#when in fact the issue is that no one could be bothered to raise them to be functional and loved human beings

[pwurrz]

being obsessed with yakumo is a job and baby i’ve never called in a sick day!!!!!

[isfjmel-phleg]

how, I ask you, am I supposed to get this dang paper written when I am either a) zoning out daydreaming about a hypothetical unrelated other paper that doesn't exist or b) writing paragraphs that just make me want to go yell at fictional parents about how they treat their children

[yinyuedijun]

ZERO-SUM GAME

It’s different with Aventurine. You like being his luxury hand watch. You like being his elegant knife, his liar’s dice, his pretty poker chip. You want to be his object—the object of his affections, something he can parade around just like his expensive suits and his beautiful jewellery and his ostentatious furs. Look at me, he uses them to say. Look at what I own. Look at what I own despite this code on my neck. Look at what I've won despite my eyes and my blood. (Or: Aventurine wins you in a game of poker. He decides to cash out his prize right then and there—to enjoy you on the card table, laid out among all the chips and cards.)

8.6k words of psychological issues, explicit smut, and deranged characterization. aventurine tops, reader bottoms. public sex, voyeurism from strangers, piv, oral (reader receiving), fingering with gloves on, creampie. mild dubcon but the reader is ultimately into it. afab gn reader, they are playing a fem-coded role for an espionage assignment (dress, heels, makeup). themes of objectification. discussion of slavery and sa during slavery (not explicit). dead dove do not eat, mdni.

You are in the grandest casino of Kinyoshi Moon Colony, and Aventurine is running your latest husband into life-ruining debt.

You aren’t cut up about it. If your marriage (or concubinage, rather) were genuine, you'd maybe be annoyed about the loss of capital. But as it is, this relationship is an assignment from the IPC—one of the longest and most excruciatingly boring yet. Fortunately for you, Aventurine’s presence tonight means that you've finally gathered enough intel for Diamond’s needs. It is time for the IPC to terminate your latest contract, and Aventurine is here to collect you.

Which is a little funny, given your relationship. It is strange sitting across from your boyfriend, draped over another man and thoroughly ignoring him. You’re entirely focused on fawning over your husband instead—laughing into his ear, lighting his pipe and filling his whiskey glass, and oh, Mister Li, you're so funny, you're so clever, I think you should go all in!—but Aventurine doesn't react. He only smiles at the two of you, like he isn't bothered by the sight.

This is, of course, an act: when you came home from your last marriage (assignment), he'd made sure to pleasure you so thoroughly that you forgot all about your ex-husband (mark). Aventurine did not openly admit to any kind of jealousy at the time, but you could tell he hadn't been keen on letting another man touch you. He usually isn't too keen about anyone touching any of his things, in fact. Despite appearances, he always abhors the thought of losing anything important.

But any fears he might have are concealed right now. They’re always concealed. Hidden by the expensive suit, the countless stacks of chips, the golden walls and high-vaulted ceilings of the Venetian Zhijin, Masked by his generous gifts, his easy laughter, his careless frivolity. You can see right through his gilded smile. The rest of the table cannot.

They are all intrigued when Aventurine asks, a playful lilt in his voice, “How about we make this game a little more interesting, gentleman?”

The other players at the table consider him. The other plus-ones—concubines, courtesans, gigolos, and so on—look at him with calculated expressions of cursory interest. You do so as well, but only for a moment. Your gaze quickly returns to Mister Li’s face—your husband is meant to be your true focus, after all, not the game. You are not a player at this table, but an accessory. Closer to an expensive watch than a human being.

Some business magnate from the Triangulum Galaxy leans back and raises a brow. “I'm listening,” he says. You watch a bead of sweat travel down your husband’s neck.

“How about we up the ante,” Aventurine says, his voice light, “but instead of betting more money this time, we bet our dates?”

You think, in other star systems, other worlds, such a suggestion would invite riot. But Kinyoshi Colony being what it is, and the Venetian being the establishment that it is, the other players at the table only laugh. Nearly half of them deal in the trade of human beings anyway—this is nothing novel for them.

“Well,” one of them says, “it’s not like winning more money’s gonna make a difference to any of us.” A round of chuckling. He turns to his date—some noblewoman from Jarilo-IV who seems greatly out of her depth—and says, “What do you think, love? How do you feel about being part of my wager?”

She doesn't like it. She clearly doesn't like it, and she also clearly doesn't know how to say it. Were you not on the clock, you might intervene. Maybe. As it is, though, all you can do is observe quietly. All the power in this gambit lies with Aventurine. Even when surrounded by men who manipulate the wealth of entire cities, planets, galaxies—he remains in full control.

“There’s never any shame in folding,” he says, magnanimous. Then he looks your husband in the eye, smiling conspiratorially. “But I know there are some of us who aren't afraid to take risks.”

Li laughs. “You’re right about that, Mister Aventurine.” He gives you a fond smile. And of course he does—you’re his last shot at winning back all his losses for the night. “I think you'd make a pretty little chip, don't you?”

Although Mister Li is clearly less distressed at the thought of betting you than he was at the thought of betting his company just last round, you notice, out of the corner of your eye, a muscle in Aventurine’s neck twitching. It’s very, very subtle, and he'd have never let himself do it if the table’s attention were on him, but he did it. Perhaps it was involuntary. Your mouth curls.

“Sure, darling.” You try not to sound too giddy. “I’ll be whatever you like.”

Ordinarily, you wouldn't be so happy about this farce. This is, put plainly, a stupid way to extract you from your mission. Were the cards in anyone else’s hands, your husband could win and you might be stuck with him for another several weeks, at least—assuming that you aren't discovered and killed first. Or you could go home with another man and be subjected to the kind of things that men do when they trade human beings, and you don't think the IPC would care too much if you were. You are an asset before you are a person, after all. At this table, you are closer to an expensive watch than a human being—and at the Company, you are an overpriced knife.

But to Aventurine, you're a chip in one of his games, and you don't mind that so much. Men who only know wealth will throw around their riches thoughtlessly, but men who have endured poverty will hold onto them tightly—desperately. Aventurine takes care of his luxury watches, his elegant knives, his liar’s dice. His capital. And he never loses anything. He always comes to collect. You trust him to collect you, even with this stupid plan, so you are calm as you watch the dealer shuffle the cards.

The table makes their bets. Most of the players go all-in. A couple fold, perhaps feeling some degree of concern for their partners, but it's more likely that they just have shit hands. A lot of the ones who continue playing have shit hands anyway. Your husband doesn't do too badly—a straight flush. He seems confident.

Then Aventurine lays out his cards. Ten. Joker. Queen. King. Ace.

All hearts.

You have to take a sip of your whiskey to stop yourself from laughing.

Aventurine, himself, has the grace not to look too smug about the outcome. Or maybe it's very unremarkable for him, all these winnings being pushed over to him—poker chips and human beings. Some of the other dates are clearly anxious as they move toward him (they are expected to be loyal to their husbands), and some are clearly excited (they are expected to be frivolous, hedonistic playthings). He humours them all, for a little while. Puts on the usual show as they crowd around him, charms them because it'll be good for business partnerships in case any of their husbands care even a little bit about them. You'd do the same in his shoes. But in your current ones (six-inch heels, black leather, red bottoms, luxury), all you can do is seat yourself on the card table and light up a cigarette. Waiting.

Aventurine eventually sends them all off. All I wanted was to get to know you, he says cheerfully, which is probably not a lie. After they leave, he asks the dealer to close the table and go on break. Turn a blind eye. You raise a brow when they obey him.

How interesting.

You're still enjoying your cigarette by the time he turns to you. You flash him a smile, one of the ones that you use for work. His expression doesn't change, but his thumb brushes against one of his many rings—switching off your synesthesia beacons for some privacy—and he leans back to study you. You know he's admiring you, but it could be mistaken for a leer.

“Well, well,” he says, “If it isn’t the esteemed concubine of Li Fengzhi.”

“The esteemed fifth concubine,” you correct. He hums, looking surprised.

“I thought you were the fourth. Did I misremember?”

“No, just misinformed. He took another concubine right before I arrived on Kinyoshi. He acquired a sixth just last week. Turns out he picks up paramours like they’re strays.”

“How inconvenient.”

“It made no difference to me,” you dismiss. “I’m his favourite anyway, but I’m sure you knew that already.”

“I’d have had to be blind not to notice it. You have the man wrapped around your finger.” Aventurine leans back, studying you as you smoke on your perch. “But before we continue—why don’t you come a little closer, esteemed Fifth Concubine?”

You make a face. “That title doesn’t sound as nearly as flattering in Avgin dialect as it does in Zhijinese,” you note, though you get off the table anyway. You don’t go very far, electing to seat yourself on his lap, your arms draping around his shoulders. The feathers of his jacket tickle at your bare shoulders; the satin of his gloves glide down the skin of your thighs before settling on your calves. “Since you’ve won my company for the night, though,” you sigh, “I suppose I can humour you, Mister Aventurine.”

“Lucky me.” He leans in, his breath sweeping the shell of your ear. His fragrance surrounds you, your body warming at the familiar scent of ambergris and vanilla. You realize, all of a sudden, how much you missed it. You have to stop yourself from pressing your face into his neck and melting—it would be a dead giveaway for your identity and also too revealing of your feelings. Aventurine might be endeared by it, but he might also find it disconcerting. He often needs to be tricked into intimacy.

He does enjoy being wanted though, and he can obviously tell that you want him. He pulls you closer, one of his hands giving your thigh a generous squeeze. It makes you throw your head back in a laugh, exposing the soft skin of your throat. You aren't surprised when he takes the opportunity to kiss it, his lips gentle against your pulse.

“You’re being very forward,” you tease him. “Did you miss me?”

“I’m just trying to be careful,” he defends himself between kisses, his breath warm on your skin. “We should try to conceal our mouths as much as possible. No one can intercept our synesthesia beacons, but someone could still read our lips.”

You give him a funny look. “We’re the only two speakers of Avgin in the known universe. Who could, other than ourselves, could read our—mmph…”

Aventurine has caught the rest of your sentence with his mouth. He’s hungry and wanting for you, the heat of his lips overwhelming. Your tongue is as practised as his, but you find yourself too distracted by your thrill to focus, your kiss wet and eager. Messy. Unprofessional.

You’ve never kissed any of your husbands like this. You’ve never kissed any of your other owners like this. You feel dazed when he pulls away.

You compose yourself. “So you did miss me.”

He smiles. “Guilty as charged.” A gloved hand rests on your face, satin tracing your lips. “How could I not? You’ve been away from the house for so long.”

Your eyes narrow. There’s no idiom for this in Avgin, so you flip briefly to Interastral Standard: “Pot, kettle, black. You leave home all the time.” You smack away the hand at your waist, petty. He looks amused. “And you almost always die.”

He switches out his smile for a pout. “Don’t tell me you’re still mad about last time.”

“You nearly got yourself blasted with atomics, so yes, I’m still mad at you.”

Now he’s frowning. “Am I going back to sleeping on the couch when you come back?”

“Yes,” you say. His deepening frown is meant to be read as a joke, but you know better. Deciding to throw him a bone, you lean in, whispering playfully into his ear: “You can still fuck me on it though.”

Aventurine hums, as if considering. His hands traverse your sides as he contemplates your suggestion. You move to straddle him, your thighs squeezed around his hips. When you grind against him, you can feel how much he wants you despite his composure, his control—his length straining in his pants, pressed against the silk covering your core.

“I don’t think I can wait long enough to fuck you on the couch,” he says, voice teasing.

“No?” You hum as his hands travel upward, feeling every inch of you. “The ship on the way home, then?”

“We don’t leave until tomorrow. Do you really think I can wait that long?”

You don't expect to feel the warmth of his hands on your chest. Your breath hitches when he starts palming your tits through your dress, neon eyes admiring the curve of them. One of his thumbs skims over the peak of your breast, and his mouth curls when your nipple hardens. “No bra? That's convenient.”

“I—” You squirm in his grip, whining. It just makes you grind against his lap more, your cunt moving against his slacks. A wave of heat runs through your lower half, and you clench around nothing. You can see people from a nearby table glancing at you, doing double takes. You can feel their lingering gazes on you, and you know Aventurine can too.

“I—are you going to”—your voice shakes as he pinches your nipple, as his other hand moves to squeeze your ass instead. Your dress is short—designed for easy access—and his fingertips easily skim the underside of its skirt. You wonder if he’s going to pull it up. You wonder if he's going to go even further than that.

But that would be an absurd thing to do in the middle of the busiest casino in the colony, which also happens to be the busiest trade hub in its star system. It would be absurd even for the two of you. Nevermind the reactions of the other players in the room—the staff here would immediately blacklist you, and so would every other gambling house in Kinyoshi.

You try to calm yourself. “Are you—ah—going to take me upstairs?”

He's fully kneading your breasts now. You can feel your clit throbbing, your body responding to his rough and unrepentant touch. “Hm… I don't think I want to.” Aventurine’s voice drops. His smile takes on a distinctly wicked quality. “I think I'll take you right here.”

“But we’ll get kicked out,” you whine. Even as you protest though, you're panting and moving your hips now. Grabbing at his arms, rutting against him like you're in heat. His fingers hook around the thin straps of your dress, pull them down your shoulders, already starting to indulge despite your reservations. You bend into his touch.

“Kicked out? By who? The staff?” He smiles, as always. “I own the place now. I don't think they'll be giving me trouble.”

“Y—you what?” For a moment, you're too shocked to keep up the wanton show. “You do? Since when?”

“Since last night.” He thumbs one of the straps that's fallen halfway down your arms. The rest of your dress threatens to come down with it. “Technically it's the IPC who acquired it—or, well, their shell company did—but I'm their designated representative here. I signed the contract.”

“The IPC isn’t going to be upset that you're fucking a concubine, who's not even your concubine, on their new property?”

Aventurine shrugs. “They know the kind of establishment the Venetian is. People gamble with humans here all the time, you know, so this has definitely happened before. The IPC definitely expects it to happen again. And besides”—he returns his attention to your dress, starting to slip the fabric down your shoulders—“I'm just cashing out my winnings. I'm sure they wouldn't deny a gambler his vices. That'd be bad business.”

You want to say more, but then he tugs, suddenly exposing you. You’re bare in front of him—in front of everyone. You can feel eyes on you. Heat curls in your gut as he grabs your tits again, his satin gloves smooth across your skin, and your nipples pebble beneath them. “Hm… much better.”

“But…” You bite your lip, glancing around. There are so many people watching now—so many voyeurs, who've forgotten about their games and their slots. Though there are a greater number of people who are continuing as usual, studying their hands, smoking their cigarettes, unperturbed. All regulars and VIPs, you know from your intelligence.

Aventurine pauses as you catalogue the room, raising a brow. Probably he's surprised at your sudden modesty; you usually have none when his touch is involved.

“Of course,” he adds, “if you'd rather enjoy the suite upstairs…”

“No—I don’t mind staying down here… it's just that I’ve never…”

Your voice trails off. Your eyes traverse the space again. There are people who’ve fully thrown their cards down, greedily drinking in the sight of you instead. Even some of the dealers are watching between hands, glancing at you instead of watching for cheaters. Like this is public entertainment, like you're a show.

Aventurine tilts his head.

“You've never had sex with an audience?” he guesses. He sounds surprised—perplexed. You don't know why. You know he knows it's a stupid question. You know he knows the answer.

You had sex in front of people all the time before you met him. You did it for the exact reasons that he’s almost certainly done the same. To this table of business magnates, you are closer to an expensive watch than a human being; to the IPC, you are more like an overpriced knife; to this gambling hall, you're an interesting sideshow.

To your captors who fucked you in public, you guess you were something like a toy.

The thought sitting in your mouth is this: you've never had sex with an audience and enjoyed it. It was painful—not painful for the heart or the mind or anything else sentimental, but painful like it felt you were a fish being gutted open by a knife. And even beyond that physical pain, you simply didn't enjoy being passed around. You didn't like being owned by those people. You didn't like being an object for their entertainment, a spectacle to be consumed.

But it's different with Aventurine. You like being his luxury hand watch. You like being his elegant knife, his liar’s dice, his pretty poker chip. You like being his plaything, spread for his viewing whenever he wants. You want to be his object—the object of his affections, something he can parade around just like his expensive suits and his beautiful jewellery and his ostentatious furs. Look at me, he uses them to say. Look at what I own. Look at what I own despite this commodity code on my neck. Look at what I've won despite my eyes and my blood.

You want him to own you too. You want him to show everyone that he won you, that he bought you, that you're his possession now. That he, and he alone, is free to treat you like a toy.

You're getting wetter just thinking about it.

“Nevermind,” you whisper. “Let's do it.”

His smile widens ever so slightly. Slyer than usual.

“Good,” he says. He guides you into standing. “Let’s get you settled then.”

You're seated back on the card table. The cigarette is forgotten in the ashtray next to you. Aventurine takes the time to straighten out your dress, lifting the straps back up and affording you some modesty—before he gently lays you out.

You look up at him as you're spread in front of him, laid out next to his royal flush and winnings. Like you're another chip in his stacks, the most expensive one. He puts a hand beneath your leg, drapes it over his shoulder. He takes the opportunity to kiss your calf, his lips delicate.

You glance at the tables around you. You watch the business owners and politicians as they watch Aventurine. You watch them as they watch your boyfriend pepper kisses up your leg, unless he's settling in between them. Your thighs spread easily for him, and you don't resist as he hikes up your skirt.

Then he frowns.

“I’ve never seen these panties before.”

“They’re new,” you relay.

“From your husband?”

“Yup.”

“I see.”

You can't see his face, but he sounds distinctly displeased. You expect him to complain, to say they're not expensive enough or not designer enough or just plain ugly.

You don't expect him to tear them right off.

“Aventurine?!”

You're so surprised you sit up, just in time to see him throw tatters of silk to the floor.

“What?” He looks up at you, expression unbothered, almost mild. “It wasn't your colour.”

Your mouth opens. “But it was still very nice!”

“I'll buy you nicer ones later. I’ll buy you a whole drawer of nicer ones later, when we’re done here.”

He looks down again, humming. Your cheeks flush as he spreads your legs again, baring your glistening sex to him—this time completely bare. Satin glides along the inside of your thighs, and your breath hitches when he reaches their apex. You feel the light touch of a finger along your opening, and you feel your body responding, tightening around nothing.

“Tell me,” he says, “What else did your husband do with you?”

His voice is casual, almost disinterested, but you know Aventurine is listening carefully.

“Not much,” you answer truthfully. “I haven't cum in months, you know.”

“Oh?” He sounds surprised. “You don't have sex with him?”

“No. He's fucked me a lot. It”—you whimper, pausing when you feel his fingers spreading you open, fluttering hole and swollen clit exposed to him—“it just wasn't very good.”

“Then”—you feel a thumb press against your clit, and you swallow—“he never touched you here?”

“N-no.”

“Stupid of him.” He’s drawing slow, lazy circles into the bud now, making you squirm on the table. You press yourself eagerly toward his familiar touch, having desperately missed it for months. Aventurine, perhaps sensing your neediness, asks, “And you didn't touch yourself?”

“He didn't let me,” you whine, and now he's frowning at you.

“I knew I should have gotten you out of there sooner,” he says, and you have to bite back a laugh. Aventurine’s mouth curls at the sound, and he leans in to place a kiss on your thigh. “But that’s fine. I'll make it up to you now.”

Aventurine kisses are soft and precise. They pepper a path up your thigh while his fingers continue to play lazily with your clit. You want—need—to feel something inside you, but he doesn't oblige. His fingers merely run along your entrance, teasing your dripping pussy with luxury satin, and that's all they do, even as your hips buck needily toward him.

He pauses for just a moment. When you look at him, you see him staring at you—at the brand on your inner thigh, the commodity code that your captors left on you, branding you as a product to be used and sold.

His voice is almost soft when he asks, “And what did your husband say when he saw this?”

“He never did,” you reply. “He always fucked me from behind. And he never went down on me.” You pause, thinking about the way he spoke of his business. Of his trade partners. Of what your captors had done to your home when you told him about it, feigning intimacy only to be matched in cruelty. You think about the way he fucked you, how it felt to be gutted open on his expensive, silk sheets.

None of it matters to you, really. This is behaviour that you’ve long accepted, that your body always anticipates. But you always like to offer Aventurine intimacy, whether real or feigned, whether he returns it equally or responds with undeserved cruelty: “I think it wouldn't have bothered him if he had noticed it.”

You can't see Aventurine’s eyes, but you can feel his reaction when he places a chaste kiss on your product code.

“I should have gotten you out of there sooner,” he repeats. Then he pauses. “Maybe I shouldn't have let you go at all.”

“I didn't mind,” you say. You aren't lying. “You gave me up for a reason.”

He stands. Cups your face with a palm, luxuriant fabric and gold rings pressed against your skin. Sometimes he's given up the aventurine stone temporarily for assignments, parting with it in elaborate gambles that he always manages to win. The way he’s touching you now reminds you of the way he holds the gem whenever it returns to his hand.

“Well,” he says, “I’m sorry it took so long to get you back.”

Aventurine tilts your chin up for a kiss. You meet it eagerly, and it's so tender in its familiarity that every memory of your husband fades. There's only Aventurine, and his gentle mouth, and the way his hands slide your dress down again, how he palms your breasts again. How he teases one nipple with his expensive rings until you're moaning into his mouth. How his other hand travels down until his gloved hand is cupping your heat. You drag your hips against his touch, desperately seeking some kind of friction, your wetness drenching the cloth. Your cunt clenches around nothing, your body aching to be filled by him, aching in a way that it does for no one else.

It’s one of the most addictive feelings you've ever known.

Aventurine only stops touching you so he can push away all the chips, clearing space on the table. He ignores the cacophony as countless stacks fall over, not sparing the plastic coins a single glance. Like you're the only prize that matters to him, even though the sum of his winnings come out to more than you ever were worth.

He lays you out on the table again, flat on your back, exposed, before kissing a path down your body—your neck, your breasts, your stomach, between your thighs. He deigns to give your product code one more kiss, his lips so gentle that it makes you tremble—and then he finally puts his mouth on you. He licks a hot stripe from your dripping pussy up to the crest of your sex, and your eyes close in bliss.

If you felt any uncertainty before this, it's completely gone now. Your hands ghost over your tits, playing with them as Aventurine’s tongue plays with you. He sucks on your neglected clit, fingers squeezing your thighs, keeping you spread open and still for him. He presses in, lets you drag your cunt over his greedy mouth and grind your clit against his face. Heat and pressure coil tight in your belly as he pleasures you, your body flushing with the kind of bliss only Aventurine can give you. You’re so lost in it that you almost don’t notice how quiet the rest of the hall has gotten, the cacophony of chatter and slot machines oddly subdued—almost missing. In their absence, the obscene noises that Aventurine is drawing from your mouth and body are louder than they should be.

The pleasure in your belly is just starting to swell when he pulls away. You give him a pleading look as he leans over you, but before you can start begging for more, you feel his fingers press against your heat. He watches you with keen eyes as he starts rubbing your pussy, maybe enjoying the desperate noises you make at his touch. You buck your hips, moaning as your clit and entrance grind against the fabric of his gloves, seeking friction. You’re empty, aching, desperate to be filled, but you think you can finish like this, just by rutting against his satin fingers—

Aventurine withdraws his hand, and you whine.

“No,” you beg, “please, please keep going, I was getting close—”

He raises a brow, feigning surprise. “Keep going?” He brings up his hand, shows you his gloves. The satin is soaked, shiny and stained with your slick. “I don't think I should. Look at what a mess you’ve made of my gloves.” Aventurine hums, frowning. “These are designer, you know. And limited—there are only 95 pairs of these in the whole universe. And you're ruining them.”

“I'm sorry,” you say, mind so fogged with lust that you can't even return his teasing. “I'm sorry, I'll make it up to you, I'll do anything, just—just let me cum—”

“Anything?” His smile is sly.

“Anything.”

“Well. I suppose if you help me clean this up, I wouldn't mind rewarding you with more.”

You don't need to ask what he means by that. When he holds out his hand to you, runs a finger along your lips, you obediently open your mouth for him. Your tongue slides along the wet satin, only making his glove messier—but he seems not to mind. He merely watches intently as your tongue cleans his fingers, taking in the obscene image of you hungrily lapping your own slick off the expensive fabric.

He lets you ruin his glove thoroughly before finally drawing back, peeling it off.

“I'm not sure that did any good,” he says, frowning. “I’ll probably need to buy a new pair. But”—he pulls away, and you feel him settle between your legs again, his hands spreading them. “I'll still reward you for the effort.”

Aventurine is quick about getting his mouth back on you. His tongue is hot on your skin, expertly teasing your clit. You feel his fingers running along your entrance again, growing sticky with his need. He laughs when you press your hips toward his hand, desperate to be filled.

Then he's pressing his bare fingers into your heat, and your back is arching off the table.

The moan you let out is obscene. It only gets worse when his fingers curl, making the pressure in your belly even heavier. Utterly shameless, you beg for him as he fucks you with his fingers: Aventurine, please, please, I need more, please, I'm so close, I'm so close.

As if taking pity on you, his mouth finds your clit again, his fingers pressing into your sweet spot at the same time. And he doesn't let up, pushing into it even when you think you can't take anymore—tongue swirling against your overstimulated bud, fingers making you gush uncontrollably. You practically sob when you cum, a noise of desperation that echoes in the gambling hall.

His smile looks a little fonder than usual—or maybe just entertained—as he stands again and leans over you. You taste your own release in a messy, open-mouthed kiss, and he strokes your face when he pulls away.

“So good for me,” he praises. “Are you going to let me do more?”

You nod eagerly. “Whatever you like,” you say, all sense of shame gone from your body, “and however you want.”

Aventurine’s mouth curls. “Your husband fucked you from behind, right? Why don't you bend over for me, then? Let's show him how he should have been doing it.”

You see the diamond pupils of Aventurine’s eyes glance off to the side, where, sure enough, your husband is spectating with some of his business partners. You force yourself to turn away before you can smile, hiding your expression from the other men. You’re not meant to derive any real pleasure from any of this, let alone pleasure of the vindictive kind. Your relationship with Aventurine is supposedly nothing but a gambler and his newly won, human plaything. It would be suspicious if you appeared to be anything else.

You slink off the table in a distinctly performative way, and Aventurine plays equally into the show—probably an act as familiar to him as it is to you. He guides you into turning around, your eyes falling on the scattered cards on the tabletop, the casino’s eyes falling on you. His hands waste no time in pulling down your dress and reaching around to knead your breasts, in full view of the rest of the gambling hall. You're only vaguely aware of your audience now, registering the interested, hungry stares, but not really caring. You're too focused on the way that Aventurine is tugging and twisting at your nipples, at how he’s pressed up against your ass, his cock straining through his pants. You grind needily against him, whining.

Aventurine kisses your shoulder. “Poor thing. You've been neglected for so long, haven't you?” His hands retreat, and you hear the sound of a zipper being undone. Then your skirt’s being pushed up and you're being bent over, your dripping pussy fully presented to him. When you feel the press of his cockhead against your entrance, you desperately try to push yourself back onto him. But he doesn't allow you to—only running the tip along your wet folds, still sticky from your release, while he stills you with a gentle touch on your hip.

You make a pathetic, desperate noise. Aventurine chuckles, though there’s now a breathy quality to his voice.

“Be patient,” he chides. “I'll take care of you.”

You know he will. He always takes care of you, in a way that no one else ever has. Even when he gambles your life for some mission, even when he can barely afford you the barest hints of intimacy, even when he displays your body to an audience of slave traders and murderers—he always takes care of you. Even if you are only a knife or a wristwatch or a chip in one of his games, he still treats you like you're worth holding onto.

Aventurine finally moves. Your eyes flutter shut as you feel his cock sliding into you. Usually he needs to be careful after your long missions away from him, knowing you'll be tense. He understands that your body always anticipates being in pain after being touched by other people. But he has you so worked up right now—still dripping from your release, still pliant from his fingers, still eager to please him before the crowd—that your cunt easily swallows his length. The stretch is pure bliss, pleasure unfurling in your body as you're filled up properly for the first time in months. He's just as affected as you, breath shaking as he bottoms out.

“Fuck,” he breathes—laughs. “Nearly forgot how good this feels.” He pauses, his breathing slowing—almost stopping each time you squeeze around him. You turn back, throwing him a pleading glance, and he meets it with an endeared smile. “Eager today, aren't you?” He hums, a hand sliding along your waist. “You really do need to be properly fucked.”

He's stalling. Trying to give you a moment to adjust, but you don't need it. “Yes,” you encourage him. Aching for the press of his cock against your walls, you grind against him, and you hear a strangled groan as you force him to move inside you. “Please, Aventurine—please, please fuck me, I need it so badly—”

He hums, both hands grabbing your hips, his fingers sinking into you. “Well. Since you asked so nicely.”

The first thrust has your eyes going wide, your hands reaching for the card table as you’re forced to bend over. You spread our palms next to the mess of heart cards and shiny tokens, bracing yourself for the way your body’s about to be used. He doesn't give you time to breathe after, each stroke filling you deep and fast. The rest of the gambling hall grows very, very quiet as Aventurine fucks you, and suddenly all you can hear is the appreciative murmur of the crowd, clink of ice cubes in aged whiskey, the noisy flick of lighters as more patrons opt to pause their games and enjoy the show. You hear the shattering of all the stacks beside you, hundreds of thousands of dollars in chips fall over beside you, tokens clinking as they roll across the tabletop. But all of that is soon drowned out by the wet noise of your pussy being fucked open, the squelch of your slick around his cock. You moan each time he bottoms out, eager to be filled.

When you feel his cock press into your sweet spot, your moans quickly turn into cries.

