#what I don’t like is when the plot is moving at a normal pace that’s perfect for 16 episodes and then they pull the rug out from under you

[tsuy4n]

The Artist Who Lives for the Plot

Warning/s: Fem!Reader, Mild language/swearing, still chaotic, Verbal bullying disguised as flirting, petty drama, reader still very much suffering (comically), One (1) rusty bike lock, Unwilling reverse harem, Reader is done with them all (not really)

[A/n]: I'm so sorry for taking long! ;; next part will be out later, in a few hours or something so dw and please enjoyyy <3

Part 1, Part 2, >Part 3<

Day 4: Part II (evening)

You were clocking out late. Again.

The hallway buzzed with flickering lights, stage dust still clinging to your sleeves, sketchbook tucked under one arm. Your legs ached. Your brain even more.

By now, you'd memorized every crack in the tiles, every flicker of that busted vending machine light. You just wanted to get home, finish your panels, and maybe eat something that wasn't cup noodles. Bare minimum.

Then you stepped outside—and felt it.

Someone was watching you.

"Leaving work without saying goodbye? That hurts, y'know."

It was Abby, leaning against the lamppost like it owed him rent, and possibly his reflection rights.

You gave him a flat look. "I say goodbye to people I like."

He clutched his chest like you'd just stabbed him and insulted his jawline. "Ouch. And here I thought we had a vibe."

He didn't move, though. Just smirked like rejection was part of his workout routine while he watched you walk past him.

God, he even looked like he expected the streetlights to highlight his cheekbones.

And just when you thought that was it—

"[Y/n]~!" Romance appeared next, jogging lightly from the alley like he just happened to be there. His hair was perfect. His shirt was open just enough.

Coincidence? Please.

You sighed. "No."

He blinked, unfazed, smile still perfect. "You don’t even know what I was gonna ask."

"Still no."

He pouted like a rejected Disney prince caught mid-promposal, hand dramatically over his heart. "But I was going to say your outfit brings out your defiance today. Very... stabbing energy. I approve."

He fell into step behind you, the faint sound of cologne and confidence trailing after.

You raised a brow but continued on with walking. You didn't slow down, didn’t even look at them.

But inside?

Well.

Not that you’d ever admit it, especially not out loud. You could practically see the chaos it would unleash. They’d weaponize it. Swarm you. Probably choreograph a musical number about it.

Besides, the energy they gave off? Narcissists. The whole lot.

You’d said it once, loudly, and immediately regretted it when Abby started handing out autographed selfies as "emotional support" earlier.

You learned your lesson.

As you sighed about the happenings that had wormed their way into your supposed normal life, Baby appeared.

'Persistent.' You thought with furrowed brows as you walked.

Baby didn't announce himself. Just slinked into view beside you like a raccoon in designer knitwear, matching your pace with the quiet menace of someone who could charm a child and hex a CEO.

You didn’t even look at him. "Back off."

He blinked, all faux innocence. "This is a public sidewalk."

You glared at him. "So's a trash can."

"Harsh." He huffed, arms crossing in front of his chest like a scolded cat. Under his breath, he started muttering, something about revenge, something about tomorrow. Maybe glitter traps.

Maybe making you sweep the studio twice just so he could "supervise" from the beanbag chair like a tiny, unbothered boss.

You didn't ask. You weren't about to give him the satisfaction.

Instead, you lifted your chin like a battle-worn queen, walking faster now, sketchbook still under your arm like a weapon.

Whatever he does—whatever any of them do—you're ready.

As you continued your walk yet again, like some adventurer activating random NPC monologues, you saw him.

Mystery.

He stepped forward just to wave his hand. No words. Just a...gesture.

You blinked, a little confused, but still replied. "...See you tomorrow."

That earned you a flicker of a smile before he fell back. And that made your lips curve up. Just a little.

Okay, fine. He is cute.

Again, not that you'd say it out loud. God forbid one of them heard.

Unlike a certain someone who thought sarcasm was flirting and eyeliner made him invincible, all of them were idiots. Chaos wrapped in expensive cologne and questionable decision-making.

You were used to chaos. It almost made you uneasy when they weren't around.

And maybe, just maybe, that was the reason you never fully shoved them away.

They were annoying. Distracting. Unreasonably sparkly for your eyes... but they were also kind of—ugh—endearing. In a loser, try-hard, "we're definitely failing this mission but still doing finger hearts" kind of way.

You wouldn't say it to their faces. You had panels to finish. Rent to pay. A story back home that didn’t involve dodging demon-idols like you were in some cursed rom-com.

But you could spare five minutes. Maybe ten. Just long enough to pretend you weren't starting to care.

And finally...him.

Of course all five of them would show up right when you were trying to leave.

You didn't even flinch when Jinu appeared like some smug apparition, waving lazily before falling into step beside you like he belonged there.

You rolled your eyes.

There he went again, playing gentleman like he hadn't let that door close in your face this morning, or called your mattress a 'commoner bed.'

You didn't notice it at first, too busy sulking about his nerve and how this man probably dried his tears with designer cologne samples, but his smile twitched. Just slightly.

Then he looked at you, really looked. Like the words had tripped some kind of wire in his head. Soul.

His gaze lingered, curious now. Calculating, and a touch of amusement. Was that just a throwaway line? A sarcastic jab?

Or were you hinting?

You kept walking, completely unbothered. Maybe a little smug. Like someone who knew exactly what you said and didn’t care if it landed.

Jinu chuckled under his breath, more to himself than anything. "Careful." He murmured. "You say things like that, someone might actually come for it."

You thought of a comeback, something about how they're welcome to try, especially when you don't make enough for rent, but then you noticed: he was still walking with you.

You gave him a slow, suspicious glance. "You planning to follow me all the way to the bus stop or what?"

He grinned like this was the most casual thing in the world. "What, and miss this charming walk?"

You rolled your eyes. "You're not slick. You're just tall and well-lit."

"Guilty."

You didn't give him the satisfaction of laughing. Instead, you kept walking—shoulders tense, jaw set, and absolutely determined to ignore how he still hadn’t left.

But eventually, near the next corner, Jinu slowed his steps.

"Guess this is where I peel off." He said lightly, head tipping toward the alleyway. "Don't miss me too much."

You didn’t answer. Just waved him off without looking, or maybe practically shooed him.

Jinu watched you for a beat longer than necessary. Not just out of amusement anymore. There was something else now.

He turned, heading toward the alley, cool as ever. Or at least, trying to be.

...Only to immediately trip over a loose crate someone had left by the wall.

It wasn't dramatic. Just a sharp thud of a foot hitting wood, followed by a clumsy half-step and a quiet curse as he caught himself against the brick.

You stopped walking.

Jinu cleared his throat like he hadn't just almost fallen flat on his handsome face. "That was a—strategic pivot."

You heard him say those words from behind. That was definitely a crate collision. A soft scuffle. Some kind of grunt. The universal sound of "I meant to do that" followed by several seconds of oh no I didn’t.

You raised a brown then turned.

There he was—Jinu, Mister I-seduce-with-my-voice, straightening like nothing happened, hand casually braced against the wall like he wasn’t one misstep away from shattering his cool factor into a million tragic pieces.

You blinked again, then snorted. "Seriously?"

He met your gaze with the stubborn pride of a man who would never admit to tripping, even if you had video footage, witness testimonies, and a soundtrack of slapstick violin.

"I was surveying the ground." He said, completely deadpan.

You stared a beat longer. And then your lips twitched.

A breath of laughter escaped. Real and unexpected. You didn’t even mean for it to come out. "The leader of dorks…"

Jinu froze.

Not because of what he heard but because of what he saw.

That was the first time he'd seen you smile like that. Not a smirk. Not a tired, caffeine-deprived grimace. But a proper smile. Real, and unfiltered. Like something broke through your sarcasm firewall for a second and said surprise! humanity.

And worst part—it looked good on you.

Like, really good.

There was a moment. A weird, annoying moment where the world briefly went soft-focus and his heart gave the most inconvenient little thud like it was auditioning for your approval. How rude. How treacherous.

And most definitely embarrassing.

He glanced away quickly, brushing nonexistent dust off his sleeve. "Watch your step." He muttered, clearly referring to himself and clearly pretending he meant it as deep, wise advice.

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. "See you tomorrow, Mister-switch."

He recovered just enough to throw the parting shot over his shoulder.

"Not if I see you first."

"Pff—sure." You snorted, shaking your head as you waved him off with a lazy little flick of your fingers. The smile stuck, annoyingly enough.

You weren't about to admit it, but… that may or may not have lifted your mood.

A little. Maybe.

"Keke...heh.."

Whatever. He still tripped.

Jinu stared and watched. He didn't moved right away, not until you disappeared around the corner.

And even then, he stood there for a second longer than necessary, staring at the empty space where your laugh had just been.

What the hell was that.

That was not part of the plan. That was not part of any plan. He was supposed to be cold, composed, vaguely threatening. Not… swooning like a man in a budget romance drama who just got saved from emotional death by a smile and a half-sarcastic insult.

He ducked into the alley, checked his surroundings, and stepped into shadow.

And just like that, he vanished.

But his pride? That stayed behind. On the sidewalk. Next to the stupid crate.

Jinu didn't disappear, not completely, because he stayed nearby.

And right now, he's perched atop a building across the street, crouched like a gargoyle with his silky hair flowing with the wind.

Dramatic, pointless, and... completely unnecessary. But fitting.

He watched you walk, still heading for the bus stop where fewer people lingered at this hour. Good.

Then it happened—a ripple. A flicker in the air. Like a tear splitting through the atmosphere itself.

He didn't move.

Just watched, every muscle in his body strung tight as the demon stepped out, slinking toward you like shadow given teeth.

You noticed.

But there was no scream. No dramatic gasp. Just a shift in your weight, the widening of your eyes—like your brain said "run" and your body said "fight."

And somehow, you did both.

It wasn't graceful. No summoned weapons. No elegant energy flares like the kind Huntrix used. You didn't even look magical. You looked cornered. Tired, and maybe even furious...?

And somehow still fast enough to dodge that first strike.

You grabbed the nearest object. A bike lock.

Was it even yours? Who knew. It looked like it had been abandoned on a pile of crates, maybe stolen, maybe cursed, maybe both.

But you gripped it anyway, rusted chain and all, and swung like you meant to knock the demon back into whatever budget horror film it crawled out of.

It screeched, stumbling, and you didn’t stop.

You kicked like you'd seen it in a street brawl scene, elbowed like you remembered from a how-to diagram, and maybe even threw in a spin from that one anime you half-watched while doing laundry.

It wasn't elegant. It wasn't trained. But it worked.

Self-defense. Pure, frantic instinct. The kind of grit born from late-night walks and too many true crime podcasts.

The demon hissed again before clawing at air and vanishing through the rift, which snapped shut with a warped hum. A few people glanced over—confused, too slow to make sense of anything.

You stood there, panting. Shaken, but clearly alive.

Then you looked down at the bike lock in your hand—ew. It was rusting, dented, and possibly biologically hazardous.

You squinted at it like it betrayed you mid-fight. "Great. If that thing doesn’t kill me, the tetanus will."

You glanced once over your shoulder, half-expecting the freak in the weird getup to come sprinting back with backup. But the alley was empty.

Gone. Just like that.

You furrowed your brows. 'What, did they just... run off? Through a manhole? That a cosplay villain or a track star?'

Either way, you weren't about to stick around to find out.

"Hope you get tetanus." You muttered toward the empty street—petty, winded, but absolutely victorious.

And then, without another thought, you bolted.

"...?"

Jinu didn't move. Didn't breathe for a second.

He hadn't seen everything, not the little details such as the tremor in your fingers or the disbelief in your eyes just that he saw enough.

You fought. And won.

With a rusted bike lock you picked out of trash like a last-minute boss fight drop.

He blinked once. Slowly.

Are you with Huntrix? Or just stupidly brave?

Were those moves actual technique? Or did you piece them together from Netflix, caffeine, and rage?

His eyes followed where the rift had closed. Then drifted back down to where you'd stood, where the bike lock had clattered to the ground after you'd taken off, forgotten.

He stared at it like it might answer for you, like it was some kind of cursed artifact.

A long beat passed.

Jinu's golden eyes narrowed as he went into deep thought, analyzing every possible detail—your stance, your grip, the swing of the bike lock. He mentally replayed it all, frame by frame.

The way you reacted, the seconds between noticing the threat and responding. The moment your body chose to fight.

You shouldn't have been able to do that. Not like that. Not with that.

Not against something like that.

And yet… you did.

He knew people could fight back under pressure. He'd seen it—adrenaline, desperation, muscle memory, bad luck wrapped in wild luck. Some humans were tough, some were clever, some were just too stubborn to go down.

Maybe you were one of those.

But still. The timing. The way you moved. The flash of your eyes like you knew what you were up against.

It didn't sit right.

He stayed silent, still as shadow on the rooftop, eyes tracking your form until it vanished into the dark. Confused. Curious. Conflicted.

And maybe just a little concerned. Not because he thought you were weak.

But because what if you weren't?

Day 5: Weapons of Mass Distraction

The rehearsal room was chaos.

Not the kind of chaos that looked productive—no, this was pure, unfiltered boyband entropy. Someone was messing with the Bluetooth speaker.

Romance was mid-vocal warmup and had already changed outfits twice. Abby was stretching in front of a mirror like it owed him money. Baby sat upside down on the couch for no reason other than to judge them from a physically impossible angle.

Jinu watched it all unfold with the calm exasperation of a man trying very hard not to commit murder.

"We debut in two days." He said, not for the first time.

Romance hummed a high note in response.

Jinu’s eye twitched. "I'm serious. If we don't stick to rehearsal—"

"She was here earlier." Baby said suddenly, flipping upright with the eerie grace of a cat sensing prey.

Everyone paused.

Romance perked up immediately. "Was she?" He turned, checking his reflection in the window like he could replay the moment. "What was she wearing?"

"Coffee-stained hoodie. Same one from yesterday," Baby replied, thinking back to the memory. "Same tired expression. Same fashion crimes."

He muttered the last part like an afterthought, a little too quiet. "Same unexplainable charm."

Abby let out a low whistle, not paying attention to whatever Baby said under his breath. "Damn. You clocked her like a sniper."

Romance arched a brow. "Didn't know you cared that much."

"I don't. I just have eyes." Baby scoffed, already regretting everything. Then, in a matter-of-fact tone, he added, "It's called observation."

Jinu looked skyward, as if begging for patience or divine smiting.

"Guys." Jinu snapped, his voice sharp as he found their nonsense tiring. "Focus."

His eyes were narrowed, cold, and the way his fingers tapped rhythmically against his arm screamed barely restrained irritation.

"We're not here to flirt. Or play games. Or trail after her like lost puppies." He paused, the corner of his lips twitching out of frustration. "This is starting to look pathetic."

He let out a sigh before he went on. "We've spent more time this week tracking a staff girl with questionable sleeping habits and a caffeine dependency than actually rehearsing."

Romance raised a hand. "What if it's dignified pining?"

Jinu didn't even blink, didn't bother to put on a reaction. "You don't pine. You pose."

"And accessorize." Romance added under his breath.

He was ignored.

Jinu continued, his voice low, clipped and controlled. "You've all forgotten the bigger picture. We're not here for her."

His gaze flicked toward the large mirror, like they held answers no one else could see.

"We stick to the mission. Observe. Wait. Don’t draw attention." Then after a breath, he added, "Especially not from her."

"She has great hands." Abby muttered while rubbing the back of his neck. "Caught her sketching earlier. Thought she was talking to herself, but I swear I heard her say my traps were 'villain-coded.'"

He paused, then shrugged with a smug grin as he checked his reflection. "Not sure what that means, but I looked it up. It's... kinda flattering?"

Romance, who was now flipping through his phone without looking up, snorted. "Maybe she meant you look like the kind of guy who dies halfway through a revenge arc."

Baby deadpanned. "Or maybe she was drawing how to kill you. Probably all of us."

"She'd make it look aesthetic." Jinu said dryly. For someone who'd just finished scolding them all, he'd joined in a little too easily. "Title it something like, ‘How to Un-alive Five Men and Still Make Rent.'"

A beat of silence followed before they all stared.

Jinu blinked, realization creeping in half a second too late.

"...Anyway." He muttered as he redirected his glare at the floor. "Stick to the mission."

"No one's stopping you from checking her sketchbook." Abby fired back, folding his arms. "Oh wait— none of you've been able to."

Silence.

"Yet you didn't peek either." Romance said, side-eyeing him. "For all we know, there's a full-blown assassination storyboard in there. Panel one: you smiling. Panel two: you, beheaded."

Abby looked mildly offended. "She wouldn't."

The room paused. Silent.

Baby blinked then raised a brow. "You mean… betray us? Like, actively?"

Jinu gave him a flat look. "Well, she's weird. Suspicious. Might be working for Huntrix. Or maybe just high on espresso and vengeance."

"She looked sincere." Abby insisted, folding his arms. "Besides, have you seen how she reacts when we flirt? She flinches like we're trying to sell her cursed NFTs. No way someone that consistent is faking it."

Romance hummed thoughtfully. "I don't know... that could be part of the act. Like reverse psychology. Or trauma."

"Or," Baby cut in flatly, his eyes scanning the room before jabbing a thumb at his own face, "She's made of steel. Be real—what kind of person is immune to this?"

He gestured vaguely to all of himself, like the sheer audacity of anyone not falling at his feet was a cosmic insult.

Romance didn’t even blink. "Maybe someone with taste."

Abby cracked his neck. "Or someone with working eyes."

Baby glared at the two demons as they high-fived like villains congratulating each other on a heist. (This is why his best friend is Mystery. At least he doesn’t talk.)

Jinu exhaled sharply through his nose. "She's been guarding that sketchbook like it’s a vault. We still don’t know what’s in it."

Romance didn't even flinch. "Oh, please. If anyone's getting offed first, it's you. She probably draws you as the comedic relief that dies to raise the stakes."

Abby let out a loud snort. "So I'm what, the sexy second to go? Damn. At least give me a dramatic death."

Despite the chaos, Mystery remains silent.

But from where he stood, partially shadowed, his eyes lingered on the window like he could still see her walking away. He’d barely moved the entire conversation.

"She smiled." He said suddenly. He blurted out the thought.

The room turned toward him.

"What?" Jinu asked, caught off guard.

Mystery didn’t elaborate much. Just, "When she handed me coffee this morning. First time."

Silence. And not the chill kind.

Jinu blinked once. Slowly.

Because somewhere, behind the stern leader programming and near-death debut stress, his brain short-circuited into a half-second flashback.

That smile from last night. The one you gave him after calling him a dork. He remembered how it hit him like a slap and a hug at the same time.

And now Mystery got one too?

His eyes narrowed a fraction. Not at Mystery, but at... the air. The corner of the wall. Himself. Anyone nearby. Like he was trying to detect a glitch in the matrix.

Did you show a better smile? Was it longer? Voluntary?

"No. She's warming up to him." Baby said flatly, like the words left a bad taste in his mouth.

He didn't like how fast that question formed. Or how it stayed.

Romance cracked the tension first, throwing an arm over the back of the couch. "She’s warming up to us! Knew it."

He didn't even look at Mystery—just stared ahead, bored, unblinking, and vaguely betrayed.

"I hand her bunny-shaped paperclips. Re-labeled prop storage. Helped her haul five boxes of tangled extension cords." He tapped his lollipop against his thigh, expression unreadable. "Mystery breathes near a coffee machine and suddenly he's soulmate-coded?"

He popped the lollipop back into his mouth like punctuation, sharp and sweet and just a little bitter.

"Wild."

"...Or she's playing us." Jinu spoke after giving Baby a weird look. "This isn't a game. We're two days from debut. If she's with them, if she's here to derail us—"

"Then she's doing a terrible job." Abby cut in. "She's barely talked to us unless cornered, and the last time Baby asked for help, she nearly smacked him with a prop sword."

"She did?" Romance perked up immediately, standing to inspect his reflection in the window. "You think she meant that in a good way?"

"She also called Romance's jawline 'shonen protagonist-tier.'" Baby added reluctantly, brow slightly furrowed. The words tasted foreign, like something pulled from a fandom wiki he hadn't read.

There was a pause.

"...What's a shonen?" Abby asked.

"Anime thing... I think." Baby muttered, eyes narrowing slightly like accessing internal memory logs. He made a mental note to look it up later.

If it turned out to be an insult, he was absolutely going to rub it in later.

Romance tilted his head, squinting at his jawline like it might answer for him.

"Whatever it is, sounds like I'm the main character." He shifted slightly in the light, nodding to himself. "You think she'd like this lighting?"

Abby made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a laugh.

He couldn't. The demon. The way you fought it. Not cleanly. Not like Huntrix would've. But raw. Real. Maybe even desperate.

...And that laugh—small, stupid, bright in all the wrong ways, still echoed in his head like a bug in the system.

He'd folded in ten seconds. And now here he was, glitching like a confused NPC while Mystery got his own moment delivered with caffeine and a post-it.

He swallowed the thought.

Then exhaled through his nose—sharp, like punctuation to the noise in his head.

"I saw [Y/n] last night."

Four heads snapped toward him.

Romance blinked. "Okay— what?"

"You mean when we all saw her?" Abby said, brows lifting. "Because I definitely remember the part where she told me she says goodbye only to people she likes."

"Right, and I saw her smile at Mystery like he personally handcrafted the sun." Baby scoffed, tone dry as dust.

Then he muttered, "So unless she proposed with a bouquet of sharpies and despair, shut up."

Jinu's eyes swept across them like a fed-up homeroom teacher counting how many brain cells had left the room. He didn’t sigh, or even yell.

He just said, "After."

Like a parent delivering the final warning before turning the car around.

He didn’t wait for anyone to respond as he continued. "She fought a demon."

Silence fell like someone had hit mute on the universe. Even the Bluetooth speaker gave up.

Romance's playful veneer evaporated. "Are you serious?"

A pause. Then, with a flicker of something almost like disbelief, maybe even amusement, he added, "...She used a bike lock."

"There was no spiritual energy." Jinu said, eyes turning sharp. "Just instinct... and street-level survival."

There was a beat of silence. Then—

"A what now?" Abby asked, blinking.

"A bike lock." Jinu repeated, tone dry. "Rusted. Looked like it had been sitting in garbage for a decade."

Romance slowly lowered the coffee he wasn’t drinking. "Please tell me she didn’t strangle it with the power of sanitation violations."

Baby looked, genuinely impressed. "No spiritual energy. No weapons. Just a tetanus booster and blind rage. I respect it."

"You said she fought it off?" Mystery asked quietly.

Jinu nodded once. "Kicks. Elbows. She moved like someone trying to stay alive...not win a fight."

"Street survival." Abby muttered, now actually considering it. "She's done this before?"

"Or she got lucky." Jinu said again, quieter. "Too lucky."

Romance sighed and leaned back into the cushions. "So what I'm hearing is: she's not only artsy and mysterious—she's now also feral and terrifying. Great. Add that to the list."

Baby raised a brow. "You mean the list titled 'Reasons She'll Never Like You Back'?"

"That list's a scroll." Abby added with a little laugh.

Romance didn't even argue. Just sipped his empty mug with tragic dignity.

Jinu, meanwhile, was still.

"We still don't know what she is," He said tightly with a sigh and shake of his head.

Silence took over the group, though only a few seconds.

Abby calmly spoke with a raised brow, "You didn't think maybe that was important to bring up before we spiraled about cursed NFTs and sketchbook espionage?"

"I was waiting for the right moment." Jinu muttered, defensive but flat.

"The right moment was twenty minutes ago." Baby deadpanned, voice flat as a ruler.

Mystery, from where he leaned, gave a slow nod of agreement.

Jinu didn't respond. Not to that. Not to any of it.

Because the worst part? He wasn't sure who he was protecting anymore.

You, or himself.

[a99jazzybean]

What Happens in Vegas... (Part 2)

Part 1

synop: After your embarrassing morning, the boys say it's water under the bridge. Little do you know, Chance has been plotting. He offers a bet between your trio, which you ultimately accept. What happens if you end up losing?

words: 8.5K

includes: chancexafab!reader, parkerxafab!reader, chancexparker, friends to lovers, fluff and smut, gambling, drinking, masturbation, threesome, cuckolding

a/n: I learned the rules of craps and blackjack for this. Why does craps have so many rules??? Another thing, Brennan admitting he’s been cucked gave me the idea for this fic. 🤭 Also, very smutty. No minors!

Immediately, you jumped back from Chance and out of bed. Eyes wide as you were mortified. For a moment, the three of you stood there in silence. Darting between each other, unsure of what to say. 

“I’m so sorry!” You felt tears prick at your eyes.

As fast as you could, you sprinted to the bathroom. Slamming the door shut and locking it behind you. Pacing around you tried to calm down your labored breathing. Tears had now begun streaming down your face. 

Oh my God! I fucking came on his leg! How am I supposed to look at them in the eyes now?

Hands tangling in your hair, you let out a groan. This cannot be happening. Using Chance like that? Even if it was in your sleep, that was a terrifying boundary that you crossed. 

“What should we do?” Parker looked to Chance with concern. 

“I don’t know.” He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Apologize? Explain how it’s a physical response they couldn’t control and I hold no hard feelings?” 

“That seems like a good start.” Parker gave him an awkward thumbs up. 

Chance grabbed his glasses, then stepped out of bed. Quietly, he padded up to the bathroom door. Letting out a deep sigh, he softly knocked. 

Pausing your pacing, your neck cracked to the side at the sound. No, no, no, no…

When you didn’t answer the door, he called your name softly. 

“Are you okay?” 

You shuffled in place, unsure of how to respond. 

He knocked on the door again.

“C’mon, I know you’re in there. Let’s just talk.” 

“I don’t know what there really is to talk about.” He heard you muffled through the door. 

“For starters, I would like to apologize.” He leaned against the door frame.

“Why would YOU need to apologize? I was the one that humped your leg!” You let out a groan.

“I should’ve woken you earlier. I’m sorry I didn’t.” He bit his lip at the confession.

Your eyes widened. Bile rose to your throat, you felt like throwing up.

“How long were you awake for?” You asked quietly.

“A while. Like ten minutes.” 

“W-what?!” Oh you really were going to throw up. 

“I’m sorry…” He bit his lip. “You just seemed like you were enjoying yourself.” He slapped his head with his hand after saying that. 

“Chance! What the fuck? Why didn’t you stop me?” You could feel your cheeks heat up. 

“It felt rude to stop you?” 

“I was literally using your thigh to masturbate! In what world would it be rude to stop me from doing that?” Good lord, your friends were too sweet for their own good. Putting your wants and needs before their own. 

“Look, I don’t feel bad about it. If that helps?” He bit his lip, hoping to get a less frazzled response.

“It does.” You said quietly. “ A little.” 

Opening the door, you peeked out. Meeting Chance’s eyes, you felt your cheeks flush. With the opening, Chance managed to pull you from the bathroom into a tight hug. On instinct, you wrapped your arms around him. The move made him sigh. 

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled into his chest.

“It’s water under the bridge.” He pulled away to look at you. Worry furrowed his brow as he saw you had been crying. Wiping away your tears, he assured you. “It wasn’t a problem to begin with. Like I said, a natural thing that happens. Okay?” 

Looking away, you nodded. It was still going to take you a little bit before you could feel normal again. 

“Okay.” You said softly. 

Chance gave you one more tight squeeze, then let you go. 

After taking a few more moments to calm down, you decided to just forget it happened and get ready for the day. With disgust, you stripped off your sleep shorts. Throwing them in your laundry bag, and hoping that your other pair would avoid the same fate. 

When you were done, Chance and Parker appeared to have let the occurrence pass by. Both excitedly discussing their plans for the day. Which consisted of gambling, eating at a buffet, and more gambling. While the two of them were planning on hitting up various tables, you were planning on loading up a card and sitting around at the penny slots. Preferably with an overpriced cocktail in hand. 

Noticing you were finished up in the bathroom, Chance took his opportunity to get ready as well. Desperately needing a shower after the events that had unfolded that morning. There was also one more thing to take care of… his raging hard-on. 

He had remained hard since you had begun grinding up on him. No amount of your embarrassment had made it go down. He did his best to hide it from you and Parker, but the feeling was starting to become unbearable. 

Once in the shower, he looked down at his swollen cock. Tip red and dripping precum. God, why did you have to be so fucking hot? He wrapped his hand around his thick length, rubbing up and down with a tight grip. Biting his other hand, he muffled out a choked moan. He couldn’t get the picture of you fucking his thigh out of his head. The little moans and whines that escaped your lips replaying in his mind like a song stuck in his head. Oh, he would love to make you make those noises. 

He pictured what it would be like. To run his hands over your soft body, touching your most sensitive parts. Make you keen and whimper against him. He let out a groan at the thought, hand pumping faster. 

With how soaked he felt you on his thigh, he bet it was easy to get you dripping wet. What would it be like to sink into your wet heat? Fuck, he knew it would feel amazing. Having you wrapped up around his cock as he fucked into you. Oh, it would take a lot of willpower to not just cum in you right away. 

He flicked his thumb over the head of his cock. The thoughts of fucking you made it twitch in his hands. Closer and closer. 

Then he thought about Parker. They had spoken about sharing you, but Chance knew better. He wanted the man just as equally. What would it be like if he joined? He could tell Parker was just as turned on at the sight of you grinding on Chance's thigh. 

What if you and Parker both worked Chance? Talk about cumming quickly… He thought about the two of you on him. You planted on Chance’s face as Parker sucked his cock. Oh fuck, that would-

Chance bit onto his hand again. Streams of cum shooting out of his cock harshly. Through his teeth, he let out a low groan. Feeling the aftershocks of his orgasm pump out the final strands of his release. 

Slamming his hand on the shower wall, Chance caught his breath. Damn, if he came that hard with just the thought of you guys. How would he actually feel when he got with you? If he got with you. 

As he finished readying himself for the day. He couldn’t help but continue to think of you. Hearing the way you said his name over and over in his head. He tried his hardest, truly he did, but he couldn’t stop. Pausing, he came up with an idea. Something he had a feeling Parker would be on board with. All that was needed was your participation. 

“Wanna make a bet?” Chance asked as he sauntered back into the room. 

“Um, I’m pretty sure we’ll be making multiple today?” Parker raised a confused brow. 

“Yeah, yeah. But I mean a bet between us.” Chance motioned between you three. 

“What kind of bet?” You leaned your head on your hand, intrigued. 

“One that involves two winners, and a loser.” He gave Parker a pointed look. 

“Two winners?” You pondered on it. “Sounds different. Interesting.” 

Chance lit up at your words, nodding enthusiastically. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. What are we betting on?” You wanted to know where this was going. 

“We’re gonna see who can win back the most money today. Whoever loses has to do whatever the winners want.” Chance crossed his arms with a smug smile. 

Shit. You knew your friends were good at gambling games. Chance especially had a knack for all things luck-based. Parker, with his vast knowledge of rules, was extremely good at card games. Cheating the system without actually cheating. You, however, stuck to the simpler things. The thought of touching a card game that wasn’t Go Fish or Solitaire had you sweating. 

Still, perhaps Lady Luck would be in your favor today. Granting you the ability to receive a jackpot at all of the penny slots you would play at. Besides, even if you did lose the most the guys would do was make you embarrass yourself in some way. Right?

Looking up at them, you felt a shiver run up your spine. As they waited for your response they watched you with a glimmer in their eyes. Something you couldn’t quite name, but could feel. Hunger. 

If you made the deal,  that meant you were agreeing to them asking you to do anything. Anything. The implications were somewhat electrifying. But you shouldn’t dwell on those thoughts. 

However, part of you wondered what they would ask of you if you lost. What they would want you to do for them. To do to them. 

Nope, no. You shook your head. They were your friends. Silly, goofy, Parker and friendly, cheery, Chance. Both lovable as friends, but they couldn’t be more than that. 

“So, whaddaya say?” Chance held out an outstretched hand to you. 

“I’m in!” Parker swooped in, taking the hand and vigorously shaking. He shot a knowing wink at Chance. 

“And you?” Chance asked, his eyes now pleading like a puppy-dog’s. 

“You know using that face is unfair.” Still, you grabbed and shook his hand. 

Chance’s face lit up as you shook. Everything was going according to plan. 

He knew you didn’t stand much of a chance against him and Parker. While the two were willing to go high-risk/high-reward, you played it safe. It did earn you some cash, but not nearly as much as a singular win could get him at a table. 

“How much are we putting on the table?” You didn’t wish to put out more money than you were willing. 

“How much did you bring?” Chance asked. 

“$1,500.” You said. 

Chance put his fingers to his chin in thought. 

“And you?” He motioned to Parker. 

“$3,000.” That had your brows raising. 

“Really?”

“I like playing! Plus I wasn’t planning on spending it all. Just being safe.” He shrugged. 

“Well I brought $2,500. Since I know you’ll likely stick to the slots, let’s do $400.” Chance nodded at his thought process. 

“And the two who win the most win the bet?” You asked, despite knowing the answer. 

“Yup!” Chance gave you a bright grin. 

“Why two winners?” You questioned. 

Looking at Parker, Chance shrugged. 

“Thought it’d be fun to spice it up. Then two of us can be entertained by the loser.” Again, you spotted that hunger in their eyes. 

Grumbling from your belly interrupted your conversation. Both the boys snickered. 

“Let’s get something to eat before we hit the casino, yeah?” Chance asked. 

“Yes, please!” You agreed, hoping to fill up on something good. 

You managed to find a nice brunch buffet. Stacking up on waffles and bacon, along with some mimosas. Chance being, well, Chance went for a morning Bloody Mary. 

You cringed your face as a waiter served him the drink. 

“Tomato juice and vodka at nine am. Delicious.” You nudged Parker, sticking your tongue out in disgust. 

“It’s five-o-clock somewhere.” He said, taking a sip. “Ireland, for example.” 

“Of course you would know that.” You rolled your eyes, then pointed a finger at him. “And don’t you dare take the words of our lord, Jimmy Buffet in vain.” 

“Technically the phrase was coined before the song…” Parker was about to ramble when he spotted your narrowing eyes. “Ooooorrrr, I’ll find a way to enjoy a cheeseburger in paradise in his honor.” 

Crossing your arms with a proud huff, you nodded at him. 

“That's what I thought!” 

