Lydia truly has been reborn in her body."

Either due to exhaustion or because the plan simply made no sense, he struggled to follow their reasoning. But the longer he sat in silence, analyzing it, the more he started to grasp what they were trying to convey.

"But," Rossi began, crossing his arms. "Let's assume she does believe that. Then what? How exactly does that help us catch her?"

"Lavinia lost her brother and was left alone," Hotch said. "And for her, their sibling bond was always the most important thing. We believe she's delusional enough to actually believe this—more than that, to come back for someone she thinks is her sister. But she's also cautious and will likely consider the possibiity that we're setting a trap."

"Which means we need to plan this carefully. As... as Lydia, she has to be convincing. She needs to mention something only the two of them would know..."

Spencer raised his eyebrows higher and higher at the blonde woman.

"And how exactly is she supposed to do that if she's not Lydia and doesn't have that information?"

"Oh, c’mon, Garcia will definitely be able to dig up some details from their childhood. Besides, she spent some time with the twins. Leon told her a lot about them. She just needs to agree to say what we've rehearsed with her beforehand. And that's where we might have a problem—she might not want her sister, or well, someone who thinks she's her sister, to get caught”

JJ paused for a moment, her gaze locking with his, catching his eye.

"You need to help me convince her," she asked.

For a brief moment, Spencer stood motionless, unsure of how to respond. Rossi didn’t seem to know what to say either. The two of them had managed to explain the plan reasonably well, but when he tried to imagine her in front of cameras, talking about her sister as if she truly was Lydia, as if she had really been reborn in her body, he felt a wave of nausea. He shook his head in disbelief.

“No. No, no, no way,” he started repeating, even though he wasn’t quite sure how to justify it yet. No, and that was it. “This…this is like encouraging her to stay Lydia. To stay without her true identity. What if it makes her condition worse?”

“It’s just one press conference. Alright, maybe two. Enough to gain Lavinia’s trust and suggest a place where they could meet. So far, there hasn’t been any progress, nothing we could undo or waste. At least…at least maybe we can catch the person who did this to her.”

Her words hurt because, in a way, she was right. There hadn’t been any progress they could ruin. However, that didn’t mean he was going to agree to it. The small chance, the risky and somewhat flawed plan to catch Lavinia, shouldn’t matter more than the potential harm it could cause to her, their best friend. They should be helping her regain her memories, not feeding her head with new, false ones that didn’t belong to her and forcing her to speak of them convincingly, reinforcing the identity of an imposter.

"It will hurt her," he said quietly, trying to reach JJ, even though it was clear she had doubts too. She had to—this was about the godmother of her son. He clung to the belief that she had those doubts. He looked at both of them, including Hotch, who, it seemed, briefly lowered his gaze. "Do you really want to risk her health?"

He hesitated before responding. Spencer had long given up on deluding himself that he truly understood the emotions hidden behind that serious facade.

“We’ll consult with her therapist,” he finally decided. “But if he agrees, then that’s exactly what we’ll do. No matter your personal doubts.”

He exchanged glances with both of them before they left the room. JJ looked as though she wanted to stay and discuss it with him one more time, but his expression made it clear that he wasn't up for it, and she relented.

The only thing he wanted now was to go home. Thank goodness Rossi had agreed to finish that report for him.

ʚଓ

“She did something bad, didn’t she?” she asked. “That’s why you’re looking for her. And that’s why you want me to help you.”

She was sitting on her bed at the facility, one of the available books left open beside her when they walked in. She looked at JJ with clear distrust. The moment they brought up Lavinia, she tensed, and her responses became sharper, as if she was determined to defend her sister at all costs.

Spencer stood a few steps away, arms crossed over his chest, listening more than actively participating in the conversation. As always, he found himself staring at her. The injuries on her face were healing, and in theory, she should have been looking more familiar to him. But it was the opposite. Even in silence, she no longer resembled the person he once knew.

Missing someone who was right there beside you was something truly difficult to describe. He could say that the feeling only grew stronger the more time he spent with her, which felt almost paradoxical. When he visited her, he spoke little. He simply couldn’t bear the way she answered his questions or addressed him, treating him like a complete stranger.

He berated himself for it in his thoughts. She wouldn’t remember who she was if he didn’t communicate with her. On top of that, he was placing the entire burden of this situation on JJ. He rubbed his temples, feeling the growing pulse within them. Thanks to Rossi, he had managed to get home a little earlier, but that didn’t mean he had gotten any sleep. The thoughts and worries haunting him weren’t the kind he could simply jot down in the journal on his nightstand, pour out of himself, and empty his mind in the process. They had long since seeped into it.

He still didn’t trust the plan to capture Lavinia, even though he had agreed to go with JJ to the facility to discuss it with her. Deep down, he hoped she would refuse.

“You’re right,” JJ said after a moment of careful thought, choosing her words with great precision. “She did something wrong, something that can’t be undone. But running only makes things worse. If she comes back on her own, the consequences will be far less severe. Someone has to convince her, and we thought you would be the best person for that,” she paused, her lips trembling before she forced out the next words. “As her sister.”

He watched as the woman swallowed, hesitation nesting in the corners of her face. Spencer, looking at her, tried to pierce into her mind and decipher the inner monologue unfolding within. What did it look like from the inside? Did she truly believe she had become someone else, or was there a lingering feeling that something was off?

How far would he have to go, wander, and search to stumble upon the remnants of her true identity—something that could be rebuilt and revived?

The sound of a phone ringing broke the silence. JJ reached into her pocket and whispered a quick apology before stepping out into the hallway, leaving them alone.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. An unpleasant feeling coiled in his stomach.

"You can sit," she finally said, nodding toward the spot their friend had occupied just seconds ago. "If you want."

"I’m fine," he replied.

A moment later, he sat down.

Something strange began to weigh down the air the moment he did. Physically, he was close to her, yet for once, physical proximity did not define reality—it deceived it. They were far apart, so far that he had no idea what to say. What to talk about with her.

"If Lavinia comes back," she suddenly began, shifting her gaze to him and fixing it on his face. Did something in her subconscious recognize him? "Will I be able to see her?"

He hesitated before answering. If he denied it—if he truthfully said that if Lavinia came back, she would never leave prison again—he would likely cause her to refuse. Hotch’s entire plan would collapse before it even began because she wouldn’t agree to take part in the press conference.

“Yes,” he finally forced out, against his better judgment. He didn’t know what had tipped the scale. He had been ready to observe his team’s scheme from the sidelines, yet he couldn’t face her alone. “If it works. And she comes back.”

For a moment, her expression blurred, her gaze unfocused. She must have been lost in the vision of seeing her sister again—he could almost swear the corners of her lips lifted in a dreamy, longing way. He looked away, unable to watch as the thought of someone who had hurt her so deeply evoked a better reaction than seeing him did.

JJ still hadn’t returned—she must have received an important call. They sat in silence. His gaze landed on the cardboard box in the corner of the room, the one filled with the things he had brought her. He recalled the frantic state he had been in while packing it, grabbing item after item, hoping they would help restore her memory. They had failed. Maybe they had never had that kind of power to begin with. Maybe he should try himself instead of relying on keepsakes.

“H-how…how do you feel here?” he asked at last, hesitating. “I mean…in this place.”

She seemed surprised that he was starting a conversation with her. She studied him for a moment without saying a word, then shrugged slightly.

“It’s nice here,” she said. There was a lot of emptiness between her words. There wasn’t much more she could say when she wasn’t there entirely by choice. Or even fully understood why she was there. “Just a little boring. I mostly read.”

He felt even guiltier for not spending more time with her. He was just about to speak when she added:

“And I really miss my siblings.”

Spencer stayed silent, not knowing how to respond. He got angry every time she said something like that—not at her, of course, but at everything that had happened to her, everything that had led her to this state.

“It’s good that you have books,” he said quietly. “Have you read the one I gave you?”

She furrowed her brows before finally remembering.

“Oh, that one. No, sorry. I don’t think it’s really my thing. What about you? Do you like it?”

He nodded.

"One of my favorites."

"Maybe I should give it a chance, then," she mused.

Spencer nodded again. He remembered the annotations in it, the small pencil notes in the margins. They had both written down what they thought the solution to the mystery would be.

"I think you'll like it. It's Sherlock Holmes."

"Then no wonder it's one of your favorites. I mean, you're with the police, right?"

"With the FBI."

"And you're here, visiting me, because something happened to me."

He froze on the spot, not expecting the conversation to take this turn. Was she starting to remember something? He struggled to find words, so he just nodded again. The pressure inside him grew, tightening his chest and buzzing in his head.

"Yeah. Yeah, that's why...Do you remember anything?"

He hoped she would hesitate, that something would start to break through the fog clouding her mind. He waited for her answer, his gaze locked onto her with quiet desperation.

She shook her head.

"Nothing at all," she said.

Spencer couldn't hold back a disappointed sigh, and at the sound of it, she flinched slightly.

"I'm sorry."

Their eyes met and held for a long moment.

He was about to say she had nothing to be sorry for—that none of this was her fault—but something in her gaze stopped him. There was sadness there, the kind you don’t direct at a stranger. Unless, of course, you're a natural-born empath. But usually, it's just a trace of pity, dusted with awkward sympathy.

With her, it was genuine sorrow. And something else.

She looked away.

"I'm back," JJ announced, stepping through the doorway and tucking her phone into the pocket of her jeans.

Her eyes landed on them, sitting side by side. It was clear what they had been talking about. For a brief second, her expression brightened—but then she caught sight of their faces and hesitated, momentarily thrown off.

"It was...a call about the conference happening tomorrow," she explained. "The one we really want you to be part of."

A moment of silence stretched between them as JJ cast a meaningful look at the woman sitting beside him.

For a second, it was impossible to tell what she was going to say. Would she refuse, realizing that their main goal was to capture her sister? Or would the need to see her again win out? And, more importantly, had she believed him earlier?

"What do you want me to say?" she asked.

Her tone sounded like agreement.

Spencer exchanged a glance with JJ, wondering if she truly believed they were doing the right thing.

"We'll give you a script and go over everything with you, so don't worry," JJ assured her. "We just need to know...hm...we need to know if you and Lavinia had any places that were important to you as siblings…”

They spent another hour at the facility, listening to her suggestions—her memories, or at least what she believed to be memories.

She knew a surprising amount.

And the worst part was that she spoke with such conviction, as if she genuinely believed she had lived through it all.

ʚଓ

You had never been in front of cameras before.

Or rather, you had once, a long time ago, but the experience was so small and insignificant that it had disappeared from your memory. You had never stood in front of cameras knowing that everything—your face, your voice, your body language, your behavior—would be broadcast on national television.

You were incredibly nervous, despite all the preparation. You didn’t have to think about what to say; you simply followed the guidelines given to you by the agents working with you. They handed you the script that you had built together. They told you that Lavinia might not believe you were really her sister, which seemed absurd to you. Why wouldn’t she believe it? You were family. You came from the same womb, and you had always, always trusted each other. No one provided you with an explanation, and eventually, you gave up on the questions, focusing on other things instead.

Your words had to be planned. They had to form a code, one that could only be understood by her, for her. There were going to be two conferences. In the first, you only had to introduce yourself. Show that you were truly yourself, whatever that meant. In the second... they hadn’t explained that to you yet. But they had asked about some place that only you two knew about. You didn’t understand why, but you felt a strange emptiness in your head when they asked. The more you thought about it, the more anxiety gripped your body. What if you couldn’t name any place? What if you never saw your sister?

Finally, you managed to force out the name of your family’s hometown. The last foster family you were sent to. You hadn’t been there long, only two years, but it was the only place that truly felt like home.

"Please, be honest with me. Did I do well?" you asked, looking at the blonde woman.

JJ, as they called her.

She bit her lip, hesitating before answering. It was right after the conference, and she had taken you for a walk outside the center so you could clear your head a little. It was nice to finally leave that strange place. The trees were much more beautiful when you could walk past them instead of being confined to watching them through a window. Why did you have to stay there? Why couldn’t you just go back to...you didn’t even know where. To Lavinia, you could have said.

"Well, it was clear you were stressed," she started, and you frowned, so she quickly added, "But don’t worry. It’s normal, anyone would be stressed in your shoes. The important thing is that you got all the necessary information across. In two days, you'll have another conference, and I'm sure you'll do better then."

For a moment, you stared at her in silence. It seemed like she wasn’t telling you the whole truth. That, secretly, she was dissatisfied. in fact, it always felt like you weren’t getting access to the full truth. There were always these unspoken things, doubts. People even looked at you in a strange way. Her and that other agent.

Oh, especially him. Although looked was too strong a word. He avoided your gaze. Spencer, the surname slipped your mind. Spence, JJ called him.

She didn't form an opinion about either of them, but while she could say that JJ was nice and seemed to care about her, she couldn't say the same about him. He appeared less often, spoke little, and when he did, it seemed like he forced himself to say each word, holding back a grimace every time she opened her mouth. However, he stared at her when he thought she wasn't looking.

How should she interpret such behavior? The more she tried to understand it, the more she thought about him, and when she did, a buzzing filled her head, like the sound you get from awkwardly adjusting a radio dial.

JJ’s phone started ringing, and with a sigh, she reached into her jeans pocket, murmuring apologies under her breath.

You decided to focus on the walk, pushing aside thoughts of the press conference, of finding Lavinia, and of the peculiar agent for a brief moment. It wasn’t like they wouldn’t let you leave the four walls of your room entirely. You just couldn’t leave the building alone, and while someone always accompanied you, with JJ by your side, you felt much less watched. More at ease.

“What? What happened?” she asked, pressing the phone tighter to her ear. Suddenly, her eyes widened. “Oh. I understand, I understand, I’m so sorry. It’s just…Will’s not home, would you be able to...yes? Thank you...”

You watched with curiosity as she tucked the phone away. She seemed slightly shaken, but not completely rattled.

“It’s the neighbor who was supposed to take care of my little one,” she explained, noticing the look on your face. “She called because her mom was admitted to the hospital...My husband is also at work, so I asked her to drop him off here. Hope it’s not an issue if we head back a little earlier?”

You felt a bit disappointed, but understood that these things happened. You shook your head in denial and soon, you both turned back toward the center. Within minutes of walking, a car pulled up beside you, and a small boy jumped out. The woman behind the wheel offered a few more apologies before driving off.

JJ looked at her son, then at you. She swallowed and made a sound, as though searching for the right words, probably about to introduce you, but the blond-haired boy beat her to it.

In fact, he threw himself into your arms.

“Auntie!” he exclaimed joyfully, colliding with you, his little body crashing against yours.

At first, you completely froze in place, not expecting this at all. But as the initial shock passed, or rather just a fraction of a second earlier, you reacted almost instinctively, holding the boy tightly and closing your eyes with a strange feeling of relief in your chest.

When you opened your eyes, you immediately caught JJ’s gaze.

You hold it for too long, and by then, you already knew she knew.

ʚଓ

"Are you leaving?"

Spencer didn’t freeze upon hearing his boss’s question. In fact, he was—he had finished his work and had every right to do so. He slung his bag over his shoulder and gave a confirming nod.

"As you can see."

The coldness in his tone had long since slipped out of his control. He was too tired for anger, so he stuck to his short, sharp replies and cynically thrown statements, all while ignoring the echoing question in his mind if was this behavior leading him anywhere?

"Reid," Hotch called him back before he could take even a single step away. Lately, it seemed like he was constantly holding back a tired sigh. Well, with one of their team members suffering from memory loss, a serial killer still on the loose, and yet another case just beginning, it was taking a toll on all of them.

"I have to ask you not to visit her today."

He remained silent for a moment before letting out a short laugh. He wasn’t particularly surprised to hear something like that from Hotch. Well, he would have been once. But lately, things had changed a lot between them.

"There's another press conference tomorrow," Hotch explained, watching his reaction without so much as blinking. "She did terribly at the last one. I assume you're aware of that. If we want everything to go according to plan—"

"We have to keep letting her believe she's Lydia, resurrected through some ritual," he finished sarcastically. A surge of anger clenched his chest, but it faded quickly, replaced by nothing more than sheer disappointment. That was probably the best word for it.

"This is hurting her. What does it matter if we catch Lavinia if she ends up staying like this forever?"

His voice wavered slightly, and for a brief moment, it seemed like something close to concern flickered in Hotch’s eyes before he pushed it down.

"Recovering memories takes time, Reid. Just because she hasn’t yet—"

"Oh, I’m well aware that it takes time. You don’t need to explain that to me." He exhaled sharply, irritation laced in his tone. "What I also know is that by now, there should have been some progress. Even the smallest sign."

He took a deep breath, recalling the last time he saw her. After that conversation about books—when he thought he'd caught something strange in her expression—he had stuck to his decision and visited her as often as work allowed. He had hoped to dig down to that spark again, to turn it into something bigger. But maybe he had been wrong. Despite the few conversations they’d had since, her eyes still didn’t light up at the sight of him like they once did. There was only unfamiliarity in them.

"Don't you think it might be different if we didn't force her to pretend in front of cameras that she's someone else? Or if you didn’t keep me here until ridiculous hours, making it impossible for her to see the people she actually knows?"

"I'm only keeping you here as long as necessary. And right now, it is very necessary."

"Or," Reid lowered his voice, suddenly aware of the weight of his own words, "you're doing it on purpose, so she doesn't regain her memories too quickly."

A shadow flickered across Hotch’s face.

"Because that wouldn't be convenient for the case."

Reid swallowed. "I thought… I thought you could see us as more than just coworkers, Hotch."

His boss’s jaw tensed, but it didn’t stop him from continuing. Before he spoke again, Spencer took a deep breath, making sure his voice was even lower. If he was going to say this, he was going to be brutally honest.

"Because we’ve always seen you as more than that. As family. At least—I did."

For a moment, they remained motionless before Reid finally tore his gaze away from Hotch’s unreadable face and walked away, not giving him a chance to respond. Not that he thought Hotch would have continued the conversation anyway.

Lowering his eyes to his hands, he realized they were trembling. He clenched them into fists to stop it. He had let out a lot, but it hadn’t brought him any relief. If anything, saying it out loud had made it hurt even more.

He left the office with measured steps, his breathing slightly uneven. Despite the request that had started this conversation—this argument, or rather his own bitter monologue—he decided to go there anyway. To her.

A strange nervousness settled in his chest, a sense of foreboding he couldn’t shake. His desperation had reached its peak. He knew this visit wouldn’t be like the last ones, when he had carefully measured his words, speaking softly so as not to overwhelm or frighten her.

This time, a little turmoil—some real emotion—might be exactly what was needed.

It might be the spark.

He was afraid that Hotch might have made a call revoking his right to visit her. So, upon arriving at the facility, he tried not to draw attention to himself and slipped into her room as discreetly as possible.

She was sitting by the window, a closed book resting on her lap. She wasn’t reading, but the moment she heard the door open, she suddenly grabbed it, as if caught off guard. However, when she saw that it was him, the book fell limply in her hands.

“Um, hi,” she said, showing him the book’s cover. It wasn’t the one they had discussed. “I still haven’t started that one, I’ll admit it. But like I said, I don’t think it’s really for me…”

She trailed off, watching as he approached the small bookshelf and pulled out the book in question—the one filled with their shared notes and annotations.

Gripping it a little too tightly, he sat down across from her.

“But I think it is for you,” he said. His voice came out weak, despite his efforts to keep it steady, despite the storm of emotions raging inside him.

He handed her the book—almost pushed it into her hands.

“Open it.”

She raised her eyebrows.

“On any page. Please.”

It was clear she had no idea what he was getting at or why he was staring at her so intensely. But he wasn’t asking for the impossible—just for her to open a book—so she only sighed quietly and complied, curiosity flickering in her eyes.

She flipped to the first page and started skimming through, too fast and too carelessly.

“Read the margins,” he urged, his voice rough with something dangerously close to pleading. He swallowed hard. “D-do you recognize it?”

The woman remained still, her gaze tracing the pencil-written sentences on the pages. For a moment, Spencer could hear nothing but the pounding of his own heart, drowning out everything else.

“You wrote them.”

She let out a surprised scoff and shook her head.

“I’m seeing this for the first time in my life.”

“It’s your handwriting,” he repeated, louder this time. “Yours. Our notes. I gave you this book a while ago. Three years ago. Exactly one thousand one hundr—”

“I’m seeing this for the first time in my life!” she cut him off, raising her voice as well. She lifted her hands as if to cover her face, to steady her breath that was growing too fast, too out of control.

Spencer caught them—too abruptly. She flinched when her skin touched his.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, loosening his grip but not letting go. He simply held her hands as gently as he could, momentarily paralyzed by the sensation. He rarely exchanged handshakes, but when he did, he remembered them vividly. This touch, this specific feeling, was the only thing about her that had remained unchanged.

He smiled faintly, in a way that was both bewildered and heartbreakingly fragile.

The woman remained silent. Her gaze was fixed on their intertwined hands, her chest rising and falling in erratic rhythm.

"Look at them again," he pleaded. "Do you recognize them? Your handwriting? Your thoughts?" He paused to swallow. "Do you recognize me?"

Their eyes met. Hers were wide, his head tilted slightly in a silent, almost prayerful gesture. And then, gently, almost imperceptibly, she nodded.

For a fleeting moment, he thought he might have imagined it. His breath halted entirely.

"You recognize me?"

"I do," she replied.

She looked down, but not at their hands this time—just away, retreating for a second.

"You're the agent working on my case. Because something happened to me. Something involving my sister. You visit me, so yes, I do recognize you."

All the hope that had begun to build within him shattered. It escaped as a short, broken sound—somewhere between a whimper and a sob of sheer helplessness.

For a moment, he thought it had worked.

That he had her.

That he had her back.

Spencer drew in a breath—he had to.

And then he did something absolutely spontaneous, reckless, unreasonable… in some way, even downright selfish.

For one last time, he lowered his gaze to their hands, shut his eyes, and leaned forward—before logic could catch up to him.

The unexpected pressure of his lips made her freeze. Shock tightened her grip on his hands, but otherwise, she barely moved. Holding her breath—just like him.

For him, it was tied to anticipation, to a foolish sliver of hope.

He had no idea why he, Dr. Spencer Reid, a devoted friend of reason, had chosen such a… fairy-tale-like gesture. Did he truly believe it would work? Some tiny part of him must have. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have done it.

And, God, he almost wanted to laugh at his own stupidity.

But then something happened that stopped him from laughing at himself.

She moved within the kiss—not to return it, but to examine it, almost as if she were testing something. He inhaled sharply through his nose, just as she jerked away from him as if burned, her eyes blazing with fury.

She said something, but he couldn’t hear it over the deafening rush in his ears. It happened. She…

"I want you to leave," the words spilled from her lips—lips he had just kissed.

It was like waking up from a trance. He shook his head.

“N-no, I— but I—”

“Before I call security.”

Spencer stared at her, his eyes wide. She looked straight into them, not avoiding him.For what felt like the thousandth time, he searched for something familiar in them. Anything.

She yanked her hands free from his grasp and nodded toward the door.

ʚଓ

two weeks earlier

Even though you had regained consciousness some time ago, you remained in a state of half-sleep for a while—where sounds around you alternated between growing louder and fading away, where your body sometimes floated on soft waves and at other times lay buried beneath tons of rubble, where your eyelids trembled against the hospital room’s light.

You forced them open with difficulty, immediately colliding with someone’s dark irises. Upon noticing your movement, they softened with fleeting relief—but only for a brief moment.

"It’s good to have you back," he said, though his voice carried no real ease. On the contrary, it was filled with an insistent tension that compelled him to speak again before you could utter a word. You were in a hospital. The events of the past few days began flashing through your mind.

“Am…I…” you started, but your weak, hoarse voice made it barely intelligible. You forced yourself to swallow. “Am I safe now?”

You needed to hear it from someone else to believe it.

Hotch didn’t answer your question. He just stared at you, motionless.

“She escaped,” he stated simply.

A crushing noise filled your ears. How was it possible that she had managed to get away? Just picturing that woman’s face, remembering the suffering she had inflicted on you, sent a jolt through your body.