You hear something like a breathy laugh from Aventurine. Your body always reveals itself so easily to him, and you know he enjoys it. He hits that spot again and again, builds an agonizing tension in your body with every thrust of his hips. It has your pussy gushing around him, your thighs growing wet and sticky with your need.

Just when it feels like you can't take anymore, he reaches down and presses his fingers against your throbbing clit. Your knees buckle as he toys with you, chest heaving against the table as he sets a brutal pace. You're—overwhelmed, mind going hazy as you're fucked mercilessly. So far gone, you can hardly register the disgruntled expression of your husband, the hungry gazes of his companions, the way that other players are starting to shift in their seats, palming themselves at the sight of your pussy being split open. There's only the tight coil in your gut, the chips between your fingers as you grab uselessly for something to ground you, the cock that's filling you over and over and over—and oh fuck, you’re going to cum, you're really going to cum after being won in a game, from having your pussy used like a sleeve, from being watched by men who will never own you no matter how many times they trade you, no matter how many times they fuck you, no matter how many times they pass you around, because you'll only ever belong to Aventurine—

Your orgasm crashes through your body, and you sob.

It's a broken, blissed out noise. Your pussy is equally shameless, gushing as you pulse around Aventurine’s cock. You go limp as he fucks you through your orgasm, uncaring about the mess you're making. He only groans as you squirt all over him, hips stuttering as he reaches his own peak—spilling himself inside you, pumping you full. Aventurine’s body slumps over yours as rides out his high, his face pressing into your shoulder. You find the wherewithal to shift yourself, just enough to your lips against the tattoo on his neck. He looks at you for a fleeting moment, the blue ring of his eyes electric on you, before capture your mouth in a desperate, messy kiss.

The two of you stay there for a long moment, panting into each other. Then Aventurine collects himself, remembers how to talk: “Fuck.”

You piece yourself together just as easily. Maybe even faster. Smiling into his mouth, you ask, “Enjoy yourself?”

“Clearly.” Aventurine presses his lips into your neck, lingering only briefly. “Can you walk?”

“I think so.”

Aventurine takes his time with moving, as if basking in the afterglow—or bragging in it. But he does rise, eventually. Pulls out slowly, making you shudder. He helps you to your feet, lets you hold onto him for support. His spend drips down your thighs as you right yourself, messy and hot on your skin. You can feel it sliding down your legs as you walk, braced against Aventurine as he guides you in the long walk toward the elevator. It slips all the way down to your calves, to your expensive heels, even onto the marble floor.

You're fairly certain that it's not an accident when Aventurine flips up your skirt as you pass your ex-husband. At the very least, it isn't a mistake when you stumble in that same moment, bending over and giving him a good look at your well-used pussy, now overfilled with your boyfriend’s cum. You don't stop to look at him, but you know he must be red-faced, displeased—aware that he’s been humiliated. Beaten by a Stoneheart, concubine stolen by Sigonian, one of his favourite possessions claimed by a former slave. You'd laugh if you could.

You can't help but kiss Aventurine while the two of you wait for the elevator, a smile glowing into his lips.

It's absurd, but a staff member approaches the two of you as you indulge in one another. Aventurine pulls away as you’re approached, looking mildly annoyed as he switches on his synesthesia beacon.

“Sir,” the staff says, “you’ve left your other winnings at the table.”

Even in his post-orgasm bliss, Aventurine responds promptly. “I’ll cash it all,” he says. “Send the money to my room. I'm not coming back tomorrow.”

“Very well. And the terms of the… human resource exchange that just happened?”

Aventurine’s jaw clicks. It's quiet, but surprising. You watch him carefully.

“We didn't bet contracts,” he says. “This is a concubine, not a slave. But tell Mister Li I'll buy them anyway. I'll pay whatever price he wants, which I’d wager is the company that he gambled and lost to me. Maybe suggest that to him.”

“Of course,” the staff member replies, bowing. Despite the first-rate service, Aventurine looks like he can't get out of there sooner enough as he guides you into the elevator. You give him a curious look as the door closes.

“You're going to give up a multiplanetary corporation just for this?” you ask.

“Not entirely. The IPC was planning to acquire it anyway. It'll be ours again in a few months.” He stares at your reflections in the mirror, his strange eyes lingering on your dishevelled form. “We’ll put your intel to good use,” he adds, and although Jade or Diamond or any of your real bosses would say this with a smile and reward you with a bonus, Aventurine’s expression is unreadable.

“What's on your mind?” you ask, fingers brushing against his hand. “You’re worried about something.”

Aventurine blinks, and it takes him a moment to recover.

“Nothing. Just hoping we didn't give our relationship away just now.” He cups your face with a hand, guides you into looking at his smile. A deflection. “I might have gotten carried away.”

You lean into his touch, eyes playful: a performance. As if he's some stranger that you're servicing, a captor being entertained; as if you're a plaything about to be used. As if you expect to be treated like the disposable commodity that your husband just gambled away.

“I wouldn't worry,” you reassure him. “I'm sure after the show we put on, it'll be clear to anyone that you're only keeping me around for sex.”

It's very, very subtle, but a muscle in Aventurine's neck twitches. He'd never allow it in a game of cards, never before the IPC, never before the prying eyes of slavers and killers—but he allows it in front of you. He always unwittingly bares himself to you, even as he swallows his discomfort before adopting his usual, vulpine expression. You don't think anyone else would notice what lies beneath the gilded surface of his smile, his liar’s eyes. You don't think anyone else would notice his tells, his vulnerabilities, his quiet fear of loss.

After all, there is no one else in this universe who knows how to trick him into intimacy.

Winning has always come with a certain emptiness for Aventurine. Gambling is, after all, a zero sum game. He plays a royal flush and people lose their homes. Winner takes all. He survives the fighting pits, his blade dripping red with the lives of other slaves. Winner takes all. He runs from the stench of blood and burning flesh, praying for thunder and rain loud enough to drown the screams of his dying kin. Winner takes all.

He alone survives. He alone enjoys his riches. Ever since the Avgin died, he has always been by himself. There is no amount of coin nor credit that will ever change this.

Here is another unyielding fact that hollows any win: that no matter how many credits he collects, he will always be a chip himself. He will always be a plastic token worth sixty coppers. Gambling is a zero-sum game, and ever since the day he was chained, Aventurine has been the pool of riches divided among winners. He has always been the commodity being traded between hands. He has always been the prize to be cashed out and used. Even now, with all this money and power, it will never be him who comes to collect: it will always be the IPC. Winner takes all.

Such is his fate. Luck is always on his side, but he has always had the losing hand against destiny. No matter how many times he wins, there is nothing that will ever truly belong to him.

But then he met you.

Then he met you, and now his luck does not always feel like such a cruel or empty thing. Now the zero-sum game has meaning. He hedges his bets in the market and buys out a planet, and acquires you along with the shares. Winner takes all. He gambles his life against a nuclear power and comes out on top, and the IPC allows him to keep you by his side. Winner takes all. He plays a royal flush and wins at a table of slave traders, and he gets to fuck you until you can't think of any cock but his own. Winner takes all.

Gambling is a zero-sum game, and when you're the reward, Aventurine wouldn't have it any other way. He’ll never share you with anyone. He'll never sell you to anyone.

He’ll never lose you to anyone.

Sometimes it surprises him, this attachment he feels to you. He doesn't quite understand it, but he thinks it mostly just has to do with how good it feels to fuck you. Much like gambling, Aventurine has never enjoyed sex until you came along. Sex for him has always felt like a humiliation, like being gutted open as a captive animal, like being won and passed around in the grand hall of some gaudy casino.

Which is, in fact, another thing he never thought he'd enjoy: having sex in the Venetian Zhijin before an audience of revolting men. He'd resented having to do it as a slave, but he’d enjoyed doing it with you as a Stoneheart. He'd even do it again if he could—take you over and over again on that card table, fill you up with his cum. Spread your cunt in front of everyone, so they could see for themselves that you were now his. Winner takes all.

Winning doesn't feel empty when you're his reward. Sex doesn't either. Because Aventurine isn't a chip or an animal or a commodity when he fucks you—he's a player. Someone with a seat at the table, as just as wealthy and powerful as the slave traders around him. Someone who’s allowed to own something—really own something.

Really allowed to own you.

Aventurine owns you. When he fucks you, he is a player at the table, and you are the prize he gets to keep. And no matter how you feel about him and how you act toward him—this is all the two of you will ever be. He knows this. He knows that you know it too.

So sometimes he can't fathom it, the way he treats you in bed. The way he always kisses your commodity code when he sees it, the way he allows you to kiss his own. The way he always thinks about pleasuring you until you're drunk on his cock, so addicted to him that you’ll never want to be touched by anyone else. The way he always likes how your body feels when it's being shaped by his hands. How different it feels from being forced to touch other people.

How badly you make him want something that he's always hated.

And this is what he understands least of all: how he doesn't like to hear you say aloud the true nature of your relationship. How he doesn't like it when you accept this reality and say, you're only keeping me around for sex.

It hollows him out when he hears it. A bitter feeling swells in his throat, and he forces himself to swallow.

Aventurine keeps his face neutral as he enters the suite with you. As soon as the door is shut, you pull him close—close enough for him to see the blurred lines of your lipstick, smudged from his mouth; close enough to see the white diamond necklace on your neck, a collar for a concubine; close enough to see the finger-shaped discolorations on your throat, poorly hidden by your foundation.

Close enough to see all the things done to your body by others—all the things you didn't choose for yourself.

“How do you want to have me next?” Your fingertip traces his lips. “On the bed? In the shower?” Your eyes are playful. “Maybe against the window?”

Aventurine’s hand cups your cheek, gold rings pressed against your skin. His hold is delicate, more careful than with anything else he's ever handled—any of his watches, his furs, his jewellery. Even more than with the aventurine stone.

“I want to kiss you,” he says.

You blink.

“Kiss me?” Your brow ticks up, but then your face lights up in supposed understanding. “Okay. You can kiss me. And then?”

“And then I'll keep kissing you.”

You tilt your head, not understanding. “Really?”

“What? Is that off-limits now?” He leans in, expression playful. “Don't tell me I've got to go back downstairs and win back permission to kiss you from your husband.”

Before you can say anything else—ask anything else, perceive anything else—he presses his mouth to yours. Your eyes widen for only a moment before falling shut, your arms wrapping around his neck. Your lips part for him, and he delights in the noise you make as he deepens the kiss.

He did lie, in a way. The two of you do end up fucking again—this time in bed, your mouth gasping into his as you fall apart for him, wet and needy around his cock. You're so warm around him, so pliable beneath him, so desperate when possessed by him. He knows that he could keep going, that he could do anything to you, that you'd be eager to let him use you however he wants.

But all he does afterward is kiss you.

This is yet another act that he never thought he'd enjoy. Kissing has always felt like a chore or a power play or a manipulation. It has always come with a certain emptiness—just like gambling, just like sex. And then he met you, and now it no longer feels so hollow. Because when he wins bets for the IPC, he feels like a poker chip in one of their games, but when he’s fucking you, he feels like a player at the table. And sometimes, when he kisses you—when he holds you close, when you come down from your high and press your face into the crook of his neck and in the vulnerable haze of your bliss, tell him, I missed you—

—he finally feels like a human being.

end notes: christ alive I have never written anything so horny glddjsksjs. I apologize for both my mid smut writing and deranged characterization 💔

initially this was supposed to be brainless pwp about aventurine eating you out on a poker table but I kept asking myself “why the hell did aventurine gamble for human beings and why are these two insane enough to be fucking in a casino tho lol”, and thus a coherent narrative was born from my shameless lust for this guy! but please also don't take the story too seriously because this is a dumb smut piece first and foremost and I mostly wrote it with my clit 😔✌️

that being said, if you are curious about the subject matter that I covered – here's an afterword expanding on my intentions with the themes.

[livinginshambles]

No, you listen to me | James Potter

Pairing: James Potter x Slytherin!Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: Aftermath of when you ran away from the Yule ball, cinderella style. after the Christmas holidays, both of you return to hogwarts with different objectives. James tries to find out who you are. You try to make sure he never will.

Notes: Not proofread. Mistakes. Once again because people keep forgetting, english is my third language, be kind. Themes of bullying, discrimination, very bad sister relationships. Regulus is like a BROTHER. James tries?

Masterlist Part one. Part three

_________________________

Your eyes scanned across the parchment, rereading James’ apology, but all you could really feel was disappointment and anger. What was even the point of trying to prove anyone wrong? You leaned back against the cushions of the armchair and pulled your knees up, wrapping your arms around them to steadily lock them in place. Then you let your head drop.

You pressed your watering eyes into your knee, effectively letting your pajama pants soak up any tears that threatened to fall. You gently rocked yourself back and forth while you tried to clear your mind. You wouldn’t let any of this get to you.

A hand pressed itself to your back, right between your shoulder blades. “Let’s get you out of here,” Regulus spoke up. His tone was hard, but only because of his clenched jaw when he thought back to how you had run off with a betrayed look. The second he realized it was James who was the mystery guy, he had kept a close eye. He knew things wouldn’t end well with those prejudiced twats, and he was right.

You pathetically looked up at him, and Regulus didn’t bother to hide his grimace at the sight of your face.

“Don’t exaggerate you arse,” you mumbled and shoved him light-heartedly.

“Back at you,” Regulus shot back. Then he sighed and motioned for you to scootch over so he could squeeze himself to fit in the armchair with you. “I know you. And I know you know what my brother and his friends are like. Why are you so disappointed?”

You stared at the lit fireplace, lost in thoughts, and eventually shrugged when Regulus nudged you out of your train of thoughts.

“I guess- I really liked the guy on the other side of the paper. And I really hoped that maybe he’d be in there somewhere. And I suppose that for a moment I actually thought James Potter was alright, you know?”

Regulus scrunched his nose in distaste. “Not at all, but go on.”

You shook your head in amusement at him, but let your eyes soften. “I’m sorry Reg,” you whispered.

“What for?”

“Making you listen to me whining about a guy that I know you have personal issues with.” You decided not to mention out loud the fact that those personal issues included the way Sirius had left Regulus behind in that household, escaping to live with the Potters and going as far as publicly calling James his true brother. Found family, he had proudly said.

Regulus knew what you were referring to. He smiled bitterly. “Well, brothers are overrated anyways. I’d much rather have a sister,” he said while nudging you again.

You hummed in contemplation. “I don’t know Reg; I’ll have to disagree with you on this one. I’d much rather have a brother than any number of sisters.”

“How convenient for us.”

“Very convenient indeed,” you smiled happily.

Regulus got up suddenly and turned to you with a stretched out hand. You raised an eyebrow at him.

“I meant what I said, you know. Let’s get you out of here. I do recall you promising me tea at your new apartment.” He looked at his pocket watch. “Well, it’s 5 o’clock in the morning, and the first train leaves at 6. What’s the difference between leaving in the evening or right now.”

“You absolute champ.”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

You laugh whole-heartedly and stuff the parchment in your transfigurations book. You and Regulus took the first train and left Hogwarts behind for the Christmas holidays. A break would do you good. Godric knows you needed to get James off your mind.

James carefully placed the glass slippers in his suitcase and covered them with a few sweaters just in case. He had caught the elves recklessly throwing suitcases into the storage compartment of the Hogwarts express before. You’d think that the use of magic would come in handy for tasks like this, but no.

“Prongs, I got you this?” Sirius pushed a sheet of bubble wrap into James’ arms. James offered Sirius an appreciative look.

After thoroughly explaining everything, from the moment when he found the parchment, to who you were and why he decided that he wanted to become someone you would approve of, Sirius had pieced the rest together and apologized to James for leaving such a shit impression on his mystery date.

James sheepishly pointed at his own solution. “Should I change it?”

“Well, I mean did you see how the elves throw around with our luggage?”

James mirrored Sirius' grin. This break truly came at a perfect time. After all, James would let you occupy his mind as much as he needed to find out who you were.

Two weeks flew by in a blur. You and Regulus had set up a Christmas tree inside your small apartment and had made a competition out of finding the most impressive gift for each other, with only 10 galleons.

You had found the most gorgeous black quill and enchanted ink set for him and were rather confident until Regulus had somehow shown up with what looked like emerald, antique and gorgeously over the top earrings. You had shot him a look and he had immediately provided a receipt to prove he had played fair.

“I just have great negotiating skills,” he’d said.

You had hummed skeptically in reply but had happily tried them on.

All in all, the holidays were a very welcome break for you. Which is why you were so very reluctant to pack your bags. The door to your room opened and Regulus stood in the entrance, leaning against the door frame.

“Get out,” you groaned in dismay at the interruption. Regulus shot you an unimpressed look.

“Not until I see you pack; we leave in less than an hour.”

You huffed in annoyance and threw a pillow at his head. “I’m not asking you again, Black.” You flopped back down on your bed dramatically in dismay at the prospect of going back to Hogwarts. Regulus elegantly tilted his head and let the pillow fly past him.

“One hour,” he enunciated, before walking off.

You threw another pillow his way and yelled, “Close the door when you leave, you twat!”

With a flick of his wand, your door closed.

Regulus waited for you with a bag in his hand.

“Where’s the rest of it,” you teased as you motioned to the small amount of luggage he held.

Regulus turned red but stuck his chin up. “Left them here for the summer,” he off-handedly replied. You laughed. “Great, so you can help carry this bag then,” you grinned and pushed your smaller bag into his hands while you marched out the door with your heavy luggage, dragged behind you.

When you entered the platform, and were handed the Hogwarts newspaper, you did not expect to find a picture of you and James at the Yule ball on the front page. ‘Who are you, Willow?’

You immediately folded the paper together and looked up in panic at Regulus. He looked around and found different students excitedly chittering to each other, all while pointing at the newspaper.

“That is so romantic,”

“I thought James was with Lily?”

“No, they’re just friends now.”

“I was wondering who he was dancing with.”

“She looks so pretty.”

“If I found out that my date was James Potter, I’d take off that mask immediately.”

“Well, she could just be shy.”

“So true, probably Hufflepuff, don’t you think?

“I really hope he finds her.”

You grimaced at everyone and all you wanted to do was disappear. “Relax, Y/N,” Regulus smoothly pulled you on board the Hogwarts Express. “No one will know it’s you.”

Despite knowing that he was absolutely right, you still faced the floor as you looked for an empty compartment. You didn’t realize that you were passing James, who had just come back from a train meeting with the other prefects. He had picked up on Regulus’ words and frowned. But before he could really stop to consider Regulus’ statement, Peter happily waved at him from the marauders’ compartment. “We’re over here!” he called out. James forgot about what he heard.

Remus held the newspaper up in the air when James finally took a seat. “Really?”

“It was Pad’s idea,” James immediately said.

Peter curiously grabbed the newspaper. “Any results?”

James shrugged. “It’s only the first day,” he tries to convince himself, but he was not very sure about this approach to find you.

“It’s going to work out, trust me,” Sirius said. “When she sees that you’re going to this extent to find her, you’ll definitely woo her for sure,” he claimed.

Remus pulled a face. “I mean, if she ran off cause you two were being pricks, again,” he gave both Sirius and James a sharp look. “And hasn’t answered any of your messages, I don’t think starting a witch-hunt of sorts is the way to find her,” he voiced out his opinion. ”She clearly doesn’t want to be found.”

“What are you calling my methods bad?” Sirius squinted his eyes at Remus in mock offense.

“I’m just saying they wouldn’t exactly woo me,” Remus dryly remarked.

“And yet-“

“Guys,” James interrupted. “I just want to find her and apologize. And ask her for another chance to prove that I’m more than what she saw.”

“Well,” Peter started. He turned red when all eyes were suddenly on him. “She will probably not reveal herself. But she’s still a student here. And she knows who you are. So maybe if you publicly show off kind acts, she’ll see how you can be?”

There was a beat of silence and for a moment, Peter wanted to change into a rat and crawl into a hole to hide. But suddenly he was patted on the back by James. “Peter, you absolute champ!”

James Potter was acting weird, and you knew exactly what he was trying to do. You huffed to yourself as you marched right past him while he held the door open for his friends and you, who trailed in right behind them.

Previously, James would have definitely let the door fall in your face, and you had anticipated so, thus smoothly switching your books to your left arm, putting your right hand in front of you in a bracing manner. And so it happened that you stood there frozen, hand flat against James' chest, because he had turned around fully to hold the door open for you.

You embarrassedly dropped your hand that still lingered against him, and a deep frown settled on your face.

“I’d take ten points from Slytherin for touching a student without their consent, but I suppose I’ll let it slide for today,” he arrogantly said. You wanted to beat him up. But you supposed you could let it slide for today. You scowled at him and fled past him towards your designated seat.

Something tugged inside James’ chest as he watched you turn your back towards him and hurry away. He walked to join the rest of the marauders, a ghost feeling of your palm against his chest.

It hadn’t just been you that he was more civilized with. You noticed when you found him volunteering in the library, putting away books back on the shelves manually. This bothered you, because he tended to specifically linger around the particular section in the back about Egyptian rites, your favorite. You knew he was there to hopefully spot any often-returning students.

You also noticed that less and less students were coming back to the common room, hexed. Aside from snide remarks, you hadn’t encountered much animosity from him anymore either.

Instead, you found yourself on assigned patrol with him, despite the fact that Regulus had kindly offered to jinx his broom during Quidditch practice so you wouldn’t have to.

“So,” James broke the silence. “How was your holiday?”

“Why do you want to know,” you immediately shot back before you could stop yourself. James raised his hands in surrender. “Woah, sorry, L/N, just making conversation here.”

You sighed and forced your shoulders to lose their tension. “It was fine.”

“Fine.” James repeated.

“Fine,” you confirmed.

That was the end of your conversation, in your opinion. James however, seemed to think differently.

“So did you get any nice presents?”

You shot him an annoyed look but ended up answering anyway. “Yes actually, Regulus got me these earrings,” you said, and you tilted your head to show him. James’ eyes lingered on your earrings. They looked good on you. The exaggerated gem made you stand out despite your sober attire.

“What else?”

“What do you mean, what else?”

“Why, did your parents not buy you anything or what?”

You halted mid-step and stared up at James. He noticed that he had said something wrong, and when your sisters came to mind, he hurriedly tried to take his words back. You didn’t let him.

“I don’t go home for the holidays,” you settled on. “I’m not particularly welcome there. My parents are as big of a fan of me, as Alyssa and Marla are.” You laughed bitterly and continued walking. James followed behind you, he didn’t say a word, instead waited for you to continue.

“Well, I’m in Slytherin after all. Which obviously equals being an evil blood supremacist. They wouldn’t want to associate themselves with that, of course,” you sarcastically remarked.

James felt guilt slowly seep in. Your words resonated in his mind and his hands grasped the folded parchment in the pocket of his robes tightly. Those were his exact same words of that night at the Yule ball, and he bit his lip. “I’m sorry.”

You looked up at him, surprise evident in your eyes. “You’re sorry?” You asked him in disbelief.

James nodded. If he couldn’t say it to his mystery girl, at least he could say it to you, he figured.

James watched your eyes light up slightly and for a moment, he was lost in a trance. He snapped out of it when you returned the question. “So how was your holiday?”

He grinned at the olive branch that you were reaching out. “Mine was fine.”

“Fine?”

“Fine,” he teased. You fought the smile that threatened to tug on your lips.

Patrol ended without any incidents to report and when you wrote that down, James peered over your shoulder to catch your circled dot on the ‘i’ of “nothing to report.” A sense of déjà vu dawned on him, but the sheer unconscious refusal to even consider you a possibility kept your secret safe.

When you were in bed that night, you couldn’t help but think about how at ease you had felt for the remainder of the night with James, basking in the familiarity of the person behind the paper.

With every patrol, you two put another step forward in the direction of a friendship of some sorts.

James couldn't deny the fact that with each time, he started to look forward to the next time, almost the same giddy feeling fluttering in his stomach as each time he would unfold his parchment to find new kind words written there.

You and Willow would be friends, James thought, as he looked at you while you were casually explaining Transfiguration to him while you two strolled through the corridors, not without the occasional insult at his 'lack of competence'.

But for now, James enjoyed the privilege of calling you by your first name. A friend of some sorts, he liked to think.

Perhaps he was wrong about Slytherins. Sure, there were some rotten apples, but he supposed there were rotten apples in each house. And you weren't so bad after all.

For the first time in a long time, you enjoyed your days at Hogwarts. Truly enjoyed them. You would send Regulus to the library to get you your favourite books, and would patrol every Thursday with James unless he had Quidditch practice. Then you would patrol with Abrams. You’d come across James, who would nod with a kind smile at you as you two have come to be cautious friends and patrol-partners. You hadn’t really heard anything from your sisters either, which was absolute bliss as well.

But then one day, you were studying Transfiguration by yourself in the library, and you just so happened to need to go to the bathroom. When you returned, you noticed your book was missing and you pulled a sour face before requesting a new one from Professor McGonagall who had looked over her glasses at you.

But that hadn’t been the bad part. No, the bad part was that you had completely forgotten that you had put your enchanted parchment that connected yours to James’ inside that book.

Sirius had victoriously grinned at his funny prank idea. He would change some spells in your book so that you would mess up and become a toad in class. He tossed the book on a table in the common room and a piece of paper slid out.

Sirius had seen the piece of paper before, and his eyes grew as wide as saucers. He jumped up, ran towards his room, and rummaged through James’ nightstand before finding James' parchment under his pillow and wrote something on it. He walked back down the stairs with James’ paper, and he watched in disbelief as a messy ‘hello’ appeared on the paper that your sisters now held. “Merlin,” he breathed out, but your sisters had already stormed out of the room.

You entered the Great Hall and felt everyone staring at you and whispering. Even fellow Slytherin students looked at you in contempt. You gave Regulus a confused look when you walked to the free seat next to him. He quietly slid over the Hogwarts newspaper.

Front page again. ‘Mystery girl uncovered. Not a Willow, but a Hanging Tree.”

You didn’t need to read the rest; you tore your eyes away from the paper. Tears threatened to spill, but you tried to keep a cool front. You turned around to look for James and found him and his friends sitting right behind you.

Whoever thought that putting The Gryffindor table and Slytherin table next to each other should rot in the dungeons, you bitterly thought.

It was your sister who spoke up first. “I can’t believe someone like you would make themselves out to be a victim. ‘Oh no, my sisters bully me,’” she mocked you.

You felt heat rise to your cheeks and got up. She got up as well and you stood eye to eye with each other. “You’re pathetic,” She sneered. “You’re the real mistake here. So go do what you do best- run away.”

You wanted to say something. Anything. But you felt weak and small again. So you turned around and walked away. Whispers continued to fill the room as everyone seemed to have something to say about you.

“How embarrassing.”

“She should be ashamed”

“A Slytherin like her?”

“She definitely wasted James’ time.”

With every comment you heard, you bit harder on the inside of your cheek, and when that last comment dropped, you balled your fists. Why should you be the one to walk away?

You turned around furiously and marched back towards James, who had gotten up to follow you and reached out his hand. You recoiled.

“Y/N, listen-“

“No, you listen to me,” you spat at him. You looked him up and down with a pained look, holding back tears of frustration and while trying to convey as much disgust as you could.

“If you didn’t like what you found out, you could’ve kept it to yourself and thrown the damn paper away. You had no right to publicly try to humiliate me like this. All of your kindness in an attempt to be a good person only shows how wretched you really are when you stop pretending and act cruelly true to yourself.”

James' eyes flashed with hurt and he shook his head, words were stuck in his throat. He wanted to cover his ears; he didn’t want to hear you say this to him. This isn’t what he wanted at all. You were wrong. He didn’t even know it was you until he saw the newspaper this morning.

But you weren’t finished talking yet.

“Has it ever even occurred to any of you,” you looked at the people behind him. You stared your sisters dead in the eye. “That maybe your prejudice and thoughtless assumptions and insults about how awful or evil we Slytherins are, is the very thing that pushes us down that path?”

You turned your attention back to James, who had an unreadable expression on his face now. “Your cruel comments are part of the reason and you, James Potter, are especially cruel.”

Your tone was sharp, face hardened and the entire Great Hall had fallen silent. Not even the professors spoke up. James felt like you had hit him in the face, and you might as well have. He looked down in shame at your words.

You shakily let out your breath and lowered your voice again. This time, you sounded tired. Reality seemed to dawn upon you that everyone in the great hall was listening to you, and you shook your head to yourself, taking a step back. You scoffed softly.

“I suppose you are truly worthy of the Gryffindor name; overly proud and arrogant in the name of bravery with a tendency to prove yourself, disregarding others and their feelings.” Your venomous words cut through James' heart.

James watched you walk away again and everything around him seemed to fade. He was losing you again. How had he not seen this?

Your situation with your sisters. The way you ran away at the Yule ball when he made a crude remark about Slytherins. The sense of déjà vu every time you walked past him, back turned towards him. Your handwriting. The feeling of your hand pressed to his chest just as when you two danced. The way you were great at transfiguration and could have easily transfigured those glass slippers. The way Regulus was the only student to frequently visit your favourite book section in the library. The chills you had sent down his back when you had allowed him to call you by your first name, and in return had called him James.

‘I’m in Slytherin after all. Which obviously equals being an evil blood supremacist.’

‘No one will know it’s you.’

Everyone knows.