The three of you finished your meal. Enjoying more banter and conversation. When you wrapped up, you headed back to the casino attached to your hotel. All of you loaded up cards with your cash, then headed in your respective directions. 

Waggling your fingers with excitement, you spotted the penny slots. You wandered around the area, then your eyes landed on the most kitschy slot machine you had ever seen. Titled “Pawsome Fun”, it had a display of cats and kittens. Some cat themed items were strewn about like balls of yarn and paw prints. From the machine you could hear a tinkling jingle intermixed with various cat sounds. Oh, you were gonna be sitting at this one for awhile. 

You sat in front of it and swiped your card. Watching as $400 of credits popped up on the screen. With the keys on the machine you decided to be a bit risky, betting 10 on two lines. (Ooh, twenty cents. How scandalous.) 

Meanwhile, Chance had bet  his first $50 at the craps table. In no time he managed to quadruple it. Somehow winning in the first round, then rolling doubles multiple times in a row. The dice dealer had to check to make sure the dice weren’t weighted multiple times. To his chagrin they were not, Chance just had a certain something about him when it came to luck. 

Parker was doing alright. While he wasn’t bringing boatloads of cash in, he was fairing pretty well at the blackjack table. Though, his fellow players weren’t particularly enjoying his “small talk” of regaling the history of the game. While he technically wasn’t talking about the game itself, it still felt like a bit of a faux pas. Eventually the group’s glares managed to shut him up. Though he was very fidgety during the rest of the games. 

You continued to enjoy the penny slots. Even earning a jackpot from the cat one. A celebratory chorus of meows greeted you along with your credits going up by $40. You pumped your fist at your win. Who says you couldn’t win this bet? 

Chance was feeling really good about his odds. Now $300 richer than he was at the start of the day, he decided to gloat. Looking around the casino he spotted you. A content smile on your face as you continued to press the “spin” button. Occasionally adding more cents to your credit pool. 

Sliding in beside you, you pretended to ignore your friend. It didn’t help that he wrapped an arm around you and leaned over your shoulder. 

“Are ya winnin’, son?” He chuckled, a hot breath hitting your neck. 

“I sure am!” You waved at your credits. “I got the jackpot!” 

Chance eyed your amount with an amused smirk. 

“Good job!” He said patronizingly. “You keep doing that and you’ll beat me in, I dunno… five days?” He gave you a toothy grin, a mischievous glint in his eyes. 

“If you’re so great, how much have you won?” 

“Oh just $300.” 

You whipped your head, staring at him with wide eyes. 

“There’s no fucking way! We’ve been here for maybe an hour!” 

“Which means I have even more time to win!” With that, he left you with a wink and a wave. 

At your seat you sat open mouthed and dumbfounded. Your measly jackpot was nothing. You watched as Chance wandered off to the craps tables again. 

“That your boyfriend?” An old woman with a ragged voice had sat at the machine beside you. 

“What? Oh, um, no.” You rubbed the back of your neck, cheeks red. 

“Really? You seem like you’d be a cute couple.” She swiped her gaze card and punched in her bet. 

“You gleaned that from our brief interaction?” What was it with these old ladies and questions about your relationship?

She just shrugged.

“I’m old. You’ll learn about these things someday.” 

With that she turned to playing on her machine. You did the same, but felt a pit growing in your stomach. With each press of the button it grew bigger and bigger. After losing another round, you let out a groan.

“Everything alright?” The woman next to you asked. 

“No.” You sighed. “That friend you saw with me made a bet and I’m so going to lose it at the slots.” 

“What’s the bet?” She was intrigued, likely someone interested in gossip.

“The loser has to do anything the two winners want them to do.” You grumbled.

Cackling, the woman startled you. Her laugh eventually turned into a cough that she pulled out a kerchief for. 

“Oh dearie, are you sure you aren’t dating?” 

“Um, yeah? I don’t understand what that has to do with the situation?” You looked at her, confused. 

“It has everything to do with it!” She giggled. Oh the youth. 

“No, it doesn’t?” 

“Did you have any stipulations around what “anything” means?” She looked at you over her glasses. 

Her implication dawned on you, you had thought about it earlier. There was no way they would though, right?

“No, they wouldn’t do anything like that. The most would be embarrassing me.” 

“Whatever you say.” She eyed you, then leaned in. “If I were you I’d move from the slots to the tables. Better chances for you to win.” 

You glanced toward the area of the tables with a gulp. She was right. There was no way that you would win without betting higher. Sighing in acceptance, you geared yourself up to play games you had no idea how to play. 

You put the credits back onto your card, then made your way to the craps tables with Chance. He was leaned over the table, watching someone roll the dice with enthusiasm. Practically bouncing on his toes as he watched the dice roll to a stop. Then he let out a small cheer, pumping his fist. With sparkling eyes, he noticed your presence. Smiling brightly at you, he motioned for you to come over.

“Done with the penny slots?” He asked.

“Uh, yeah.” You said sheepishly. “There’s no way I’m going to compete with you guys doing that.” 

“Smart cookie.” He ruffled your hair. 

“So how do you play this?” You eyed as people set their chips down in spots listed with numbers. 

“It’s kinda a lot, but easy enough to get. I think, at least.” You watched him place a chip in the spot with an eight. 

“Right now we’re in the middle of a round. I just bet that he’s gonna roll an eight this next one.” 

“Okay��” You watched the man rolling kiss his fists, then released the dice. They clattered, both facing four side up. 

“Hell yeah!” Chance exclaimed. “You can basically win at any point in this game. Mostly, unless he rolls a seven. Well, you can technically bet against him to get a seven, so…” 

“This sounds very complicated.” You could feel yourself start to sweat. 

“Here, next round I’m shooter, so you can bet on me. Kay?” He pat your hand reassuringly. 

“Okay…” 

“Sweet!” 

When it was Chance’s turn to be the shooter, he had you get some of your credits transferred to chips.

“So at this table you have to make a minimum bet of $20.” Oof, while in the grand scheme of things it wasn’t a high number, penny slots had changed your perspective on wagers.

You placed the minimum bet on the table. This time you would be wagering in Chance’s favor. Which he seemed pleased about. 

With bated breath, you watched as he rolled. It landed on a six. He gave a nod to the dice, then prepared to roll again. You watched as other players put their bets on the table. For now you would stick with hoping he got a six. 

He made three more rolls without hitting a six, but you noticed others winning with their respective bets. Testing your luck, you put ten on nine. 

Luck appeared to be in your favor, Chance’s next roll was a nine. He gave you another classic bright smile. The look in his eyes made your stomach churn with butterflies. 

“Nice job!” 

Eventually, Chance rolled a six once again, earning you another win. 

“Looks like you’re getting it! At least a little. Wanna shoot?” He asked.

Biting your lip you looked over the table. The dealer eyed you expectantly. Shrugging your shoulders, you again decided to test your luck. You and Chance placed your bets on the table. With a deep breath you grabbed the dice. Praying to the gods of luck, you shook the dice. Upon release, you watched as they landed on fours. Alright, you could work with this. Chance watched you, a smirk on his face. Looking at the board, you realized he had placed his bet on the “don’t pass bet” spot. A look of disbelief was on your face. 

“You bet against me?” You asked incredulously. 

“Just don’t roll a seven and you’ll be fine.” He crossed his arms with a smug smile.

You placed down ten on two, hoping you could make him lose. Unfortunately, your next roll was a bust. The dice landed on four and three. You let out an audible groan as you watched your chips be taken away and Chance received more. 

“Damn, sorry sweetheart. Maybe next time.” He pat you on the back.

“There won’t be a next time.” You huffed. “I’m gonna play blackjack.” You practically growled. 

You wandered over to the table Parker was sitting at. The man doing his best to chat up a neighboring player. When he spotted you, he lit up. 

“Oh, ho ho! What do we have here?” He teased. “Come, join us, we’re just about to start a new round!” He pulled out an empty seat beside him.

“Thankfully, I actually know how to play this one.” You said as you plopped down. 

Technically you did, but you had never played in a casino before. Hopefully you could manage to win at least something. 

“Deciding to come to the tables now? What made you change your stubborn little mind?” Parker asked, poking you on the forehead for emphasis. 

“Chance told me he already won $300.” You grumbled.

“Sounds like our Chance!” He cracked his knuckles, then his neck. “Well, hope you’re ready!” 

You all placed your bets. Going for the minimum, you placed down twenty. Parker placed down 200. Sucking in a deep breath, you prayed to the luck gods once more. If Parker won, you were totally fucked. 

Cards were shuffled, then the dealer began handing them out. Parker received a Jack and a two. You got a seven and a five. Doing quick mental math, you knew you needed to get at least one more card. Parker was the first person at the table, so the dealer faced him.

“Hit.” He received an eight. “Stand.”

Gulping, you watched as the dealer turned toward you. 

“Hit.” The dealer pulled out a Queen. “Shit.” You said under your breath as you watched the dealer collect your chips. 

Parker patted you on the back.

“Better luck next time.”

When it was all said and done, Parker had managed to beat the dealer. Earning him more winnings. You let out a groan as you watched him receive more chips. He gave you an apologetic look. 

Deciding to stay, you managed to win a couple rounds of the game. However, you were nowhere near as close as Parker. You needed to up the ante. 

You placed down $200 in chips, making Parker’s eyes widen. 

“You sure about that?” He asked.

“Positive.” 

“I like your style!” He exclaimed as he set down $200 as well. 

You were dealt your cards, and cursed under your breath as you saw Parker’s hand. An ace and a King. Parker bounced in his chair, waiting for the dealer to flip his other card over. Parker had won. 

It was then that you admitted defeat. There was no way you were going to be able to match their winnings. Letting out a frustrated grumble, you left the table to cash in the chips that you had. Parker decided to follow you, excitedly talking about how much fun he had at the table. How he was looking forward to poker tomorrow. He stopped when he realized you weren’t engaging with him

“Are you okay?” He asked softly.

“I’m fine.” You said bluntly, not looking at him. 

Spotting the two of you heading to cash in your earnings, Chance jogged up to you. When he saw your expression his brows furrowed with worry.

“Is everything alright?” Chance’s eyes darted between you and Parker.

“Peachy.” You said. 

“Are you sure?” Chance reached out for you, but you swiped his hand away.

“I told you, I’m fine.” You sighed. “I just wanna get my cash and crash in the room. Then deal with the inevitable embarrassment you two are going to plot.” 

“Oh. I take it you didn’t win much?” Chance bit his lip nervously. 

You narrowed your eyes at him.

“How perceptive.” 

Chance and Parker shared a concerned look, hoping that they could change your mood back at the room.

When you returned to the room, you plopped face first onto the bed. Letting out a long muffled groan. You lost, you lost!

“You know, we can just drop the bet if it’s bothering you this much…” Chance didn’t want you to be this distraught. 

Without lifting your head, you sharply pointed in his direction.

“No! I am a person of my word!” You lifted up, turning yourself to face them. “I will complete this bet!”

A surge of confidence burst through you. So what if they asked you to do something embarrassing? You were friends, they wouldn’t hurt you. 

“That was a sudden change in mood.” Chance noted.

“A mood that has me filled with confidence and energy. Lay it on me! I can take it!” You gave them a grin. Surely you could have fun with it too. 

“Tell us what you were dreaming about last night.” Parker sat on the couch, looking at  his nails nonchalantly. 

As if on autopilot, your mouth slammed shut. There was NO WAY you could tell them about that. You thought maybe they would make you embarrass yourself in public. Telling them the intimate details of your very intimate dream, no, you couldn’t.

“Um, I’m sorry. I don’t remember.” You scratched at your head.

“We’ve known you for forever.” Parker stood up walking toward you. Leaning down, he booped your nose. “Which means, I know when you’re a fucking liar.” His voice was low. 

“I-I’m not lying?” You stuttered out. 

“Is that a question, or a statement?” Chance chimed in, a smirk playing on his lips. 

“A statement?” You squeaked. 

“Oh c’mon, your dream couldn’t have been that bad.” Parker sat on the bed then slid himself next to you. 

“Yeah. You know you can tell us anything, right?” Chance followed Parker, sidling up beside you. 

Heat flared to your cheeks at their proximity. In your peripheral you could see them smirking mischievously. That hunger had returned to their eyes. 

“Guys, you could choose something else…” 

“We could.” Parker said. 

“But we don’t want to.” Chance finished.

Sitting between them, a realization dawned on you. You jumped off of the bed, spinning to look down at them. 

“You planned this!” You exclaimed, red in the face. 

The two of them shared a look, then shrugged. 

“So what if we did?” Parker asked. 

“You still lost.” Chance tapped his chin with his fingers. 

Letting out a frustrated noise, you tapped your foot. Trying to figure out some way to not tell them anything. 

“So, your dream?” Parker brought you back to them. 

Sighing, you dropped your head. It was no use, you lost, you had to tell them. Gearing yourself up, you took in a deep breath. 

“Idreamedaboutyoufuckingme.” You said quickly and quietly. 

Parker did his best to not laugh. 

“What was that?” His voice held a teasing lilt.

“I said… Idreamedaboutyoufuckingme.” Though it was louder, you still said it quickly.

“I didn’t catch that.” Chance cupped his ear with his hand. 

You let out a strained groan. 

“Fine.” You said through gritted teeth. “I dreamed about you fucking me.” 

“There it is!” Chance said. 

“Took you long enough.” Parker chimed in, nudging the other man. 

“Ugh, you two are insufferable.” You tried to deflect the conversation, red blooming on your cheeks. 

“Did you like it?” Chance asked, eyes dark.

“Ah, um…” 

“That wasn’t an answer.” Parker joined in again.

“Maybe.” You blurted.

“Only maybe?” Chance stood up, walking up to you. He leaned down, nose to nose with you. Your breath hitched. “Didn’t seem like it when you came on my thigh.” He said lowly.

Softly, you let out a whimper. The sound sent chills through Chance. 

“Well?” He asked, the heat of his words against your lips. 

“I did. Like it. A lot.” Your eyes darted away from his.

What was happening? Sure, the boys teased you, but never like this. Was it some cruel joke? All because of what you unconsciously did to Chance?

A warm hand on your chin brought you back to the present. Chance turning you to face him, his gaze filled with adoration. It had your heart swelling. 

Perhaps this was something else entirely.

“If it helps, I liked it too.” He said softly. 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.” 

Clearing his throat, Parker caught both your attention. He was leaning back, enjoying the show you two were putting on. However, he wanted more. 

“I’ve got something else I want you to do.” He said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. 

“What would that be?” You asked. 

“I want you to let Chance fuck you. In front of me.” He seemed giddy at the thought. 

Both you and Chance’s eyes widened. Did he really just say that?

“Y-you want to be cucked?” You spat out without thinking. 

Parker giggled at your shock, bouncing against the bed.

“Of course I do!” Parker looked between you expectantly. 

You looked at Chance, looking for any hesitation. 

“Do you-” Chance cut you off.

“Yes!”

Suddenly, you felt soft lips press against yours. A shocked noise escaped you before you allowed yourself to fall into the affectionate action. Your eyes fluttered shut as you pressed back against Chance. His tongue lapped at your lower lip and you opened your mouth for him. Your tongues tangled, making Chance groan.

“You don’t know how badly I’ve wanted this.” He breathed against you, before pressing against your lips once more. 

Warm hands caressed over your body. One curled into your hair, allowing Chance to control the kiss. You moaned as he nipped at your lip, then slid his tongue against yours again. Pulling away, Chance took in your state. Hair mussed up, lips wet and kiss bitten, the cutest blush dusting your cheeks. Fuck, you are adorable. He kissed you again, then trailed his lips down your neck and jaw. 

“Fuck.” He said your name lowly. “I need to taste you, please.” His eyes pleaded with you, shooting heat straight to your core. Oh, wow. This was not how you imagined this would go, but boy were you loving every second of this. 

You nodded, and Chance took his opportunity. Pressing a deep kiss against your lips, he wrapped his arms under your thighs and lifted you up. Your legs locked around his torso as he lifted you. He carried you to the bed, setting you down gently. 

As he looked down at you, he tore off his shirt. Revealing a somewhat toned body. A tight broad chest with a lovely bit of a lower tummy. You kind of wanted to bite him. It looked like Parker did too.

The other man had moved to the couch to get a good view of the show you and Chance were putting on. His eyes were drinking in all of the sights as his cock grew hard in his pants. Fuck, you two were so hot. 

Planting his hands on either side of your head, Chance leaned down. Capturing your lips with his once more. Your hands trailed up and down his back, then scratched at his scalp, earning you a low groan. 

“That feels good.” Chance said against your lips. 

Warm hands slid under your shirt, then pulled it off. Your pants and underwear followed. The articles falling unceremoniously onto the hotel floor. 

Both Chance and Parker groaned at the sight of your naked body. Between your thighs, your glistening pussy peeked out. The sight made them groan again. Chance spread your legs, making sure Parker got a good look at your needy cunt. 

“Fuck, you’re so pretty.” Parker moaned out.

Chance slid two thick fingers between your pussy lips, making your hips jolt. 

“Ah, fuck!” You keened. 

It had been a bit since you had been touched by someone other than yourself. Your pussy was extremely sensitive. 

The fingers teased around your entrance before plunging in easily. Biting his lip, Chance moaned at the feeling of your cunt sucking up the digits. So soft and warm. His cock jumped at the thought of him finally sliding into you. Curling his fingers, Chance pumped in and out of you. The push of his fingers pressing up against your gummy sweet spot. 

“Ah, C-Chance!” You cried out. 

“Look at you…” He breathed out, eyes trailing over your writhing body and landing on his fingers pressing in and out of your cunt. “So fucking perfect.” The compliment shot sparks of pleasure through you. 

He pulled his fingers out, making you whine at the loss. Walking over to Parker, he offered his soaked fingers to the man. Parker opened his mouth, gladly taking the offering. He moaned around his fingers, eyes rolling back. Chance let out a moan of his own at the feeling of Parker’s tongue.

“Fuck, you taste good.” Parker said, face already fucked out. “You should taste her too, Chance.” 

Nodding, Chance returned to you. He kneeled at the foot of the bed, then pulled your body to him. Without hesitation, Chance dove into your dripping heat. Large, warm tongue lapping through your folds making you let out a loud moan. His tongue flicked at your clit, earning him a cry of pleasure. Fuck, he was good. He felt so fucking good. 

Chance moaned against you, loving how good you taste. Oh, he could just stay between your legs forever. Die in the closest thing to heaven he had discovered. He continued to lap at your heat, pressing hot kisses to your thighs. Occasionally he would wrap his lips around your clit. You cried out at the pleasure that coursed through you. That familiar heat building up in your belly. He had barely been going at you and you could already feel your orgasm growing. 

Watching you from the couch, Parker pawed at himself over his pants. His hard-on straining against the fabric almost painfully. Oh, but he loved the feeling. Edging himself over and over till he could finally cum. 

“C-Chance! Ah!” You cried out at a harsh suck on your clit. 

Chance hummed contently against you. The vibrations of his voice making you shiver. That heat continued to build. Just a little more, that’s all you needed. 

His tongue flicked at your clit quickly. He watched you writhe under his ministrations. Moans escaping you faster and faster as he forced your orgasm build. So close. Each lick against you had your thighs flexing. The heat in you growing hotter. 

One final lap against your pussy had you gushing. Throwing your head back, you came with a loud moan. Thighs clamping around Chance’s head as your release coated his lips and chin. He moaned against you. 

As you shook with aftershocks, Chance stood up. Pulling his pants and boxers down, he revealed his cock. It was even better than your dream. Large and very thick, you shivered at the thought of him inside you. Soon enough you would feel it. First, Chance wanted to feel your mouth. 

The man shifted your body around, making your head droop over the edge of the bed. Pressing his cock to your lips, he spoke.

“Open.” 

Complying, you opened your mouth. He slid between your lips with a groan. The feeling of your mouth and tongue around him made him shiver. Softly holding your head, he began to thrust down your throat. Making you choke on his cock in the most delicious way. 

“F-fuck, you feel so good.” He groaned. “If I knew you took cock so well, I would’ve done this sooner.” 

He continued to fuck your mouth. Loving the way you moaned around his length. Yeah, he could get used to this. Though, he didn’t want to cum down your throat. Not yet, at least. 

Pulling out, he crawled onto the bed with you. Warm hands manhandled your body as he pressed tender kisses over your sensitive skin. He pressed your back against his chest, his cock sliding between your wet folds from behind. The head pressed against your clit, making you jolt against him. 

“Want me to fuck you? Yeah?” He breathed against your neck before kissing our sweet spot. 

“Mmph! Yes!” You keened. 

Over your shoulder, Chance locked eyes with Parker. The dark look in Chance’s eyes made Parker shiver. He followed as Chance’s fingers slid down your front, spreading apart your pussy lips. In one fluid motion, he thrust his cock deep inside you. A choked sob left you. 

Parker moaned at the sight. Chance shoved deep inside your tight, wet heat. Your pussy drooling over his cock as the man began to fuck into you. Slick sounds filled the room along with your moans and whines. Just like your dream, Chance’s thick cock pummeled into your sweet gummy spot. The pure pleasure made tears prick at the corner of your eyes. 

Parker couldn’t stand being on the sidelines anymore. He needed both of you. 

As he stripped down, you watched with anticipation. Licking your lips as Parker approached you and Chance. He pressed a deep kiss to your lips, capturing your moans as Chance continued to fuck up into you. Turning from you, he pulled Chance into a kiss over your shoulder. The two tangling tongues with a groan. 

Parker’s fingers tweaked at your nipples, causing you to cry out. Then he trailed his hand lower, fingers dancing around your sensitive nub. You squirmed as he played with you, gasping as pressed harder. Chance hissed as he felt you clench around his length. 

“F-fuck! Make them do that again.” He groaned, looking at Parker.

The other man listened, continuing to play with your overstimulated pussy. Your soft walls pulsing around Chance’s length as your clit was brutalized by Parker’s fingers. Each squeeze against his cock had Chance moaning louder and louder. Balls growing tight as you clenched around him. Oh you were going to make him cum so hard. 

“I think they’re close.” Parker smirked as he continued to touch you. 

Loving your fucked out face. Eyes glazed over, mouth hung open, tumbling out a stream of moans and whines. The men force you to take every pleasurable touch. Leaving you shivering as another orgasm was building up within you. 

“God, you’re so fucking tight.” Chance kissed up your neck. “I bet you’re close, huh?” Fuck, he needed you to cum around him. 

“Mmm, make them cum. I bet they’ll squirt again.” Parker joined in, teasing you with his words. 

All you could do was let out a pathetic whine, your pussy fluttering at their words. 

“Mmph, keep going. They like it.” Chance groaned. 

“You like it?” Parker’s lips captured yours in a heated kiss. “You like us using your perfect body like this?” Parker’s hand slid down your front back to circling your clit. 

Pleasure courses through you, your orgasm just on the edge. 

“Ah! Mmm…Parker!” You moaned as sparks of pleasure shot through you. 

Parker grabbed your cheeks making you look at him. His eyes hungry as he smiled down at your ruined state. 

“You gonna cum? Make Chance fill up this pretty pussy?” He pressed a hot kiss to your lips. 

Both you and Chance moaned at the thought. 

“Fuck yes! I’ll cum in this perfect little cunt.” Chance groaned and kissed up your neck. Occasionally sucking against the sensitive spots. 

That heat in your belly was growing and growing. Ready to burst at any moment. 

“Please,” Chance huffed against you, “please cum for me. I need you.” He practically whimpered. His cock so sensitive. Needing to unload in you. 

With his plea you shattered. Cumming around his length with a scream. Your pussy clamped around him, forcing him to release inside you. A flood of warmth filled you as Chance shot hot ropes of cum. Each twitch of his cock had him moaning. He rut into you as you came down, making you whine at the overstimulation. 

Pausing, Chance caught his breath. Keeping you pressed against his chest as his cock stuffed you full. He left trails of sweet kisses along your neck and shoulders. Whispering “thank yous” over and over against your skin. 

Eventually, he slid out of you with a groan. Both of you slumped down. With your legs spread, they watched as Chance’s spend slid out of you. 

Parker couldn’t contain himself. Suddenly, you found yourself on your back. Parker pressing a quick kiss to your lips, then kissed down your torso. Reaching his destination, he began to lap at your overstimulating pussy. Licking up the mix of you and Chance and moaning at the taste. Oh, he could get used to this. 

“You both taste sooooo gooood…” He looked at you and Chance, a fucked out daze had his eyes glazed over. 

Parker returned his mouth to your cunt, desperately needing more of you. His tongue flicked against your clit, making you cry out. It was too much. You tried closing your legs, but Parker forced them back apart with a growl. He dove back into your heat, licking up and down your folds. Mouth encircling your sensitive nub, making you cry out. 

The scrawny man was surprisingly strong. A vice-like grip on your thighs. Making sure you took everything he gave you. He was going to have you cum on his face, he needed it. 

Between your legs your eyes caught his hungry stare. The sight had you shivering and moaning. 

All it took was a harsh suck on your clit and you were falling apart once more. Spraying your release on Parker’s face as your hips thrusted against his lips. He moaned, lapping at you greedily. Tongue abusing your swollen clit. 

When he had his fill, Parker crawled over you. Slowly, he pressed a deep kiss to your lips. Tongue meeting yours, making you taste yourself and Chance. Sitting behind you, Chance tugged at Parker’s hair. He pressed his lips against his. Tasting what you had, making him groan. Already he was growing hard again. 

First, however, it was Parker’s turn. His cock, red and beading with precum. He wondered how long he would even be able to last. It didn’t matter, he needed to feel you. 

Sliding his cock between your folds, the man’s eyes rolled back in ecstasy. 

“Oooh gosh, you feel amazing!” He moaned. 

Both of you moaned as he slid into your heat. Your pussy sucking him in despite how overstimulated you were. Parker didn’t start slow, opting to pummel into you quickly. As if he couldn’t hold himself back. 

He couldn’t, you felt so fucking good. Your sopping cunt pulling him in over and over again. Warm, wet, and so soft. He didn’t want to leave the feel of your pussy. 

With the little wherewithal he had, Parker reached for your swollen clit. Fingers circling around it once more. Every touch making your hips jolt. Your body matching with his thrusts as Parker forced your body to build up another orgasm. You sobbed as the pleasure grew and grew. 

Above you, Parker was in a daze. Loving how fucked out you were beneath him. Your writhing body just taking everything he was giving you. Eyes shut tightly as you gasped out moans with each of his thrusts. Soon enough you would be clamping down on him, making him join Chance with cumming in you. 

He leaned down, mouthing the crook of your neck. Leaving love bites down the column of your throat. Each bite made you tighten around Parker’s length. He whined at the feeling, continuing to leave bites and kisses against your skin. Needing to feel the way you clenched around him.

“Gosh, oh, oh, f-fuck.” He stuttered out. There was so much he wanted to say, but your body had him in pure bliss. Coherent thoughts were out the window with the way you felt around his cock. 

His fingers continued to work at you as he pumped in and out of you. Biting your lip, you whined at the feeling. The pleasure growing almost unbearable, yet you felt as if you needed it. 

“P-parker, mmph! It’s t-too much!” You managed to gasp out. 

“You can take it! P-please!” He cried out. Just a bit more, that’s all he needed. 

Locking your legs around his hips, you pulled Parker’s body flush against yours. Grabbing his hair, you gave him a hot open mouthed kiss. Your tongues tangled as you groaned. Out of nowhere, you felt your orgasm slam into you. Pussy clamping down and pulsing around Parker’s cock. A wave of your release gushed onto his lower half. 

“Oh! Oh!” He whimpered, feeling his balls tighten before unloading into you. 

With eyes shut tight, he pumped in and out of your wet cunt. Cock twitching as he shot ropes of his cum into you. Each thrust sending shocks of pleasure coursing through his body. Your pussy continued to pulse around him, making him moan. 

He pressed a long deep kiss against your lips, slipping his tongue against yours. Lazily, you wrapped your arms around him. Fingers tangling in his colorful hair, lightly tugging. His hands ran up and down your sides soothingly, helping you come down from your high. 

Looking up at Parker, you felt a swell in your chest. He was staring down at you in awe, adoration sparkling in his eyes. As if he couldn’t help himself, he dived toward your face. Peppering you with light kisses all over your cheeks and neck, the sweet action made you giggle. As if he hadn’t just fucked you silly.

“Mind if I join in?” Chance asked sheepishly, his cheeks dusted with red. 

“Come here, big guy!” Parker opened an arm to him, dragging Chance into a kiss. 

After a moment, Parker pulled out of you. Both of you groaned at the loss. Chance and Parker stared down between your legs, appreciating the collective mess they made of you. Sheepishly, you pressed your thighs together. 

“Awww, nooo.” Parker whined, pulling your legs apart.

“You guys are making me self conscious.” You huffed.

“You shouldn’t be.” Parker said matter-of-fact. “You’re really fucking hot.” 

Despite everything, that had your cheeks flaring red. 

It seemed like the men weren’t done with you. Chance was hard again, eyeballing your overstimulated cunt with that familiar hunger. While you didn’t know if you could truly take anymore, another part of you felt a rush at the thought of being fucked into a puddle. 

And fucked you were. Chance putting you in a mean mating press, his cock making you cum around him two more times before he came in you again. Parker pushing you facedown on the bed and taking you from behind. Fucking into you like no tomorrow. Every part of you becoming jello as they repeatedly used your overstimulated body. 

Eventually, everyone had tired themselves out. Both of them curled up on either side of you. Snuggling against your naked form. Multiple hands trailed over your body, leaving you shivering. Chance pressed soft kisses up your collarbone and neck, and planted one on your lips. Giggling, you felt Parker nibbling at your neck. Yeah, he sure liked to bite. 

“What now?” You asked, turning your head between the two. Head hazy with the bliss of your orgasms. 

“We take care of you.” Chance pecked your cheek. “It’s the least we can do, considering…” He motioned to your boneless state. 

“Ooh, how about a bath? Since we can all fit in the tub!” Parker’s eyes sparkled with excitement. 

You loved the man’s enthusiasm for even the most mundane of things. Something you hoped you could learn from him. 

“I like the sounds of that. How bout you?” Chance rubbed his thumb lovingly along your cheek. 

“Mmm, a bath sounds wonderful.” 

Parker helped get the bath prepped, while Chance took care of you. Wiping you down, then making sure you drank water and had a bit of a snack. As the tub was filling, Parker came back into the room and hopped back into bed with you. He snatched a chip from the bag Chance was sharing with you. 

“Did I miss anything?” He snuggled back into you.

“Just Chance babying me.” You teased. 

“It’s called aftercare, because you know, I’m not an asshole.” He teased back, pecking your cheek affectionately. 

“Bar. In. Hell.” You poked at his chest.

He grabbed your hand, pulling it to his lips. 

“And I know you’d follow me all the way down.” This time he placed a kiss to your lips, making your heart swell. 

When he pulled away, Parker stole a kiss from you as well. 

“Don’t want to be left out?” You teased your other partner. 

“Of course!” He blushed. “Plus, I really like kissing you.”

“May I have a turn as well?” Chance asked Parker with a quirked brow. 

“Why of course!” He leaned over you to kiss the man deeply. 

When the tub was full, Chance helped carry you to the bathroom. You had attempted to walk, but found that your legs were way too wobbly to do so. Perks of having a strong man that enjoyed manhandling you, you supposed. Parker slipped into the tub first with a content sigh. Gently, Chance placed you in, then slid in behind you. Pulling you to his chest, Chance placed a sweet kiss to your forehead. His hands caressed over your body. Parker ran his hands over your legs, occasionally massaging your calves and feet. 

“Mmm, I could get used to this.” You sighed with content, closing your eyes and leaning back against Chance.

“Yeah?” He asked softly.

Peeking an eye open, you felt your heart swell. Both Chance and Parker were gazing at you affectionately. 

“Yeah.” You sat up, giving each of them a kiss. “So, would you mind not leaving this in Vegas?”

“You can bet on it.” Chance pressed another kiss to your lips, then gave one to Parker. 

“Oh, I love you guys!” Parker teared up, embracing the two of you. 

“I love you too!” You smiled brightly. “Both of you.” 

[twinklingwatermellon]

Kinda funny when you start a kdrama and the plot is moving surprisingly quickly and you’re like huh,,, I vibe with this but also this cannot possibly go on for a whole 16 episodes and then you check and indeed it’s only 8 or 10 episodes

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

🕳️ What to Write When You Have No Idea What Happens Next

aka: you’re staring into the creative abyss and the abyss is not only staring back, it’s asking for a rough draft

hi writer. welcome to that fun little liminal space in your project where ✨absolutely nothing✨ makes sense. you wrote the last scene. you know you’re not at the end. but suddenly your characters are just standing there like NPCs waiting for a quest marker and your brain is doing the spinning beachball of death.

so. what now?

let’s break down some actually useful strategies for when you hit That Point™️. not vibes. not ✨manifest your way out✨ energy. not the “just keep writing” slog. here’s what to do when your story is refusing to tell you what happens next:

———————————————

zoom out: do a “scene audit” ———————————————

you don’t need a full outline to do this. take five minutes and sketch a bullet list of every scene that’s happened so far. not just what happened, but why it mattered.

like this:

MC lied to their boss (sets up stakes re: trust/power)

antagonist shows up at cafe (establishes tension + location crossover)

best friend gets suspicious (emotional complication, adds pressure)

this gives you a birds-eye view of what you’ve set in motion. often you’re stuck because you’ve lost sight of the threads you were pulling, your own story has momentum, you just need to feel it again.

—————————————————————

try “ghost drafting” (aka fake writing) —————————————————————

open a doc. start typing what would happen, if you were writing. super casual. something like:

“okay i think the next scene is maybe them at the train station?? or wait--maybe we need to see the fallout of the argument. i don’t really know what x character wants rn but i think y might be planning something…”

this trick works bc it removes pressure. no fancy prose, no perfect structure. it’s literally you telling yourself what might happen. and weirdly? your brain will often finish the scene for you without asking. (the number of times I’ve ghost drafted myself into 800 usable words… witchcraft.)

——————————————————————————

pin your characters to a corkboard and interrogate them ——————————————————————————

not literally. (unless you're into that. i don’t judge.)

but seriously: when you’re stuck, it’s often because your character has no immediate goal or emotion. pause and ask:

what does this character want right now? like, in this moment?

what are they trying to avoid?

what’s keeping them from getting either?

character-driven scenes are rarely static. even if it’s just an awkward dinner or walking to the store, someone’s always trying to do or hide something. if everyone in the scene is just reacting or waiting, you’ve got fog. bring in the fire.

