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soaps-mohawk · 3 months ago

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Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 34: The Whole Truth

Summary: In life, we will be confronted with difficult choices. Sometimes you won't know you've made the wrong choice until it's too late

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 12,582 words

Warnings: Dead dove: do not eat, Angst, graphic violence and torture, mentions of predatory behavior towards a minor, Phillip Graves is a major creep, lots blood and injuries, kidnapping and its aftermath, hostage situations, anxiety and panic attacks, language, very explicitly described torture, ‘mega gets hit a lot, choking, biting, ‘mega gets stabbed with an ice pick, author can’t write COD missions, vomiting, lots of heavy emotions, detailed descriptions of pain, guns, background character dies on screen, descriptions of guilt and grief, lots of POV changes, some descriptive language of gore and blood at the end, rehashing of ‘mega’s injuries from the last chapter, a lot of angst and very heavy content, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe

A/N: This chapter deals with some pretty heavy content. Please, please, please read and heed the warnings. I have included content warnings for the more graphic parts before they happen, so if you don't want to read those, you can skip ahead to the next part. I suggest taking breaks if you need to, read it in installments if necessary. And I cannot stress it enough, please heed the warnings.

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“Hi darlin’.” His grin widens like he’s happy to see you. “Been a long time.”

You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, your brain still sluggish. You feel sick as you try to process, try to figure out why and how. You try to move your arms again, but your wrists are stuck, hands burning as you pull. You desperately want them free, desperately need them free.

“Easy,” Phil says, putting his hands on yours, pushing them flat against the arms of the chair. They’re warm and calloused, the same hand that had been on your face a few moments ago. “You’re gonna hurt yourself. More than you already have been.” He lifts your left leg, making you groan quietly as a deep ache throbs down to your foot and up to your hip.

Running. A gunshot. Pain.

“He had strict orders not to harm you.” Phil says, adjusting the bandage wrapped around your calf. “Don’t worry. We got you all fixed up.” He sets your leg back down gingerly, his touch lingering for a moment before he looks back up at you.

“Why?” You croak out, trying to make sense of what happened.

Corporal McKinney broke into the barracks and chased you into the woods. He shot you and drugged you and now you’re here, restrained in a chair staring at a man you haven’t seen for years. A man who was once your dad’s best friend.

“A lot has happened since we saw each other last.” He says, pushing himself to stand. “I left the Marines after a few years, formed my own group of military contractors. Invited your dad to join, but you know how he is. All honor and duty and serving the country. Of course, you haven’t seen him in quite a while, have you?”

You stare up at him, starting to get scared. You never liked Phil. There was always something about him that put you off. He always stared too long, always sat too close to you. He always greeted you with a hug that lasted too long, squeezing you too tightly against him. He was sweet on you in a way he wasn’t with anyone else. He could be intense, brash and almost downright rude sometimes. He was a firm believer in traditional packs too, even if he never spoke about his own pack, his own omega. He had to have one, if he was as dedicated as he said.

He was far too much like your father.

Phil was always kinder to you, though. Softer. Not quite as callous and bellicose as your father in public. He was polite, always happy to lend a hand, always glad to roughhouse with your brothers to get their energy out. You saw the way your mother looked at him though. Perhaps her apprehension bled into you, those dormant omega instincts picking up on something she was projecting.

He made you uncomfortable, and she knew it.

What could an omega do, though, in a world where they don’t have opinions, they can’t argue, they can’t disagree. Your mother never said anything because in the world your family existed in, the world Phil existed in, she couldn’t.

“He was so angry when he called.” Phil continues, staring down at you. “Ranting and raving about how his oldest daughter betrayed him by presenting as an omega. He couldn’t stand having such a useless child in his perfect pack.” You flinch at his words, even though you heard your father spew those very words after your presentation firsthand.

“He called you?” You ask, the pieces starting to come together as your brain finally snaps fully into awareness. You knew he called someone, but you hadn’t thought it would ever be Phil.

“Of course.” Phil chuckles. “We were good friends, pals, buddies. He knew I could help him.” A shiver runs down your spine. You know what he’s going to say next. “So I did. I have some contacts in some high places, people who owe me favors. So I made some calls, pulled some strings, got you into FIOT immediately, with some strings attached of course.” He leans down so you’re almost face to face. “I wanted you. They put a note in your file. You wouldn’t be placed in the registry when you were old enough, you would go to me and my pack.”