Preview if interested

Part three

Taglist:

@k0z3me @magical-spit @bouearis @sprinkled-strawberry-donut @sammy-4103 @imsirius01 @xxrougefangxx @lilianelena39 @bubybubsters @cyphah @handybrownpurse @joeytribbiani18 @letssee2468 @stunkbiggu @unstablefemme @charmingpatronus @hoshi-is-ult-bbg @sadpetalsstuff @hisparentsgallerryy @luvly-writer @starsval @thisisasecretsstuff @theweasleyskettle @thisisasecretsstuff @urmomw4ntsme @krillfromsky @ietss @itsberrydreemurstuff @alexandra-001 @prongsprincessworld @lilsunshine1092 @hawkinsavclub1983 @rinrinslovebot @fluffybunnyu @fearlessmoony @lavenderwisteria @darkenwolfie @gengen64 @grandtheoristpeach @anehkael @lunasolac @targaryenmoony @jasminesacademia @mr-underhills-things

[anniebeemine]

all apologies -s.r. x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ smut. oral sex (fem rec., masc rec.), unprotected sex (pls don't follow the example set by these knuckleheads), semi-voyeuristic (Spencer tells her to let everyone hear), penetrative sex

The atmosphere was tense as everyone gathered in the local police station, reviewing the details of the case. You and Spencer had been at odds since the beginning, his tone sharp when he talked to you on the jet four days ago. You tried not to let it bother you, but he was making it difficult. 

"Alright, everyone," Hotch began, spreading out the crime scene photos on the table. "We need to refine the profile. Our unsub has set four fires in the past two weeks, each one escalating in severity. We need to determine the pattern and his next move."

Spencer, standing near the whiteboard, started to speak. "Based on the escalation, it seems likely our unsub is becoming more confident. The fires are not only larger but also set in more populated areas. This suggests—"

"Or it suggests he's becoming more desperate," You interrupted, yourr tone sharper than intended. "He could be feeling the pressure from the increased police presence and is acting out of a need to make a statement before he gets caught."

Spencer shot you a glance, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Desperation could lead to sloppiness. These fires are meticulously planned. The unsub knows exactly what he's doing, which indicates confidence, not desperation."

You crossed your arms, stepping closer to the table. "Confidence or not, the fact remains that he's escalating. We can't ignore the possibility that he's reacting to our presence here. He might be trying to outsmart us."

Hotch raised a hand, his voice calm but firm. "Let's not lose focus. We need to consider both angles. Reid, Y/L/N, you both have valid points. We need to integrate them into the profile."

The rest of the team exchanged uneasy glances. The tension between you and Spencer was palpable, and it wasn't just about the case. Emily shot Morgan a knowing look, and he shook his head slightly, signaling her to let it be for now.

Throughout the case, you and Spencer found yourselves increasingly entwined in a battle of egos, each determined to prove a point. Your once harmonious dynamic had devolved into a series of sharp exchanges and one-upmanship, with neither of you willing to back down. Your insistence on considering the unsub's potential desperation clashed vehemently with Spencer's confidence in the meticulous nature of the arsonist's plans. The tension escalated with every meeting, the professional rivalry overshadowing the collaborative spirit of the team. It wasn't just about the profile anymore; it was a personal struggle for validation and dominance, leaving your colleagues caught in the crossfire of their escalating conflict.

The time before the next fire was running out and you were feeling it. Hotch had all but been breathing down your neck for a finished profile. 

"I still think you're underestimating the unsub's desperation," you argued, your tone edged with frustration. "He's reacting to the increased pressure. The pattern is clear."

Spencer shook his head, his voice equally sharp. "And I think you're missing the point. The precision and escalation indicate confidence. Desperation would lead to mistakes, and this unsub isn't making any."

You scoffed, crossing your arms. "You're so focused on your theories that you're not seeing the bigger picture. This isn't just about the fires; it's about his need to outsmart us."

Spencer stepped closer, his eyes narrowed. "And you're so intent on proving me wrong that you're ignoring the evidence right in front of us. This isn't a game, Y/N."

Before you could respond, Emily stepped into the room, her expression stern. "Enough, both of you. Everyone can hear you out there.” You both turned to look at her, surprised by the intensity in her voice. Emily continued, her tone firm. "This case is too important for your personal issues to get in the way. We need to work together, not against each other. Knock it off and focus."

You and Spencer exchanged a tense glance before looking away, both feeling a mix of embarrassment and frustration. Emily sighed, her voice softening slightly. "We all want the same thing here: to catch this guy before he hurts anyone else. Let's remember that and get back on track."

Nodding reluctantly, Spencer took a step back. You excused yourself from the room, going to find Morgan. Instead you found Hotch. 

“Y/L/N, find Morgan and Reid.” 

Hotch assigned tasks, his focus razor-sharp. "Reid, Y/N, Morgan—you're going to check out the unsub's house. See if you can find anything that ties him to the fires."

You nodded, exchanging a brief glance with Spencer, both of you silently agreeing to put your differences aside for now. The drive to the unsub's house was quiet, the air thick with unspoken words and the weight of the case. Morgan tried to lighten the mood with some casual conversation, but neither you nor Spencer seemed in the mood to engage.

When you arrived at the house, it appeared unassuming, blending in with the rest of the neighborhood. The front door was left open, a track of mud leading in. You, Spencer, and Morgan approached cautiously, keeping an eye out for any signs of activity. Morgan took the lead, his hand hovering near his holstered weapon. Spencer and you followed closely behind, both of you scanning the surroundings with keen eyes. The three of you moved inside, careful not to disturb any potential evidence. The house was eerily silent, the air thick with the smell of gasoline.

Morgan motioned to the door to your left. You nodded, moving through the living room with Spencer by your side. The two of you carefully searched for any clues, your flashlights cutting through the darkness. As you entered the kitchen, you heard a faint noise coming from the garage.

You and Spencer exchanged a glance. "Let's check it out," you said softly.

Pushing open the door to the garage, you saw the unsub, James Turner, gathering materials—gasoline cans, rags, and matches. He hadn't noticed you yet, his focus entirely on his task. You signaled to Spencer, and the two of you moved in quietly, your guns drawn.

"FBI!" you shouted, your voice echoing in the confined space.

Turner spun around, surprise and panic flashing in his eyes. He hesitated for a split second before lunging toward the door. You reacted quickly, moving to intercept him, but Turner was faster. He elbowed you hard in the face, pain exploding in your lip as you stumbled backward.

"Y/N!" Spencer shouted, his voice filled with concern.

Morgan burst into the garage just in time to tackle Turner to the ground, pinning him with practiced ease. Spencer immediately rushed to your side, his eyes wide with worry.

"Are you okay?" he asked, reaching out to check your lip, which was already starting to swell.

You winced but nodded, brushing off his concern. "I'm fine, Spencer. Just a little sore." You allowed him to help you up, his hand warm and steady against yours. "Thanks for helping me up."

Spencer's touch lingered for a moment longer than necessary before he nodded. "Of course."

Morgan secured Turner with handcuffs, glaring down at him. "You’re not going anywhere," he said, his voice low and threatening. "Nice try, though."

As you, Spencer, and Morgan escorted Turner out of the house, the adrenaline began to fade, replaced by a sense of accomplishment. You glanced at Spencer, his earlier frustration now replaced with genuine concern.

The case wrap up was always quick. Files had to be put together and left with the locals. You kept an ice pack to your lip as you finished your reports. You kept an ice pack to your lip as you finished your reports, the coolness providing some relief to the swelling. The station's fluorescent lights buzzed softly, casting a harsh glow on the paperwork scattered across the desks.

Hotch glanced at the clock and then at the team, fatigue etched into all their faces. "It's already midnight," he said, his tone pragmatic. "We won't be leaving until the morning. Let's head back to the hotel and get some rest."

Everyone nodded, grateful for the chance to unwind, if only for a few hours. You packed up your things, still holding the ice pack to your lip, and followed the team out to the cars. The drive back to the hotel was quiet, the exhaustion of the day's events settling over everyone like a heavy blanket.

Once back at the hotel, you made your way to the room you were sharing with Emily and JJ. As JJ stepped into the shower, Emily turned to you, her expression concerned. "Is everything okay between you and Spencer?" she asked gently.

You sighed, placing the ice pack on the bedside table. "Not really. I think it's probably time to apologize."

Emily nodded, offering a supportive smile. "That sounds like a good idea. Sometimes it just takes one step to start making things right."

Taking a deep breath, you made your way next door to where Reid and Morgan were sharing a room. You knocked softly, and Morgan opened the door, giving you a knowing look. "Hey, Y/N. Come on in."

You stepped inside, and Morgan gestured toward Spencer, who was sitting at the small table, looking up from his notes. "Want me to stay as a mediator?" Morgan offered, his tone light but serious.

Spencer shook his head. "It's fine, Morgan. We need to talk."

Morgan nodded, giving you a reassuring pat on the shoulder before stepping out. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you and Spencer alone. You took a seat across from him, feeling the tension from earlier beginning to thaw.

"Spencer," you began, your voice soft but steady. "I'm sorry. I let my ego get in the way, and it affected the team. It wasn't fair to you or anyone else."

Spencer looked at you, his eyes sincere. "I'm sorry too, Y/N. I was too focused on being right and not enough on working together. When you got hit today, I instantly felt guilty. I realized that if I hadn't been so stubborn, maybe things would have gone differently."

You nodded, appreciating his honesty. "We both let our egos get in the way. But we're a team, and we need to trust each other. I value your input, Spencer. I always have."

Spencer's gaze softened, a hint of something more in his eyes. "I value yours too. More than you know."

As you stood up to leave, the air between you and Spencer felt charged with unspoken words and lingering tension. You moved toward the door, feeling a mix of relief and something else you couldn't quite place. Just as you reached for the handle, Spencer stood up and crossed the room quickly, his hand gently catching your arm.

"Y/N, wait," he said softly.

You turned to face him, your heart racing slightly. Spencer's eyes were intense, a swirl of emotions reflected in their depths. Without another word, he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours in a sudden, unexpected kiss. The softness of his lips contrasted with the jolt of surprise that shot through you, making you wince slightly as the pressure hit your bruised lip.

Spencer immediately pulled back, his eyes wide with concern. "I'm sorry, Y/N. I didn't mean to hurt you."

You shook your head, a small smile forming despite the tenderness in your lip. "It's fine, Spencer. Really."

Determined not to let the moment slip away, you closed the distance between you again, cupping his face with your hands as you leaned in for another kiss. This time, you were more careful, the kiss gentle and lingering, a silent acknowledgment of the emotions that had been simmering beneath the surface.

Spencer's hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened. It was a kiss filled with unspoken apologies, newfound understanding, and the promise of something more. His fingers began to nudge your shirt out of the way. 

“Can I?” He broke away to ask permission, but you couldn’t stop your lips from descending upon his neck as he had to yours just a few minutes earlier.

You nodded, much too preoccupied with the taste of him for words and drew back for one moment when the fabric obscured your face, but caught his lips right after. It was a failing attempt to satisfy your growing hunger for him, and you became almost frenzied, teeth clicking against each other and sloppy enough that were you to go back and watch the moment, you’d have to look away in humiliation – it was not the most graceful kiss.

He slid his shirt off and pulled his own top over his head, dropping everything in the same pile on the floor, and matched your energy – his fingers searching for the clasp on your bra and undoing it without disconnecting the sloppy kiss, roughly pushing your pants and underwear down so that you could step out and kick them away. 

Spencer’s grip on your hips tightened as he led you over to the bed. You sat on the edge, leaning back. He took a moment just to admire you. You pull him forward by the waistband of his pajama pants. “Can I?” You asked. 

He nodded. You pulled his boxers and pants down. “Oh, wow.” 

Spencer smirked, ruffling a hand over your hair. “Impressed?” 

“Every time, lover boy,” you teased. 

You ran your tongue down the underside of his shaft, using your hand to compensate for what you missed. He kept eye contact, fingers burying themselves in your hair. You began to suck and bob your head up and down. The room filled with his moans and whimpers. Spencer grabbed your hair and thrust himself into you, making a pornographic sound as his cock hit the back of your throat.

“Sorry,” he breathed. 

You pulled away. “Do you want me to keep going?” 

Spencer took a moment to think about it. “Lay back.” 

You leaned back. Spencer pulled you closer to the edge of the bed by your knees. You giggled at the action. “Eager?” 

“Very.” 

He made a point to slick his fingers with your wetness before he circled your clit with his middle finger, easy and slowly, his lips parted as he looked down. You let out a whispered moan of his name as you tugged at his brown locks, his tongue swirling against your nerves enough to make your knees shake. He pulled one of your thighs over his shoulder as his tongue pressed into you, making you yelp at the contact. 

“That’s it, Y/N. Louder,” he mocked, a warm breath clouding over your heat.

Hearing his wet mouth against your wet pussy was such a nice sound. The sound alone could get you hot and heavy. He sucked at your clit gently, then harshly, then broke away from it fully just to lick back up again. Your legs got harder and harder to keep open, so he put his hands back on them again helping you out. You were moaning out his name along with curses. His mouth really does drive you insane. 

Your stomach tightened, your legs shook more violently. You were close to your climax, and of course Spencer noticed this. He momentarily detached from you to tease you one last time before your orgasm.

“Gonna make a mess?” You hear from between your legs. You can’t help but nod.

“Yes- yes fuck!” His mouth is back on you, causing you to moan loudly. You keep saying his name, and you would be wiggling around if it weren’t for his amazing grip. Your body does a full on tremble as you orgasm all on his mouth and chin. Your body relaxes, legs fall open naturally, arms stilled after releasing all that pent up energy from holding them back. You feel the bed dip as his arms come up to rest against the side of your body.

His hair falls around you both before your lips meet for a kiss. He nips at your lower lip as you open your mouth, tongues lay against each other and swirl, causing you to taste yourself. His left hand slides down to your waist, giving it a squeeze. His mouth moves down to your left side, kissing your throat. Your legs hook onto and around his back, bringing him closer.

“Is this the part where you fuck me?” You ask impatiently.

“Getting there” he says in your ear. He gets up off of you, helping your hips shimmy back further up the bed so half your body isn’t on the edge anymore. Your head is now back on the pillows and his full body can hover over you now. 

Spencer settles himself between your open legs. “You’re the cutest thing” he blurts, followed by that golden smile of his. He starts kissing at the swell of your breast, still smiling. He then pops your left nipple into his mouth, his hand on the opposite breast finds your other nipple. He pinches and squeezes it while his hot mouth is on the other. His sucking sounds and the pleasure he’s giving you makes your head go further into the pillows with a sigh. You want his dick in you already but instead his mouth finds his way to the other breast.

“I just want you to fuck me.” You whimper, sounding so desperate that you surprise your own ears.

“Really? How bad?” His head began to lift from off your chest. He eyed your face, reading the expression. “As you wish.” 

He pushes gently into you, watching as your eyes shut at the pressure of him entering. You nodded, biting your lip, trying to adjust to him. He felt amazing, too–entirely flush inside you, full and hard, already hitting your g-spot without even moving and ever so gently pressing against your clit. 

Spencer started to move back and forth gently, not even close to a full thrust, easing in and out of you just slightly. You were already clenched around him so tight that you figured he couldn’t do much anyway, but after a minute you were more acclimated and he was slicker, and he started to work up a momentum that made you start to gasp and moan quietly in front of him.

His hands were gripping your hips far harder than he was thrusting, but not long after you reached one hand down to rub your clit, Spencer reached up, bracing himself on the headboard. His free hand held your hips and suddenly his pace changed– from hasty and rushed to slow but hard, slamming into you and knocking you forward with a loud groan. He did it again, and again, and you cried out louder with each thrust right into the deepest parts of you.

“Oh,” he cooed condescendingly, “are you having trouble keeping quiet?” 

You could feel yourself already on the verge of another orgasm. Spencer whimpered, groaning loudly. 

“Spencer!” You cried, clamping a hand over your mouth. 

He let out a breathy chuckle. “Let them hear,” he grunted. 

You felt your blood rushing through your body and your heart beating rapidly again. You gripped his forearm. You let out nothing but expletives and his name, practically chanting. Spencer obviously found this amusing, his pace fast and hard. 

“Fuck,” you moaned, back arching as your legs trembled. The wave of pleasure crashed, evident by the way you clenched around him.

He echoed the word back into your ear. “I’m gonna-” 

“Do it,” you whined. You reached your hand up to lace your fingers through his hair, still trying to recover yourself, and he bucked into you a few more times before you felt him cum inside you, a rush of warm wet intermingling with yours.

His hips stilled apart from the occasional shudder that still rippled through him and vibrated against yours. He sat back, a satisfied look in his eyes as he admired the state he’d left you in. You propped yourself up on your elbows, catching your breath. Your eyes locked, and you both burst into laughter, the sound filling the room.

"We are so fired," you smiled, reaching forward to tuck a stray strand of hair behind his ear.

Spencer chuckled, shaking his head slightly. "So much for keeping us a secret," he mumbled, lying down beside you. He looked up at the ceiling, his fingers brushing against yours.

You turned to face him, the intimacy of the moment lingering between you. "Does this mean our fight is over?" you asked softly, a hint of vulnerability in your voice.

Spencer turned his head to meet your gaze, his expression serious. "I think our fight was over the moment we realized how much we care about each other," he said softly, his fingers intertwined with yours.

"Thank God," you sighed, a smile tugging at your lips. "Otherwise, facing everyone in the morning would be even more awkward."

Spencer's eyes widened slightly as the realization dawned on him. "Oh no," he muttered, lying back down beside you. "We do have to face them in the morning, don't we?"

You couldn't help but laugh at his sudden awareness. "Yes, we do. And trust me, they'll have a field day with this."

Spencer groaned, covering his face with his hands. "I didn't even think about that. They're never going to let us live this down."

You propped yourself up on your elbow, looking down at him with a playful grin. "Well, I guess we'll just have to face the music together. Besides, it's not like we can keep it a secret now."

He peeked at you through his fingers, a small smile forming despite his initial horror. "You're right. And honestly, I don't care what they say."

You leaned over and kissed him softly, feeling a sense of calm and happiness. Spencer's lips responded to yours, the kiss deepening as his hand found its way to the small of your back, pulling you closer. The warmth of his body against yours sent a shiver of desire down your spine, and you couldn't help but let out a soft sigh of contentment. His hand slid up your back, his fingers tangling in your hair as he captured your lips in a more fervent kiss. The intensity of the kiss grew, your bodies pressing together as the need for each other became undeniable. You could feel the heat between you building, the tension from earlier melting away as you lost yourselves in each other.

His hands roamed your body, exploring every curve and contour, while your fingers traced the muscles of his back, eliciting a low groan from him. The sound sent a thrill through you, spurring you on as you deepened the kiss, your tongues dancing together in a passionate embrace.

 He broke the kiss for a moment, his breath ragged as he looked down at you, his eyes dark with desire. "I want you," he whispered, his voice hoarse with longing.

You gazed up at him, your own desire mirrored in your eyes. "Then take me," you whispered back, your hands gripping his shoulders as you pulled him down for another searing kiss.

Bonus: 

Morgan was the first to notice, his eyebrows shooting up as he caught the faint sounds. He tilted his head, trying to discern what he was hearing. "Hey, do you guys hear that?" He had only heard the thumping. It wasn’t until they silenced that they heard it loud and clear. Emily held her hand over her mouth as JJ stood in the middle of the room, toothbrush in hand and a mouth full of toothpaste. Morgan sat on the couch, staring at the floor. They had been in the middle of a rundown of their weekend plans. 

“Spencer!”

Another groan muffled through the wall. 

JJ, who had been making notes in her journal, paused and listened carefully. A moment later, her eyes widened, and she stifled a laugh. "Oh my God. Are they...?"

Emily shook her head. “They have been going at it all week.” 

JJ chuckled. “And I guess they’ll be going at it all night, too.” 

Morgan sighed, shaking his head. He pulled out the sleeper sofa, revealing a worn but comfortable looking mattress. Emily dialed the front desk for an extra pillow and blanket. The clerk arrived soon after with the bedding, offering with a knowing smile to inform the noisy neighbors of their volume. Morgan waved it off with a chuckle. The three friends continued talking softly amongst themselves as they settled in, periodically interrupted by muffled sounds from the room next door.

"I mean, good for them, but did they have to pick the room right next to ours?"

Morgan chuckled, shaking his head. "Reid's full of surprises. I never would've pegged him for being so bold."

Emily smirked, her eyes sparkling with playful curiosity. "Think we should knock on the wall and let them know we can hear them?"

JJ snorted, covering her mouth to stifle her laughter. "That would be so mean, but part of me really wants to."

Morgan leaned back in his chair, enjoying the moment. "Nah, let them have their fun. It's about time Reid loosened up a bit.” 

The trio settled back into their previous activities, the noise from next door gradually subsiding into quiet murmurs and the occasional muffled laugh. The room fell into a comfortable silence, each of them starting to feel the exhaustion of the day catching up. Just as they were beginning to drift off, the sounds from next door started up again. This time, it was unmistakable – soft gasps and the rhythmic creak of the bed.

Morgan groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes. "You have got to be kidding me."

[theealbatross]

fight the alchemy (s.s)

Plot | After a tumultuous year, Sebastian’s life was finally okay – passable, up-to-scratch, satisfactory. And he had just almost reached peace – when his brilliant, painfully observant, carelessly crude genius of a friend, Garreth Weasley, started pointing out unnecessary facts that could rip all that harmony to shreds.

or, Garreth asks why Sebastian isn’t dating you. Sebastian spirals.

Tags | fluff, sebastian is a thought daughter, low self esteem, seb is a playboy BUT NOT REALLY, horny thots but we keep it pg, insecurity so deep you try to fight cupid, cupid fights back

An Ashwinder’s wand to his neck and Sebastian could honestly and truly say that he was … alright.

Life wasn’t perfect, by any means. His uncle was murdered dead, an estranged twin sister in Paris who refuses to answer his letters, a mistrustful Ominis that breathes on his neck, and a tattered companionship that was barely hanging on by a thread.

But he was okay.

Thankfully, Solomon was still dead, Anne was still alive, and still cranky Ominis is now open to reconciliation. Plus, if all else had fallen, he at least managed to save your cherished friendship thanks to your forgiving nature.

Thus, as thanks to the people who had not yet given up on him, he had sworn to live the rest of his academic life as a meek, unassuming, law-abiding student of Hogwarts.

And he did such a good job at it.

The professors are now impressed at his steadily increasing grades (so much so that the Ravenclaws are now finally seeing him as a threat again) and he even managed to make Imelda’s team as her beater to keep him occupied.

The latter, however, had a grating consequence – he had become popular.

It was thrilling, at first, he went on dates to make up for the years he had lost, kissed the pretty girls because it felt like he should (as one of the few bastards lucky enough to live every raging teenager’s dream), and accepted the slaps on the face politely when they inevitably broke up.

But now he’s just gotten tired and bored of it all.

Ominis says it’s a genius’ folly, to always find a fault in something and then drop it when it doesn’t quite meet his standard of perfect. Leander says he’s just a bastard.

He cups his face with his hand, wincing. Her fucking ring caught on his skin and he can’t be arsed to suffer through the bitterness of a Wiggenweld Potion for a mere scratch.

Garreth doesn’t bother to swallow his bread before saying, “Really, mate? I thought you liked this one?”

“Liked her rack, more likely,” Andrew quipped from his seat on the stone steps of the boathouse.

Sebastian threw his scarf on his face, satisfied at his squawk.

“No talking about my ex-girlfriends,” he warned. It was one of his few rules when it came to his male friends. He may be a bastard but as someone with a sister and a couple of good female friendships, he makes it a point to never become one of those losers who talk badly about women they have a history with. Just so he can have a moral high ground when he beats up anyone who might do it to his friends.

“All right, all right,” Andrew raised his hands in playful surrender, throwing Sebastian’s scarf back to him. “But as your friend, I think it’s about time you stop swapping out girls every time you get bored of them.”

“I don’t swap them out,” he rolls his eyes. “Breakups are normal.”

“Breakups are normal,” Garreth points out. “Six breakups in 2 years is an issue.”

“Maybe I’m just meant for the bachelor life,” he mumbles, ignoring the pointed accusation from Garreth. Fucking perceptive prick. “Not everyone gets to meet their soulmate in Hogwarts, asshole.”

Garreth grins, “Natty’s great, isn’t she?”

Sebastian and Andrew both throw their scarves at him, the three of them bursting out in laughter and boos.

“To the Three Broomsticks, then?” Andrew stood up, patting his pants.

As 7th years it was nearly impossible to take a breather with the looming threat of exams that will dictate the rest of your life and the inescapable trap of adulthood that awaits them in a couple of months. So, his friends had made it a point to at least go out once every week whenever they could, really take advantage of their last year as students where they had no other responsibility but to survive the week.

In a year’s time, seeing each other as often as they do will be nothing short of a miracle.

“Leander and Everett are already there, saved up a table since it’s a Friday, it’s gonna be packed full,” Andrew explains.

Sebastian looks around, eyes scanning the castle in the setting sun. “You go on ahead I’m waiting for –”

“Sebastian!”

A flash of movement appeared rushing down the stairs towards the boathouse, your face beaming as you waved to the three of them. When you were a foot away from him you jumped into his arms, shrieking energetically when he grabbed your waist and lifted you above his head.

“Sorry, I’m late,” you pant, smiling at your friends once you’re back on the ground. “Professor Hecate asked me to stay back for a minute, something about revisions on my research.”

“I can’t believe you got permission to research in The Restricted Section after the crazy nonsense you pulled in 5th year,” Garreth shook his head. Sebastian wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his side, beaming in pride. Nobody knows but the two of you that the very thing you were researching were the technicalities of how you broke Anne’s curse so it could be taught to the nurses in St. Mungos and hopefully spread to the rest of wizardkind.

“It’s exactly because I had the nerve to break the rules that I was given the honorable opportunity,” you dramatically curtsied. “And they said Gryffindors were the brave ones.”

That made Sebastian laugh. Garreth blinks, eyes squinting at him for a second but he doesn’t look offended, more … focused on Sebastian.

“Alright, no more of that House Rivalry. Quidditch Season is over,” Andrew quips.

“Wiped your asses there too, Larson,” he quipped, Andrew’s jaw drops, looking at Garreth for help and receiving none. He was still staring at Sebastian, eyes shifting between him and you.

Andrew groans. “Slytherins are assholes.”

Slytherins are, apparently, also light-weights.

Well, at least one of them is.

He adjusts his hold on your body as the other hand wraps his coat around your body properly. After your last ‘improved’ butterbeer you had slumped into his lap, rudely snoozing off on the crook of his neck and refusing to wake up even when it was time for your group to leave – not that he would’ve allowed that to happen, with your demanding research it was a miracle to get you to sleep let alone let loose.

The rest of the group had gone in first to scope the scenery and bribe the patrolling Head students with leftover chips while he and Garreth were stuck carrying you and an unconscious Amit that they had managed to catch last-minute in Hogsmeade. Poor bastard.

“I was thinking –”

“Please don’t,” he groans.

“Why have you two never dated?”

Sebastian stops his fussing, barely able to use his head to ensure he keeps walking, and continue to Act Normal, now using both of his hands to hold you tighter.

“You’re drunk,” he deflects. The puffs of your breath warm his entire body.

“Because! When I think about it …”

Please, for the love of the great Merlin stop thinking.

“You’ve been inseparable from the start! I can’t believe it’s escaped my notice you’ve never dated. You say your past relationships got boring and got annoying but you’ve never been bored and annoyed with her and you’ve been friends for years!”

Bored with you? He’s had more near-fatal heart attacks because of you than breakups. Sebastian barely had the time to be bored. And sometimes you do get at each other’s throats but it was always fixed after a proper conversation. If his killing his uncle couldn’t turn you away then he doubts anything you do could ever turn him away.

“Plus, with all the respect and love to my beautiful darling Natty, she’s a fucking catch, mate!”

If Garreth wasn’t carrying a sinless half-dead Amit, Sebastian would’ve punched him in his mouth just to stop him from talking.

“I’m just saying,” Garreth walks ahead of him, clearly aware of the fuse he had just lit. Sebastian was tempted to kick the back of his knees just for the satisfaction of seeing him fall.  “Maybe you can join the club and find your soulmate in Hogwarts.”

Garreth winks.

“We’re still accepting members.”

He’s decided.

He needs to kill Garreth.

He has not been able to sleep properly for the past week and it’s all because of that ginger prick and his needless remarks.

“Why have you two never dated?”

Sebastian’s pencil cracks in his hand.

“Is he alright?” he hears an underclassman whisper on the other table. He glances at them and they flinch. Quickly, he softens his expression ("You really need to stop scowling at people, Sebastian."), unaware he had glared at them and sent a wary smile in apology. It would just be unfair to aim his ire at innocent people when he could just use it to rip out every strand of Weasley’s hair.

“He’s been staring at that page for an hour. Maybe we should call –”

He stands up, escaping.

Sebastian never realized just how much he spent his time with you until people were looking at him funny when he was walking or sitting alone in public places. At first, he thought there had been crumbs on his face or one of his asshole friends stuck a note on his back like a kid. Plus, he hadn’t been feeling his best since that night but he thought it had been the lack of sleep.

It wasn’t until he had met Imelda on the grounds that he found his answer:

“Where’s the rest of you?”

He blinked at his captain, “I’m sorry?”

She shook her head. “Man, it feels weird seeing you alone. Did you guys have a fight? You’re usually shadowing her like a puppy after class.”

Then everything clicks, the strange looks, the feeling of missing something (like a forgotten important homework after he had reached the top of the Astronomy Tower) – it’s been a side effect of avoiding you.

Okay, it’s not that he’s avoiding you per se. He just needs space. He needs to think and he finds that can’t do that once he feels your eyes on him. With his luck, you’re going to see right through him and that would just be unideal if not a fucking catastrophe.

That’s why he’s taken it upon himself to stay off your way until he puts his thoughts in a row and finally screws his head on straight again. Or he could just kill Garreth, get sent straight to Azakaban, and avoid confronting these complicated thoughts altogether.

“I can’t believe it’s escaped my notice you’ve never dated!”

He sits on a bench, hands on his head as he let out a prolonged groan, “The fucking bastard.”