—————————————————

don’t skip the “boring” stuff--weaponize it —————————————————

sometimes we’re stuck because we think the next scene is dull. like “ugh i guess they just… travel to the manor” or “they regroup at the safe house.” but these slow beats are GOLD if you embed purpose.

try giving the “boring” scene:

a time limit or interruption (they’re hiding but someone knocks)

a secret (someone is lying about something small but important)

a reversal (what they expected is the opposite of what happens)

even if it’s a quiet scene, layer it. conflict isn’t just yelling or action. it’s discomfort. it’s misalignment. tension between what’s said and unsaid.

—————————————————————

when all else fails: write the next emotional beat —————————————————————

strip it back. forget plot. forget pacing. ask yourself:

then write that. a monologue. a journal entry. an outburst. a line of whispered dialogue.

sometimes it’s not that you don’t know what happens next. it’s that your character hasn’t processed what just happened, and until they do, the story can’t move forward.

✨✨✨

the void is normal. getting stuck doesn’t mean you failed or picked the wrong idea or that the muse packed up and left for a better writer’s house. it just means your brain needs space to regroup.

writing isn’t linear. stories aren’t built in perfect lines. they loop. they stall. they circle back. and that’s okay.

if you’re in the middle of nowhere, here’s your sign to sit on the side of the metaphorical road, open your weird little notebook, and write anyway. write wrong. write messy. write ghost drafts. the path shows up when you start walking.

🕳️ you got this, writer.

tag me if you end up crawling out of your stuck scene with a little victory paragraph. i’ll bring snacks for the next one 🧃✨

P.S. I made a free mini eBook about the 5 biggest mistakes writers make in the first 10 pages 👀 you can grab it here for FREE:

[bisexualiteaa]

actually dying for a cooper howard x vaultie!reader smut where they have some slow burn longing steaminess, but coop thinks she’s too good for him UNTIL she comes in contact with a sex pollen-esque chem and he finally gives in to save her 🥵 please work your magic and elaborate however you want

A Flame in Your Heart

Cooper Howard x Fem Reader (SMUT!!)

CW: NSFW like absolutely filthy y’all, you’ve been warned. 💀 unprotected sex, irradiated cream pie, p in v, p0rn w/ plot, slow burn, flirting, cursing, perverted thoughts, dub-con (because of chem usage though consent is asked and given!) rough sex, dirty talk, choking, praise kink, degradation, squirting, mention of fingering, FEELINGS!! Slight deviation from TV series, possible grammar/spelling mistakes, cooper starts off mean but slowly warms up to reader

AN: I absolutely LOVED this request! I was up all night writing down all my ideas and spent all this morning perfecting it, and this has to be my longest one yet! I thank you for your patience anon and my lovely readers as I finally post this! Hope you enjoy and that I have done your ask justice! ❤️

Life outside of the vault was difficult to say the least. You felt hunger and dehydration in ways you’d never experienced before, going out of your way to do desperate things you would normally never do in order to get said food and water. The heat was unbearable, every stretch of land you walked across had a danger lurking around every corner, and worst of all, you’d never felt so alone. You weren’t sure what it was about you, maybe it was because you were new to the surface, maybe it was your nearly perfect skin, but everyone seemed to stare or glare at you when you would walk through. It wasn’t until you’d passed through Filly, meeting Ma June that you realized people didn’t take kindly to people like you. “Vaulties” she called them, an audible disdain in her tone, making you look down to remember you were in your blue and gold Vault-Tec suit. “I’ll be going then, have a nice day!” You said skiddishly, offering her a kind smile before turning and exiting the shop. You just wanted to make friends, why was that so hard up here? So when your eyes set on a man clad in classic Wild West cowboy clothes, watching smoke settle after a stand off, you weren’t sure why but you knew that was who you needed on your side in this world. Before you knew it, your feet were already moving and mouth speaking to him, grabbing his attention.

“I ain’t no charity case sweetheart, I don’t take on strays” The ghoul spoke, his southern drawl making him even more memorable than the marred texture of his skin. You looked to the dog that trailed not far behind him as he walked, changing its pace to keep up with the man. “The dog there with you tells me otherwise” you quipped. “Ain’t my dog” he responded harshly as he continued walking. “I can make it worth your while!” You yelled, making him stop in his tracks for a moment, a scary sight at first before you worked up the nerve to come closer once he turned back to you. “And how you suppose you’d do that?” He asked, and at first you didn’t know what to say, the words leaving your mouth before you could really think of a good enough reason. Did nobody like company anymore these days? “Well…I can be your scavenger! Pretty good at collecting stuff” you offered, shaking your bag and making things rattle around inside to prove it, making him give a huff of a chuckle. “‘f I wanted a pack mule I’d‘ve found a brahman” he shot you down. “Okay, then I can be good company to talk to!” You offered. “They make radios for when I want to listen to someone yack” he shut down once again. “I’m a good cook! Even with shitty supplies, I can make a stew that’d put a smile even on the meanest son of a gun’s face” you said, hopeful that he’d at least take you for something, but you had a feeling he’d probably turn you down again. “Iguana on a stick’s just fine” he said, though he had to admit the stew sounded good. Reminded him of home before all this wasteland bullshit. “Oh, umm…” you said awkwardly, your tone growing quiet and my how it put a sad look in your eyes. The evil part of him liked it, seeing your sweet innocent face all downturned but the part that was still human deep down, the part that hardly ever saw the light of day anymore, had half a mind to let you.

“Got a lotta nerve walkin’ up t’ me, girly. If you somehow been lucky enough that you ain’t met dangerous yet, you’re lookin’ at someone who could put you down before you’d even mutter your last words” he threatened, motioning to the double barreled shotgun in his hands. “I know, I saw it first hand. You hold yourself well, I envy that. I’m new to all of this and just really want someone who can help me hold my own the same way” you explained. “Look, I know I don’t look like much but please just give me a chance” you begged, looking up at him with a fighting spirit in your eyes that he had to admit, he was pretty impressed in seeing in a vaultie. “You help me, I help you, however that ends up being” you offered, standing strong on this and damn if he didn’t see a little bit of himself in you at that. He gave a sigh, tilting his head down before shaking it, not believing himself for the words he was about to say. “Alright, but the minute you start draggin’ you’re out, got me?” He said, and he hated the way his cold heart seemed to pump a little faster upon seeing your eyes light up with joy and a smile stretch to your face. “Oh thank you, thank you, thank you!” You said, opening your arms up to hug him but being met with the barrel of his gun poking your stomach to keep space between you. “I don’t do hugs” he spoke gruffly, making you back up enough to where he’d drop the gun back to his side. “R-Right…sorry” you apologized, embarrassment washing over you but still glad to finally have someone in your company. “C’mon, I ain’t got all day now” he said, motioning you to start walking, so you joined him.

Your travels with him certainly weren’t at all what you were expecting them to be. From being used as bait, to being tied up with rope most of the time you’d traveled together, or being sent in as his scavenger, you weren’t prepared for a lot of the reality you faced with being up on the surface. Most nights made you question why you’d ever left the comfort of the vault, why you’d abandoned a trusty food supply, regulated temperatures, a safe place to sleep that wasn’t riddled with radroaches or had the likely hood of waking up to a raider with a knife at your throat for no reason. Then you would remember the experiment in your vault, why you left that awful place for arguably a worse reality on the surface but at least you had freedom. Out here you were free to say what you want, do what you want, consume what you want so long as you could defend yourself incase that supply wasn’t unclaimed. You’d gotten pretty handy with a gun in the most recent weeks. Cooper, you learned one night was his name, using empty glass bottles as targets to help teach you accuracy and how to hit things from a longer range. In exchange, you came a little more useful than he had first thought. You had some useful stuff on you for trade like chems, ammo and food, were a good extra bag to hold stuff in, and you were a better cook than you’d talked about. Sure you had a tendency to talk too much, and you weren’t great with a gun, but you were getting there.

“Might I suggest takin’ them clothes instead of wearin’ that suit?” He said, making you look at him weird for suggesting you strip a dead raider of their clothes. “Why would I do that…?” You asked, genuinely confused and not sure what he was implying either, he was a hard man to predict. “Because, people see that shit and get real mad. People up here don’t like vaulties or the ones that run ‘em” he said and it made sense, it helped you understand why you kept getting evil glares each time someone would look at you or talk to you. You figured he knew best, so you took the shirt and pants from one of the female raiders, tucking them into your bag to change into at a better time. He gave a chuckle watching you do so, apologizing to the dead body profusely as you took their clothes and whatever valuables they had on them for the betterment of your own survival. You were still so naive, part of him was hoping he could slowly start to break and corrupt your way of thinking, but that was a thought for another time.

Before you knew it, night finally began to fall. The sun setting across the horizon gave the air less of a hot, harsh bite as the temperature began to cool rapidly across the sands of the Mojave. All you managed to grab was a pair of beat up, old jeans and a tank top, so as soon as the sun set, the chill set in. As you both set up camp for the night just outside of an abandoned rest stop, you started a fire to cook some of that stew you talked about being good at. He had to admit, it was pretty damn good, likely the best thing he’s had since before the bombs went off. Though even the kindling fire couldn’t manage to chase the chill away, watching you run your hands up and down your arms to try and warm up some by it. He felt a slight pang in his heart, watching you shiver like that, how your eyes lit up by the blaze of the fire and your hair seemed to be tousled just right. You were pretty, too pretty to be trekking this wasteland, and certainly too pretty to be trekking it with him of all people as your company. Even he had a heart still, as cold as it was, so out of kindness he shrugged his duster from his shoulders, draping it around you. You looked at the fabric pooled around you, pulling it over you better before looking to him as he sat down across from you again. “Ain’t no use if the cold gets ya” he said, making you smile appreciatively at him as you realized what he did. “Thank you” you replied, a slight blush fanning to your cheeks as the chattering of your teeth finally died down and you grew warmer. It smelled like him, sure it had splatters of old dried blood and was rather worn, but it had that gunpowder and smoke smell to it that you associated with him. “Don’t say I never did nothin’ for ya” he replied, trying to sound cold but it didn’t come off that way, making you chuckle. “What do I owe you?” You asked, making him fall silent for a moment as he pondered the answer to your question. He looked you over for a second before tipping his hat down to cover his face a bit, the signal that he was about to try and get some sleep. “Just keep watch for a bit, I’ll be up in a few hours” he responded, and while it wasn’t what you were expecting, you’d take it.

He was startled awake a couple hours later when he heard a commotion, you yelling at someone telling them to back off that this place had been claimed. The raider you were up against didn’t seem to like that very much, claiming that wasn’t how it worked up here. The altercation took a turn for the worst when the man reached for his gun but you were quick to fire and kill him before he could let out a shot. A shaky feeling set in your hands and a horrified expression across your face at the realization that you just killed someone. Cooper, who was certainly wide awake now, was rather impressed by your quick timing and precision, coming up behind you to lay a gloved hand to your shoulder. “Well would ya look at that, looks like them lessons been payin’ off after all. How’s it feel?” He asked, looking down at you as you stared at the gun in your hands. “He was yelling at me but…he was aiming at you. I don’t really know what came over me, I didn’t like that he was going to shoot you so I just…I killed him” you said, recounting the encounter to him as if he hadn’t seen it himself. He didn’t really know what to think in that moment as you explained how your mind worked, he was proud for sure at your show of improvement with a gun, yet also touched at the same time. No one ever really looked out for him since he started his bounty hunting, he was a well hated man by many but you defended him without really any reason to. You’d just learned his name not but two weeks ago, and before that he was dragging you around with rope yet you still defended him, had you two really gotten closer in the time that’s passed since? He wasn’t sure, but it was something he could mull over while you were sleeping. “Get some rest vaultie, sun’ll be up soon” he said, knowing you likely wouldn’t get much sleep with the adrenaline still coursing through you, but it was at least worth a try, you two had a long day ahead of you.

When you woke up that next morning, things felt a little different between you two. You weren’t some annoying little dog following him anymore, you were an equal. He no longer looked at you and treated you like you were lower than him as you both set out across the wastelands, he had respect for you. Hell, he even started talking with you now when you were out traveling which was almost unbelievable. You learned through those conversations that he used to be an actor in Wild West themed films, explaining his outfit, and that he was married before the bombs dropped. You of course told him bits and pieces about yourself in exchange, after all it only felt fair but it was also nice to just finally talk to someone after all this time.

When night time fell again you two sat enjoying a meal by the fire together, only rather than across from each other, he sat next to you, making a blush come to your face as you’d smiled sweetly at him. “Glad to know I don’t have germs anymore” you said jokingly, making him chuckle. “Give an old man some credit. It ain’t exactly all peaches and marmalade out here darlin’, even cute can be deadly” he said, the nickname and him calling you cute sending a deeper blush to your cheeks despite knowing it’s just how he spoke. Whether it was the lack of contact with other people for so long, or just his charm you couldn’t quite tell, but it always seemed to have an effect on you. “Just teasin’ you, I get it. I’d tie me up and use me for bait too if I’d been doing this as long as you have. It’s a shit hole out here” you said, making him look at you as you dropped the first curse word he’s ever heard from you. “Well I’ll be damned, either I’m a bad influence or you’re finally growin’ outta that naive shell there, vaultie” Cooper replied, making you laugh as you saw a smirk stretch to his thin, marred lips, the first one you’d seen in a while that wasn’t brought on by drugs, chems or that first sip of a good bottle of alcohol. “Probably both” you quipped, making him chuckle. “Yeah, probably. Been told I ain’t easy to stomach” he said, making you hum. “You’re alright in my book, Coop” you replied with a sweet, genuine smile that matched your tone and was that butterflies you felt in your stomach? Did you just call him Coop? No ones called him that in ages, why did it make his heart start to flutter a bit? “You ain’t so bad yourself, vaultie” he responded, still affording you that small smile before turning back to his food. “Keep making food this good and I just might have to keep you around” he joked, making you giggle and break the slightly tense silence. “It’s not much but I certainly try. I’ll definitely make sure to stay good at it, I like traveling with you” you said, unintentionally coming off flirtatious and fuck there it goes again, that feeling in his chest and his stomach like he needed to hit his inhaler but he felt great. What were you doing to him?

“Hey, if it isn’t too much can I ask you a sort of…personal question?” You asked, holding the beat up bowl in your hands as you looked over at him. This was normally the part where he would say no, absolutely not, he wasn’t here to be questioned on his personal matters. Yet, with you, it was different. Ever since last night he hasn’t been so on edge with you, it was like he’d warmed up to you. “Depends on what you’re askin’ there, sweetheart” he said, the nickname once again making you blush. “Do you…miss them? Your wife and daughter?” You asked, not sure if it was a good subject or good question to ask but after finding out, you were genuinely curious. He looked down at his bowl again, thinking of the proper response to your question. The old him would have been defensive, told you it was none of your business, but now? He wasn’t sure. “Ain’t a day that goes by that I don’t think about ‘em. About the way I ran out on ‘em when them bombs dropped” he answered, making you give him a sad look as genuine guilt filled his tone. This was the most honest and open he’s been with you this whole time. “I feel guilty. Not sure if I feel guilty for runnin’ out and leavin’ ‘em behind or guilty for the way I ran out, been tryin’ t’ figure that out for quite a while now and I still ain’t sure” he added, and you sympathized with that. Everyone has regrets, things they’ve done in the past that they aren’t proud of, people up here were no different in that aspect. “Well, in the short time I’ve gotten to know you, I’ve come to understand that everything you do has a valid reason behind it. So even if you feel it was a shitty thing to do, you obviously had a reason for doing so. No one can blame you for trusting your gut, and I don’t think you should blame yourself for doing so” you responded, your hand falling to his as a comforting gesture, your words ringing in his head almost as if you’d opened something in his mind, something he’d never really gave himself to think about before. He looked down at your hand that rested on his, noticing the way you didn’t flinch away from him like others did, the way you were brave enough to walk up to him, talk to him, *trust* him when he made it very clear that you shouldn’t. It was smaller than his, softer for sure, but warm all the same, then he looked up to see that caring look in your eyes and smile on your face that told him that you cared. “Guess you’re right, still wonder sometimes if it was the right choice to make” he replied. “I understand. Everyone has regrets, we all look at the past and hold at least something that we’ve done before in regret, it’s what makes us human” you said, making him give a huff as a chuckle. “You got anybody?” He asked, making you look down as you moved your feet along the dirt. “An ex-husband, but not anyone I really care about, no. My parents passed a few years before the bombings and he and I split up when I caught him cheating on me with some other woman in the vault..” you explained, not sure why it hurt you to tell the tale still, but you felt it was only fair considering what you’d asked of him to share. “Sorry t’ hear that” Cooper said, making you chuckle weakly, a somber look coming to your face that made his heart wrench. “I haven’t exactly been in love since, and considering he and I split up just a little over ten years ago, really says something I guess, huh?” You asked, trying to laugh to bring up the mood, knowing you sounded pathetic. “He was the fool, not you darlin’. He was the one skippin’ out on one hell of a woman” Cooper said, making you look to him and blush a bit as you gave a chuckle at his response.

“Thanks” you replied appreciatively and with a smile before casting your gaze down to see your hands were still connected and it left you blushing harder with embarrassment, you’d been holding his hand this entire time without realizing it. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable if I have I-“ “relax vaultie” he cut you off, pushing your hand back down onto his to assure you that he was far from uncomfortable. “It’s…rather nice actually” he admitted, making you feel relieved but your heart fluttered in your chest from it. A thick tension soon began to set in between you both after that night, something of an unspoken, kindling romance beginning to develop. “Then there it can stay” you said, making him smile softly at you, tipping his hat at you as a silent thank you.

Months passed on like this, where you’d spend the days scavenging, picking the land for its resources you could find and hunting bounties by day, then spending your nights by a fire growing closer and closer with every passing day. Through your shared meals, jokes, deep conversations, and plenty of near death experiences, you started to notice your fondness of the ghoul you traveled with. The way you’d hang onto his words with that southern accent that seemed to pull at your heart strings, or the way you’d go out of your way to stand between him and a stray bullet. You’d helped him on more than one occasion in getting out of a sticky spot, or getting him the stuff he needed to keep from turning feral. In return, he started to notice he was feeling the same towards you. There was this sudden need to keep you safe, to do nicer things for you, to speak better towards you, even flirt with you at times. Some nights there’d be so much tension in the air, it’s a miracle you haven’t jumped each other yet. Though in his eyes, as much as his heart yearned for you, he knew you were too good for him. You’d been hurt before, and he had a reputation for hurting people, feeling undeserving of even just the sweet smiles and company you afford him even now. You didn’t need someone like him, you needed a good man, someone who didn’t kill for a living, someone who could treat you right, someone who didn’t look the way he did. You were soft and warm, he was rough and cold, though he supposed that’s where the term “opposites attract” came from. So even when he was a whole bottle deep, he was sure to hold his tongue to a certain point.

Some of those nights around the fire were spent sober, others not so much, and this night happened to be one of those nights spent under the influence. You two had stumbled across a mini-mart, doing your best to out run the radstorm that had been trailing you guys for hours, coming in just to find whatever supplies you could to make it through the next week and possibly hunker down for the night. So imagine your surprise when you seemed to have found the largest chem stache you’d both ever laid eyes on. “Coop! Come here, you gotta see this” you said, making him run towards you to make sure you weren’t hurt or in trouble. His nerves were eased once he saw you, fully intact. “Tell me I’m not seeing shit” you said, pointing to all of the supplies sitting in a box on the table, joined by other supplies around it. You both looked at each other in complete and utter disbelief, this would keep you stocked for months, maybe even a whole year if you conserved it well. “Well ain’t that just the prettiest fuckin’ sight” he said. There was no way a horde of chems this large and this valuable was just completely unprotected you reasoned, so you routed around the place, scoping out for any raiders, straggling traders or ferals who happened to still be around. It was as if heaven was shining down on you both as you found no one around, seemed like no one had been here for days. So you did the most logical thing anyone would do in this situation. Stuff each of your bags to the brim of drugs of all varieties! Seeing as you had food, chems and even some clean water and alcohol lying around, Cooper locked and barricaded the door shut, proposing it could be a good spot to sleep for the night. With a radstorm approaching, it was best to have a roof over your heads to keep out the rain and potential radiation sickness that came with it. “This is the closest fuckin’ thing to a slice of heaven I’ve seen in ages” he said, aside from you is what played in his mind but he couldn’t speak that out loud, no matter how much he wanted to. “You said it!” you replied, and it’s even better with you here you thought, but thought it best to keep it to yourself. He plopped down on the couch, kicking his feet up to rest on the small table that seemed to be in shambles, enjoying a tape that was playing on the TV that he was surprised to still see functioning. “Holy shit, this thing still works?” You asked, amazed to see working technology out in the wastelands, sitting next to him as you watched it with him. He gave a smirk at your reaction, thinking it was cute the way your eyes would light up when you got all excited over something. Deep down it made him want to give you everything you laid eyes on like that just to see it pointed towards him. “Guess so” he replied, enjoying your excitement only to see you turn and look his way, which was his signal to stop staring holes into you before he gets caught. “I dunno about you baby doll, but I ain’t about to spend tonight sober with this stache sittin’ here ‘n front of us” he said, making you laugh as he routed through all the different drugs and chems til he found what he was looking for.

In the process of searching through it all, a small metal box fell to the floor at your feet. It looked like a box of mentats only the design was different, instead of the characteristic green and white box was a red one covered with hearts labeled DN-Chem. You supposed the worst that could happen was turn into the man sitting next to you, which you figured wasn’t the worst fate to succumb to all things considered, so you went against all better judgement and said fuck it, popping two of the mentat like chems and chasing it with the vodka he’d found to wait for it to take effect. “The hell is DN?” He asked, looking at the box, wondering what it was you took. “Don’t know, guess we’ll find out here soon because I took two” you said, taking another sip from the bottle of vodka he passed your way, and he gave a chuckle as you handed it back to him. “You come a mighty long way, little lady” he commented before setting the metal pill box down. He took the bottle from you, taking a swig, then placing one of the small viles into his inhaler before taking a hit of it then lying back, breathing a sigh of relief as it and the alcohol entered his system like the perfect remedy to any ailment. As about a half an hour rolled by, you waited for the high to set in but it never came, instead you were just getting hot, like really hot. There weren’t any windows open, and it was night time so you shouldn’t be this uncomfortably hot for how it was but you felt like you were on fire. “Shit, it’s hot as hell in here…” you complained, shaking off your jacket that you’d picked off of some raider a few weeks back, making him look to you curiously. “Lightweight” he quipped, making you chuckle. “Accept I don’t feel anything, I just feel hot” you said, making him hum with intrigue before turning back to the TV. “Give it some time, you’re new to all this. ‘m sure your body is wonderin’ what the hell you just put in it” he said, and he had a good point, maybe it was just a side effect of not doing them so often compared to his every day use.

As time went on, you began to notice the way your eyes couldn’t help but be glued to him, more specifically glued to the way his legs were now spread as he sat back. You wondered to yourself what he looked like beneath all that cowboy get up, what his reaction would be like to see you getting on your knees for him and slotting yourself between his spread legs. You shook your head to try and rid yourself of such inappropriate thoughts, but what you couldn’t stop no matter how hard you tried was the feeling of arousal beginning to pool in your panties. Sure he flirted with you every now and again, but you doubt he felt towards you the same way you did for him. To him you were sure you were likely more akin to a pet than a friend, useful and nice to have around, but not anything further. At least so you thought. You’d rather hoped you were wrong in assuming so, that maybe he saw you the same way you saw him. You bit your lip as you tried bouncing your leg to relieve the ache between your thighs, a light pink dusting your face and neck even up to the tips of your ears, but nothing worked. Even as you closed your eyes, all you could picture was you laid out on the couch beneath him, or bent over it with him behind you, or you riding him on it. “Been awful quiet. You doin’ alright over there, sweetheart?” Cooper asked you, and the audible whimper you let out from the nickname left you completely embarrassed. You clasped a hand over your mouth, god you were horrified but he gave a grin and a chuckle in response. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into me all the sudden. I feel so…weird?” you said, unsure if that was really the proper word to explain it but it was the only way you could really word it off the top of your head with how much your brain felt as if it was turning to mush. “Ya took some chems, it’s gonna feel a bit fuzzy” he said, trying to assure you that feeling a little funny was normal, but this? This didn’t feel normal, not even for a chem high. You tried your best to swallow harshly, doing everything you could to try and relieve the dry ache you felt in your throat at the moment upon looking at him. You grabbed the bottle of vodka, taking a few sips but even that couldn’t grant you bliss from it. The throbbing in your core was driving you absolutely insane. You swore up and down that it was like you could feel your heartbeat in your chest, stomach, and in your cunt all at the same time. “No, this is different…I don’t think what I took was a normal chem, Coop…” you said, trying not to panic at the effects that were setting in but god you felt like you were absolutely feral. He turned to look at you, watching as you clamped your thighs together and the red that fell over your face. “I feel like an animal in heat” you said bluntly, making him go into a near coughing fit as you took him off guard. However that piqued his interest enough to pick up the little metal box again to see what it was you took. “I ain’t ever heard of a chem that does that, was that DN shit the only stuff you took?” He asked, growing slightly concerned for you and whether he had a possible horde of laced chems, or just an extremely horny woman on his hands. Speaking of hands, you were lost in thought staring at them, at the way they gripped the couch like you wanted him to grip your thighs, at the way they looked in those leather gloves he always wore. You wondered how it would feel wrapped around your throat, or how it would feel if his fingers were buried deep inside of you. Shit. This was getting out of control.

“Hey, ya with me still?” He asked, snapping to try and get your attention back on the matter at hand, making you shake your head yes as you broke from your perverted thoughts. “Is that DN shit the only thing you took?” He asked again, making you shake your head yes once more, because you knew damn well your voice was going to betray you the moment you tried to speak. That had to be it, it was the only thing that was different out of it all and the only thing he’d never heard of before. He knew it wasn’t the vodka either because he was drinking it with you, so if it was affecting you, it would have affected him and it hadn’t.

It took him a minute to put two and two together before he finally realized the abbreviations stood for Date Night, reading the instructions and effects on the inside of the tin’s lid. “Shit..” he said as he read it, realizing this was a hand made thing thrown into the bunch by whoever was running this place. “Did you read the lid before you popped them pills?” He asked, making you go wide eyed. As if this couldn’t get any fucking worse, this shit show could have been avoided had you just read the inside of the lid. “There was instructions?? Oh my god…what the fuck did I take?” You asked, concerned for yourself and the tone he had while reading it. “Somethin’ that the creator of it called Date Night. Looks like it’s a…well looks like it’s a handmade sex chem” he said, making you cover your face with your hands out of sheer embarrassment, you’d never wanted to die out in a radstorm more than you did right now. “Please tell me you’re fucking joking, cooper…” you whined, watching him read it more. “How much of it did you take?” He asked, almost scared to know and you were scared to know why. “Two?” You replied, making him whistle at that as he read it. “Fuckin’ hell sugar..” he said through a chuckle, and that nickname made a shiver run through you, sending electric bolts straight to your throbbing cunt. You did your best to bite back the whimper. “You’re only s’possed take one, and with you bein’ new t’ all this, I wouldn’t have taken more than half” he said, making you just wish you could just dig a hole and die in it already. “Fuck me…wait, shit! N-Not literally fuck me I- well I mean I’d like if you did but…FUCK! Forgive me Cooper, I’m so sorry, I can hardly think straight” you said, making him chuckle. “Well sweetheart, I think you and I both know there’s only one good fix for this situation” he said, making you whimper pathetically at the thought, your thighs squeezing together even more as you tried to fight to stay sane. Your eyes cast downwards to his lap once more, seeing the tent forming in his pants, clearly you weren’t the only one all worked up here. “I don’t want to make you feel like you have to, Coop. I can run off and take care of myself if it makes you uncomfort-“ you rambled but before you could finish, his hand cupped the side of your face, pulling you in for a long awaited kiss. You moaned into it without meaning to, feeling the way your body immediately relaxed upon wrapping your arms around him with no hesitation as the sweet innocent kiss turned passionate and dirty rather quickly.

“I won’t lie t’ you, doin’ this with you has passed my mind more times than I’d care to admit, but I don’t wanna cross that line unless you really want this” he said, looking into your eyes and making sure that this was truly what you wanted, that you felt the same way he did. “Coop, I know I’m under the influence of whatever the fuck this drug is, but trust me when I say, I’d be just as good with it sober. Been thinking about it for probably just as long as you have, if I’m honest with you. I want this, I want you and right now I want you so fucking bad that I might lose my mind if you don’t fuck me” you answered bluntly, taking him by surprise at just the sheer amount of absolute filth that left your otherwise innocent mouth, making him chuckle at your use of curse words and how desperate you were for him. “That so sugar?” He asked with a grin, enjoying teasing you at your neediest moments, including now. “God yes, Cooper please..” you begged, nearly moaning in reply and he’d spent time mulling over it before, denying himself the chance but just as the chem stache was a pot of gold, he took this as one of the best opportunities being placed in his lap by whatever higher power existed out there, making him waste no time in kissing you once more. “Good, because I don’t think I’d be able to hold myself back once we’ve started” he said, and the idea made you moan. “Don’t want you to hold back, want all of you” you said, and your wish was his command.

By the time your brain could finally catch up with you again, your clothes were strewn out all around you, your tank top hanging over the back of the couch, your jeans thrown haphazardly on the arm rest behind you, his pants on the floor, his hat on the table and shirt and duster having fallen somewhere behind the couch. By now, you’d already cum on his fingers twice, and on his cock once, this was your fourth round and this shit still had you on fire. “Yes!! Oh fuck, Cooper!” you moaned as your legs wrapped around his hips, keeping him as close to you as you could get, your fingers digging crescent shapes and puffy red lines into his back that unfortunately he knew wouldn’t stay long thanks to his ability to heal stupidly fast. “Doin’ so good for me, baby doll. Look so pretty like this for me, all splayed out like a needy little whore” he praised and degraded through his groans, making you moan and roll your eyes into the back of your head at the praise mixed with degradation as his cock was drilling deep inside you like tonight was all you guys had. “Yeah, you like that, huh sweet thing? Like it when I tell you how good it feels and call you names?” He asked, making you nod your head yes because there wasn’t a single thought in that brain of yours other than his name, which you spoke like a mantra. “Never knew such a sweet lil’ thing like you would be such a dirty little minx. Fuck…enough to make a man like me go feral, ya know that?” he said, making you giggle as you moved his free hand up to your throat, urging him to choke you, and he groaned at the sight. Your kiss swollen lips all puffy and shining with spit, your cheeks dusted a constant pink that grew darker anytime his cock brushed that spot deep inside that made you cling to him, your eyes half lidded, looking up at him like he was your savior. It made him absolutely rock hard knowing you’d pick him over anyone else in this god forsaken wasteland. “My, you are just a little freak, ain’t you? Oh we are gonna have fun together, you and me honey” he promised, squeezing your throat tight enough to restrict your airflow but not enough to hurt or cause any damage. Just enough to get that puddle of a brain of yours all fuzzy as you got closer to your fourth orgasm of the night. “Cooper…’m so close, so close please!!” You begged, feeling the heavy drag of his cock as he pounded into you, leaving you damn near screaming as it nudged your cervix and that spongy little bundle of nerves deep inside. “Go on honey, I gotchya. Let go for me, wanna see those pretty faces and hear those pretty noises you make” he said, angling his hips just right to hit that spot over and over again. “Oh fuck, oh fuck I’m gonna cum again, I-“ you warned before your moans rose in pitch as your walls clamped around him, gushing on his cock as your orgasm hit you like a freight train. Your body arched off the couch, stars filling your vision for a moment as you felt your release gush out and coat your inner thighs, screaming his name like it was your only chance at salvation. “Well ain’t I just the damn luckiest man in the wastelands right now, got me a pretty little vaultie and she’s a gusher” he said, making you whimper at his teasing but judging by the way he emptied himself inside you for the second time, you took it as a sign that he liked that about you. “Holy shit, I-I didn’t know I could do that” you said, thoroughly shocked with what your brain and body were doing as they almost seemed to almost be working against each other. “Do it again for me” he said, grabbing you and moving you both to where you were straddling him this time. His hands rested on your hips, helping guide you as you speared yourself on his dick with ease from how absolutely soaked you were, making you both throw your head back and moan. “Now that’s a damn good sight” he said, making you lean in to kiss him once more as his hands helped you start and keep a steady rhythm with your hips. It was definitely going to be a long night, but one you two have been needing for months, maybe even longer.

It’s a good thing ghouls have remarkable recovery time, because in order to finally get you sated and back to normal, you both had to spend all night going at it. Granted, it was aided by the mix of pent up sexual tension and pent up sexual frustration, but it was dawn before you both had gotten to a point where you could even *try* and fall sleep. First few times was on the couch between missionary, doggy and you riding him, next was you bent over it, with your pretty legs spread and ass in the air for him. Then, you used the arm rest of the couch as a pillow beneath your hips as he stood up while you laid out on the couch. He liked that one a lot for the way your tits would bounce with each and every forceful thrust into you, jolting your body. After that, it was done standing up with your back pressed against a wall, your legs and arms wrapped around him to keep him deep inside of you and fill you til he had nothing left to give you. From that point on, the rest of the night was all a hormone-hazed blur, but you knew well that he took care of you. You woke up unbelievably sore, your joints aching in places that you had no idea could even ache, a swollen, angry throb between your legs for the harsh, almost punishing treatment to your pussy followed by bruises, bite marks, scratch marks, hand prints etc. littered your skin as you woke up curled into Cooper’s side. You gave a gravelly groan as the sun shone in your eyes through the windows, making him chuckle at the way you were such a ray of sunshine except in the morning. Coming to learn that you absolutely *hated* mornings. Though you suppose you started to enjoy them more since traveling with him. “Mornin’ sunshine” he said coyly, making you groan disapprovingly at the way the sun was in your eyes, making you hold your hand up to cast a shadow on your face and grant you some relief. “Morning” you answered, your voice hoarse and half gone from sleep and all your activities that transpired the previous night. “Ain’t that a pretty sight” he said, turning and seeing you curled up to him, naked, your hair all messy from sleep and the hickeys and bite marks littering your skin, making you chuckle. “Last night was definitely something, can’t believe you’ve been holding all *that* out on me” you joked, making him give a dry laugh. “Could say the same thing about you, sugar. Had no idea that mind a yours could be so filthy. You’re a wild thing to party with, lil’ lady” he teased, sliding his arm around you to keep you close, making you hum as you lay soft, appreciative kisses to his collarbone and chest. “You’re fun too, and thank you for taking care of me last night. I’m sorry that it ended up happening the way that it did, I wanted to work up the courage and tell you some other way, I really did, but I guess life had other plans” you said making him chuckle as he saw you blush when he kissed your head. “Drunk words are sober thoughts they say, so I’d say I made out pretty good. But don’t sweat it, not sure how I deserved someone as good as you, but it’s good to know I ain’t as hard to stomach as most people say” he said, pulling you in for a soft, heartfelt kiss. “I think you are just perfect, Cooper” you said, your hand resting on his scarred chest as you looked at him with that gaze he swore he’d do anything to see pointed his way.