You gathered every ounce of strength you had—some borrowed on credit—and pushed yourself up into a sitting position so you could look your boss in the eye.

“No.”

You shook your head, refusing to accept this reality. In truth, you wanted to scream—at Hotch, at the team, at everyone involved in the rescue mission for somehow letting this happen. At yourself, for not making sure you’d be free once and for all, the way you had with Leon. His memory flashed too vividly before your eyes—or rather the memory of his shattered skull.

You looked down at your hands. The blood had been washed away.

You almost choked on air as another wave of realization crashed over you.

“No,” you repeated. “We have to do something, Hotch. We have to catch her as soon as possible. Are there even any active searches? What about the airports and—”

“We’ve implemented all necessary procedures,” he assured you. “But keep in mind how cunning an escape artist Lavinia is. We might not be able to track her down right away. And if she refrains from further kidnappings, if she withdraws from the criminal world…”

“You’re telling me we might never catch her?”

Hotch remained silent for a long moment.

“Not exactly,” he finally said. “I’d say we might not be able to catch her using standard methods.”

He had only suggested it. The rest—the entire plan—was almost entirely your creation. The mere thought of Lavinia roaming free somewhere, even far away, made you sick to your stomach. You knew the nausea wouldn’t subside until handcuffs adorned her wrists. Just like the nightmares, the fear, and the lingering psychological terror wouldn’t fade. You were willing to sacrifice a lot.

In a way, even your own identity.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Hotch asked, once everything had been decided. "Do you really think you can pull off being Lydia? Enough to fool her own sister?"

You nodded without hesitation.

For a moment, he just stared at you, searching for any sign of doubt. Though he was a man of reason and logic, in crisis situations, he could commit to even the most reckless plans—if he saw a glimmer of hope, even the slightest chance of success.

"Hotch," you called out just before he stepped away from your bed, before he could leave the room.

Your throat felt dry again.

This next part—this next decision—you weren’t as sure about. But there was no time for hesitation. You had to trust your instincts. They had saved your life before.

"This stays between us."

His face flickered with surprise.

"If I’m going to become her, I need to believe it, at least in part," you explained. "I have to immerse myself as fully as possible. I can’t do that if every one around me knows the truth and keeps treating me like me. That’s why you can’t tell anyone."

"Not even…?"

Alone in the room, you touched your lips.

Spencer had just left—or rather, you had made him leave.

You had to.

You couldn't allow the mask you'd so carefully crafted to slip, even a little. Yet every time you spoke to him, it loosened, piece by piece. That was why you had asked Hotch to keep him away, to make sure he wouldn’t visit you again. When he agreed, when he kept the two of you apart, you knew there was no turning back. You were fully committed to the plan now.

At some point, you caught yourself linking Lavinia with the concept of a sister, losing track of your own reality, getting tangled in the web of your own thoughts and memories.

It had gone too far.

The only thing that stopped you from completely losing yourself was the conversation you'd had a few days ago, right before your first press conference. That conversation had been both a relief and a disappointment.

Because of it, you'd faltered.

And in this plan, everything depended on you.

You couldn’t afford another mistake.

Meanwhile, tomorrow's press conference loomed, and you sat by the window, an open book resting on your lap, still feeling the ghost of his lips on yours.

Your mind was clear. Sharp.

More aware of who you were—who you really were—than ever before.

Fuck.

ʚଓ

"If Lavinia watched the last press conference—and let’s hope she did—she’ll probably watch this one too," JJ muttered, standing across from you in the room where you were getting ready. Neither of you met the other's gaze, like two bullets that would explode on impact, tearing everything apart. "She probably already suspects you’re trying to send her a message, but she won’t think the FBI is involved. You need to mention the town where she and Lydia grew up, but subtly. Don’t say the name outright, just hint at it, maybe—"

"The town where we grew up," you cut in.

The words felt strange in your mouth. Just yesterday, calling Lydia yourself had been instinctive, as natural as breathing. But then Spencer happened. Then that stupid kiss happened. And after that, nothing felt natural anymore.

JJ’s correction made her look you in the eyes for the first time since she had figured it out—since your reaction to Henry hgging you had given you away.

You knew Hotch had let her in on the plan and ordered her not to tell anyone. But that didn’t mean she supported your actions. In fact, once the initial shock and relief had passed, all that was left was anger. Until now, she hadn’t allowed herself to explode or confront you.

Until now.

“How…how can you even do this?” she snapped suddenly, shaking her head in genuine disbelief. “Lying to us like this, playing a role while we’re all worried about you. Me, Derek, Emily, Penelope…” She started listing the team membersbut the last name got caught in her throat. She didn’t say it with frustration—just a quiet, precise accusation. “Spencer. Do you even know what he’s going through? And can you imagine how he’ll react when he…”

"And do you have any idea what I’m going through?" you hissed, completely breaking character. "Knowing that the woman who kidnapped me, tortured me, made me take care of a dead body, tried to drain my blood, and nearly killed me is still out there, living free?"

You scolded yourself immediately, ordered to get back into the act. The press conference was starting in just a few minutes—you had to stay in character. But it was unbelievably difficult when your best friend didn’t even seem to try to understand your situation.

"And you really think this is the only way to catch her?" JJ pressed. "This was reckless from the start—"

"It’s not the only way, but it’s the one I chose," you cut her off. "And trusting my own plans, relying on myself and my instincts, is what saved my life. When you couldn’t. So, forgive me for sticking with what works."

Her eyes remained wide open, her chest still, as if she had forgotten how to breathe. When she finally tried to draw air into her lungs, her whole body trembled.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to steady the shaking inside. You had hoped that letting out the anger—so deeply tied to who you were—would help you set it aside. At least for the duration of the press conference.

You both knew it was time to leave the room. JJ seemed to be waiting for you to turn toward the door.

"You could have at least told us," she said quietly.

Your hand closed around the doorknob, holding it too tightly, for too long.

For a moment, you were back in that small, freezing room where Lydia’s body had lain. Her hair fanned out over the pillow, the teeth of a comb gently untangling each strand. Her wrists, marked by wounds. The door that never opened. The closet where you had spent an entire day—the only way to survive the cold without freezing to death.

"No," you said simply. "I couldn’t."

ʚଓ

Spencer had a feeling that JJ had been acting strangely for a while now.

It was hard to pinpoint whether it had been like this from the very beginning. Ever since this whole thing started, they hadn’t actually spent much time together. Most hours, he was buried in work. Sure, they usually went to the facility together, but during those moments, his mind was occupied with other things—not with analyzing whatever was hidden in her expression.

They found themselves facing each other across the jet, separated only by a table and some sort of barricade that seemed to have appeared relatively recently. She avoided his gaze. Her answers were more general, but then she would almost as if reconsidering, add something after the pause. It was as though she was aware that her behavior betrayed whatever it was she was hiding, and she was desperately trying to mask it. The thing was, it was too late.

Or maybe she was just tired, like all of them, like him. Or maybe it was him slipping into paranoia again. What could she possibly be hiding from him? His gaze involuntarily shifted to Prentiss, sipping her coffee.. For a long time, he had struggled to forgive them for the lie, but eventually, he understood that it had been necessary. The circumstances had justified it. But now? What is happening now?

He was quickly distracted by the sight of someone else. The whole team was present on the jet, including her. During the conference, she had done what they asked of her, subtly encoding the message in the meeting. They hoped that Lavinia, driven by the desire to reunite with her beloved sister—who had been brought back from the dead—would not only understand it, but also respond by showing up at the brief location mentioned.

Asheville was a city in North Carolina, where the triplets had been taken in by one of the many foster families throughout their lives. It was said to have truly been their home, the only place where they hadn’t experienced the cruelty of another human being, someone who was supposed to care for them.

Spencer watched her staring out of the window. Of course, she believed it was her first time flying on a jet. She sat directly across from Prentiss, who, by the way, had initially been against bringing her along. In the end, they hadn’t taken her for her knowledge of the area, which she clearly didn’t have, but to possibly lure Lavinia in.

"The couple that adopted them back then is no longer acting as foster parents to anyone," Morgan sat down next to them, his nose buried in the prepared files, flipping through them with little emotion. "The siblings spent exactly three years with them, from the age of fifteen to eighteen. After that, their trail goes cold until the first kidnapping. Doesn’t it make you wonder what happened to them during that time?"

Spencer shrugged. He didn’t feel very present in his body.

“Maybe they’ll answer that question for us,” JJ muttered. Of course, they had planned to interrogate them. “Assuming they know themselves. What exactly do they do, by the way?”

Mrs. Thomas opened the door for them, pressing a hand to her chest at the sight of the FBI on her doorstep. She was dressed in a brown button-up dress with a simple pattern, fastened high at the neck. She appeared outwardly elegant, but Spencer noticed that the fabric of her dress was visibly wrinkled, her eyes looked tired, and her face was gaunt.

“My husband isn’t home,” she announced almost immediately. Then, suddenly, her lips parted in alarm. “Oh, God, did something happen to him…?”

Morgan quickly reassured her with a gesture of his hand.

“This is about something else entirely. Actually, we’d just like to talk.”

They were invited inside. JJ accompanied them as well, while the rest of the team had been assigned to other tasks related to the search for Lavinia. Also, someone also had to keep an eye on her. Of course, they couldn't bring her to the Thomases. To them, she would be nothing more than a stranger claiming to be their former foster child.

When the woman was asked about the triplets, her face showed a tense expression, not entirely decipherable but clearly strained.

“Did you keep in touch after they reached adulthood?” JJ asked at one point during the conversation, as they were led into a living room filled almost entirely with dark mahogany furniture.

“Our paths diverged,” she stated curtly. Most of her responses followed the same pattern—brief and carefully measured.

"Has any of them tried to contact you recently?"

She watched Spencer closely as he glanced around the room. He wasn’t doing it out of nosiness—it was simply a profiler’s instinct. He always paid great attention to his surroundings, fully aware that clues could sometimes be found in the deepest corners of a home.

"You just asked if we kept in touch, and my answer was no. So I think it’s not hard to figure out that my answer to this question will be exactly the same."

There was no television inside. He wondered if she kept up with the news, if she had heard about the recent events and the ongoing search for Lavinia. He exchanged a meaningful glance with Morgan. She had taken on a passive-aggressive stance, seeming more than just displeased with their presence. Not even displeased—stressed.

“Mrs. Thomas, what made you decide to become foster parents all those years ago?” Reid asked, slipping his hands into the pockets of his blazer.

It wasn’t directly related to why they had come, but he needed to loosen her tongue somehow—perhaps get her to share something important, even by accident. The woman let out a short sigh before answering.

“My husband and I were never able to have children.”

“So you decided to take in three teenagers at once?”

“That’s admirable,” JJ interjected immediately, shooting him a look. “I mean, a huge responsibility, but also a beautiful gesture.”

The woman looked at her blankly.

When asked further questions about the siblings, she answered only as much as she had to, avoiding any details.

Yes, they were fifteen when they came to us. Yes, they were exceptionally close. Smart kids, always looking out for each other. Their mother died in childbirth. Their father abandoned them, as far as we know.

At that last part, her clasped hands tightened, causing her knuckles to turn slightly white.

Morgan raised his eyebrows.

JJ kept the conversation going while Spencer moved closer to a large bookshelf filled with books and what looked like typical family memorabilia. He could feel Mrs. Thomas’s gaze on his back.

His attention was drawn to a photograph of none other than the three blond-haired triplets, nearly indistinguishable from one another. Their hair fell to their shoulders, the only difference being their facial expressions. Lydia had a gentle smile, Lavinia stared straight into the camera, and Leon’s gaze wandered elsewhere.

They were all dressed in identical white garments resembling tunics and stood in front of a poster, partially obscuring a purple inscription in the background.

“They were the first children you and your husband decided to foster… and also the last,” JJ continued. “Was there a reason for that? Did they cause any issues that might have influenced your decision not to take in more children in the future…?”

Her voice faded as Spencer’s mind suddenly sharpened. A few pieces of information clawed at the edges of his memory, begging to be released from one of the countless overstuffed filing cabinets in his head.

Morgan stepped closer, intrigued by Spencer’s abrupt stillness. When he glanced at the photo, he didn’t see anything particularly noteworthy. He even picked up the frame, turning it slightly in his hands.

“It’s from a summer camp,” Mrs. Thomas explained quickly when she saw what had captured their attention. “We sent them there every year.”

“Reid?” JJ started, taking a step toward him.

Spencer looked at the photo again, at the words on the poster above the children’s heads.

“Do you guys know what The Chrysalis Fellowship was?” he asked, fixing a pointed stare on Mrs. Thomas.

He saw her inhale sharply.

Morgan shrugged.

“Never heard of it.”

“No surprise. It wasn’t exactly a big case,” Spencer replied, crossing his arms.

His friends were visibly perplexed by his reaction, but they understood that he had stumbled upon something significant. They watched him with anticipation and tension.

“But it was definitely not a summer camp,” he continued. “They presented themselves as just another religious gathering, kept a low profile…but in 2001, they drew some media attention when one of their members mysteriously ended up at the bottom of a cliff. Dead, for the record.”

JJ shook her head slightly, still not fully grasping what Spencer was trying to convey.

But Spencer wasn’t looking at her—his gaze was fixed on someone else.

“Mrs. Thomas, for what possible reason would you send the children on summer vacation to a cult?”

The woman fidgeted with the collar of her dress.

"I won't say anything else without a lawyer," she announced weakly.

Spencer heard Morgan sigh heavily behind him. He placed the photo back on the shelf—it was no longer needed.

He was almost certain he knew where Lavinia was hiding.

ʚଓ

The terrain at the foot of the mountains was gently undulating and covered in dense trees. After a longer drive along a narrow, winding road, they reached a place that resembled something between a well-kept neighborhood of a quiet town and an abandoned campground. Seriously.

In a small area, there were a few houses with flat roofs and white walls, some of which bore the first signs of dirt and graying. However, what dominated above them, in terms of sheer numbers, were the trailers, spaced evenly apart, as if they symbolized a former order, a time of past prosperity.

In short, they quickly contacted the rest of the team to inform them of their destination. There was no time to waste. When they asked her to choose a location based on the information she had gathered during her week of being held captive by the twins, which Leon had revealed to her after she manipulated him, she pointed to this town. They assumed she was referring to the foster family's home. However, there was no sign of their missing person inside, and while Mrs. Thomas was hiding a lot, she had not reestablished contact with Lavinia.

But that didn’t mean she wasn’t in the area.

When the three of them arrived at the nearly desolate location, which in its prime had been a thriving congregation with a large number of members, a middle-aged man immediately appeared on the doorstep of one of the houses. He was wearing nothing but a loose white shirt. His light hair reached almost to his shoulder blades, and his face was covered with a few days' worth of darker stubble.

“Hello, my children,” he nodded toward them.

“David Vaughn,” Morgan identified him instantly, thanks to the information Garcia had gathered for them.

The man simply waved his hand.

“You can call me Father.”

“Hell no.”

He didn't seem offended. In fact, his face was constantly adorned with a calm, almost serene expression. Spencer glanced around at the trailers, wondering if anyone actually lived in them. No one else had come out to greet them, and in such closed communities, the arrival of outsiders usually stirred up some general curiosity.

“Let’s get to the point. Is Lavinia Schuyler hiding here?”

The man opened the door to a small white house, standing in the doorway in a welcoming gesture.

“Come in, and we’ll talk.”

Without waiting for another refusal or command to step outside, he simply turned his back and disappeared inside.

After a brief discussion, they decided to follow him. Although, it was more JJ and Morgan doing the talking. Spencer, on the other hand, was completely absorbed in scanning the surrounding trailers, almost as if his gaze could penetrate through the walls and reveal whether Lavinia was hiding inside one of them. He didn’t even realize when his legs instinctively began to follow his friends, or when he found himself inside a cramped, multi-roomed interior. A stale, unpleasant odor hung in the air, and Spencer could confidently say that the owner wasn’t a fan of the activity called cleaning.

David Vaughn, a man once known for his reputation as a spiritual guide, dropped into a chair with such ease, it was as though there weren’t three FBI agents in his home at that very moment.

“So?” he asked cheerfully. “How are we doing this? You listen and stay silent while I speak, or do I speak, but you ask your obvious questions like what were you doing at 8 p.m. on Monday…’”

“We’re here for a different kind of obvious questions,” Spencer replied dryly. “What you were doing at 8 p.m. on Monday, or any other day of the week, is the last thing we care about. Where is she? And I know you know who I’m talking about. They all used to belong to this…”

“Fellowship,” the man finished for him. He scratched under his eye with a touch of nostalgia. “Haven’t said that word out loud in a long time. Ah, the good old days. Then everyone left, and that was that. But I’m not angry. Our lives are a constant journey. We arrive at a place, replenish our supplies, set a new direction. We wander…”

“Enough,” Morgan cut him off, his face expressing deep exhaustion with this nonsensical, pseudo-spiritual babble. “We don’t want to hear your philosophies, we want your answers. Is Lavinia Schuyler hiding here? This place will be searched soon, so you could make this easier for us…”

"Let's start with the fact that there’s no one by the name of Lavinia Schuyler," he said, causing everyone to furrow their brows. He flashed them a grin. "What? As my favorite daughter, she deserves the right to carry my last name. Lavinia Vaughn. Much better."

"Your...daughter?" JJ repeated in disbelief.

Spencer gave a subtle nod, seeing some sense in it.

"Abandoned by their father."

"Abandoned? Please. Life’s a journey, didn’t I mention that? I just moved on. Honestly, I believe children don’t need a father for proper development. A mother is only needed in the very early stages…"

“Back to the point,” Morgan interrupted again, stopping him from drifting off-topic. “Let me ask the right question this time. Is Lavinia Vaughn hiding here…”

“Aren’t you curious how I managed to bring my kids here when they were grown?”

“No, we're only curious about—”

“Well, I've been thinking about it for a long time. I knew they were approaching adulthood, bouncing from one foster home to another. A journey is a journey, but blood is blood, my blood. So I thought, why not? I asked my dear friends, oh, they were so young back then, just joined us, but already showing such loyalty. They did what I asked, of course. Took them in under their roof, sent them to me whenever the chance arose, so they could learn a bit about the world…”

Spencer could tell his friends were, deep down, intrigued by the story. After all, both of them were profilers, and understanding the backstory, discovering the circumstances that shaped a killer, was essential. Even he couldn't bring himself to stop the man, falling to some degree under the sway of his gift for persuasion. He mentally pinched himself when he caught himself in that moment.

Something about this whole situation didn’t sit right with him. Sure, some people were just chatterboxes, and this guy certainly fell into that category, but everything he said felt too calculated. It was as if he knew exactly what type of story would capture their full attention, drawing it to him and away from everything else.

"...they left me when all of this happened. You know, one guy ended up at the bottom of a cliff, and the media swooped in, saying we probably killed him in some cult ritual. Years passed, and my dear Lavinia only reached out to me recently," he suddenly stopped, grinning wide, a madness in his eyes flashing. "I was watching the news, right? She did it. That woman. That woman is now Lydia. Lydia is in her body. Oh, I always knew this girl, my Lavinia, was special. Some didn’t believe me when I said the soul is like blood. That you can transfuse it into another vessel. They thought I was speaking metaphorically, but she really listened to me..."

Spencer caught something out of the corner of his eye. A flash of light in the window, a glimpse of blonde hair. David was talking and talking, distracting them, pulling their attention away from other things. Like Lavinia, who was packing in another room and making her escape through the back door. He nudged Morgan, their eyes met, and without looking out the window, he understood.

They rushed after her, the sound of the man's loud, hysterical laughter echoing in their ears, a sound that would linger long after.

Reid’s heart pounded against his chest as, for a brief moment, he feared that when they reached the outside, Lavinia would already be gone. Her trail would vanish like it had on the drilling platform, and they would never catch her again. And he would be to blame—he would always be so, so guilty.

He stopped so suddenly that his body nearly collapsed.

But contrary to his dark visions, she was there. She was there, with a backpack slung over one shoulder, her hands raised high, frozen in place as someone had her at gunpoint, preventing her from fleeing any further.

The rest of the team arrived, and the person pointing the gun at Lavinia wasn’t Rossi, Prentiss, or Hotch.

It was her.

ʚଓ

Watching the woman who had nearly taken your life—and had certainly cursed it forever—being loaded into a car with her hands cuffed behind her back was both therapeutic and surreal.

A part of you felt relief, while the other hadn’t yet grasped the reality of the situation enough to fully process it.

Something heavy slid off your chest, but instead of crashing to the ground with a deafening thud, it dissolved into quiet.

Peace.

You hadn’t known that peace, relief, and respite—these supposedly positive emotions—could be so overwhelming that they left you frozen in place.

Someone appeared at your side.

JJ offered you a small smile. There was still a trace of lingering anger in her eyes, the remnants of her inability to understand your decision, the open disapproval that hadn’t faded and wouldn’t for a long time. But in that brief moment, above all else, she was simply relieved that it was finally over.

Her touch on your arm was hesitant, as if she were testing whether you were still yourself.

You looked at her in silence for a moment—then threw your arms around her neck.

You heard her inhale sharply in surprise.

And you didn’t even focus on the gazes fixed on you—until they became unbearable.

The first one you caught.

Hotch, nodding at you gently. As if confirming that it was over.

You almost smiled.

It was true. It was over.

So why did it still feel like something was weighing on you?

Then you caught the second gaze.

Spencer looked as if staying on his feet was a struggle. And yet, he managed to move—his expression a mask of merciless emptiness—as he closed the distance between you.

You felt your body beginning to crumble in JJ’s arms.

You stepped away before you could drag her down with you.

He stopped a step away from you, at a painfully close distance—technically, you could reach out and touch him. Do something you had wanted to do every single day and night spent on the oil rig. That is—to reach for him. In a way, it symbolized an escape for you. A return to what was good, constant, and safe.

You knew, however, that he wouldn't allow it. He would reject any attempt you made, for the lies you surrounded yourself with were dangerously toxic—they could taint and damage him.

He shook his head from side to side, clearly uncertain of what to say.

"All this time," he finally began. Quiet, but not weak.

A sigh escaped JJ’s lips. Her gaze wandered between both of your faces.

"Maybe we shouldn't talk about this now. Maybe we should first—"

"And you knew too. Of course, you knew."

From the very beginning, you knew that when the moment of revealing the great truth came, looking him in the eyes again would be unimaginably difficult. You had also suspected that words would fail you, and that’s exactly what happened. Nothing seemed right. You couldn’t apologize, because you didn’t feel guilty. I mean, you did, in a way. You felt guilty for hurting him like this, but at the same time, you were ready to admit without hesitation that even if you could go back in time, you would still do the same thing, because it meant catching Lavinia.

“I had to do this,” you finally said.

Spencer opened his mouth, then closed it. He clenched his jaw. Nodded. In a way that not only showed he didn’t understand, but also that he couldn’t forgive.

ʚଓ

Twelve months had passed.

In the blink of an eye, they say. Well, if there was an opposite to that saying, it would fit your situation perfectly. Every day, week, and month carried the weight of everything that had happened since the moment the syringe with the sedative first pierced your neck. You were facing not only the trauma left by the abduction but also the consequences of pretending to be someone else and lying to those closest to you in such an elaborate way.

You got involved in Lavinia's case, making sure you'd never have to chase her again. You took temporary leave—your psyche simply needed it.

And as you began healing from within, you could reach further.

Most of the team pretended to accept what you had done, to be ready to move forward. Pretended, perhaps even wanting to believe it was truly over. But in their minds, you would always be trusted a little less. By pretending to be Lydia, you wanted them to believe you were a stranger. And in a way, that's exactly what happened. You would always remain slightly different, distant, to them.

With Spencer, things were particularly difficult. For a time, he simply cut himself off from you. When disappearing seemed like the easier option for him, you felt quite the opposite. You preferred to stay close, even if it meant hurting each other with those prolonged moments of tension, resentment, and the painful silence of unspoken accusations.

But what happened was that, for a time, you simply disappeared from each other's lives. You fell back into them by sheer accident. Well, actually, not such a clean accident. The Christmas party held at Rossi's house took you by surprise when you received the invitation. Spencer probably didn’t expect to see you there either. Ironically, you both arrived at the same time, and without a word, he held the door open for the two of you.