Why did he have to point it out? Why did Garreth have to bring what he, upon reflection, had buried on the back of his head, just waiting for that one little flick of acknowledgment before it blew his brains out.

Because Sebastian is a lot of things but he’s not a fucking moron.

It’s not that the thought of being together is unpleasant. If he lets himself consider it his chest feels like it would escape his ribcage both in excitement and utter terror.

But Garreth was right: he’d never thought about it before – hadn’t thought the idea was conceivable in this reality.

He has a feeling it was his way of preserving whatever pure relationship he had left. He’s not exactly rich with true companionship and he’s not idiotic enough to risk it all over a bloody crush. 

And not just any crush – his best friend, the person who saved his life and then helped him rebuild it when he was finished smashing it to pieces. The one who never turned her back even when his blood had given up. The girl who has a line of eligible bachelors following her on their knees for a single chance, ones who could offer her more than he ever could – ones who could offer her the world.

So, yeah – forgive him, but he’s never really allowed himself to entertain the idea of them dating. Sebastian has tested his luck enough.

Unless the roles switch and he gets to save the wizarding world this time then maybe … yeah, maybe -- maybe in another fucking life.

The thought makes him stand up, walking straight out of the campus to hopefully drown the sorrows of the depressing state of his love life with the best fire whiskey Hogshead could offer. How does he even move on from this? How does he make peace with the fact that he has sealed his fate of living the rest of his life alone? 

It’s impossible, he’s decided. Even if he graduates at the top of the classes he is taking and gets accepted into the Auror Programme that Sharp had recommended him for, their social standing is still heavens apart. He’s an orphan, with a husk of an extended family and no money to his name.

It wouldn’t matter to you, never really cared for pure bloodlines or lineages and he knows anyone who brings that up when they’re courting you will receive the most disgusted look on your face. 

But he cares – you are the most special person in his life. He wants the best for you. And the best is not something he can provide.

His depressing thoughts halt as his steps falter, a familiar scent tickling his nose. A familiar scent that leads straight into the Forbidden Forest. When he looks up to the sky, he realizes the sun has almost finished setting.

She can’t be that reckless, right?

He was barely surprised when he chanted the incantation that triggered the charm they had both put in their necklaces, the sparkling thread leads straight into the forest. And if he knows you half as well as he thinks he does then he knows exactly where it’s gonna lead to.

There goes his late-night plan.

It isn’t exactly his first jaunt in the forbidden space but it still gives him the creeps especially so close to the night. Why you’re so fond of the place is something he’ll never understand.

But that’s just the way you were, just another part of your quirks that makes you so endearing.

How you throw your head back when you laugh, that you get so cranky when you’re studying that no one dares to approach you but him, even the way you messily eat your favorite chocolate pastry of the week yet never fail to share a piece with him.

With this new revelation, he bitterly accepts the reason for his philandering ways. That he simply is another prick who is coping with not being able to attain the love of his life at the expense of those poor girls.

His self-condemnation however was cut short when he heard the waterfall, not being able to help the smirk on his face when he turned the corner and found you just as he had expected: in the middle of the clear, dark, water, floating carelessly on your back.

Gods, you are a beauty. He’s always thought so, the entire male population in Hogwarts thought so too. If they somehow get to break through your walls and manage to get to know you, he might just have to beat them away with an actual stick.

“Sebastian,” you smile, his heart stops. “I knew you’d find me.”

You swim to him gracefully, barely disturbing the water with only your eyes above the water but there was no hiding the grin in your face. Like a pitiful sailor seduced by a siren, his feet dragged him to the edge, a short ledge above from where you were looking up at him.

“You left your scent on purpose,” he states, kneeling to get a closer look at you. What a beauty – mischievous, cunning, irresistible. He’s never loved anyone more. “Naughty, naughty, darling.”

She pulls herself up the ledge, their faces inches away from each other. He nails his eyes to yours so they wouldn’t be tempted to look down at your soaking figure cloaked only by a thin chemise “I had to get you somehow, knew you couldn’t resist a damsel in distress.”

“Funny,” he softly glares, chuckling when she preens, clearly satisfied that her plan worked perfectly. “With all the water in the Black Lake, you had to pick the Forbidden Forest to swim in.”

You dip yourself back down in the water, swimming away but still facing him. “Come, Sebastian. I’ve been bored all week since you’ve been avoiding me.”

Guilt runs through his spine at the sudden coldness in your offhanded comment. Clearly, his absence hasn’t escaped your notice as he had hoped.

Like a scolded pup, he follows your command to a T. Eyes never leaving your floating figure as he removed his coat, folding it neatly along with the rest of his clothes until he was left in his underclothes.

He winces at the touch of the freezing water. A heating charm would do wonders but the way your unsympathetic eyes never left his figure gave him a feeling that this was a punishment he was meant to endure.

He steels himself, diving into the water and only resurfacing when he is right in front of you. “You called?”

“You’re so fucking full of yourself,” you splash the cold water at him, shrieking when he reaches out for your arms and barely managing to slip away.

He dives again, grinning at your confused flounder, until you realize your mistake, looking down just as he catches your waist, your surprised shriek, and his unrestrained laughter breaks through the quiet of the forest.

“You done running now, pet?” he locks his hands on your back, pushing you close until he is carrying both your weight in the water, chin resting on your chest as your hands run through his soaking hair.

Your darkened hair frames your face, like a sheer curtain it drops, teasing his cheeks, and hiding your conversation from the rest of the forest – in the dimness, your eyes have never been more radiant, even if it was clearly pissed at him.

Skinship wasn’t foreign between the two of you. When you’ve saved each other’s lives from certain death more times than you care to count, cuddling is the least of your worries.

But there is something about the forest's silence, the sparse moonlight that peaks through the dense trees, the sound of the droplets falling from your hair to the water, and the distant echoes of the animals that make everything intimate. -- more intimate than usual.

“Are you?” you throw his question back at him mercilessly, your hands on the back of his neck, locking his face to look up at you – finally at you. The weeklong separation had been torture and now that the distance had cut his regular contact with his favorite witch, he finally realized how fast his heart was beating when he was around her.

He smiles.

He was satisfied, he swore he was.

Sebastian’s life was finally okay – passable, up-to-scratch, satisfactory. He shouldn’t strive for more, couldn’t allow himself that luxury – the luxury of love, the luxury of you.

But as he stares at your eyes, as he feels the ice in your skin, as he imagines a future where it wasn't him that gets to bite the plump of your lips – that dirty, greedy part of him crawls out of the hole he had shoved it in.

He feels it win.

“Are you done running now?” you whisper, a droplet falls from the tip of your nose to the space just below his eyes, his breath hitches, like your magnetic presence had sucked out all the air of the forest.

“I wasn’t running,” she raises a brow, and Sebastian presses his lips to your ears. “I was thinking.”

“And?”

Leander was right: he really is a bastard.

But he’s a bastard who will no longer wait for another life to love you. He's a bastard who will get what he wants.

“I think,” he whispers, at peace. “I think I’m gonna marry you someday.”

[am-i-interrupting]

Affection | Vox x Fem!Reader

Summary: Vox and Valentino get into it. Vox looks for a way to get payback and stumbles upon you. He didn’t expect you to actually care.

Warnings: sex work, a bit of a mommy kink

He was used to the petty yelling, the constant spats, even the object throwing. What crossed the line was when he had to replace his screen.

Vox and Valentino got into a lot of arguments, normally started by the latter instead of the former. This one was bad though. Vox didn’t even want to think about it but it was all that was on his mind.

He was angry.

He was angry because it was easier to be angry rather than something else, something more vulnerable. He didn’t want to and couldn’t afford to be vulnerable right now. He had to hold onto this anger so he didn’t go crawling back to Valentino.

Currently, he was at his desk, looking through documents about ads that were just waiting for Vox’s stamp of approval. He stumbled upon yours and he paused.

He recognized you. Why?

He copied your name into a search bar and looked at your Sinstagram profile. Flipping through the pictures, he found one of you at a bar and that’s when he remembered.

Valentino tried to contract you and you’d basically laughed at him. You’d tossed back a shot and then turned to Valentino, asking if he needed you to pay for it since he was clearly so desperate for new recruits as he was only preying on people too stupidly drunk to realize how bad of an idea it was to say yes. Oh, he remembered Valentino seething that night.

He approved your ad but he couldn’t get you out of his head. He opened the closed tag again as he actually read through your ad.

You were advertising music. Which, when say side by side with your Sinstagram made sense as he saw a picture of you with Verosika Mayday. There wasn’t really anything interesting on the advert.

He scrolled up to the top of your Sinstagram in order to look at them in order from most to least relevant. That is when he caught sight of a link in your bio. He clicked it.

He was brought to a website. He wasn’t sure what he expected but he did raise an eyebrow nonetheless. It was an escort sight. A home page that had you and several other people scantily dressed with a description of what every person and the services you offered.

Maybe he was being more vindictive than he thought because he immediately clicked on the tab that sent him to your page and booked a time with you.

It was far out, months away in fact. He honestly had forgotten about it until he got an email the week before asking if he was still available and inviting him to a pre-session consultation. Not willing to back out and have it potentially mess with his image, he made the time.

He logged into a video call several days later and was greeted with you in the middle of putting on your makeup.

“Well, hello, Mr. Vox,” you said with a soft purr. He replied with a formal greeting of your name. “You’re a busy guy and I’m a busy gal so I’ll keep this quick. This is just a little meeting for boundaries. I know it bothers some people to make them in person so I’ve found this to be an easier way.

“I’ll go first. No hickies, no bruises, no scratches, no cuts, no burns, just no marks. It might be pretty and fun in the moment but it costs me later. Not everyone enjoys having sex with someone who’s clearly had it with someone else not long before. It may be part of my work but people do like an illusion.

“I don’t do bondage where I’m the one tied up. It’s nothing personal, just a safety issue. On the topic of safety, if you bring in anything that could be used as a weapon. I’m done and you’re leaving. All I need from you is that pretty little body of yours and payment. I’ll provide the rest.

“On the topic of payment, I know you’ve already made your upfront payments for this little consultation. The rest can be brought when you come in cash. Any questions so far?”

He surprised himself by saying, “Not so far, no.”

You we’re far more thorough than he thought. He’d bought time before but it was never this professionally done, even by Valentino’s standards. Granted, with Valentino’s sex workers, there was really only one rule, payment upfront. He didn’t give a fuck about anything else.

You though? You had clearly given this a lot of thought on all parts.

“Good, I’m glad,” you said. “Those are my hard rules. Everything else is a little more flexible. So, tell me, what is it you want from tonight?”

“To have a good time.”

“Of course, we all want to have a good time, Vox, but I’m talking specifics. Don’t be naive,” you said. “I have full confidence you know better. Maybe it’d be easier if I told you what I’m best at.”

The lid of your lipstick clicked closed. You looked at the camera, looking at him directly on his screen by proxy, for the first time.

“I can do just about anything your cold, dead heart desires but I enjoy specific things more than others. I’m a bit of a dominatrix, I’d you will. I enjoy the power and control of giving people what they need instead of what they want. How does that sound to you?”

“It sounds to me like a very overlord thing to do,” he replied.

“Not there yet,” you said. “So, is that the role you prefer to play?”

“It’s one I play often.”

“Yes, I’ve gathered that but do you prefer it?”

Vox didn’t know why he didn’t just say yes. He should have. It went with his image to say yes and that’s why he was still agreeing to do this even though he and Valentino weren’t on the worst of terms right now.

He hadn’t crawled back to Valentino yet. It’d been one of their longer spells away from one another. Five months without even falling back into bed once.

Perhaps that’s why he said what he said. He was pent up. He hadn’t had time to unwind and the person he normally would go to for that he was still upset with. That’s the reason he’d go with anyway.

“It’s the role I play most often,” he said.

“But is it the role you like?” you asked. When he didn’t answer you smiled, a more genuine one than any flirty or sarcastic one you’d shot his way before. “Stubborn, I’ll keep that noted.”

“I am not—“

“You’re proving my point. Now,” you stood up and rummaged through a drawer he couldn’t see, “pick a set for me.”

For the next several hours, Vox felt like he couldn’t focus. He was nervous. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been nervous over a one night stand.

He left early, leaving his assistant with double the workload but he didn’t care. He just needed to be out of the building.

He took Vark out on a walk to pass time but it still went by so slowly. It took what felt like days for it to finally be time to leave.

He’d call it considerate that he left without his usual suit jacket, waistcoat, and tie but in reality, he felt so hot, constricted with them on.

He traveled through the cameras and arrived at the address he’d been given, not a single person having seen him.

He knocked on the door and that sense of security was promptly shattered when it opened and he heard someone say, “Holy shit!” in response to seeing him.

He glared at the offending person as he stepped in. He recognized them from being pictured on your website. They quickly spun around and continued doing whatever it was they were in the process of.

He was led to a room which when opened revealed you inside. You were wearing a shear robe that gave him a peak at what was hiding underneath.

“I was promised secrecy,” he said. “Not to be gawked at by the employees.”

“So you don’t want to be gawked at me?” you asked. You smiled at your own joke. “Everyone here is under contracted lock and key to not say a single word about what goes on inside these walls. You’re image will be fine.”

“Contracted?”

“You said I had the makings of an overlord,” you replied. “Why are you suddenly surprised that I have contracts? Don’t worry, I assure you they’re much more ethically sourced than your co-worker’s.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Speaking of,” you said as you took several steps towards him, “why are you here? I’d imagine you could have any of Valentino’s contracted cash free. Why waste it on me? I’m not exactly cheap.”

You held out your hand and he reached into a pocket to retrieve the other part of your payment. You swiftly began counting it.

“You fuck one of Valentino’s pets, you’ve fucked them all,” he said. “They’re all too scared to be any fun after a while.”

“As much as I know that’s a true statement—“ you put the cash in a drawer of the bedside table— “I don’t believe it.”

He felt his eye twitch. “And what exactly would you—“

“Why don’t you take off your shirt and lay on the bed?” You walked towards him and ran your hands up his torso. “Or I could take it off for you.”

You began unbuttoning his shirt and for some reason, it made him drop all his irritation. When you finished, you bent down and licked all the way up his torso. You kissed and nipped at his collar bone.

His hands went to your sides but you spatted them away. The shirt fell to the ground.

You looked up at him, like you were daring him to kiss you. However, when he went to do just that, you stepped away.

“On the bed face down, mister,” you told him.

He huffed. Despite his mind telling him to grab you and pull you in for a kiss, take you and remind you of who exactly you were messing with, his body followed your instructions.

The mattress dipped as you straddled him. Something popped open (he tensed), a bottle clinked as it was set on the table, and then the sound of you rubbing your hands together went through the air.

Your hands, warm against his skin and slick with oil, began to rub up and down his back.

“Why are you here, Vox?” you asked. “I’m not stupid. I keep up with the news. Did you think I wouldn’t notice that the day you made an appointment was the same day you updated your status to single again? It’s still single now so what happened?”

“Nothing happened,” he said.

“Uh-huh, and the fact that you visibly tensed as soon as I mentioned Valentino is just a coincidence,” you said. “Everything you say in these walls stays within them.”

“You’re the one who made the contracts,” he said. “You’re not under them.”

“True, but—“

You began to apply pressure with your thumb, grinding your thumb and hand in circles along his back.

“Oh, fuck.”

“—I also made them,” you said, basically repeating his words. “It means I place value in confidentiality.”

“Or covering you’re own— oh, fuck, right there— your own ass.”

“I could be.”

You leaned down and he felt toy trap his entire torso beneath you. He liked the feeling. He liked the feeling of you over him.

You got close to his face, “But I think we both know I’m not.” You moved back and he mourned the feeling as soon as it was gone. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. You’re just very obviously tense and not just physically.”

You punctuated your sentence by rolling the palm of your hand at the base of his neck before squeezing it lightly. He couldn’t hold back a moan at the feeling of some tension leaving his body.

You continued on like that in silence for a while. You were working out the knots in his muscles and he was basically putty beneath your hands.

He’d never been treated like this before. He had couldn’t remember the last time he felt loose. There was always some kind of feeling of unease he constantly carried.

He didn’t even know he needed this because he’d never known that he could have it.

You leaned to once again lay over him but this time he could feel the entire weight of your body instead of just your warmth. You wrapped your arms underneath his shoulders and placed a kiss to his neck.

“Are you alright to continue?” you asked him as you nuzzled against his shoulder blade.

“I—“ He tried to search for some witty or snarky remark to make but all he could come up with was, “Yes.”

You cooed at him and slipped your hands out from underneath him to rub his back as you got off him. “Using your words, what a good boy,” you said and he hated, hated how that made him feel so warm inside. “Can you turn around for me? Yes, good.”

He closed his eyes and refused to look at you. You laughed but it didn’t feel mean. That didn’t make him feel any less embarrassed, however.

You did a wider, full handed version of the back massage you’d given him to his front as you began to roll your hips against his. He couldn’t hold back a whine.

“Oh, so pretty,” you said. “Such pretty noises from such a pretty boy.”

“Fuck,” it came out weak and pathetic.

Well, it was fitting then because that’s how he felt, weak and pathetic. Such simply praise shouldn’t be so effective.

“How does that feel?” you asked. “Come on, be a good boy. Tell me. Tell me how to make you feel good, baby.”

You were kissing on his neck and shoulders now.

“Good,” he choked out.

You hummed against his skin.

He could feel his fingers flex. His arms moved. He stopped them. He wanted to touch. He should be able to touch. He should be able to do what he wanted. He was the fucking Vox, overlord and creator of the biggest tech company in Hell. He shouldn’t need permission to do something.

You grabbed his hands and brought them up to the knot of your robe.

“You can touch me, baby,” you told him.

A whine forced its way out of his throat no matter how much he tried to keep it at bay.

He opened his eyes and you were so beautiful, grinding against him like you were made to. He could feel his cock straining against his pants. He wanted them off.

He settled for untying your robe. It fell to reveal the deep blue set he’d chosen for you earlier that day. It was sheer enough to show off your nipples through the cross crossed pattern of the bra. There was a silver chain that draped between the cups and further framed your breasts. Some traps went around your torso as part of the garter belt which held up your similarly colored stockings. You looked gorgeous.

You laughed and guided his hands up to your waist. Then up to your tits.

“I love the way you keeping whining for me,” you said. “You’re like a little pup.” Your eyes honed on his neck and your hand followed your gaze. You pressed on his neck, just enough to add some pressure. “That neck of yours looks like it was made to be collared and leashed.”

“Oh fuck.”

You leaned closer to his face. “Would you like that, baby?”

His fingers twitched around your breasts. He rubbed his thumbs over your clothes nipples as a silent apology. “Please.”

“Oh, such good manners.” You applied more pressure to his neck, not enough to cut off his air supply. He arched into your touch. “But not tonight. Some other time, I promise. I’ve got a feeling I’ll be seeing you plenty, baby.”

You went to nip at his neck. His hands wrapped around to your back to hold you in place. Your own traveled down his torso and to his belt.

You undid it. You pulled down his pants but not his underwear. You slipped from his grasp.

You put your hands on either side of his bulge and ran your fingers over it. His legs spread open further as he tried to push up but you quickly put an end to that little action.

Your hands on his hips, you hovered your head over him. You licked a stripe onto the fabric. You began to suck him off with the barrier of his boxers.

He knew he was whining. His eyes wanted to screw shut but he kept them open, too transfixed by the visage before him.

Your own eyes were closed. Your hands, perfectly constraining his boxers, were wrapped around his hips. The tips of your perfectly manicured hands were digging into his skin. Your tongue lulled out and lavished him.

He could cum from just this alone.

However, as soon as the thought came to him, you pulled away.

“No, no, no, please, please, let me come,” he said, words flowing from his mouth before he could stop them.

“Aw,” you said with a chuckle, “begging so soon? How sweet. Don’t worry, baby, you’ll get to come soon. I’ve just got to see that little dick of yours first.”

The small bit of degradation mixed with all the praise made him twitch.

He’d never gotten any negative comments on his dick before. Rather the opposite, Valentino had tried several times before to talk him into at least faceless camera work but he didn’t want to think of the moth right now.

You pulled his underwear down to reveal his cock. It was length, a deep blue like the rest of him except were it was flushed vibrantly at the tip. He was already leaking pre-come. Milky white against his flesh.

You leaned over to lick it up. His eyes rolled back at the simple action.

Your smirked before you took him all your mouth at once. You slowly pulled up and let your teeth pull at the hood of his tip.

“Shit, shit, shit!”

He thrusted up into what was now just air as he twitched, his whole body convulsing but he didn’t come. He was on the verge though.

You shushed him as you stroked his inner thigh with your nails.

“Be a good boy for me and hand me the lube,” you said before you began sucking on the skin above his pelvic bone.

His hand went to your hair as he closed his eyes and moaned. It took him a moment to open them again but you didn’t seem to mind. He didn’t feel rushed.

When was the last time he hadn’t felt rushed while having sex? He couldn’t even remember. It was always about getting back to work as soon as possible or Valentino’s quick hits. It was never really about him. It was about getting rid of his boner or Valentino’s as soon as possible.

He liked this. He liked this feeling of. . . being cared for?

God, he was so fucking pathetic. He could feel tears filling his eyes as he reached for the lube on the bedside table.

“Are you alright, baby?” you asked. “Do you need to stop.”

“Fuck, please don’t.”

“Okay, we don’t have to stop. We can keep on going,” you said as you poured some lube into your hands. “You just keep on being a good boy for me, alright? You can cry if you need to, baby. It’s okay to cry, you know.”

That permission made it worse. He felt his face flush as tears began to stream down his face. This was pathetic. He was pathetic. He shouldn’t be crying. He’d rarely ever cried. Much less during sex, especially sex that he was enjoying.

“Can you bend your— oh, such a good boy,” you said.

You hooked his bent knees over your legs and pulled him into your lap.

You wrapped your hands, covered in warm lube (when was the last time someone had took the time to warm up lube before touching him?), around his cock and began slowly twisting your hands up and down. He couldn’t stop the weak thrusts.

“I’m sorry,” he said, repeating the phrase like a prayer.

“Shhhh, baby, it’s okay,” you told him, petting his thigh. “You take what you need. You’ve been so good for me. So good. You deserve it.”

“Fuck.”

He threw his head back against the pillow and then looked down at you. He immediately met your eyes, so soft and understanding. It made his stomach queazy.

He watched as his dick slowly was covered then revealed by your hand. It curved around him so perfectly, glistening with a mixture of lube and the pre-come he was leaking. You twisted your hand in just the right way.

You covered his cock and then revealed the head. You thumb lingered and smeared the pre-come at his tip. The point of your nail ever so gently grazed his hole and that’s what did it.

The lights flickered in the room as he spasmed and came. His screen went blank as he blacked out.

A few seconds later, he came to with you by his side with a glass. You tilted his head up and cupped your hand under his lips as you forced him to drink, any water that spilled was dropped in your hand.

You grabbed a cloth and wipes at his screen.

“Are you okay, baby? Was that good?” you asked and he could only mutely nod. “Good.”

You went to pull him into an embrace but stopped and looked down at your body. “Do you wanna clean me up or do you want me to do it?”

He followed your gaze and saw his come covering your torso, a bit of it even clinging to your bra. He leaned to lick it off you. You reclined onto the thrown of pillows and let him, stroking his shoulders and arms as he did.

He licked up to your bra and then was met with the rough contrast of the lace-like fabric compared to your smooth skin. He reached around and undid the bra. You let it fall and he licked where the come had been. Then he began sucking on your breasts.

“Oh, fuck,” this time it was you.

Spurred on, he reached down between your thighs and began stroking. You were wet, so fucking wet. His fingers slid through your folds with no hint of resistance.

He rolled your clit between two knuckles.

“Oh, so good for mommy,” you said as you continued petting him. “So good.”

He whined at both the praise and the title you had given yourself.

He began stroking you with a different purpose now. He needed you to come. He looked up at you, still sucking on your tit. He needed to see it.

Your breath quickened. Your pets turned into a tight hold. It was your turn to whine as your head rolled back and your mouth lulled open.

“So good! So good for me, baby, just like that,” you said right before you became incoherent. You groaned and moved up into his touch.

He went back to the tower feeling better than he could ever remember. The set you’d worn tucked into his pant pocket. You insisted, saying you had plenty of other sets. Who was he to refuse?

“Where the fuck have you been?” Velvette asked.

“Out,” he said as he walked passed her, in no mood for her screeching.

“For over two hours with your location turned off? You didn’t even answer your fucking phone,” Valentino said, voice raising to nearly as yell towards the end.

“Yes,” Vox said as he continued walking.

He heard Valentino laugh as he must have seen the lingerie set in his back pocket. “Were you really so busy fucking a hole that you couldn’t answer me? I hope they were good.”

“Better than you ever were,” Vox said before he closed his bedroom door, unwilling to let his lax mood be ruined.

A few months later, Vox was still going to see you. Absolutely hooked and you both knew it but so were you. You didn’t even made him pay but he still slipped money into your pocket or your bra so he wouldn’t have to face the fact that he was getting attached.

That was all thrown out the window when you released a new song. He wasn’t even halfway through watching the music video before he disappeared and found you, pulling you in for a bruising kiss and you knew exactly why.

The imagery in the music video was obvious. Pink smoke trying to creep into your studio only to be blocked, a deep blue body, TV screens everywhere. Then there were the lyrics:

I can give my babe affection without any type of infliction

You were just an intermission but I’m the center of attention

I’ve got him collared and leashed right where he needs to be

He’s down on his knees begging me with please

Better than any of his fantasies

Yeah, I’ve got his attention without infliction

[aothotties]

Dont Piss Me Off- Sukuna

📸:villain_lady on IG

pairing: Sukuna x fem!reader

CW: established relationship, angry sex, rough sex, cnc kinda???, ass/pussy slapping, dom!sukuna, unprotected sex, creampie, mentions breeding, pet names, lil tiny fluff at the end

wc: 1.8k

You tried your best to stay calm but the fact that you spent the whole day cleaning the house while your boyfriend, Sukuna, did nothing had your blood boiling 

He typically helped and you both split the chores evenly but today he played his game the whole. Fucking. Day

Tears stung your eyes as you continued folding laundry. You wanted to walk into the room so bad, tear the game off the dresser, and toss it out the window but you knew the best thing to do was to try and talk it out calmly 

After you finished the laundry you walked in the room and decided to confront him

“Sukuna, we need to talk” you said with your arms crossed

He didn't even look away from his game to acknowledge you

“Im serious we need to talk,now” you raised your voice as you spoke 

“Yeah okay, in a minute Y/N i'm in the middle of this right now” he said as he continued to stare at the screen in front of him. 

That shit pushed you to your breaking point. After working hard all day making sure your house is spotless he had the audacity to brush you off??

“See this is the shit I'm talking about. Fuck you ,Sukuna, you do nothing but piss me off” you stated plainly even though you were fighting back tears

He finally looked up from the game and shit you a puzzled look. He was shocked to hear you cursing at him, something you rarely ever did.

You were glad that he was finally acknowledging you but the fact that it took you getting loud made you even angrier.

“You're pathetic. You seriously mean to tell me I have to talk to you like this to get your attention? Fucking ridiculous”

You turned to leave to room so you could take a minute to breathe but sukuna stood up and grabbed your arm

“What's your problem?” he asked while he held onto you 

“Don't touch me!” you yelled as you tried to push him with your free hand 

He quickly grabbed your other arm and lightly pinned both of them to your side so you couldn't move. You tried to get out of his grasp but he was too strong. You sighed in defeat and looked up at your boyfriend, tears running down your face 

“I have spent the whole entire day cleaning” you said between sniffs, “and not once did you get off your stupid game to help me”

“Why didn't you just ask me to help” he asked bluntly and shrugged his shoulders

His response did nothing but bring back your anger. You couldn't stand how nonchalant he was being. 

You tried getting out of his grip again and tried to push him away 

“The fuck off me suku-”

“Stop talking to me like that” he said, cutting you off

“No, you made me mad. You didn't do shit all day now you're acting like it's not a big deal. Boy fuck you!” you said angrily 

“Y/N” he spoke softly, “i'm going to ask you one more time to not talk to me like that. We can talk about this calm-”

It was now your turn to cut him off 

“Fuck talking calm! I tried coming in here to talk to you calmly and you ignored me. Now that I gotta get loud it's an issue? I dont give a fuck i really dont”

Sukuna looked down at you and clenched his jaw. The grip he had on both of your wrists tightened and he used his body to press you against the wall.

He hated when you talked to him like this. It was the one thing that he hated the most about you fighting with him. Cursing in your everyday talk never bothered him but cursing at him? He hated it 

He dropped one of your wrists and grabbed your jaw to force you to look up at him.

“I just told you not to curse at me but you still do it” he said through clenched teeth

“And I told you I don't care,” you mumbled. It was hard for you to speak with his hand on your jaw 

The grip tightened and you knew you wouldn't be able to respond anymore. You tried pushing him off you one more time but to no avail. Your large boyfriend was not budging.

Sukuna’s eyes darkened and he sighed out in frustration 

“You just can't listen, can you? You refuse to talk to me in a calm manner and now it’s come to this” he moved his face closer to yours as he spoke 

“Get on the bed right now” he commanded 

You tried to speak to say no but the grip he still held on your jaw made it impossible. You shook your head no and never broke eye contact with him.

No matter the circumstance you loved challenging Sukuna. You always liked to see how far you could push him.

He wasn't in the mood for your shit. He took your arm and dragged you to the bed and threw your body onto it as if you were a ragdoll.

“Don't piss me off Y/N” he said aggressively 

Your anger turned to lust and all your feelings rushed to your cunt. He had pissed you off by ignoring you but your attitude pissed him off even more and you knew exactly what you were going to get in return.