Bile churns in your stomach as you process his words. It all makes sense now. The stares, the hugs, the closeness with your father, your rapid enrollment in an institute that can take weeks to process applications. It was all so you could be his. Something he’s wanted from early on.

“You would have been mine,” He pushes himself up straight again, starting to pace back and forth in front of you. “If the fucking CIA hadn’t gotten involved!” You flinch as his voice raises, the frustration starting to darken his scent. “They froze your file, made the claim null and void. All for what, their little initiative that never really existed in the first place?” He huffs out a laugh, a smirk tilting his lips. “Small world, though. Who knew we’d be seeing each other again after so long.”

He steps closer, looking down at you. You hold his gaze, suddenly feeling afraid. Even though you know him, even though you spent a good part of your childhood around him, you’re afraid of him right now. Your mind starts to revert back, the urge to lower your eyes, break eye contact like you’re supposed to flashing through your mind.

Don’t stare alphas in the eyes. They’ll take that as a challenge. It’s not your job to challenge them. Your job is to be subservient.

You would have been subservient to him if the CIA hadn’t gotten involved. You would have been under his control, bowing to him and his will. You’d have pups by now, at least one. He’d always talked about having a big pack with lots of pups someday, always glancing at you when he said it.

You’re going to vomit all over him.

It’s not just the truth that scares you, though. You’re being held captive here. That thought has registered in your mind now, the reality settling in as you get over the shock of the last few minutes. Corporal McKinney kidnapped you from base, and now you’re restrained in a chair surrounded by unknown alphas. Phil isn’t going to help you, take pity on you. He’s not here to be nice, to have a little chat and catch up on life.

That possibly ended as soon as he was denied what he wanted.

His hand cups your chin, holding your face up as he looks down at you. His thumb is rough as it strokes your jaw, a tickling feeling starting in the back of your mind again. There’s an almost bittersweet look in his eyes as he holds your gaze. You refuse to lower it, refuse to give him that satisfaction. “You’ve grown up a lot.” He says, his hand sliding down your neck to the collar of your shirt. “You always were cute, though. I knew early on you were going to be an omega. You were far too...calm and compliant compared to your brothers. Always so polite and eager to please. You can tell if you pay attention, you know. Those dormant instincts start to show themselves long before presentation.”

His hand pulls your collar to the side, revealing your mark. His eyes harden as he stares at it, his lips turning down into a frown. A shiver runs down your spine as the darkness in his scent intensifies. He’s not holding you hostage just to tell you about what could have been, what direction your life might have taken. He’s here for a reason, and you know your pack is involved. Something has happened, something behind the scenes, something John was looking into.

“What’s going on?” You ask as he releases your collar, taking a step back.

“Well, you’re being held hostage.” He says, like it isn’t already obvious. “You’re...shall we say...leverage to ensure your pack follows orders.”

You blink at him. You haven’t heard from or spoken to your pack in weeks. You should be relieved that they’re apparently still alive, but what if you had been right and they don’t want you anymore? Why would they take you if your pack has abandoned you? Or did they take you to ensure they wouldn’t...

“Laswell stuck her nose somewhere it shouldn’t have been.” Phil says, crossing his arms. “It’s only so long before your pack finds out. Let’s just say...they’re not going to be happy about it. So, to ensure they don’t do something impulsive and reckless as they are known to do, you’re going to play hostage.”

You gulp as you stare up at him, suddenly feeling very afraid. Your scent spikes in the air, clouding it with the bitter scent of anxiety. It was the plan all along. You knew it even if you hadn’t been told outright. Deep down you’ve always known it wasn’t about strengthening packs. It wasn’t about studying how an omega would increase or decrease the efficiency of military packs. With the events of the last few months, the idea had started to form in your mind. You know you weren’t alone in those thoughts. John and Simon were digging into the cameras for a reason. They were put up for a reason.

It was always about control.

That was the point of the initiative. That was why they put cameras up, that was why General Shepherd was so invested in the state of your pack and if you had been mated. He needed to ensure you were close enough to them so if something happened that wasn’t supposed to, you could be used against them.

You’re nothing more than leverage.

Your scent spikes in the air, clouding the room as reality sinks into you. Something happened that caused this. Something called your pack away to isolate you, to leave you vulnerable. They wanted you alone as a contingency.