You didn’t talk about it, but over the next year, these small things and gestures, progressing with the passage of time, seemed to reintroduce you to each other. At one point, you were laughing together, not just the two of you, but with the whole team, yet it didn’t change the fact that the joyful sound was coming from both of you at the same time. There was a moment when you watched your godson play on the swings, and the silence between you no longer gave you that painful, guilt-ridden knot in your stomach.

Then, on your birthday, you sat side by side in the theater. A year earlier, he had given you tickets for the musical you’d always wanted to see. They had been lost, for obvious reasons.

Before it even started, you glanced at him from the corner of your eye.

"I never said sorry," you suddenly announced.

Spencer turned toward you, his gaze filled with surprise. You, too, didn’t know where that came from. Maybe it had been nesting inside you for a long time, and you chose that moment because you realized that for the next two hours, out of respect for those around you, you wouldn’t be able to talk. And the words would have to echo in the way they should.

He shook his head.

"You don’t have to."

"But I do. You can’t forgive someone if they never say they’re sorry."

A sigh escaped his lips, and after a long moment of hesitation, he reached for your hand. You flinched when it happened, so unaccustomed to his touch.

"I think I’ve already forgiven you," he finally said, turning his face slightly toward you. His gaze fell on your hands, barely visible in the dark theater. Just the faint outline of knuckles against the blackness. Somehow, you could hear him swallow.

"I’m just not sure if I’ll ever be able to trust you again."

The musical began, and your hands remained entwined until the very end.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fic #spencer reid #spence reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds angst #criminal minds fanfiction

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yelenasbraid · 5 months ago

Text

none of the bullshit — joe burrow

summary — you’re an athletic trainer with the bengals. joe’s taken a liking to you.

warnings — fem!reader, fluff, some good ol’ banter, implied smut, language, i sort of know what i’m talking about pls don’t come for me

tags — @wickedfun9 @softburrow @starsinthesky5 @joeburrowshaircurl @joeyfranchise @willowsnook @ebsmind @iosivb9 @blairsworld22 @kazsbrckkers

IT WAS COLD. Earlier, you were begging for the colder weather. The summer heat was no joke, but now, the colder winters were biting. You stood out on the practice field, layered up as best you could, keeping your eye on the players.

You were an athletic trainer for the Bengals, a damn good one you’d add. You had to put up with a lot of bullshit over the past couple of years, especially with a certain quarterback.

flashback to the summer

“This is the third time I’ve done this, Y/N. How is this helping me get anywhere?” Joe was frustrated. You’ve asked him to throw the ball the exact same way, three different times. It was his first time throwing after his injury and you were being cautious.

“You want to get out there and snap your wrist again?” You shot back, the summer heat beating down on the both of you. You didn’t have time for his complaints or his nonsense.

“No, but throwing ten yards isn’t going to do much,”

“You think I’m stupid? I know that. It’s called we’ll get there,” you chirped. His attitude was warranted, only sometimes. He saw the light at the end of the tunnel, but he thought it was closer than it really was. He also hated that you were right. Your wit has kept him sane, if he were to be honest with himself. It’s pushed him to be better, to do better.

“Yeah yeah, whatever,” he shook his head, going to throw the ball again.

End of flashback

You’ve watched Joe excel, watched as his wrist strengthened as he climbed the charts to be one of the best quarterbacks in the league. It was a thrill to see, even from the perspective of a witty athletic trainer.

“Cold?” you turned your head to watch a red-nosed Joe walk up to you.

“No, I’m actually sweating right now,” you sarcastically quipped, “yes I’m cold,”

“Sorry I asked,” Joe quipped, but a smirk painted his lips. He loved messing with you, mainly to see your pink cheeks and your smirk. As much as he messed with you, the feelings he had for you were very real. Having feelings for an athletic trainer wasn’t on his bingo card for the year, but here he was, never being able to pull himself from you. There was just something so magnetic about you.

“And you’re out here in shorts,” you scoffed, seeing the hoodie/jersey combo and the shorts he wore. He looked like he was taking a walk in the park when it was 50 degrees outside. It was below 30.

“It’s the high metabolism,” he came to stand next to you. He was much taller than you, and while he adored the height difference, he was well aware you could kick his ass.

“I think it’s the cockiness getting to you,” you muttered, earning a scoff from Joe.

“Wow,” he laughed, “I’ll make sure to put your name in for most supportive athletic trainer of the year,”

“Thanks, I deserve it,” you chuckled, looking up at him. He would agree with you; you did deserve it. Through his injury, the bullshit he put you through, you deserved some type of award. He wanted to be the one to give it to you, to see your face soften and your eyes widen.

“Yeah, you do,” he admitted, turning his face away from looking at you. There was a buzz between you, and you looked over at him. You watched as his breaths came out in puffs, how his cheeks, ears and nose were painted red. He wasn’t bad to look at, but you to remind yourself that you couldn’t indulge in those feelings. You’d lose your job.

You turned back to the field, feeling your heart slam against your chest. Now you were warm, your palms sweaty and your cheeks red. One of the coaches blew the whistle, signaling the end of the break and the beginning of the second half of practice.

—

Your cheeks were rosy, and you were warmer at the end of practice. You threw with Joe some more, gave him some strengthening techniques, and continued on with the banter that usually came from you both.

You grabbed your things, including a practice bag, and hoisted it on your shoulder. You looked back at Joe, who was standing with Ja’marr and Tee, a laugh spilling from his lips. He looked so cozy, so relaxed, and you couldn’t help but feel your heart flutter.

You looked away, shaking your head. It wasn’t going to happen. You were an athletic trainer and he was a player, not just any player, the star player. You walked off of the field, a pep in your step as you started towards the facility.

“Boo,” you heard a voice in your ear, making you jump. You snapped your head over, and saw the towering quarterback next to you.

“Asshole,” you shoved him, your heart slamming in your chest from his scare and from him.

“Oh come on, you’re just a lil jumpy,” he teased. He liked seeing you all riled up, but he wasn’t stupid. He respected you enough to stop when you asked, or even when your body language betrayed you.

“Whatever,” you rolled your eyes, walking next to him. He kept his pace with yours, even though it was slower due to the height difference.

As he walked next to you, he felt his stomach tie itself into knots. He usually didn’t get nervous; he was confident enough in his abilities to focus. But now? He faltered. You were beautiful, in every way, and the way you handled his antics just made his feelings ten times stronger for you.

“You’re uncharacteristically quiet,” you hummed as you walked with him. The silence that was between you was tense, and it buzzed with unsaid feelings. What those feelings were, you couldn’t tell.

“Just thinking about all the ways to annoy you tomorrow,” he dramatically sighed, but it wasn’t completely true. He thought about you, the way your eyes sparkled in the sun, the way your face blushed under the cool weather. He found himself, at points, thinking about what it would feel like to kiss you, to have you as his.

“I knew it was preplanned,” you teased, giving him a smirk.

“Everything’s preplanned. I don’t do anything without thinking first.”

“That’s a lie,” you laughed, earning a scoff and a gentle shove from him.

“You’re supposed to support me, not break me down,” he pouted, and you mockingly pouted back.

“Aww, poor baby,” you huffed, and he only shook his head. You both neared the facility doors, and as warmth enveloped you both, so did Joe’s feelings intensify. He pursed his lips, flexing his hands as he tried to control the impulse to kiss you, to shove you against the wall and take you.

“Y/N?” he asked, and you turned to face him. It was just you two, standing in the hallway. Everyone else had gone ahead.

“Yeah?” you prompted, watching him. You picked out uncertainty in his eyes, the way his lips were tightly pressed together. Something was weighing heavy on him. But he looked at you, his eyes blank, his face pale. He forgot the words. His tongue was thick, like cotton in his mouth.

“Nothing, I’ll see you later,” he smiled, and brushed past you to the locker room. His heart hammered in his chest and his palms were sweaty. His mind was in a fog, consumed at the thought of you. He chickened out, and he’d beat himself up about it for the rest of the day.

You were left standing, confused and empty. You watched as he left, his form retreating down the hallway before he disappeared. Part of you hoped, based off of the look in his eyes, that he’d tell you that your feelings for him were reciprocated. Part of you hoped that he’d say something, but he didn’t.

You walked back to your office, a smaller room along a hallway. You unlocked your door, walking in to the warmer room. Your desk was in front of you, a window behind it, letting soft light into the room. Two guest chairs stood in front of your desk, and a small table held a coffee maker.

It was the bare minimum, but you were lucky you had an office.

You set the bag down, sitting down at your computer. You needed to write your reports, to check reports that have been submitted, but you couldn’t focus. Your mind drifted to Joe, to his eyes, to how he so easily talked to you, his arms, his thighs.

You dug the heels of your palms into your eyes.

You opened up your emails, trying to distract yourself from the thoughts of Joe. He was your coworker, not someone to become romantically involved with. No matter how he made you feel, no matter how attractive he was.

You didn’t know how much you got done, but your eyes never left your laptop until you heard a knock on your door. Your eyes lifted from your laptop, watching as Joe opened your door. His hair was wet, his skin a warm tan. He was dressed comfortably; sweats and a sweatshirt.

“What’s up?” you asked, pursing your lips.

“I just wanted to stop by before I left,” he said, stepping into your office and softly shutting the door behind him. His heart slammed against his chest. He was only ever nervous around you, except when it came to practice. He was in his element, he knew what he was doing and that distracted him from you. Now, as he stood in your office, he didn’t have his football knowledge to back him up.

“Oh,” you smiled, “is there something bothering you?” you asked him, concern furrowing your brow. You couldn’t think that Joe would come and see you for any other reason than football, or his wrist. He wouldn’t come and see you because he wanted to.

“Yeah, can you check my wrist before I go?” he asked you. He didn’t need his wrist checked. He was totally fine. He’s been fine for weeks.

“Sure, yeah,” you stood up, meeting him in the center of your office, “but I thought you’ve been fine for weeks,” you hummed as you took his extended wrist.

“I was, but it felt really tight after my shower,” he swallowed. Your soft hands against his wrist, the way your fingers gently pressed to see where his supposed pain was, it sent shocks throughout his body.

“Ok,” you hummed, turning over his wrist. You didn’t see any swelling, you didn’t feel any heat, and he didn’t react to your pressure.

“I don’t feel anything,” you told him, meeting his eyes, “there isn’t obvious pain,” you added, but as your eyes met, tension buzzed between you. Your stomach twisted, your heart skipped a beat. You fought the urge to look at his lips.

“That’s good,” he sighed, nodding his head. He could feel the tension, the way you looked at him, the way his heart skipped beats. He inhaled deeply to try and control his breathing. His free hand, with a slight tremble, reached up and caressed your cheek. His light touch sent shivers down your spine, and as much as you should fight it, you didn’t. You stepped closer to him, keeping your eyes on him.

He softly placed his lips on yours, and for a moment you stiffened. You didn’t expect this. You didn’t expect him to kiss you, to do the very thing you’ve wanted to do for a while. He parted from you, feeling you stiffen.

“I’m sorry-” he was interrupted by your hands grabbing the collar of his sweatshirt, pulling his lips to yours with a hunger like no other. He immediately kissed you back, one of his hands cupping the back of your neck, pulling you closer. You tasted sweet and it made his body thrum with his need for you. The need he’s been shoving aside for months.

Your lips danced together with a roughness and passion you’ve never experienced. Your hands looped around his neck, keeping yourself as close as you could be to him. His hunger for you could be felt as his hands moved to grip your hips. He began walking you back, keeping his lips on yours. When your hips hit your desk, you gasped, and it allowed his tongue to slip into your mouth. You moaned as his tongue explored your mouth tasting more of you.

He slowly pulled away, resting his forehead against yours. He panted, his breath fanning your face.

“Is the door locked?” you asked, looking into his eyes.

“I don’t know, why?”

“Because we’re gonna need it to be,” you hummed, the look in your eyes telling him all he needed to know. He’s never locked a door so fast in his life. He came back over, and smashed his lips back to yours with a newfound hunger. His fingers played with the hem of your shirt, and in that moment, you were glad that door was locked. You were also glad you were an athletic trainer; you’d need to be able to do your own stretches later when he took your ability to walk.

#joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #cincinnati bengals #joe burrow imagine

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lonely-ey3s · 2 months ago

Text

Ride or Die | Chapter One

pairing: rodeo/cowboy!joel miller x f!reader

chapter summary : Going to your county's fair after coming back to your hometown goes a lot better than it has in past years. It usually earns you a goldfish. This year, it earns you a date with a local cowboy, Joel Miller.

chapter warnings: fluff, slow burn-ish, angst, Joel speaks Spanish (translations will be there), reader has a somewhat emotionally abusive father, mentions of grabbing, mentions of a parent being drunk, mention of parental death, switched POV's.

word count: 8.1k

a/n: alright, here it is! chapters will be every other sunday-- alternating with heartlines !! just fyi, i know little about being a cowboy so if lingo is wrong, please let me know, i'm going off purely google.

Dividers by: @saradika-graphics and @cafekitsune

Masterlist

Coming back home to Texas was not on your bingo card for this summer.

However, when you caught your ex-fiance cheating on you with your best friend-- packing your bags and taking the first plane back was the only logical thing to do.

You got home about two weeks ago. Your older sister and little brother were more than excited to have you back. Especially your little brother, Wesley.

He had just turned 18, and the two of you have always been as thick as thieves. A lot of the closeness is due to your mom dying while giving birth to him and your dad pretty much shutting down.

However, you stepped in, pretty much raising him.

You and your older sister, Everly, were close as well– as close as sisters could be. She was 5 years older than you, married to her high school sweetheart, and had a little boy who everyone called ‘Bubba’.

She lived just a few miles from your family’s property, but she and Bubba usually made it over to your dad’s daily to help around the house and hang out.

This past week, Wes has been training for this year’s county fair rodeo show that was happening next week.

You had done the morning chores, which included feeding the chickens and ducks and cleaning out the donkey pen and the stables. You finished with making sure your horse's stable was stacked full of what he needed.

After you were finished, you walked over to the training pen and saw Wes and Trigger running around barrels, getting everything refined for the big event he was competing for.

“You’ve got to pull back on him on that third barrel, Wes!” your dad shouted, sitting on the edge of the fence, with his arms crossed across his chest, observing.

“Got it…” Wes mumbled, patting Trigger's side before softly saying to the dark black horse, “Let’s try one more time bud…”

You climbed up on the fence and leaned against it, “That horse knows how to cut quick. Why are we runnin’ him days before the event?” you said, nodding at your dad and toward your brother.

“Because it’s not the horse that’s goin’ win the medal, it’s Wes, and if can’t control the damn thing, he shouldn’t compete.” your dad clipped back at you.

Your dad wasn’t always the warmest to any of you, but more so Wes. Part of you thinks that deep down, he might have blamed him for your mom's death. He was hard on and pushed him, but something always seemed insensitive. It seemed more callous than when he did it to you and Everly.

“If you push the horse too hard, he’ll hurt himself, effectively hurting Wes in the process…” you tsked and got down from the fence. “Gotta think about that component too, Dad…” You turned around and started walking away.

There was a pause, and then your dad turned his head to look at you.

“Chores done?” your dad bit out, closing the other conversation.

“We wouldn’t be over here if they weren’t,” you shot back before walking back towards the house.

You cleaned up for the day and got ready to work in a coffee shop in town.

The goal was to escape the inevitable argument your dad would start with you when he came inside about what happened earlier.

You left the house before they got in and drove to the shop downtown. It was a newer shop, wasn't here when you left a few years ago.

You order a drink and something small to eat and then set up at a table in the back, near an outlet.

You grew up in this town, so mostly anyone and their dog knew you. Since coming home all of a sudden, working in a public place was brave but also downright stupid. Everyone and their moms want to know why. What happened? Why isn't Riley with you? Why aren't you wearing your ring?

You put on your headphones and set your music to shuffle as you start working on a project you must complete for one of your clients in the next couple of days. You knew that in the coming week, things would get busier with the rodeo and fair prep happening. Knowing your dad and how he'd delegate work to you, you just knew your personal time would be limited.

Back in Nashville, you worked as a social media manager for a small boutique and a local up-and-coming musician. Both were highly supportive of your decision to move back to Texas and made things work with you remotely, for which you couldn’t be more grateful for their flexibility.

You were just about to wrap up one of the posts to send off for approval when you felt your phone buzz on the table. It was Riley,

Can we please talk? I know you said you needed time, but it’s been two weeks– we’ll need to talk this out eventually.

You scoffed and shook your head, closing your phone screen and muttering, “Talk it out? There’s nothing to talk out, you cheated on me with my best friend of 15 years, you dumbass.”

You sent off the post for review and then took out your headphones, standing up for another cup of coffee.

You walked to the counter and asked for another latte. The barista said they’d bring it over to you. You smiled and thanked her, but then, when you went to turn around, you bumped into someone behind you.

“Oh shoot, I’m so sorry, pardon me…” You quickly apologized, flustered that you weren’t watching where you were going.

“No harm, darlin’...” You saw a brown-eyed man smiling down at you, his large, strong hands on your arms, holding you steady from when you bumped into each other.

You swallowed before nodding and kindly smiling. “Thanks…” His hands let you go just as gently as they held onto you, before you nodded to where you were sitting. “I uh… excuse me,” you said before returning to your table.

You sat back down and didn’t realize how flustered you were until you saw in the reflection of the computer screen how red your cheeks were.

You let out a long and slow breath before tapping a few buttons to wake your screen again, refocusing yourself on your work.

You didn’t see that the man you had bumped into had his eyes still on you from the front.

He was watching you, his hands in his pockets, tapping his foot lightly as he began to think about how he could approach you without seeming too eager.

He was waiting for his coffee when the barista went to leave the front counter with your coffee in hand.

He cleared his throat and smiled brightly, “Here, why don’t you let me Susie– looks like ya’ll are busier than a hive fulla bees…” He winked and outstretched his hands.

She nodded and smiled at his gesture to help: “Thanks, Joel. You’re a peach…” She handed him the coffee in a to-go cup with your name and order written on it.

He smiled and walked over to your table, softly clearing his throat before he set it down next to your laptop, “One cinnamon caramel latte with brown sugar sprinkles…” then chuckled after realizing your what your order was, “Damn darlin’, want some coffee with your sugar?” he lightly teased.

You looked up, feeling eyes on you, and took out your headphones, light music coming from them. “I’m sorry?” You then saw him in front of you and then the coffee and furrowed your brow. “Oh jeez, I’m so sorry. Did they call my name and I didn’t hear?” You looked past him at the counter, worried you misunderstood them say they’d bring it to you.

He smiled warmly, “No, I uh, sorry. I didn’t mean to confuse you… I just…” he chuckled as he nervously rubbed his fingers through his scruff, “Damn, uh… I’m sorry, I’m usually not like this…” he shyly looked down for a moment, biting his lip before looking back at you, “I just wanted to come apologize for earlier… I uhm, I was a little too eager to get my drink and I shoulda let you leave the damn line before rushin’ into you like that.”

You smiled softly and waved your hand, dismissing his apology. “I’m sure I had a clumsy factor in the equation, trust me.” You lightly chuckled. “How about we just assume 50/50 responsibility and not get the insurance involved for the fender bender…” you lightly joked.

He chuckled and nodded, “I’m Joel…” he held out his hand.

You recognized him from somewhere. However, you couldn't place where. So you nodded and said your name softly, and then your phone buzzed. It was one of your clients. “Oh, um, I’m sorry—I need to take this. Thanks for the coffee. It’s been lovely meeting you, Joel.” You picked up your phone and smiled softly before answering it.

Joel nodded and slowly backed away, saying your name repeatedly in his head, trying to remember if he knew you, as you looked somewhat familiar as well. He smiled to himself and tucked his hands back into his jeans before grabbing his coffee from the front and leaving the shop.

1 week later

Reader’s POV

It was the first of 4 days of the fair.

You sat in the bleachers with your sister, her husband and son, as well a friend, Tripp. Your brother and dad were getting everything together below in the arena and stables.

You were dressed in your best. From the best cowgirl hat you've ever owned to your boots. You wore tight jeans and a floral tank that showed just a sliver of your stomach and gave you some cleavage, wanting to get a tan but also mess with some cowboys.

“Look at that one, he’s a pretty one!” Everly joked, pointing out a cowboy below. He was good-looking, but you could smell his toxic masculinity from where you were. He was winking at every girl that swooned past him and was chewin' tobacco, which was an instant red flag for you.

You chuckled and shook your head, taking a small swig of your water. “Mmm, no, he screams ‘walking red flag’...” You continued to look around.

Tripp smirked and pointed to another young man, standing by his horse and tightening his saddle, “What about him?”

You smiled. “He seems kind, but he’s not my type... he's got a baby face,” You nudged him with your elbow. “Plus, I’m not lookin’ for anything serious right now. I’m still trying to figure out the whole Riley thing…” you sighed.

“Figure what out? What is there to figure out? You're done with him! Right?” he nudged you back, clearly annoyed you were still ‘thinking things over’.

You tsked and fiddled with the top of your water bottle. “It’s not like that… I just… am not in a place to be in a relationship when half of my things are still back at our place.” You shrugged. “That wouldn’t be fair.”

“To who? You or Riley?” he challenged.

You looked at him and bit the inside of your cheek. “Tripp, " you said, raising your eyebrow.

“What?” he looked at your sister. “Ev, tell her… it’s okay to move on.”

Your sister nodded. “He’s right. Riley didn’t hesitate. Why should you?” she shrugged, “But also, what’s wrong with just havin’ a bit of fun, no strings attached?” she giggled, nudging you with her elbow.

You nodded and chuckled, “Fine, fine… no strings.” You looked back down and hummed, taking in the cowboys below.

A few moments later, your dad came running up to the arena’s border, shouting your name, “Get in here! We need you and Buck. Randy’s son's damn horse got spooked and is running amuck!”

Buck was the arena's neutralizer horse. You and he had always helped when things like this happened, as the other horses couldn't risk getting hurt.

You quickly got up from your seat and ran down the bleachers before jumping over the fence, your dad and you running towards the chaos.

Joel’s POV

Joel had been up since before the birds started to chirp.

He started his morning by doing all the chores with his dad before they loaded up the trailer and headed to the fairgrounds around 6 a.m.

Joel had a few events he was in today and was eager to get back on the saddle after taking a few weeks off. He had taken time to rest after getting back from the national championship in Dallas.

He and his horse Moonshine were in the stables around 9 am as they needed to be out to the arena by half past.

The two of them having a quiet moment together to prepare for the busy buzz about to happen for the rest of the day.

He tightened his saddle, ensuring everything was secure, when his dad came in, “How are we lookin’?”

Joel nodded towards the dusty white horse that was built of pure muscle. He was his pride and joy. He’d spent the last 10 years breeding, training, and competing with horses for his dad. So when his dad told him that Moonshine was all his 2 years ago, Joel poured every minute he wasn’t working into this horse.

“He’s almost saddled up. I just need to make sure his hooves are clear, then we’ll be good.”

Santiago, or Santi as most called him, huffed and came around the back of Moonshine. “He’s got competition today. Ricky’s son is competing today; that horse is a beast,” he said, patting the backside of Moonshine’s rear.

Joel tsked and smiled. “You can have a beast of a horse, but unless the rider knows what he’s doin’ – it won’t do jack.” he looked at his dad as he lifted the first of Moonshine’s hooves to inspect. “Ricky’s boy is a little short upstairs and will get hurt before he wins anything on a horse like that.” he put the first hoof down and moved to another.

Santi just hummed and took a small breath in. “If you say so…” he clicked his tongue and turned around. "I’ll wait for you by the gate to the arena. Take your time and make sure everything is good, yes?” He began to stroll away.

Joel nodded, “Yes, sir.”

—

It didn’t take Joel more than 10 minutes to finish inspecting and preparing Moonshine.

The two of them walked casually out of the barn area. Joel kept his shoulders back and head held high; he exuded confidence as he walked from the barn to the main arena. He proudly wore his national championship belt buckle, which he used to intimidate fellow competitors.