Sukuna flipped you onto your stomach and crawled over you. He grabbed a handful of your hair and pulled it so that you were looking up at him 

“You know i don't like when you don't listen, Y/N” he said to you 

“And i don't care” you said back, knowing it would push him over the edge  

He kissed his teeth and pushed your head down. He got off the bed and removed his shorts and briefs. His hard dick sprung out and you squirmed in anticipation of what was about to happen to your body.

He harshly smacked your ass causing it to sting.

 “stop moving” he said before grabbing your shorts and pulling them off in one swift motion, taking your soaking wet panties off with them.

He roughly grabbed your hips and lifted your ass in the air. Your pussy was on full display in front of him. He could see just how wet you were as your pussy throbbed around nothing 

He gave your cunt a harsh smack and you hissed from the pain mixed with pleasure.

Sukuna got back on the bed behind you and lined his bright pink tip with your needy hole. 

He shoved his whole length in you, not even giving you a chance to adjust to his size. He groaned as he quickly bottomed out.He wasted no time and began fucking you harshly. His hips slapped hard against your ass with each thrust. 

Your walls were clenching around him causing him to moan. You were a mess under him 

“Su-sukuna, fuck!” you whined out 

Your moans were answered with yet another hard smack on your ass, you were sure it would leave a print

“Don't speak, i don't want to hear your voice again” he said as he fucked into you harder 

The large vein that ran down the length of his thick shaft was rubbing you in that sweet spot that drove you insane 

You continually fought the urge to whine and tell your boyfriend how close you are. You felt your body get hot and your climax grew deeper in your core. 

Your whole body shook as you reached your climax. You wanted to scream but your very mean boyfriend already told you not to speak and you can't imagine the punishment you’d receive if you disobeyed him.

You let out a small whimper as you reached the end of your orgasm. Sukuna laughed at how you were shaking and whining.

He aggressively grabbed your body and flipped you onto your back. He grabbed your thighs and pushed them up to your chest then slid his dick back into your aching cunt 

You bit your lip to try and stop your moans but he leaned down right above your face

“Go ahead mama, you can whine for me” he spoke before placing a sloppy kiss on your lips 

“Daddy, right there!” you whined out. Your boyfriend was hitting your sweet spot again and you knew you would cum quickly for him again

One thing about sukuna, he made sure you always had more than one orgasm for him.

He pressed his weight onto you and shoved his dick in you deeper. His tip was abusing your cervix 

“d-daddy , i can't take it!”, tears formed in your eyes as you looked up at him, hoping he’d give your body some mercy 

“Now the little princess can't take it,hm? The way you were talking earlier made me think you could take it. Where's that attitude now baby?” his voice was low as he hovered right above your face 

No matter how much you begged Sukuna didn't let up one bit. He continued to give your cunt deep, hard strokes. You whined and cried under him and it gave him motivation to keep going 

You felt your orgasm building once again, “im so close daddy” you cried out

“Mhm mama cum for daddy”, he groaned in response 

Your legs shook violently as you came undone for your boyfriend. His strokes became erratic meaning he was nearing his own climax

“Want me to fuck a baby into you?” he asked as he started speeding up 

He knew you were on birth control but you both loved the idea of breeding when you were having sex. You loved the way it feels when he fills you up

You nodded in response to his question. He leaned down and gave you a messy kiss. His tongue intertwined with yours and he groaned in your mouth.

Sukuna reached his climax and shot hot ropes into you. He put your legs down and slowly slid out of you 

He laid next to you and wrapped his arms around your body as you both came down from your high.

He placed a soft kiss on your temple, “im sorry baby i was distracted by my game and completely let it slip my mind that today is cleaning day” he pulled you in closer and placed more kisses all over your face 

He then got up out of the bed and slipped his clothes back on. He walked back over to the bed and put the blanket on you 

“Just lay down okay, I'll put away all the laundry and wash the dishes. You want korean bbq tonight?”

“Yes please. And i'm sorry for yelling at you” you said as you looked at him with a sad expression 

“It’s okay mama I should have listened” he leaned over and gave you a kiss then he left the room and closed the door behind him as he walked out 

You laid in bed and dozed off as your boyfriend finished the chores.

Rachel

[gimmethatagustd]

call me baby | kth + jjk

Amidst a heartless divorce, Taehyung, a renowned film director, desperately tries to hold himself together. Enter Jungkook, the Kim family's devoted nanny, who has had his eye on Taehyung for years.

○ Pairing: Taehyung x Jungkook

○ Rating: Explicit/18+

○ Genre: PWP, sugar daddy au, angst, fluff, smut

○ 15 / 100 Drabble Challenge (Babysitter)

○ Word Count: 8,461

○ Warnings: TH's wife cheats on him, divorce, TH is def depressed, JK is a little bratty, hand jobs, phone sex, daddy kink (i stole part of the scene from two of my reader-inserts, see if you can guess jhskdfs), age gap, unprotected anal sex

○ Notes: This was supposed to be a standard little PWP and then I made it depressing. 🥲 I wrote it for the Top Taehyung x Bottom Jungkook Fest on AO3. I'm going to write a part 2 eventually~

○ Post Date: June 10, 2024

○ Masterlist | AO3 Crosspost

○ What was Jai listening to? older - isabel larosa

The most fucked up part about being a film director married to one of the most prominent actresses in mainstream cinema is having to still cast her in films after already signing the divorce papers. Second on the fucked-up list would be the forced joint attendance at premieres, galas, and other red-carpet events, with all the reporters asking the same goddamn questions:

Was their split amicable?

Have they told their daughter yet? Their goddamn six-year-old daughter who can barely tie her shoes and has never heard the word divorce before in her life?

How do they manage to work on set together?

Is Taehyung upset about the fact that his soon-to-be ex-wife is already in a relationship with the lead actor of a film he fucking directed? Amidst allegations that she was cheating on him with said actor during filming? 

Of course not! Why would Taehyung be upset? It’s only that he is the reason Eunji and Sunwoo ever met each other. He chose to pair them as the main love interests in what critics have referred to as the catalyst for a new era of the modern love story, and he encouraged Eunji to take the lead role despite her belief that she wasn’t talented enough. 

Of course, Taehyung isn’t upset. He’s a romantic! How could he possibly be upset about true love? The scowl Taehyung wears as he rips off his suit jacket and kicks off his black leather Louboutin Chelsea boots in the foyer of the mansion, which he still shares with Eunji, isn’t from being upset. He just has to sneeze. 

“Taehyung,” Eunji calls to him as she gingerly tiptoes toward the grand staircase across the foyer, heel straps threaded through manicured fingers adorned with thin gold rings on all but the one that matters. “Can you pay Jungkook, please? Cash, this time. He said he was having issues with KakaoPay.”

She doesn’t bother looking up from her phone as she climbs the staircase. She had barely looked Taehyung in the eyes all night, aside from during their obligatory photo op on the red carpet, this time for the premiere of a film he hadn’t directed. 

They’re gorgeous together, Taehyung and Eunji, tall and lean with angular faces and piercing eyes that they’ve passed on to their daughter, Yuri. Growing up poor and raised by a single mother, Taehyung was taught the value of hard work and humility. Still, even he knows that he and Eunji are the film industry’s power couple—that they were the film industry’s power couple. Everything the Kims touched turned to gold, except for each other. Eunji shines just as brightly as she did when they met fifteen years ago, but now Taehyung crumbles like ash between her fingers. 

Taehyung waits in the foyer until the creak of the floorboards tells him that Eunji is in Yuri’s bedroom. Only then does he follow in Eunji’s footsteps up the stairs, taking the opposite direction down the hall. 

Taehyung’s bedroom reminds him of a mouth full of missing teeth, with white walls and empty crevices around every corner. One half of his king-size bed is made. The double sink in the attached bathroom is bare on one side. Only one robe hangs on the hook beside the shower. 

He likes to poke at the empty crevices just to feel how groundless and gummy it makes him when he does. Lately, he has made a habit of running his fingers across the ornamental dresser next to the door of the walk-in closet. There are shapes in the dust that covers the dresser’s surface, one rectangle where Eunji’s antique jewelry box used to sit, others small circles and squares where she threw rings and makeup compacts whenever she was too tired to properly put them away. Taehyung links each shape with his finger, drawing little crossroads between them, and doesn’t think about how Eunji has left him with the dust—in the dust.

In the kitchen downstairs, Jungkook is washing dishes. He’s wearing loose sweatpants and a black hoodie with the sleeves folded past his elbows because Eunji keeps the house freezing in the summer. On the island counter is his laptop and a tattered leather-bound journal flipped open to messy notes. When Taehyung leans his hip against the counter, he reads the English alphabet repeated in Jungkook’s swooping handwriting in the journal and notices a podcast in English paused on the laptop. Beginner’s language learning may seem trivial, but it’s more than what most twenty-two-year-olds Taehyung knows are doing with their time.

Jungkook’s hair is a weak shade of green, pale like the mints Taehyung enjoys flicking around his teeth with the tip of his tongue when he’s trying to mask the smell of cigarette smoke on his breath. It never works; the minty burst a scent as weak as its color. Taehyung thinks if he sucks on multiple, it’ll make a difference, as though a minty smile is a bandage strong enough to clot the bloody wound in his marriage. 

That part of him has been amputated now. The only thing worse is knowing that other people know how miserable this has made him. 

Jungkook knows, probably better than anyone else. The nondisclosure agreement he signed before Eunji hired him prevents him from ratting Taehyung out for being lonely, but he knows, probably even more than Taehyung does. 

“Welcome home, Mr. Kim,” Jungkook greets as he dries his hands on a towel. They own a high-end dishwasher that Jungkook refuses to use. “Are you hungry?”

“No, no, I’m fine,” Taehyung holds up his hand when Jungkook opens the refrigerator to reveal the leftovers from his dinner with Yuri. “How was she tonight?” 

“Perfect, as usual, though she’s still doing that weird picky eater thing,” Jungkook says what Taehyung already expects. 

It feels domestic, Jungkook putting away the remaining dry dishes while Taehyung fiddles with his gold cufflinks. They often end up like this at night when they cross paths, Jungkook getting ready to leave and Taehyung finally coming home, both needing a quiet moment to wind down from their uniquely stressful days. 

Few people in Taehyung’s life don’t expect him to do something. Life is a performance, even if he isn’t an actor. Everyone expects something interesting, something worthwhile. Jungkook expects nothing from Taehyung; nothing feels better than the relief he feels when so much weight is lifted off his shoulders. 

“She gets the picky eater thing from her eomma.” 

Jungkook hums in acknowledgment of Taehyung’s comment but doesn’t respond. 

Taehyung should tell Jungkook that he doesn’t need to finish cleaning the kitchen when it’s far past midnight on a Monday night, and he’ll need to be back at the Kim residence to take Yuri to school in the morning. He doesn’t, though. Just watches and fiddles and ignores the ache in his hip from the edge of the counter pressing against his hip bone.

“Do you need help with that, Mr. Kim?” 

“Oh, no, I—” 

Jungkook gently swats Taehyung’s hand away and grabs the sleeve of his white button-up shirt. Taehyung wonders how touch-starved he must be to shiver when Jungkook’s fingers brush his inner wrist as he removes Taehyung’s cufflinks. They’re elegant little gold pieces Eunji bought him for their first wedding anniversary. There’s no way for Jungkook to know that, but Taehyung feels judged when Jungkook drops the cufflinks in his open palm with a hard stare, as though he does know. 

“There,” Jungkook says quietly, and Taehyung wonders if he imagines Jungkook’s fingers lingering against his palm just a second longer than necessary. 

It’s been two years, yet not enough time for Taehyung to have learned how to read Jungkook, especially when they spend such little time together, just these little moments of gentle small talk and light touches that Taehyung ignores with the expertise of an acclaimed actor. 

“You should go home,” Taehyung replies when Jungkook lifts his tattooed hand to his face, covering a yawn. 

Jungkook shrugs with a cheeky grin that makes Taehyung’s body grow warm. 

“Sometimes, I feel like I might as well ask to become a live-in nanny, considering I’m here all the time.” 

The corner of Taehyung’s mouth twitches, a swell of affection making his body betray the melancholy muddling his brain. 

Rolling his cufflinks around in his hand, Taehyung considers whether they need a live-in nanny. Between Taehyung and Eunji traveling for work and Taehyung’s habit of locking himself in his home office for weeks at a time while he juggles conference calls and passion projects, he knows Yuri’s family life is unlike most children’s. She doesn’t care, has never known any other way of life. Between kindergarten and Jungkook, her time is well-structured and enriching.

“Would you want to be one?” Taehyung doesn’t know why they’re speaking so quietly. The house is massive. No one can hear them. 

Jungkook wets his lips, the tip of his tongue brushing over the metal hoop pierced through his bottom lip. Taehyung drops his gaze to focus on rolling his loosened sleeves. 

“Well, I actually wanted to talk about—” Jungkook is interrupted by Eunji’s shrill voice slicing through the quiet. 

“Taehyung!” 

Cringing, Taehyung twists to face the kitchen doorway, his back to the counter and his hands at his hips to squeeze the edge of it. 

Eunji is still wearing her wine-red dress from the premiere like a porcelain doll dipped in blood, but now she’s in sandals and carrying one of her many designer purses Taehyung never remembers the names of. She runs her fingers through her jet-black hair and fluffs it over her shoulder. 

“Yes?” He tries not to breathe in the sweetness of her perfume. 

“I’m going out,” Eunji tells Taehyung but looks at Jungkook, “I’ll be back before Yuri’s ballet class in the afternoon.” 

It’s nearly one in the morning. 

Taehyung inhales to speak, but Eunji is gone between blinks. Her goodbye sounds like the front door’s lock clicking once it’s shut.

“She’s going over to Sunwoo’s.” 

When Taehyung turns his head, Jungkook seems closer. He mirrors Taehyung and leans his hip against the island counter. He’s slightly shorter than Taehyung but bulkier in his upper body. Something about Jungkook’s physique reminds Taehyung of how much older he is. His late thirties haven’t been unkind, but he misses his youth now more than ever. 

“I know.” 

“They’ve been fucking for almost a year, Mr. Kim. Sometimes here, but normally in other places.” 

Taehyung twists to face Jungkook once again. Their hands slide into each other as he readjusts his grip on the counter. 

“I know.” 

Now. 

He knows now. 

Tension builds like anxiety washing over Taehyung’s nervous system, an almost electrical feeling that sparks from where Jungkook’s fingers drag along the back of Taehyung’s hand. They follow a protruding vein up his exposed forearm before he hooks his index and middle fingers in Taehyung’s sleeve, right at the inside of his elbow. 

“You deserve better,” Jungkook tugs lightly, but Taehyung’s arm easily gives, letting Jungkook pull him forward. “You realize that, right? That Eunji noona isn’t worth the bullshit?” 

What’s the bullshit? An arduous divorce procedure that Eunji will pretend won’t turn into petty arguments over whether Taehyung gets to keep all the jewelry he bought her or if she gets more time with Yuri since her schedule isn’t as busy? Or does Jungkook think Taehyung will try to win Eunji back? 

The thought makes Taehyung laugh, dark and shallow. 

“I appreciate your concern, Jungkook,” Taehyung pulls his arm out of Jungkook’s grasp, “But what goes on between Eunji and I isn’t worth the bullshit, either.” 

“I know that,” Jungkook snorts and Taehyung thinks it’s stupid that it hurts his feelings. “But you’re so… Respectfully, Mr. Kim, you don’t pay attention.” 

Taehyung doesn’t, apparently. If this divorce has taught him anything, it’s that he doesn’t. 

Sighing, Taehyung squeezes his cufflinks until their corners bite his palm and pushes himself away from the counter. He’s tired, and thinking about Eunji before bed is the best way to prevent himself from sleeping. 

“I’ve told you, you don’t need to be so formal with me,” Taehyung runs his free hand through his hair, ruffling the strands, thick with gel, until they fall across his forehead. 

Chewing his piercing between his front teeth and bottom lip, Jungkook watches him intently enough to make Taehyung’s stomach flutter. 

“I could give you something better, hyung,” Jungkook whispers, his fingers hooking through one of Taehyung’s belt loops. 

Taehyung knows a proposition when he hears one, but he struggles to comprehend this one. Jungkook is young, with a good head on his shoulders and a future of possibilities. He has a life beyond the Kim home that isn’t tainted by divorce and abandonment. 

“I do not doubt that,” Taehyung murmurs, unable to look Jungkook in the eyes. He drops his gaze to watch Jungkook twist his belt loop between his fingers to tighten his grip. 

“Okay,” Jungkook’s tone is mocking, with a twinge of amused curiosity. 

Taehyung shouldn’t be surprised when Jungkook cups his jaw to force him to look him in the eyes. 

It’s been years since anyone looked at Taehyung the way Jungkook does now, with a gaze that slithers down his body, just to flit back up and remain steady on his mouth when he parts it slightly, suddenly breathless. Jungkook’s fingers tug on his clothes harder than before. 

Taehyung has no reason to follow Jungkook’s lead—except that he hasn’t been touched in so long, and Jungkook is pretty. His eyes crinkle, and his nose scrunches when he smiles, exposing prominent teeth that give his face an innocence that starkly contrasts with the rest of him. There’s something soft about him despite his hard edges. Funny, how Taehyung initially thought Jungkook, with his tattoos and facial piercings, would be more of a bad influence on Yuri than her own parents.

“Okay?” Taehyung doesn’t know what he’s asking and gasps because Jungkook has him backed against the counter. 

He should be more intelligent. Isn’t he? He can’t think with Jungkook’s thick thigh slotted between his legs, his mind too foggy from the draw of Jungkook’s cologne to consider how suddenly this has escalated. 

“Will you let me?” Jungkook seeks permission for something Taehyung doesn’t understand. 

He gives it to Jungkook anyway. 

Despite how rough Jungkook is as he digs his fingers in the hair at the back of Taehyung’s head to hold him steady, his whimper when he slots their lips together is so soft that Taehyung feels dirty from how the sound makes his cock twitch. He’s noisy as he sucks Taehyung’s bottom lip into his mouth, nipping and flicking his tongue over it. 

It isn’t difficult for Taehyung to remember the last time he was kissed, though the memory quickly spirals because it begins with a kiss and ends with, “Taehyung, I want a divorce.”

Kissing Jungkook won’t end in divorce, but Taehyung can’t keep himself from thinking about Eunji’s words, how they flayed him open with sharp precision, each syllable slicing off a piece of his heart. He thinks about them whenever he smokes his cigarettes, a more frequent occurrence now that he and Eunji live separate lives, Eunji hardly around enough to pester him about the smell. 

Taehyung wonders if Jungkook tastes cigarettes when they part their lips to roll their tongues over each other, flicking and pressing back against each other until their lips are slick with spit. 

Cigarettes and kisses, water and oil in Taehyung’s failed marriage. The less time his lips spent kissing, the more often they curled around a cigarette butt.

“Stop it,” Jungkook hisses into Taehyung’s mouth, “Stop thinking about her.” 

Taehyung wants to tell Jungkook that he can’t. They’re in his kitchen, in the house he still shares with his soon-to-be ex-wife and his daughter, who is fast asleep upstairs. 

But his words melt into moans as Jungkook grinds his thigh against Taehyung’s cock. 

“Oh, fuck,” Taehyung tilts his head back to let Jungkook leave wet, hot kisses along his throat. 

“You sound so good, hyung,” Jungkook grabs a handful of Taehyung’s shirt to untuck it with a hard yank so he can slide his palm against the warm skin of Taehyung’s waist, “Feel good, too.” 

Jungkook’s fingers dip lower, brushing along the edge of Taehyung’s Calvins and leaving goosebumps in their wake. 

“Can I touch you?” Jungkook pants against Taehyung’s lips while he fumbles with the button of his slacks. 

The sound of Taehyung’s cufflinks clattering onto the marble floor gets lost beneath his moans.

“Yeah, yeah.” 

Taehyung’s stomach swoops and dips as Jungkook unzips his slacks and wiggles his hand down the front of his underwear. His cold touch makes Taehyung’s cock twitch and jump, just as unsteady as the rest of his body. 

“Always knew you were big,” Jungkook smirks, his teeth pressed against the curve of Taehyung’s jaw, and strokes his cock in one long, smooth movement that gathers the slippery precum that dribbles from Taehyung’s slit and drags it down to the base. 

Taehyung can hardly appreciate the praise and can’t come up with a single coherent thought. He quivers. Jungkook has to force his legs farther apart with his thigh because Taehyung’s knees buckle by the third stroke. 

It’s a tight fit because neither of them pulls Taehyung’s slacks down far enough to get his cock out, but he likes the restriction for some reason. It feels wrong, like something quick and dirty, too secret to risk getting comfortable. 

It is wrong, quick, and dirty, a secret Taehyung has no option but to keep. 

But Jungkook is pretty, and he watches Taehyung with innocent doe eyes that shine brighter than the polished gold cufflinks sprinkled on the floor as Taehyung moans and pants, the build of his orgasm turning his insides to lava. The innocence is a facade, but Taehyung thinks they’re both getting off on pretending. 

Taehyung slips his hands under Jungkook’s hoodie and the t-shirt beneath it to rake his nails across his skin, searching for the perfect section of smooth skin to dig into as his orgasm shudders through him. 

“Jungkook,” Taehyung panics, bucking up into Jungkook’s hand. 

“Already?” 

No one has touched Taehyung like this in nearly a year. He rarely touches himself like this. 

Taehyung cums with Jungkook’s mocking laughter huffed along the curve of his ear. He nearly bends backward over the counter, dragging Jungkook with him. He pulls back, like he's trying to run from the pleasure. 

Unphased, Jungkook cups Taehyung’s balls with one hand to stroke them while they pulse, keeping his other hand rolling tight circles with his palm over the head of Taehyung’s cock. It does nothing to contain the mess, but neither of them cares.

Once Taehyung calms, Jungkook wipes his cum-slicked hand on his thigh. Taehyung’s brain is too floaty to be upset about cum getting on slacks that cost over a million won. 

“I think that’s the fastest I’ve ever made someone cum,” Jungkook looks over his shoulder as he teases Taehyung on his way to the kitchen sink to wash his hands. 

Jungkook’s comment makes shame curl in the pit of Taehyung’s stomach. The level to which Taehyung enjoys it concerns him. 

If Jungkook is bothered by how mute Taehyung is, he doesn’t show it. If anything, Taehyung thinks the whole situation seems funny to Jungkook, like he’s getting a kick out of making Taehyung cum on himself and regress into a fumbling, breathless, mindless version of himself fueled by the desire to be touched in a way no one wants to touch him anymore. 

It’s rather pathetic. 

Cheeks burning and body still suffering an occasional tremor, Taehyung is afraid to speak when Jungkook returns to stand between his legs with his hands gripping the edge of the counter at Taehyung’s hips. 

“I can’t believe Eunji is going to miss out on that,” Jungkook prods Taehyung’s clothed, soft cock with his knee. 

“Shit, don’t,” Taehyung curls inward from oversensitivity, “I, she—” 

Jungkook’s lips are pillowy and smooth when he isn’t biting and sucking Taehyung’s. They shut Taehyung up and make him melt against the counter. Jungkook is hypnotic, his presence somehow all-encompassing, all-consuming when it usually isn’t. 

Or is it? Taehyung thinks he can’t remember what it was like to know Jungkook before this. 

The difference twenty minutes make. 

Taehyung’s eyes fly open when Jungkook breaks the kiss to pluck Taehyung’s wallet from his back pocket. He’s got that cheeky, lopsided grin that makes Taehyung feel weird as he counts the bills inside, pulling out just a little more than what the Kims owe him for the day. 

“A little extra won for the additional services,” Jungkook winks, tossing Taehyung’s wallet on the counter, “I’ll see you in the morning, Mr. Kim.”

–

Taehyung sees Jungkook in the morning, hardly five hours later, but only briefly.

They squeeze past each other through the front door. Jungkook, with his backpack slung over one shoulder and his hair tousled from little sleep, and Taehyung, with a suitcase in one hand, a duffle bag strapped across his chest, and the rim of a disposable paper cup of English breakfast tea clenched between his teeth. At the same time, he tries to stick a wireless earbud in one ear.

“Hey, I know you forgot, but I have to be in New York for the next two weeks,” Taehyung snaps once he takes the cup from his mouth.

Taehyung gives Jungkook an apologetic look when he realizes it sounds like he’s getting pissy at him, and not Eunji complaining in his ear that he is so inconsiderate of her time, like as if Taehyung should schedule his life around Eunji’s extramarital affairs. 

There’s little time to feel embarrassed by the memory of the night before when Taehyung needs to get on a plane and Jungkook needs to prepare Yuri’s breakfast before school. Still, Taehyung’s stomach dips so low that his groin pulses when Jungkook grabs his waist to steady him after he nearly trips down the stairs leading from the house’s front door.

“Eunji, listen, no—Listen to me. I told you a month ago that I need to tour the premises before I can just sign off on the—”

Taehyung is scouting the perfect location for his upcoming movie; shouldn’t she be excited for him? Instead, the beep of Eunji ending the call ricochets in Taehyung’s skull.

“Do you need help, hyung?”  

How many times in the past two years has Jungkook asked that question? 

Taehyung holds his breath when Jungkook presses his palm flat against his chest, curls his fingers around the strap of his duffle bag, and lifts it over his head to carry it on his own shoulder. Their fingers brush on the handle of Taehyung’s suitcase, and his body remembers the pleasure in the kitchen, their hands intertwined against the counter. 

Late, the Kim family’s chauffeur finally pulls up to the house in a nondescript black car. He rushes to help Jungkook with Taehyung’s luggage, carrying it as if it’s precious cargo, not two weeks' worth of underwear and a high-end camera that Taehyung could buy a billion times over. 

“Tell Yuri I said I love her,” Taehyung grabs Jungkook’s wrist when he turns to jog back up the driveway, “She didn’t want to wake up when I went into her room.” 

Jungkook’s gaze lingers on Taehyung's lips, his eyes lidded and heavy with sleep. Unsettled, Taehyung tries to divert his attention elsewhere. 

“You’ll call?” Jungkook asks.

The air around them is tainted by the smell of car exhaust, but Taehyung is engulfed by the fruity and sweet aroma of Jungkook's shampoo. His chauffeur has already slipped into the driver's seat, and the heavily tinted windows make it difficult for Taehyung to tell if he and Jungkook are being watched. The question hangs in the air, soft and warm, like Jungkook's breath brushing against Taehyung's cheek. 

They're standing too close.

“Yeah, I’ll call,” Taehyung squeezes Jungkook’s wrist before he lets go to open the car door. 

As the chauffeur drives away, Taehyung leans against the window, watching Jungkook standing at the end of the driveway until they round the corner and he can no longer see him. With a heavy sigh, Taehyung lets his head fall back on the seat and wonders why it feels like he has just made a promise he can’t keep.

–

Contrary to what most people assume, Taehyung hates traveling. He likes to travel, experience the world, and live beyond what he’s accustomed to, but he hates the act of traveling—planes, cars, buses, etc. Taehyung hates it all. He can’t stand transitory spaces, moments in time when he’s not quite where he once was but not yet in the next place he needs to be. 

“Oh, so like your marriage,” Namjoon points out in the middle of Taehyung’s rant, much to Taehyung’s disliking. “Divorce proceedings are like a liminal space. You’re still married, but you’re not together. One foot in the door, the rest of your body out. Or, well, your body is still in the door. Eunji just barely has her big toe still across the threshold.” 

“Can you shut up?” Taehyung glares at Namjoon over the rim of his glass before taking a sip, hissing once the amber liquid washes over the back of his throat. Bourbon isn’t Taehyung’s drink of choice, but Namjoon said it’s “distinctly American” and thus a requirement for their trip. 

Were multiple glasses of Bourbon a requirement, though? Taehyung distinctly thinks not. Yet here he is, both forearms crossed against the sleek, black marble counter of some high-end cocktail bar, with rosy cheeks and an open tab. 

“Am I not wrong?” Namjoon slams down his glass, empty aside from melting ice cubes.

“For as long as I have known you, you are always wrong.” 

Ignoring Taehyung, Namjoon beckons the bartender and asks her for another round of drinks in Korean. The woman’s gaze slides from Namjoon to Taehyung, who kicks Namjoon in the shin and nearly throws himself off the barstool he’s perched on. 

“Sorry, it’s a mess up here,” Namjoon laughs as he taps his forehead and tries ordering in English this time, his smile all sweet and dimpled. 

Namjoon’s entire face is red, and sweat beads along his hairline. Despite the chilly air outside, it’s hot and stuffy inside the bar. Crowded yet calm, the bar patrons respect the quiet atmosphere, with its dim lighting and dark furniture, that seems to mute conversations. Even Taehyung and Namjoon, both easily boisterous, are subtle in their playful bickering. 

“Did the rest of the crew leave already?” Namjoon asks as he looks over his shoulder at the booths and tables. 

“Didn’t you hear Wonho say they’re going back to the hotel?” 

It takes a second for Namjoon to react. Taehyung wonders if they’re both too drunk to properly communicate with each other anymore. His lips are beginning to tingle, and that’s never a good sign. 

“It’s not even that late,” Namjoon pouts. He hands his credit card to the bartender in exchange for the next round of drinks anyway. 

Taehyung doesn’t want another drink. He’s exhausted from the jetlag that a fourteen-hour time difference triggers, and he’s spent the past few days talking nonstop. There’s always something. As Taehyung grows older, he realizes he desperately wishes for less. 

“Are you even listening? Did you hear what I said?” Namjoon shoves Taehyung’s shoulder hard enough to tip his barstool. 

With a panicked yelp, Taehyung clutches the edge of the bar counter to hold himself upright as the stool wobbles. 

“You’re going to knock me on the fucking floor,” Taehyung grumbles.  