“You really wanna be my girl?” He asked softly, sounding shocked and with some self doubt still lacing his tone, but he had to be sure this was what you wanted outside of the drug’s effects. He cared for you deeply, in a way that he hasn’t felt in a very long time, but maybe you were just the right person for him to finally open his heart up to. His question made you giggle as your heart fluttered in your chest with excitement. “I absolutely do, I meant it when I said it last night, I mean it just as much now. I think we’ve danced around it for long enough, don’t you?” you replied, making him smile the most genuinely happy smile you’ve seen him wear since you’d met. “Just checkin’” he said, before laying a sweet kiss to your lips, wishing every morning could be like this one. Maybe it could, now that you were here with him.

[pitlanepeach]

From Eden | Chapter Three (3/8)

Oscar Piastri x Francesca Gold (OFC)

Summary — Francesca Gold is an introvert with a quiet life and a Youtube channel where she talks about books, drinks too much tea, and rarely ever shows her face. She prefers it that way - tucked into her London flat with her cat, Henry, and safely hidden behind a screen.

Oscar Piastri is a Formula 1 driver. Fast-paced, high-stakes, always on the move. He hasn't read a book in years, but he's watched every single one of Francesca's videos. Just for the sound of her voice.

Following her on Instagram was a moment of weakness. He didn't think she'd notice.

She did.

Chapter Warnings — Mentions of agoraphobia + severe social anxiety, depressive episodes + references to a skin-picking relapse.

Notes — This one gets a little more plot heavy. Oscar is down bad. Also: this is an extra chapter and won’t effect Thursday’s chapter. I just had an extra lunch hour today, so finished writing this one :p ENJOY <3

“Can you be brutally honest with me?” Oscar’s voice was low, thumb skimming the rim of his coffee cup.

Mark looked up from his laptop, one brow raised. “Aren’t I always?”

Oscar exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. They were tucked into the corner of the McLaren motorhome between FP1 and FP2. Early enough that exhaustion still clung to Oscar’s eyes.

“Is it ridiculous to have a crush on someone I’ve barely ever spoken to?”

Mark blinked, taken off guard. “Depends. Are we talking celebrity crush or real-life?”

Oscar gave a small, sheepish smile. “Real-life, I think.”

Mark frowned. “I didn’t know you were seeing anyone, mate.”

“I’m not. We’ve just messaged a bit.” He paused. God, this was harder to explain than he’d thought it would be. “She’s… I don’t know. I can’t stop thinking about her.”

Mark leaned back, studying him. “Different, then?”

Oscar nodded. “Yeah. She tries to pretend she’s interested in all this,” he gestured vaguely, “but I can tell she isn’t. Not really, you know? She didn’t know what Prema was.”

Mark snorted. “Blasphemy.”

Oscar smiled faintly. “She’s funny. Smart.”

Mark’s gaze narrowed with something like amusement. “Mate.”

“I know,” Oscar muttered. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” Mark said, almost gently. “It’s human. Let yourself have a bloody crush. You don’t always have to be so straight-laced.”

Oscar looked down at his hands.

“You think she likes you back?” Mark asked.

A beat. “I think she’s scared of me.” Oscar admitted. 

“Scared?” Mark huffed out with amusement. “Of you?”

“Not me,” Oscar clarified. “Everything I come with. All the… noise.”

Mark nodded morosely, and they sat in silence for a moment. 

“She’s not a public figure then? Not a model or whatever?” He asked. 

Oscar shook his head. “She’s got a bit of a following — YouTube, TikTok. But she keeps her life pretty much private. She’s spoken a bit about having, uh, anxiety in her videos. I don’t think she goes out much.” He swallowed. “It would be selfish to drag her into all this.”

Mark let out a slow breath. “Christ, mate. You really don’t make things easy for yourself.”

Oscar gave a tired smile. “I like her. I barely know her. But I like her.”

Mark nodded, like that made perfect sense. “Cool. Are you willing to adjust your entire life to fit her into it?” It was blunt, but it was important. 

Oscar looked out the window. His chest felt too tight.

After hearing her mention the word agoraphobia in one of her videos, he’d gone online that same night, quietly scrolling through lists of the world’s best specialists like it was normal. Like it made sense to do that for someone he’d never even met.

“Yes.” He said. 

Mark gave a low whistle. “Right then. Let me know when she’s ready to meet me. I’ll be charming.”

He got up, wandering off toward the espresso machine.

Oscar stayed where he was, staring down at his phone.

Her name was still there, in his Instagram inbox. Pinned to the top. 

He’d messaged her, said good morning, hope you have a good day. 

No reply yet.

But maybe her silence didn’t mean no.

Maybe she just needed time.

And for her — he could wait.

—

Francesca stared at her phone from where it sat on her nightstand, face down like it had personally offended her.

She wasn’t ignoring his message. Not exactly. She was just… thinking about it. Strategically.

Instagram DM’S — Oscar Piastri > Francesca Gold

Oscar Piastri Good morning, hope you have a good day

Sent over three hours ago.

She’d seen it the second it came through — blurry-eyed and half-asleep, Henry kneading at her stomach — and had immediately freaked out. 

They weren’t strangers anymore. They weren’t quite friends either, even though sometimes it felt like they were. Which was confusing. And stressful. And annoying. Because he messaged her almost every day, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Sometimes he sent her pictures. Dumb memes. Videos of him wearing the ugliest shade of orange she’d ever seen. Updates from airports and racetracks and hotel lobbies across the globe. And sometimes — sometimes — she swore he was flirting. But then she’d read it again, a few hours later, and his words would sound completely neutral.

She was probably just imagining it. Her delusional little brain, making connections where there were none, twisting things into something soft and sweet when really, he was just being polite.

He was nice. That was all.

Still, she couldn’t help the ache of hope when his name lit up her screen. Or the way her stomach flipped every time he used her name. Or called her cute, in that maddeningly casual way that made her feel like she’d misread the whole thing.

Her thoughts had been in overdrive for days now — overthinking every message, every pause in conversation, every hour that passed without a reply.

She hadn’t even told Katie how bad it had gotten — this ridiculous crush that she had.

Henry climbed up onto her chest, purred once, and flopped dramatically across her collarbone. 

Francesca sighed and picked up her phone.

She typed morning :) good luck today

Paused. Deleted the smiley. Rewrote it.

Deleted the whole thing.

“Oh my god,” she muttered. “I want to kiss his face off and I can’t even send him a good morning text?” 

Francesca Gold 

good morning :) good luck today. 

Oscar Piastri 

Are you watching? Sessions abt to start 

Francesca Gold 

oh okay! i’ll go sit on the sofa and watch :) 

Oscar Piastri 

You don’t have to. I was just wondering if you were 

Francesca Gold 

i want to! honest

Oscar Piastri 

If I see a Sky camera, I’ll smile at it. Just for you

Francesca stared at her phone, her entire body growing warm. 

Then, very quietly, she whispered, “What the hell am I supposed to do with that?”

It wasn’t even a flirty message, not really — not in a way that could be called out or laughed off. It was just… sweet. Earnest. And it made her stomach twist in that now-familiar, slightly inconvenient way.

She reread it three times.

If I see a Sky camera, I’ll smile at it. Just for you.

Francesca buried her face in the throw pillow, let out a muffled squeal, and then immediately sat up again, anxious that he might see the “typing…” bubble and get scared off.

She got out of bed and moved to the sofa, switched on the TV, and immediately the Sky Sports intro was playing, the theme music already etched into her brain from the past few weeks. 

She settled into the sofa like it was a war zone, heart pounding like she’d just run a marathon.

Francesca Gold that’ll make sitting through the noise worth it.

— 

She made herself a cup of tea during the commentators’ intro to the session, settling onto the couch with Henry curled beside her. The screen flickered through overhead shots of the track, the pit lane, the garages.

She was watching the timesheets update in real time when Sky briefly cut to Oscar in the McLaren garage.

He glanced at the camera.

His eyes widened.

And then — he smiled.

It was small. Barely there. But she knew. She knew it was for her.

Her stomach flipped so hard she almost dropped her mug.

Trying to act normal — like a person with functioning social skills — she picked up her phone and took a snap of the TV screen, just as the shot panned out across the McLaren garage.

She uploaded it to her Instagram story with the caption: “Get a load of those orange minions 🙄”

He’d probably find it funny.

God, she hoped he’d find it funny.

She just… wanted to see him smile again.

— 

She was working on exporting the video she’d just filmed from her memory card to her computer when Oscar’s name popped up on her phone.

A missed Instagram video call.

Francesca stared at the phone like it might combust in her hand. Then a follow-up message came through.

Oscar Piastri Was gonna ask if you wanted to chat but realised that might be a bit scary lol. No pressure x

She hesitated. Tries to not freak out over the ‘x’. And then, almost in spite of herself, she responded. 

Francesca Gold: you can try again if you want. i’ll pick up. promise.

Her heart was a full drumbeat by the time his name flashed on the screen.

When she answered, the video was a little shaky at first — Oscar was clearly walking through the paddock, AirPods in, a McLaren cap on, and an amused smile tugging at his mouth.

“Hey,” he said, casual but warm.

Francesca was curled up on her sofa in an oversized hoodie, Henry asleep and purring softly beside her. “Hi,” she whispered.

“You answered,” he teased, dimples flashing. “I thought you might block me instead.”

“Don’t tempt me,” she murmured, hiding her smile behind the collar of her hoodie.

He grinned, front teeth flashing. “So. I saw your story. ‘Orange Minions’? Really?”

Her cheeks flushed. “It’s fitting…”

Oscar laughed, shaking his head. “It’s papaya, by the way. Not orange.”

She narrowed her gaze, deadpan. “It’s orange.”

“Papaya,” he insisted, mock-offended. Then, softer, “But I liked it. I liked knowing you were watching.”

Francesca bit her lip.

There was a pause, and then he added — a little too casually — “I’d love to see you in my colour. And my number.”

Her heart nearly stopped. “I—uh…”

He winced. “Too much?”

She made a small, panicked sound. “Um.”

Henry meowed, stretching across her lap like a fuzzy lifeline.

Oscar grinned, clearly relieved at the distraction. “Is that Henry?”

She turned the camera slightly. Henry blinked at the screen, unimpressed. Oscar cooed anyway.

“Where are you going?” she asked, trying to fill the silence.

He flipped the camera around, giving her a view of the pit lane. Her eyes widened.

“Just stretching my legs before third practice.”

“And you’re in… Belgium?”

“Yeah. Spa.”

He turned the camera back on himself. “Have you, ah, got any plans today?”

She glanced at where her laptop was sat on the coffee table. “Work. Just- editing, I guess. I need to trim Henry’s nails. I might bake.”

God, why was she so bad at this?

He smiled, soft and a little curious. “You can bake?”

She nodded, suddenly wishing her life sounded more exciting.

Oscar opened his mouth to say something else, but a voice called out in the background — Lando. Oscar sighed, looking genuinely reluctant to end the call.

“I gotta go. Sorry this was so short. But—thanks. For answering. I don’t think you realise how much I like talking to you.”

And just like that, he was gone.

Francesca stayed still, phone pressed to her chest, her heart doing somersaults.

She didn’t even try to catch her breath.

—

Francesca balanced her phone against the sugar canister and wiped her flour-dusted hands on a tea towel. “Can you see even me?”

Katie’s face appeared on-screen, squinting. “You’re slightly tilted and there’s a bit of grease on the camera, but sure. Are you… baking?”

Francesca shrugged, going for nonchalance as she went about cracking an egg into the mixing bowl. “Needed a distraction.”

“Distraction from what, I wonder?” Katie sang, all mock innocence.

Francesca shot her a look. “Don’t. Please just… not now.”

Katie leaned in closer to the camera. “What happened? Because I’m just saying. You’re beating that egg like your life depends on it, and you’ve been ignoring my texts all day. So.”

Francesca sighed, easing up on the poor egg. “He video called me earlier.” She mumbled. 

Katie’s brows shot up. “I’m sorry. Can you say that again? He what?”

“Video call. Out of the blue. Said he liked my stupid Instagram story I made about his team and—” She cut herself off with a groan, shoving the bowl away and burying her face in her hands. “Katie. I think I’m in trouble.”

Katie blinked. “As in… emotional trouble?”

Francesca nodded slowly.

Katie tilted her head. “That’s my favourite kind.”

“I’m serious,” Francesca said, pulling her hair into a loose bun. “He’s so… nice. And he says things that make me feel like he means them. Like… really means them.”

Katie’s expression softened. “Francesca.”

Francesca sniffled a little, feeling ridiculous for getting emotional over this. “It’s just… What does he want? Like—what is he doing? He’s him. And I’m just… this. Always just this.”

“Firstly,” Katie said, holding up a finger, “Stop trying not to cry. You’re allowed to cry. Secondly, maybe what he wants is you. Pyjamas, cat, homebody and all.”

Francesca gave a tiny smile, even if it felt ridiculous to even consider that being a possibility. “He said he liked talking to me. And he wants to see me wearing his colour. And his number.”

She’d looked it up after ending their call. OP81. His number was eighty-one. 

Maybe it was just a coincidence that her flat, her safe haven, was number 81 too. 

Katie didn’t speak for a second. Then, gently, “Babe. That doesn’t sound like someone who’s messing around. I looked him up, did some research. His teammate is undoubtedly a playboy, but Oscar seems different.”

“I know,” Francesca whispered. “But it doesn’t feel real.”

Katie leaned back on her sofa, phone wobbling in her hands. “You’re just used to bracing for the worst.”

Francesca looked down at her mixing bowl, voice quiet. “What if I let myself fall a little bit too deep, and it all disappears?”

Katie shrugged. “Then I’ll come over and help you pick up the pieces. I have a question now. What if it ends up being the best thing you’ve ever done, hm? Letting yourself fall?” 

Francesca didn’t answer right away. Instead, she turned the oven on, carefully spooning batter into the muffin tin.

After a long pause, she said, “Then maybe I’ll make him banana muffins one day.”

Katie snorted. “God, you’re smitten.”

“Yeah.” Francesca stared at the circled of batter before sliding the tray into the oven. “Maybe.” 

— 

Instagram DM’s — Oscar Piastri > Francesca Gold 

Oscar Piastri

Can I have your number? You can say no. 

Francesca Gold 

Uh. Yes. Sure. Okay. 

Oscar Piastri

Are you sure? I don't mind DM'ing you forever if thats what you want.

Francesca Gold 

*phone number* 

— 

He sat on the little couch in his driver’s room, legs stretched out, race suit unzipped to the waist. His head rested against the wall, phone pressed to his ear, helmet sitting on the table beside him.

“Hi, Mum.” He said, when the dial tone stopped. 

“Well, hello stranger,” she said warmly. “How are you feeling?”

“Bit nervous,” he admitted. “Spa’s always a bit of a beast.”

“You’ll be fine. Car looks good this weekend.” She said. There was a beat of comfortable silence. Then she asked, gently, “And how’s the girl?”

Oscar smiled before he could stop himself. He’d mentioned Francesca once, a week ago, when he’d last spoken to her. “She’s fine.”

“You’ve still been talking then?” She asked. 

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing his thumb along the seam of his race suit. “More than I expected, honestly.”

His mum hummed. “You like her.”

He didn’t deny it. “Yeah.”

There was a soft chuckle. “And does she know that?”

“I don’t know,” he murmured. “Maybe. I think I might be… too much.” He glanced at his helmet, the noise of the paddock just beyond the walls “The opposite of what she needs, probably.”

“She sounds special, Oscar.” His mum said, and he’d never heard her say his name like that before. Something between fondness and excitement. 

“I don’t know how to make this work for her,” he said, voice low. “She doesn’t— do you know what agoraphobia is?” He asked. 

She was silent for a beat. “Oh, dear.” She said, quietly. “Yes, I do. Poor girl.”

“Yeah.” He said, shifting uncomfortably. “I don’t want to overwhelm her.”

“So don’t. You don’t have to rush it. You’ve never been flashy anyway.” His mum said. “I mean, you disappear during off-season, you hardly have a social media presence, and you stay under-the-radar a lot more than your friends do.” She said. “I’m not saying it’s the same thing, but…” She trailed off. 

Oscar let out a quiet breath. “Okay. So how do I ask her out without… scaring her off?”

His mum’s voice was kind, but certain. “You ask her like you mean it. You give her a way to say no, and you let her know it wouldn’t change how much you like talking to her. And if she says yes, you make sure that she’d going to be able to feel safe the entire time.”

Oscar closed his eyes. He liked that picture. Him and Francesca, together, close enough for him to reach out and touch. “Yeah.” He breathed out. 

“You’ll be alright, love.” She said. 

“Thanks, Mum.”

He started to push himself up. He was running out of time before he’d be called to start checking the telemetry. 

“And Oscar?” She called out before he could end the call. 

“Yeah?” He asked, shrugging his race suit onto his shoulders.

“Maybe don’t lead with ‘do you want to come to a grand prix’.”

He laughed quietly, the tension in his shoulders easing. “Noted.” He said, sarcastically. 

There was a knock on the door — his engineer, probably — signalling that his quiet time was up. “Gotta go. I’ll call you after. Love you.”

“I’ll be watching. Love you too.”

He ended the call and looked at his phone screen for a long moment, thumb hovering. Then, impulsively, he opened the new contact he’d added to his phone. Francesca. 

iMessage — Oscar > Francesca 

Oscar: I want to meet you. Somewhere quiet, just us. I’ll come to you — whatever makes you feel safest. Just… think about it, yeah?

— 

Francesca stared at her phone, rereading the message like it might suddenly rearrange itself into something less terrifying.

She could feel her heart pounding in her throat. Henry, ever attuned to her moods, jumped onto the bed and settled beside her, purring like an engine. Ironic. 

Her thumbs hovered over the keyboard. She typed out “Okay”, then deleted it. Typed “That’s not a good idea”, deleted that too.

She curled onto her side and let the phone fall against the duvet.

Quiet. Just us.

No pressure.

She stared down at her hands.

The skin around her nails was raw — red and sore in places where she’d picked too much, too hard. A relapse, if she was honest with herself. The kind that crept in quiet, all sharp edges and shame. Her thighs didn’t look much better, marked with pinches and scratches and soft bruises that bloomed like confessions.

If this thing with Oscar ever went anywhere — if they ever saw each other in person, really saw each other — he would know. He’d see all of it. The messy parts. The anxious rituals. The bad days she couldn’t hide behind a screen.

That was the cost of being known.

She didn’t know if she was brave enough.

She glanced at the time.

Twenty minutes. That’s how long she’d left the message sitting there, unanswered. Her phone rested on the arm of the sofa, screen dark, like it was holding its breath for her.

By now, he’d be in his car. Strapped in, suited up. Probably lined up on the grid already, surrounded by chaos and noise and expectation.

She could turn on the TV. She could watch him — this man who’d somehow become a soft ache in her chest. Watch him blur past in papaya-orange and pretend that the message waiting for her answer didn’t matter so much.

But it did. God, it did.

She picked up the remote with trembling fingers and turned on the TV.

The pre-race coverage was in full swing — sweeping camera shots of the grid, engineers moving like clockwork, the roar of the crowd humming beneath the commentators' chatter. Her eyes scanned the screen, searching.

And then — there he was.

Oscar. Stood a few meters from his car, helmet still off but balaclava on, focused but calm. The camera panned over him briefly, catching the sharp line of his jaw, the way his fingers tapped rhythmically on the phone in his hand.

Her heart squeezed.

He had no idea if she was watching. No guarantee she'd seen the message at all. But he’d sent it anyway.

She picked up her phone. 

Francesca: okay. yes. i’d really like that. but you have to pretend not to notice if i get really awkward and say something dumb.

She didn’t expect to catch it.

Just a second, maybe less — the camera drifted back to him on the grid. He had his head bent, the phone still in his hand. The, he paused and moved it closer to his face.

He was reading her message.

Francesca watched, frozen on her sofa, breath caught in her throat.

Oscar’s mouth curved. Just a little. Just enough.

The smile wasn’t for the cameras. It wasn’t the grin he gave reporters or fans. It was soft. Barely there. But she saw it — and somehow, it made her feel like her ribs were too small for her chest.

He handed his phone to one of his engineers. Straightened his shoulders. Slipped on his helmet.

And then he was gone. The drivers were all in their cars. The formation lap started. 

And she sat in her quiet living room, a fat, ginger cat curled up in her lap, feeling like her whole world had tilted just a little.

—

The race began with a roar.

Francesca stayed curled on the sofa, hands wrapped around a mug that had long gone cold. 

She wasn’t really sure when it happened — when the noise and the chaos and the flashing graphics on-screen faded into the background and she started watching only him.

Oscar. Calm and sharp and focused, even when the car danced on the edge of control. Even when the commentators gasped. Even when the margins were paper-thin.

She watched the way he drove. The way he navigated past the other like it was second nature.

And then, somewhere between lap twenty and thirty, it hit her.

Not all at once, but slowly — like light creeping under a door.

She wanted to be there.

Not in the stands, pressed shoulder to shoulder with strangers. Not surrounded by cameras. But somewhere quiet. Somewhere just far enough out of sight. In the shadows. Hidden, maybe, but still there.

To see his face when he stepped out of the car. To hug him, if he wanted that. To say well done, Osc into his shoulder while everyone else was still trying to get his attention. To be close enough to experience the tiny motions that no one else saw — the ones he didn’t perform for the cameras.

To be the first face he found if something went wrong. If he crashed. If he was hurt.

The thought made her stomach twist and her hands shake, but she didn’t look away.

She sat through every lap. Every pit stop. Every replay. And when he crossed the line, she found herself whispering a breathless, “Well done,” to no one at all.

She rubbed the back of her hand beneath her eye.

Fuck.  

— 

Katie burst through the front door without knocking, a bundle of coat, scarf, and wild energy. "Okay, okay, sit down, sit down—wait, you're already sitting, perfect."

Francesca blinked at her from the sofa, a spoon halfway to her mouth. It was incredibly rare that Katie ever showed up without warning, but today was a good day, so it didn’t matter. “Hi?” She greeted, confusion lacing her tone. 

Katie didn’t bother with pleasantries. She tossed her capaciously filled bag onto the armchair and pointed dramatically. “You’re about to owe me your firstborn.”

Francesca raised an eyebrow. “You’re not having Henry.”

Katie waved her off. “Shut up. This is huge, Fran. Harper Collins reached out to us. They want it. A novel. Written by you.” 

Francesca froze.

This had to be some kind of joke.

Was it April? 

She shook her head in denial. “No way. You’re lying. I— Wait—what?” 

“I’m not lying,” Katie said, pulling out her phone, scrolling furiously. “They’ve seen the shorts you post. They know about your following. They think you have the voice and the audience. And they’re offering a good number, Fran. Like… actual money. Actual advance. No nonsense.”

Francesca’s mouth had gone dry. “I don’t— I mean, I’ve not written a full book before.”

“They don’t care. They want you. Your tone, your voice, your take on love.” Katie’s face softened, seeing the look on hers. “Francesca. My god. This is insane."

Francesca stared down at her lap. Her heart was thumping in her chest. “Oh my god. And I already said yes to something else today.” She laughed, slightly hysterically.

Katie frowned. “What do you mean?”

She took a breath. “Oscar. He asked to meet. In person. I said yes.”

Katie didn’t respond immediately. She blinked once. Then slowly lowered herself into the armchair like she was afraid sudden movement would spook her.

“You said yes?” she asked, carefully.

Francesca nodded.

Katie broke into a grin. “Okay. Wow. Wow. Big day for Francesca Gold.”

“I might throw up,” Francesca muttered, pressing her hands to her cheeks.

She was so overwhelmed. 

“That’s fair. But also—this is huge. The universe is literally clapping for you right now.”

Francesca huffed a laugh, still half-stunned. “I feel like I’m living in a fever dream right now.”

“Francesca?” Katie leaned forward, her eyes a little wet. “I’m… really proud of you. For the book deal, obviously, but also… Oscar would be stupid not to fall in love with you.”

Francesca sniffled. 

“And,” Katie added, with a sly smile that was only softened by the fact that her eyes were still damp, “this romance novel is going to hit different if you’re literally falling in love with somebody whilst you write it. Oh my god! Make it motorsport themed. You have to.”

Francesca groaned, pulling a pillow over her face. 

CHAPTER FOUR

[povbarnes]

Sergeant.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: You call Bucky something he doesn’t expect.

Word Count: 815

Warnings: Smut, No plot, like literally not even a drop of plot, Hair pulling (blink and you’ll miss it), Bucky Barnes (because he is a warning), Improper use of the word “Sergeant”, No use of Y/N. i think that’s it but lmk if i missed anything!

A/N: this is my first fic, so please be kind :) normally i don’t think i will write pure smut without any kind of plot at all, but this came to me in a dream so… yeah. hope you enjoy! <3

EDIT: i had to repost this because i switched accounts since there was a possibility i could lose the other one. thank you so much for the love on the original post and i will be posting another fic today or tomorrow!🥰

It happens three months into your relationship. You don’t know where it comes from, or maybe you do, but you are not sure if you’ll admit that to yourself just yet. It happens when you are just so overwhelmed, the drag of him in and out of you making your eyes roll, stretching you open in the most delicious way possible.

His eyes are on yours, both arms barricading you, flesh hand curled around to prevent you from hitting your head against the bed frame. He is on you, his body weight making you feel oh so safe and you feel like crying.

It’s all so much already.

So, when he gives a particularly hard thrust that knocks the air out of your lungs and says your name in a voice that makes you clench around him, you don’t know what comes over you.

“Oh, you like that, don’t you, doll?” He says, his voice raspy, the hand holding your head caressing your hair.

You nod, not able to find your voice at first, but he doesn’t want that. He wants to hear you. Always does.

“Words, baby.”

You take a sharp breath, your brain all fuzzy, trying to hold his gaze when it just slips out, “Yes, Sergeant.”

Bucky freezes, and so do you.

For a moment, the only sound is the heavy breathing of both of you, filling your ringing ears. He is twitching inside you, but otherwise not moving, his piercing eyes on you without blinking.

“Bucky,” you start, panicking. “I-“

“What did you say?” he interrupts you, brows drawn together. And while you’ve gotten rather good at reading him for the years you’ve known him and the months you’ve been dating, you can’t tell what he is feeling.

“Fuck, Bucky, I’m so sorry. I’m s- Ah.” He interrupts your rambling with a slam of his hips to yours, his vibranium hand traveling to your waist to circle it so tightly for a second that you gasp before he very slightly eases his hold.

“Fuck, doll,” he breathes, and if he didn’t before, he sounds utterly wrecked now. “Don’t know why that-“ He shakes his head, a chuckle escapes his lips, cutting himself off.

You are stunned to silence, your heart pounding in your chest, trying to understand what he means, watching him lose himself in you with wide eyes.

He huffs. “Saying sorry as if I would- Fuck.” He is completely gone, his whole body shaking, his flesh hand caressing, holding and pulling your hair at the same time like he doesn’t know which one he wants to do more.

His head falls to your shoulder, his breathing frantic. Your hands move up from his back, burying your fingers in the now short hair to scratch his scalp just as he likes. He is still shaking, but his movements have slowed compared to a moment ago.

You find yourself at the edge of the cliff you began to know too well since being with him, taking in a shuddering breath and whispering in his ear, “Bucky, I’m so close.”

He nods. “I know, sweetheart,” he murmurs, not changing his pace, but turning his head to bury his nose in your neck instead. Taking deep breaths, the arm circling your waist moving between your bodies to gently circle your clit with just the right amount of pressure that he knows you need to fall off of that edge.

You moan, and it makes him clench his teeth, his bicep twitching next to your head.

“Baby,” he breathes when he feels you clenching on him impossibly hard. His voice is shaking now too. “Say it again.”

You are not sure what he means at first, so lost in your own pleasure that the words don’t register until he says your name, raising from your neck to look into your eyes. “Say it again,” he repeats. “Fuck.”

You come with a silent cry before you can formulate your thoughts to do as he asked, and Bucky watches every second of it without blinking. He fucks you through it, lets you ride it out longer than you thought was possible.

When the shocks start to subdue and your vision returns, he is a mess. His eyes struggling to stay open, chest heaving, brows drawn together.

You take his face in your hands, make sure he is looking into your eyes for a second before whispering, “Come for me, Sergeant.”

That does it. He basically growls your name, accompanied by a dozen of curses, hugging you so tight before spilling inside you with a final thrust.

It’s completely silent other than both of your heavy breathing for a minute or two.

You are still slightly trembling when he lifts his head to look you in the eyes, an almost confused look in them.

It makes you giggle. “I am so calling you that from now on.”

i will be posting more stuff if you guys like it! :)

also, this had more than 500 notes before i had to repost it so it would mean a lot to me if you guys could reblog this so it could reach people again😭🫶

dividers from @cafekitsune <3

[mrs-weasley-reid]

JUST SAY WHEN

Spencer Reid x writer!reader

Synopsis: You always choose Spencer Reid, but is it the right choice? Word Count: 3500+ WARNING: ANGST. not proofread!!! A/N: oh, here we go again... the angst plot in my head. this one feels disorganized. like my writing is all over. i've had this one in my drafts for over a month. but today i have the courage to hit post. honestly have mixed feelings about this. it's a new type of reader I'm dabbling in so i really am anxious about this. tell me what you think!

 “You should’ve seen him when he first saw me.”

THE PURCHASE.

 Vast lavender field soaked in chamomile tea. Dusty sunset through the window pane. Overwhelming aroma of old books. One figure tiptoes to the eighth shelf. Arm stretched to reach an old copy of The Scarlet Letter.

 Whenever Spencer is asked what he felt at that moment, he thinks, “Like I saw an angel freshly descended from heaven.”

 “Shit—” Gasps by the said angel.

 A book and body drop on the carpeted floor.

 Spencer runs to your aid. A failed attempt to prevent the seething pain you momentarily felt. First of many.

 “Are you okay?” He asks, kneeling next to you. Spencer reflexively offers his hand.

 You chuckle, taking his hand, and you feel him tense. “Don’t worry, I’ve had it worse.” You retract your limb to focus the pads of your hands on dusting yourself, squatting down to pick up the book.

 Spencer nods unknowingly despite the confusion and the knots in his eyebrows. He glances at the book, “That’s a great book.”

 Following his gaze, you hoist it up with a grin. “Very,” You emphasize. “I’ve read this, like, ten— thirteen times?” You brag excitedly, sparkling eyes as you meet his big brown sight.

 “Eighty-four.”

 You hum, raising your brows. 

 “I’ve read it eighty-four times.” Spencer shyly smiles, tight lips in a curved line. His hands grip the strap of his leather satchel. Socializing has always been his worst skill, let alone talking to someone as beautiful as you. He can’t help but feel his tongue twist itself into knots he can’t untie.

 You blink—slowly and adorably innocent. “What?” You chirp. It’s not every day you meet someone who’s read a book more times than you. Plus, the boy in front of you is quite the charmer, and you’re distracted by the glow of hazels in his eyes. 

 Spencer nibbles on his lips, and a faint reddish glow creeps all over the land of his skin. “I— uh, I have to go. Bye.” He shuffles as if his body can’t figure out where to direct itself and ends up malfunctioning in the process. In the end, he walks past you, rushing to another aisle.

 It takes you roughly twenty seconds to process that he’s no longer in front of you, twisting your body to his trail. “Eighty-four?!” You exclaim, baffled. 

 Your feet chase after him. “Wait!” You try to match his pace, almost jogging to catch up. “How is that even possible?” You get past him, completely blocking his way. “You just love this book so much that you read it on a loop, or what?” 

 “It really isn’t that big of a deal…” He mumbles, eyes glitching from one title to another, to towers of spines except you. A book with such a beautiful cover, his hands itch to reach and flip every page into memory.

 You place your hands on your hips, furrowing your brows. “Tell me how you read it eighty-four times. I won’t leave you alone until you do. And I swear I’m the most annoying person you’ll ever meet, so it might be in your best interest to get rid of me quickly before you go insane.” You shrug like it’s a normal thing to say to a stranger.

 Curiosity brims from your eyes, like a big doe's eyes begging a prey to bite her limb for the sake of adventure. And like a pirate tempted by a siren, Spencer takes the bait.

 “My mom loves the book, so I read it to her all the time.” He admits, a hand behind his neck. It’s the start of a long explanation. You don’t dare stop him. Your eyes are fully fixed on his moving lips. He can feel it. And he fights not to meet yours because he just might explode.

 Right then and there, you know the small contact from his hand completely stole your heart. And his words hold you into a willing prisoner because you saw him first from afar. Because you specifically chose the book in your hand despite having two copies of it to avoid first contact. Because you didn’t want him to know how long you’ve been staring. 

 Spencer gets abruptly cut off by a patron bumping into him. You fight every willpower in your chest to keep yourself from making a scene in a mall’s bookstore, shifting your attention to him.

 “Want to talk more about it over coffee?” 

 “I was mesmerized. The beauty of his mind was so intricate I couldn’t stop myself from falling even if I tried. I wanted him to own me. And it happened just as I wanted. I just didn’t know it’d be torture… Reaching his hand out was his fatal mistake. Taking his hand was my demise.”

THE FIRST CHIP.

 Disheveled. Broken. Sharp.

 Big brown eyes dull in the dead of the night. Spencer stands before you with indifference.

 He’s changed.

 But the grip on the neck of his satchel tells you your Spencer is still there behind the walls he put up. The first of many false hopes you convince yourself to believe.