Something did happen.

Now you’re here, being held captive by a man you used to know, a man who could have been your alpha had things not played out the way they did. The thought has your stomach churning. How far will they go? How far will Phil take things? Could he be merciful because of your history? Or will his ruined plan make him more ruthless?

You’ll be punished for something you can’t control.

Phil makes a soft sound as he looks at you, shaking with fear in the chair. “Don’t be scared. As long as your pack does as they’re told, I won’t have to hurt you.” He turns the light back to face you, nearly blinding you. “Now, smile for the camera.”

They’re safe.

It had been close. A rough position to be in, but they managed it. He never doubted them and their abilities, but four against nearly fifty with no backup were not good odds. He’s been in tighter places before, and while he had his doubts, he is grateful Johnny and Simon were sent in when they were. Even if it was a bit suspicious.

“All accounted for.” John says as he sinks down onto one of the jump seats next to Kyle.

They’re all battered and bruised from their final fight. He’s ready to get home, ready to get back to you. From the sound of it, things were not going well, according to Johnny and Simon. He has a lot to make up for, a lot of apologies to make.

“Fucking Russian PMCs.” He says, speaking to Kate over the comms. “It’s not a coincidence Kate.”

Kate lets out a sigh that crackles through the comm. “No, it’s not. My team and I came across some information while we were digging into the cameras.”

“What information?” He asks slowly and carefully. He doesn’t like being kept in the dark, especially when it comes to his pack. Especially when it comes to you.

“Not just information on the initiative, but information on General Shepherd.”

“What information?” He asks again, slower this time as Johnny and Simon move in closer.

“Shepherd was the one that sold those weapons to AQ and the Russians.”

John looks at the other three members of his team. He knew something was wrong, something was off about the way Shepherd had acted while informing them about this mission. “He wanted those missiles found and destroyed so he could cover his own ass.” He says, his stomach starting to twist. He doesn’t like the way this is going.

“But we found out the truth before you could find all the missiles.” Kate continues. “He sent you on a wild goose chase to give himself a chance to escape.”

John’s hand tightens into a fist. “Where is he now?”

“He’s gone dark. Totally off radar.”

John pushes himself up to stand, the adrenaline pumping again. “I’m going to find that bastard-”

“John.” Kate says, cutting him off. “There’s something else.”

The twisting in his stomach intensifies. There’s a bad feeling tickling in the back of his mind. He doesn’t want to entertain the dark thoughts that are brewing. “What?”

“They took your omega.”

His stomach clenches, his breath catching in his lungs. The other three shift on their feet, all of them stepping closer. The scent in the plane thickens, anger and confusion mixing into a toxic cocktail. He hopes he heard that wrong, that there was some kind of interference in the connection and his brain made up the words he missed. “Repeat that.”

“They took your omega.” Kate says again.

He lets out a long breath, his muscles tensing. He’s had a bad feeling tickling in the back of his mind for the last few days. Something was wrong, something was off. He should have known it was all a ruse. Why would AQ and the Russians store a missile in any of the places they had been sent to in the last week? It hadn’t made sense, and he had wanted to voice his doubts, but the consequences of a missile being launched because they decided not to look in one place was greater than his own perceived doubts.

They had been right though.

Of course it had all been a plan. Of course there had been something fishy about it. He’s hardly ever wrong. He’s been praised on his instincts on the field and off. He should have known. Pulling Simon and Johnny when they did should have been enough evidence, even if they had been needed in the end.

“You’re positive?” He knows she is. There’s no mistaking something like that, there’s no doubting it.

“There’s a video.” Kate says, John’s stomach dropping. “I’m sending it to you now.”

John pulls out his phone, his fingers white as he holds it up. He’s angry, beyond angry. If they’ve laid a hand on you...if you’ve been hurt because of his own failings, his own inability to see the truth...

He clicks on the video when it comes in, a familiar face popping up on screen. “Hi boys. Been a while.”

“Fucking Graves.” Johnny growls, his hands closing into fists in anger.

“I have a little something of yours I think you might be interested in.” He turns the camera around, your face popping up on screen. You’re restrained in a chair, wrists red from the zip ties, but there’s a glare on your face, looking as mean and threatening as you can. There’s a bruise on your cheek and what looks like a healing cut on your lip. Someone hit you.