Namjoon watches Taehyung with glossy eyes when he asks, “What are you thinking about, Tae?”

Namjoon waits for a response with a sense of earnestness as if he genuinely cares about what’s made Taehyung so quiet. He does care; he’s not only Taehyung’s colleague as a fellow film director, but he’s also one of Taehyung’s dearest friends.  

“Yuri hasn’t wanted to talk to me since we got to New York. She has only called me a handful of times,” Taehyung admits with a sigh. He runs a shaky hand through his hair as he speaks, “We spoke on the phone two days ago, briefly, and she told me she blames herself for everything going on with Eunji, as though she thinks she has done something to make Eunji and I no longer love each other.”

Taehyung reaches for the receipt and pen in front of Namjoon to sign for the expenses. He doesn’t bother paying attention to the cost; he only mentally processes it enough to calculate a tip before he tosses the pen on the counter. 

“Six years old, and she’s already carrying the burden on her tiny shoulders. This is exactly why I said I didn’t want to fucking tell her about the divorce.” 

“Taehyung…” Namjoon clasps Taehyung’s shoulder, digging his fingers into the tense muscles through his shirt. “Yuri just doesn’t fully understand what’s going on. She’s trying to make sense of it in her own way. Kids don’t understand how life can just… change like this, with no warning, no reason apparent to them.”

Namjoon is correct, but that reality doesn’t make Taehyung wrong. Yuri is young and impressionable, and she doesn’t understand, which is why she’s vulnerable to such terrible thoughts. Taehyung insisted that these things be kept a secret, but Eunji had other plans. 

Before Namjoon can say anything further, Taehyung’s phone vibrates loudly against the bar counter. 

“It’s Jungkook,” Taehyung mutters, reaching for his coat hung on a hook below the bar counter. He doesn’t wait for Namjoon to follow him as he shoulders past the other bar patrons until he can step into the chilly night. It’s still noisy. New York always is, but Taehyung feels less distracted when he can lean against the cold brick at the corner of the building and focus on accepting the incoming video call. 

“Appa!” Yuri shouts, her little voice cutting through the sirens ringing in the city streets. 

“Hi, baby. How are you doing?” 

“Good! Jungkookie oppa took me to the park! There was a doggy named Mouse, isn’t that silly? We should get a puppy and name it something silly. Like, well, um, I need to think about it.” 

Taehyung smiles as Yuri rambles on, waving her arm in every direction as she shows Taehyung the park they’re at. He can’t see Jungkook in the video, but he can hear him giggle with Yuri when she says something particularly amusing. 

Yuri is dressed cutely, with her hair in evenly parted pigtails, and wearing a sky blue puffy dress she refers to as her “princess dress.” Sometimes, Taehyung thinks Jungkook does a better job raising Yuri than he does. 

As most children are, Yuri is easily distracted. She quickly loses interest in describing every special rock she finds at the park and eventually passes the phone to Jungkook so she can “make new friends” and test out how many spins on the swingset it will take for one of them to throw up.

“Hi, hyung,” Jungkook’s smile shines in the midday sun, his eyes sparkling with the warm rays of light. Taehyung can’t stop himself from smiling, too. 

“Jungkook-ah,” Taehyung nearly whispers his name, still too aware of their secret. “How is everything?” 

“I know she’s been kind of stubborn, but she misses you,” Jungkook says. The wind ruffles his minty hair, lifting his bangs and giving him an angular look. “I miss you, too.” 

“Jungkook…” 

“Hyung,” Jungkook rolls his eyes, but he’s still smiling, and Taehyung is, too. “Just tell me you miss me.”

“I do,” Taehyung obliges, and it isn’t a lie. 

Every business trip away forces Taehyung to remember the fact that his days are better when he gets to spend those sacred quiet moments with Jungkook at the end of the night. In that transition period, the two of them come and go. He misses that, even without the handjob.

They’ve been through this already, earlier in the New York trip. It’s wrong to talk to Jungkook like this, someone so much younger than Taehyung, someone who works for him. 

It’s also wrong to deposit a little extra money in Jungkook’s bank account every time he leaves Taehyung little reminders of how much more Jungkook could do to remedy the lonely ache in Taehyung’s chest every night he goes to bed alone. 

It’s so, so wrong, but Taehyung doesn’t put an end to it—and he could. He could ignore Jungkook’s call later, when he’s back in his hotel room and Jungkook has put Yuri to bed for a nap. He doesn’t, though. He could end the call when Jungkook tells him again how much he misses him. He could tell Jungkook to stop when Jungkook moans into the phone and tells him that he’s touching himself to Taehyung’s rich, smooth voice. 

Taehyung could end all of it because it’s wrong, but he doesn’t. 

Instead, when Jungkook calls Taehyung during the New York trip, Taehyung lies in the dark hotel room as warmth spreads from his chest lower until he can’t ignore his cock stirring in his boxers with each of Jungkook’s moans. 

“Hyung, I can’t stop thinking about how incredible you sound when you cum,” Jungkook whimpers later when Taehyung and Namjoon have returned to the hotel and gone their separate ways. “I’d fucking listen to that all night, every night.

The cool air in the hotel room blows against Taehyung’s chest, making him shiver, but the heat pooling in his stomach is enough to keep him warm. 

“Where are you, Jungkook-ah?” Taehyung can hear rustling in the background. 

“In your bed. Eunji noona took Yuri out shopping.” 

Taehyung lets his head fall back on his pillow as he closes his eyes and imagines Jungkook sprawled on his bed, the one he’d shared with Eunji for so many years. He wonders if Jungkook would be even prettier than she was when Taehyung had her underneath him. 

“I don’t believe you,” Taehyung lies because he knows Jungkook will send him a picture. He doesn’t directly ask for one, though. He hopes that makes him less bad. 

Taehyung’s cock is a heavy burden fisted in his hand. Slowly spreading precum, he runs his thumb along his slit and thinks about the heat of Jungkook's mouth. He can practically feel them engulf his cock, stretched lips swollen and bitten red. He wants to know what Jungkook tastes like, what his name sounds like as a whimper or a moan spilling from Jungkook's needy mouth. 

“Ohh, fuck, I’m gonna cum,” Jungkook moans through the wet, sloppy sounds echoing over the phone. “Please, daddy, let me cum. Tell me I can cum.” 

“Daddy?” Taehyung nearly chokes. Shame tightens his chest when his cock twitches at the pet name. 

“You like that, daddy? Do you like when I call you daddy while you imagine you’re fucking my mouth? God, I wish I could taste your cock.” 

Jungkook is cheeky and mocking, even when he’s praising Taehyung. Taehyung likes how shameful that makes him feel, too. He lets out a breathy sigh and draws his bottom lip between his teeth as he pumps himself harder, slightly picking up the pace. 

“Tell me,” Jungkook hisses in what sounds like an attempt to hold back a whimper. 

“You can cum, Jungkook-ah. You can—” 

Taehyung presses his palm against his mouth to keep quiet when he cums, knowing Namjoon’s hotel room is right next door. 

The rub of Taehyung’s meaningless wedding ring, which he still wears out of depressing habit, dragging along the throbbing veins of his cock is what finally sends him over the edge. He cums into his hand as he imagines what it would feel like to sink inside Jungkook. In reality, his cum is messy and hot as it drips down his pulsing cock and between his fingers, making his useless ring stick uncomfortably to his skin. 

Taehyung is so fucked.

–

If someone told Taehyung he’d become a renowned film director, get married, have a child, get divorced, and become a sugar daddy before he turned forty, he would have laughed in their face. 

Now, his bank statements from the past few months reveal an embarrassing pattern of purchases of children’s toys, payments to his lawyer, and seemingly random purchases that always end up in the hands of Jeon Jungkook. 

Taehyung’s money isn’t endless, but the likelihood of it ever running out is slim. He supposes he could live off of royalties alone and never pick up another film project for the rest of his life. It’s not about the money, though. For other people it may be. Capitalism destroys art, though, and Taehyung prefers to keep thoughts about his finances separate from his film passion projects. If he considers his art his paycheck, he’ll never want to create anything again—and what kind of life would that be? 

Money is different for a twenty-two-year-old with dreams of making it big. The English language learning and desire to brush up against fame aren’t just for fun. After nearly two years, Taehyung finally learns that Jungkook’s true passions lie in acting and film production. Jungkook has goals, and Taehyung, as the seasoned professional between them, can’t possibly sit back and not help. 

If Namjoon looks at Taehyung funny when he asks him to babysit Yuri while he attends yet another obligatory celebrity event, this time with Jungkook, well, there’s nothing Taehyung can do about that. If Taehyung is going to be a proper mentor, he must ensure that Jungkook ends up in the right rooms with the right people. 

The fact that they have phone sex practically every night because Taehyung is too afraid to fall asleep alone and Jungkook likes the money he gets out of it is beside the point. Ever since that night in the kitchen, nothing physical has happened between the two of them. Taehyung and Jungkook maneuver with and around each other as though they don’t practically fall asleep to the sound of each other coming. Jungkook is sweet and caring to Yuri, as always. He gets along well with Eunji despite the tension that Eunji brings with her into every conversation. When he’s with Taehyung, he’s polite and cheerful. 

It’s strange, living a double life. It makes Taehyung feel even slimier, but he doesn’t stop. 

The thing is, Taehyung should have known that what's done in the dark always comes to light. 

-

Taehyung’s desk is littered with to-do lists. Some are on looseleaf paper, others on sticky notes or scrap paper ripped from notebooks or crumpled in the back of desk drawers. An artist type in the most terribly stereotypical way, Taehyung has yet to master the arts of time management and organization. He even maintains a digital to-do list attached to his work email account calendar. However, that one is a bit more successful than the physical to-do lists that get accidentally thrown out or left in the pockets of his slacks to disintegrate in the washing machine later. 

The digital to-do list is ideal because it’s more reliable and makes a cute little sound whenever Taehyung marks an item as completed. The application cheers him on whenever he completes more than five daily tasks. 

Five may not seem like much, but when Taehyung spends half his office days on conference calls, arguing about salaries and film sets, he needs something to motivate him. 

For now, he clicks through an old list of tasks on his to-do list to watch the virtual confetti rain down his computer screen while two of his colleagues argue over the phone. Taehyung is working from his home office, so he keeps his wireless earbuds in rather than put the call on speaker phone, not wanting the loud conversation to carry out of his office and disrupt anyone else who may be home. 

Barely five minutes into the phone call, Taehyung already wants to hang up. He has more important matters to deal with, like buying a new condo in the city so he can have a good excuse to get out of this goddamn house. 

Too distracted by his colleagues, Taehyung doesn’t hear the knock at the door, nor does he notice someone slip inside his office until they’re picking at the stray papers scattered across his desk. 

“Hyung, your office is a disaster,” Jungkook says, amusement flickering like sun rays in his eyes and with a twitch of his mouth when he holds back a smile. 

Muting himself on his phone and removing one earbud, Taehyung slightly tilts back in his desk chair to stare at Jungkook. 

“I’m on a call, Jungkook. Do you need something?” 

Jungkook rolls his eyes. Nightly orgasms and a little more money in his bank account have turned Jungkook bratty. Taehyung hates that he likes it. 

“Eunji noona brought Yuri with her to her halmeoni,” Jungkook reaches for the removed earbud, but Taehyung pulls his hand back before Jungkook can snatch it.

“So?”

“So,” Jungkook rolls his eyes again, “I’m bored.”

“And what exactly am I supposed to—” Taehyung cuts himself off as he scrambles to unmute himself when his colleagues address him on the call, “Yes, Seojoon, I already sent those documents to Bogum last week. The executives at Park Enterprises said security clearance wouldn’t be difficult to obtain once the cast is finalized.” 

Returning the earbud to his ear, Taehyung gives Jungkook a stern look before focusing on pulling up the documents on his computer. They’re highly technical, with lots of legal jargon that even Taehyung wasn’t well-versed in, so he has to review the document with his colleagues. 

“I assume they’ll all have valid passports?” Taehyung scrolls through the files, searching for the correct section to review. 

Determined to make his problems Taehyung’s, Jungkook maneuvers around Taehyung’s arms until he can forcibly sit in his lap. On another day, it could be cute and maybe even send Taehyung into a little panic attack, but Taehyung isn’t in the mood when he has frustrated coworkers in his ears. 

Get off, Taehyung mouths to Jungkook because his phone is out of reach now. 

Jungkook leans with his back against Taehyung’s chest, and his legs spread to rest on the outside of Taehyung’s thighs. When he turns his head, his lips brush against the base of Taehyung’s throat. 

“No,” Jungkook whispers before giving Taehyung's throat a gentle kiss that makes goosebumps spring across his skin. 

Jungkook’s weight feels nice, even more so if Taehyung just sits back and lets Jungkook get comfortable. Taehyung is too on edge for that, though, especially when Jungkook wiggles to get comfortable and inadvertently grinds his ass on Taehyung’s crotch. 

Hissing quietly, Taehyung squeezes Jungkook’s hip to still him, but Jungkook giggles and does it again. He leans forward to grab the edge of the desk and gyrates his hips, grinding down on Taehyung in slow circles.

“Jungkook,” Taehyung whispers, fingers digging into Jungkook’s skin to tighten his grip on his hip bone. When he tries to reach for his phone to mute himself, Jungkook snatches it and sets it near the corner edge where Taehyung can’t reach it. 

“Are you mad at me, daddy?” Jungkook asks quietly. “I just want to spend time with you. Real time with you, not just on the phone.” 

Jungkook is wearing skimpy athletic shorts just like his homemade crop top, which exposes the toned expanse of his abdomen. It’s a shame that Taehyung can’t even appreciate it since Jungkook isn’t facing him, but he does have a full view of how firm Jungkook’s ass is as he rubs Taehyung’s now fully hard cock through his slacks. Each roll of his hips hikes his shorts up further until they’re at the crease of his thighs, putting his legs on display. 

“You’re always so busy,” Jungkook whispers against Taehyung’s throat when he leans back again. 

“It’s on page fifty-eight,” Taehyung’s voice cracks on the last syllable when Jungkook grabs his hand off the mouse and presses Taehyung’s fingers against his ass. Taehyung feels something round and knobby between Jungkook’s cheeks, not needing to see what it is to know that it’s a butt plug. 

Taehyung takes a deep breath as Jungkook curls his fingers around the waistband of his athletic shorts and uses both their hands to pull them down his thighs so Taehyung can see the diamond nestled between his cheeks. 

“I thought you might want to know where your money is going,” Jungkook smirks when he looks at Taehyung over his shoulder. 

Taehyung thinks he might start crying if his coworkers don’t stop asking him to read parts of the legal document out loud to them. 

It’s clear that Jungkook has turned this into a game. He twists around in Taehyung’s lap to rub his palm against the hard bulge in Taehyung’s slacks and grins when Taehyung tries not to look at him while he reads off the computer screen. Every time Taehyung opens his mouth to answer his colleagues’ questions, Jungkook squeezes his cock. 

“Can I have it, daddy?” Jungkook rubs the head of Taehyung’s cock through his slacks as he pulls down the zipper, “Please?”

Taehyung shouldn’t do it. He’s already struggling to breathe properly on this phone call, and his forehead and the nape of his neck are damp with sweat. He can’t even put himself on mute. Jungkook is twenty-two. Jungkook is their nanny. Taehyung shouldn’t do it. 

Jungkook leans forward to brush their lips together as Taehyung lifts his hips so Jungkook can pull his pants down far enough to release his cock. If having Jungkook half-naked in his lap wasn’t enough torture, when Jungkook turns back around, he guides Taehyung’s hand to the jewel sitting pretty between his cheeks. The plug makes a wet, squelching sound when Taehyung pulls it from Jungkook’s stretched hole, lube dripping from it in sticky strings that smear Taehyung’s desk when he puts it off to the side. One of his colleagues asks him a question, but he’s too mesmerized by how Jungkook’s shiny hole flutters now that it’s empty. 

“Give it to me,” Taehyung thinks he hears Jungkook whine. 

Taehyung swipes his thumb over a glob of lube that leaked down the inside of Jungkook’s thigh and uses it, along with his own precum, to slick up his cock. He takes too long, though, and Jungkook swats his hand away to grab his cock and line it up himself. 

Rather than go slow, Jungkook drops onto Taehyung’s cock with all his weight, making his ass slap against Taehyung’s thighs and ripping a moan out of his throat so loud that Taehyung immediately ends the phone call.

“What the fuck, Jungkook?” Taehyung wants to be stern and wants Jungkook to understand that he can’t just fuck around like that with Taehyung’s job, even if Taehyung encourages it. 

But then Jungkook leans forward to lift his hips and drop back down again, enveloping Taehyung’s cock in his wet heat. Taehyung’s other complaints immediately morph into moans so breathy and pathetic that he shocks himself. 

“I feel good, don’t I?” Jungkook whimpers as he fucks himself on Taehyung’s cock even harder, using the desk to give himself momentum. “Tell me, daddy, tell me.” 

“Fuck, baby, you do,” Taehyung flings his head back and bucks his hips to meet Jungkook with his own thrusts. 

“Mhm, you wish you had me sooner, don’t you?” Jungkook’s voice takes on a higher pitch, something whiny and cute. “Could have been fucking me instead of wasting your time being sad about noona.”

The chair creaks and scratches against the floor as Jungkook bounces on Taehyung’s cock, filling the office with the sound of their moans and wet skin slapping together. 

Taehyung nods fervently, his head rolling and lolling as Jungkook uses him, drawing breathy moans from Taehyung, little “ah, ah, ah’s” that make him feel lightheaded because he isn’t inhaling. 

“Yes, fuck, yes, yes,” Taehyung’s arms fall limp at his sides as he lets Jungkook control the pace.

“You like when I fuck you, hyung?” Jungkook sounds so smug as if he knows he has Taehyung right where he wants him. Taehyung can’t even care to feel ashamed of how easy he is. 

Taehyung nods, his voice caught in his throat. 

“Touch me. I wanna cum, please.”

“Yeah? Fuck, baby, fuck,” Taehyung reaches around to fist Jungkook’s cock as he feels his own orgasm build. It dips and burns the pit of his stomach almost as quickly as it had that first night, all those months ago. 

“I could give you something better, hyung,”

As touch-starved as Taehyung is, he holds off until after Jungkook cums with a cry that makes Taehyung glad there’s no one else home. 

It’s messy and loud, and it takes too long for Taehyung to come down from his high. He feels sluggish, even after Jungkook climbs off him and strips his shirt, using it to clean himself off before tossing it to Taehyung. It’s been so long since Taehyung has felt so content, not just satiated from physical pleasure, but from shared intimacy—even if it will make him feel slimy later. 

“If I didn’t work out so much, that position would have been too hard to maintain,” Jungkook mumbles against Taehyung’s chest when he climbs back into his lap. 

He’s unfazed by their current physical state and never seems shy about the fact that he’s fucking his boss, the father of the kid he cares for. Taehyung wants to be free like that, unashamed, unapologetic. Eunji is; she’s even worse. It’s a bunch of bullshit, just like Jungkook said. 

“How are you so casual about this, all the time?” Taehyung asks quietly, eyes closed so he can try to think through the fuzz in his brain. 

“I don’t know,” Jungkook shrugs, “I like you, you like me. What else is there?” 

It feels too simple, but Taehyung likes it. He thinks back on how much of a hopeless romantic he is and how his films revolve around finding love, or at least acceptance and intimacy. Does Jungkook love him? Taehyung feels too silly to ask, but he thinks if this were one of his films, he’d want it to end just the way they are, cuddled up despite the mess they’ve made of each other, without shame. 

“I’m not like her,” Jungkook likely mistakes Taehyung’s pensiveness for sadness. “I won’t do you the way she did you.”

“The thought never crossed my mind, Jungkook-ah,” Taehyung murmurs against Jungkook’s forehead, lips brushing a light kiss that can’t begin to convey the swell of affection Taehyung feels for the man he cradles against his chest.

Disclaimer: All my writing is fictional and for entertainment purposes only. None of these characters are meant to actually represent the real people mentioned in the stories.

All rights reserved © @gimmethatagustd​ - Do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my writing. Do not use my writing for any AI purposes whatsoever. Do not use my fics for anything aside from reading and commenting on them. My fics will only be posted on this Tumblr and on AO3 (gimmethatagustd &daddytaehyungie).

[0anonnymouslyours0]

hi I have literally never done this before but I saw your post just now and thought what the heck

could you write a small thing about spencer reid where reader and him are neighbours and they both have a little crush on each other but never get to interact because spencer is literally never there

until either reader or spencer's apartment floods and it's 3am so they just go to their neighbour and there's maybe a cute confession?

(feel free to add your own pizzazz I love your writing!!!) <3333

hihihi girl! request anytime! this also ended up being a lotttt longer then intended <3

warnings: none, its fluffy its cute, like rlly cute and a bit cliche.

spencer reid. that was your neighbours name. considering he was home very little, you'd only seen him a few times and you've never even spoken a word; it seemed silly how much time you spent thinking about him.

you'll admit, your a sucker for a tall brunette with glasses, who wore ties and vests, and perhaps looked just a little nerdy. it was sweet, spencer looked very sweet.

he also happens to be your next door neighbour. like literally, you open the door of your house every day, and are confronted with the site of his own house. he's right there. you've debated sliding a note under his door, or just knocking and suggesting coffee, but you've always backed out.

the opportunity however, presents itself in a slightly annoying way. in the afternoon, you arrive home and walk into your living room to discover the entire floor flooded. one quick check of the house, and you've determined the entire place is flooded.

"jesus christ." you mutter, dialing a plumber and the flood services in your city.

when they arrive, its determined your house will be unliveable for 2 days. 2 whole days.

the plumber, matt, stares at you. "apologies, lady, but your pipes are pretty busted. its gonna cost you too."

you groan, annoyed.

"oh, uh your neighbour, you should check with them. see if they've got any issues." he adds.

you stop, spencer. your neighbour. you have a reason to go talk to him. you leave the plumber, and his little team to get to work, and cross the street to spencers house.

knock. knock.

maybe he isnt home. you look at his driveway. his car is there. the door creaks, and opens, revealing spencer reid. the man himself. in all his messy hair, rumpled shirt, afternoon glory. he pushes his glasses up, staring at you, suprised.

"hi. sorry i'm-"

"y/n." he says, quickly, and then flushes.

"right." your suprised he knows your name, though you do know his. "look uhm, sorry to bother you.. but my house kind of flooded. like everywhere. so, uhh- i was just checking if your house is all good."

his eyes widen. "your entire house? is flooded?"

you nod, grimacing. "yeah.. i mean my stuffs fine, i just have to find somewhere to stay and its a pain." you say, folding your arms and sighing.

he looks at you for a moment, thoughtful.

"uh.. besides from the fact im a total stranger.. you could um, stay with me? i mean. i have a guest room, im usually out all day. i'll cook." he says, quickly. he looks at you, expecting a no.

your suprised at his offer, intrigued even. he seems safe, your not uncomfortable.. and it would save you from having to stay in some cheap hotel.

"really? i mean- are you sure?" you confirm, raising your eyebrows at him.

he nods energetically, smiling. "i mean, it would be easier for you."

you nod, smiling back.

"well.. uh come in?" he says, shuffling to the side awkwardly.

his house is delightful, with heavy linen curtains, and tall bookshelves. the house is mostly wood, with touches of green and navy. it fits him perfectly.

"nice place you have here." you say, smiling.

"thank you." he says, staring at you for a moment. you catch him, and he looks away quickly.

"do you, uhm want a coffee? we can sit for a bit if you'd like." he says, gesturing at the couches in his living room.

you nod. "black with sugar, please."

"oh- i have mine just the same." he grins, hurrying off the the kitchen, before returning with a cup for you. he sits opposite you, studying you for a moment.

"so.. spencer, how long have you lived here?" you ask.

"5 years. which.. i think is a year longer then you?" he smiles.

"correct. uh, where do you work?"

he pauses, thinking thoughtfully. "truthfully, i work in the fbi. behavioral analysis unit." he says, staring right at you.

you shuffle in your seat, suddenly aware that this possibly means he can read your every emotion, or thought.

"thats very.. impressive, but then again you do have an intelligent look to you."

he chuckles, "well, i have been told i dress the part."

you laugh, smiling at him.

"you know.. i noticed you a while ago." he says, looking down at his coffee and swirling it.

you raise an eyebrow, curious.

"how so?"

"well, if i may be bold, your very- uhm very pretty."

your eyes widen, taken aback. you flush, letting out a soft giggle.

"you think so?" you whisper, staring at him. he finally looks up at you, nodding.

"do you say that to all the women you invite into your home?" you tease.

"i don't often invite women into my home.. in fact, you might be a first. quite special." he smiles. your cheeks feel hotter.

"well, spencer, i noticed you a while ago too. your very cute. you might be just my type." you say, staring at him.

its his turn to blush, and he looks nervous, as he turns away from you, lips parting into a smile.

"perhaps a blessing in disguise your apartment being flooded.." he whispers, the smile evident in his voice.

"i mean," you chuckle. "there has been one good outcome.."

"mmm.. silver linings and all." he says, turning to look you right in the eye. its sweet, hes very sweet. you think your very much going to enjoy your next two days here... perhaps even extend your stay.

[fantasyandshit]

Replaced part two

Omg I’m so upset- it won’t let me tag like anyone with dashes in their name at allll soooo if you commented on that post I am so so so sorry I couldn’t tag you guys

Type: one shot turned more

Part: 2/2

Part 1 here

Masterlist here

Pairing: Azriel x reader/ mystery character x reader

Seriously guys thank you so much- I’m so glad that the first part had so much love and I hope this one is just as good.

“So, what did you need my love?” I lean down to kiss my fiancés temple. He’s stressed, I can tell. His fingers tap away in rhythm with his foot. “Baby- what’s going on? Why are you so stressed?” My hands run down the length of his arms in a soothing motion. “How can I help you?”

The new high lord of autumn’s head meets my shoulder, a small smile gracing his lips. His head raises till his lips meet mine in a soft kiss. “Baby I need you to sit down.” His smile disappears as soon as it came and I frown, moving to the seat on the other side of his desk. I raise my brows expectantly as his hands move to reach mine. “Love- we have a high lords meeting in two weeks time. They have requested it be held here in order to see how I’m handling the court now.”

“Ok? And?”

“Darling I want to introduce you as the new high lady of Autumn. I want you come along.” He sighs, “it means you will have to see all of them again.”

The realization hits me like a ton of bricks. I breath for a moment, thinking about it, it’s been nearly five years since I left, the last time I saw any of them was the battle with Hybern, and even then Eris kept me mostly away from them so that I wasn’t distracted. “I’ll go.”

“Are you sure darling?”

“Very. I want them to see me as the high lady of autumn. Not the girl that left all that time ago.”

He smirks his signature smirk, pride filling his eyes. “Very well. Shall we begin planning?”

———

Everyone has finally arrived- or what is usually everyone, confusion sets in as Eris seems to sit in waiting, an empty chair beside him at the head of the table. “Are we waiting for someone Eris?”

“Yes actually. Shell be here any moment, she likes making an entrance.” Something bothers Azriel with the way the high lord smirks. He didn’t know who was going to walk through that door but he had a feeling he wasn’t going to like it.

The door swings open, a woman stepping through, decked in a gorgeous burnt orange dress, green and gold accents around her body, a golden crown, one looking like leaves woven together rests on her head. As her eyes catch Eris’ she smiles. “Sorry I’m late. Hope you haven’t started without me.” She surveys the room before stepping towards the empty seat. Eris stands, going to pull it out with one hand and take hers on his other. The pause for a moment, facing the table together.

“Everyone. I’d like you to meet my fiance and the high lady of the Autumn court. Some of you may already know her.”

As the female turns to kiss Eris, it clicks for Azriel. “Yn.” He can’t help but gasps and that is when it finally hits the inner circle of the night court.

“Hello guys. Long time no see.”

Cassian speaks this time, his brows furrowed and mouth agape, “you- your with him? Your the high the high lady?”

“Yes, in fact our wedding is next month. I am terribly excited. Especially after being named the high lady of Autumn.” She and Eris sit finally, hands staying tied together

An agony Azriel has never felt tears through him as he stares at his mate. She looks back to him as he gasps, clenching his chest wildly.

“Azriel. I’d like to get through my first meeting as high lady. So if you could stop…flailing. That would be preferred.” Yn clears her throat before turning to the others at the table. “I’ve seen some things. I see Koshei. I thought we took care of our issues with him, however I-“

The meeting continues, the night court still trying to process the news. After the meeting is finished, the high lords are given a walk through of the new Autumn court. “Yn. Yn can we speak please.” It was towards the end of the tour, courts had been led to where they��d be staying, only the inner circle trailed behind, minus Morrigan and Cassian who had been dropped off to their respective rooms.

I choose to ignore the shadowsinger, instead stopping at the next door and turn back to Rhysand and Feyre, “You two will be staying here. This castle works much like the house of wind. It will cater to you, we do tend keep things much warmer here for obvious reasons so if you are uncomfortable with the temperature just say the word and it will be brought down by the house.”

“Goodnight Yn.” I nod before turning back to lead the final male to where he’d be staying, Eris never leaving my side. We barely make it three steps down the hall before I feel Rhsyand pry at my mental walls.

‘What do you want Rhysand.’

‘You should talk to him Yn. He’s been devastated since you left and see you with Eris killed him I-‘

I shut it down. I don’t want to hear some sob story from my mate who didn’t even want me till I was gone. “You will be staying here Azriel. What I said to Rhysand and Feyre goes the same for you.”

Me and Eris turn to leave before I’m grabbed by the arm. “Wait. Yn can we please just talk.”

Eris growls. “Get your filthy hands off my fucking finance.”