 Five months. You’ve been dating Spencer Reid for only five months. And you’re in love with every fiber of his being. Only five months, and you know you’d love him for the longest run. 

 When people ask why you love him, you say, “Because I know he’ll never hurt me.”

 Then it happens.

 Tobias Hankel. 

 You loathe the name the moment you hear it. Accidentally burn yourself in the middle of making dinner when you receive a call from Penelope Garcia that Spencer’s been kidnapped by a serial killer. 

 In the moment, you panic. Almost causing a huge fire in your apartment building as you babble over the phone, asking Penelope where the hell your boyfriend is being held as if the word kidnapped meant a mark on a map.

 Then, you worry. You beg Penelope to let you in on the progress of his search. You pace in your living room. You read every true crime book on your shelf. You pray on each page that an answer will dawn on you and that you’ll have something of use to locate Spencer, as if you knew everything when, in reality, all you knew was that he’s held captive by some sick villain in your story. 

 You felt like every sidekick in a hero’s movie. Useless.

 When Penelope tells you that he’s on his way home, you’re never too tired or sleep-deprived to drive to his place. You waited hours outside his doorstep. You ignore the shivery breeze all over your skin, as you’d forgotten to change into something more weather-appropriate. You don’t worry about the unattended kitchen, the food you are excited to make. 

 You only think about one thing: be the first person Spencer sees when he comes home. 

 He arrives in the sixth hour, close to dawn. There's a gauze on his temple. His eyes are glued to the wooden floor.

 It’s a strength not to cry out from the sight. Worry courses throughout your body. But the relief that he’s made it home safe cancels the anxiety out of your head. All you want is to cradle him, wrap him in your arms to remind him of home, of safety, of being loved.

 You take Spencer into a tight hug. “I was so worried.” You whisper in his chest, breathing in his wake. He’s safe. Everything should be okay. “I’m glad you’re safe. I care about you so much.”

 Only for him to say, “You should go home. It’s late.”

 “I’m not gonna leave you by yourself.” You shake your head, pulling away to stare at his empty face. Your palm cups his cheek, and it’s cold. He doesn’t lean against it. He simply winces like your touch is dangerous.

 “I’m too tired to entertain a guest.”

 You.

 A guest.

 There’s a small sting inside your chest that you ignore don’t notice. Your heart feels similar to a teacup with a chip on its rims. Delicately painful to the touch. 

 You swallow the thick air in the middle of your throat, nodding as you bite the tears from the back of your eyes. “Alright, my love…” You softly enunciate, not wanting to sob at the sight of Spencer avoiding your image.

 The spark in him that you love so much is nowhere to be found. Only hatred and something you can’t figure out swim behind his irises. He doesn’t even reach for your hand. Doesn’t hum in delight like he always does when your skin caresses him.

 A prominent chip marks your being. As if you had been dropped from two floors down. 

 You shove the thought away. 

 You tell yourself that Spencer needs his space. Tell yourself that he needs time to process, to heal. You tell yourself it’s okay because Spencer’s had a long week. You tell yourself it’s not about you.

 You leave a kiss on his cheek, “Rest well. Call me if you need anything.” You walk down the stairs with a weight you don’t discern. 

 Spencer doesn’t say he will.

 And he didn’t.

 “It takes a while before I realize the chip he caused. And even then, I said, what is love if I never get hurt? What is love if there’s no struggle? Besides, there are moments when the chip didn’t hurt. Minimum effort filled the aching void. Simplest gestures blinded me. Sweetest words impaired my hearing. I wasn’t hypnotized or caught in a spell. It’s plain and simple. He had a hold on me. I chose not to break free.”

THE VOICES IN HIS HEAD.

 “Oh, here we go again.”

 You feel yourself physically shrink.

 Spencer rolls his eyes, pushing one hand into the depths of his right eye socket. Heavy sighs drool off his lips. The pounding in his head makes his vision blurry. And you’re convinced some type of voice tells him you’re no one important in his life. 

 You had asked him if he’d like to take a break from his files. After he’d said no, you carefully made a point that he hadn’t eaten anything the whole day. Then, you’re back to the now, where Spencer snaps at the mere mention of taking his fingers off the thin edges of the case. 

 A year into loving him. A year into being his solace—his words that now seem to be a lie—and you feel your entire body tense with every twitch and narrow of his eyes. 

 “Can’t you just leave me alone?” 

 Your chest tightens. A tug hitches your breath. A strong pressure sits over your lungs, deflating every air out without any chance of inflating back. 

 Since that night, Spencer changed. And you don't blame him. Completely understanding the stake of his trauma. Motivated to make his days better, to make him feel better. 

 The first month since that evening, Spencer didn’t text or call. He didn’t answer yours either. He isolated himself, and you’d heard from JJ that they even had a hard time talking to him. 

 So, you thought you weren't alone. That you weren't the problem. Because if everybody else can't reach him, then Spencer must want his solitude.

 You climb on your shelf. You patiently wait for him to want you again. You let it happen. Let him consume you despite the ache that gnaws in the back of your mind.

 And when he comes knocking on your door. You swing it so fast, eager to have him back in your arms. You lock the tingly feeling inside a vault. Because Spencer said he loves you that day.

 “I’m trying to do my job. It’s a difficult job, unlike yours, where you just scribble on paper or tap on your annoying keyboard and be done for the day.” 

 It cracks. Every fiber of your being cracks. The colorful memories are stricken with connected lines, slowly turning into a depressing gray. 

 You crack internally. A glass hit with force enough to break but not enough to shatter apart. Your skin holds up every broken part like a puzzle piece. 

 He’s just mad. He doesn’t mean it. You chant inside your head. You don’t know who you’re lying to.

 Spencer said he loves your writing. Love every word lined by your weaving hand. Love the stories formed from mundane moments and late nights. Love the emotions that brim within spaces and punctuation marks. 

 And you wonder if you should've kept not believing it. If you should've stayed appreciative but never convinced.

 “There are people’s lives at stake. I’m saving people’s lives, not filling their free time by reading your made-up stories.” 

 A target made to be maimed. Spencer aims at the center with precision. And you’re stricken with every shot.

 Your feet step back on their own. A subconscious pull for safety. Heart beats in fear, in ache. 

 “I’m sorry.”

 It dies in your throat. Your body shakes in so much pain you don't mind the way your heart and lungs shrink. Afraid that tears may fall, willing them to stay in place—in the back of your eyes where Spencer won't find them. 

 His migraines worsen. You tell yourself. 

 He’s still in pain. You remind yourself.

 His job is more important. You convince yourself. 

 Excuses after excuses. You make it a habit. Make excuses for him to distract the piercing agony.

 “W-why don’t I give you some space? Refill your cup?” You offer a smile like it’s a job you must carry successfully.

 Spencer gulps, hands in his pockets. “That would be great. Thanks.” He replies, getting back on his seat as if he hadn’t just cut through you like a sharp ax splitting a small trunk in half.

 You flinch when he shuts the door as soon as you step out of the room. Each piece vibrates in place, waiting for the last hit.

 “Litany of reasons come after that. I woke up each day with yet another excuse. A shameful attempt to sell what was rotten. Until I took a bite of it myself, and I tasted the sickening truth.”

THE DESTROYED SAND CASTLE.

 It's deafening. 

 The sound of you shattering into a thousand pieces. Sharp edges cut through every fabric of what you thought was true, what you thought was real. 

 “I love her.”

 But you're not her.

 You’re not the great Dr. Maeve Donovan. The woman who kept his migraines at bay, if not anything, cured them. The smart, beautiful, successful woman who rang every local pay phone in his vicinity. The woman that occupied his waking days. Days he went through next to you.

 Dr. Maeve Donovan. Spencer’s great love.

 And he’s never seen her in person until her last breath. But her voice is enough to steal him away from you. Enough for the color in Spencer’s skin to light back up after years of your failed attempts. Enough for Spencer to fall in love with her. Enough to stay in love with her despite her being gone in the wind. Despite you sleeping next to him every single night.

 She was enough. The idea of her is enough.

 “I love her.”

 Love. Present tense. Spencer loves her. 

 You don’t remember the last time he’d ever said those words to you. Don’t remember the genuine emotions that radiate along those words. Don’t remember the last time you’ve ever felt loved by him.

 “Hey…” 

 You walk past Penelope. You don't realize it until she catches your arm, distracted by the fatal explosion inside your chest. You can see the way your world crumbles like a sand castle kicked by the meanest bully.

 “Sweetie, what’s wrong? Did you not find Reid? Is he not in Hotch’s office?” Her eyes soften at the sight of your tears flowing like a steady river. “He’s safe, I promise. Just a little graze, you’ll see.” She tries to console you, rubbing the side of your arm.

 Just a little graze.

 Spencer has been carving little grazes on you for years, and the final blow causes your entire life to shatter in fine dust—close to nonexistence. 

 “Do you mind telling Spencer that there was an emergency, so I had to go?” Your voice breaks with each syllable, fighting the sobs from spilling out. It’s numbingly painful. Every part of you is sore and aching. 

 Penelope furrows her brows, “Sure, but is everything okay? What emergency?” She pries, no bad intentions, simply a sign of her kindness.

 You take a rough gulp. “I…” You look into her eyes, begging for her not to ask further. 

 She nods, giving you a soft squeeze on your arm and a warm smile. That's when you knew that she knew exactly the source of your nonstop tears. Maybe no longer than you did because you can see the anger in her eyes. At least she's on your side. And it's enough for you. “Call me if you need anything, love,” Penelope says, pulling you into a bone-crushing hug. “I’m always here for you. I’m always ready to be on your side.” She adds against your neck.

 And you're heading towards the elevator without a second thought.

 You hear your name as the doors close, lifting your head to find Spencer coming out of the bullpen. Penelope is true to her words, blocking him from reaching where you stand. His voice makes your insides churn. The sound of your name rolling off his tongue is sickening.

 Your body collapses on the floor. The sobs finally echo within the tight space. The tears endlessly flow in raging torrents between floors. You wrap your arms around your torso, holding yourself together.

 But it's way too late.

 Every piece of you has already shattered into messy pieces. Spread out in broken parts, unfit even if you tried to glue yourself back together. 

 Spencer has destroyed the castle you've built. The castle you made just for him. 

 You wonder if it's all for show. If Spencer chose to keep you just to avoid his boredom when Maeve’s unreachable. If he only tolerated you to fill her physical absence.

 But you should’ve known that it was a matter of time. His kisses were merely ghosts. His touch was stinging cold. His words were hallow. 

 The signs were clear in plain sight.

 Spencer stopped loving you a long time ago.

 "It's my fault." You say out loud, as if thinking it isn't painful enough.

 You made a choice. Each day, you choose to make up new reasons why Spencer is distant. You convince yourself that you aren't hurt by his cold glances. You tell yourself that it’s not torture if you love him.

 The elevator dings to the last floor.

 “Remnants of myself dried up inside that box.”

 Tongue runs over the softness of your lips as the final lines of your book approach with the same heart-wrenching ache. For the audience, at least.

 You flip the page, lifting your gaze. You scan the mass of teary eyes and silent sobs.

 There, you find two familiar faces. Penelope sniffs next to Rossi, who’s smiling proudly. The sweet blonde became your secret ray of sunshine. And the Italian mentored your way to a New York Times bestseller.

 "In that tight space. In the center of those four moving walls. I wished so much that he'd only said when. When everything felt too much. When I was unwanted. When he stopped loving me. I would've understood. Because I always did."

 What you don’t expect is the third familiar figure. It stands in the farthest back. A shadow if you don’t know any better. You take a deep breath.

 The next words are etched in your brain. The first words you’ve ever written in the making of the book under your palm. The words that still ring in your ears.

 “I must say, it’s not that I never learned. I learned so much that within the cracks of my broken self, I filled them with empty promises. Promises I never kept. Promises I broke because I believed I’d be fixed in a couple of days. I believed that the space between pieces of me would mend if I made the choice to stay.”

 His hair is unkempt. His eyes are as brown as the healthiest earth. His build is leaner. His face is worn out by horrors you don't dare imagine.

 Flashes of his pleas, his tears, his knocks on your door. You remember them like they were just yesterday. The pain that left a prominent indentation on your heart.

 Tattoos of pain adorn his face. Has he been there the entire time? Do you really care if he was?

 You lock eyes with Spencer, pausing for a moment. You let the past seep in. You unlock the vault of your broken pieces. Let them sing in agony. Let him hear the melody of your suffering.

 And then it stops. They vanish through the air of peace. The relief of moving on.

 You smile at him. The one that started everything.

 “It’s important to know that I always had a choice. And with that is the acceptance that each time I chose wrong.”

reid masterlist | masterlist

[f1goat]

more than friends + lando norris x part eight

In which your best friend wants to help you so you get more sexual experience, but he discovers quickly that he never wants to share you and your new sexual experience with others.

masterlist - playlist

warnings: smut with a plot or a plot with smut? :) minors dni! i never proofread so probably grammar or spelling errors

requested: yes, based on: something with a driver sister that’s still a virgin & lando (her bestfriend) suggests to teach her things

part one / part two / part three / part four / part five / part six / part seven

Lando is walking a bit in front of you, slowly you walk behind him. Together with a couple of his team members and Oscar you’re doing a track walk. Normally you skip this part of the day, but Lando kept begging you to accompany him. So here you are - and Lando isn’t even paying attention to you. You wonder why he wanted you to come here with him. 

“Still not dating Lando?” Oscar questions you suddenly. 

You let out a soft chuckle because of Oscar his blunt question. After you picked Lando and him up, Oscar has asked you that a couple times. It’s nice to talk about everything with someone. Although, not everything since you’re not telling him about the sexual things that are happening between you and Lando. Even though you suspect that Oscar already knows about that. 

“Still single,” you reply.

“Still waiting for him to make a move,” Oscar says, he lets out a soft laugh because of his remark. 

“True,” you state.

Oscar laughs again, this time you join him. Lando is quick to look behind himself when he hears you’re laughing. It surprises him to see you talking and laughing with his teammate. He decreases his pace until he is walking next to Oscar and you. 

“What are you talking about?” Lando asks. 

You doubt about your answer. What do you need to say? You can’t tell Lando that you were talking about him. Before you can say anything, Oscar is already answering Lando.

“I’m trying to get her to go on that date with Pierre,” Oscar says. He knows he’s taking a risk and that Lando will get mad at him, but he’s done with the way his friend handles this. Lando needs a push and right now, Oscar is happy to give him one. A massive big one even. 

“But you already said no to Pierre, right Y/N?” Lando is quick to question you. 

Fucking hell, what did Oscar just do? You know he’s waiting for Lando to make a move on you, but you told him that he didn’t need to intervene. When you look at Lando and notice his frustrated look, you suddenly start to think that it might be worth a shot. 

“Yeah,” you answer, “but he asked again.” It isn’t even a lie. Pierre texted you again yesterday, his text was stupid and a cliche, but you didn’t answer it yet. His text was something in the line of you needing to give him a chance - since he was settling down and really wanted to get to know you. This time he didn’t even say how beautiful you were, something he did a couple times after you said no the first time.

“Why would you chance your mind?” Lando asks confused, “I thought you already decided that he wasn’t your type.”

“You decided that,” Oscar butts in. Lando sends a angry glare towards his teammate. 

“Maybe I should give him a chance to prove himself,” you shrug. 

You really hope that Lando is going to say something against this. There’s not a single cell in your body that likes the idea of going on a date with Pierre. You wait for Lando his reply. In the mean time you take a good look at him. It’s clear that he is frustrated right now, but he doesn’t act on it. Yet. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t,” Lando replies frustrated, “He is a fuck boy.”

“According to him he’s changing,” you state. 

“He still wants to fuck you,” Lando says angrily. 

“Maybe I want him to,” you reply sarcastic. 

Lando doesn’t realize that you’re sarcastic right now. He is sending you angry glances. You don’t know how to behave yourself right now. You have no idea what Lando is going to say. Oscar is looking at the drama unfolding itself before his eyes. He wonders how this will work out. Lando seems way too mad to say anything good right now. He is already preparing himself for a fight. 

“You don’t,” Lando mutters angrily.

“How would you know?” You reply.

You don’t know why you’re getting mad. This is going about useless crap. But Lando is annoying you right now and you only want to frustrate him as well. Lando stops walking and turns himself to you. 

“You told me I would be your first,” Lando eventually says in a soft voice. His eyes are begging you to agree to his words. To tell him again that you want him to be your first. “You can’t expect me to believe that you suddenly want to have your first time with a fuck boy like Pierre,” he adds when you don’t reply fast enough. 

You let out a soft sigh. “You’re right,” you confess. Lando his facial expression is quick to brighten up a bit. “But maybe I want to date someone,” you lie, “I mean I have to get some experience on dating and Pierre can be useful with that.”

“No,” Lando says firmly, “You’re not going on a date with Pierre. End of discussion.”

“And who says you can make that decision for me?” You ask Lando annoyed.

“Come on babygirl, not him,” Lando pleads you.

“Okay, then I’ll say yes to Logan,” you reply.

“No,” Lando is quick to say. “You told me he was too young,” he adds.

“Maybe I changed my mind,” you state.

“Fucking hell,” Lando mutters. You don’t say anything. “After the track walk I’m taking you on a date and I swear to god, I don’t want to hear you about any other boy for the rest of the day.”

Oscar laughs loudly. You almost forgot that he was still here as well. Lando sends him an angry look. He knows that this was Oscars idea. He will talk to his teammate later about this. When he wants to make a sneer directed at Oscar, he starts to notice your look. You have a small smile plastered on your face and you seem happy with yourself. It makes him forget about Oscar. Did you do this on purpose? Maybe you wanted him to snap. He should have asked you on a date way sooner, then this mess wouldn’t be necessary. 

Lando gets closer to you. “And after that date, I’ll deny you your orgasms until you’re screaming out your apologies for even talking about them,” he whispers in your ear.

+++

He’s trying. Really trying. But why is it always that someone is trying to flirt with you wherever Lando takes you? He took you to a nice restaurant this evening. He made sure to check the menu before making a reservation, so he would know for sure that you’d like the food. It seemed to be the perfect evening, but now the fucking waiter is flirting with you. Lando is getting sure that he will be losing his mind pretty soon. He tries to ignore the waiter, but every time he comes over he’s reminded about the fact that your not his. Fuck. 

“What’s going on Lan?” 

It’s your voice who pulls him out of his thoughts. Lando tries to shrug it off, but when he sees your strict gaze he knows he won’t get away this easily. 

“Why is it that every where I take you, there seems to be someone trying to get with you,” Lando eventually confesses with an annoyed sigh. 

You show him a small smile. It’s really bothering him apparently. “I’m not interested in any of them,” you tell Lando, “so you can relax.”

“Promise?” He asks you.

“Promise.”

“Not even that waiter?” He asks just to be sure.

“Which waiter?” You ask confused, “I thought you were still talking about Logan and Pierre.”

“The one who just brought you your drink,” Lando confesses.

“What’s with him?” You ask confused.

“He’s trying to flirt with you,” Lando sighs.

You let out a soft chuckle. “I didn’t even notice,” you tell Lando. “Come on babe, ignore them and enjoy our evening,” you add when Lando is glaring at the waiter who’s coming closer again. 

When Lando and you start to walk towards the exit of the restaurant after dinner, you’re quick to realize that the waiter from before is coming to you two. Lando is already sending angry glances, wondering what the guy wants this time. You on the other hand don’t know what to think. Maybe you just forgot something that he’s going to bring over? 

“Hi,” the waiter is quick to greet you when he stands in front of you. “I uh,” he continues while looking a bit nervous, “I was wondering if you’re single. And if so, if I can get your number?” 

Fuck. You don’t like it that Lando was right. Lando is quick to put his arm around your body and pulls you close to himself. It’s almost like he’s trying to show the guy that you’re his. But you’re not. 

You wonder how to react to the waiter. What do you need to reply? You don’t want to give him your number, but you also don’t want to be rude. Normally those things don’t happen to you. 

“No, she’s not.”

Lando his words shock you, but you play along. You try to hide your confused feelings. The waiter is quick to mumble a soft apology and walk off. Lando starts to walk with you in a fast pace, it seems like he wants to leave as quick as possible.

Lando takes you back to the hotel with him. You are feeling tense because of Lando his earlier words. Is he really going to deny you your orgasms? Lando his hand is laying on your thigh while he drives to the hotel. You stare at him. Lately he has made you question everything. Of course you were well aware of your feelings before, but now things have changed. Now you feel the slight possibility of Lando liking you back. You don’t want to hope too much, but you can’t help yourself anymore… His jealousy alone makes you question everything. 

When the two of you are back into the hotel, Lando is quick to wrap you into his arms. He lifts you up a bit and takes you to the bed with him. You are quick to softly fall onto the bed, Lando lands next to you. It doesn’t stop him from wrapping his arms all around your body. You let out a relieved sound. Lando is quick to follow. 

“All I wanted today was to cuddle with you,” Lando softly confesses.

You feel your cheeks heating up from his confession. You get closer to Lando and put a soft kiss on his cheek. 

“I like that as well,” you tell Lando.

He shows you a grin.

+++

A few hours later you’re laying on the bed with Lando again. This time you’re freshly showered and underneath the sheets of the bed. You’re wearing one of Lando his shirts and your panties. Lando is already complaining about it. Even though he’s only wearing his boxers.

“How do you expect me not to take your virginity right now and here if you’re looking like this?” He ask you. 

You let you gaze away from the television screen that’s playing some old Family Guy episodes, to look at Lando. You feel your cheeks reddening while thinking about what to reply. Eventually you decide to be honest with him.

“I don’t expect you to,” you confess.

“No, no babygirl,” Lando quickly states.

“No?” You ask him confused.

Lando doesn’t tell you that he’s waiting on purpose. He doesn’t know what will happen after he takes your virginity, but he’s afraid things between you two will go back to ‘normal’. Or at least the things that were normal for you before, so no kissing and sexual stuff anymore.

“I want to do it right,” Lando says, “You know a bit romantic and stuff like that.”

“You don’t have to,” you say, “I’m ready and if you want to now is fine.”

“I want to,” Lando answers firmly, “not that I don’t want to fuck the living shit out of you right now, but I want to make sure your first time is perfect.” 

“That’s sweet Lan.”

“Come here babygirl,” Lando says. You move yourself closer to him and lay down on him. 

Lando is quick to press a firm kiss against your lips. It’s fast to turn into more. You slightly open your lips to give Lando entrance to your tongue. Something he’s quick to take. You put yourself on top of Lando his body. Slowly you grind your hips against his crotch. You feel something hardening underneath yourself. It’s exactly what you think it is. It only took you a couple seconds before Lando got hard from your movements.

Is it weird to see that as a compliment?

Lando moves his hands towards your hips. He helps you to grind him harder. He uses a bit more pressure and makes sure you hit him rightly every time. You move your head closer to Lando and press a kiss against his lips. It turns into a make out session in no time. 

“Fuck,” Lando moans. 

You try to grind on to him even harder while increasing your pace. You twirl your hips in the mean time. Lando softly squeezes your ass, it causes you to let out a soft moan as well. Lando shows you a small smirk. You increase your pace and pressure even more. When Lando lets out a deep moan, you show him a smirk back. Two can play this game.

It only takes you a couple more movements before you feel a small bit of wetness. Lando isn’t looking at you anymore. He has his eyes closed and lets out another soft moan. 

“Fucking hell babygirl,” he eventually mutters when he opens his eyes again, “You just made me cum into my underwear. Again.”

You show Lando a small innocent smile. He shakes his head while laughing.

sorry for taking a bit longer then usual :( i've been busy! hopefully i can write part nine faster

taglist: @booksandplushies @dinodumbass @formula1mount @words-are-cheap @allywthsr @inejghafawifesblog @chonkybonky @formulas-bitch @harrysdimple05 @vildetry06 @wherethefuckisthething @nonameishere @lauralarsen@meadhbhcavanagh @obliviatevamps @shy4turcs @fix5idiots @nightlockcornucopia @marialovesf1 @kapsylia @im-an-overthinker @jule239 @lanando4 @lauralarsen @leclercdream @agentadhd @rewmuslupin @allsouls-emma @iamshiningeuw @teenagedreams-cl@kiskso @loxbbg @vellicora @thomaslefteyebrow @avg-golden-retriever @amorydsmt @killjoynotes@barelytolerabled @starmanv @changetyre @kami10471633 @2bormaybenot @httpmrklee @buendiabebeta @aliceespector@ryiamarie @mickslover @sop-hie092 @miniemonie2001 @greymarvelskaikru @kapsylia @swiftiedrafts @thatchickwiththecamera @formulas-bitch @venisvendetta @t3a-3njoy3r @landowecanbewc

[slowdrawl]

|dbf!Joel x f!reader| Whiskey and Want

| 18+ MINORS DNI | {series masterlist} | wordcount |4.2k| {TLOU AU, no outbreak} |13/??| Show me. | Joel is hot...and your dad's best friend. You're brattier than usual when you're setting up for Sarah's welcome home party and he SNAPS, talking you through it as he does. (the smut goes crazy.)

“Bend over the fuckin’ table.”

| a/n | This was supposed to be a normal chapter. with plot, and pacing, and decorations. But I blacked out and wrote 4k words of utter filth. This could be read as a stand alone tbh. Just a real spicy interlude.

Warnings/tags: 18+ only, minors DNI, SMUT, explicit content, restraints (wrists bound), oral sex (f. receiving), spanking, fingering, (p in v), orgasm denial, mild dom/sub dynamics, dirty talk, praise, light degradation, power imbalance (consensual), established tension, series warnings after the fic.

reader uses she/her pronouns and has hair. no major physical descriptions of the reader. no use of y/n but has the nickname Bird, Birdie, etc. reader has a backstory

“Are you tryin’ to hang the fuckin’ lights or yourself?”

Joel’s at the base of the ladder, one hand braced against the frame like he thinks it’s about to collapse.

You glance down at him, brow scrunched. “What are you on about?”

“You keep tiptoein’ like you’ve got a damn death wish.”

“Joel, it’s a step ladder. I appreciate the concern, but if I fall and break more than an ankle, it was in God’s plan.”

He shakes his head, already turning toward the patio. “Just…be mindful.”

You’ve spent the last hour and a half sprinting from one end of the yard to the other, draping fairy lights over the pergola, trying your best to give the place some kind of whimsy.

Sarah is lucky you love her. And that you’re terrified of how she’ll react when she inevitably figures out you’ve been boning her dad. Because right now, you’re sweating in places you didn’t even know could sweat.

Thankfully, the sun’s finally starting to dip, and for once, there are a few clouds offering some mercy from the Texas heat. Joel’s taping a ‘WELCOME HOME’ banner to the siding above the back door, you can’t help but stare at the way his t-shirt hikes up just enough to show the dimples at the base of his spine off. You can see faint drops of sweat speckling the skin there, shining like glitter. “That’s crooked,” you holler over to him from across the yard. “So be it,” he replies. At this point, the heat is really getting to you, you have no more patience. It’s been a long day, and you just want the whole thing to be over. You’ve been at it since 11, when you went to the party store, now it’s probably around 6. You don’t know, your phone has been dead since you left the diner. You snap, “No. We’re not half-assing this. Straighten the damn sign.” You don’t even look at him, just go back to what you were doing. Don’t have to look anyway, because you can see it already. Jaw tight, eye twitching, nostrils flared. He probably has his hand on his hip and everything. You keep on wrapping a streamer around one of his sad little trees. Thinking, maybe he’s dropped it. Moved on. That you’ve earned a moment of peace and relative shade. Until his voice cuts in again, closer now, but not by much. He’s made his way halfway through the yard.

“You know,” he drawls, slow like molasses but twice as smug, “I liked you better when you were scared’a me.”

You snort, tugging the streamer taut just to give your hands something to do. “That why you keep tryin’ to intimidate me with your superior zip-tie skills and emotional constipation?”

Joel steps into your peripheral, close enough that you feel the heat off his body, radiating, heavy, clinging to you like static air before a storm. You glance at him and instantly regret it.

Fuck

He looks disheveled. In the best way. T-shirt stuck to his chest, curls damp at the nape, cheeks a little sunburnt maybe, eyes darker than they should be in daylight. You could hang lights off the tension alone. “You’ve been extra mouthy today.” You shrug your shoulders, eyes wide and innocent. “So what. You don’t think you deserve it? After the emotional rollercoaster you’ve had me on all week, you’re lucky I'm here at all.” Joel doesn’t say a word. Just stares at you. You can feel the weight of it. Heavy, measured. He's trying to calculate exactly how far he's willing to let you take this. “I think you like it when I talk back, Mr. Miller.” He cocks his head. “Oh? You think so?” “Yeah, I do,” you say, stepping toward him. “I think it gets you off.” You smile smugly. “Actually…I know it does.” He starts walking. Not fast, just with purpose. Every step makes your heart pound harder. He’s silent, closing the space between you while you instinctively start to retreat. You’re walking backward toward the house now, tripping over your own feet the whole way. He’s just on your toes, stalking you like a predatory animal. Your back bumps against the edge of the folding table you’d set up earlier, you have nowhere else to go. Trapped. Joel plants one hand beside your hip. Then the other. Caging you in. He’s not touching you. Not yet. The legs of the table scrape across the patio as he pushes it back so it's now flush against the siding of the house. His arms are stretched out, taut, triceps flexing. 

“That what this is?” he says quietly. “You tryin’ to make me lose it?”

You swallow. He doesn’t sound angry…It’s worse, dangerous, too calm. Like he’s holding something barely tethered under his tongue.

“Tryin’ to get me to fuck you right here against this table?” He looks around the yard, nodding in the direction of your house. “You want everyone hearin’ the sweet little sounds you make for me”

He leans in, breath warm against your cheek.

“That what you want?”

You’re still smiling, but it’s starting to falter. Just a little. Just enough.

“Maybe.”

His eyes drag over your face, slow and heavy. There’s heat there, but more than that. There’s awareness. Like he sees exactly what you’re doing. And he’s calling your bluff.

“You wanna be a brat? Fine.”

His hand comes up, he wraps it around your throat. Squeezing, just a little, claiming. His voice drops, sharp, certain. “Then beg.”

Your lips part. You don't back down. You never back down.

So he leans in again, and he moves his hand from your throat around to the back of your neck. Grabbing your nape like it's the scuff of a kitten, spinning you.

“Bend over the fuckin’ table.” You blink. Brain not catching up quick enough. It feels like you have a fever. Your heart is pounding in your ears, your extremities feel half numb from the adrenaline. “Now.” The noise that comes from the back of your throat is embarrassing. It already feels like your knees are about to give out. But still, you obey, letting him turn you around completely. You hinge at your hips, pressing your elbows flush to the table as he guides you down with his hand on the small of your back. “Shorts down,” he says. “Or do I have to do everything for you?”

You fumble with the waistband, fingers shaking as you shove them down around your thighs. It’s clumsy, desperate. You’re already panting.

He groans behind you, you can feel it rumble through him.

“You talk too much,” he mutters. “Always runnin’ that smart little mouth.”

You smirk, twisted around just enough to look at him over your shoulder.

“Still think you like it.”

His hand cracks across your ass. You gasp.

“What was that?” he growls.

You bite your lip. Trying to keep the edge. Trying to keep from screaming.

“I said—”

Another slap. Harder. He doesn’t even let you finish this time.

Your breath hitches. Your thighs clench.

“Keep goin’,” he says. “We’ll be here all fuckin’ night.”

He runs a hand between your legs, he groans when he finds you practically dripping.

“Goddamn. She’s soaked and still talkin’ back.”

You’re trembling now, knuckles white on the edge of the table.

“Say you’re sorry.”

You hesitate. Just long enough to make him snap.

Joel drags you back by the hips, so your ass is flush against him, cock straining through his jeans. You can feel how hard he is—how close he is to ruining you.

“Say. It.”

“…Make me.”

That’s it.

He shoves your panties down and sinks two fingers into you without warning. Deep, rough, perfect. You cry out, head dropping to the plastic, and he leans over you, mouth to your ear.

“You don’t get to come until you do,” he growls. “Not until I hear it.”

You whimper. Rocking your hips back on his hand.

“Joel—”

“Nope. You wanted this. You can take the consequences.”

He curls his fingers just right, and your knees nearly give out for real.

“Say you’re sorry.”

“I—I’m sorry,” you gasp.

“What for?”

“For… for mouthing off.”

He pulls his hand away. You whine at the loss.

“Louder.”

You lift your head.

“I’m sorry for mouthing off!”

Joel makes low and smug sound, like he’s pleased with himself. You feel it in your core.

“Good girl,” he says, unbuckling his belt with slow, deliberate clicks. “Now stay still, just like that.”

“Why?”

“Because I ain’t done teachin’ you yet.”

The belt hits the table with a heavy slap, and your whole body jolts. You expect the sting next, the sharp bite across your skin—but it doesn’t come.

Instead, Joel reaches down, grabs both of your wrists.

Pulls them behind your back.

“Are you fuckin’ serious right now?”

He doesn’t answer. Just threads the leather through your wrists, tight and smooth. Cinching it slow. He moves like he’s done this before, no big deal, like he knows the way you’ll respond.

You try to twist. Just to see. Just to feel it.

You can’t move.

“Still feelin’ mouthy?” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble against your ear. “Or is it finally sinkin’ in now?”

You swallow, pulse pounding between your legs.

“Yeah, didn’t think so”

And then he’s guiding you. No. He’s marching you into the house. Your wrists are bound behind your back, and your shorts are still half tugged down like a badge of shame. The cool inside air hits your skin, but it doesn’t soothe the fire in your chest, the heat that's crawling up your throat.

Joel stays behind you. One hand on your waist. Firm. Controlling. His thumb strokes absent-minded circles against your side like he’s calming a spooked horse. As you reach the kitchen, he pauses for a second, loosening his grip on your wrists. He turns you around and looks, serious, but…gentler at you. You can tell that he’s searching your face for hesitancy, real fear. He’s searching your face for your consent and you have never been so turned on in your entire fucking life. “Good?” He asks, eyes locked on yours. “Yes.” you say. It comes out breathy, but sure. He nods his head in understanding and exhales what sounds like anticipation mixed with relief.

“Upstairs,” he says, motioning toward the hall.

“Joel—”

“You got one job now, darlin’. Walk.”

You don’t argue.