He used a lead to guide Moonshine out towards the arena, which was now filled with guests loudly cheering on another event happening.

He wore the complete competition outfit, including his cowboy hat, black button-down shirt, jeans, and chaps. His vest had patches from his sponsors on both the front and back.

His dad was talking to Randy at the gate, a neighbor who had invested in Joel’s bareback and bull riding career.

Joel tipped his hat as he approached, “Good to see you, Randy. How’ve you been?” he smiled and grabbed his shoulder, pulling him into a hug.

Randy chuckled, “Good to see you, Joel! I’ve been better—bad knee!” He tsked before pulling back and looking over at Moonshine. “He’s a beaut, Joel. I'm excited to see him in action today.” He smiled and touched the horse's neck gently.

Joel turned and touched the other side of the horse's neck. “He’s been a fun one. I’m also excited for us to be back in the arena.” he looked back at the gate and nodded for the gatekeeper to open it.

Before they opened the gate, a loud commotion and frenzy ensued. Moonshine reared up slightly and chuffed in fear at a loud noise.

“Shh, shh, steady boy… steady,” he cooed to him, pulling on the brindle to calm and refocus him.

He turned to see what was happening and handed the lead to his dad.

He was walking up to the gate when the crazed riderless horse ran past. Not long after, another horse and rider buzzed by, trying to herd the crazed horse.

You swung a lasso and shouted at the horse, “Hey, hey!” before throwing it and landing it around its neck.

The second Joel saw who it was, it was like you were moving in slow motion to him.

You maneuvered your horse to pull back and redirect. The horse in question was headed straight for a group of people so you snapped back and pulled him away.

You hollered, “Woah there boy-o!”

You wrapped the rope around the horn of your saddle and then clicked your tongue and pulled the reigns to the left. “Here… let's go over here…” You tugged on the rope, trying to get the horse to follow you.

Your dad was watching from a distance. “Take ‘em to the barn!” he yelled at you.

You nodded and looked down at your horse. “Alright, Buck, let’s get his poor kid to the barn…” You patted his side affectionately and pulled up on the reins a little. Buck circled around and then headed towards the gate.

You looked back at the horse you were dragging along and smiled, “Let’s go, come on, pretty boy…” You coaxed the horse to follow you.

It settled and huffed a few times before walking close behind you and Buck. “There we go, that’s a good boy,” you said softly.

The gate opened, and you faced forward, tipping your hat at Scott, the gatekeeper. “Thanks, Scotty!” you smiled and winked then clicked your tongue and looked ahead of you. “Come on sweetheart…”

You saw Joel not connecting the dots of who it was with the get-up he was wearing.

His jaw is partially ajar, and his eyes are watching you as you moved.

It was like he’d seen God herself.

You chuckled and looked at Randy, whom you knew, he and your dad were good friends.

“Got yourself a trout rather than a cowboy there, Rand… " You nodded towards Joel, teasing.

Randy chuckled and then looked at Joel. “Good god, son, close your mouth before you catch a fly.” He swatted Joel's arm.

You giggled, clicking your tongue to get Buck to move faster, as you headed toward the barn.

Joel snapped out of his daze and looked at Randy and his dad, who were grinning at his reaction.

His dad shook his head, chuckling, “Just keep it in your pants until after the competition-- please and thank you.” he walked past Joel to get into the gate, tugging Moonshine with him, “Come on mijo, you’re up soon.”

Joel looked back at the barn and smiled, then looked at Randy who was still standing there with a shit eating grin, “You heard your dad, get goin’. She’ll be around all week...” he winked.

Joel competed, and on his way out, he saw you sitting down next to your sister and Tripp.

He saw you lean over and hold onto Tripp's arm, softly laughing at something.

A flame of jealousy burned up his neck. He fixated on you from the back of the arena, watching you interact with those around you, and figured that Tripp was either a friend or, worst case, a very early boyfriend. Either way, easy competition.

He also noticed that when a specific rider came out, you all went crazy, shouting and cheering loudly. He wondered who that might be and why he was so important.

Randy came up from behind and stood beside him. He followed his eyeline and lightly chuckled, “Since when are you not already over there markin’ your territory?” he joked.

Joel turned his head and chuckled lightly. “Mark my territory? What am I, a dog?”

Randy chuckled a little louder and then hummed, watching the barrel racer, your brother competing. “That’s her brother, Wes. Incase you’re wonderin’...”

Joel hummed and then realized how he knew your family. “She’s Judd’s daughter?”

“Middle kiddo. She’s the one who pretty much raised Wes after their mom died.” Randy said sadly, looking back towards you.

“I went to school with her. I remember when her mom died. How did I not recognize her the other day?" He slid his thumb over his bottom lip as he started to think about your interaction.

“She’s been in Nashville since she graduated. She and that boy she dated in high school moved up there when he got some fancy job,” he gossiped. “You probably didn’t recognize her; she looks a bit different than she did in high school.” Randy remarked.

Joel ran through his mind, thinking of who you were with in high school, then turned his head, “Riley! That's his name… what happened to him?” he raised his eyebrow.

Randy tsked, “The fucker cheated on her with Amanda." he sighed and tapped his thumb against the railing, "She found out, packed a bag and came back home.” he said sadly then turned to Joel.

Joel’s eyebrow raised, “Amanda, as in her best friend since they were like in elementary school, Amanda?” he asked, blown away.

Randy hummed as he nodded. “Bingo.”

Joel scoffed and looked back at you, “So she just had the ultimate fuck over…”

Randy nodded. “Betrayed by her best friend and fiancé... it doesn’t get any worse than that.”

Joel turned to look at Randy again, and his face showed complete disappointment. “She was engaged? And he cheated on her?”

Randy bit his lip for a moment, not wanting to divulge too much but he figured Joel should know, “From what I know, the wedding was supposed to be at the end of this summer, but not anymore. At least that’s what I’ve heard.” he kicked his foot into the ground, making some dirt dust up.

Joel hummed and looked at you, his features softened thinking what you'd been through the last few weeks. No one should go through that.

You stood up and waved goodbye to the group you were with, then put your phone to your ear as you headed up the steps of the arena.

“‘Cuse me, Rand… I’m going to go try to catch up with her. Apologize for earlier.” He said before hopping the gate and jogging towards you.

You were fast and beat him to the top.

He tried to keep up, but when he got up to the top, the crowd of people and busy traffic of the fair going on around the arena was too much; he’d lost you. “Damn it.” he tsked and dug his boot into the dirt frustrated.

After watching Wes’s event, you felt your phone buzz on the bleacher beside you. You picked it up to see Riley’s name displayed across your screen. Tripp looked over your shoulder and then raised his eyebrow at you. “You need to take that…” he suggested.

You sighed and nodded. Putting this off was only dragging the dead cat out for longer. You stood and quickly said goodbye, then slid to answer, “Hello?”

“Hey…” he sounded sad and quiet.

“What do you want?” you said as you started to jog up the arena steps.

“I—I… god,” he sighed. "Where are you? It’s so loud!” He sounded annoyed.

“That’s none of your business anymore, Riley. I asked you what you wanted, so please get to the point, or I’ll end the call,” you said coldly, looking around before gathering where you were and heading towards your car.

There was a pause, then he sighed heavily. “I just —baby, I miss you. When are you coming home?” he pleaded, his voice soft, almost begging.

You let out a numb chuckle. “Riley, there’s no us. You fucked that over the moment you put your cock between Amanda’s legs.” You bit out.

There was another pause. “She’s no longer an issue; I ended it with her. I realized how much I wanna fight for us, for you.”

You chuckled a little louder then shook your head; this was nonsense. He was nonsense.

“What don’t you understand? I don’t want to fight for us. I don’t want to be with you anymore!" you walked up to your car, "You cheated on me with my best friend for most of our fucking relationship. And then now that I know about it and did the logical thing and left you– now you cut things off with her?” you opened your car door and got inside, slamming it shut, “Riley you’re one stupid son of a bitch if you thought that I was coming back.” you started up your car.

“Why can’t we start over? Come back home, and we’ll go to counseling or get help, please. Give me a chance,” he pleaded.

You let him stew in silence before you spoke firmly, “You don’t get another chance. Your chance went out the fucking window when I asked you who was texting you and you lied to my face saying it was a co-worker.” you sat for a moment before lowering your voice, tears forming, “You went the lengths Riley… the lengths… to change the name of her contact to a ‘co-workers’ name so that I wouldn’t get suspicious.” you scoffed, a few tears falling down your cheeks, “That’s some psycho shit. That’s premeditated fuckin’ cheating bullshit.” you shook your head and chuckled a few times, wiping the tears, “God, you know, Amanda probably got her head out of her ass and left you -- and now you’re crawling back to me because when I left, you didn’t even flinch. You let me go.” you took in a shaky breath.

“I’m here. I’m here now,” he said after a few moments of silence. He knew you were crying.

Something in the way he said that severed whatever you had holding onto him. You had the clarity you needed; it was time to move on. You deserved more than this, more than he gave you for all those years.

“That’s not enough.” You let out the breath. “We’re done, Riley. I’ll have movers come and collect the rest of my belongings, your mom's ring will be returned to you, and I’ve already taken care of our financial matters. Don’t ever contact me again.” You hung up the phone and immediately blocked him before throwing your phone in the passenger seat out of anger.

You hit the steering wheel, your anger boiling over, “God damn it!” then you began to sob softly, not out of sadness, but out of finally feeling free.

The next day

Joel was walking down the arena steps after running to his truck quickly to grab the correct bit that he had forgotten before his event started. His mind was elsewhere, so he didn't even notice you as he walked past.

Everly saw him and nudged you. “What about him?” she nodded towards him as he walked down the steps and hopped over the fence into the arena.

You watched, humming softly, then noticed who he was when he turned his head and smiled at someone in the arena.

“Well I’ll be damned…” you chuckled, eyes following him as he walked into the back.

“What?” Everly looked at you like she was on the edge of her seat. “What?!” she exclaimed.

You chuckled louder and nodded his way. “I ran into him at the coffee shop about a week ago, and then he was the cowboy that I told you about yesterday-- the trout,” you giggled.

She gasped, “You’re kidding me, that’s the trout?! That's Joel Miller!” She hit your arm, giggling with you.

You nodded and kept your eyes towards him.

She looked that way as well, then looked at you, seeing you slightly blush. “You’re interested in him, aren’t you?” she giggled, a shit eating grin across her face.

You chuckled, “I wouldn’t say ‘interested’...” You blew off her accusation, trying to act calm and collected, but inside, you could feel your heart pound, and a small amount of heat rose to your cheeks the more you watched him move.

He was getting Moonshine’s bit adjusted, paying no mind to his surroundings.

You noted that he looked good handling a horse. He was in complete control. His hands gliding over the equipment confidently. There was something about watching a man with a horse that always appeased you, making you feral.

Riley didn’t come from the ranch life. His family was wealthy and privileged. They were full of snobby, rich aristocrats who didn’t care for anyone but themselves. Being with him and having that difference in family dynamics created rifts in your relationship. His family tended to look down on you. Behind your back, they referred to you as the ‘dirty ranch girl’. He never stood up for you either.

Joel hopped onto Moonshine and clicked his tongue, guiding him to where they needed to be. He took his hat off with one hand and pushed his hair back with the other before putting it back onto his head. He looked up to the crowd and noticed you already looking at him.

You were in a floral sundress, your boots, and to top it off, your cowboy hat on your head. You looked insatiable. He adjusted his hips as he felt a stir below the belt before making direct eye contact with you. “Who’s fishin’ for a trout now, sweetheart?” he mumbled to himself.

He caught your eye with his and grinned, tipping his hat to you and giving you a slight wink.

You immediately looked away shyly and couldn’t help the smile that grew across your face, softly chuckling to yourself.

He chuckled and looked up at the board, seeing how much time he had before he and Moonshine would compete.

5 minutes.

He looked back to you, and you were giggling with the guy next to you, the same guy you were sitting with yesterday.

Jealousy filled him again, a heat grew up his neck and his lips tightened.

He cocked his head and whispered, "Fuck it." then decided he had enough time to make his way over to you.

He swung his leg over and off Moonshine, then tied the lead to the fence. “Stay right here… I’ll be right back.” he muttered to the horse.

He jumped over the gate and then started to stroll over to your group.

Tripp saw and whispered, teasing, “Trout incoming…” then he realized he was actually heading over, “Oh fuck! He’s looking right at you babe! He’s coming over….” he nudged you to catch your attention.

You hummed curiously and turned to look, the blush on your cheeks betraying you when you found him again.

When you two made eye contact, he tipped his hat again and smiled at you.

‘Damn it. He’s going to be trouble.’ You instantly thought as butterflies erupted intensely in your core.

You swallowed nervously and began frantically fixing your dress, clearing your throat. Then, you stood and came down to the fence at the bottom of the bleachers, smiling at him on the other side. “Hey, cowboy…”

He approached the other side and grinned at the nickname, “How are you doin’ darlin’?”

You blushed and tilted your head, “I’m doin’ better now that you’re here sayin’ hello.” you flirted, leaning up against the railing.

He chuckled and ran his thumb against his bottom lip. “What’s a pretty girl like you doin’ out here today?”

You watched him touch his lip and bit the inside of your cheek to stop you from smiling too much. “I have a brother competing in barrel racin’...” You looked down at his belt and smirked. “Take it you’re competing too?” Your eyes trailed up his body, slowly landing back to his eyes.

He felt himself harden the way you were drinking him in, the way your eyes landed on his belt.

He smirked and tilted his head back at you. “I am. I’m out bare buckin’ today and then bull buckin’ tomorrow.”

You nodded and hummed, “You’ve got some competition in bare buckin’.” You nodded to the arena. “Rob Turner is competing. He's got a beast of a horse I've heard...” You looked over at that rider and his horse.

Joel looked back at Rob and chuckled, shrugging, “Eh, he’ll be easy to beat,” he said confidently.

You raised your eyebrow slightly and looked back at him. “Oh really? You think you’re good enough to beat him then, cowboy?”

He smirked, “Oh, am I no longer called ‘trout’, then?” he teased.

You turned red for a moment then cleared your throat, “Well today you didn’t look at me with your jaw open so wide that you could be catchin’ flies, so no.” you challenged, cocking your head and looking up at him confidently.

He raised his eyebrow at your playfulness then grinned and leaned forward on the rail that you had your arms folded against. His hands to his arms were straight to hold up his weight. “Well, apologies for the lack of manners yesterday, darlin’. I was stunned by your beauty, and in that moment, my jaw fell open…” he looked at you with a broad and warm smile.

You hummed, smiling back at him, “Well, I can’t say I haven’t been doin’ the same to you today. I guess we’re even?”

He tsked, “Oh really? You’ve been swoonin’ over me, huh?” he leaned a little in, “In that case, what can a cowboy do to take you out to dinner then?” he winked at you.

You leaned in to him and looked down at his lips, biting your bottom lip before you backed up a step and shrugged, “What can I say? I find cowboys attractive.”

He was speechless. He swallowed and chuckled shyly, not knowing what to say.

You saw the effect you had at him and loved it. You relished in your ability to make a man squirm.

You tipped your hat and smirked, “But I find champion-winning cowboys date-worthy…” You took another step back and looked at his belt. “Win that championship today, then you can ask me out to dinner.” You looked back up at him and smiled, blushing as you felt a sense of confidence with him, a feeling of safety.

He grinned as he looked at you. “I win. I get to take you out?”

You nodded. “Think you can do that or is that too hard for you to achieve, trout?” you jabbed playfully.

He liked this side of you. He didn't know you like this in high school. You were the quiet and shy girl, this girl, she was much more confident and he found it very attractive.

He smirked and bit his lip, offering his hand. “Deal.”

You walked back up to him and took his hand. “Deal.”

He brought your hand to his lips and kissed your knuckles, keeping eye contact with you.

You blushed and smiled softly, before shyly looking down for a moment before looking back up. “If you win, I’ll be up there with my family and friends…” You gently pull your hand away and cutely put both hands behind your back.

He nodded to Tripp, “That ain’t your date?” he chuckled.

You looked to where he was nodding and let out a chuckle. “What if it is?” You looked back at him, grinning. “Give you some competition…” You winked, then turned and started heading up the stairs. “Good luck out there, cowboy…”

He chuckled and pushed off the railing, “Ain’t gon’ need it darlin’! I’ve got a date on Friday night for you and me in the bag!” he shouted as you went up the stairs.

You giggled and went back to sit with Ev and Tripp. They both were grinning and began nudging you as you all watched him return to his horse.

After catching the two of them up on your conversation with Joel, you sat back and watched as he and Moonshine entered the pen where they were in before being released.

He found you again and smiled, nodding his head at you before looking down and tying his hand where it needed to go to prepare for the bucking.

While this happened, the announcer shouted throughout the arena, “Alright, alright! Our next competitor is this year's National Champion! He just returned home from travelin’ upstate for nationals… please help me give a huge warm welcome to our hometown champ– Joel Miller!”

The crowd went wild and you instantly turned red, “Oh fuck me…”

Tripp leaned over and muttered, “Oh, I fear he will be now…”

You swatted his arm and gasped, “Tripp!”

He chuckled and looked at Everly. “Am I wrong?!” he shouted over the crowd, grinning.

Everly looked at you and shook her head, giggling, “Girl, looks like you’ve got a date this weekend.”

You looked out towards the arena and couldn’t help but smile, chuckling, “I guess I do…”

—

As expected, Joel placed first in the bare-bucking competition, out-running the competition by a landslide.

Watching him compete and win was exhilarating to watch. He was meant to be on a horse. He was also meant to be a cowboy, the way he looked in that damn hat should be a sin.

As the arena started to clear, Joel came walking over after putting Moonshine back in the barn, smiling widely, presenting the new belt buckle he now had on himself.

Everly and Tripp chuckled, seeing him beam, and stood up. Tripp touched your shoulder and said, “We’ll be at the top when you’re done.”

They smiled politely and nodded at Joel before they made their way up the steps.

Joel smiled warmly and tipped his hat to them before looking up at you as he stood with his leg placed on the bleacher below you, leaning on his knee, “So, sweetheart, what time should I pick you up Friday evenin’?” he looked up at you with soft brown eyes.

You leaned your elbows on your knees and raised your eyebrow. “Not so fast. You didn’t say you were the national champion!” You tilted your head. “You knew you’d win today…” You grinned. “Now, I think that’s a little bit of an unfair advantage you had there, cowboy.”

He chuckled and reached up to gently mess with the hem of your dress, looking down, “Maybe I was keepin’ that little fact to m’self…” he looked back up, “That way I knew there would be a guarantee of takin’ you out…”

You blushed and pursed your lips together, looking away for a second with a smile so wide your cheeks hurt.

He watched you glow in front of him with the smile you had on your face. He felt his heart pounding against his chest. He’d been on bulls' backs, in bar fights, tamed wild horses, and in some of the most dangerous adrenaline high situations– but nothing made his heart beat this fast and strong like being around you.

You looked back at him and bit the inside of your cheek, smiling still. “Pick me up at 7.” You stood up and looked down at him, holding out your hand. “Give me your phone…”

He chuckled and stood straight, looking at you. “Pardon?”

You giggled, “Do you want my number or not?”

“Oh.” he smiled and pulled his phone out of his back pocket, unlocking it and holding it up to you, “Yes, please…”

You gently took it and put your number in, playfully looking at him every few seconds, blushing.

He smirked and swiped his finger across his bottom lip, his eyes momentarily looking at your body from top to bottom. "By the way, I like this dress on you. You look beautiful.”

You smiled at him and handed his phone back to him. “Text me later, I’ll send you my address and a photo for my profile pic…” you winked.

He took his phone but damn near dropped it with your last comment. His cheeks now turned a shade of pink, and he chuckled nervously. “I’ll text ya when I get home…” he looked down at his phone with your contact info on it, shyly.

You giggled at his reaction and nodded, “Good.” You then gathered your things and started to head up the stairs. “Congrats, by the way—on the national title,” you smiled.

He looked up and smiled warmly, “Thank you darlin’.”

You nodded and went up a few more stairs before turning back and shyly saying, “I would have gone out with you win or lose, you know?” You grinned and tilted your head cutely. “However, I’m glad to know I’ll be goin’ out with a county and national champion now…” You winked and then turned to continue up the stairs.

He chuckled and looked up at you. “You get to go out with a champ, and I get to go out with the prettiest girl in the world— I call that a win-win...”

You blushed and kept walking, shouting behind you, “Stop bein’ a flirt and go home so you can text me, cowboy!” You smiled to yourself, reaching the top.

He tipped his hat and chuckled, “Say less, darlin’...” Then he smiled as he hurried down the steps and jogged back to the barn to pack everything up as quickly as possible.

When you got home, you headed to your room to change into something more comfortable. Your legs felt filthy, as a layer of sunscreen and dirt from the fairgrounds covered them.

You start the shower and play soft music when you hear a ding from your phone.

You walked over and picked it up, seeing an unknown number had texted you,

‘Hey sweetheart, it’s Trout. 🎣’

You chuckled and realized it was Joel. You saved his number and typed back,

‘Hey there, cowboy. Get home safely?’

Almost instantly, a message appeared,

‘Safely and as quick as I could– what are you up to?’

You were stripped naked as you were about to shower. You typed back,

‘Just about to hop in the shower…’

You grinned, then put your cowgirl hat back on.

You then stood so that your silhouette shone against the wall from the setting sun. You held up your phone and snapped a photo. It perfectly sent a clear message but kept him on his toes.

You then sent the photo with the text,

‘Here’s that profile pic I promised you. 💗 Send one back?’

A few moments later, you heard your phone ding again,

‘Forgive me sweetheart– but damn! 😍’

You giggled and typed,

‘Come on! Send one of you, handsome! One with your hat! ;)’

‘...’ was displayed for a few minutes before a picture of him in the mirror with his cowboy hat on and black button-up partially undone by the collar, smiling with his dimples, came up on your screen.

‘I’ll send you a better one after my shower, how ‘bout that?’

You chuckled and set it to his profile picture before typing back,

‘Deal. Let’s both get today's grime off, and then we can send updated photos? 💗’

‘Deal. I’ll text you when I’m done, but take your time. I’ll be here, cariño.’ (Darling)

You blushed and set your phone down before hopping into the shower, smiling as you thought over the events of the past few hours.

—

When you got out, your sister knocked on your door, telling you to come downstairs. She said that your dad said it was important, but she sounded somewhat annoyed by the urgency she was told to imply.

You hurried and got dressed in jeans and an oversized sweater. The way she sounded annoyed made you anticipate the worst. Knowing your dad, he had frequently annoyed both you and your sister with antics, more so lately than ever.

When you went downstairs, you saw that your dad had prepared a feast celebrating Wes’s win for both events he was in. Friends and family buzzed about the house, excited to celebrate Wes and his hard work.

You looked at Everly, and the both of you took a breath and hopped into the mix to socialize.

You both put on fake smiles and masked how you were truly feeling. This wasn’t about your dad; this was for Wes. Who you both wanted to celebrate and who deserved this, no matter how you both felt about your dad.

You texted Joel when you had a moment,

‘Hey, so something came up after my shower with my family. I’ll text you after it’s all done. 💗’

You put your phone in your back pocket and focused on celebrating your little brother, who you were so proud of.

—

At the end, after everyone had gone home, you were in the kitchen starting to wash the dishes. You had texted Joel to call you in 5 minutes as you would be done then.

Everly was cleaning up the living room, and Wes went out with friends when your dad came in and cleared his throat. “Ev tells me you might have met someone today…” he probed.

You turned your head to look at him and nodded, keeping your reaction as minimal as possible, “Yeah, she’s right. I’ve got a date this weekend.” You pursed your lips into a tight smile and looked back to the soapy water.

“Who is it? Maybe I know ‘em…” he leaned against the counter, his arms folded, holding his beer, letting a small smile stretch across his lips.

You took a moment before speaking up, debating whether or not to tell him. He always stuck his nose in your business; for once, you wanted things to be somewhat private. However, you knew if you didn’t say anything, it would end up in a fight more major than it will be with what you were about to say.