The shadowsinger seems to get just as upset, opening his mouth to speak before I rip my arm from his grasp and turn, a glare resting on my features.

“Don’t you fucking dare! You have no right- no fucking right to get angry at my fiancée! Do you understand, you didn’t want me and I don’t fucking want you so go wallow in your self pity but stay the hell away from me!” Eris rubs soothing circles on my arm, a glare that could kill sent towards the shadowsinger as he grabs me, winnowing us to our room.

—————

Sooo I hope this lives up to your guys’ expectations!

[sakumz]

a/n : this has been on my mind for awhile now ever since I started mashle omg. oc yn kinda and maybe ooc rayne lol slight orter too

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

[ a. rayne x fem reader ]

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

you were a year older than rayne, orca's previous prefect. a divine visionary, the dark cane. your magic majorly consists of smoke. you can solidify the smoke. (reference to kurono from fire force omg I love his power but the character...☠️☠️)

rayne saw you multiple times around the school but never spoke, though he found you prettier than any other person he came across. he first saw you winning a candidate seat as a divine visionary when you were in your first year as max drags him along to watch back in their middle school years. you were an inspiration to the other students. despite being in the orca dorm, he did see you in the library with different students from either lang or adler. you were tutoring them.

when he first attended a meeting with the rest of the divine visionaries in his third year at easton, you happened to come in last, so the only seat available was one between orter and rayne. during that particular meeting when you spoke an option on how to deal with the world's problem, orter would shut you down. saying it was unrealistic and impossible to pull off.

rayne would peek from the corner of his eyes to see a pout form from your face. everyone could tell orter had some serious issues with you. your option wasn't unrealistic nor impossible to pull off but one that made complete sense. you were from the orca dorm afterall, the dorm of wisdom and willingness.

just when you had enough of orter in the room, you can't help but summon a small solidified smoke kunai knife, pointing the knife at his neck in a threatening manner. he wasn't faze by such a threat, he could transform his body into sand and dodge the attack. everyone in the room wasn't shock, seeing this happen before. rayne on the other hand, was slightly surprised you would do something like that to orter of all people.

" maybe this is why your younger brother isn't as close to you anymore, because you can't shut your mouth! " you shout as kaldo sniffles a laugh.

" who are you to talk? you don't even talk to your younger sister. last I heard she enrolled in easton and is in the adler dorm. nothing about spending time with her adoring big sister, " orter says in a matter of fact way. the other divine visionary did not want to interfere, hearing all the juicy sibling gossip spill from the two of you.

" ha! lucky for you, I did visit her two days ago. " you slam your hands on the table.

" what's the evidence that you did? " orter crosses his arms as he raise a brow.

" she did visit the adler dorm. " rayne starts, making everyone look at him as he clears his throat.

" I saw her exit the building. then I heard a loud sound from upstairs so I rush to the noise. a girl was happily screaming as finn and his other friends try to calm her down. apparently someone gifted her homemade cookies. she was just too happy receiving them. " rayne finishes as they stare back at you.

" seriously? that's all you did to make your sister happy. " orter playfully scoffed as you glare at the male.

" at least I try to spend time with her... unlike a certain glasses sandman. we're all so busy and I'm sure wirth would be over the moon to receive a letter filled with compliments from his dearest big brother. maybe that would bring you both closer. "

" really? " orter was sure to believe you. he was aware you and his brother has met multiple times back when you were still in easton, having heard your name spill out in the family's dinner get together though their father wasn't bothered by the name of a mere female on the table. orter was convinced his brother may have developed a crush on you.

" no. I'm sure he'll burn the paper afterwards, " you bluntly spoke. kaldo couldn't help but burst out laughing, the rest slowly following after except rayne.

the other time he's met you as a divine visionary was when you barged into orter's office room. rayne was still new and was being assisted by orter in settling and knowing more about the job as visionary.

" ryoh was supposed to join me in this mission and I'm not allowed to go by myself, said the light cane. he got sick as what his wife said on the call. I would've asked kaldo to come but he's busy tonight and this mission is said to last for at least two days. " orter was silent as you continued to ramble on.

" so please come along with me. I wouldn't want to bother sophina and the others. "

" take rayne with you. " orter replies as rayne awkwardly puts the paper stack orter told him to take on his table.

" okay, " you say as you look over at rayne, before motioning him to follow you.

closing the door a soft, " stay safe " can be heard from orter. despite how mean he can be towards you. you did make wirth comfortable in easton, students adored you so did the people in the outside world. you didn't care about titles or status. as long as you can care for your sister and make a living for yourself for survival. orter did bump into you several times when you were still a student in the streets he usually patrols in, you would give food and toys to the less fortunate children. going as far as to teach a thing or two if you have plenty of time on your hands. you did fell for orter at first sight. you'd crack jokes around wirth about marrying his brother but he'll brush off calling it a faraway dream as he can't imagine his brother with a wife. when you became a divine visionary, you pushed your feelings aside for the man. he was a meanie towards you.

rayne was quiet the whole ride to the place of the mission. he didn't know what to say. you had to break the silence as the carriage was going slowly to your destination.

" this mission... we're here to take back a lost relic. should be easy, "

" um.. what's your relationship with orter? " he can't help but finally ask the question.

" just co workers I guess... "

it was a relief to rayne. the mission ended smoothly, rayne was amaze by your battle skills. you summon a smoke screen as his partisan swords blend with the thick smoke, appearing right in front of the thieves.

you invited him to dinner as thanks but he kindly rejects, saying he'll have morning classes the next day so he'll have to be back in the dorms. you bid farewell but that didn't stop you from wanting to treat him to a good ol meal. so you pack him a bento lunch box.

you got an owl to deliver the bento with a note. he had no choice but to accept when the owl enters through his class's window and land on his table. students were curious but he simply brushes it off, saying its nothing. when it was lunch time. he was delighted to read the note. it was short and sweet. thanking him for the help and how you were happy he was willing to come. you hope he'll enjoy the lunch and he did. it had cute cut rabbit shaped vegetables. max didn't tease him but assume he had a secret girlfriend.

when he came to the divine visionary building, he was looking all over for you. he would like to thank and return the lunch box to you. when he entered your office, you and renatus were conversing. he notice you crying into a tissue as renatus awkwardly pushes the box of tissues towards you.

" what's wrong? " rayne asks as renatus smile awkwardly.

" I don't remember uhh, " renatus looks over to you as your sobbing self was replaced with a glaring you to him.

" what do I do with my dead cat? do I bury it in the cemetery you're always at? "

" so that's what's happening. well rayne, y/n's cat is pretty old and has passed due to old age. I guess you can bury the cat. I'll get it a tomb and stuff if you want. just let me know later, " he pats your head as he exits the office. leaving you alone with rayne.

" um, thanks for the bento. it was nice and I enjoyed the meal. " rayne starts as he places the empty clean box on your table.

" ah, no problem. thanks for looking out for the adler kids. " you replied as rayne remembers the conversation he had with your sister a week ago.

he had invited her and the mash gang to the lounge room to discuss about you. it would be very nerve-racking if it was just him and your sister and the possible rumours to spread if it was really just the two of them. they all squeeze on one couch as he awkwardly shifts in the couch he sat. was he that scary that they didn't want to sit next to him?

" um what's this about? " finn questions as mash noms on his beloved cream puff.

" what does your sister like? " rayne replies as lance starts shaking in his seat.

" my sister? my anna? " lance shakes as he slowly starts seething to the thought of rayne being with his sister.

" oh no, another pedo. " mash starts to shake next to lance.

" no way, " lemon whispers.

" dude, you're like so handsome and talented and you're after a young girl? " dot starts to bubble at the mouth at the conclusion he managed to make out. confusing bubbling in his mouth. finn was confused as well so was your younger sister. how did he meet Anna crown?

" no, not your sister idiot. y/n l/n. what does she like. I don't even know this Anna girl. " they all stop overreacting as the rest look over at the younger l/n.

" sorry my guy, she likes orter madl. " your sister responded monotony has gotten everyone going "huh" even rayne was confused.

" what? " he was certain there was nothing of that sort between you and orter.

" are you free tonight? let me take you to dinner. " rayne says as you throw away all the tissues.

" yeah sure, just give me ten minutes to finish cleaning up. " he sure waited.

settling down at your comfort restaurant, you and him got your orders and then food. you happily ate to your heart's content. rayne wanted to ask questions and call you his but the courage to do so was slowly biting his leg off. it was hard to talk about things he felt normal people would want to ask but can't be bothered to poke their noses in so they take their guesses as truth. he felt you kick his leg from under the table as he jolts at his seat from the sudden impact. snapping him out of his gaze.

" you're starring. "

" sorry. "

"what is it on your mind? you look like you're dying to ask, " you joked as he sent you a glare of his own.

" just thinking... are you and orter... together? " you drop your fork at the sudden question, he panics a little. maybe he shouldn't ask that question.

" no, we're not together. I'm a naive fool. it's one sided love? but it's okay! I'm not in love with him anymore. " rayne heaves out a sigh at the confession. he still has a chance and chance he will take.

" so, will you go out with me? I vow to protect you. I'll be your shield and sword. your everything. I've loved you since the first time we met. you are the beauty of what the world does not deserve to see, " he confessed as his ears starts to tint red and he looks shyly away from you.

" sure we can go out, I like you too! " and so your love story with rayne ames slowly starts to bloom.

[cheemscakecat]

Bucket Scene Analysis pt. 1

So I’m revisiting the Bucket Scene from Expiration Date, and I noticed some things. Spy’s feelings got really hurt, but the other Mercenaries didn’t mean to seriously upset him. Let’s go over their POV first.

Engineer and Medic are doing more experiments on the teleporter, so they aren’t present for the bucket scene. They’ll be trying to figure out a way to stop the tumors for the next three days instead of accepting the team’s deaths.

Soldier is too dumb to understand what’s going on, and Pyro presumably isn’t aware enough of his surroundings.

Demoman comes from a family with really disturbing traditions; they let him live as an orphan and only revealed themselves after he killed his adoptive family in an explosion… Because he was showing his skill. He’s actually expected to lose his sight entirely like his parents. Out of anybody there who knows what’s happening, he’s the most unbothered by them dying because of that twisted heritage.

Sniper calls his parents every week, and I’m sure he’s told them/about to tell them what’s happening. But he also has a plan to kill everyone he meets, so even if he is bothered by the fact that he’ll die, he’s not going to make the others privy.

Heavy has been responsible for his three sisters and his mother since he was a child. Around them, he’d be a bit more open and accept their hand on his shoulder.. But not Spy. Around co-workers, Heavy’d rather think on what’s happening and be left to those thoughts. Besides that, he already provided a secluded cabin in Siberia for his family to keep them safe, so if he dies at work he’ll be at peace knowing they’re ok.

I very much get the vibe that Spy never puts his hand on the others like this, and that’s why Heavy hit him with that Side-eye Claire face.

Now Scout? He’s an interesting case because he’s about to humiliate Spy with the fake cards, but in terms of them dying in three days:

“Ve have three days to live!”

It’s subtle, but he looks like he might cry. Not in front of them, but still. And that tracks, because he and Spy are the most sensitive members of the team. You can look at Spy’s reaction behind Medic, and it becomes more obvious.

But Jeremy wasn’t raised by Spy.

He was raised by his mother [who’s doing her best] and seven older brothers who are terrible role models. I have no doubt that his brothers were involved in petty street crime and gangs when they were younger, even if some came to their senses as adults. And gangs are not well known for emotional stability.

Scout grew up around seven guys that wanted to be “hard” and ignored their emotional needs/daddy issues… As the youngest and the most sensitive one. I imagine that crying and showing that something is getting to you was met with mockery. And being labeled a weakling. So Scout did his best to stop showing that “weakness”.

Now he’s graduated from the criminal fights his brothers used to get into, and joined a group of mercenaries. Since he looked up to his brothers and grew up imbedded in their worldview, he seeks approval from the other Mercenaries in the same way. That’s why he chooses to mock Spy instead of asking for the last wishes. It makes him look unbothered and he can call Spy the weak one instead of being cruelly labeled himself.

But RED team doesn’t operate like Scout’s siblings or a gang. They’re all individuals that specialize in a certain area of mercenary work, who could leave for a different team or independent work if they weren’t happy on the team. [Provided they don’t release any information that the Administrator wants hidden, or rebel against her.]

So when Scout pranks Spy, they aren’t seeing his as a weakling; it’s not even crossing their minds. They’re smiling because Scout seems happy despite impending doom. And why shouldn’t they be glad that he’s having a good time of it? Beats being dejected and since he’s the youngest, they’re more worried about his well-being.

What’s interesting is that Heavy seems to sense that Spy is upset, because his smile noticeably fades when he looks up. But I still don’t think he realizes how much this prank and the teams’ indifference hurt Spy.

[livinginshambles]

Preview: No, you listen to me | James Potter x Fem!Reader

Pairing: James Potter x Slytherin!Fem!Reader

Summary: Aftermath of when you ran away from the Yule ball, cinderella style. after the Christmas holidays, both of you return to hogwarts with different objectives. James tries to find out who you are. You try to make sure he never will.

Note: Not proofread, grammar mistakes, probably. I feel bad for making you guys wait so long, but uh, full fic will take me a moment.

Masterlist Part one. Part three

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

Your eyes scanned across the parchment, rereading James’ apology, but all you could really feel was disappointment and anger. What was even the point of trying to prove anyone wrong? You leaned back against the cushions of the armchair and pulled your knees up, wrapping your arms around them to steadily lock them in place. Then you let your head drop.

You pressed your watering eyes into your knee, effectively letting your pajama pants soak up any tears that threatened to fall. You gently rocked yourself back and forth while you tried to clear your mind. You wouldn’t let any of this get to you.

A hand pressed itself to your back, right between your shoulder blades. “Let’s get you out of here,” Regulus spoke up. His tone was hard, but only because of his clenched jaw when he thought back to how you had run off with a betrayed look. The second he realized it was James who was the mystery guy, he had kept a close eye. He knew things wouldn’t end well with those prejudiced twats, and he was right.

You pathetically looked up at him, and Regulus didn’t bother to hide his grimace at the sight of your face.

“Don’t exaggerate you arse,” you mumbled and shoved him light-heartedly.

“Back at you,” Regulus shot back. Then he sighed and motioned for you to scootch over so he could squeeze himself to fit in the armchair with you. “I know you. And I know you know what my brother and his friends are like. Why are you so disappointed?”

You stared at the lit fireplace, lost in thoughts, and eventually shrugged when Regulus nudged you out of your train of thoughts.

“I guess- I really liked the guy on the other side of the paper. And I really hoped that maybe he’d be in there somewhere. And I suppose that for a moment I actually thought James Potter was alright, you know?”

Regulus scrunched his nose in distaste. “Not at all, but go on.”

You shook your head in amusement at him, but let your eyes soften. “I’m sorry Reg,” you whispered.

“What for?”

“Making you listen to me whining about a guy that I know you have personal issues with.” You decided not to mention out loud, the fact that those personal issues included the way Sirius had left Regulus behind in that household, escaping to live with the Potters and going as far as publicly calling James his true brother. Found family, he had proudly said.

Regulus knew what you were referring to. He smiled bitterly. “Well, brothers are overrated anyways. I’d much rather have a sister,” he said while nudging you again.

You hummed in contemplation. “I don’t know Reg; I’ll have to disagree with you on this one. I’d much rather have a brother than any number of sisters.”

“How convenient for us.”

“Very convenient indeed,” you smiled happily.

Regulus got up suddenly and turned to you with a stretched out had. You raised an eyebrow at him.

“I meant what I said, you know. Let’s get you out of here. I do recall you promising me tea at your new apartment.” He looked at his pocket watch. “Well, it’s 5 o’clock in the morning, and the first train leaves at 6. What’s the difference between leaving in the evening or right now.”

“You absolute champ.”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

You laugh whole-heartedly and stuff the parchment in your transfigurations book. You and Regulus took the first train and left Hogwarts behind for the Christmas holidays. A break would do you good. Godric knows you needed to get James off your mind.

James carefully placed the glass slippers in his suitcase and covered them with a few sweaters just in case. He had caught the elves recklessly throwing suitcases into the storage compartment of the Hogwarts express before. You’d think that the use of magic would come in handy for tasks like this, but no.

“Prongs, I got you this?” Sirius pushed a sheet of bubble wrap into James’ arms. James offered Sirius an appreciative look.

After thoroughly explaining everything, from the moment when he found the parchment, to who you were and why he decided that he wanted to become someone you would approve of. Sirius had pieced the rest together and apologized to James for leaving such a shit impression on his mystery date.

James sheepishly pointed at his own solution. “Should I change it?”

“Well, I mean did you see how the elves throw around with our luggage?”

James mirrored Sirius grin. This break truly came at a perfect time. After all, James would let you occupy his mind as much as he needed to find out who you were.

Full fic.

[kkvqwrites]

You Flinched | 141 Headcannons

Don't mind me, just some 141 boys reacting to finding out reader has a history of abuse or DV. We all know that our boys would never harm a loved one, but I began thinking about them responding to their loved one being triggered. Because trauma isn't rational.

CW: DV mentioned/alluded to (not on-screen), trauma

Characters: Simon "Ghost" Riley, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, John Price, gn!reader

Word Count: 2,833

A/N: Yes this is self-indulgent because I have my own history and use my comfort characters to help. So I hope it can help someone else in the same way it helps me. Also forgive me, I threw it together on a whim and didn't really edit it.

Simon "GHOST" Riley

Simon is usually very careful with how he presents. He knows he's big, he knows he's intimidating, and most of all he knows what it's like to be vulnerable and scared of someone bigger than you. He knows when to use his voice/stature to his advantage (like on the battlefield) vs when to tone it down (like in private). He never wants to be scary to those he loves, ever. In fact, he wants his loved ones to have the opposite experience from what he had growing up.

That said, we all have our moments. It was, you both could admit, a silly argument over what ended up amounting to a non-issue. He was fresh back from the field and sleep-deprived and you had had a long shitty day and so a small disagreement became an argument. Somewhere in the bickering Simon decided he was over it. He stood, crumpling the paper he was holding into a fist and raising his voice, which he almost never did.

The combination of the fist and the yelling was what did it. He stood up so tall, so fast, and suddenly you were eight again, hiding in the cupboards and terrified to make a sound. Not knowing what would happen if you were found, but knowing for certain it wouldn't be good. When your parents went into their rages, there was nothing to do but hide and wait it out. As if reciting a dance you knew by heart, you shrank back, hands coming up defensively.

Simon noticed instantly, despite your best attempts to play it off. He knew all too well the look of a terrorized inner child and recognized it immediately in your pale face and shrinking posture. It broke his heart; he immediately regretted lashing out as it was, but this was even worse.

He'd step back, giving you space. He'd ask permission before approaching you and before hugging you, and once you gave it you'd be wrapped in an embrace that was both tender and hard as steel. He'd hold you for a long time, not saying anything. If you cracked and it all came spilling out, he'd listen intently. If you didn't want to talk about it, he'd respect it and not breathe a word about it until you were ready. You could feel in his heartbeat his need to make you feel safe warring with his desire to find whoever made you afraid and teach them a lesson about fear.

Simon is a man of actions, not words, and he's never been a fan of "sorry" and instead prefers follow-through. Now, though, the word poured from his lips. Wrapping your arms around him in return, you forgave him wordlessly.

The next free time you both had, he'd surprise you by taking you to a shooting range. Another weekend, he'd teach you basic knife skills and how to throw a decent punch. If questioned, he'd say it was something he'd been meaning to do for a while with a dismissive shrug. But you had a hunch, even if he couldn't or wouldn't verbalize it, that he was sharing with you the ways he'd learned to overcome feeling powerless when he was younger. By learning to defend and fight back, you could take your agency back and walk into the world unafraid. It didn't matter that he'd grind anyone who bothered you into dust, because it was about you and making you feel empowered. Simon wasn't one to give you bouquets of flowers and poems, but he could give you this. And, slowly but surely, it started to work.

John "SOAP" Mactavish

You and Johnny were out with some mutual friends at the pub one night, drinking and having fun. Your boisterous Scotsman was ever the social butterfly, and he never failed to bring the party wherever he went.

You and a friend were laughing at something on your phone, and when you handed it Johnny to show him, you froze as your eyes saw an unmistakable silhouette over his shoulder. You recovered quickly, sure that it was a mistake, but not quickly enough. Johnny's face went serious as he studied your expression, which was suddenly tense.

You'd play it off, not wanting to ruin the good vibe. You'd even double check to reassure yourself that it wasn't him, but your stomach would sink once you looked back. In a corner of the bar, nursing a glass of dark liquor, was your ex. He noticed you at the same time, and the eye contact made you feel sick.

At this, Johnny would take a look for himself, and would pick out the man eyeing you from across the bar right away. After giving the man a once-over, he'd turn back to you.

"Is that who I think it is?" You'd nod. You had told him bits and pieces of how your ex treated you, but left out the worst of it lest Johnny go on a rampage to defend your honor. He's loyal to a fault and would not take kindly to anyone mistreating people he cared about.

The unfortunate thing was, being special forces came with an ability to read people and situations, and your reaction to seeing your ex filled in the gaps well enough for Johnny to understand what wasn't being said. You were scared, and the man seemed to know it by the smug expression he wore as he stared at you.

Rather than cause a scene, as you had feared, Johnny scooted so he completely blocked your view of the other man (and the man's view of you via his broad shoulders). Seamlessly, he'd continue the conversation with the folks around you as if nothing was amiss, despite his hand never leaving your thigh in a move that was at once possessive and reassuring. You leaned into the touch, comforted by Johnny's presence and relieved that the situation had seemingly blown over.

A bit later, Johnny announced he was going to the bar to get another round for the table. On instinct, your gaze shot to where your ex had been sitting, but his seat was now empty. Breathing a sigh of relief, your eyes turned to follow Johnny through the room. You could never get tired of looking at him. It wasn't until he reached the bar and clapped a fellow patron on the shoulder that you realized the individual he was talking to wasn't the bartender, but your ex who had moved seats. Keeping his hand on the man's shoulder, Johnny struck up a conversation like a true natural.

Oh no.

You braced for a commotion, but Johnny's expression and body language stayed friendly and open. You couldn't hear what he was saying to the man, and if asked he'd tell you he was just introducing himself. But when he let go of your ex's shoulder and flagged down the bartender to order a drink, the other man threw some money onto the bar and all but ran out the door.

The place would become a frequent haunt for your friend group, but you'd never see your ex darken the doorstep again after Johnny's talk with him. Good riddance.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

You and Kyle had been going steady for a bit now, and you were excited to introduce him to your family. Well, most of your family. You didn't have a good relationship with your stepdad, and Kyle respected that it was a sore spot for you. He would never pry, but he could pick up on how your tone would change when your stepdad would come up in conversation, how your posture would change when your mom dragged him into the frame to say hello during your video chats.

A big family dinner was the perfect opportunity to introduce everyone to Kyle, and you were looking forward to it. Truly. You had a nice outfit picked out and Kyle bought some fancy wine to bring, hoping for a good first impression. He needn't have worried; your aunts and cousins all fawned over him, and your uncles were endlessly impressed by his stories from his job. Long story short, he was a hit.

He stayed by you all night, stroking the back of your hand with his thumb as he made conversation. At first, you chalked it up to being the new guy in the room, but the ease of his posture suggested he wasn't nervous. Rather, his frequent check-ins started to make it feel like his closeness was for your benefit. You were the one who was nervous, looking over your shoulder every few minutes praying you didn't see a certain face in the crowd. You loved your family, but get-togethers always came with a certain amount of anxiety. Every time your eyes strayed around the room, Kyle's followed, taking in the crowd. Even more frequently, you caught him sneaking glances at you, as if assessing if you were alright.

You were alright, until the front door opened and you heard a specific voice boom in greeting. Your mom and stepdad strode in, late as always, your mom carrying the casserole dish and your stepdad slapping a case of beer on the counter. Your demeanor changed immediately, shrinking yourself as if you could become invisible if you just hunched enough. It didn't work, of course, and they spotted you within seconds. Before you could react, Kyle was in front of you, placing himself between you and your parents with a smile and his hand out to shake.

"I'm Kyle, heard lots about you," he said neutrally, shaking hands with both of them. They turned to you, but Kyle spoke again. "How was the drive? Heard you had to come across that new expressway, have they finished that yet?"

It was like that the rest of the evening. Kyle remained an immovable barrier between you and your stepdad, keeping him engaged in conversation and unable to address you. You and your mom were able to slip away shortly to help set the table and catch up, and every time you snuck a glance at the men out of the corner of your eye, the view was the same: Kyle orienting himself as a physical wall, keeping you out of eyeshot. His body language was at-ease, his smile friendly enough, but his eyes were tight, not like they had been when talking with everyone else.

When everyone grabbed a seat, Kyle pulled a chair out for you before quickly stealing the spot next to you from your stepdad. You looked at him with gratitude and he squeezed your knee reassuringly under the table, all the while maintaining conversations with those around him as if nothing was amiss. If you hadn't already loved him, you certainly would have after that night.

Captain John Price

Ah, spring cleaning.

Well, it was November, but still. It's refreshing to get rid of old stuff and start anew, but it's also essential when you're combining two households. John had finally convinced you to move in with him, so the two of you were creating piles labeled "Keep" "Trash" and "Donate". Upon reaching the bottom of an old box labelled "Miscellaneous," you came upon something that had your stomach churning. Old records: Johnny Cash, the Sex Pistols, the Doors. You hadn't realized you had them, and you weren't particularly fond of who they belonged to.

You didn't realize you had frozen in place until John snapped you out of it, coming up behind you with a hand snaking around your waist and his chin resting on your shoulder.

"Whatcha got, love?" He whistled when you showed him.

"The condition those are in, you could get a pretty penny. I didn't know you collected vinyl, I'd have bought a player."

"They're not... mine." You explained, as briefly as possible, that they were your ex's and must have gotten mixed up in your stuff when you split several years ago. He hummed in understanding.

"Right, then. To the garbage with it?"

It was the logical solution. He hadn't asked after them, so he must not miss them that badly. You would rather lie down in traffic than have any contact with him. But John's comment about their value stopped you from throwing them onto the "Trash" pile. Damn your too-kind heart, always causing problems.

It was easy enough to find your ex's contact info; you had changed your number after the split, he hadn't. Soon enough, you had agreed on a time for him to swing by and grab the stuff when he was free. The rest of moving made the days go by in a blur of organizing and unpacking and bickering over where the toaster should go and which wall to mount the TV on. That is, until you looked at your calendar and realized that it was today. This afternoon was the interaction you'd spent the week trying not to think about. You'd stepped around the box of his things all week, mentally blocking out why it was sitting in the front hall. You'd managed to stay busy, and bury your anxiety in the endless tasks that come with setting up a new home.

But time had run out, and in mere hours you were going to be face to face with someone you had once sworn never to see again. The realization made the room feel too small, made the air feel too warm, made you feel like you were suffocating. Suddenly you just had to get out.

"We need... yogurt." You blurted, walking too quickly and too loudly into the foyer to grab your keys.

"Yogurt? Right now?" John called from the kitchen.

"Yes, right now! For... for a recipe," you mustered, hoping you sounded convincing. This had been a mistake, a huge mistake, and your brain was screaming RUN! RUN! RUN! as loudly as it could. Hand on the doorknob, however, you froze. If you left, John would be here when your ex arrived. He'd answer the door, introduce himself, and hand off the items. Shouldn't that be ideal? No contact between you and him, simple and easy. But rather than provide relief, the thought made you sick to your stomach. It felt like a defiling almost, to think of him entering your new sanctuary and meeting the love you thought you'd never have. It felt wrong on every level, and your feet rooted to the spot in agreement.

"Still here, love?" John came into view, the book he'd been reading in hand, finger acting as a bookmark. "I was thinking, I could go if you wanted. Just text me what we need. Don't you have someone coming by?"

Yes - that's it, you thought. Have John go, get him away from here before he could arrive. You'd handle it on your own; you'd done it before.

Nodding, you stepped aside, slipping your shoes off next to the door. John put his book down and approached, taking your place and grabbing his keys off the hook. He turned to kiss your forehead, but stopped short and stared at you. He noticed for the first time that you were fidgety, as if anxious for him to leave when usually it was the exact opposite. His ever-observant eyes spent several seconds taking you in, and you knew as he asked the question that he already knew the answer.

"Everything alright?"

Of course it was! How silly to think otherwise! You began playing it off, the same way you had gotten so good at doing back when you and he were still together and your friends would ask you the same thing. Just hyper, just busy, just this, just that, always an excuse to avoid saying "I'm afraid." Afraid of what mood he'd be in, afraid of what awaited you when you two would be alone later. Fear you hadn't felt in a long time, but could feel now just as bone-deep as it had been back then. As if your body had stored it as muscle memory just in case this day came.

"Are you nervous about something?" It was another question you could tell he already knew the answer to, and you wanted to feel irked about it, but looking into those eyes you suddenly just felt tired. Tired of carrying the fear and the uncertainty alone. So you exhaled for a long time, and slowly told him exactly what you were nervous about.

It felt good to get it off your chest. Until now, no one had ever known the extent of what had gone on. You expected John to explode into some fit of hyper-masculine protectiveness like guys on TV, but he didn't. He listened to you talk, and then he nodded and sat on the couch, reopening his book on his lap.

"What are you doing?" You eyed him suspiciously, unable to believe that that was the end of the conversation.

"Well, I'm waiting right here. And when this lad knocks, I'm going to answer the door and have a little chat with him."