“Smile for the camera.” Graves says, a bit too cheerfully.

You don’t smile, your glare sharpening as the camera gets closer to your face. There’s still fight left in you. Whatever has happened hasn’t been too bad. Yet.

“Let’s make this simple.” Graves says. “You stay away from Shepherd, and I won’t have to hurt this pretty little face. She is pretty, isn’t she?”

You shift in the chair, your leg lifting before you kick outward.

“Ow, you little bitch.” The camera jostles for a moment before it’s straightened back up, a hand shooting out to wrap around your throat. There’s no sign of any struggle, the glare still prominent on your face. “Feisty thing. Gotta keep up with those wild boys somehow.”

The hand tilts your face just slightly, showing the mark on your neck. It is you, not that John doubted that from the beginning. It may have been almost two months, but he wouldn’t forget your face that easily.

“Like I said,” Graves continues. “Follow your orders and she’ll be released unharmed.”

The screen goes dark and John resists the urge to throw his phone. He shoves it back into his pocket, turning towards the wall of the plane. He throws his fist against the metal as hard as he can. It hurts, but he can barely feel it over the rage burning hot in him.

“Fucking Shepherd!” He shouts, rearing back to throw his hand against the wall again.

Graves has his omega. Graves has his omega and now you’re being used as leverage. They’re all being played like puppets.

A hand catches his fist before he can punch the wall again, easing him back. “Easy.” Kyle says, trying to soothe him as best he can. “We have proof of life, we know that she’s alright for now.”

“For now.” He growls, looking around at the members of his team. “But for how long?”

“They knew we’d go after Shepherd as soon as we learned the truth.” Simon says. “This has been in the plans for a long time.”

“They’re trying to get us to make a choice. Focus on getting our omega back while letting Shepherd escape, or go after Shepherd and let our omega be tortured.” Kyle says.

“Those fuckin’ wankstains.” Johnny says, shifting on his feet. He’s angry, the bitter scent filling the enclosed area of the plane. They’re all angry, angry at those responsible, and angry at themselves for falling for it. “They were usin’ us the whole time.”

John lets out a long breath. It’s a hard decision to make. Go after Shepherd and cut the head off the snake, or go after you and let the person orchestrating all of this escape. Graves won’t stop, even if they do manage to take out Shepherd. He has his orders, and he will follow them, with or without Shepherd pulling the strings.

There might be a second contingency. They kill Shepherd, you die too.

No matter what, you won’t be safe. If they go after you, Shepherd escapes and if they try to hunt him down later, he’ll use you again, or worse. They don’t have to kill Shepherd, though. They have proof he’s a traitor. He can be brought to justice if he’s caught. Death is too gentle of a punishment for what he’s done. He deserves to rot in prison for the rest of his life.

They have to make sacrifices for the good of the world.

“We’re going after Shepherd.” He says, taking a deep breath. “None of us will be safe if we don’t.”

“That’s dangerous, John.” Kate says. “We don’t know how far Shepherd or Graves will take this. You know how Graves is. He may not be able to be stopped, even if Shepherd tells him to.”

He takes a second to breathe. His pack is silent, all three of them staring at him, waiting for him to make this decision. He is pack alpha, he is their Captain. They do what he tells them to do, follow his orders no matter what. Kate is right, this is a risk, but sacrifices have to be made. Hands have to be dirtied to keep the world clean.

He just hopes you’ll forgive him.

“We’re going after Shepherd.” John says definitely.

“This is a bad idea, John.” Kate warns him.

“It’s the only option we have. They’re trying to draw us away. It’s a risk we have to take.” He can see the apprehension on his packmate’s faces. They’re all feeling it, the drive to go after their omega, but deep down he is right. They’ll never be safe until Shepherd is taken care of. Going after Graves only removes one small piece of the puzzle. The job always comes first.

“Get us locations, places he might try to dig in and hide.” He says, heading towards the cockpit. “We’ll find this arsehole and kill him ourselves.

***

Kate lets out a sigh as the comms close off. It’s a mistake. She knows it is. The guilt is eating her alive. She fell for this, she brought you into this, and now you might get hurt because of it. How she didn’t see the reality has shame burning through her. They were all blind, all led astray, all fooled by the red herring.