You chose to bite the bullet and say ‘Fuck it.’ A fight with him wasn’t something new– bring it on.

“Santi’s boy, Joel.” Thinking about him, you smiled but fixed your gaze on the water.

“Nah, no, you’re not goin’ out with him,” he said in a tone that made you think he was joking.

You lightly chuckled and turned your head to look at him. “Yes, I am! Why not?” you smiled. “Is it hard to think I can swing one of the Miller brothers?” you joked back.

His face turned neutral. “I’m serious. You’re not goin’ out with Joel Miller. You know how I feel about that family.” he pushed off the counter and rolled his eyes at you as he took a swig of the beer.

Your smile dissolved, and you stood there momentarily, processing what he just said.

After absorbing it, you shook the suds off your hands and grabbed the dish towel to dry your hands, raising your eyebrow at him, “I’m sorry, I must’ve miss the part where you have a say in this dad… forgive me but am I not a grown ass woman and don’t need your permission to date someone...” you challenged.

He scoffed and looked at you, wanting to dig at you, “Well, you certainly aren’t a grown woman if you have to run home when your fiance makes a little accident.”

You clenched your jaw at that and threw the towel onto the counter. “An accident?” you bit out harshly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you’d consider cheating an ‘accident’, Dad.” you shook your head in disbelief and looked back at him, “Did you ever do that to Mom? Was it valid enough to be unfaithful to her because it was an ‘accident’ to you?” you dug back.

He looked at you, and you knew immediately you had tapped on a nerve. The pride you felt was one of the best feelings in the world. You rarely found a nerve, but it was blissful when you did in moments like these.

You tilted your head, getting cocky. “Oh? That seemed to get to you.” You grinned. “Well, guess what, Dad? I don’t give a damn what you say, think or want. It’s my life.” you said firmly.

He looked down at the ground, then back at you. “You know the Millers are nothing but bad news.”

“No, Dad. The Millers are bad news because your granddad said they were bad news back in his day. Then he created an unfair, false narrative that has spread to you – come on?" You chuckled mockingly and started to walk up to him.

“Joel and Tommy were some of the most hardworking and kind boys when I went to high school with them.” You paused and looked at him, your breath catching in your throat. “And their dad?” you paused, “Santi brought us a meal when Mom died, Dad.” You teared up and shook your head, shrugging off anger you were starting to feel. “How can that be bad news?” you choked out.

He looked down at you and clenched his jaw before huffing a breath through his nostrils. “They are nothing but liars and cheats.” he said lowly.

You felt another heat of anger crawl up your back and needed to step away. “Liars and cheats or just better than you when it came to competition?” You shook your head and went to walk past him. “You’ve always been a poor loser.” you muttered.

He grabbed your arm and turned you to face him roughly. “You’ll treat me with respect, young lady. Got it?” The smell of alcohol immediately hit you from his hot breath that was inches from your face.

He’d never touched you like this. Never once laid a finger on any of you. You two always would argue or have yelling matches, but he never touched you.

Your blood ran cold, and your breath became shaky.

You swallowed and looked up at him, eyes filled with fear. “Dad, let go of me…”

He realized what he had done, seeing the look in your eyes. His eyes softened, and he slowly and softly let go of your arm. “I… God, I’m so sorry.”

You quickly stepped away from him, holding onto your arm. Your heart was pounding, your adrenaline was pumping, and your mind was racing at what had just happened.

Your phone dinged in your pocket before it started ringing.

You pulled it out of your pocket to see Joel’s picture he’d sent you earlier across your screen.

His dimpled smile instantly calms your nerves and washes a warmth over you.

You looked up at your dad and clenched your jaw before flatly saying, “Night, Dad.”

You quickly left the kitchen and ran upstairs to your room to answer the call.

As soon as your door was shut, you answered the call.

“Hey…” You melted against the door, sliding down to your floor, holding your head in your hand.

“Hey darlin’...” he softly said. You could hear the smile plastered on his face through the phone, instantly making you smile.

“Sorry about earlier– how’s your night been?” you asked softly.

“No need to apologize. You had family come up! Nothin’ matters more than that, right?”

You swallowed and sighed softly, closing your eyes and leaning against the door. “Right…”

He noticed the slight shift in your voice. “Everythin’ ok?”

“Yeah, just a long night and an even longer story…” you softly chuckled.

He hummed, “Need to pillow it out?”

You giggled softly. “Pillow it out?”

He chuckled, “You know, yell into a pillow or beat the shit out of one?”

Your giggle grew, and you stood up, walking over to your bed, “‘Pillow it out’… that’s got to go on a t-shirt.”

He chuckled, hearing your giggle, his stomach erupting with butterflies again.

You smiled while lying in bed. “So, screaming into a pillow or hitting one? That helps?”

“It did growing up and has come into use in my later years, I will confess…” he chuckled softly.

You smiled and hummed, “Well tonight I think just hearin’ your voice is doin’ the trick.” You blushed.

There was a pause, then he softly spoke, “Why don’t we move up our date to tomorrow?” he said abruptly.

You chuckled, “Don’t you compete tomorrow?”

“Yeah, and?” he chuckled. “Come cheer for me. Afterwards, you and I can go to the fair and watch the fireworks. It’ll be fun!” There was another small pause. “And if I’m bein’ honest, I don’t think I can wait two more days to take you out or to see you again…”

You smiled and blushed, putting your pillow over your face and squealing into it, muting the phone.

“Hello?” he said after a moment of silence. “Querida?”

You came onto the phone and smiled, trying to act cool. “Sorry, I, uh, dropped the phone.” You bit your lip as you grinned, “Um, yes. Tomorrow it is.”

He chuckled and smiled brightly, “Tomorrow then.” he bit his lip then cleared his throat, “Well then, with that being said, I’m going to go get some sleep. I’ve got an early morning. I’ll come see you before my event, ok?”

You blushed and lightly bit your nail shyly. “Ok…”

He chuckled again and took a deep breath, “Goodnight darlin’...”

You sat up and smiled. “Night, cowboy, sweet dreams.”

Next Chapter

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sciencebecameouraddiction · 1 year ago

Text

if you keep undressing me with your eyes, i’m going to catch a cold.

alastor, lucifer, rosie, husk

⌇alastor

you looked the radio demon up and down, thinking that doing so from the farthest corner of the bar would ensure he didn’t see you. it’s not like you could help it though. alastor had switched out his normal suit for a gorgeous red velvet, his hair pulled up with what looked like braids in it, no doubt nifty’s doing. you took a sip of your drink and looked down, seeing him look up at your area of the bar.

you had been doing this since you had sat down at the bar. watching him interact with patrons and royalty, who were there to have their pocket books pried open for some funding as well as support for the hotel. it wasn’t an easy task by any means even with lucifer in support of the idea and here tonight. you were supposed to be chatting people up as well, but after the first guy you spoke to kept his hand on your arm for a little too long, you decided you were too sober for all of this.

you saw alastor’s attention be pulled else where, giving you your cue to look back up. he was angled away from you and you gulped audibly. the way the jacket fit his frame, his hair style complimented his long neck, and how his waist looked so deliciously tiny made your stomach warm and your face heat. you had zoned out, your mind taking you to an alternate reality where you had a chance of slipping off that coat of his… you shook your head and your eyes locked with alastor’s. you’re not sure how it was possible but your face heated even more, almost burning with the blush you had at being caught. you couldn’t look away though, even as he smirked at you.

you swallowed heavily and shakily took a sip of your drink as you saw him depart from whoever he was talking to, walk up to the bar and stand close next you.

“just a few fingers of that old rye you have back there.” alastor requested, and husk nodded turning away. giving alastor a chance to look down at you. you felt yourself shrink under his gaze as he smiled again, almost like a smirk. he grabbed the glass husk handed to him and you watched intently as he brought the glass up to his lips and sipped his drink, glancing at his neck and the way it moved. flickering your eyes back up to his as his grin widened. he bent down at his waist, you both face to face now.

“if you keep undressing me with your eyes, i’ll catch a cold darling.” he murmured to you, as your eyes widened and you looked down ashamed. alastor chuckled and you felt his finger draw your face up to look at you again.

“cat got your tongue?” he asks, smirking. you try and speak but no words come out and you feel your face and now arms burning. you take your cool hands and place them on your cheeks. he draws them away, holding them.

“don’t do that. i like the red color. red as blood.” he says, kissing your right cheek, then straightening up and taking his drink and himself back into the middle of the party, shooting glances at you from time to time as you still just watched him charm the crowd.

⌇lucifer

there were many benefits to being with the king of hell. you practically never had to worry about anything, be that financial or even emotional or physical. you knew lucifer had you covered. he was in your corner. once word got around that you were dating the king of hell, the perks increased. you’d walk into a shop and the attendants wouldn’t let you buy anything. there was just a small ask to post it on sinstagram or voxtube and review it. which you never minded, but then that oddly started an influencing career in hell. that definitely was not something on your bingo card for when you died.

right now though, you were faced with the biggest detractor of dating the king of hell. he had to attend this gathering. very boring, and you felt your eyes glaze over as you sipped lucifer’s appletini he left. you watched him converse with this group of royalty and business people, you being the only one left at the table. not that you minded and no, you didn’t want to go make conversation over there. you sighed and decided to use this opportunity to really admire lucifer.

he was dressed in his suit but instead of the white base he wore around normally, the suit was gold with red accents. and it just brought out his eyes so well. he looked ethereal standing there, talking to those people. you gave him a once over and all you could think about was getting him out of that damn suit that fit him so well. just imagining him underneath you, panting and sobbing for-

“if you keep undressing me with your eyes, i might just catch a cold.” you hear lucifer’s voice in your ear. your gasp sounding more like a moan when he grabs the appletini in your hand and throws it back in one drink.

“undressing you? you were already undressed in my mind. already on the bed if i’m honest.” you murmur to him and watch the blush take his cheeks.

“this boring you?” he asks smiling.

“desperately.” you look at him. “we should go back home. we can pick up where i left off envisioning you on our bed underneath me… begging for more.” you grin wickedly as lucifer gulps. he quickly makes his way over to the group, explaining something and you see them all nod. he quickly makes his way back to you and takes your hand, waiting for you to get up. then he all but drags you out of the venue.

“let’s go home.”

⌇rosie

you had told rosie she should wear her new dress. and damn it she was so excited about it, that of course you said yes. now… a part of you regretted saying she should as one of the gentleman in cannibal town kept talking rosie up while she was checking out a long line of patrons. you tried to breathe as you just watched rosie. you knew she was capable of taking care of herself. you watched how she nimbly packed up different items, wrapping them all while charming all around her. her figure was so graceful and the dress hugged her just right, accentuating her waist. you bit your lip watching her. both of your eyes widening as you caught each others gaze.

you blushed deeply while she smirked at you and checked out the last guest in line. finally she took a second to come over to you.

“if you keep undressing me with your eyes, i’m going to catch a cold darling.” she purred as she strode up to you. you saw behind her the same gentleman watching the both of you, his gaze hungry. you glared at him as you grabbed a bit of rosie’s skirt possessively, but not wanting to make a show. she chuckled.

“he’s really got you worked up, don’t he?” she asked.

“he keeps flirting with you. it’s disgusting.” you comment, looking at rosie. she hums and pulls you up so you were standing. she still towered over you, as she gently maneuvered you face to look up at her. she smiled again, licking her lips and she bends down and kisses you. your eyes widen as you throw your arms around her neck, reaching up on your tip toes to get closer.

you hum into the kiss, gently weaving your fingers in rosie’s hair and pulling at her nape. you feel the growl that comes from her, slightly panting as she break.

“get a fuckin’ room! absolutely disgusting. there are children!” you hear susan yell and you sigh. you hands at rosie’s waist, absentmindedly rubbing over the boning in the dress.

“i think you need to get back to the shop.” you sigh and rosie nods. “anything i can help with?”

“sit there and look pretty for me?” she asks and you laugh, nodding. you turn to the check out area and smile even brighter.

“he’s gone!” you exclaim. happy the guy from before wasn’t in the store.

“oh, yeah. he left right when i kissed you.” she laughed, patting down some of the fizz in your hair. “needed to make sure that everyone else knew who i was with though.” she winks and walks back up to the front counter as you sit back down and sigh. you wondered how you got so lucky.

⌇husk

watching husk talk to other patrons and quickly whip up drinks was a past time of yours that you greatly favored. it was sort of relaxing seeing him in an element that he excelled in, but honestly, just watching him and how good he was with his hands made you blush.

you were currently off, deep in thought, but husk caught your glance. your eyes widen as you try and look away, attempting to save whatever shred of dignity you had by playing it cool. you knew husk wasn’t dumb though. he had seen you staring.

he went back to work quickly enough and you waiting for a few more moments before looking out of the corner of your eye at him, watching him rim a glass with salt. he poured two liquors in at the same time topping off with some red liquid and a lime wedge, pushing it towards a demon who giggled as their hands touched being passed the drink.

you rolled your eyes and as soon as husk’s back was turned you took your opportunity to really look at him. he wore his usual suspenders and pants, but he had slicked back his hair tonight and had on a white button down shirt with suit themed cufflinks. it was an incredibly dapper look and you couldn’t help imagine taking off the damn shirt he was wearing. loosing your grip on reality again, you didn’t notice a drink being slid to you. you hear the drink before seeing it in front of you, looking up, you meet husk’s eyes. a smirk almost tattooed on his face. you blink a few times, trying to understand, when he chuckles.

“if ya keep starin’ at me sweetheart, and undressin’ me with those eyes of yours, i’m gonna catch a cold.” he takes back your old glass and leaves you sitting there bewildered as he helps the next guest. you take a sip and see a slip of paper from under the glass. you squint to read the scrawled handwriting.

“meet me at 1. party should be wrapped up then. you can stare all ya want.”

you placed your hand over the paper and felt your cheeks grow warm. he was going to be the death of you.

2K notes · View notes

capuccinodoll · 6 months ago

Text

Honey love, dark eyes

♡ Chapter six ♡

Summary: Going through a hangover, two knocks surprise your door. Travis asks you to be honest, and Joel tries to get closer again. WC: 12.8k A/N: Well… today I'm feeling things. I hope you like it <3 remember that I no longer use the tag list, and if you want to receive notifications you can activate them on this blog or on capuccinodollupdates. Thank you very much for your messages and comments!!!!! Love youuuu

You lay sprawled on your bed, the warmth of the shower still clinging to your skin, your body humming faintly from the ibuprofen you’d taken an hour ago. When you’d woken up, sunlight had pierced directly through the blinds, straight into your eyes, splitting your head with a sharp, immediate ache. The kind of morning that felt punitive, though you weren’t sure what you were being punished for. But the water had helped. It always did. Steam rising, muscles softening, your skin flushed pink in its aftermath—a small gift you didn’t know you’d needed until now.

Sliding into your softest pajama pants and a faded gray cotton T-shirt oversized enough to drown in, you caught sight of the corset lying next to your boots. Something twisted low in your stomach. A reminder.

You remembered it as soon as you’d blinked awake: Joel. Joel in your bed. Silence wrapping around you both like a second, unspoken language. You’d cried, hadn’t you? Said something reckless, something that burned on the way out but didn’t feel entirely true. His face swam back to you in bits: the wet sheen in his eyes, the way he’d hugged you, close enough to steal your breath. And your words—you’d told him you hated him. That much was clear. You didn't hate him, he knew that. The feeling was raw and slippery, hard to hold. Surely Joel knew. He was always the first to claim he understood these things, always insufferably sure of himself.

Your gaze stayed fixed on the wall, though your mind wandered to Travis and then boomeranged right back to Joel, replaying the fragments of memory you had like they were clues in a puzzle you couldn’t solve. It was exhausting. You were exhausted. Eventually, you shut your eyes, not sleeping, but not entirely awake either, your body loosening as the pain ebbed and flowed. Your feet still throbbed, but even that felt distant, manageable.

Then the doorbell rang. The sound sliced through the quiet and dragged you back to the surface. You groaned, pressing the heels of your palms against your eyes, trying to summon the energy to move. With a sigh, you swung your legs over the side of the bed, sliding your feet into slippers, and shuffled toward the stairs. Halfway down, you froze, heart stuttering in your chest. What if it was Joel? It made sense—too much sense, actually. Except, what if it didn’t? What if he wasn’t here to fix things but to remind you of everything you’d said and did last night? What if he wasn’t here at all, and the thought of him was worse than his presence?

You didn’t have the stamina for him today.

Still, you kept moving, your stomach coiled tight as you reached for the door. When you opened it, relief swept over you like a breeze. Travis stood there, eyes a little puffy, a wooden paper bag with Mcfly’s stamped across the front dangling from his hands. The smell—greasy, rich, tempting—hit you first. He smiled, sheepish, his fingers curling around the bag like an offering.

“Hey,” he said, his voice hoarse but warm.

You laughed softly, stepping aside to let him in. “Hey. You look awful.”

“Thanks,” he teased, his grin widening. “How are you feeling?”

“Better. Hungry, apparently,” you replied, following him into the kitchen. “What about you? Any lingering regrets?”

“Only a thousand.” He set the bag on the counter and turned to you, his expression playfully contrite. “Throwing up dressed as Patrick Bateman was not on my bingo card.”

“Your puke was blue,” you reminded him, unable to suppress your laugh.

He groaned, covering his face with one hand. “God, stop. Please accept my apology in the form of food.”

You pulled the containers from the bag, grinning as the smell intensified. “Apology accepted. But seriously, Travis, it happens to everyone. Though I’d say chugging a Blue Elephant probably increases your odds.”

He leaned against the counter, watching you, his smile softening. “Lesson learned. Never again.”

The two of you settled at the kitchen island, the plates piled high with burgers that felt almost comically indulgent—brioche buns, bacon, fried eggs, stacked patties. Fries on the side. It was exactly what you needed, and the silence between you was easy, punctuated only by the clinking of cutlery and the occasional laugh.

At some point, you noticed Travis watching you, his gaze a little too focused, a little too heavy. It sent a ripple of awareness through you, and you set your fork down, your cheeks flushing before you could stop them.

“I had a great time last night,” he said suddenly, his fingers tracing the rim of his plate. “Even with the, uh, puke thing. I hope we can…you know, pick up where we left off.”

Your heart skipped. He said it so casually, like he was talking about resuming a TV show or a book he’d put down. But you knew what he meant. His hands on your thighs, his breath hot against your neck—the near miss. You smiled, leaning into the moment.

“I’d like that,” you said, your voice softer than you intended. “I have a great time with you, Travis. It feels…easy.”

“I hope that’s a compliment,” he teased, his eyes glinting.

“It is,” you assured him.

He opened his mouth to respond, but the doorbell rang again, cutting him off. You sighed, pushing back from the stool.

“I’ll be right back,” you said, and he nodded, standing as well.

“Mind if I use the bathroom?”

“Go ahead. It’s under the stairs,” you told him, already heading for the door.

When you opened it, the air shifted. Joel stood there, your name falling from his lips like a quiet invocation. Your heart stuttered. His eyes locked on yours.

Joel stood in front of you, his posture deceptively calm, but his eyes betrayed him. They searched your face intently, as if trying to unearth some hidden answer you weren’t sure you even held. His voice, when he finally spoke, was steady but tinged with uncertainty.

“I, um... How are you?”

The words fell between you, simple enough, but they seemed to carry more weight than the situation demanded. You blinked, your response escaping almost before you registered it.

“Fine.” Automatic. A placeholder for the more complicated truth swirling inside you.

He nodded, his expression softening slightly, though his gaze never left yours. “I wanted to check on you. After last night, I mean. And... I thought maybe we could talk for a moment. If you’re up for it.”

The now-familiar tingle unfurled in your stomach, subtle but insistent. It was Joel’s effect on you, one you could neither anticipate nor ignore. His presence always seemed to trigger some deep, cellular reaction, your body responding to him before your mind had the chance to catch up.

You let your eyes wander over him, taking him in as if cataloging the moment: the disheveled state of his hair, the small strands poking out stubbornly at the crown of his head; the quiet intensity in his dark, swollen eyes, the kind that told you sleep hadn’t come easy. His sweater was black, soft-looking, and fit just snug enough across his shoulders. Below that, dark pants and boots that carried a scuffed sort of permanence.

He didn’t flinch under your gaze. He rarely did.

“Sure,” you said finally, fighting to keep your voice steady. “I mean... yeah. I feel better now.”

His brow lifted, and the corner of his mouth tugged upward in a crooked half-smile that felt almost involuntary. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Yeah.” The tension between you felt oddly fragile, as though one wrong word could snap it altogether.

“Good,” he said, his voice soft, almost to himself. “Uh, so...when you’re ready, we can talk. Doesn’t have to be now.”

“No,” you interrupted quickly, sensing his sudden retreat. “I want to. Just—not sure now’s the best time.”

His eyes flickered, something like relief washing over his features. “Okay. Whenever works for you. Just let me know.”

There was something in the way he spoke that made you pause—a quiet hesitance, almost submissive, so unlike Joel that it left you momentarily off-balance. Before you could respond, the sound of a door opening and closing under the stairs interrupted the fragile moment between you.

Joel’s gaze darted past you, his body stiffening. “I should get going. Need to see Tommy,” he said abruptly, his words coming faster now, as if the interruption had jolted him. “But I’ll be back before five. If you’re okay with that.”

“I’ll text you,” you replied, your voice quieter than you intended.

Joel nodded once, and for a moment, his eyes softened again, lingering on you like he wanted to say more. But the sound of footsteps drew both your attention, and you turned just in time to see Travis approaching from the hall.

“Hi, Joel,” Travis said, his voice light and oblivious. “How’s it going?”

Joel’s demeanor shifted instantly, his polite but clipped reply sharp in contrast to the way he’d been speaking to you moments ago. “Fine. And you... regaining energy, I see.”

“That's right,” Travis nodded, a pleasant pout on his lips. “Never drink more than one blue elephant, trust me,” he teased.

Joel’s laugh was hollow, a noise that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Not on my agenda last time I checked.”

The tension was palpable now, thickening the air. Though you were sure the tightening thread was solely between you and Joel, and Travis had only moved in to tighten it even more. Joel’s gaze flickered to you briefly, searching your face, you looking at him almost as if silently imploring him not to say anything offensive. But he didn't seem to want to bother Travis at that moment, which surprised you a little.

“Call me later,” he said to you, his tone softening again but only for you. “Whenever works.”

“I will,” you promised, the words coming easily, though the knot in your stomach tightened as you watched Joel take a few steps back. He hesitated for only a second before turning and walking briskly to his truck. The sound of the door slamming shut echoed faintly as you closed your own door, letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

When you turned back, Travis was still standing there, his expression curious but unreadable. He didn’t say anything, though, as you brushed past him and returned to the kitchen, dropping back into your seat and taking a long sip of soda.

Travis joined you a moment later, resuming his seat across from you. He picked up his burger but didn’t take a bite right away, his fingers idly picking at the edges of the bun. His silence stretched, pressing against you, until finally, he spoke.

“So,” he began carefully, his tone light but probing, “how’s everything with Joel?”

The question caught you off guard, even though it shouldn’t have. You forced yourself to look at him, your expression neutral.

“We haven’t really figured things out,” you admitted, keeping your tone casual. "If that's what you're asking."

Travis nodded thoughtfully, leaning back in his seat. “I thought as much,” he said, setting his burger down. “Saw him the other day at the supermarket. Didn’t say hi—he looked...busy.”

You offered him a small, noncommittal shrug, hoping he’d let the subject drop. But instead, his gaze lingered on you, studying you the way Joel had earlier.

“Can I ask you something?” Travis said, his voice softer now. "And please be honest."

You didn’t blink, your body stilling in response to the deliberate softness in Travis’s voice. It wasn’t the kind of soft that soothed; it was careful, as if he was trying to handle something fragile without breaking it.

“Sure,” you said, your voice neutral despite the curiosity growing inside you. “What is it?”

“Listen, please don’t think I’m prying.” His tone wavered, brushing up against nervousness.