[buckyseddie]

mine

pairings — rafe cameron x fem!reader

summary — in which, when rafe attempts to start over, he finds a mysterious girl who leaves him more and more curious about her after they meet. based on the song mine by taylor swift!

word count — 6.6k.

warnings — rafe left home and is more mentally stable and trying to be better, angst, fluff, reader has a bad past and family issues, use of pet-names [princess, baby, angel, sweetheart], hugs from the back, neck kisses, picnic dates, slight hints and mentions of fireworks and fourth of july, forehead kisses, forehead touches, kisses, rafe refers to reader as his girl a few times, reader calls rafe by his last name a few times, mentions of bills, arguments and fights, slight mentions of both of them getting mean in the fight, rain conversations, reader's big abandonment and trust issues are heavily mentioned, the reader and rafe get an unexpected and harsh visit from her parents, big mentions and hints of mental health, mentions and hints of rafe's dad's abuse in the past, reader has an episode and she has one with a panic episode with it, big mentions of reader and rafe visiting the obx and him being on good terms with sarah and the pogues because i wanted peace in this, mentions of rafe going back to college and working at a cafe.

notes — i've been wanting to do this one for a while, so here it is! gif and divider creds to owner!

p.s., feedback is very much encouraged and appreciated <3.

main masterlist

EVERYONE WANTS A FRESH START.

in this case, this means two polar opposites from completely different worlds.

all rafe wanted to do, was leave his life and past in outer banks behind — as far as he was concerned, the old rafe was gone.

after taking consequences for his actions and getting some much needed help, rafe moved out of his dad’s house and went back to college.

"ah-ah, ah-ah. ah-ah, ah-ah."

then, he got his life together and was ready enough for a job.

“you were in college, working part-time, waiting tables. left a small town, never looked back. i was a flight risk with a fear of fallin’, wondering why we bother with love, if it never lasts.”

as great as it was that rafe was finally settled in the old town of charleston, things were about to change.

he was working, and one day, a girl — a very mysterious one, might i add — decided to stop at the cafe for some peace and quiet. 

it wasn’t the first time a girl — or girls, if i’m being completely honest — stopped there.

in fact, loads of girls stopped there daily, most usually only stopping by to fawn over rafe.

but, he didn’t pay any mind to the attention — he was used to getting attention from girls from his experience as a kook back in outer banks.

and honestly? none of the girls that he’d seen stop at the cafe ever intrigued him or left him speechless.

well, at least until he met her.

there was something different about [y/n] — she had a certain distant emptiness to her.

she was reserved and quiet and shy, almost always making sure to do everything right, in fear of everything crashing down on her.

as she walks over to a table and sits down and opens up a book from her bag, rafe glances up and it’s as if time stops when their eyes make contact, despite how cheesy and corny that sounds.

he couldn’t believe his eyes — she was beautiful, of course.

but, she had that kind of side of her that he could tell she didn’t think it herself.

an easy-going smile is thrown her way as he makes his way over to her table, trying to ignore the shocking nerves coming from him.

“hi. would you like something to drink?” he asks in a surprisingly calm tone as he pulls out his notepad and pen, awaiting her answer.

looking up anxiously, she gulps, trying not to let the intimidation of the gorgeous man in front of her get to her.

“could i just get some water?” she murmurs so softly that rafe almost doesn’t even hear her.

he nods, watching her curiously. “sure. will that be all for your order?” he questions, raising a brow at her.

as she notices the way he’s watching her, like he’s seeing right through her ‘i’m fine’ facade and her soul, she nods shakily as a shiver rushes through her spine.

“y—yes. thank you.” she mumbles as he nods and says something about her water being out as soon as possible and puts away his pen and notepad.

but, as he walks back to get her water, he turns around and looks at her once more, this time noticing the scared look in her eyes — it's obvious that there’s more to her than she's revealing.

“i say, ‘can you believe it?’ as we’re lyin’ on the couch. the moment, i could see it. yes, yes, i can see it now.”

with a content sigh, [y/n] moves into rafe’s welcoming arms.

as she lays her head on his chest, his chin resting on top of her head, he wraps his arms around her and a sense of calmness — something neither of them have ever felt in their entire lives — fills their hearts.

it was just them, lying on his couch in the living room of his apartment, relaxing.

it’d been a few weeks, after he’d gotten her number and asked her out on a date — they’d been on countless dates, even though she was a little hesitant to get involved with him because of her past.

and now, they're almost completely comfortable around each other.

although, both rafe and [y/n] still have doubts and hesitance on whether this new and recent relationship will work, or even whether they can let their guards down around and let each other in.

but as they hold each other for a moment longer, a startling thought pops into [y/n]’s head and it causes a shaky breath to leave her lips.

noticing the change in her, rafe moves his chin away from her head and angles his head in a way that helps him see her face completely. he also notices her tearful gaze.

“hey… what’s wrong?” he questions, brushing her hair out of her face.

another sigh later, and she’s shaking her head and waving him off. “i—i’m fine. don’t worry about me.” her voice breaks and trembles, causing him to lift her chin up, in order for her to look at him in the face.

he gives her a pointed look, hoping it’ll coax her into telling him what’s wrong.

with another sigh, she finally voices her thoughts, “i just realized that i’m still scared that you’ll find something wrong with me — that you don’t like — and will either hurt me or leave me… ” she trails off, some of the tears actually escaping her hurt eyes.

realization hits him as his eyes soften. “i’m not going to leave or hurt you, okay? let’s just see how this goes.” he murmurs seriously, rubbing a comforting hand over her arms to soothe the upset mood she's in.

sighing once more, she nods, before snuggling further into his embrace, eyes closing.

“do you remember, we were sitting there by the water? you put your arm around me for the first time. you made a rebel of a careless man’s careful daughter. you are the best thing, that’s ever been mine.”

loud giggles leave her lips as he playfully chases her into the water.

“rafe! n—no! don’t you dare think about doing what i think you’re about to do!” [y/n] exclaims, noticing the mischievous glint in his eyes as she holds a hand up in the air.

he smirks in amusement.

then, he runs toward her — despite, her moving back every time he gets closer — and grabs her, lifting her up and running further into the water, before throwing her into the deeper part of the water.

she goes under for a moment, before eventually coming back up.

“r—rafe!” she exclaims, coughing a bit, since some water went into her nose and mouth when she went under.

she glares at him, shivering and trying to remain upset with him.

but then, he breaks into that smile — you know which one, the one that would make any girl’s heart swell — and her pissed-off resolve starts to fade away.

then, he laughs.

“you’re so cute when you try to act mad.” he murmurs, moving closer to her as she moves to stand up, still shivering.

she groans, a smile trying to desperately make its way onto her face.

“rafeeee! you can’t say stuff like that… ” she mumbles, full-on blushing now.

he chuckles at her reaction, before moving his hands up her arms in a repetitive motion, in order to warm her up better.

then, he moves his arm to put around her shoulder and starts walking closer to the shore with her.

as they finally sit back down on the towel, that’s near the water,          [y/n] snuggles further into rafe’s chest, a content sigh leaving her lips as she begins to feel at peace.

“thank you.”

“for what?” rafe looks down at her, eyebrows furrowing as he becomes confused on what she’s thanking him for.

[y/n] hesitates for a second. “for showing me how to live life without me feeling like i don’t deserve it.” she murmurs quietly, her voice coming out small.

after hearing her statement, realization hits rafe of what she means — she's talking about her old home life, before she moved away from her family.

her father was a workaholic and not the best person in the world, always snapping at her and her mother.

not only that, but her family was always, always fighting.

and she was always the blame when it came to her family defending their actions — she never got to live the life she deserved.

but now, she can. with rafe.

“of course. you deserve to live your life to the fullest and to always be happy, okay?” he murmurs softly before placing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

“flash forward and we’re taking on the world together. and there’s a drawer of my things at your place. you learn my secrets and you figure out why i’m guarded. you say you’ll never make my parents’ mistakes.”

rafe watches in concern as [y/n] struggles to get off of the phone with her family — a family she honestly wants nothing to do with.

with a heavy sigh, she finally hangs up, before making her way over to the kitchen’s table.

“god… ” she mutters, wiping away the fresh tears away from her cheeks.

“angel, what’s going on?” rafe murmurs, moving to sit beside her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

[y/n] sighs, refusing to look him in the eye — she knows that the second she looks at him, the truth will come tumbling out.

though, rafe doesn’t take offense to this and simply waits for when she’s ready to talk.

and when she does finally look over at him, the tears fall and the stuttering and trembling statements of the truth come out.

rafe’s eyes soften as he calmly and patiently listens to her.

“princess, i hope you know that i would never hurt you like your parents. and i’ll never hurt you the way your dad hurt your mom.” he murmurs seriously, moving his hand to cup one of her cheeks.

“you p—promise?” she trembles, more tears falling.

he nods. “always.”

then, he pulls her in for a hug, allowing her to let everything out.

“but we got bills to pay. we got nothing figured out, when it was hard to take. yes, yes, this is what i thought about.”

she lets out a light giggle when she feels those familiar arms wrapping around her waist as she continues to try to think straight on the numbers she's trying to put together.

"what're you doing?" he murmurs, kissing her neck, before glancing down at the paper that she's holding over the table.

a quick sigh in defeat leaves her lips when he pulls away from her and takes the paper from her and folds it, before putting it in his back pocket.

"you don't need to worry about that right now." he says seriously as she turns around to face him with a stern expression.

he rolls his eyes at her determination and stubbornness. "don't give me that look, sweetheart."

she opens her mouth to defend herself, but he interrupts her, "you don't have to worry about that."

she raises her hands up in the air in clear frustration. "but, i live here! i can't just live here — with you — and not pay for it!"

rafe rolls his eyes — again — at her, becoming frustrated himself. "princess, you don't have to pay for that."

she groans, clenching her eyes shut for a moment, before opening up her eyes and marching over to him.

"yes," she says, tapping his chest with her pointer finger, before continuing on, "i do. i've been living with you for a long while!"

"and," she says, motioning to the living room, where a lot of her stuff is sitting in boxes. "i already have all of my stuff here!"

rafe sighs, knowing that she has a right to feel this way, especially with the way she was raised.

giving her a serious look, he places each of his hands over her shoulders, trying to calm her down and ease her worries. "okay." he simply says.

she knits her eyebrows together in confusion and shock. "okay?"

he nods, chuckling at her shocked reaction. "yes, okay. we'll figure this out. but, for right now, let's just relax and take it one step at a time, okay?"

with a quiet sigh, she nods, letting him lead her into the living room.

"do you remember, we were sitting there by the water? you put your arm around me for the first time. you made a rebel of a careless man's careful daughter. you are the best thing that's ever been mine."

it was meant to be a quiet, romantic picnic by the water. but, it becomes something else entirely.

something much more carefree and exciting.

rafe had planned this for the past few days, knowing that despite he'd been trying to get her to relax about the bills, she was going to be stressed no matter what.

but, that didn't mean that he couldn't give her a nice evening to distract her.

it really was meant to be serious, but that's exactly what [y/n] didn't want. because she wanted the distraction too.

and she's not quite sure how it happens, but she finds herself letting her guard down and wanting to live in excitement.

it's hard to explain, but rafe makes her happy and he makes her feel like she can actually live without everything she's been through holding her back.

that's exactly why when rafe hands her a bowl of grapes, she grabs a few and jokingly throws them at him.

she giggles when she sees the shocked look on his face, but then a teasing glint fills his eyes and a mischievous smile forms on his lips.

"oh, you're gonna pay for that one, sweetheart!" he says, getting up and preparing to get to her, causing her to squeal in both excitement and shock.

she giggles as she gets up and runs away from him, an insane amount of happiness and peace filling her at the current situation — it's moments like this with rafe that makes life feel worth living.

as she keeps running through the spacious field with tall grass and weeds, she glances back again, only to not see him.

this causes her to stop in confusion and look around.

only when she looks in front of her, does she see him jokingly running towards her.

"no!" she squeals, moving to run in the opposite direction, but he catches up to her and is able to pull her to his chest by wrapping his arms around her waist.

she giggles, sighing in defeat, before groaning in feigned-sadness.

"you got me, cameron."

he chuckles, leaning closer to kiss her shoulder and inhaling her scent, taking in the moment. "yes, i do."

the love in his voice causes her to turn around in his hold, his hands holding her waist as she cups his face in her hands.

maybe she's just in the moment — she doesn't know, and she doesn't care — but she murmurs those three words in honesty, "i love you."

he's shocked for a moment, before leaning closer to press a kiss to her forehead. "i love you, too."

a smile takes over both of their lips.

"do you remember all the city lights on the water? you saw me start to believe for the first time. you made a rebel out of a careless man's careful daughter. you are the best thing that's ever been mine."

a big smile on her face is what distracts rafe from the booming and bright fireworks.

that big smile, paired with the excited and awed glint in her eyes as she admires how the fireworks shine and reflect through the water makes his heart nearly stop.

he should be enjoying the celebratory fireworks, but he's only focused on her, because seeing her happy is everything he's ever wanted — possibly from the first moment he met her, even when she refused to get to know him in the beginning because of how scared she was to let him in, after everything she's been through.

noticing how quiet he is, [y/n] turns to face him, adorable confusion in her eyes as she knits her eyebrows together in concern.

"rafe? what's wrong?"

he's quiet for a moment, before shaking his head with a happy smile on his lips. "nothing."

"you sure?" she asks, still very much confused and worried.

that excitement that she expressed before is long gone now as she starts to ramble, "if something's wrong, we can go. it's okay if you're not feeling these fireworks anymore."

rafe immediately shakes his head, moving to kiss her forehead. "everything's fine. i promise."

"okay... then, what is it? what's on your mind?" she asks, tilting her head to the side in further confusion.

he chuckles, smiling down at her. "i just like seeing my girl happy."

not expecting this, [y/n]'s mouth falls open for a second, before her face turns red, clearly loving being called his girl.

he smirks at this, fully knowing his effect on her.

she sighs and leans her forehead over his, not caring who sees. "rafe, i hope you know you've changed my life and i'm so much more happier for it — with you in it."

those words bring a big smile to his lips. "good, i'm glad."

"oh-oh, oh."

one thing she loves most about being with rafe is how complete and happy she feels around him.

because despite the fact that she believed that she'd be stuck in her trauma for the rest of her life, he's shown her that there's more to life and that she wants what he's given to her.

"and i remember that fight, 2:30 a.m. as everything was slipping right out of our hands. i ran out crying and you followed me out into the street. braced myself for the goodbye. 'cause it's all i've ever known. then you took me by surprise. you said, 'i'll never leave you alone.' (oh)."

it was over something stupid — some small argument that turned into a screaming match.

it was something that caused the both of them to lose their control and snap at the other — that let them lose their cool.

it started with [y/n] just asking him a question — and of course it was about the bills because she wanted to do what she could to pay for her living with him.

then, he'd gotten frustrated. and what was once bickering, turned into something much more worse.

and it's not like they're angry at each other.

[y/n] just couldn't shake the feeling of being like a burden and rafe just wanted to show her that that's not how he sees or feels about her.

and it just didn't feel good for either of them — the insults and frustrated comments they made towards each other only made things worse.

when rafe opens his mouth to say something else, [y/n] quickly turns around and walks over to the door.

this throws him off, making him gape at her in surprise.

"[y/n], where are you going?" he asks, getting up and starting to step towards her, but he doesn't get close to her when she quickly twists the door knob and pulls the door open.

she runs out, and despite the pouring rain, she races into it, running until her feet hurt, to the other side of the apartment.

with breathless gasps and sobs leaving her body, she stops short and falls to her knees with her hands quickly hiding her face behind them with her shoulders shaking.

all she can think about is that she's probably messed everything up.

she just had to get involved with the bills and bring up — once again, for the millionth time — how she needs to pay her share for staying with him.

all she can think about is that as soon as she goes back into his apartment, he's going to break up with her and kick her out with a broken heart.

footsteps stop from behind her, but she doesn't hear it because she's distracted with the negative thoughts in her head.

then, a touch to her shoulder shakes her out of her own head and causes her to shakily stand up and turn around.

but, she doesn't look at him, she keeps her head downcast, refusing to see that disappointed look that's most likely on his face right now.

"hey, look at me." he murmurs softly, his heart hurting at how upset she is — how upset he's made her.

she still doesn't, however.

with a deep sigh, he lifts her chin up, forcing her to look at him. "i'm sorry, baby. i'm so sorry. i didn't mean to hurt you."

he frowns as she takes a deep breath, the tears spilling onto her cheeks.

a shaky breath leaves his lips and his eyes immediately soften, gently swiping away the tears with a tender expression on his face.

"i love you so much, princess. it was never my intention to get so cruel. please, know that." he murmurs, his face quickly forming with an expression of guilt and regret.

she sighs, finally finding the courage to speak, "it's not your fault, rafe. this is on me. i'm the one that's been bombarding you with letting me help with the bills — i just kept pushing."

he tilts his head slightly to the side in confusion.

when she doesn't say anything else, he shakes his head. "hey, this isn't your fault. i shouldn't have gotten so mad at you."

her bottom lip trembles, hating how upset she's getting around him.

"it is, though. i've messed everything up and our relationship is going to fall apart because i always destroy everything i touch." she whispers this emotional statement, but rafe hears it clearly.

he sighs, stepping closer to her and gently cupping her cheeks in his hands. "baby, when you told me the truth about your family, i told you then that i'd never hurt you like that." he says seriously, causing her to knit her eyebrows together.

"i promised you that. and that includes not leaving you, okay?" he murmurs, frowning when he sees more tears fill her eyes.

"i'm not leaving you — ever. i meant it when i said i loved you, and i still do."

she still doesn't believe it for a second, but when he doesn't say anything else and his face stays with an expression of honesty, she changes her mind — she believes him now.

"you promise that?" she asks quietly, her voice tight.

he nods, his face still filled with honesty, before he pulls her into him and wraps his arms around her body, while her face falls into his chest and her arms go around his back.

"we're going to figure this out, i promise."

shockingly, those words do just enough to comfort her in the moment.

"you said, 'i remember how we felt, sitting by the water. and every time i look at you, it's like the first time. i fell in love with a careless man's careful daughter. she is the best thing that's ever been mine.'"

it was unexpected to say the least.

she didn't even know how they found her — she hadn't told many people from her old town where she'd moved.

but, somehow, they found her.

the only thing she hates most, is that rafe gets dragged into it — she doesn't want this for him.

but, she and rafe had gone out, to go get some breakfast and then get some groceries, since they've been running low on a lot of things.

and on their way home, [y/n] almost trips, causing rafe to immediately catch her in his arms when they both realize that it's because one of her shoes is untied.

as rafe bends down to tie her shoes, she rolls her eyes at his joking manners.

"there you go, my lady!" he says with a joking tone of voice as he stands back up.

she giggles, rolling her eyes at him. "you're so silly right now, rafe cameron."

he smiles, happy to see her smile as he leans in to place a kiss on her forehead.

despite the fact that they're in the middle of the path of the sidewalk, the couple doesn't even take notice of the people walking past them and giving them dirty looks.

"you're so cute." he murmurs, pulling her body into his and wrapping one of his arms around hers, before pressing a tender kiss to her forehead.

this only causes her to giggle in response, a happy smile taking over on her face.

"you really are, though." he says when he pulls away from her.

she shrugs, not quite believing him herself.

he sighs, rolling his eyes at her clear refusal to believe him.

"you are, sweetheart," he says seriously, now moving his hands to hold her face in his hands. "you are quite literally the best thing to ever happen to me."

her mouth falls open in surprise, before her cheeks flush red and a small smile forms on her lips.

"you really mean that?" she asks softly, tilting her head to the side and watching him closely.

he nods quietly, causing a happy glint to fill her eyes and for her smile to turn into something bigger.

"i feel the same about you, cameron."

the both of them find themselves stuck in the moment, but when someone else passes them, they remember where they are.

rafe steps away from her, but not before intertwining their hands together and leading her down the pathway that's near the apartment building.

but, when they finally get there, two people standing outside makes [y/n] freeze in place.

rafe turns to face her with concern on his face. "hey, what's wrong?" he asks, noticing what she's looking at, making him turn to look too.

not knowing who they are, he turns back to face her. "who are they? do you know them?"

she gulps nervously as the unknown couple starts walking towards them.

catching rafe's nervous face, she quietly explains in a tight voice, "they're my parents."

rafe's once concerned face shifts into one of instinctive-protectiveness.

when he turns back around, her parents finally step in front of them.

[y/n] gulps nervously, barely even noticing the way rafe steps in front of her protectively with one of his arms in front of her — she's too distracted.

"you need to leave." rafe says, before either of [y/n]'s parents can speak first.

her mother is startled, whereas her father becomes quickly irritated. "who do you think you are? we're only here to speak to our daughter!"

her mother, despite everything she's put [y/n] through, nervously touches her ex-husband's shoulder to stop him from starting anything, especially in public.

he, however, harshly shrugs her hand off of his shoulder with an angry look in his eyes.

rafe turns to check on his girlfriend, only to notice the scared and nervous look in her eyes.

seeing this only makes him even more irritated — he hates to see her happy mood from before become sour and sad.

"you seriously need to go. you don't get to pop up back into her life after putting her through hell." he tries his best to stay calm.

this only angers [y/n]'s father; he scoffs angrily, motioning to his daughter. "[y/n], tell this idiot to leave and let us talk!"

[y/n]'s mother winces, nervously glancing around them, noticing that people, who're passing by, are stopping to watch.

somehow, though, [y/n] finds the courage to shake her head insistently. "no. he stays."

this only aggravates her father even more.

"are you really going to let him talk to us like this?!"

she flinches, stepping back.

however, seeing this is just enough for rafe. "you guys need to go. [y/n] has moved on from what you guys put her through and she doesn't need this or any more surprise visits. she doesn't owe you anything."

her father goes to say more, but his ex-wife stops him by grabbing his shoulder to hold him back.

rafe turns back to face [y/n], grabbing her hand and holding it in his own gently.

a soft look fills his face as he speaks his next words, "your daughter is an amazing woman, despite how much you've hurt her. and i love her," he says, causing her to smile in appreciation and love, before he turns back to face her parents again. "and she doesn't need this from you."

"so, do her a favor and leave. and don't come back." he says tensely, still holding her back from behind her.

"excuse me?!" [y/n]'s father exclaims angrily, moving to step forward, not scaring rafe one bit, considering he's use to abusive men like his father.

rafe stays standing in front of his girlfriend in a protective stance, but her mother is the one who reacts before her ex-husband can.

a look of defeat fills her face as she struggles to pull him away from his daughter and her boyfriend.

"let's just go. this was a mistake." she says, still struggling to hold him back.

finding the courage, [y/n] says the next thing that — shockingly — convinces him to leave, "dad, please. just go," she anxiously flinches when she sees the angry look in his eyes, after what she says next, "i'm sorry, but i don't want anything to do with either of you. and you both owe it to me to do that for me."

with a shocked expression, he lets his ex-wife pull him away from them.

when they're finally gone, rafe and [y/n] turn to each other, allowing her the final moment to break.

she drops the grocery bags to the ground, beginning to breathe heavily with tears spilling to her cheeks.

rafe sighs, knowing what she needs as he pulls her into his chest, dropping his own bags to the ground gently.

"it's okay, baby. they're gone." he murmurs quietly, finally wrapping his arms around her body and allowing her to feel what she needs to.

"hold on, make it last. hold on, never turn back. (hold on), you made a rebel of a careless man's careful daughter. (hold on), you are the best thing that's ever been mine."

it wasn't a good time. not for either of them.

[y/n] knew that getting into a relationship so soon with rafe was bound to cause some issues for her.

especially with how she struggled in the beginning to open up and let him in and to begin to love him because that would mean letting down her guard and getting attached to him, until he'd eventually leave, because that's all that ever happens with her.

but, rafe is different — he promised he'd never leave or hurt her, and he meant that, and he still does.

it was just one of those days with an intense episode and this time, she can't control it.

and rafe having his own experience with mental health is able to see it from a mile away. and he's able to be there for her — and refuses to leave her — despite what she expects.

he walks past the hallway of the apartment, only to find her on the floor, against the couch, in the living room.

she's shaking and her face is practically beat red from crying and her breathing is panicked.

"baby?" he calls, causing her to immediately glance up in surprise.

her mouth falls open, her eyes filled with panic, but she quickly looks down and hides her face behind her hands.

"i'm fine, rafe. just leave me alone." she says, loud enough for him to hear, hoping that he'll listen because there's no way he'll still see her the same if he witnesses any more of this episode that she's clearly having right now.

this doesn't do anything to deter him.

in fact, it only concerns him more as he races over to her in concern.

her breathing only becomes much more heavy and rushed as he kneels in front of her.

"princess, talk to me." he murmurs quietly, internally struggling on how to be there for her without setting her off — he knows too well how it feels to be so consumed with pain, but to snap at anyone because of it.

she doesn't say anything, but her hands shake as she desperately tries to hold in everything she feels, in order to not snap at her boyfriend.

"hey," he murmurs, finally reaching over to gently pull her hands away from her face. "you can talk to me. you don't have to go through this alone." he murmurs, quickly becoming much more worried when he sees the way she's struggling to breathe.

the look in his eyes that are filled with both concern and love gives her the courage to finally talk, "r—rafe, i can't... i can't b—breathe... "

that pressure on her chest becomes incredibly tighter as she clenches her eyes shut in further panic.

he sighs, soothingly running one of his hands over one side of her hair in worry.

"okay... do you know if you're having a panic attack or anxiety attack, or is this an episode?" he asks genuinely, grabbing one of her hands and rubbing his thumb over it soothingly as he waits for her answer.

she shakes her head in more stress, shaking. "i—i don't know... i think... i—it might be b—both."

rafe sighs stressfully, before letting go of her hand to move to sit beside her.

"okay," he says in determination to help her as he grabs her hands to hold gently. "what i want you to do, is breathe with me, okay?"

she breathlessly nods, her eyes following his hand that's taking one of hers to hold over his chest and over his heart.

he counts to three, before nodding along with her as he starts to breathe calmly and deeply.

a shaky breath leaves her lips as she breathes deeply and calmly with him, but it doesn't feel like she's actually breathing on the inside.

noticing this, rafe nods, still very much determined. "okay, this is okay," he murmurs, holding her hand with his over hers that's over his heart. "just keep going, okay? you can do this."

she nods, still struggling to breathe with searing tears falling repetitively.

"it's okay. just close your eyes, and focus on my heartbeat and just try to breathe." he murmurs, trying to ignore how worried he is about her — he needs to be strong for her to get through this.

closing her eyes, she tries to take a deep breath and listens to the calm and normal beating of his heart.

after a while, she begins to calm down with her breaths returning to normal.

taking another deep breath, she sighs in relief and leans into him. "thank you, rafe."

he nods, wrapping his arm around her shoulder.

after a few more minutes, she pulls away from him with an embarrassed expression clear on her face.

"i'm sorry. i hate that you saw me like that." she apologizes, glancing down at her now fidgeting hands, feeling deep in her bones that he'll see her completely different, now that he's seen her in this state.

rafe shakes his head at her, grabbing one of her hands with one of his and lifting her chin up with the other. "hey, don't apologize."

she opens her mouth to say more, but he cuts her off, "you're my girl, baby. when you hurt, i hurt. this is what i'm here for."

his words warm her heart and tears fill her eyes.

"you promise that you don't see me differently now?" she asks in barely a whisper.

moving his hands to her cheeks, he smiles at her with a fond smile. "baby, there's not a single thing in the entire world that could ever make me see you differently other than the girl i'm in love with and love with my whole heart."

a small, audible gasp leaves her lips at hearing that statement — this is the first time he's ever admitted to being in love with her.

i mean, sure, he's told her countless times that he loves her, but he's never told her until now that he's in love with her.

"really?" she asks in a whisper, once again.

he nods, smiling at the happy smile that takes over her face.

with no other words exchanged, [y/n] turns to lean her body against him again, only this time they're cuddling each other and closer to each other more than before.

"do you believe it? (yeah, yeah, yeah). we're gonna make it now, (yeah, yeah, yeah). and i can see it, (yeah, yeah). i can see it now."

"are you sure about this?" rafe asks her, his voice filled with nerves.

she turns around to face him, immediately noticing how nervous he is.

"as long as you are," she says, placing her hands on each side of his neck as he leans his body against the side of his car. "seriously, you tell me right now, if you're having doubts. we can always do this a different time."

she is nothing but supportive, something he notices immediately.

the situation that's stressing him out in question? it's about visiting outer banks, to meet with his sister and her friends.

things have been better with them, after he got the help he needed and helped pay for the actions he committed.

but, being on good terms with them isn't what's worrying him — it's the fact that he's going to have to run into his father at some point.

now, the truth is, rafe told [y/n] the truth about everything that happened in the obx when the two of them started getting really serious — he didn't want to lie to her.

but, another thing he's worried about, is him introducing [y/n] to everyone — he worries that they'll think that he doesn't deserve her.

because if they believe that, then he'll have to believe it too.

but, seeing the lost look in his eyes — which is clearly telling her that he's stuck in his head right now — [y/n] catches his attention by wrapping her arms around his neck.

as he wraps his arms around her waist, she leans closer to him, leaning her forehead over his, before pulling away with an infectious smile.

"it's going to be okay. but, it's your decision," she murmurs seriously. "but, if we do go, just know that i'll be there with you the whole time — you won't have to go through this alone."

her words are what helps him make his decision.

"if you're with me, i think we can go."

"yeah?" she asks, just to make sure.

"yeah." he says, confirming it with a smile.

a big smile spreads over her lips, nodding in clear excitement.

"okay," she says in confirmation. "let's go, then."

with that, she pulls away from him, giving him a look that really does prove that every word she said to him is something that she means completely.

this is all he needs to agree.

before they go, however, he pulls her back towards her to press a sweet kiss to her lips — one that she returns.

she pulls away with a big smile. "i love you, cameron."

he laughs in agreement. "and i love you."