There was never an initiative. It was never about strengthening packs. It was always about control. They wanted a way to control packs. Shepherd knew if the secret ever came out, there would be no stopping the consequences. Legal or illegal, retribution would come for him if the truth was revealed.

This was his way of stopping it.

That's why the 141 were the guinea pigs.

They are the most dangerous threat to Shepherd, and he handed them a way to control them under the guise of strengthening packs, experimenting on how their dynamics and efficiency would shift with an omega added in. Even worse, they all fell for it.

John is making a mistake. Graves won’t stop so long as Shepherd knows they’re coming after him. The last thing she wants is for you to get hurt because of their decisions, their mistakes. Shepherd won’t order Graves to kill you. That’s too much of a risk. It would give the 141 nothing to lose, and that would put them at their most dangerous.

Will Graves listen to that order?

She can send out a team to get eyes on Graves, find his position at least. That way, if things do take a turn, she’ll at least have a direction to point them in.

They were all too trusting and ignorant. You’re innocent in all of this.

It’s her fault.

They’re going to need help.

Christine can’t sit still anymore. She can't take it. It’s been almost eighteen hours since your disappearance and there’s been nothing. No word, no news. She knows you’re alive. Kate had confirmed that, but that hasn’t eased the burning questions eating away at her mind. What is your current state? Who took you and why? Where is your pack and are they even aware of what’s happening?

She’s been sitting and twirling her thumbs. She can’t bring herself to do any paperwork, any research. What is there to do besides sit and worry? She doesn’t have a patient to take care of because she lost the one she was supposed to watch.

She huffs out a breath, pulling her phone out of her pocket and dialing Kate. If Kate won’t call, she’ll call herself. Kate’s probably busy though, so Christine can’t blame her too much for not calling. She’s probably so far from the front of Kate’s mind right now.

The phone rings twice before Kate answers, sounding tired and disheveled, just as much as Christine feels.

“Laswell.”

“Kate, I need to be there.” She doesn't hold back, doesn’t try to make small talk. There’s no time for it. She knows how Kate is doing, and it’s not great.

“Christine, I don’t know if I can take that risk.” She says.

“I need to be there. I can't take sitting around here anymore, and when you find her, she’s going to need someone she knows there, someone that knows how to take care of her.” Christine lets out a breath, the relief of getting her thoughts out taking some of the weight off her shoulders.

Kate sighs, but she has to know Christine is right. She’s not sure what state you’re in, and depending on how bad it is, and where your pack is, you’re going to need her. Even if you think she was behind this. “I’ll have a plane ready to go in thirty minutes.”

“Thank you, Kate.” She says, letting out a sigh of relief.

“Don’t miss the flight.”

Christine hangs up, gathering a couple things from her office before closing and locking her door. She nearly runs to her barracks, packing a bag quickly. She’s not sure what to bring, or how long this will take. She’s not even sure exactly where she’s going.

She hurries to the airfield, phone in hand. She’s not sure where the plane is or which one she’s taking. She’s just relieved Kate is doing this for her.

Her phone buzzes as she reaches the tarmac, making her puse. She lets out an annoyed sigh before answering the call.

“Of course you have to call at the worst possible moment.” She says.

“I’ve always had the worst timing.” Alex’s voice comes through the speaker, and she can almost hear the smile on his face.

“I can’t talk long. I’m about to board a plane.” She says.

“I know. We’ll pick you up on the tarmac.”

She blinks in surprise. It’s been years since she’s seen her brother, months since she’s spoken with him. Ever since he retired from Delta Force, his regular calls have been happening less and less, and they’ve reached near radio silence over the last couple years. Now he’s involved in this too?

“Kate called in a favor.” He continues, and that’s all she needs to know. “We’ll see you in a few hours.”

“Yeah.” She says, tears brimming in her eyes as she smiles. Despite everything, she’s glad she gets to see her brother again. Glad she has some support in this. Your pack will be mad. They’ll blame her. She’s not afraid of them, but she knows Alex will stand behind her no

**Content Warning: light torture, ‘mega gets punched, further injury to previous injuries, panic attack**

Your hands are starting to go numb. The constant attempts to free yourself from the zip ties isn’t helping, but you’re beginning to get twitchy. Your omega is scratching at the back of your mind, begging to be free, but you know you won’t survive it. The room is full of armed mercenaries, and you’re sure if you tried to take out Phil first, you’d be pumped full of bullets before you could even do any damage.