“I won’t, Trav,” you said, laughing lightly, though the sudden weight of his seriousness made the moment feel unbalanced.

“Okay.” He smiled, the kind of smile that doesn’t quite reach the eyes. It reminded you of a kid caught holding something he shouldn’t but deciding to risk it anyway. “So, ever since I moved into the neighborhood, I noticed you and Joel were... close. At first, I thought you were together. Ian even confirmed that you were just friends, but for a while, I didn’t quite believe it. Then Helena told me the same; you were just friends.”

Your attention sharpened around his words, each one striking a chord of unease.

“And I thought that was good for me, you know?” he continued, leaning back slightly, his nervous hands fidgeting with the edge of his glass. “Because I liked you. Even back then. But then, Joel came over one day while I was working on the yard—offered to help me out. He was nice, friendly even.”

“Oh,” you murmured, the word slipping out before you could stop it. Your voice sounded far away to your own ears. “I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah,” Travis said, shifting in his seat. “I told him I was almost done, didn’t really need help. But I thought, why not? So I said he could help me with something else.”

There was a pause. His gaze faltered, dropping to his hands. He clicked his tongue, closing his eyes for a moment as though bracing himself.

“And then I said something stupid.”

“What did you say?” The question tumbled out, your curiosity escaping before you could temper it. You couldn’t recall Joel ever being nice to Travis. If anything, his attitude toward him bordered on dismissive, sometimes outright cold.

“I, uh...” He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “I told him he could help me with you.”

Your lips parted slightly, your expression betraying your surprise, but you didn’t interrupt him.

“I said something like... if he wasn’t careful, I might steal you from him forever,” he admitted, his cheeks flushing deeply. “You know, like a dumb joke.”

The breath you’d been holding slipped out in a shaky laugh. “You said what?”

“I know, okay? It was stupid.” He grimaced, glancing away. “His whole attitude shifted. He got... intense. Asked if I thought you were some kind of object. Said I was an idiot for underestimating you like that.” Travis’s voice softened, tinged with embarrassment. “I apologized right away, told him I didn’t mean it seriously. But he just turned and walked off.”

“Yeah, well, that sounds like Joel,” you muttered, a hint of amusement slipping into your tone despite yourself.

Travis, however, didn’t seem amused. He sighed, dragging his hand over his face.

“Yeah. And ever since then, he’s been... I don’t know. Dismissive. Like I don’t exist. And at first, I figured I deserved it—I was out of line. But after a while, I started to think... maybe there’s more to it. Something I don’t know about.”

Your pulse quickened, but you kept your face neutral. Still, you couldn’t ignore the way his gaze felt heavier now, like he was peeling back layers, trying to uncover something buried.

“And when we started seeing each other, I thought maybe it didn’t matter,” he continued. “You told me you and Joel had argued, and that’s why things were strained. I believed you. But when I see the way you two act around each other...” He trailed off, shaking his head. “It’s just... obvious. Too obvious. I’m sorry, but I have to ask—” His eyes locked onto yours, unflinching. “Did something happen between you?”

The question hung in the air, heavy and inescapable. Your heart raced, each beat loud and insistent in your ears. You felt pinned in place, his gaze pressing against your silence like a weight you couldn’t lift.

“Travis...” you started, but the words caught in your throat.

His expression shifted, softening, but not in a way that let you off the hook. He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. “It’s okay. Just... be honest.”

You liked Travis. You liked how steady he was, how easy it felt to be around him. And it hurt to realize he’d been carrying this doubt, this unspoken question, all this time. But his words also unraveled something inside you—a confession that finally made sense of Joel’s behavior. The teasing, the frustration, the way he reacted whenever Travis came up in conversation. Joel’s coldness toward him had been about you all along.

“Yes,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. The single word carried a weight that settled between you, unavoidable. “A couple of weeks ago.”

The flicker of hope in his eyes extinguished, replaced by something quieter. Not anger, but something like disappointment. A quiet hurt he tried to hide but couldn’t entirely mask.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice steady, though you could hear the tension beneath it.

You hesitated. For a moment, you wanted to lie, to downplay the truth for his sake, for your own. But Travis had been honest with you from the start, and he deserved the same in return.

“We slept together,” you said finally, the words leaving your mouth like a weight dropping. “It was... a mistake. On his own words, that’s what he said.”

“He said it was a mistake?”

“Yeah.” The word felt colder this time, sharper.

Travis didn’t say anything for a long moment. He only nodded, as if piecing something together silently. And though you couldn’t quite read his expression, the shift in the air between you was undeniable.

“Then why did you fight?” Travis’s voice was steady but probing, his eyes holding yours with an intensity that made your stomach twist. “Was it because you slept together, or because he said it was a mistake?”

Your breath hitched. The question landed somewhere deep, stirring thoughts you’d been desperately trying to suppress. There was something in his tone—a clarity that felt unbearable, like a light shining on all the truths you weren’t ready to confront.

“Is there a difference?” you asked, your voice quieter than you intended. It was a feeble attempt at deflection, one that neither of you believed.

Travis let out a soft sigh, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips—fragile and fleeting.

“I’m afraid there is,” he said simply. “Because if the fight was about him thinking it was a mistake... that means you don’t think it was.”

“No,” you said quickly, too quickly, shaking your head as if the physical act could erase the implication. “No, that’s not it.” But the words felt hollow, a lie that echoed between you both. “Do you want to know why we fought? It wasn’t about that. It’s because he was cruel to me. That night, before anything even happened, he treated me like I was insane—like I was jealous of the woman he’s dating. And afterward...” You swallowed hard, your voice faltering. “Afterward, he acted like it disgusted him to be with me.”

Travis’s expression shifted, his eyes slightly wider now, but he didn’t interrupt. You could feel tears building, threatening to spill, but you pushed forward, the words pouring out faster than you could stop them.

“He’s been awful to me, Travis. Every chance he gets, he finds a way to provoke me, to make me feel small. Even to you—he’s been horrible to you, and it’s... it’s complete bullshit.” Your voice cracked, and you exhaled shakily, wiping at your eyes. “Because he was my best friend. For years. And it’s hard for me to accept that someone I respected so much doesn’t respect me back. That’s what happened. That’s why everything’s so strange now.”

Travis nodded slowly, still quiet, his gaze steady but unreadable. You took another deep breath, your chest aching with the effort of holding it together.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” you added softly. “But it was... private. And when we started seeing each other, everything was so new, and I didn’t know how to bring it up. That doesn’t mean I didn’t want to tell you.”

The silence that followed felt like a living thing, pressing down on you. Travis leaned back slightly, his fingers grazing the edge of his glass. He looked at you with an expression that made your stomach churn—gentle, but heavy with something that made you afraid.

“I know,” he said at last, his voice calm. “I know you wouldn’t keep something like that out of malice.”

“No, never,” you insisted, your voice cracking at the edges.

“But...” He exhaled slowly, his gaze dropping for a moment before meeting yours again. “I can’t lie to you, honey. This does affect me. And I don’t think I can pretend it doesn’t.” His honesty was like a sharp edge, cutting through whatever thin veneer of composure you’d managed to hold onto.

Your chest tightened. “Travis, I—”

He cut you off gently, raising a hand. “Listen. I like you. I really like you. You’re smart, and kind, and... easy to be around. But I don’t want to feel like I’m an obstacle in someone else’s story.”

“No,” you said, the word coming out as a rushed, desperate exhale. “You’re not. That’s not how it is. Joel and I... what happened between us was a mistake. A stupid, heat-of-the-moment thing that ruined everything we had. It’s over.”

Travis tilted his head slightly, studying you with that same quiet intensity. Then he shook his head, a soft, sad smile playing on his lips. “I don’t think Joel believes that.”

“Of course he does,” you insisted, though your voice sounded small, even to yourself. “He barely tolerates being around me now.”

“I don’t think that’s true.” His voice was calm, steady, as if he’d already thought this through. “I think Joel has... feelings for you. And I think it scares him so much he doesn’t know what to do with it. That’s why he’s defensive. That’s why he can’t stand me. That’s why he kept watching us at the barbecue like I was committing some kind of crime.”

“Travis—”

“No, just... let me finish,” he said gently, his hand brushing against yours. “I like you. I do. And I love spending time with you. But I don’t want to get caught in the middle of something I don’t understand.”

You blinked, feeling the words lodge somewhere in your throat. There was an ache now, spreading through your chest. “What... what are you saying?”

He gave you a small, bittersweet smile. “I’m saying you need to work things out with him. Figure out what’s really there—if it’s nothing, or if it’s something you just don’t want to admit yet. And once you do, if things are clear—really clear—then I’ll be here. If you want me to be.”

You nodded, your gaze dropping to your nearly empty plate. The lump in your throat threatened to choke you, and you fought to keep your tears from falling. If Travis noticed, he didn’t say anything.

The silence lingered for only a few seconds before he spoke again, his voice shifting to something lighter. He told you a story about one of his friends you’d met the night before, trying to fill the space between you with something less painful. You appreciated the effort, even if it only barely reached you.

Later, when you settled on the couch, he pulled up a documentary on potatoes—something about their versatility and origins. You leaned against him, your head resting on his shoulder, as his warmth settled over you like a temporary balm. But as the documentary droned on, your attention blurred, your eyelids heavy with the weight of the night. Before you could process it, you drifted off, the quiet hum of his presence the only thing keeping you grounded.

When you opened your eyes, the room was still and dim, the TV screen darkened, its glow long since faded. You were stretched out on the couch, comfortably cocooned in the softness of a throw blanket that hadn’t been there earlier. You stretched lazily, a deep yawn escaping your throat, and for a brief moment, everything felt calm. You felt rested, better.

But the calm didn’t last.

The memory of your conversation with Travis resurfaced like a stone dropped into a still pond, ripples spreading out and disturbing your peace. You sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, your body still tingling with the remnants of an unburdened nap.

That’s when you noticed the note on the coffee table, a piece of paper folded neatly, its corners perfectly aligned. You reached for it, your fingers brushing against the edges before unfolding it.

The note was simple, in Travis’s clean, deliberate handwriting:

"I had to go home, didn’t want to wake you up; thought the rest would do you good. See you later :)."

You sighed, reading his words again and again, overanalyzing every line, every punctuation mark. Of course, he was kind, thoughtful as always. But underneath that kindness was something else—a quiet truth he’d handed you earlier like a weight too heavy to carry alone.

He was right. You couldn’t have anything honest with him if you didn’t face the mess you’d left behind with Joel. And that, of course, was even more complicated than you wanted to admit. Because you knew why.

You loved Joel.

Not just in the messy, confusing way that kept you up at night. But in all the other ways too. Joel was your best friend. Losing him had been one of the hardest things you’d endured in years, and the ache of that absence lingered like a bruise you couldn’t stop pressing. You missed everything about him—his dry humor, the easy rhythm of your shared days, the unspoken understanding that only years of friendship could bring.

You missed the mundane, simple things: the lunches that turned into dinners, the quiet nights spent on his couch, watching some terrible action movie he insisted was a “classic.” The lazy afternoons in his backyard, the sun catching in his hair as he hosed down his truck, grinning like a kid when he’d spray water in your direction just to hear you yell. The way he listened, the way he told you things he wouldn’t tell anyone else. The moments with Sarah—how natural it all felt, like a little pocket of family you’d carved out together.

And then it was gone. The thought of it made your chest tighten.

Your phone was on the coffee table, its screen dark until you picked it up. 4:34 p.m. The nerves in your stomach stirred again, buzzing like static beneath your skin. You stared at Joel’s name in your contacts. His number had been blocked since that Tuesday. If he’d tried to text you, you wouldn’t know.

Your thumb hovered over the unblock button, then pressed it. There. Done.

But now what?

You stared at the tiny phone icon next to his name, debating whether to call him. Your thumb twitched, but you froze. Maybe it would be better to write. Calls made you nervous—they left too much space for things to go wrong.

"Hi, Joel, I was thinking—"

No. Too vague.

"Joel, if you want, we can—"

No. Still wrong.

"Hi, can you talk—"

No, no, no.

You sighed, leaning back against the couch, the phone still warm in your hand. Before you could talk yourself out of it, your thumb pressed the call button. The line connected almost immediately, and then there it was—his voice, steady and familiar.

He said your name like it was a sentence.

“Hi, Joel,” you said, your voice even despite the way your heart was racing.

“D'you want me to come to your place, are you coming to mine, or should we meet somewhere else?” he asked, skipping over pleasantries entirely.

Always to the point.

“Is Sarah with you?” you asked instead, needing a moment to steady yourself.

“No. She’s with Lea.”

Lea. Right. You remembered Sarah talking about her—her new friend from soccer. Lea lived nearby with her mom and older sister, had a huge collection of video games, and a mother who baked cakes Sarah couldn’t stop raving about. But even then, Sarah had reassured you with a grin, “No one’s better at baking than you.”

She wouldn’t be back until dinner, you realized. It gave you some space, some time.

“Okay,” you said, weighing your options. You didn’t want to cry in public, and your house... well, nothing good had come from Joel being there last time. “I’ll go to your house,” you decided, bringing a hand to your forehead. “In fifteen. Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” he said simply, his voice calm. “I’ll be here.”

You hung up without another word, the silence in your living room rushing back to meet you.

For a moment, you stood there, gripping the phone like it might steady the erratic thrum of your pulse. Your blood rushed in your ears, drowning out every other sound.

Fifteen minutes. That was all you had to pull yourself together.

You rang the doorbell and swallowed hard, nerves curling tightly in your stomach. Your eyes flicked down to your body in an almost absent check. The pajamas had been swapped for something presentable but still low effort: tailored black pants that grazed your feet, a black t-shirt layered under a wool sweater of the same shade. Safe. Functional. On your feet, though, the betrayal of slippers—a detail you hadn't thought much about until now, standing on Joel’s doorstep.

Inside, heavy footsteps approached, steady and deliberate. A sharp pang of anticipation ran through you. Less time passed than you expected before the door swung open, and there he was, framed by the familiar threshold.

Joel’s dark eyes met yours, scanning over you with a quiet intensity. He hadn’t changed much from earlier—still in the same dark jeans, but his sweater was gone, replaced with a simple white t-shirt that clung to his broad frame in that way that made your throat feel tight. He smiled softly, disarmingly, like he’d been practicing this exact expression.

“Come in,” he said, stepping aside to make room for you.

You hesitated for half a second before crossing the threshold. The familiar scent of his home—clean laundry mingling with faint traces of coffee and wood—hit you immediately, stirring something warm in your chest. You took in the living room, unchanged since the last time you were here, though your memory painted it differently now. This house, this space, was the backdrop to so much shared history, yet it felt heavy with everything left unresolved.

You paused in the living room, your hands finding their way into your pockets. The couch sat there like a relic, the same spot you’d occupied last time taunting you with its familiarity. Sitting felt both inevitable and wrong, like stepping back into a memory you’d tried too hard to forget. You lowered yourself onto the cushion anyway, folding into the space where you used to fit so effortlessly.

“D'you want something to drink?” Joel asked, already heading toward the kitchen. “I just made coffee. Got some of that chocolate you like too.”

You nodded without thinking, your voice betraying you with a simple, “Chocolate’s fine.” It came out softer than you’d intended, like you were worried anything louder might shatter the precarious peace between you.

Joel nodded back and disappeared through the archway. You were left standing in the middle of the room, the stillness pressing in. The faint aroma of coffee curled around you as your eyes moved over the space.

The TV was on pause, the frozen frame capturing Arnold Schwarzenegger mid-glare, leather jacket gleaming under dim lighting. On the coffee table, a stack of DVDs sat next to Joel’s keys. It was all so mundane, so normal, but the weight of your own memories turned it into something else entirely.

Your gaze lingered on the spot next to you, the place where Joel had sat the last time you were here. The memory hit like a bruise being pressed, sharp and unwelcome. You could still feel the crackling tension of that night, the words that had gone unspoken, and the ache of things breaking further apart.

By the time Joel returned, balancing two mugs, you’d managed to pull yourself back to the present. He set yours on the coffee table in front of you—a perfect swirl of steam curling from its surface—before sinking into the couch beside you with his own. The proximity sent a flicker of awareness through you, unsettling but familiar.

The chocolate was perfect, sweet and rich, just as you’d remembered. You focused on the cup in your hands, grateful for something tangible to anchor you. Joel took a sip from his mug, the silence stretching between you like a taut string.

He spoke first, breaking the quiet with a voice that was both casual and loaded. “Sarah’s still mad at me.” He paused, glancing at you before adding, “Said she didn’t want to be home if I was gonna keep acting like an idiot.”

The corner of your mouth twitched in a reluctant smile. “Why’s she mad?”

Joel gave you a look, his brows drawing together like he wasn’t sure if you were serious. “Because of yesterday,” he said finally. “When I wouldn’t let her talk to you.”

“Oh,” you murmured, the memory of his sharp tone from the day before resurfacing. You took another sip, letting the warm liquid settle in your chest.

Joel’s presence beside you felt larger now, like it was pressing against the edges of your awareness. It was strange, this new dynamic—this quiet discomfort with a man who had once been your safe place.

Neither of you spoke for a moment, the silence turning awkward in a way that made you itch. Your mind churned with unspoken words, all the things you wanted to say but didn’t know how to. And then, without fully realizing it, the thought slipped from your mouth:

“This is a bad idea.”

Joel’s head snapped up, his body tensing.

“No, wait,” he said quickly, setting his mug down as he reached for your hand, still curled around your cup. The warmth of his touch startled you, grounding and overwhelming all at once. “Please, don’t leave. Let’s talk. Just… talk, okay?”

The quiet desperation in his voice made you pause. You pulled your hand back, setting the cup on the table, and leaned away slightly, trying to create some distance.

“Okay,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt. “Speak, then.”

Joel’s gaze dropped to his hands, his fingers fidgeting in an almost subconscious rhythm, twisting together before pulling apart, like his thoughts were straining against each other in his head. His tongue flicked out briefly to moisten his upper lip, a small, nervous habit you’d noticed but never commented on. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost too soft, but it carried weight, each word vibrating in your ears as if they’d been tailored just for you.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he said, his words deliberate, as though he’d rehearsed them countless times but still wasn’t sure how they’d land. His eyes didn’t meet yours, staying glued to the restless movement of his fingers.

You straightened in your seat, your chest tightening, not because you didn’t know what he meant—you absolutely did—but because you needed him to say it. To finally put it out there, to stop hiding behind vague statements and unfinished thoughts.

“What, Joel?” you prompted, your voice sharper than you intended.

His head lifted just slightly, his brow furrowed in a way that softened his expression rather than hardening it. His eyes, however, told the real story—heavy and shadowed, the exhaustion there making him look older than you’d ever allowed yourself to notice.

“This,” he gestured vaguely between you two, his hand falling limp to his lap again, “this thing we’re doing. Acting like strangers or, worse, like seeing each other is some kind of punishment we’re both trying to avoid. I can’t stand it anymore. I hate it.”

You exhaled sharply, leaning back against the couch as your arms crossed instinctively over your chest. His words stung because, on some level, they echoed your own feelings, but hearing them from him made you bristle. “I’ve never acted like that with you, Joel. Never.” Your voice was steady, clear, every syllable landing with precision. “If anything, you’re the one acting like seeing me is a nightmare you can’t wait to wake up from.”

Joel’s mouth parted as if to protest, but you didn’t give him the chance. “Like yesterday,” you continued, your tone sharpening. “Forcing Sarah into the house, shutting me out like I was the problem. Or all those times you decided to pretend I didn’t exist. How do you think that makes me feel, Joel?”

His frown deepened, but he didn’t look away. “That’s not true,” he said firmly, though his voice lacked the confidence his words suggested. “Every time I’ve tried to talk to you, you’ve shut me out. Like you couldn’t bear to be near me. I saw it in your eyes, felt it in the way you’d flinch or turn away. Like at the Hoffmans’, when you wouldn’t even look at me. And every time I spoke, I could feel your... discomfort.”

The mention of that night sent heat rising to your face, a mix of anger and embarrassment.

“Joel, really?” Your voice pitched slightly higher, but you forced yourself to rein it in, refusing to let him pull you into a full-blown argument—not yet. “You were so mean that night. To me, to Travis. What exactly did you expect? For me to smile and pretend like everything was fine?”

“I remember,” Joel interrupted, his voice dipping into something closer to regret. He rubbed a hand across his face, as though trying to erase the memory. “I just—” He paused, his brow furrowing further. “I just hated the way you looked at me. When I sat next to you I realized right away how uncomfortable you were with me there. I couldn’t stand it.”

You let out a long, slow breath, rubbing your temple as you tried to keep your own frustration from boiling over. ��What did you expect me to feel, Joel? Our last conversation didn’t exactly leave me eager to see you again. Honestly, I didn’t even think you’d show up.”

“Why not?” he asked, sounding genuinely baffled. “I never miss the Hoffmans’ barbecues.”

That made you laugh, a short, humorless sound. “You hate those barbecues. You’ve said it a hundred times—the music, the noise, the neighbors gossiping. You only ever went because of us, didn’t you?”

He sighed, leaning back against the couch and dropping his hands onto his thighs. His gaze drifted to some fixed point ahead of him, like he was trying to gather his thoughts. “Yeah,” he admitted after a long pause. “And I wasn’t lying; I went because I knew you’d be there.”

His words hit you like a punch to the chest, and for a moment, you couldn’t respond. You stared at him, searching his face for some sign that he was joking, but he wasn’t. A small, bitter laugh escaped your lips as you shook your head.

“That doesn’t make sense,” you said, your voice laced with disbelief. “You attended for me but spent the whole night treating me like dirt. And let’s not forget hooking up with Clara Pierce.”

Joel’s face flushed immediately, a faint pink creeping up his neck and settling on his cheeks. He looked down at his hands again, his fingers still fidgeting, but now with a new kind of nervous energy.

“I didn’t hook up with her,” he said suddenly, his voice cutting through the charged air between you. His gaze lifted to meet yours, earnest and unflinching. “I didn’t. I just walked her home.”

"Yeah, right." You snorted, crossing your arms again. “Do you really think I’m that gullible?”

“I’m not lying,” he insisted, leaning toward you. “I didn’t sleep with her. I didn’t even wanted to be around her. I just needed an excuse to get out of there. So I walked her home and I told her to stop... you know, whatever she thought she was doing with me. You can ask her, and she'll probably tell you I'm an asshole.”

There was something in his tone, a rawness that made you pause. He wasn’t lying—you could see it in his eyes. But the relief you felt was quickly overshadowed by anger.

“You knew she liked you, Joel. And you let her think she had a chance. Why? Did you even consider it for a second?”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening as he searched for the right words.

Joel exhaled deeply, his gaze roaming over your face like he was reading a language he used to know fluently but now struggled to understand. The irritation etched into your features mirrored his own; it was like looking into a cracked reflection. His shoulders sagged slightly as if weighed down by his own thoughts.

“No,” he said finally, the word flat, almost lifeless. “I don’t like her. I don’t like the way she talks to me, the way she... carries herself around me. And no, I don’t like the way I acted that night either. I know I was out of line. But I wanted to talk to you, and Travis wouldn’t—” He stopped, shaking his head, his frustration palpable. “He wouldn’t let go of you. And when I finally did talk to you, I screwed it all up again. I know that. I hate it, but it’s the truth. I was pissed off and fed up.”

You straightened your spine, your body tense, arms stiff at your sides. “What did you even want to talk to me about, Joel?” you asked, your voice sharp now, cutting through the air between you. “What for? If every time we talk, all you succeed in doing is making me feel worse?”

He blinked slowly, the weight of your words visibly landing on him. His dark eyes drifted over your face, heavy with something that resembled anguish. His hands rested in his lap, fingers clasped tightly together, his thumbs rubbing small, compulsive circles against each other. When he spoke again, his voice was unsteady, barely above a whisper.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his head lowering until his eyes were focused somewhere around your feet. “I try to psych myself up to apologize to you. But every time I see you, I can’t think straight. It’s like my brain short-circuits. I get defensive, I think, whenever I see you looking... happy.” He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly. “Happy with him. You look like you’re doing just fine, and I think, what the fuck am I doing? Why am I here? Clearly, you don’t feel as shitty as I do. And then I get angry. I hate how easy it seems for you. How simple it is for you to move on, like my absence doesn’t even register. And that’s what I can’t handle, because that’s not how it is for me. Not at all.”