The sound of your steps on the stairs feels deafening. He follows behind you, you can feel his eyes burning into the backs of your legs, your ass, the base of your spine.

When you reach the landing, he nudges you down the hall.

“Bedroom,” he says. “Go.”

You cross the threshold and stop, unsure, buzzing. So many emotions are going through you, your brain can’t keep up. You’ve never been in his bedroom before, and if you weren't tied up in leather, this would feel…intimate. You don’t have time to take it in, but you do take a second to look toward the window and stare out of it up toward your bedroom across the street. You turn to face him—

“Uh uh,” Joel says, voice rough. “Get on your knees.”

You sink down to the ground.

The carpet scratches the skin beneath your knees. You’re feeling vulnerable. Exposed. But still…safe.

Joel stands in the doorway, arms crossed. Watching you. Like you’re prey and he’s deciding what kind of punishment fits best.

“Not so funny now, is it?” he asks softly.

You’re scared to answer, you shake your head barely.

“S’what I thought.”

He steps into the room. Circling behind you. One finger trails from your jaw down your throat, to your chest, your ribs.

“Now,” he says, stopping in front of you. “You’re gonna sit there and wait.” “For what?” you whisper.

He smiles, cruel and patient.

“For me to feel generous.” Your wrists are still bound behind your back, fingers twitching with every exhale of your breath. You shift, trying to get more comfortable, trying to rub your thighs together for some sort of relief without being too obvious. Joel notices, because of course he notices. He drops onto the edge of the bed in front of you with a deep groan, spreading his legs wide. The button is already undone on his jeans. He’s palming himself over his boxers. You look up at him through hooded eyes, biting down on your lower lip. He reaches his hand under the waistband and pulls out his cock. It’s thick, flushed, wet at the tip—and he strokes it slowly, practiced, shameless. Just watching you. “Look at you now,” he murmurs. “All tied up and nothin’ to say to me for once.” Your throat burns. You want to speak. You want to beg. But he’s just too pretty like this. Sweaty and wrecked, one hand fisting his cock, the other behind him, holding him up as he leans into the bed. “Bet you’re dripping,” he drawls. “I bet you’re fuckin’ throbbin’, sittin’ there watchin’ me.” The smallest wine escapes from his throat with the last word. You squirm against your calves, can’t help it. He chuckles. “Uh uh,” he hums. “No movin', not unless I tell you to.” You hang your head down for a second in protest, then smirk back up at him. “You gonna come like that? All by yourself? Puttin’ on a show just for me, Mr. Miller?” He inhales sharply and then stills. His thumb drags a lazy circle over the head of his cock, he doesn’t break eye contact with you. “Think you’ve earned it?” he asks, “Seein’ me come for you?” “Tryin’ my best.” “Try harder,” he mutters, “ You wanna be good? Be quiet for me. Watch.” You clench around nothing. He’s smirking now, watching the way your body reacts to his words. “That hard for you?” he hums, “Just sittin’ there like a good girl?” You nod, lips parted, eyes wide. He groans and tilts his head back slightly, stroking himself faster now. His chest is falling and rising erratically, every breath is ragged, every exhale punched out between clenched teeth. You can tell that he’s close, you can see it, and you ache for him. Then he stops. Hand stilling on himself, eyes flicking down to you sitting there, small and panting, bound at his feet. Suddenly, something shifts. The tension doesn’t break exactly, but it pauses. Tightens in a different way. Joel’s face changes, barely, but enough. He leans forward. “Hey,” he says, soft. His voice is rough and velvet at the same time. “You doin’ okay—is this okay?” You blink, swallowing, nodding. “I need you to use your words, baby.” Your heart squeezes in your chest. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I’m good, Joel. I’m…I’m having fun.” He reaches for you and brushes your cheek with his knuckles, he’s so achingly tender that it nearly undoes you. “Okay,” He says. “Okay good.” he exhales, giving you one more long look, “You want to stop, you just say so alright?” You hum in response. And then he grabs your jaw. Firmly, but careful still. He tilts your face up, squishing your cheeks. “You keep your eyes on me, then,” he murmurs. “I’m not done watchin’ you beg.” You hold his gaze like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded. Your knees are burning, wrists aching, jaw trembling under his hand. He strokes himself lazily in front of you, like he has all damn night. Like he could do this forever. And you? You’re starving. “Joel,” You say, meek. He raises a brow, “Somethin’ you wanna say?” “Please.” He hums. “Please, what?”

Your voice cracks when you answer. “I need you.”

He leans forward slightly, almost close enough for you to get your mouth on his. “Need me to what, baby?”

You try to move. Try to lean into him, into anything, but his grip tightens at your jaw. He holds you steady. “Say it.”

You shut your eyes. Exhale. Shame burning down your spine as you whisper.

Your voice cracks. “Touch me. Fuck me. Anything. Please, I’m sorry, I—I-please, Joel.”

He exhales hard, like he feels it. Like your begging undoes something. “Goddamn,” he mutters. “There she is.”

He goes still for a moment, like the sound of your voice hit somewhere he wasn’t ready for it to. Then he lets go of your jaw. And slaps your cheek. Not hard, just enough to sting. To snap your last thread of control.

You jolt slightly, whimpering. A shudder rolls through you. You’re shaking, overwhelmed, soaked, feral.

He watches you like he’s still hungry. Like this is just the beginning.

Then he kneels.

You feel the shift in the air before you feel his hands.

He reaches for the buckle. Pulls the belt free from your wrists with deft, controlled fingers. Your arms fall forward, limp and useless. You don’t even try to move them.

Joel takes your hands in his. Bringing your palms to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to each one. Then he rubs small circles into the reddened skin, helping you through the electric static still zipping down your spine.

You nod, choked up.

He kisses your temple. “Get on the bed.”

You scramble up, with trembling hands. Your entire body buzzes as you climb into the sheets. Joel follows calmly. All control. No urgency, like he’s not already hard. Like, he isn’t seconds away from giving in like you are. He settles on his knees at the foot of the bed where you just were, eyes trailing up your body like smoke. He spreads your legs with both hands, wide. Possessive, like he owns the sight of you. One palm comes down over your stomach, pressing flat to hold you down. “You’re gonna stay real still for me,” he says, quiet but firm. “Or we’re gonna stop.” Then he licks you. One long, languid drag of his tongue that leaves you feeling like you’re about to combust. You yelp, slapping a hand to your face to stifle your moans. He groans against you like the taste hurts him. “Fuck—look at you,” he mutters, hot against your thigh. “So pretty. You love this, don’t you?” You grasp at anything you can, fingers tangled in sheets, in his hair, anything to ground yourself. You arch into him, nodding, whining. Joel chuckles, dark and a little mean. “Didn’t say move.” Then he’s back on you, messier, dragging his tongue through you again. He makes you grind, makes you keep begging. You cry out, writhing beneath him. His mouth still on you, “No, baby, not yet” He works you right to the edge and then pulls back. Over. And Over. Three times. You’re crying by the fourth. Quiet little sobs against your knuckles. “Shh, I got you, angel. You’re bein’ so, so good for me now.” he coos, kissing the inside of your thigh. “Joel, please,” you hiccup. “I’ll be so good—please just don’t stop.” He kisses his way up your body, your hip, your ribs, the swell of your breast. Then he gets up from the floor, walks to the side of the bed and settles himself behind you. He reaches forward and lifts you, literally pulls you into his lap, your whole body light in his arms. Your legs feel like jello, you’re so exhausted. Fucked out and you haven’t even come yet. He shifts you forward, settling you over his thighs, guiding your body like he’s done it a hundred times in his head.

His cock is thick and heavy between your legs, already nudging at your entrance, and you freeze, just for a second as the reality of it hits you.

You’re soaked. Raw. Desperate.

But this still feels like a threshold.

Joel sees it.

“Breathe,” he whispers. His voice is so quiet now, so gentle. Steady. “I’ve got you.” One hand grabs onto your hip, the other slides down and wraps around the base of his cock. He lines himself up, the head just barely parting your folds, and he waits. Just waits until your eyes meet his again. Then he pulls you down, slowly. The stretch is immediate, deep and relentless. Your mouth falls open in a silent moan. “I know,” he grits. “Just take it. That’s it, good fuckin’ girl.” He doesn’t rush you, just holds you there, easing you down. Letting you feel every ridge, every vein, every beat of his pulse as he twitches, fighting to stay still. Your thighs are trembling, your breath is shuddering out of your heaving chest. Every inch drags against your walls, every second of stretch sending fire across your nerves. “You feel that?” he asks, low and rough. “How tight you are around me?” You nod, barely. Whimpering now. “Every fuckin’ time. Like it’s the first.” You bottom out with a cry. His cock seated deep, brushing against your cervix. And he just stays there, lets you sit in it, walls fluttering. Your whole body tightens around him involuntarily. It’s too much and not enough at the same time. “Look at me,” he says. You listen. He leans in close, forehead to forehead. “Ain’t nobody ever gonna fuck you like I do.” A sharp and needy gasp rips through you as he starts thrusting up into you. You can feel the pressure building low in your belly. “No one’s ever gonna fill you like this. Hear me?” You’re nodding back at him again, its all you can do. You’re blinking hard, ruined. “Say it.” Your voice trembles. “Nobody’s gonna—fuck, nobody’s gonna fuck me better.” Joel growls low in his throat. His arms wrap around you tight. He starts to move faster, punishing thrusts that feel like they’ll unravel you from the inside out. You’re barely breathing as he fucks you harder. One of his hands grips your ass, guiding your rythm. The other is tangled in your hair, pulling your mouth to his. He kisses you like he’s trying to break you. Tongue deep, lips rough, teeth catching. You’re right on the edge, you can feel yourself pulsing around him. You wrap your arms around his shoulders like it’ll keep you from falling apart. “Yeah,” he groans. “There it is. That what you needed, huh? Right there?” “Yes. Fuck—right there.” you sob into him. He thrusts up harder, faster. Your thighs are on fire from the effort of keeping up with him, your muscles are shaky. You’re soaked, his cock gliding in and out of you with a filthy slap every time your hips meet. “You gonna come? I can feel you fuckin’ chokin’ me, baby.” he growls. “Y-yeah—shit, oh my god—Joel” His thumb drops down to your clit, he starts rubbing circles exactly how you like it, and your head snaps back. “That’s it. Come on,” he grits. “Show me. Show me what this fuckin’ cock does to you.” You fall apart. Hard.

Your entire body locks, and the orgasm rips through you. It’s burning, endless, and blinding. You scream his name. Legs shaking. Nails digging so hard into his back you know you’re leaving marks. “Fuck—fuck—” you cry. “Don’t stop, please, don’t,” And he doesn’t. He holds your hips and drives up into you, riding your orgasm, dragging more and more out of you until you’re twitching, boneless, mouth open and gasping. And then he finally breaks, slamming into you once. Twice. Groaning so deep it sounds fucking painful. He comes. Hot. Thick. Deep inside you. He holds you close, murmuring praise into your skin, lips pressed to your temple as you ride it out. His head drops to the bed, and he pulls you down, curling his body around yours. He doesn’t pull out. Doesn’t move. You both just lay there and collect your breath for a long while. Your body is loose, heavy and spent. Every breath you take smells like him. His forehead is resting against your shoulder, brushing his lips against your collarbone. Neither of you speak. It’s just the ever-present hum of the ceiling fan. The tick of the clock, your heartbeats pressed together. “You okay?” he eventually asks. His voice is rough, low and broken still. You hum into his chest, “Perfect.” Joel rubs your back, lazy, sloppy circles that make your eyes sting. “Did I go too fa—” He doesn't finish the sentence, you don’t let him. “No,” you say quick. “No. You didn’t.” You pull yourself back just enough to see him. He’s flush, eyes soft now. Bare. It’s like the edge of him has finally, finally worn down. You weave your fingers through the damp curls at the nape of his neck. “I’ve never felt like that before,” you whisper. Joel huffs a tired laugh. “Me neither.” Then he kisses your shoulder, then your jaw. Then your cheek. When his mouth finds yours again, it's not about hunger anymore. It’s just quiet, stead,y and certain. He threads your fingers together. Connected, quiet. Safe. “Hey, Joel?”

His thumb strokes slow over the back of your hand. “Yeah, Bird?”

You smile, lips still swollen, brain still syrupy.

“We, uh…” you glance at the ceiling fan. “We still have to finish setting the yard up.”

You stop.

“Before my dad gets here with the booze.”

Joel groans, dragging an arm over his face. You kiss his shoulder, giggling. “You still need to straighten the damn sign, too.”

“Fuck’s sake”

series warnings!!! fluff, smut, angst,unprotected p-in-v (please wrap it up), f/m masturbation, fingering, large but legal age-gap (joel is in 40's reader is in mid 20's), size kink?, choking, pervy!obsessive!joel, pervy!mean!Tommy, grinding, spit, cumplay, possessive/rough sex, praise, dom/sub dynamics, orgasm denial, sex on the phone, drinking/smoking, strong language, sneakin around, lowkey obsessive and reckless Joel, blackmail, competency kink, risky sex, infidelity/implied, semi-public sex, breeding kink lowkey, overstimulation, a tiny bit of coercion, dirty talk, oops its a creampie, brief mentions of grief and implied suicide, Tommy is a jerk in this one, guilt and betrayal, bar-fights @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @brittmb115 @mystickittytaco @your-nightmaredoll @leenieweenie12 @orodaeh

[theseventhdimension]

The Smartest Person in the Room (And you too, I guess.)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Gn! Reader

Word Count: 2.1k+

DNI: All are welcome!

Authors Note: I'm so bloody sick (⁠ب⁠_⁠ب⁠) arrghhARGHUAW DH IUQ uodqdq ew ew ew my nostrils are clogged my throat is clogged im gonna spewwwwwwwwwwWWOIJQXOMH.

Anyway (⁠•⁠‿⁠•⁠) I'm so normal it's crazy how normal I am

Low-key was reading through some toxic ff 💔 and, well. here's this. Spencer my baby would never do this but it's for the plot (⁠・⁠–⁠・⁠;⁠)⁠ゞ

The first time it happened, you thought it was a joke.

Spencer had been pacing the room, gesturing wildly as he explained something about quantum cognition—something dense and thrilling that lit him up like a string of fairy lights. You didn’t really follow, but you loved the way he talked when he got excited. His brain on fire. His voice rushing to keep up.

You’d asked a simple question. Something like, “Wait, what’s that theory called again?”

Spencer stopped mid-stride, blinking. “You’ve never heard of it?” Not cruel. Just surprised. “It’s pretty foundational.”

You laughed, sheepish. “Guess my brain didn’t come preloaded with the genius pack.”

He smiled—quick, distracted—and returned to the stack of books on the table, already mid-explanation again, this time with the tone of someone simplifying something for a kid.

“Think of it like… your brain taking mental shortcuts,” he said. “Like crossing the street without doing the math on every moving car.”

You nodded, pretending interest. But the bruise was already forming—small, invisible, internal. Not from what he said. From how easy it was for him to say it like that.

That moment didn’t stand alone for long.

They piled up. A shrug here. A correction there. A sigh so soft it barely counted as one. But you noticed. Always.

Never malicious. That was the worst part. Spencer wasn’t trying to hurt you. He just did—gently, unconsciously. Like academic shrapnel. Paper cuts from pages he didn’t know could slice.

It happened again over dinner, when he queued up an old black-and-white film, thick with Cold War allegory. Halfway through, you’d asked, “Wait, is this based on real events?”

He didn’t even glance at you. “Kind of. I mean… that’s the entire subtext.”

When he did look over, he added, “It’s not really subtle. Most people pick up on it within the first act.”

There it was again—that tone. Offhand. Unthinking.

You turned back to the screen, your appetite for the movie vanishing.

The next morning, you barely spoke.

“You okay?” Spencer asked over coffee.

“I’m fine.”

He paused. “You didn’t ask about the caffeine thing I mentioned earlier. You always ask.”

You shrugged. “Maybe I’m tired of not knowing the answers.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Never mind.”

He put his mug down. “No, say it.”

You looked at him, suddenly worn out from carrying so many small wounds.

“I’m tired of feeling like I have to pass a test every time we talk.”

Spencer frowned. “I don’t quiz you.”

“You don’t mean to,” you said. “But I feel like a student half the time. Like you’re lecturing, not talking. Like I’m… always catching up.”

Spencer seemed to flinch, even if just internally. “I’ll try to tone it down. Use simpler terms.”

And there it was again.

As if that had been the problem. As if you’d needed the world explained slower. Simpler.

Two nights later, you brought up a book you’d been reading—something about the psychology of digital intimacy. You were proud of it. You’d taken notes. You’d underlined entire chapters. It wasn’t even one of his recommendations—you’d picked it up yourself.

“There’s this chapter about parasocial relationships,” you said, leaning into the conversation. “It talks about how constant digital feedback can blur the lines of emotional intimacy. Kind of explains why people feel close to influencers they’ve never met.”

Spencer didn’t even look up. “Yeah, I’ve read about that. Horton and Wohl, right? I cited them once.”

The conversation died in your throat. “Oh. Cool.”

He kept eating. Unaware. Unbothered.

You didn’t bring the book up again.

And that night, you stared at the ceiling while Spencer slept beside you, the weight of unspoken thoughts pressing on your ribs.

It was subtle at first—the way you pulled back. The way you stopped asking questions. Stopped offering ideas. Stopped trying.

But eventually, he noticed.

“You’ve been different,” he said one morning. “Is something going on?”

You looked at him. And before you could stop yourself:

“Do you respect me?”

Spencer’s expression flickered. “What?”

“Do you respect me,” you repeated, quieter. “As an equal? Or am I just someone who makes you feel smarter?”

“That’s not fair,” he said quickly. “Of course I do.”

“Then why do I feel like I have to earn your attention every time I speak?”

He stared, stunned. Like the math didn’t compute.

“I love how brilliant you are,” you continued, voice steady. “But I’m tired of feeling like I have to apologize for not knowing everything you do. I’m tired of having my excitement—my curiosity—treated like something small.”

“I don’t talk down to you,” he said, but the words came slower now. Unsure.

“You do. Without meaning to. Every time you say something’s basic. Every time you explain like I’m five. Every time you correct me mid-sentence.”

Spencer’s jaw tightened. But he stayed quiet.

You inhaled, chest tight. “I used to feel proud of myself. Of what I brought to a conversation. But somewhere along the way, being with you made me feel… behind.”

The silence stretched.

You grabbed your coat. “I need air.”

He didn’t stop you.

Didn’t say a word.

You didn’t go home to him that night.

Your phone buzzed. Twice. A message. A missed call.

You didn’t answer.

Eventually, you returned—but only to grab a bag, a few clothes.

On the counter sat a note. Spencer’s handwriting, careful and painfully neat:

“I didn’t know I was hurting you. I wish I had. I love you. I want to talk when you’re ready.”

You stared at it until the words lost their shape. Then you folded it and slid it into the trash.

He cornered you four days later. At your favorite café—the one you used to go to together when life wasn’t so damn heavy.

You didn’t expect him. You certainly didn’t expect the way he looked: tired, unshaven, a little wrecked in that beautiful, messy way he got when he hadn’t slept.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he said, like it explained everything.

You didn’t respond right away. Just sipped your lukewarm coffee and stared at the table like it might rescue you.

Spencer sat down across from you. His eyes searched yours like he was trying to read you like a file.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel small,” he said, quietly. “You have to believe me.”

“I do believe you,” you replied. “That’s part of the problem.”

He blinked, caught off guard.

You continued, voice steady even though your chest was burning. “You didn’t mean it. You never meant it. You didn’t yell or insult me. You didn’t mock me. You just… made me feel less without even realizing it.”

“I’ve been thinking about what you said. About respect,” he rushed on. “And I do. I respect you. I just—my brain doesn’t always process how things sound. I’m so used to facts and logic and being the guy with answers that I forget not everyone needs them.”

You shook your head slowly. “It’s not about answers, Spencer.”

His voice wavered. “Then what is it about?”

You looked him in the eyes, and for once, he didn’t have an answer waiting.

“It’s about how I always felt like a guest in your world. Like I had to earn my place by keeping up—by pretending I understood everything when I didn’t. And when I did understand something, when I shared something I cared about… you looked at me like I was wasting your time.”

“That’s not true—”

“It is,” you cut in. “You just didn’t notice. And that’s the part I can’t get over.”

Spencer stared at you like the words were landing late. Like he was still trying to reframe the situation in a way he could fix.

You leaned back in your chair. Exhaled slow.

“I used to be proud of myself,” you said. “Proud of what I knew, of what I liked. I used to feel like I had something to offer. But somewhere along the line, being with you made me feel like I was always… behind.”

Spencer’s lips parted, but he said nothing.

“I don’t want to feel like that anymore.”

There was a pause. A long one. You watched the realization settle on his face like a slow, devastating wave.

“You’re breaking up with me,” he said, barely above a whisper.

“I already did,” you said. “I just hadn’t said it out loud yet.”

His eyes flicked down, then back up. “But I love you.”

You smiled, sadly. “I love you too.”

“Then why—”

“Because love doesn’t undo the damage,” you said. “It doesn’t erase the feeling that I’ve spent the last six months trying to be enough for you—and failing.”

Spencer looked like he wanted to argue. Like he had one more fact to recite, one more theory to prove this could work if you just understood it better.

But there was nothing to fix. Not anymore.

You stood up.

“I hope you find someone who makes you feel seen, Spencer. And I hope they feel seen by you too.”

He didn’t stop you.

He just sat there, alone at the table, in a café full of strangers, holding onto a silence he couldn’t explain.

You didn’t look back when you left.

And he didn’t come after you.

For once, he had no words left to say.

Later that night, back at the apartment, he moved through the silence like it might have answers.

He wandered the living room aimlessly at first—touching the back of the couch where you used to sit curled up, glancing at the half-empty mug you'd left in the sink, untouched since you packed your bag.

Then he saw it.

A book—worn but well-kept—sitting on the edge of the coffee table like it had been left behind in a rush. Disconnected Minds: The Psychology of Digital Intimacy.

The same one you'd told him about. The one he had interrupted. The one he'd brushed off like it was old news.

Spencer sank onto the couch and picked it up slowly, flipping through the pages out of habit. The spine creaked, and his fingers froze.

You’d annotated nearly every margin.

There were notes in different pens. Highlights. Stars. Asterisks next to key passages. Brackets with tiny, excited comments scrawled into the corners.

“Is this why influencer obsession feels so personal?” “Could this apply to how we form attachments offline too? Digital leaking into physical?” “Fascinating parallel between mirror neurons and online projection—!!”

He kept turning pages, faster now. The deeper he went, the more his chest tightened. You hadn’t just read this. You’d devoured it. You had questioned it, challenged it, applied it to your own world.

You weren’t trying to impress him that night.

You were trying to share something.

And he hadn’t even looked up from his damn coffee.

His thumb caught on a sticky note tucked halfway through the book—bright yellow, crooked.

His eyes scanned your handwriting.

“This chapter kind of overlaps with what Spencer said about social schemas—but the author contradicts it here… I wonder if he’d agree or argue it?”

He stared at it.

You weren’t just learning. You were thinking. Engaging. Even referencing him like he was part of the text, part of your curiosity.

You’d wanted his thoughts. Not his approval.

And he’d given you neither.

Spencer closed the book slowly, resting it in his lap. The weight of it felt heavier now. He realized—too late—that you hadn’t been asking him to slow down. You’d just been asking him to see you.

And you were never stupid. Never behind.

You were brilliant. Just… not loud about it.

His throat tightened.

He should have read this sooner.

He should have read you sooner.

But all he’d done was explain things you already knew, while missing everything he should have noticed.

(Altnerate/happy ending! requested by; @dramioneforevertilltheend)

He cornered you four days later. At your favorite café—the one you used to go to together when life wasn’t so damn heavy.

You didn’t expect him. You certainly didn’t expect the way he looked: tired, unshaven, a little wrecked in that beautiful, messy way he got when he hadn’t slept.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he said, like it explained everything.

You didn’t respond right away. Just sipped your lukewarm coffee and stared at the table like it might rescue you.

Spencer sat down across from you. His eyes searched yours like he was trying to read you like a file.

You didn’t answer right away. Just sipped your lukewarm coffee and stared at the table like it might rescue you.

Spencer sat across from you, looking like hell in a sweater—creased at the elbows, hair unkempt, eyes ringed with sleepless regret. He didn’t even bother with a greeting. Just breathed out—

“I didn’t mean to make you feel small.”

You looked at him. Really looked.

“I know,” you said quietly. “That’s part of the problem.”

He blinked, like he hadn’t expected that.

“You never meant it. You never said anything cruel. But I still shrank. I still started second-guessing myself every time I opened my mouth.”

Spencer’s fingers curled slightly around the edge of the table. “I’ve been thinking about everything you said. About respect. About how I… how I talk to you. And I don’t have a good defense.”

You tilted your head. “Then why are you here?”

“Because I want to try again,” he said. “Differently. Better.”

You didn’t respond—not right away. You wanted to believe him, but belief isn’t built in a day. And you’d spent weeks—months—trying to hold your worth together with duct tape and nods and understanding smiles.

“You said you loved me,” he added, quieter now. “You said it even when you were leaving. I haven’t stopped thinking about that.”

You looked down at your hands, thumb brushing the rim of your coffee cup. “Love wasn’t the issue, Spencer.”

“I know. It was how I showed up. Or… didn’t.”

You gave a small, humorless laugh. “You showed up plenty. You just didn’t always see me when you did.”

His jaw flexed. “I read the book.”

That caught your attention.

“The one about digital intimacy,” he clarified. “Disconnected Minds. I read all of it. Every margin note. Every question you wrote down. You… you’re incredible.”

You looked at him slowly. “I didn’t write those notes to prove anything.”

“I know,” he said. “You wrote them because you were curious. Because you were thinking. Because you wanted to include me in something that mattered to you.”

“And you didn’t even look up from your coffee,” you murmured.

He winced. “I know. I keep replaying that night. How excited you were. I missed it. I missed you.”

There was a pause. Not tense. Just… full.

“I’m not asking you to forget it,” he said. “I wouldn’t. You shouldn’t. But if there’s still anything left—if there’s a version of us where I learn how to listen, how to meet you where you are instead of where I expect you to be… I want to find it.”

You studied him.

He looked nothing like the man who used to correct your metaphors or raise a brow at your questions. He looked gutted. Not because he’d lost the upper hand, but because he’d lost you. Because he’d seen it now—all the little things he never meant to destroy but did anyway.

“I'm not starting over from the same place,” you said. “If we try again, it has to be with the understanding that I'm not a student in your seminar. I'm not a puzzle to be solved.”

Spencer nodded instantly. “You're my partner. Or—I want you to be. I need to earn that again. I know I do.”

He reached across the table, fingers tentative, eyes asking rather than assuming.

You stared at his hand for a moment, then reached back—fingers curling into his.

His shoulders dropped in a slow, grateful exhale. Like the weight of the last few weeks finally eased, just a little.

You still didn’t smile. Not yet. But the anger had gone quiet. The ache, too. What was left was the stillness of possibility.

“I’m not promising anything,” you said.

“You don’t have to,” he replied. “Just… let me start by listening.”

And this time, when you spoke, he didn’t interrupt.

The café door clicked shut behind you both, the bell above it chiming faintly like punctuation at the end of something… or maybe the beginning.

Spencer offered to walk you, and you didn’t say no.

The evening air was cool—brisk enough to make your sleeves matter. The streets had that in-between hum: not quite quiet, not quite busy. You walked side by side, a careful foot or two of space between your arms. The distance wasn’t cold. It just… belonged there. For now.

You could hear him breathing beside you. Could tell he was trying not to talk too much, not to fill the silence with facts or half-baked theories. His restraint felt unfamiliar, like watching a bird stay perfectly still. A little miraculous. A little sad.

“So,” he said, after two blocks. “Your friend lives nearby?”

You nodded. “A few more streets over.”

He hesitated. “Are they nice?”

You gave a small laugh through your nose. “Yeah. Too nice. Keep trying to get me to watch dating shows and eat ice cream straight from the tub.”

“Sounds healing,” Spencer said softly.

You glanced sideways. “You’d hate it.”

He smiled a little. “Probably. But if it helps you, I support it fully. Even the ice cream crimes.”

That earned him a real laugh, quick and low.

You passed a bookstore on the corner—the lights inside still glowing, warm and yellow. He glanced at the window display but didn’t stop. You caught the way his fingers flexed at his side, like part of him wanted to drag you inside and browse until closing time. Another part knew not to ask.

He was trying. And for once, he wasn’t trying to fix. Just… to be.

“You know,” you said, as you reached the street before your temporary place, “you don’t have to walk me the whole way.”

“I know,” he replied. “But I wanted to. Not to push anything. Just… to make sure you got back safe. And to show you I meant it. That I see you now.”

You stopped at the gate. Porch light flickering gently above the door.

Spencer stopped too.

There were so many things you could say. None of them felt quite right.

So you went with the truth.

“I’m scared to let you back in.”

He nodded slowly. “That’s fair.”

“And I don’t know how long it’ll take before I stop feeling like I’m waiting for the next moment you talk over me. Or explain something I already know.”

Another nod. No excuses. Just acknowledgment.

“I don’t want apologies every time we talk,” you added. “I just want you. Just… you, but aware.”

His voice was quiet. “Then I’ll be aware. I’ll keep learning.”

You studied him—this man who could recite obscure linguistic patterns but sometimes forgot how tone worked in a conversation. This man who had made you feel so small without ever raising his voice—but who now stood in front of you like he would do anything just to get it right.

Something inside you softened.

“I’m still staying here,” you said. “At least for a little while.”

“Okay.”

“But you can call. Or text. Or send me those stupid articles you always forward at 2 a.m.”

He smiled, just barely. “I haven’t sent one since you left.”

“Well,” you murmured, stepping closer, “you can start again.”

A beat passed.

Then you leaned in—slow, careful—and kissed his cheek. Just a whisper of contact, your lips barely brushing the stubble there. It wasn’t a promise. Just a touch.

A tether.

His breath caught, chest rising with it. And for once, Spencer Reid—the man with a million words—didn’t say anything at all.

He just watched as you slipped through the gate and up the steps, pausing at the door.

You turned back.

“I’ll see you soon?”

His face warmed. “I hope so.”

[kjiscrawlingbackformore]

No Reservations - Chapter seven

Restaurant Owner Lottie Matthews x Chef!reader

Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: After graduating culinary school you have been building up your portfolio, to become a street level legend in the culinary world. And after years of hard work you get hired by a renowned michelin star restaurant Matthews’ kitchen to help design a new menu that’ll star in their new brick and mortar in New York. And there you behold the new heiress of the Matthews’ Kitchen, your boss, is your old situationship from culinary school…Charlotte Matthews.

Warnings: None

A/N : I feel like we don’t see taivan in enough fanfics what’s up with that??

The steam from Van’s tea kettle curled through the kitchen, settling into the quiet hum of the evening. You sat at the dining table, legs tucked under you, staring blankly at your untouched mug. Van paced behind you like a storm cloud gaining speed.

Tai, forever unbothered, sipped from her chipped porcelain mug like she was watching a live show she’d already predicted the ending of.

“NO. NO, NO—NO!” Van exploded, throwing her hands up. “One thing is texting her. Or running into her. Or, I don’t know, tolerating her at a farmers market. But friends? Friends??? Are you an idiot?”

You opened your mouth to speak, but Tai, calm and worn out, muttered into her tea, “And there she goes.”

Van spun toward Tai. “Don’t defend this. Don’t act like this is normal.”

Tai shrugged. “Didn’t say it was normal. Just not new.”

You groaned. “Van—”

“No, shut up, let me remind you,” Van snapped, pointing at you. “Natalie has been your weakness since we were, like, sixteen. Sixteen. Off and on again. Off again, and then back on when she got a new tattoo or suddenly knew how to make risotto. She knows all your soft spots. She knows exactly what to say. And let’s not forget—SHE CHEATED ON YOU THREE TIMES AND ONE OF THE TIMES WAS AT MY BIRTHDAY.”

Tai winced. “Honestly, that was her worst offense. It was fucked up to mess with Van’s birthday.”

You rubbed your face. “That was years ago.”

“Which means you had time to heal! You don’t go backwards when you’re finally moving forward.”

A beat of silence.

Tai stirred her tea and said casually, “Personally, I’m rooting for Lottie.”

Van groaned so loud it echoed. “Oh yes, let’s just graduate from the toxic relationship to the toxic situationship. Excellent growth.”

You sat up straighter, flustered. “Lottie never liked me like that. It was just—stress. Like, mutual stress relief.”

Tai scoffed, “Maybe the first time. But after the third time? There were feelings. I don’t care what you or she says. That girl liked you. She likes you now. Also, I’d like at least one of us to start dating rich so we can go to restaurants that don’t put sriracha on everything.”

You narrowed your eyes. “So you want me to date Lottie for the perks?”

Tai smiled over her mug. “And because… I don’t know. She feels different. There’s something there.”

Van flopped into the chair across from you and covered her face with both hands. “This is all madness.”

“You called it cinematic like a month ago,” you reminded her, arms folded.

Van peeked at her through her fingers. “It was cinematic when it was all fun and games. ‘Ha-ha, look at you working for your college rival slash fuck buddy, what a plot twist!’ Now it’s—‘let’s befriend your toxic ex and maybe fall for your hot but emotionally repressed boss who was also your toxic situationship.’”

She dropped her hands, deadpan. “We’re gonna need wine for these few weeks.”

Tai raised her mug. “And a prayer circle.”

You just stared at the ceiling, wondering if you could crawl into the crawl space and live there for the rest of the year. Because yeah…things have gotten complicated. Natalie was texting you, and it wasn’t as weird as you thought it’d be. Like maybe you could be friends with her?

And then Lottie, well…you can’t help but feel things when you’re near her. And the more you’re around her, the more…you kinda like her? She’s actually nice and funny-and really well pretty but in a soft way. A way you weren’t expecting to see from her.

Van leaned in and whispered, “Don’t you dare text either of them tonight.”

You didn’t respond, knowing damn well you responded to Natalie’s photo dump she texted you before you got to Van and Tai’s place. And in the absence of your response, Tai and Van both groaned at once.

The clatter of pans, the hiss of butter in the pan — it all faded into the background when it was just the two of them in the kitchen. Lottie moved with sharp precision, elegant even in her control. You stole glances, surprised at how easy it was, how they fell into rhythm like they’d been doing this for years instead of weeks.

You plated the last component of the dish with a flourish, eyebrows raised in mock arrogance. “And voilà, chef Matthews. Your edible masterpiece, courtesy of my unmatchable talent and good looks.”

Lottie leaned against the prep table, watching with a smirk.

“Wow. Arrogant and humble. That’s a rare combo.”

You stepped aside, presenting the dish dramatically, hand sweeping like a magician revealing the final trick. “Humble is boring. This is art. And you should thank your lucky stars you found me before Eleven Madison Park did.”

Lottie laughed, a real one — startled, quiet at first, then full-bodied. She looked up at you, her mouth twitching like she was trying not to smile too hard.

“I don’t remember you being this cocky in school.”

You tilted your head, grinning. “You just didn’t know me that well.”

There was a pause. The silence was heavy, but it buzzed — charged. Because that was a lie. Lottie knew you very well…too well. Too many drunken confessions, memorizing of bodies, moments of vulnerability shared in the weird space they created.

The look Lottie gave you was a knowing one. We both knew that was bullshit. You shrug in response, and Lottie smiles.

Lottie opened her mouth, her tone different almost…flirty. “Well, I’m—uh, I’m definitely getting to know you now.” Her voice cracked slightly at the end. She winced.

You blinked, then laughed — loud and sudden. “Wow, that was awful. Ten out of ten delivery.”

Lottie’s face went pink. “I’m a professional chef, not a poet, okay?”

You just smirked, shaking your head as you leaned over the counter, pointing a spoon at her.

“Stick to the kitchen. You’re cute, but that line was like, sophomore year of high school bad.”

Lottie rolled her eyes, covering her embarrassment with another bite of the dish. She chewed, nodded, then as if a revelation came to her she moved in closer, slowly, deliberately — reaching behind you to grab a jar of finishing salt. Her arm brushed your hip.

You froze.

Lottie glanced at you sidelong, voice lower now, more confident. “Cute, huh?”

Your face flushed instantly. The spoon clattered onto the counter. “I didn’t say—” You cleared your throat, stepping back. “I meant the line. The line was cute. That’s what I meant.”

Lottie just smiled, her voice calm, amused. “Sure.”

There was a beat where neither of them moved. You cleared your throat and clapped your hands

“This dish needs one more thing.”

You reached for the top shelf of the pantry, one foot balancing on the lower rung of the metal step stool, the other trying not to slip. “Who the hell put the truffle oil up here?” you muttered.

Just as your fingers brushed the bottle, the stool gave a tiny lurch. You yelped. Before you could fall, hands caught you. Firm, steady — one at your waist, the other bracing your shoulder.

You blinked, suddenly face-to-face with Charlotte Matthews, who had moved fast and was now way too close. Their breathing synced in the silence, uneven and shallow. Your hands landed lightly on Lottie’s arms for balance, but she didn’t move away.

“Jesus. You move like a ninja,” you murmured, heart hammering.

Lottie’s mouth twitched, almost-smiling, but her grip didn’t loosen. “I’ve had practice catching people who underestimate gravity.”

Your eyes locked. You were suddenly very aware of where Lottie’s hands were, and that neither of you had backed off yet. You hated how kissable she looked. After a beat too long, you both took a step back at the same time. Lottie cleared her throat, dusted imaginary lint off her jacket.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” You tried to laugh, but it came out breathier than you meant it to. “Maybe tell the team to keep the fancy oils at a reachable height? Some of us aren’t six feet tall and rich enough to pay for a hospital bill.”

Lottie chuckled. “I’ll leave a note.” Then, as if she hadn’t just had her hands on your waist a moment ago, she added casually, “There’s a black tie event this weekend. Industry crowd, food press, and some board members. I’m expected to go.”

You raised an eyebrow, still trying to recover your balance, physically and emotionally. “Okay…”

Lottie looked at you, all nonchalance, but her voice was just a little too careful. “Come with me. As my guest.”

You paused, mouth agape slightly, and you blinked. “To a board event?”

Lottie shrugged. “You’re part of the team now. It’s good networking. And… it might be fun.”

You didn’t say anything right away. Lottie shifted, pretending to scan the pantry shelves like she hadn’t just asked you out—professionally, of course.

“Yeah,” You said finally, biting back a smile. “Sure. Could be fun.”

Lottie’s face brightened with something barely held back — a flash of relief, maybe even excitement. “Cool,” she said, too quickly. “I’ll send you the details.”

You climbed off the stool fully, cradling the bottle of truffle oil like it was your last shred of composure. As Lottie turned to leave, “Don’t stay up too late, Y/L/N.”

You smiled, “Wouldn’t dream of it, Matthews.”

You watched her walk out the door, as your eyes flickered at the space where her hands had been. A smile stretching onto your face. You placed your hands on your cheeks, feeling the warmth still on them.

What was that?

Then you flinched at the small ding that rang out from your phone. You look over to see a new text from…Natalie. That made your eyes widened.

“You still a night owl?”

Another ding.

“Just landed in Texas, and can’t sleep.”

And then to your surprise another ding.

“How was your day Gordon Ramsey?”

And you let your hand cover your mouth in dread. Natalie…triple texted you. As your eyes read over the three texts again in disbelief. That was kinda unhinged? Not to mention it was so late?

“Yeah…I’m definitely in trouble,” you said quietly to yourself.

[snailsgoingdowntown]

Help, I Reincarnated as the Female Lead’s Sister-in-Law!

‘Slight’ Yandere! Dion Agriche x Fem! Reader

Chapter 20

Story masterlist

Arranged marriage AU

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NOTE: Reader is not having a good time. Or Grizelda. Or Dion. Or Fontaine. No-one is. Whatever this chapter is, I do not know. It came to me in a dream/j (it's been sitting in my google docs and I decided to go with it in the end).

Warnings: toxic marriage/relationship, implied suicidal thoughts/ideation, attempted murder, choking (Dion to Fontaine), mental breakdown (Reader), Reader pulls her hair harshly, toxic and abusive family (the Agriches), talks of punishment, small themes of imprisonment, themes of abuse, implied past/recent attempted sexual assault, the Reader and Grizelda do get stalked a bit for plot reasons, the Reader can’t decide on what she wants, Dion gets called a dog a few times, mention of pregnancy once at the end, the Reader is an emotional mess and genuinely does not know what she wants in this moment, possible yandere themes (I’m not even sure, just adding just in case). Lant only cares about the hypothetical child since it would be Dion's and thus a rising star. Please tell me if I missed any.

Warning #2: some suggestive lines.

Everyone is out of character but that’s f i n e -

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT CONDONE ANY OF THE HARMFUL AND/OR DANGEROUS ACTIONS THAT MAY TAKE PLACE IN THIS PIECE OF FICTION. THESE ACTIONS/BEHAVIORS SHOULD NOT BE NORMALIZED NOR ROMANTICIZED AS THEY ARE BOTH EXTREMELY TOXIC AND DANGEROUS.

MINORS/BLANK BLOGS (BLOGS THAT DO NOT HAVE ANY CONTENT), BLOGS THAT DO NOT INTERACT WITH OR REBLOG ANYTHING FANDOM RELATED (FICS, ART, ETC, OR EVEN ANIMAL PICS), DNI.

= = =

Grizelda had made a turn to show you some of the safe flowers. The direction also leads to the indoor training room, but she’s sure that Fontaine is outside the gates of the mansion - after all, it’s bigger. More room to act recklessly. 

She didn’t know that others were outside it right now, which led to her older half-brother staying inside an isolated area, awaying from prying eyes.

You didn’t either.

“Oh, they’re… lovely,” your eyes soak in the sight of the colorful flora. The grass was also a healthy green - if there was one thing you could say about Lant Agriche, it’s that he makes damn sure everything is pleasing to the eyes.

If you ignore his face and the monsters raised here for dubious reasons. Fontaine being one of them.

You bite your lip - it’s still fresh in your mind. His voice. His touch. 

No - just ignore it. He’s not here. Grizelda is.

Even so, you’re jittery, scanning your surroundings every few seconds. In spite of her good company, you can’t help but to feel naked, watched from the shadows. Paranoia works wonders, especially when you see a shadow move from the corner of your eye.

“They are, aren’t they?” She watches as you approach a rose bush, fingers lightly tracing the petals. The pink flowers she had given - burdened - you with are in your left hand, held against your chest. “I don’t come here often, but it’s a nice change of pace.”

She joins you in looking at them. However, she doesn’t admire them like you are. They’re beautiful, sure, but they wilt rather quickly once plucked. They’re also used to make drugs.

Of course, she keeps that fact to herself. 

Approaching footsteps catches your attention, looking over your shoulder to see two guards. Your heart fills with guilt the moment you recognize them -

They’re the ones you smiled at while ignoring your husband. They look tired, a bandage on one’s neck while the other looks half-dead. You immediately knew that Dion was behind it - frankly speaking, you thought they would be dead.

 You’re also amazed at how fast he works - it was only yesterday they committed the crime that is looking at you. You freeze as they get closer, making your sister-in-law curious.

When they see you they become stiffer than a statue. The air becomes awkward as Grizelda looks on with curiosity. Their eyes trail over to her, seeing that you’re not alone.

That’s when they bow.

There’s a bitterness in your mouth. You quickly remind yourself why they’re like this. However, this interaction is only making you resent Dion more. Your grip tightens on the flower stems.

“Greetings, Lady Grizelda and Lady (Name),” they say with a croaky voice. They don’t lift their heads for several seconds until your sister-in-law commands them to. When they do, they avoid looking at you, their eyes glued to something behind you.

You hold back an apology - what good would that do? If anything, you copy their behavior, humming awkwardly as you stare at the flowers in your hands. 

The remnants of their ripped thorns dig into the fabric of the glove.

The three of you don’t want a repeat of that day - them getting punished for daring to look at Dion’s lovely wife, and you being ‘teased,’ hearing Dion call himself your husband - while it’s true, you hate hearing the word come out of his mouth.

You want him to leave you alone.

‘If it were me, I wouldn’t have left you alone in this maze of a mansion.’ A wave of nausea washes over you  when his voice swims to the surface. Chills crawl down your spine at the thought of being married to Fontaine. It almost feels like a blessing that you got stuck with the second eldest.

But is it really…? 

“... ah, we should get going - we’ve been ordered to help with the children’s lessons,” the brunette guard states. “They’re practicing with their weapons,” he finishes before attempting to walk past you. 

“Oh? That’s today?” Grizelda asks the retreating guard. He stops, turning to face her as he confirms it. He tries his best not to look at you.

“Yes; it’s taking place in the outside training grounds, My Lady,” the grey-haired man answers. Now that his attention is on the seventeen-year-old, his body becomes less stiff, a bit more comfortable. 

It makes you want to smack Dion. 

… no, I shouldn’t… it’s tempting, but -, and the resentment only blooms more.

“Hm… I suppose that means we can’t go anywhere near there - father is rather strict about that. Not only that, but there’s a chance you might accidentally get hit.”

“O-oh.. right.” You nod your head. 

The guards bid their farewells before leaving. You watch their retreating figures with a hint of guilt - they wouldn’t be like that had you just ignored them. But that guilt is slowly replaced with a thin layer of anger, baffled that Dion would go that far - you’re not sure what he did, but from how they acted, it wasn’t anything good - just because you smiled at them.

…does that horrible man expect you to eventually cave in? With his actions, it only makes you see him in a worse light, signaling he might not even let you have friends. The flower stems in your hand threaten to break under your grip. A moment later and you finally relax your hand.

For now, you bury the thought away, returning your attention to Grizelda. You try to smile. It feels tight.

“Since we can’t go there, how about another area? Anywhere is fine.” The sun beams down on you, your (h/c) shining in it as your (e/c) eyes reflect her figure, but there’s a hint of something she can’t put her finger on in them.

She hums, tapping her chin with her pointer finger, mulling over the options. “Well… we have to pass by the indoor training grounds - it’s a building smaller than the mansion, but still rather big. It’s usually used for whenever it’s raining and it’s too slippery.”

The description reminds you of a gym.

“Since the children are outside, it should be empty - no-one to run into. I doubt Dion is there, and Fontaine is probably taking his anger out on some monsters right outside the estate gates.” 

As you would later find out, her guess was wrong. Extremely wrong.

She continues, “We have to pass it to get to this one area I would like to show you. It’s peaceful there; barely anyone visits. Same for the library if you ever want to check it out.”

You hesitate to nod your head, your gut twisting uncomfortably. The nice smell slowly fades away, unable to kick the feeling away. You must be tired.

“What type of place is it?” You ask instead, shifting your weight onto your right foot. The left one still has a faint sting. It’s barely there, but it’s still a reminder of what happened.

Despite your outward behavior, you can’t shake everything off. So, you just smile. 

Either she doesn’t notice or doesn’t care as she answers. It sounds like a nice place - a small gazebo tucked away in a corner covered by trimmed bushes. 

Apparently it wasn’t as flashy as the rest of the mansion, simple but durable. 

So ordinary that no-one bats an eye at it, and it is something that your father-in-law has forgotten about completely - a nice place to hide away from the horrors of the world. 

“That actually sounds… nice,” you say with a smile - doing your best to forget everything that happened earlier. 

Right.

The sun is bright and the air is fresh. 

“It is. A nice little hiding place - I doubt that anyone is there right now.” And with that, the younger girl takes lead, and like a baby chick you follow, still holding the pink flowers as the red ones are in her own hands. 

It still feels like eyes are on you. Your legs are starting to feel strained, walking becoming an effort. The hairs on the back of your neck are standing, a small sheen of sweat on your nape.

Your eyes travel downwards to the flowers in your hands - still vivid and pink, not a hint of wilt on them. You look back up at Grizelda’s back, her brown hair gently bouncing with each step. It’s peaceful.

… how long will this last…?

Your gaze drops to your feet, slowly inhaling before shaking your head at the silly and useless question. But the feeling of being watched only increases. The lie you told yourself moments ago is already starting to shatter as you’re imprisoned by your own mind.

“Once we get there, we can stay for a bit, admire the view of the garden.” The brunette suggests with a quick glance behind her shoulder. She looks back ahead once you nod your head. The rest of the walk is quiet, something heavy edging at the back of your mind. 

When you get near the indoor training room, two guards are carrying dummies while heading towards it. You both halt, surprised to see anyone there - you shouldn’t be, but the sorceress was so sure of herself it almost felt like the scene was going against the laws of nature.

Confusion fills you - Fontaine was the oldest, Dion the second, Grizelda the third and Roxana the fourth. Twenty-three, twenty, seventeen and fifteen. The rest are considered children, therefore wouldn’t they be attending their lesson…?

Neither of them notice you, too caught up in their conversation. Both you and your sister-in-law don’t see a point in calling out to them, simply continuing your walk.

That is, until they drop the dummies, their expressions turning grave. They scream out two certain names before rushing in. 

“M-Master Dion! Stop, please!”

“Master Fontaine!” 

“...huh?” 

“What?” 

You both look at each other, Grizelda looking over her shoulder. There’s a pause before you silently agree to check out what’s the commotion about. You don’t rush, you don’t run, your steps hesitant while hers are confident. She drops the flowers once she peeks inside, still as a statue, eyes wide and mouth ajar - an expression you have never seen on her once, both in this life and your last in illustrations.

You hurry, heart dreadfully drumming against your chest, a hollow pain swelling your chest cavity. Both Dion and Fontaine are in there - just what’s going on? 

The flowers drop to the ground as your grasp loosens. 

Holding the first born against the wall, your husband was choking his own brother. You can’t see his face, but his entire body is tense, putting his all into trying his best not to snap Fontaine’s neck. You can see the veins on his neck and hands.

… it’s a nice sight, until you remember -

He’s not supposed to die yet. Fuck, he’s not supposed to die yet! 

Reflexes taking over, you run over to the two men. 

This isn’t supposed to happen. He’s not supposed to kill him. He’s not supposed to die yet - the story has changed so much already! What happens if he dies right here and right now!?

Someone calls out to you, their voice distant. Hands grab your shoulders, firm but not enough to stop you from shaking them off. You grab him without thinking.

Dion freezes. 

You pull harshly. Part of you wants to watch the scene in full - does he even deserve to live? He’s trash, worse than your husband and yet -

The fear you’re feeling isn’t for your own safety nor is it for his outburst. No, in spite of yourself, it’s for Fontaine’s worthless life -

What happens if he dies right now?

It’s a question you don’t want answered. 

Distantly you feel your head shaking side to side. You don’t stop pulling, but your body is screaming that you should. You ignore it, ignore the nagging voice at the back of your head to let it happen. A lot has changed already.

So, what if this happens? No, you tell yourself, no.

Your gut is twisting painfully, screaming he can’t die now.

Dion looks at you like you’ve gone mad and honestly, you think you have. You shouldn’t be saving his brother’s worthless  life. You don’t want to.

But -

Not yet.

Two words you silently mouth. You dig your feet into the wood as you use all of your strength to attempt to pull your husband away. Of course, it doesn’t work, he’s too big and strong to be physically stopped by you.

His red eyes become blank as his grasp on his brother’s neck slowly loosens. Good. 

He called himself my dog… Dion Agriche, you better keep that promise. You feel gross for calling him one, reducing him to something that has no choice but to listen to you.

You don’t notice how his gaze travels to your chest, the way his eyes narrow once they see the blood stain on your bodice. But you do notice how he tightens his hold on Fontaine’s neck again.

You’re not listening well for someone who said he’s my dog!

These thoughts will haunt you for weeks on end once all of this ends. 

You try another method. It feels shaky as you talk, the words feel heavy. You force them out regardless, scared of what would happen if Fontaine Agriche were to die right here and right now. You can’t let that happen.

Even as a small part of you wishes to praise Dion.

“Dion… please.”

THUD 

Like the obedient dog he promised to be, he lets go. He takes a few steps back and you follow suit. You don’t let go of his arm. You repeat your words from earlier silently. 

Not yet.

The man looks confused before returning his attention to Fontaine. Your eyes also fall onto the older Agriche, small amounts of regret joining the fear in your chest. How are you supposed to take care of this…?

This isn’t like you. 

You blink before you look up at your husband, seeing your reflection in his scarlet eyes. Your lips painfully force a smile and you hope it looks sweet and loving. Your fingers dig into his sleeved arm and you don’t even notice it. 

It takes effort to rub your thumbs across his knuckles after a moment passes. Pretend to be a caring wife, pretend that you don’t want him to stain his hands further.

You can feel your hands tremble. It’s hard to keep smiling. The man before you said he was your dog and he listened like one, which brings forth a new worry -

What if he wants a reward?

You swallow the thought down. “Let’s go back. Please?” You don’t want to return to his room, you don’t want to be alone with him. But if you just leave him here…

Everything after that is a blur. The only thing you remember before reaching his bedroom is his tight grip on your hand. If only you noticed the figure in the background.

- - -

Grizelda stares at her older brother on the floor. He doesn’t make any attempts to get up, and he’s still breathing heavily. His men fret over him, but know better than to touch him. She wonders if he’ll kill them for not forcing Dion off of him. 

The sight was amusing. 

But it was also slightly… concerning.

‘... he listened. Fontaine knows he has a soft spot for her now… not to mention, Dion might even listen to all of her demands… ah, this will either be amusing or horrible.’

She leaves before Fontaine even notices her. 

It’s concerning but also interesting. She slightly smiles in amusement - things will change around here. 

But that amusement is washed away once someone calls her. When she looks at the person, she forces a scowl away. The tattle-tell will rat this out to Lant.

- - -

You’re still scared of your husband. You still hate him.

Your heart won’t stop hammering against your chest. Your hands feel clammy and his larger one holding yours only adds more heat. His pace is enough for you to keep up, but it still feels like he’s dragging you. 

You feel like you’re becoming his little doll. 

You want to cry. You want to scoff. To scream, to encourage his behavior towards Fontaine. But the uncertainty of the future prevents you from doing so, unsure if hell will be let loose if he dies so early, if doesn’t die at the hands of Cassis. 

You bite your lip. None of this should be happening. You shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be married. 

But someone has twisted their and your faith for entertainment. 

Wait, you think. Maybe Roxana will pity you some more after learning what happened with Fontaine… hopefully that’ll give her a good enough reason to help you out of this hellhole. 

Then, you realize it -

He knows. 

Your heart drops at the realization. Why else would he try to kill him? So early at that, before the timeskip. Should… should you be happy he knows? That he tried to murder him for you?

But you didn’t ask him to. You might have, you probably would have once you found your voice. Regardless, your skin starts to feel filthy - are you, an unwilling wife, really about to rely on your sadistic and possessive husband? The same man who indirectly told you he would lock you up if you even try to leave?

You can hear your heart beating against your chest. The sound is loud, echoing in your head dully. It hurts, bringing your free hand to clutch at your chest. It does little to soothe the pain.

Breathing becomes difficult. Thinking about anything else is hard. If you’re not thinking about the man in front of you, then your mind reaches for the recent memories of being chased and touched. Threatened with violence.

Your waist starts to tingle where Fontaine gripped it. Your skin feels prickly, dirty. The taste of iron makes itself at home on your tastebuds again. A sharp sting on your bottom lip, the pressure only increases the longer you walk. 

You made a mistake.

You shouldn’t have gone to him. You should have let Grizelda take care of it. You shouldn’t have fucking left the room. 

 He might lock you up after this. He might hover around you more now, might -

A hand gently cups your cheek, handling you with utmost care. Like you were made of glass. However, the touch burns your skin, bringing forth an unpleasant sensation that travels down your spine and drowns in your stomach. 

SLAP!

“Don’t-!” By reflex you slap the hand away, taking multiple steps back until your back hits something sturdy. Pressed against the double doors, your eyes travel to your side, landing on the door handle. Your hand grabs it as you look ahead, seeing the figure of the man who might trap you in this very room, if it means Fontaine won’t touch a single hair on your head.

Safety for freedom - he would be that type of person. The bird he wants to keep is mere inches away from him - it would be easy for him to grab you. But it wouldn’t be in the same manner as Fontaine. Regardless, it doesn’t ease your worries. 

You don’t want to be touched by that pervert but you also don’t want to be trapped by your own husband. 

You don’t want to rely on him, either. He’s scum too, he took you from your family - why else would you be married to him? He probably blackmailed your father, or, or something.

An emotion unfamiliar to you flashes through his eyes. He almost looks hurt, but doesn’t take another step towards you. It’s then do you look around, only to realize you’re in his room.

This stupid room!

Your heavy breathing fills the room. Your head hangs, chest twisting and turning as your heart beats to a tune that’s too loud and heavy. It’s painful, breathing is painful, thinking is painful, you feel dirty -

You look at Dion again. Like a dog, he stays in place, waiting for you to call him. He looks worried and it makes you sick, stomach churning at an expression he shouldn’t even know how to make. This isn’t right. 

This is going against the natural order of things.

This isn’t right. 

A small part of you feels guilty. That small part wants to thank him and even praise him. But the rest of you want to run and hide from him, from Fontaine, from everyone.

Your husband remains quiet as your chaotic state of mind refuses to calm down. Your back presses harder against the door as you slide down, unable to support yourself on your feet and legs anymore. 

Pathetic, I’m pathetic. This isn’t -

Should you blame yourself? Blame him? Fontaine?

Should you blame God?

… you don’t know anymore. You only know how to run and cry.

You should have stayed dead. Ah, but God wouldn’t give you that pleasure, would he?

“Wife -”

“Stop. Please. I’ve been through enough already,” you interrupt, on the verge of bawling your eyes out. You were able to touch him earlier. You smiled at him. You considered praising him on the way back.

What happened?

You were fine with him holding your hand. But now -

“You can’t keep ignoring this-! Whatever delusions you’re living in, they won’t!” 

You should thank him.

You should curse him.

Stay.

Run. 

Praise him.

Degrade him,

Accept him.

Escape him.

Harshly tugging at your hair, you fight with yourself mentally. It was fine, you were fine, you could touch him earlier, so why can’t you now? It feels like your scalp is being ripped apart. It hurts, it hurts, it fucking hurts -

Something grabs your hands. It’s warm but unwelcoming. Firm enough to stop you but gentle enough it doesn’t hurt.

You hate it.

“Hey.” The voice is deep and scratches the back of your mind. It’s pleasant but the person it belongs to isn’t. Wait. No.

It’s not pleasant. It’s horrible, nails on a chalkboard, making your ears bleed. It makes you want to go deaf. You shut your eyes tight.

This isn’t right.

“...let go. You touched me enough, haven’t you?” Your words come out broken, small. He almost has to strain his ears just to hear you. 

“If I do, you'll just hurt yourself again,” Dion states, refusing to let you go. This isn’t romantic. And both of you can’t even pretend that it is.

“... I… I didn’t ask for it, I didn’t ask for this either. I just… wanted some fresh air…,” you trail off, exhaustion catching up. Maybe you’re about to start your period - yeah, that’s it. That explains everything.

You’re just emotional because of the hormones. You’ll be fine in a week from now. This will be a distant memory.

The lie only takes you so far before Dion asks what you meant by that. The first part specifically, and it’s obvious that he’s trying his best not to grip your hands harder. 

Dion… he… he wouldn’t blame you, right?

Hah. one moment you’re fearing him and the next you’re hoping he’ll take your side. You don’t know what you want anymore. You want to sleep everything off. 

You can’t help but hate him. But as a husband, he should know, but you don’t want him as one -

“... he grabbed me. I - I stomped on his foot before he could go further - he ch-chased me but Grizelda he-helped me… I mean, that’s all he did, so I shouldn’t -”

“He would have done more if you didn’t stop him.” 

The fact only makes you curl into yourself. Dion still has a grip on you, not allowing you to escape him. There’s nothing but static in your head. Your body is slowly giving up on you, having to remind yourself to breathe. 

You have a family here, a lovely one. A father who cares. A mother who nurtured you, loved you. An older sister who guided you, a younger brother who teases you. You have a family who you love, who loves you.

Yet, resentment has been building up for a while now, hasn’t it? Small amounts of it that are starting to clump together. No, you shouldn’t, you love them.

But even at the thought of them, your breathing becomes slower. More gaps between each breath. You blink.

Secretly, you’re starting to wish that you would drop dead.

…is living worth it when I struggle to keep up?

It’s a dangerous thought. It darkens the corners of your mind the more it echoes in your head. You’re not supposed to be here. This is supposed to be a fictional world.

These people are supposed to be fictional characters. 

This setting is supposed to be a dark fantasy, survival first and romance second. The Agriche family are only supposed to be names on the screen, beautifully drawn digital pictures to tell the story. You’re not supposed to be here.

But God has decided to make this your punishment.

Are you willing to do it? After all this mental distress? After wanting to survive and escape this hell - are you willing to do it? 

Do you want to?

Living here is death. But your family, they’ll mourn, right? Don’t you want to see them again? Your siblings, your parents - don’t you want to hug and laugh with them?

So, why? Why are you considering -

Because you are weak.

“...” The air is suffocating, something is constricting your throat. Your mouth feels dry and your mind goes blank. You can’t think. The static gets louder and louder, filling your head, ringing in your ears. You were fine earlier.

But now something is tugging at your feet, daring you to stand. It would be easier to just drown at this point. If you’re breaking down just from this… then there really is no hope for you.

Your eyes feel heavy as you force yourself to lift your head and look at bright scarlet. His face looks fuzzy, but your reflection in his eyes is clear. That’s all you can see. 

Today, you decide that you hate bright and vivid red the most.

That Fontaine Agriche is enemy number one.

Your mouth moves but you don’t hear your own words. You don’t see your husband’s expression. You can’t even feel the beating of your heart. You feel nothing but the static filling your little head.

The urge to die has begun to resurface. 

- - -

“You what?” 

Lant’s deep voice becomes lower after hearing the report - unfortunately for everyone involved, a faithful servant to the Black Master overheard and even saw the aftermath of the incident. 

 It was also that same servant who happened to be in the locked room across from Grizelda’s study when Fontaine showed up to wreak havoc. They had debated opening the door until the sibling’s conversation went on.

They decided to wait it out. To trail behind you and the Master’s daughter. He had planned on appearing sooner once he saw the physical assault, but his gut screamed he would die had he did.

The oldest son stands in front of his father’s desk with his head hanging low. Sweat pools at his temples before slowly sliding down his face. His hands are clammy as a million excuses rush through his head.

 He knows that even if he were to tell Lant that you had stomped on his foot, it wouldn’t work for him but against him. Of course, there was a chance you would receive a small punishment for injuring an Agriche, but since it was he who went against Lant’s orders, Fontaine would get the worst of it.

You were off-limits. But the oldest son always had greedy hands.

Grizelda stands off to the side, watching the entire thing unfold. Lant’s faithful servant stands at his side, hands clasped as he awaits for further instruction. Silently she wishes for him to ram his pinky toe into the sharpest corner of a dresser while barefoot.

Fontaine’s men are on their knees, bowing with their head on the floor. The oldest person in the room pays no heed to them. Instead his heated gaze is on his own son.

“F-father… I was just -”

“Silence - I did not give you permission to talk, you fool!” Your father-in-law stands behind his desk as his fist slams down on it, unable to believe that his own flesh and blood would go against his orders. He doesn’t know what punishment to give him. 

He doesn’t even want to see his dull face.

“Where is Dion?” He growls out, holding out a cigar for his servant to light. The smell of smoke starts to fill the room after a few puffs. 

“He took the Lady with him, Master. I saw them on my way to the training room,” the man dressed in black answers. “He was holding her hand.”

A moment of silence before Lant lets out a laugh. “Is that so? Tell them both to stop by later today. I’m curious as to why he reacted so violently.” Dionn wasn’t exactly known to be emotional - he had little to no interests.

The change in his attitude is clear - anger at Fontaine, slight amusement with Dion. The grey-eyed man grits his teeth in silence. He was the one who got choked! 

No-one notices the slight flinch Grizelda gives. This was why she didn’t want to report it - it’ll only cause complications. If her older brother does care about you, then Lant finding out would only bring forth something awful. 

You’re a stranger but this wasn’t your fault. You just were a poor soul who got dragged into this hell.

Her stomach churns at thoughts of possibilities of what could happen. Dion was already unsteady deep down - this would only make it worse. What would happen if Lant does something to you?

“Going back to you,” their father looks at Fontaine again, taking a hit of his cigar. He puffs out smoke, doing his best not to physically lash out at him. Everyone waits with bated breath. 

“The punishment room isn’t enough for you. You dare touch something that isn’t yours? Go against my orders?” 

Lant goes on, watching as his son’s body starts to tremble. It’s a pathetic sight, and could have been avoided if he listened like the good boy he’s supposed to be. “But for now, until I say otherwise, you’re going to be held in a cell without any food or water - I’ll even lash your back personally.” 

Another puff as Fontaine’s head whips up, protests on his tongue. He bites the pink and slimy muscle when Lant glares at him. “As for the girl - she’ll be confined to her room for a few days. She should have had a maid with her - what was her name again…?”

“Hana, Master.” 

“Right. She needs to be punished too.” 

“And what of Young Master Dion, Master Lant?” 

The Black Master stops to think. While it’s true he was in the right - after all, you belong to him - he can’t exactly let him get away with attempted murder on a family member. It’s almost tempting, but then, thoughts might start to pop up in his head.

He doubts Dion will ever betray him. But, at one point, he was also a son to a father who trusted him. He was a son who killed his father. 

Besides… he’s curious. Why would he react so violently? A man who showed no interest in anything, simply carrying out orders. Something’s not adding up.

Or maybe he’s just stressed right now, with the paperwork due and Fontaine being a fool.

“I’ll send him to the hunting grounds. It’ll take at least a month for him to return,” he answers after taking another puff. “Now, who should I replace that maid with…”

“... I’m regretful to say this, but Hana was sent on an errand by the Young Master when this happened. She was preparing the contraceptives on his orders.” 

Lant blinks before sighing. “Right. I forgot about that.” He looks at the stack of papers on his desk - did this really have to happen when so much is due? His teeth grind against each other.

However, before Lant could think of what else to say, the servant spoke up once more. “While we are talking about the Lady… she hasn’t stepped foot in her room once.”

Grizelda’s nails dig into her palms once her father was finally alerted. Still, this could easily be brushed off as Dion simply sleeping with you, addicted to carnal lust. Until that damn man speaks more.

“Even when he’s off on missions, she stays in the Young Master’s room.” 

This is a matter that frankly, doesn’t concern Lant. But does that matter? No. 

“...interesting. I’ll question them about it later.”

Grizelda’s stomach twists. You’re nothing more than a stranger she pities. So, why? Why is this dread so deeply etched into her bones? You only spoke a handful of times before today - you are nothing to her aside from an in-law on paper.

This isn’t like her.

This doesn’t feel natural.

Oh. 

Maybe… something interfered with their faith. With yours.

She scoffs at herself quietly enough that no-one hears. What a stupid thought. Her attention returns to her father. It’s here when he finally speaks to her.

“Grizelda. Tell me, why didn’t you report the incident that made her run into your study?” His accusatory tone is ironically justified, but he doesn’t need to know that. Grizelda has always been a good girl, and she never interacted with you once you moved in.

“I thought it would be best to have her calm down first. I was going to bring it up when we ran into each other in the hallway - but she was still jittery. Please forgive me, father.”

She bows her head before adding, “I’ll accept any punishment you see fit.” 

It goes without saying that Lant considers this for a moment. After a beat, he replies with, “Until I say otherwise, stay in your room.” The same punishment as you. Twins! 

Grizelda mentally cringes at her uncharacteristic thought. What was she, a child?

“Go and bring them both to me. Now.” 

“Yes, Master.” 

The servant leaves with a bow. The room goes quiet, panic in everyone’s head. Lant doesn’t dismiss any of them. His footsteps echo in the room until he stops right in front of Fontaine. He puffs smoke directly into his face, causing his son to cough. 

“Prepare for the worst if she’s pregnant.” 

= = =

Tag list: @umi-adxhira @queenofspades403 @pix-stuff @manitscold

@darkumbreon92 @s-ajia @disappointment-san @louissatturi @cjafjatkstke @rainofcrime @kokomi2 @elvinapandra @ishamyshaa @semi-wife @danae-misfortune @rosedellamorte @labryel @rentaldarling @tiny-mimi @puggyeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

[adaobiiii]

Spare Miracle pt 2

Pairing : Bob Reynolds x fem!Reader A/N : Didn't expect so many people to like the first one lol. I'll write more. Hope you like this one! Its like half the length of the first one but i'm busy w school 😭😭😭 

(I also tagged everyone who seemed interested in reading a pt 2. Main plot points like the reader interacting with the void will most definitely come later <3)

Home || Main Masterlist 

The living room smelled like burnt circuits and blood.