His gaze lifted to meet yours, and the intensity in his eyes was like a physical touch, hot and almost unbearable. “It’s not my case at all,” he said, his voice quiet but heavy with emotion. “Not a single day has gone by where I haven’t missed you. Do you have any idea how empty this house feels without you? How empty my life feels?”

Your lips parted, the sharp retort on the tip of your tongue faltering under the weight of his words.

“Joel—” you began, but he cut you off, his body leaning toward you, one hand lifting as if to physically hold your words at bay.

“No, I’m serious,” he said, his voice firm now, the rawness in it making your chest tighten. “It’s pathetic, how much it affects me. And it’s exactly what I was afraid of, you know? That we’d cross that line, and everything would go to shit. And now—”

“Is the thought of that night really so unbearable for you, Joel?” you interrupted, your voice trembling but still strong enough to slice through his stormy rambling. You leaned in slightly, your posture rigid, your gaze locked on him. The question caught him off guard; his breath seemed to hitch, his eyes widening. “Because it feels like you can’t even stand it. Like the idea of touching me—of having touched me—is some stain you can’t wash off. Like I was a nasty trap you fell into by mistake, like you needed an acid bath to clean off my handprint. Just a moment of weakness.”

He froze, his chest rising and falling with slow, deliberate breaths. The sunlight streaming through the window behind him illuminated the back of his neck, the soft curls there catching the light like strands of gold. His skin looking golden as honey, dark eyes safe in shadow against the illumination. You could almost swear he wasn't breathing.

“Yes, it is” he said at last, his voice quiet and careful. “But not for the reason you think. I hated how I acted. I hated how I treated you. I was impulsive and cruel, and that’s not how it should’ve been between us. That’s not how we should’ve been.”

You frowned, the confusion and annoyance sharpening your gaze.

“You always think you know how everything should go, don’t you?” you asked, tilting your head slightly as you studied him. “You map it all out in your head—the beginning, the middle, the end—and when it doesn’t go your way, you act like the world’s against you. Don’t you get tired of trying to control everything, Joel?”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t reply. You leaned back, shaking your head softly.

“You’re impulsive. You’ve always been impulsive," you continued. "That night, at the barbecue, even yesterday. And somehow, you always manage to drag me down with you.”

“Stop it,” he said suddenly, his voice low and firm. He sat up straighter, his broad frame casting a shadow over you as he loomed closer. “You want to know what bothers me? That you act like I forced you into all of this. Like I made you do something you didn’t want to do. Yes, we slept together. I know I messed up afterward, but I didn’t manipulate you into it, and you know it.”

His voice softened but remained steady, each word deliberate. “I asked you, I asked you right before it, don't you remember? Tell me to stop,” he paraphrased, his thick voice sending shivers down your spine. “Do you want me to stop?. No, you said.”

You remembered, of course. The moment was burned into your memory, as vivid as if it had happened yesterday. His voice had been thick with urgency, his body trembling against yours. Tell me to stop, he’d said, his breath hot against your skin, your body pressed against the wall.

“I know,” you said quietly, your voice barely audible.

Joel’s voice was laced with something raw, an edge of frustration barely concealed. “Then why does it feel like every time we talk, you act like all of this is something I forced you into?” His words hit the air with force, each syllable sharpening the distance between you. “Like I’m the villain in your story. Like seeing me or even talking to me is some kind of punishment. You made that pretty clear at the barbecue.”

You watched him, your chest tightening in that way it always did when his anger met your own. It was ironic, wasn’t it? How he felt like you were the one dragging him down when you’d spent months drowning under the weight of him. You shook your head slowly, a faint, bitter smile curling on your lips.

“You don’t get it, do you?” you said, your voice quieter now but no less firm.

Joel blinked, the sharpness of his expression softening into confusion. His brows relaxed, his shoulders losing some of their tension. He looked at you like he was waiting for something, like you were about to reveal a crucial piece of the puzzle he hadn’t yet figured out.

“You left, Joel,” you began, your tone steady, each word landing like a blow. “You lied to me. You treated me like I was the liar, like I was the jealous one. You used my feelings against me, and then you kissed me like you were trying to win some kind of argument, to prove a point. You undressed me. You saw me naked, touched me, and fucked me. And then you left.”

The words hung in the air between you, and you saw how they hit him—hard. His face didn’t change much, but you noticed the way his brows twitched, how his lips parted slightly as if to respond. But you didn’t give him the chance.

“It took you days to come and talk to me properly. Days,” you continued, your voice harder now, every syllable sharp and deliberate. “And when you finally did, it wasn’t to apologize. You treated me like I was nothing more than an afterthought. A stranger. You said it was a mistake, Joel. That you let yourself go. That you regretted it. Do you have any idea how pathetic that made me feel? How used? My best friend decided that sleeping with me was the worst thing he’d ever done. A ‘torturous mistake,’ I think you called it. And no, you didn’t force me. But don’t stand here and ask me why I don’t want to see you anymore. You made me feel less than nothing.”

Joel’s gaze dropped, his head lowering until you could see the thin scar across the bridge of his nose. It was almost absurd, how familiar you were with it—how many times you’d wanted to trace it with your fingertips. Your hand twitched at your side, but you held still, the distance between you stretching impossibly wide.

When he looked up, his eyes startled you. They were glassy, shimmering with unshed tears that caught the light like fragments of something broken. His voice, when it came, was quieter, almost hesitant.

Joel’s voice was steady but low, weighted with something that felt too big to name.

“The first time I saw you, I felt something I wasn’t supposed to feel,” he said, each word measured, like he’d been rehearsing this in his head for years. “I liked you. Simply put. I’m not sure I was even trying to fight it then, but I knew I should have been.”

You didn’t interrupt. You couldn’t. The weight of his words settled into your chest, filling spaces you hadn’t known were hollow. He didn’t look at you as he spoke, his gaze lingering somewhere to the left of your shoulder.

“It was your birthday,” he continued, his tone softening as though he were wading into the memory. “You were having a bad time. I could tell the second I walked in. I wasn’t even invited to the party, remember? Brianna brought me, and I knew I shouldn’t have attended. It was small, intimate—you clearly weren’t expecting someone like me there. You looked at me like I’d ruined the whole night just by showing up.”

His lips curved slightly, a self-deprecating smile. “Brianna told me it would be fine. She was wrong, obviously. But I figured it out pretty quickly—that it wasn’t me or even the party that was bothering you. It was your birthday. You hated it.” His gaze flicked toward you then, tentative, as if confirming his guess. “Still, you smiled at me in the kitchen. I don’t think you wanted to, but you did. And I thought, this is dangerous.”

Your stomach twisted, memories of that night rushing back in sharp detail—the awkward weight of him in the room, the heat in his voice when he’d said your name. You’d never realized how much he’d been paying attention, even then.

“I was dating your friend,” he continued, his voice dipping lower, “so I didn’t let myself think about it much. But after that night, Brianna kept inviting me to things. And I knew you were always there, and that you probably would always look at me like I was some sort of intruder. So I turned her down every time after that. I didn't—I couldn't afford to find out how much I liked you. I've had enough."

His admission hit you like a punch to the ribs. You gripped the edge of the couch, trying to keep your expression neutral, though you weren’t sure you were succeeding.

“When Brianna and I broke up, I figured that was it. I wouldn’t have to deal with it anymore.” He exhaled, almost laughing at himself. “And then, four years later, you moved in next door. Can you believe that? I actually thought it was fate or something. Stupid, right?”

The corner of your mouth twitched, but you didn’t say anything. He didn’t notice. He was smiling faintly now, lost in his own thoughts.

“That’s when I realized how much I liked you,” he said, his voice softening. “Too much. But time passed, and you became more than that. You became my best friend. Sarah adored you. I adored you, i do. You made everything feel... I don’t know, lighter. I couldn’t ruin that just because of some crush.”

His words cracked something open inside you, the realization sinking in that he had never known how you felt. How many nights had you lain awake, cursing yourself for the way you looked at him? And all that time, was he doing the same?

“So I let it go,” he said simply, as if that explained everything. “I buried it. You were important to me. Too important. I wasn’t going to risk what we had for something that might not even needed to be real. I couldn't corrupt us. But that's just what I did, isn't it?”

He paused, his eyes finally meeting yours. They were dark, shining with a mix of regret and something else you couldn’t quite name.

“I threw it all away in one night. Let myself get carried away, let my anger take over. And now you’re hurt, and I hate myself for it.”

You stared at him, unable to speak. The tears streaming down your face were hot, but you barely registered them. Your whole body felt like it was vibrating, heavy and weightless all at once.

“You’re beautiful,” Joel said suddenly, his voice dropping. “The most amazing woman I’ve ever met. Don’t think for a second that sleeping with you was torture. It wasn’t. I was stupid and selfish and angry, and I hurt you. I didn’t stop to think about what I was doing to you, and I’ll never forgive myself for that.”

Your breath caught, his name leaving your lips like a prayer. He wasn’t finished, though. His gaze dropped again, his hands twisting together as he added, almost to himself, “I was too focused on my anger...I didn't realize how much I had hurt you. You look so good with Travis that I thought-”

“Joel.” His name slipped out of your mouth, barely audible, but he didn’t stop.

“He treats you well, doesn’t he?” Joel’s voice cracked slightly. “He’s good to you. Better than I’ve been lately, m'sure of it. I've been mean to him, I know."

"Joel, can-"

"Sarah is very happy for you. Says he's handsome and all that," he continued, almost as if he was thinking out loud. “I’ll stay out of your way,” he said finally, looking back at you with a kindness that made your stomach twist. His smile was soft but hollow, his eyes dark with resignation.

You wanted to tell him to stop. But again, Joel wasn’t looking at you anymore. And his thoughts were spiraling somewhere you couldn’t reach.

“I promise I'll be good. And you don’t have to forgive me. But if you’ll let me, I’d like to try. To make it right. Even just a little, may-”

His voice broke something in you. Your breathing quickened, your chest tightening with something that felt too big to contain. And Joel stopped mid-sentence, his body going still as he took in your expression when you suddenly got up the couch, interrupting the sound of his voice, which slowed down as soon as he saw you.

Joel’s eyes flickered with confusion as he looked at you, his body tense, like a taut string waiting to snap. Your expression must have told him everything he needed to know—or maybe nothing at all. Your breathing was uneven, shallow, as though you couldn’t find enough air.

There were too many feelings jostling for attention inside you, none of them distinct, all of them overwhelming. His words were still spinning in your head, looping back and forth without ever resolving into clarity. Was he stepping back? Letting go? Accepting Travis? Did you even want him to do that? The thought alone made your chest tighten painfully, but you didn’t even know if it was what he meant.

You caught his gaze one last time, something raw passing between you, and then you turned sharply. Your feet carried you toward the door like they had a mind of their own, your breath hitching, your pulse wild and erratic. The rush of blood in your ears drowned out the sound of your footsteps, the room, him. You reached out for the door, your hand trembling, when his touch—firm, warm, steady—landed on your shoulders.

He turned you to face him, and there he was, his expression cracked open with concern. His brow furrowed, his lips parted slightly, searching for words he didn’t know how to form. He looked lost in a way that made something inside you twist painfully.

“Please don’t—” Joel began, his voice low, careful, but he didn’t finish. He couldn’t, because suddenly, you were on your toes, leaning into him, closing the space between you like it was inevitable.

Your arms wrapped around his neck as your lips found his, desperate and unrelenting. For a moment, he froze, stunned, but then his hands moved to your waist, strong and grounding, pulling you closer until there wasn’t even a sliver of space left between you. His eyes fluttered shut, and yours followed, everything else fading to a blur.

Completely lost, that's how you felt as his lips kissed yours; the kiss deepened, his tongue brushing against yours, and the world tilted. Your breathing came fast and shallow, mixing with his, as if neither of you could quite get enough. His arms tightened around you, his chest pressed against yours, solid and impossibly warm. You felt his strength everywhere, his thick arms wrapped around you, the way he held you like he didn’t want to let go, and it undid you completely.

Your body fit against his in a way that felt both foreign and natural, and when he pulled you tighter, you felt his unmistakable hardness against your belly. The sound that slipped from your lips was involuntary, a soft moan that melted into his mouth. He responded with a low, guttural sound that sent a shiver through you, leaving no doubt that he felt this just as intensely.

He broke the kiss, but only to trail his lips down your neck, finding that spot just beneath your ear that made you gasp. His teeth grazed your skin, gentle but firm, and your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, as though you could anchor yourself to him, to this moment. Your body burned under his touch, heat radiating from your skin, your body so hot that if someone spilled water on you it would evaporate instantly.

This time Joel didn't ask, he didn't have to. His hand found yours, and he guided you toward the stairs, his grip steady, his presence a quiet reassurance. Each step was a blur, your feet barely keeping pace with him, but you didn’t care. You trusted him completely, even as your knees wobbled, even as you stumbled and he steadied you.

When you reached his room, he pushed the door open without hesitation, his lips already finding yours again. It was different this time, hungrier, more urgent, like neither of you could wait any longer.

How many times had you been in Joel's room? Too many. The space was familiar, you’d been there countless times before, and yet now it felt entirely foreign. The walls seemed closer, the air heavier, thick with anticipation.

He tossed you onto the bed with a gentle push, his hands sliding to the hem of his shirt, tugging it upward in one smooth motion before tossing it aside. And his eyes never left yours as he unbuckled his belt, the metallic clink sharp against the charged silence. You sat up, your hands trembling as you peeled off your sweater and shirt, discarding them without a second thought. His pants hit the floor, and as your hands unbuttoned your pants, Joel's hands took over pulling them down your legs, while your eyes devoured the image of him —fully, completely bare—, his thick, swollen dick staring back at you. And you couldn’t stop the soft gasp that escaped you.

Joel climbed onto the bed, his body hovering over yours, his mouth finding yours again. His skin was burning hot beneath your fingertips as your hands explored him, desperate and deliberate. You could feel the weight of him pressing against you, grounding you, and yet you felt utterly unmoored.

He paused, just barely, his eyes locking on yours in a gaze that felt criminal. There was something unspoken in his eyes, something intense and devastating, as his body pressed even closer to yours. The evidence of his desire pulsed against your skin; his silky pink tip throbbing against your belly. And your breath hitched as a wave of heat rolled through you, leaving you breathless.

Joel’s right hand slid under your back, his fingertips brushing against your skin in a way that sent an electric current racing through you. Instinctively, your spine arched, your body offering itself to him without hesitation. The faint plastic sound of the clasp unbuckling filled the charged air, followed by the soft sensation of his knuckles brushing your shoulder blades.

You lifted your arms above your head, releasing the hold you’d had around his neck, giving him the space to slide the bra free in one seamless motion. The fabric disappeared somewhere out of sight, irrelevant now, as his lips returned to the curve of your neck. They pressed there, slow and deliberate, his kisses trailing downward with a tenderness that felt almost reverent.

When his mouth reached your chest, everything else fell away. Joel paused, just for a heartbeat, before opening his mouth and taking one of your breast, his tongue circling your nipple with a teasing rhythm that sent shivers down your spine. His lips were soft, almost unbearably so, and the suction he applied was gentle but insistent, each movement pulling a quiet moan from your throat.

Your hands found his hair again, threading through the thick, slightly messy strands. This time, you tugged, harder than you meant to, and he responded with a low, guttural moan that vibrated against your skin, the sound so intimate it made your stomach tighten. His free hand claimed your other breast, his thumb moving in slow, agonizing circles over your nipple, each touch coaxing more heat from you, your body so sensitized it felt like every nerve was connected to him.

The ache inside you was unbearable, a tension building low in your belly that threatened to spill over with just the careful ministrations of his mouth. You felt wild, desperate, every inch of you on edge, and still, he moved with the kind of patience that felt like torture.

“Joel,” you gasped, your voice raw and unsteady, “fuck me already.” The words spilled out unfiltered, your head falling back against the pillow, your back arching again in a plea for more of him, more of his touch, more of his weight pressing into you.

His hands stilled for only a moment, his eyes flicking up to yours. Something passed between you then, a moment of recognition—of shared urgency, yes, but also something deeper. Then his hands moved, confident and certain, to the waistband of your underwear. With no hesitation, he hooked his fingers around the elastic and tugged downward, the fabric dragging against your thighs in a way that felt both intimate and freeing.

Joel sat back slightly, his weight shifting onto his heels as he worked the underwear off completely, his movements slow. The sun streamed through the window, catching him in a way that made your breath hitch. He looked unreal, the golden light painting his skin in warm hues, the flush on his chest and face deepened by the contrast. His eyes, darkened with desire, somehow glinted brighter in this light, a sharp clarity that made them look like liquid amber.

You couldn’t look away. He was beautiful—too beautiful, almost painfully so—and the way his chest rose and fell, his labored breathing, the way he looked at you, like he wanted to eat you whole, made your throat tighten.

Joel smiled then, soft but unguarded, and you swore you felt it everywhere. A double inhaled breath escaped his lips, more felt than heard, and then he let the underwear fall to the floor, forgotten.

His hands found your ankles next, his grip firm but tender as he slowly spread your legs apart, his gaze dropping between them, dropping to the throbbing heart between your legs. The shift in his expression as his eyes settled there—intense, hungry, almost reverent—made heat bloom across your chest. You felt exposed in the most vulnerable, raw way possible. But it felt good. Natural.

Desire was etched across his face, raw and consuming, his lower lip trembling slightly as though he was holding something back—something that threatened to spill over any second. The air between you felt molten, thick with the weight of what was about to happen. Your whole body ached with need, a fire burning so fiercely inside you that you couldn’t bear to wait any longer.

As though he could read your mind, Joel leaned over you, his hands bracing on either side of your head, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. His body hovered just above yours, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him. His hips shifted, his movements slow, deliberate, as he guided himself to you.

The head of his cock brushed against your clit, swollen and slick with his pre-cum, and the contact sent a shockwave through you. Your cunt throbbed at the sensation, a needy whimper escaping your lips, soft and involuntary.

Joel groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating through you as he took himself in hand, rubbing his length against you. The pressure, the friction—it was maddening, each stroke sending your back arching off the mattress. Your hands gripped his shoulders, your fingers digging into his skin like you might fall apart if you didn’t hold on to him.

Then, without warning, he pressed forward, the thick head of him stretching you open, slow and steady. A gasp tore from your throat as he filled you inch by inch, the delicious ache of it making your head spin. Joel’s breath hitched, his eyes falling shut as he stilled for a moment, buried fully inside you. His body trembled slightly, overwhelmed by the sensation of your warmth gripping him so tightly.

He dipped his head down, his face close enough that your noses brushed, and your lips found his instinctively, crashing together with a fervent kind of need. His kiss was messy, uncoordinated, but it didn’t matter—it was everything you needed in that moment.

Joel shifted, bracing himself on his arms, his body pressed even closer to yours as his hips began to move. The first thrust was deep, deliberate, setting a rhythm that sent shockwaves through you. Each roll of his hips drove him impossibly deeper, his cock sliding against your slick heat, glistening in the golden sunlight that spilled across the room.

The sounds that filled the space were obscene: the wet, rhythmic slap of your bodies meeting, your moans mingling with his, and the creak of the bed frame crashing against the wall with every thrust. The room seemed to shrink around you, the rest of the world fading away until there was only this—only him.

Your body sank into the mattress under the force of his movements, your hands clutching at his skin desperately. Your nails bit into the muscles of his back, leaving crescent-shaped marks as you cried out, each sound punctuated by the relentless rhythm of his hips.

You couldn’t think anymore. Your mind had been overtaken completely, drowned in a haze of pleasure so intense it bordered on overwhelming. All you could do was feel—the heat of his body against yours, the slick slide of him inside you, the way every thrust seemed to tear you apart and put you back together all at once.

His eyes found yours then, blazing with an intensity that made your stomach flip. His face was flushed, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead and neck, and the sight of him like that—lost in you, undone by you—was enough to make your chest tighten.

Your hands slid up to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, your lips finding the curve of his throat. You kissed him there, tasting the salt of his sweat, your teeth grazing the sensitive skin. Your tongue ran over the wet centimeters of his skin, and Joel let out a low, guttural sound, a noise so raw and primal that it sent a shiver through you.

His thrusts quickened, each one harder, deeper, the intensity building to a fever pitch. Your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, your heels digging into his skin as if to anchor yourself. You couldn’t hold on much longer—every muscle in your body was coiled tight, the tension growing unbearable, threatening to snap at any second.

Your mouth found his again, desperate kisses scattered across his jaw and lips, and just as his tongue slipped past your lips, his deep moan vibrated against your mouth. It was your undoing.

Your body tensed, every nerve igniting as you shattered around him, the release so powerful it stole the breath from your lungs. You cried out, your moans tangled with his as your walls clenched around him, pulling him deeper, holding him tight.

Joel’s hips faltered, his rhythm breaking as he followed you over the edge. He groaned, the sound low and hoarse, as his body jerked against yours. You felt him throb inside you, his release hot and overwhelming, spilling deep within you as he buried himself fully one last time.

The world went quiet then, save for the sound of your labored breathing and the soft creak of the bed as you both stilled. Joel collapsed onto you, his weight grounding you, and for a moment, neither of you moved. You were utterly spent, but there was a strange peace in the way his body rested against yours, the way his lips brushed your temple in the aftermath.

Joel’s lips lingered against yours for a breathless second before he pulled away, his face collapsing into the crook of your neck as though he couldn’t hold himself upright any longer. His body felt heavy, but his touch was soft, almost hesitant, as if the weight of the moment had finally sunk into him. Your labored breaths mingled, the only sound in the room, filling the air with an intimacy that neither of you dared disturb.

When he finally rolled onto his side, you turned to face him, unable to look away. His face was flushed, damp curls clinging to his forehead, and his lips were still swollen and dark from your kisses. There was something unguarded in his expression, a rare openness that made your chest ache. You drank him in with fascination, deliberately holding back the tide of guilt or confusion that threatened to rise.

His eyes caught yours, and when they softened, a warmth unfurled low in your stomach. He reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek with an almost painful tenderness, and then he leaned in to press a kiss to your temple—delicate, reverent, like a vow unspoken.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Then, with a slight sigh, Joel pushed himself up and padded toward the bathroom. You watched him the whole time, your gaze tracing the lines of his back, the way his shoulders moved with every step. When he returned, he carried a damp towel, crouching beside you with quiet purpose. The towel was warm against your skin as he cleaned you carefully, the act so gentle it left your throat tight.

Once finished, he tossed the towel aside and climbed back into bed, his body sinking into the mattress beside yours, his arms wrapping around you again, bringing you closer to his warm chest. The silence stretched out between you, heavy but not uncomfortable. You weren’t sure how long you lay there, the two of you caught in the stillness, but the pull of sleep began to tug at you, the haze of exhaustion wrapping around your mind.

Neither of you had spoken a word. The quiet felt sacred, unbroken by explanations or apologies. You didn’t want to speak, and it seemed Joel didn’t either.

But then, the sharp sound of the front door creaking open shattered the stillness, startling you both. Joel bolted upright, his body tense.

“Dad, I’m home!” Sarah’s cheerful voice echoed up the stairs.

Panic shot through you like ice water. You sat up abruptly, your heart pounding as adrenaline surged through your veins. Joel was already on his feet, reaching for his clothes in a hurried, almost frantic motion. His eyes darted to you, his expression equal parts alarmed and apologetic.

“I’ll be right down!” he called out, his voice forced into an approximation of calm. He disappeared into the bathroom for a moment, and when he returned, his face and hands were damp. He rubbed at his skin with the hem of his shirt, then turned to you, his gaze steady but urgent.

“Five minutes,” he said softly, waiting for your nod before slipping out the door.

Left alone, you scrambled to pull yourself together. Your legs trembled as you stood, still tender, and your hands shook as you worked to smooth your hair and wipe your face. No amount of effort could erase the telltale flush of your skin or the lingering haze in your eyes, but you tried anyway. Still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that it was written all over you, I just had sex.

When you finally made your way downstairs, every step felt like walking into a storm. Your body felt too warm, too obvious, but Sarah’s voice rang out before you could falter.

“I can’t believe you’re here!” she exclaimed, her face lighting up as she rushed toward you. Her arms wrapped around you tightly, her excitement genuine and bright. “Dad told me you were upstairs, but I thought he was joking!”

Joel stood in the living room doorway behind her, leaning casually against the frame, his arms crossed. His gaze met yours, careful and unreadable, but the tension between you was a living thing, humming beneath the surface. And then, as Sarah beamed at you, reality crashed over you like a wave.

Travis.

Sienna.

Joel.

And Sarah, looking at you like this was the happiest day of her life.

“What should we do for dinner?” Sarah asked, turning to you expectantly. You opened your mouth, fumbling for a response, but your thoughts were spinning too fast. Your heart was pounding, your pulse roaring in your ears. You glanced at Joel, hoping for a lifeline, but he looked just like you; completely lost.

“Oh, I know,” Sarah said, her tone bright with enthusiasm. “Let’s invite Travis!”

“Sarah,” Joel warned sharply, his voice cutting through her excitement.

“What?” she asked innocently, glancing between the two of you.

“Don’t be nosy,” he muttered, but his voice lacked conviction.

Sarah only laughed, brushing off his scolding. She turned back to you, her expression softening.

“Did my dad apologize to you yet?” she asked conspiratorially, her voice dropping to a mock whisper. “It’s about time.”

Her words hung in the air, a weight that neither you nor Joel seemed willing to touch. And as her laughter echoed around you, you forced a smile, though your mind was already spinning, trying desperately to figure out what to say—or what to do next.

It was too much.

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wendichester · 16 days ago

Note

Hii could you possibly write something where reader gets arrested during a hunt (for like trespassing or something, I don‘t really care) and the boys have to bail her out and make fun of it (like obviously they‘re worried first but then they find it hilarious)?

Thank you in advance :))

Also, could I be 💿 anon?

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ orange isn't you,

summary. you get arrested and the brothers have to bail you out. thing is... they do it for the banter and the mocking, and not exactly for your safety.

pairing. sam + dean winchester x reader genre. kinda crack

wordcount. 506

notes / warnings. thank you for the request bubs 💿// implied trespassing/criminal mischief (playful, not serious), handcuffs (non-kinky, sorry), protective!dean and exasperated!sam, lots of teasing and banter

There are a few ways you imagined your night ending—splattered in monster guts, maybe. Covered in bruises, probably. But handcuffed in the back of a police cruiser? Not exactly on the bingo card.

The fluorescent lights of the county holding cell buzz like they’re mocking you. Cold metal bench. Scratchy uniform. Your phone’s confiscated and your pride is somewhere buried under the cop’s lecture about “private property” and “breaking and entering.” Whatever. You were this close to nabbing the damn ghoul.

“Real smooth,” you mutter, arms crossed as you stew in your very own sitcom.

The metal door finally creaks open, and in walks your salvation: one tall, grumpy moose and one smirking, pain-in-your-ass Dean Winchester.

Sam’s face says seriously? Dean’s says oh, I’m never letting this go.

“Well, well, well,” Dean drawls, clapping slow like the dramatic little shit he is. “If it ain’t Orange Is the New Dumbass.”

You glare, but it loses some edge with the blush creeping up your cheeks. “Shut up.”

“Oh no, sweetheart. You don’t get to ‘shut up’ your way outta this one.” He steps closer, tilting his head with that smug glint that makes you want to punch him and kiss him in the same breath. “I leave you alone for five minutes, and you manage to get yourself arrested?”

“Technically, it was more like twenty,” Sam cuts in, pinching the bridge of his nose. “She triggered a silent alarm. Cops picked her up trespassing behind a mortuary. Said she was—” he checks his notes, face twitching “—‘chanting something satanic and possibly high.’”

Dean’s already cackling.

“Oh my God—”

“I was banishing a ghoul!” you protest. “And no, I wasn’t high!”

“Yeah, but you look high,” Dean snorts, eyes flicking up and down your ridiculous temporary jumpsuit. “What is this—prison chic? Not your best look, babe.”

“I hate you.”

“Mm, no you don’t.”

Sam coughs. “Can we maybe save the flirting for when she’s not in custody?”

You pout as the guard unlocks your cell. “I’m not flirting. I’m plotting his murder.”

Dean offers a hand like some twisted prince charming. “Aw, come on. Be honest—you missed us.”

You slap his hand away and stride out like you’ve still got dignity left. Spoiler: you don’t. Not when Dean is laughing like it’s Christmas morning and you’re the gift-wrapped disaster.

“I swear,” you grumble, “this never would’ve happened if I was with competent hunters.”

Dean whistles low. “Ouch. That jumpsuit’s got more bite than you do.”

“I hope you step on a Lego.”

“Love you too, jailbird.”

—

Back at the motel, Sam’s typing up the hunt notes while Dean’s raiding the vending machine. You’re finally back in your own clothes, trying to scrub the memory of tonight from your soul—but the minute Dean walks in with a king-size Snickers and a glint in his eye, you know peace is a lie.

He tosses the candy bar at you. “For the brave inmate who fought the law and lost.”

You hit him with a pillow.

He only laughs harder.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

#dean winchester #sam winchester #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #sam winchester x you #dean winchester fluff #sam winchester fluff #dean winchester fic #sam winchester fic #supernatural #spn #.docx #.req

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writingroom21 · 7 months ago

Note

Hey boo, this is the anon who gave u the idea of the locked room one-shot thank you for writing it ❤️

I was wondering if you can write a one-shot like the reader is a daycare worker🤪 (her age is like 18-19) (I think you spoke about yourself working with children) and she looks after Rafes son named Felix or whatever u wanna name him and he is really clingy with the reader never lets go off her and gets jealous easily (Felix thinks of the reader as his mother since his birth mom left him after she gave birth) and he draws a painting of him, rafe, and reader. Rage doesn't know who reader is so Felix explains reader to him rafe falls in love and invites reader to babysit him paying her more than her daycare job and obviously there is smut❤️

Playing House

Warnings: 18+, smut, age gap (Rafe is 32 and reader is 20), p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it up), cream pie, breeding kink, (let me know if I missed any!)

Wc: 4.1K

This is a two in one request with this one

A/N: hey Anon! I just have to say loving the requests. Your brain is like amazing. Keep them coming

Being a single dad at 29 was not on Rafe’s bingo card.

When the girl he was regularly hooking up with sent him the positive pregnancy test he laughed at the image. There was no way she was being serious. SUre he didn’t like to use condoms but he pulled out and she said she was on birth control. There was no way in hell that she was actually pregnant.

Then she sent him a sonogram picture with her holding it up in the doctor's office. He was honestly fucked. At first he tried to play it off like it wasn’t his. Saying she must have been sleeping with others. But when she didn’t protest a paternity test he started to think she was telling the truth. Then nine months flew by and his baby boy was born. The moment he laid eyes on him he knew that was his son. The paternity test just confirms it.

It only took a week for her to run off leaving a note saying she wasn’t ready to be a mom. As if he was ready to be a dad. It took a lot of trial and error to get into a routine. He wanted to rip his hair out everytime he woke up in the middle of the night due to crying. But once again he would look in his eyes and he couldn’t. He’s learned a lot from being a father over the last three years.

He’s become more patient with others which is completely different from who he used to be. Not to mention he seems to actually have a heart. The mean old Rafe Cameron is now a gentle dad. But don’t get him wrong, he would fuck up anyone who messed with his son. That’s why he was worried when he was forced to put Felix in daycare shortly after his third birthday.

Rafe got lucky having two younger sisters who were willing to watch him along with friends. But over time it became impractical to rely on them to watch Felix. They all had their own lives and couldn’t spend hours on end with the child. That led to Rafe signing him up at Happy Bee’s, one of the best daycares in Kildare. That’s where Felix has been spending his days for almost a year. It seems to be doing good for him. Felix seems to have friends that he wouldn’t stop blabbering about. But then one person always on the little boy's mind is you.

If Rafe has to hear about you one more time he might bash his head into a wall.

“Daddy wook! Miss help me.” That’s what Felix calls you, Miss. Maybe that’s what you had the kids call you or maybe Felix just doesn’t like saying your name. Everything is always Miss this or Miss that. The other day Felix refused to eat his veggies, making a disgusted face. “C’mon bud you gotta eat them.” Rafe’s trying to shovel them into his mouth but Felix moves his head. “No. Miss doesn’t make me.” Rafe’s eye twitches at the mention of your nickname. “Well I’m not Miss, I’m dad. Which means what I say go’s, now eat your veggies.”

For ten months Rafe has heard how you don’t make him do this or you let him do that. He honestly had enough after Feliz threw a tantrum so he didn’t have to go to bed. The following day he went into the center ready to have Felix switched to another worker. But as he was waiting for the director to talk to him he watched as you interacted with the kids. They all seemed to love you, hanging on to every word you said.

Then there was his little boy.

Felix clung to you like velcro. Wherever you went he followed close behind, holding on the back of your shirt. Not once did you get mad or pull him off of you. In fact you got the kids sentled with ease like it was second nature. In his 32 years of life he has never seen someone be so natural with kids. What really got him was seeing you read to Felix. His baby boy was curled in your lap with your arms wrapped around him. If he didn’t know any better it would look like a mother with her son.

He just watches as Felix babbles to you and you can’t help but seem excited. You effortlessly make him laugh and it’s mesmerizing. “Mr. Cameron. You wanted to see me.” The director is standing in front of him now but he keeps staring at you. “Actually I changed my mind. I’ll see you at pick up.” With that he got up and walked out the building with a sense of determination.

At pick up he waited until all of the kids were gone before going to get Felix. “Hi sorry my meeting ran late.” He apologizes to you, liking the way you smile up at him. “Hey buddy, how was your day?” Felix jumps in his arms, giving him a big hug before looking at you. “Made drawings.” Rafe looks at you with an amused look which you match. “He was a real picasso. You should be proud, you got a good one.”

Your voice is soft, making you seem more approachable. “I’m Rafe. Don’t think we’ve really met.” You shake his hand telling him your name. “I was actually wondering something.” Rafe examines your features waiting to see your reaction. “Is everything all right Mr. Cameron?” Your eyes stare up at him and they look so innocent. You have to be young, if he’s guessing maybe 19 or 20.

“Yeah but I wanted to offer you a better position. Come work for me. Felix is obsessed with you and I think you’d be good for him.” You’re taken back by his request. “I’m sorry Mr. Cameron but I can’t just leave my job.” The next excuse is ready to fly out of your mouth but it stops when you hear his voice. “Rafe, call me Rafe. I’ll triple your pay and you can move into the guest bedroom.”

Triple pay and a free room? This is a great deal and you don’t know if you should turn it down. You do need the money as you help your parents with your younger siblings. Not to mention you really love Felix. The boy is like your shadow and you’ve grown fond of him. His little eyes stare at you as if he’s waiting for your answer as well. His blue eyes are a perfect match to his fathers. But you think Rafe has specks of gold in them, making them even more beautiful.

“Why me?” Rafe shifts Felix to the other side of him. “He won’t stop talking about you. I want the best care for him. You wouldn’t be able to do that while watching other kids, so here’s my solution.” Lie. He wants to see you in his house. He wants to come home to see you playing with his son, greeting him from his long day of work. The more he thinks about it the more he believes this is for himself. Looking at you he knows this is for himself more than Felix.

“Okay.”

♡♡♡♡♡

You’ve been working for Rafe for seven months now. If you are being honest it’s really great. Felix is super chill so you get to just have fun all of the time. The pay is amazing, even after you talked him into paying you normally. The house is fancy and you get to experience what the kook life feels like. Overall you would say things were great. But there was one issue you really haven't grasped.

Rafe is fucking hot.

Not any normal type of hot but DILF I’d make him a dad again kind of hot. You can’t tell if it’s a pro or con of the job. Usually you would say it was a pro because you got to see him everyday. But the downside is he��s your boss who probably looks at you like a kid. It’s not like you are. You’re 20. He’s only twelve years older than you, that shouldn’t be a problem. But you guess it wouldn’t be professional and you need the job.

It’s not like he makes it easy on you. Every morning he goes on a run coming back with his shirt off, wiping the sweat off his forehead. Then he likes to make his way over to the kitchen where you are to chug water as he asks you what the plans of the day are. You can’t count how many times your eyes drifted to his abs or how many times you lost your train of thought. He always sends you a wink before heading off to shower. Leaving you in the kitchen trying to stop yourself from following him.

Then there’s the time where he walked around the house in the tightest pair of briefs. The outline of his dick prominent as he passed you. You almost fell to your knees right then and there. There have been little moments where you catch him staring at you or checking you out. To be fair you started to dress nicer, noticing he likes it when you do. This even led to small touches.

It started with a hand on your lower back when he passed by. Everytime his fingers would find a way to lift your shirt slightly. Until one day his hand was just touching your bare back, sending shockwaves through your system. It’s like every chance he gets his hands have to be on you. Not to mention the gifts he’s been giving you.

He had come home one day after going into the office with a box of chocolates. You gushed how they were your favorite and now they magically appear in your room every week. Then there’s the shopping sprees. For the past two weeks he’s been bringing you to the main land on Saturday’s under the pretense of getting this for Felix. But as you are shopping around you end up in some of your favorite stores. As if he doesn’t do enough for you, he encourages you to get whatever you want. Rafe just swipes his card not even caring what the total was. You were being spoiled in every way.

The attention has been getting to your head. It makes you feel special thinking that he cares about you. It also doesn’t help when he doesn’t correct people when they think the three of you are a family.

You were rummaging through Felix’s bag trying to find the snacks that he likes. He’s been getting fidgety and maybe a snack would help keep him occupied. “Don’t worry about it. We can just go to the restaurant down the street. He gets food and time to relax.” You let out a sigh feeling bad that you may have forgotten to pack the snacks. “I swore I packed them before we left.”

You keep moving things around hoping they’ll pop up. “Daddy, eat.” Felix’s little voice grapes your attention. Giving up, you sling the bag over your shoulder again. Rafe picks him up, kissing the top of his head as he throws an arm around your shoulder. “I know bud. We’re going to go eat right now, right?” He looks at you so you could agree. Nodding your head you tickle Felix, kissing the hand he tries to use to push you away. His laugh is contagious, making the two of you let out your own. “Let’s get some food into that tummy, little man.” The three of you were wrapped up in your own world you didn’t see the lady watching.

“You have a beautiful family. You must be very proud.” She has a soft smile, eyes filled with joy as she watches you. Rafe responds before you can correct her mistake. “Thank you. I couldn’t be happier.”

Ever since then there’s been an energy around the two of you. It’s like the wall you two kept up were starting to crumble. Rafe was constantly texting you when he was actually in the office instead of working from home. Letting you know that he missed you and Felix or saying he can’t wait to go home to the two of you. Every message made you feel butterflies that didn’t help you stay neutral. You really hit your breaking point three days away.

Rafe had worked late today and Felix was already in bed. When you put him to bed he was already half asleep. But when you were closing the door you heard him call out to you. “Night mommy. Love you.” You had been thinking over the words when Rafe got home. He had found you in the kitchen, leaning over the counter with your back to him as you ate ice cream. “Hey. Sorry the meeting ran late so everything was pushed back.” He loosens up his tie, taking it off expecting you to answer but you don't.

He walks up behind you, his hands finding your hips. “What’s wrong baby?” The close proximity would normally send tingles down your spine but it isn’t. “Felix called me mom today.” Rafe freezes behind you for a second. He knew that his son loved you but he didn’t realize how deep that love actually went. It’s honestly not like he didn’t see it coming. The three of you have been practically playing the part of a family since you started.

He leans his head on your shoulder and kisses it. The action a new addition to the others he’s picked up over the months. “Well you’ve been a big part of his life, our lives. He wouldn’t be wrong to see you that way.” You turned in his arms staring up into his eyes. “He wouldn’t?” Rafe places his forehead on yours, brushing your nose with his. “No baby he wouldn’t. But how does it make you feel?” His eyes are closed, enjoying being this close to you. His hands are squeezing your hips, fingers spreading themselves under your shirt. “I guess it made me happy and confused. I just don’t want to hurt him.”

Your hands move their way up his arms, finding his shoulders before the hair at the nape of his neck. This is the closest the two of you have been. It doesn’t feel like a boss with their employee anymore. “We won’t.” That’s all he says to you before he’s kissing you with an intensity you’ve never seen. His lips are crashing onto yours, emotions spilling from him to you. The kiss is making your head spin so much you didn’t even realize he had lifted you to the counter.

He slots himself between your thighs, slowly moving his hips into yours. The friction makes you through your head back giving him the chance to kiss the exposed skiing of your neck. Then as if the world was playing some cruel joke it all went away. “Daddy!” Felix’s voice echoes through the halls. Rafe pulls away, his head resting on your chest as you two catch your breath. “He must’ve had a nightmare again.” He places a kiss to your skin detaching himself to go check on the boy. “I’ll go make sure he’s okay.” His right hand grabs the back of your neck and brings you in for one last kiss before heading out of the room.

That was the last time you got to be with him alone.

The next morning you woke up happier than usual. Only for you to get downstairs and see a suitcase by the door. Making your way to the kitchen you see Rafe already having breakfast with Felix. “Hey.” The two boys look at you and smile. They have the same exact one making your heart ache a little. “Daddy’s leaving.” You give Felix a sad/shocked face before turning to look at Rafe. “Oh he is?” Rafe’s eyes deflect from yours, feeling as if he was under inspection. “Yeah, just for a couple of days. They called me this morning and I can’t pass up this deal.” You just nodded, grabbing the extra prepared plate to eat yourself.

“Well I guess it’s just you and me, little man.” The rest of breakfast was awkward. Rafe was trying to talk to you but you only focused on Felix. Then after Rafe said his goodbyes. “Bye buddy I’ll see you when I get back.” Felix hugged him tight before running off, leaving the two of you alone. “I swear I didn’t know about this last night.” You crossed your arms. “It’s fine I get it.” Rafe winces at your tone, not liking how it didn’t sound like you.

He grabbed your waist pulling you closer. “Promise when I get back I’ll make it up to you. Take care of our boy. I’ll see you in a few days.” He pecked your lips before getting his bag and leaving. Our boy. You may be sad that he’s leaving you for a few days but how can you be upset? He just implied Felix was your boy and you couldn’t be happier. Guess you’ll just have to wait for him.

Today has been a long day. Felix had cried all day asking for his daddy, wanting to seek comfort in Rafe. You were woken up to the choked sobs of Felix telling you he didn’t feel good before throwing up everywhere. The day was spent cleaning your room as Felix sleeps in your bed. Every few hours you took his temperature to see that it was still normal but slightly raised. Rafe didn’t seem too concerned saying he may have eaten something that upset his stomach.

By the time it hit nine both of you were both knocked out in your bed. The tv plays an episode of Bluey, the background noise easing you two into a deep sleep. The front door opens, Rafe lugging his things in. “I’m home.” Rafe looks around to see no lights on besides the night lights for Felix. He checks Felix’s room only to see no one in there. The next room he checks is his. Sometimes Felix will sneak into his room and cuddle him to fall back asleep. He expected to see him there but when he didn’t he started to panic. Rushing to your room, he swings the door open, freezing when it does.

There you were with his baby boy, holding him to your side as you both slept. His heart rate races as he watches the two of you. Quickly he gets ready for the night, taking a shower and getting dressed. Slowly he makes his way back to your room and slots himself on the other side of the sleepy boy. For a few minutes he convinces himself this is how it always was. You, him and Felix.

In the morning when you woke up, you stretched in bed noticing that a certain someone was missing. You shoot up from the bed worried that Felix may have gotten out. In your groggy state you see a tall figure walking into your room. Now you're scared someone broke in. “Easy there. I got my sister to watch Felix since he was feeling better.” You rub your eyes trying to see if you are dreaming. “Rafe? What are you doing here?” He pushes you back to the bed and sets a plate on the table next to you.

“Taking care of you.” He kisses your check. “Thank you for taking care of him.” His lips skid across your skin, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Did you mean it?” He pulls back to look at you. “Huh?” You avert your eyes, scared of what the answer might be. “The other night when you said Felix wouldn’t be wrong for calling me mom.” The corner of his mouth lifts, a hand cupping your check. “Yeah baby I meant it.”

You crush your lips to his, throwing all caution to the wind. He meets you with the same fever. The kiss is different from the one in the kitchen. It feels like there isn’t a rush, just an excitement to explore each other. Which is exactly what Rafe wants to do. He pushes you back, his lips making their way to every inch of your skin. A moan slips your lips when he finds the sweet spot on your neck.

Before you know it your sleep shirt is on the floor, his own following along. “God you’re fucking beautiful.” You blush under his gaze, hands pulling down his pants. Rafe’s lips move lower, placing sloppy kisses over your chest. Sucking a nipple into his mouth, he takes your shorts off. His middle finger slips through your folds feeling how wet you are. An involuntary moan leaves his throat. “Who’s making you this wet baby?” You squirm under him, squeezing his finger as it glides into you. When you don’t say anything he pulls away.

The hand that was just in you grabs your face forcing you to look at him. “Answer me.” Your eyes snap open, meeting his blue ones. “You, Rafe.” He smirks at you, lowering himself once again. As he’s face to face with your pussy he smirks up at you. “That’s right baby. Don’t forget it.” His lips wrap around your clit sucking hard as he moves his hand to pump his fingers in you. His fingers are long and thick. Everytime they pump back into you, they curl hitting your g-spot.

It didn’t take long until you were pushed over the edge. Your legs trembled locking around his head. His left arm wraps around your hips, keeping you in place as he keeps devouring you. Even though you are over stimulated he keeps going until another orgasim is rushing through you. When he finally came up for air you were laid out on the bed catching your breath. He kisses up your stomach until he reaches your lips. “How you feeling?” You kiss him again, taking a hold of his dick to line him up. “Really good.” You tease his tip, rubbing it up and down your slit. Impatiently he pushes in, groaning at the feeling of you wrapped around him.

He gives you a moment to adjust before moving his hips. Slowly he rocks his hips back and forth. The feeling is overwhelming. If you thought his fingers were thick, having him inside you was a different feeling. Rafe takes a hold of your right leg, lifting it over his shoulder as the other rests on his hips. From this angle he feels more intense. “Rafe, so good.” His forehead rests on your shoulder, hips rocking into yours. His pelvis hitting your clit each time. “Fuck if you keep talking like that I’m going to fill you up.” You clench around him, liking the thought more than you’ll like to admit.

He bites your shoulder holding back a moan. “You’d like that wouldn’t you? Want me to fill you up baby?” You moan, the leg around his hip pulling him closer. Nodding your head you moan. “Yeah. I need it.” You wined out. His hands tightly gripping your shoulders using it to pull you onto him. “Don’t worry baby, I’ll fill you.” One of his hands moves down to your stomach, sprawling his finger out.

“Maybe I’ll fuck a baby into you. Make you a mom and give Felix a sibling.” You let out a loud moan at his words. Nail markers litter his back as you keep clawing at it to keep yourself grounded. “Please.” He keeps fucking you but his movements are starting to stutter. His hips lose their movement as he starts to reach his peak. “Please what? Say it and I’ll give it to you.” Your mouth gaps open, sucking in air as you feel like you're suffocating. “Say it. I need you to say it.”

The tone of his voice breaks you. “Fill me please. I want you to fuck a baby in me.” His eyes meet yours. “Please Rafe.” His mouth drops open, a moan escaping. “Ah fuck.” The warmth of his cum filling you triggers your third orgasim of the night. The two of you come down, holding each other. A few minutes go by and he finally detaches himself from you. Laying next to you Rafe turns to look at you. “You know I think we may need to do that again.” He leans over you to peck your lips. “Oh yeah?” You giggle. He nods, kissing you again.

“Don’t think it worked. Gonna have to fill you until we know it did.”

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