Someone—probably Alexei—had thrown a first aid kit onto the coffee table, which now sat beside a broken lamp and an empty bag of frozen peas being used as an ice pack. Yelena nursed her temple. Walker sulked in the corner, cradling his shoulder. Bob sat curled up in the far end of the couch, one leg tucked under the other, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands like a nervous kid.

And you?

You sat in the center of the room, hands clasped in your lap. Not blinking. Not talking. Just fidgeting with a bolt that sparked gently between your fingers. You kept rolling it, flipping it, letting it snap between your palms in a lazy rhythm. 

Your legs swung a little. Not because you were nervous, but because sitting still for too long made your seams lock. You learnt that the first day you tried walking.

You could feel the eyes on you. All of them. Well, except Bob’s. He was watching the bolt in your hand like it might be a bomb.

It had been two and a half hours since the “introduction.”

Two and a half hours since the team had burst into the tower and discovered the reanimated girl Valentina had smuggled in a crate like haunted lab equipment.

You hadn’t said much. Didn’t know what to say, really. No one else had said much either.

Until now.

“So,” Yelena started, sitting on the edge of the couch, her accent sharp and her gaze sharper. “Are we going to talk about the corpse in the room or what?”

You tilted your head. “Technically, I’m not a corpse. I’m conscious. That’s a key difference.”

John was pacing, his shoulder so obviously out of place.

“We don’t even know what she is. What it is,” he corrected, gesturing broadly. “And everyone’s acting like we’re just okay with that? This is a security breach.”

You didn’t respond, too busy slowly twisting a bit of your wrist plating back into place. One of your fingers had gone numb and fallen off, a nervous tick you seemed to have.

Ava stood behind the arm of the couch, arms folded and slightly phasing in and out of visibility. It gave her the unsettling impression of being a ghost caught mid-glitch, probably how she got her name. “She’s not hostile,” she said calmly. “Just weird.”

“I’m right here,” you muttered, still not looking up

“He said he found her with her arm shoved into the generator wiring and we all saw her eating those mega charged duracell batteries” Walker hissed gesturing to the fidgeting man on the couch then back to you. “That’s the definition of dangerous.”

“But she fixed the generator,” Bob pointed out quietly.

“She also lives in the basement,” Alexei added. “Not normal. Creepy girl just walking around under our feet like... like an attic ghost.”

You gave him a confused and somewhat offended look. “I’m not a ghost. Ghosts don’t short out light switches when they sneeze.”

“I knew it wasn’t faulty wiring,” Bob mumbled under his breath. Seeing as he was home the most often, he normally waved it off whenever the lights in the tower would flicker on and off. Blaming it on the bad wiring.

Bucky leaned forward from his seat near the wall, his metal fingers steepled beneath his chin. “We need to be asking the right questions. Why didn’t Valentina tell us about her?”

“Can’t help you there,” you shrugged, rearranging your fingers in the wrong places, “I don’t think she even knew I was listening. All I know is she called me her ‘spare miracle’ ”

The room froze as you continued.

“I was barely conscious when she moved me to Sublevel E. Only reason I even heard a thing she said was cause my ears were close to where she stood.”

Bob rubbed at his temple, eyes darting from you to the others. “So you’re just… a backup plan. For me.”

“No offense,” you added, pointing at him with your thumb that was now attached to your pointer finger... “but I don’t think I was just for you. More like… a wildcard. I don’t know what she expected me to do if things went bad, but judging by the static energy charge she dumped me next to, maybe I was supposed to blow up.” you voiced out your very abstract thoughts as though the thought of you dying wasn’t as complex as it should’ve been.

A beat of silence.

Alexei whistled low. “Valentina really said, ‘build-a-bomb,’ huh.” You laughed a bit at that.

No one spoke right away. Then, “The Void isn’t gone. It never is. She’s definitely planning something.”

Bucky muttered. “She brought you back from something, right? Rebuilt, repurposed. You’re what, a contingency plan?”

“Maybe,” you said, sparking the bolt between your fingers carelessly. “Or maybe I’m just an experiment she got bored of having and buried in a box.”

Silence settled over the room. Only the faint hum of power flowing through your bolts filled the space.

“Do you even want to be here?” Ava asked, voice surprisingly gentle, she had been the second nicest to you so far. “With us, I mean.”

You considered it. Thought about the dust in the generator room. The way Bob had offered you a blanket without thinking when you all sat down in the room earlier. The way Bucky hadn’t shot you, at least not yet. Walker hadn’t been all that welcoming but he was funny.

“I don’t know,” you said. “But it’s warmer than the crate.”

Another silence. Shorter this time.

“You need a name.” Alexei gestured to you, sandwich, where did that come from?, in hand.

You blinked, the first time in minutes. “Why?”

“Because calling you 'electric girl’ or ‘the battery’ is…” He looked around the room. “Not nice.”

Walker rolled his eyes. “Oh great. Now we’re naming it.”

“I’m not an it,” you snapped, voice rising for the first time. The bolts around your neck sparked a little brighter.

Bucky raised an eyebrow in mild approval.

“Whatever,” Walker threw his hands up, one functional and the other still flailing. “Great. Give Frankenstein’s niece a name. That won’t bite us in the ass at all.”

You turned your head, unblinking. “You’re very loud for someone whose shoulder is bleeding out.”

“I knew I was bleeding!” he barked, looking at you in defiance.

Bucky sighed. “Someone get him to the infirmary before he passes out.”

Ava stood phasing in and out of the room to grab something. When she returned, she tossed you a small piece of paper and a pen. “Here,” she said. “Write something. First thing that comes to mind. That’ll be your name. At least for now.”

You stared at the pen like it could bite you, but took it. You hadn’t written much before. But you knew how. Sort of. You learned from watching your creator do it in your first few days of life.

You scrawled something crooked and strange in blocky, uneven letters. Then flipped the paper around.

The group leaned in.

“...Y/N?” Bob read aloud, seemingly the only one in the room that could actually read your horrid writing.

You shrugged. “Felt accurate.”

He smiled, soft and surprised. “Y/N. Okay. Y/N it is.”

You didn’t smile back, exactly. But one corner of your mouth twitched. Just a little. Like your face was remembering how.

Yelena stood up. “Alright,” she said, clapping once. “That’s enough for now. Bob, you’re in charge of her.”

He snapped out of his thoughts before getting up hurriedly. “What?”

“You found her,” she pointed out.

“I don’t— how am I qualified?” the poor man seemed to be malfunctioning.

“You’re not. But you’re sweet and she seems to like you,” Yelena said with a grin before turning away.

You raised a hand politely. “Still in the room.” They seemed to have  habit of talking about you as though you weren’t there.

John muttered something about needing a drink again as he stormed off.

Ava lingered behind a moment longer, looking you over with curiosity as you fixed your fingers, attempting to write properly again. “If you don’t need to blink,” she asked softly, “do you dream?”

You paused, then answered honestly. “Only when I short-circuit.”

She nodded, more thoughtful than afraid, and disappeared into the wall.

You turned to Bob, who looked pale and exhausted. “So… roommates?”

He gave you a look. “I don’t even know what you need to survive.” He mumbled, not wanting to accidentally offend you.

You smiled, softly. “Neither do I.”

Still not proof read... Tag List :

@livsplacee @saucysasha2035 @puer-aurea @whos-kc @khonshu-help-me @eywas-heir @chellekayjae @blep-23 @reverieisaway @fandom-life-12 @spiderstyles04 @sadbitchhours400 @lunar-goddessxoxo

[simplyraeblue]

hunter and hunted (jjk)

college (summer) break au: a fic in which y/n is pining over Yuji's older brother Sukuna, while unbeknownst to her, Choso is doing the same thing for her. contents: sukuna x reader, choso x reader, modern college AU, yuji and choso are brothers, sukuna and yuji are brothers, smut warning, fem reader

chapter warnings/tags: lil bit of angst, choso's feelings are starting to show, drinking games, reader is starting to get butterflies from choso A/N: just a simple plot chapter! we're closer to a little choso x reader action, and sukuna may react poorly... ( • ᴗ - ) also no matter if there's smut in the chapter or not, I will always use MDNI!

index part seven | part nine

part eight word count: 2,912

you had decided that this weekend would be the best one of your life. after all, it was finally time for the annual summer trip that you go on with Yuji and your friends every break; last year it was the beach, but this year the group vote was to stay in a cozy cabin in the woods with plans for hiking and exploring. but your favorite part was the idea of making smores and drinking around the campfire.

“Yuji let’s go! we have to get a move on!” you yelled up the stairs, your patience wearing thin as you waited for him to hurry. you heard a clumsy thud from above, followed by a series of frantic footsteps. Yuji appeared, hopping down the stairs on one foot while struggling to put his shoes on fast enough.

“jeez, mom, I’m moving as fast as I can.” Yuji quipped, nearly losing his balance but catching himself on the stair railing. “why am I the only one getting yelling at?”

he had a point. you turned back to the stairs and hollered, “Choso, we’re going to leave without you!”

convincing Choso to join this years trip had been a small miracle – and Yuji insisted it was because you asked him to. normally, Choso wasn’t one for group outings, often dismissing your friends as immature and obnoxious. it was a mystery to you as to why he agreed to come along this time, but you weren’t complaining.

you silently thanked your lucky stars that Sukuna wasn’t around when you’d asked; he had been off on a trip with his own friends this week, conveniently coming back after you guys had left. with the increased distance between the two of you, you were slowly forgetting the anxiety you had about what had happened, instead opting to focus on the joy of hanging out with Yuji and Choso.

finally, Choso came down the stairs, at a snail’s pace you might add, carrying a duffel bag and wearing headphones around his neck. “I’ve got my music queued up for when we get in the car, so don’t even think about bothering me.” he plainly told you and Yuji, his expression already showing signs of the annoyance to come.

“Aw come on Choso. what if I wanted to play I Spy with you?” you teased, poking him in the side to agitate him more – but it had the opposite effect. instead of swatting you away and groaning like usual, Choso merely smiled at you and shrugged away from your intrusion, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes.

by the time you managed to herd the two of them out the door, Nobara and Megumi were waiting by the car. Nobara was tapping her foot impatiently, her gaze sweeping over the three of you with a critical eye. “which one of you took the longest to get ready?” she demanded.

without hesitation, you pointed at Choso and Yuji, while they both pointed back at you. your jaw dropped in outrage. “hey! I was the one yelling at you two to get your asses downstairs!”

“doesn’t matter.” Megumi said with a sigh, rolling his eyes. “just get in the car so we can get moving.” he slid into the driver’s seat, with Nobara taking the passenger seat. you were left to squeeze in the back, wedged between Yuji and Choso. with a final round of groans and shuffles, you all took off on the journey.

being sandwiched between Yuji and Choso wasn’t the most comfortable arrangement, and there was absolutely no room to stretch out. Yuji, like a child, kept poking and pestering Nobara from behind her seat – this inevitably led to you getting caught in the crossfire, often receiving a swift swipe from the red head accidentally.

the drive wasn’t long, but it was just long enough to leave you feeling cramped and achy. you glanced over at Choso, who had his headphones in and his eyes shut, likely tuning out the chaos of the car. deciding to take a chance, you gently pulled one of the earbuds from his ear.

Choso’s eyes snapped open in irritation before he realized it was you. “can I listen too?” you asked, offering a hopeful smile hoping to persuade him.

he nodded, a soft smile spreading across his face. you took the extra earbud and popped it into your ear. to your surprise, Choso’s playlist was filled with lo-fi music – pleasantly surprising you. the gentle beats began to relax you, and you found yourself leaning against Choso’s shoulder, closing your eyes.

unbeknownst to you, Choso’s face turned a delicate shade of pink at the unexpected contact. he looked down at you, finding you utterly adorable as you sought comfort in his presence. his smile widened as he enjoyed the moment. just then, he noticed Yuji staring at him, eyes wide in disbelief.

“what the hell?” Yuji mouthed silently, his expression a mix of surprise and confusing.

Choso quickly mouthed back, “don’t know what you’re talking about,” before settling back into his seat and closing his eyes. even though he was eager for the car ride to be over, a part of him wished it would go on forever so he could savor your closeness a bit longer.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

you hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but the gentle shaking your shoulder woke you, and you realized you’d dozed off for the entire ride.

“y/n, we’re here.” Choso said softly, nudging you awake. as you blinked away the remnant of sleep and sat up, you stretched and tried to shake off the drowsiness. “I think you drooled on my shirt a little.” he added with a hint of amusement.

your eyes widened in alarm as you quickly glanced at Choso’s shirt, but there was no sign of drool. Choso’s laughter only made your cheeks flush with embarrassment. “don’t do that to me; I was about to feel terrible for sleeping on you.” you snapped, giving him a playful swat.

once you all exited the car, you took a deep breath and stretched your limbs, relishing the opportunity to pop a few joints. the cabin that stood before you was charming and cozy, exactly what you’d been looking forward to. the surrounding quiet was a welcome change from the car ride chaos. you mentally noted to thank Megumi later for using Gojo’s card to book the place – or perhaps thank Gojo himself.

Nobara broke the silence, questioning, “so, what’s the sleeping arrangement?”

“I’ll bunk with Yuji, and the rest of you can get your own rooms.” Megumi answered, a smirk on his face as Yuji beamed with approval.

“but Megumi, you booked the place.” you protested. “surely, you should get your own room.”

“don’t argue.” Nobara cut in firmly. “we get our own rooms.” you suspected that Nobara’s insistence was partly why Megumi had arranged it this way. while you loved her to death, her sometimes picky nature made you relieved to not be sharing a room with her.

the group entered the cabin, immediately splitting off to go find the bedrooms and place luggage inside. you chose a bedroom on the second floor, away from the action, perfect. if you needed a quiet moment, you knew you would be able to escape up here.

while unpacking your bag, you heard footsteps approaching up the stairs. curiosity piqued, you peeked out of your room to see who would be claiming the other room on the second floor. to your surprise, it was Choso.

he caught your eye and smiled warmly. “coming up here for the quiet too?” he asked, his voice gentle.

you blushed slightly and nodded. “yeah, you know how those three can drink and stay up late. I didn’t want to be kept up all night.”

Choso nodded in understanding and proceeded to the extra room to settle in, the door directly across from yours. you felt a wave of relief knowing that Choso was your neighbor up here. it was reassuring to have someone who wouldn’t be a nuisance, and thankfully, he didn’t have his stereo system from home to blast music all the time.

once everyone had settled in, you all regrouped in the kitchen, where Megumi and Yuji were taking charge of dinner. they were in full swing, cooking up a storm as they worked together seamlessly. Nobara, perched on a stool nearby, pestered them with a constant stream of corrections.

you and Choso, seated comfortably at the bar, watched the spectacle with amusement. Yuji had thoughtfully packed your favorite drinks in the cooler before you all left home, and you took a satisfied sip from the can. even though you knew that the weekend was likely to be filled with drinking games, you were just content to unwind and enjoy your alcohol responsibly.

as dinner came to a close, Yuji, Megumi, and Nobara set up a game of drunk jenga in the living room, their excitement building with every clink of a beer bottle. Choso and you decided to bow out; it was the first night at the cabin, and you wanted to wake up refreshed without a hangover tomorrow.

as the night progessed, the room was filled with the sounds of laughter and playful competition. you found yourself feeling blissfully content, sitting a little closer to Choso on the couch and relishing in the comfort.

“who do you think is gonna lose this round?” you asked Choso, your eyes fixed on Yuji as he came close to toppling the wooden tower over.

“hm…” Choso pondered, watching the game intently. after a moment, he said, “I’m betting on Yuji. he’s been a bit clumsy this round.”

“wanna make it interesting?” you suggest with a playful raise of your eyebrow. Choso’s eyes sparkled with intrigue, and he tilted his head slightly.

“what do you have in mind?” he asked, his tone light but with a hint of challenge. for a moment you thought you felt butterflies begin to flutter in your stomach.

“if I win, I get to steal your headphones for the drive back.” you proposed with a grin.

“sounds fair.” Choso agreed, pausing to consider his own wager. “alright then. if I win, you have to go to dinner with me when we get home.”

your stomach did a little flip at his proposition, and you could feel the butterflies taking flight. “how does that put me out?” you asked, your cheeks warming up as you felt the heat rise.

“you’d have to pay.” Choso said with a grin, noticing your realization. “and I eat a lot – maybe not as much as Yuji, but be prepared for a hefty bill.”

you groaned in mock frustration, but there was an undeniable thrill within you at the wager. “fine, but I’m taking you to a McDonald’s.”

“what’s not what I –” Choso started to protest, but his words were cut off by sudden, unexpected knock at the front door.

everyone in the room paused, their attention shifting to the door with a mix of curiosity and concern. Nobara’s brows furrowed. “who the hell could that be?”

Yuji stood up, slightly swaying but with an air of confidence. “maybe it’s the owner of the rental.” he suggested. as he made his way to the door, you noticed Choso’s hand reaching back toward you, a subtle protective gesture that warmed your heart.

with bated breath, you all watched as Yuji turned the doorknob and pulled the door open.

you’d seen plenty of scary movies, the ones where a group of friends go to a cabin in the woods and run into an axe murderer, but nothing could have prepared you for the jump scare you received when the door opened

“guys, look who decided to show up!” Yuji exclaimed, his voice brimming with excitement as he gestured to the figure in the doorway.

“looks like my trip ended a bit early, so I thought I’d take my little bro up on his offer.” Sukuna said with a wide grin, his gaze sweeping over the room. his eyes landed on you, and his grin momentarily faltered before returning, albeit a bit force. he glanced at Choso, whose hand was still protectively reaching toward you. “Choso, didn’t think this was your scene.”

“y/n asked me to come along. I couldn’t say no.” Choso replied through gritted teeth. “didn’t think you’d show up either.”

Sukuna chuckled, making his way into the living room and sitting in a chair that, thankfully, was not next to you. “well, someone's gotta make sure none of you kids do anything stupid.” he said, his eyes lingering on you. you quickly looked away, feeling a flush of discomfort.

“we don’t have an extra bedroom.” Megumi stated calmly, though his body was visibly tense. you knew that Megumi and Nobara really didn’t like Sukuna, only tolerating his presence for Yuji’s sake.

“I’ll take the couch.” Sukuna shrugged, but his gaze remained fixed on you, making you feel increasingly nervous. “or I could share a bed if anyone’s willing.”

“the couch is fine.” Nobara said, her voice dripping with disdain as she caught the look Sukuna was giving you.

you felt like you couldn’t breathe the longer you could feel Sukuna stare at you. having Choso sitting between you two didn’t help much, considering he was beginning to act like your bodyguard making Sukuna only stare harder.

there goes your peaceful getaway.

as Sukuna settled into the living room, the tension became almost palpable. Megumi and Nobara exchanged uneasy glances, while Yuji of course remained unaware, but soon returned to their game.

you stayed put on the couch next to Choso, trying to avoid Sukuna’s lingering gaze. Choso’s presence was a small comfort, his protective demeanor evident as he subtly inched closer to you, his body language signaling he wasn’t happy with Sukuna’s intrusion either.

eventually, Sukuna leaned back in his chair, his eyes still occasionally drifting towards you. he made no effort to engage with the group’s activated, instead seemingly content to observe and occasionally interject with comments that seemed designed to provoke a reaction. Nobara was the easiest to rile up, and you heard her cursing at him every few minutes.

as if sensing the need for a break, Choso stood and stretched. “I’m going to grab a drink. anyone else want anything?” he asked. you took the opportunity to get up as well, eager to escape Sukuna’s wandering eyes.

you followed Choso into the kitchen, where he began rummaging through the cooler for another drink. “I’m sorry about this.” Choso said quietly as he handed you a drink. “I didn’t expect him to show up – honestly, I didn’t know Yuji invited him.”

you took a sip, appreciating the drink and Choso’s attempt to offer comfort. “It’s not your fault.” you replied. “I guess I thought this weekend was going to be relaxing.”

Choso shook his head, his expression shifting to one of mild annoyance. “I know he can be uncomfortable sometimes.” he admitted, his voice low. “he’s always been a bit… inappropriate around you.”

you nearly choked on your drink at his words. if only Choso knew the full extent. the thought of what would happen if Choso and Yuji found out about the bruises being left by Sukuna made your stomach churn. this was definitely not the time to reveal that particular little secret.

“actually, I appreciate the drink, but I think I’m going to head to bed early.” you said, your lips forming a thin line as you mentally cursed Sukuna for dampening your mood. you wanted to act like his presence didn’t bother you, but tonight, you didn’t have the strength to put on a brave face.

Choso’s hand gently rested on your arm, and his brows furrowed in concern, the tattoo across his nose wrinkling as well. “does he make you that uncomfortable?” he asked, his voice filled with genuine worry.

you couldn’t tell Choso exactly what you were feeling right now, so you just shrugged and gave a small weary smile. “nah, he’s just an ass. I’m just tired from the drive.” you lied, and Choso nodded in acceptance.

“I won’t let him ruin your fun, don’t worry.” Choso smiled softly, a gesture you couldn’t help but return as you set down your beer and rubbed your clammy palms on your pants.

“let me know who loses – I expect to find those headphones in my ears when we leave in a couple of days.” you teased, making him laugh, before you turned and made your way for the stairs.

Yuji caught your movement, shouting out at you, “y/n, you’re going to bed already?”

you paused at the bottom of the stairs, turning to give your best friend an apologetic smile. “yeah, just sleepy from the trip.”

you refused to acknowledge the fact that Sukuna was unabashedly staring you down, and you were unaware of Choso glancing between the two of you as you fidgeted with your fingers.

“if you need anything don’t hesitate to let me know.” Choso told you, making you look towards him. he offered you a smile, trying to make you feel better. “I’m right across the hall if you need me.”

oh boy, if only you knew how that made Sukuna’s blood boil.

you nodded your thanks, bidding everyone goodnight before almost rushing up the stairs. once you were behind a closed door, you let out a deep sigh of relief.

and all you had wanted was a peaceful getaway.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . taglist: @nighttwingg @sweetsformysoul @casualpoetrytaco @lvingd3adg0rl @haikomaiko @csolya @dealthypink if you'd like to be added to the taglist for this WIP let me know! ♡ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

[itsnesss]

Hi, I would like to request a Minho from XO kitty and reader smut and I want the plot to be where the reader is in Minho’s dorm room and they try not to get caught or reader is talking to kitty on the phone and Minho is just going crazy with it while she’s on the phone also I love your writing it’s literally so good 🫶🏽🤍

𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 | minho (xo,kitty) × fem!reader

summary | while in minho's dorm room, you try to focus on a phone call with kitty, but minho’s intense presence makes it impossible

warnings | smut, tension, explicit content, fingering

word count | 2.8 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

You’re in Minho’s dorm room, and despite the soft music playing in the background, everything feels quiet—or at least it seems that way. You’re on the phone with Kitty, but you can’t help getting distracted every time Minho moves nearby. You know you shouldn’t be here, but it’s hard to resist the tension hanging in the air between you.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Kitty’s voice comes through the speaker, distant but laced with curiosity and concern.

You try to keep your composure. You attempt to respond as normally as possible, but every word feels hollow, as if everything happening around you is the only thing that truly matters. Being this close to Minho makes it even harder. His eyes haven’t left you once. You feel the weight of his gaze, but you pretend to be unaffected as you answer Kitty.

"Yeah, everything's fine," you say, trying to sound casual, but your voice wavers slightly when you see Minho take another step closer. You don’t know what he’s waiting for, but something about the way he looks at you tells you he has no intention of letting you go so easily. You’re caught in his gravity.

Kitty continues talking, oblivious to everything happening, but her words no longer hold any meaning. You’re constantly distracted. Every move Minho makes feels deliberate, his presence overwhelming. He leans against the doorframe, relaxed but intense, watching you with an unreadable expression.

You pace around the room, trying to put some distance between you, but he doesn’t move. He doesn’t let you go. He just stays there, observing, his presence filling the entire space. You feel like you're walking a tightrope, each step bringing you closer to a fall you’re not sure you can recover from.

Kitty, unaware of the storm building in the room, keeps talking like everything is normal. But you know nothing is normal anymore. And Minho knows it too.

Finally, he moves toward you. Just one step, but it’s enough to shift the air between you, making it thick with something unspoken. The sound of your phone slipping from your hand is the first real noise that breaks the silence, and in that instant, you know there’s no turning back.

You turn, feeling the warmth of his proximity immediately. His fingers ghost over your arm, a barely-there touch, but your body reacts instantly. A shiver runs down your spine, and you can’t help biting your lip. You know what’s coming, but you’re not sure how to stop it. He steps closer, his eyes locked onto yours, and time seems to slow.

"Hang up," he says, and it’s not just a command—it’s a warning, an invitation. You can’t fight it. You’re trapped, unable to move away, but something in you ignites at the sound of his voice so close to your ear.

You feel his breath against your skin, and the air becomes heavier as he closes the remaining distance. Your hands, once occupied with your phone, now hang uselessly at your sides. He knows it. He feels it. And even though neither of you speak, the tension between you is more than enough to fill the silence.

"You’re losing control," he murmurs, his tone softer now, lower, as his hand traces lightly along your arm. The sensation sends a shiver through you, and all you can do is keep your eyes on him. There are no words that can change what’s happening, because you both know you’re too far gone.

Minho doesn’t step back. He makes it clear with every slow movement toward you. The space between you disappears, and you can feel his presence consume everything. The air in the room thickens, every breath a struggle to maintain control.

"You’re driving me crazy," he whispers, almost like a confession.

The sound of your breathing is the only thing filling the quiet, but it’s too much. You can’t pretend everything is fine anymore. His hand settles at your waist, firm but gentle, and you feel completely trapped—but in a way you don’t want to escape from.

Your fingers finally move, somehow finding their way to the back of his neck as he continues watching you with that intense gaze that never wavers. But in this moment, nothing else matters.

The phone lies forgotten on the floor, and the last barrier between you disappears. All that’s left is this—the heat of his proximity and the inevitability of what’s about to happen.

There's no turning back now, and you know you don't care. The only thing you desire is to keep him close, to feel his pressure, his warmth. Finally, you feel free to resist the desire that has been growing inside you for so long. The question is how long you can keep it without it going too far.

"This doesn't have to be so difficult" .

And for the first time in what has felt like an eternity, the silence between the two of them is broken. Minho's voice sounds confident, but it also carries a hint of tension, as if he too were on the edge of the abyss and didn't know what to expect.

"What are you saying?"

The question slips out of you without thinking, but you immediately regret not having kept silent. The tension between the two of you remains high, and you fear that the slightest provocation could make everything explode in an instant.

But you are not afraid. In fact, if there's something that excites you, it's seeing how he gets even closer to you, his warm breath caressing your lips as he speaks.

"That we could have what we want without hurting anyone" .

Minho's response takes your breath away. You didn't expect him to offer you such an easy way out, but at the same time, you can't deny the desire you feel for it to be exactly like that.

"Is that what you want?" you ask, not quite knowing why.

He stops for a moment, but it doesn't matter. You don't need his answer to know what's going through his mind. His gaze is more than enough.

"I want you to be mine" .

The answer comes out with a tone of certainty that sends a shiver down your spine. His eyes bore into you, and you know he won't stop looking at you until you speak.

So you speak, and the words come out of you naturally, as if they had always been there.

"And I want you to be mine" .

Time stops in that moment, and although you feel the room is about to collapse from the tension, you also know that both of you are too close to escape.

The pressure of his fingers on your arm increases when he firmly grabs your wrist. He stops looking into your eyes to caress your lips with his gaze, and you know exactly what's going to happen.

"I want to see you" .

And even though you don't know what will happen next, you know you want the same thing. The connection between the two of you is so strong that you feel unable to resist.

"I can't..." you try to refuse, but you know the answer is a lie. You must admit it. You can't keep pretending. "I want to see you too. I want to see you too" .

The sound that comes from his throat is one of satisfaction, but also of lust. You feel it when he pushes you onto the bed, his body covering yours in an embrace that makes you feel both insecure and excited at the same time.

Minho steps back just enough to see you, but stays close enough for you to move. His gaze follows you, watches you, and you know you have to decide. He won't do anything until you take the initiative.

"Are you sure?" he says, and for the first time in your life, you know what you have to do.

The answer is simple. There's no turning back.

"Yes" .

The smile on his lips is barely visible, but you can feel the tension in his fingers when he touches you. A shiver of pleasure runs through your entire body, and you know you have made the right decision.

"Then there's no problem" .

You don't expect his next actions. He covers you with his body, his mouth seeking yours in a kiss that is more than you can handle. And you know that this is just the beginning.

The silence that follows is only interrupted by the sound of their breathing. The heat of his body makes you feel uncomfortable, but also eager to feel more. He feels it, and he steps back a little to let you recover. The tension in his gaze makes you feel like you are the only person in the world.

"Do you want...?" you start, but stop when you can't find the right words.

"What do I want?" he asks, with a hint of challenge in his voice.

You try not to give too much importance to his words. You want to move on, but you don't know what to say.

"Do you want..." you say, waiting for him to guide you.

"What do I want?" he repeats, his tone increasingly gentle.

And finally, you manage to find the right words to express what you want.

"You want to see me" .

He smiles upon hearing your words, and you can feel his body tense slightly. His fingers caress your lips, and you know what's about to happen.

"I want to see every part of you," he says, and his voice is low enough to make you feel as if you had gotten lost in the room. "I want to see every part of you," he says, and his voice is low enough to make you feel as if you've gotten lost in the room. "I want to touch you, explore you, savor you." I want to touch you, explore you, savor you.

You can't speak, but you don't need to either. The silence between the two of you is more than enough. You know it when he approaches you again, this time without leaving any space between you.

The gentle pressure of his hands makes you feel uncomfortable but at the same time eager. You don't know what will happen next, but you're sure you won't regret it. The connection between the two of you only grows stronger with each passing second.

"Remind me that you have no experience," he says again, and you can hear the trace of amusement in his voice. —I want to make sure it feels good for you.

You can't help but blush when you hear his words, but what really makes you feel insecure is the confidence in his voice.

"I don't know..." you say, not knowing what to expect.

"Then, tell me what you need me to do to make you feel better," he says, his voice getting closer to your ear. "So, tell me what you need me to do to make you feel better".he says, his voice getting closer to your ear. "Do you want me to touch you? Do you want me to kiss you?"

The questions keep coming, without giving any space for you to answer. You don't know what to say, but you don't want him to stop either. You want to feel more of him, his pressure, his breath, everything he offers you.

And he knows it. You feel him laughing softly in your ear, and the sound makes you feel even more lost.

"You want me to do whatever you need to feel good." he states, and you know he's right. "No problem".

The next thing you feel is their body moving away from you, a quick and sudden movement that leaves you breathless. But you don't have time to lament. He returns in a second, his fingers playing with the button of your shirt.

"Are you ready?" he asks, his gaze searching for yours.

And for a moment, you can forget what's happening. You can pretend that there is no one else in the world but you and him. The connection between the two of you feels as strong as ever, and you know you will always be inevitably drawn to him.

"Yes," you say, and your words are barely a whisper.

It's all you need. Minho nods, a brief movement but one that indicates everything has changed between the two of you. You feel his pressure growing stronger on you, but it's not a bad feeling. It's more than you expected.

His fingers play with the button of your pants, but he doesn't open it. He just looks at you, his eyes fixed on you as if you were the only person in the world. You don't need to speak, not even move. He just watches you, his gaze fixed on your lips.

"I need you to tell me what you want," he says. "I can't go on if you don't tell me what you need" .

You know what he wants to hear. The only thing you need to do is say it.

"I want..." you start, and then you stop, not knowing how to continue.

"What do you want?" he repeats, his tone soft but insistent.

"I want you to touch me," you say at the end, hoping to feel his reaction.

You don't expect their next actions. His finger plays with the button of your pants, and you can feel a wave of heat rising up your legs. His fingers slip under your underwear, and you can feel yourself tense a little at his touch.

"You are..." he says, without finishing the sentence.

"What am I?" you ask, curious.

"You're wet" he says finally, his eyes locking onto yours. "Do you want something else" .

It's a statement, not a question, but you know what you need to happen. The wave of heat inside you has only intensified, and you need him to move on.

"Yes, I want..." you start but stop halfway.

"What do you want?" he insists, his fingers moving slowly over your skin. "Tell me what you want me to do".

"I want..." you say again, and this time you can't help but speak what you really want. "I want you to continue" .

"No problem," he says immediately, his smile stronger than you thought possible. "I'm not going to hurt you" .

"I know," you say confidently, knowing you can trust him.

"Fine," he finally says, and you can feel him relax. Then tell me what you want me to continue with.

You can feel the tension growing between the two of them, but you don't feel fear. The only thing you can feel is an increasingly strong desire for it to continue.

"I want you to touch lower," you say without thinking twice.

And it's the only thing he needs to keep going. His fingers touch you again, but this time they don't stop at your crotch. He slides his finger down, towards your sex, and you can feel the pressure building inside you.

"Do you like it?" he asks, his gaze closely observing you.

"Do you like what I'm doing to you? "

You can't respond verbally. All the air you had is gone, and you can't speak. You can only nod. The pressure on your sex is getting stronger, but you don't want it to stop. You want to keep going, feel more of their pressure on you.

"Mmm, yes," he says upon seeing that you can't respond. "You like him" .

"Yes, I like it," you manage to say, feeling the tension within you growing stronger.

"I want to do more to you," he says afterward, his finger sliding further inside. "I want to make you feel as good as you make me feel" .

And before you can respond, her mouth comes closer to you, her lips kissing your sex. A scream of surprise escapes your throat, but the sound is quickly drowned out by the sensation of his mouth on you.

"Is this what you want?" he asks as his tongue begins to caress your sex.

You can't respond again. All you can do is nod, feeling overwhelmed by the pressure in your body. The tension inside you is getting higher and higher, but you don't feel insecure. In fact, all you can feel is a wave of pleasure, growing stronger and stronger.

"I'm glad" he says, his lips moving up to kiss your abdomen. "I want you to enjoy this. I want you to enjoy this" .