He’s leaning against the wall far too casually, staring at the phone he’d used to record the first video of you. His explanation had been simple. Your pack stops going after General Shepherd, you don’t get hurt. The longer they chase Shepherd, the more Phil gets to torture you until they decide your life is worth more than Shepherd’s.

Will they choose you over Shepherd? What if they’ve already decided to abandon you? What if your fears were right and they’ve given up, and that’s why they were gone so long? They won’t care what happens to you, if they have written you off as a burden, as a loss. They’ll let Phil torture you to death and they won’t even blink an eye. You’ll just be another casualty.

It makes your stomach hurt, the idea of your pack letting you die. Even the idea of someone who had once been a friend of your family being so cold towards you has nausea bubbling in your belly. He doesn’t care. His only worry is money, not the past. He doesn’t care. He’ll do the bidding of whoever offers the highest price.

He lets out a sigh, pocketing his phone as he pushes himself off of the wall. “Looks like your boys don’t follow orders well.” He bends down, putting his hands on his knees so he’s face to face with you. “They’ve decided to leave you here with me. Looks like Shepherd was wrong. They don’t really care about you as much as everyone thought they did. Makes me sad, them abandoning you so easily.”

You try to ignore his words, try to convince yourself he’s doing it on purpose, trying to mentally break you. Yet you can’t deny those words play exactly into your doubts, your fears. Have they really left you here, choosing Shepherd over you? Would they decide to do that? How easy had that decision been made?

Tears blur your vision as you stare up at Phil, your eyes burning as you try to put on the bravest face you can. You won’t let him have the satisfaction of knowing he’s getting to you, playing into your fears.

“Unfortunately, that means I have to hurt you.” He stands up straight, staring down at you for a moment before pulling his fist back, hitting you across the face.

You see stars for a moment, your head snapping to the side. The left side of your face is numb, the taste of metal flooding over your tongue. You’re bleeding, blood pooling in your mouth. A hand grips your chin, pulling you back so you’re sitting up straight in the chair. You stare up at Phil, the fear fading away to anger as you glare up at him. Your face is throbbing, and you know it’s going to swell and bruise later, more than it already has thanks to Corporal McKinney.

Traitorous bastard.

They all are.

“I do feel bad for hurting that pretty face.” He says, stroking your jaw with his thumb.

The movement is impulsive, the anger becoming too much. You spit the blood in your mouth in his face, the droplets splattering across his skin. He turns his head away for a moment, bringing his other hand up to wipe at the blood.

“That wasn’t very nice.” He says, looking down at you.

“Fuck you, you fucking creep!” You yell, kicking at him with your bad leg.

He releases your face, catching your leg easily. He pushes his thumb against the bullet wound, all the fight leaving you as pain tears through your body. You let out a scream, trying to pull your leg away but he won’t let you. He holds his thumb there as you scream, the tears streaming down your face.

“Okay, okay please! Please stop!” You beg, the pain radiating up into your hip and side. You can’t take it anymore, your brain starting to go fuzzy as you hyperventilate.

He releases your leg, his hand wrapping around your throat to lift your face. The tears are streaming down your cheeks, mixing with the blood from the cut on your cheek. There’s no sympathy, not even regret in his eyes as he stares down at you.

“I don’t want to hurt you, but if you can’t behave, I’ll have to do just that.” He releases you as you continue to hyperventilate, your eyes starting to glaze. You’re distressing. Will Phil help you? Will he do what he has to do to keep you alive? If you die, there won’t be anything stopping your pack. The entire plan will be over. They’ll go after Shepherd, then they’ll hunt down Phil.

Cold ice water hits you in the face, shocking you back into clarity. Phil is holding the cup of water he’d been letting you drink from periodically. You blink at him as water drips into your eyes, your breaths hitching but far slower than they had been. You’re awake and aware now.

You didn’t even know it was possible to do that.

“Don’t distress on me now.” He says, putting the cup down. “We have so much ahead of us.” He moves around to the back of your chair, bending down until his breath hits your ear. “Besides, you make me help you out of distress, I might not be able to stop myself.”

Your eyes pinch closed as his lips brush the shell of your ear before he stands back up, tears mixing with the icy water still sliding down your face.

Christine nearly runs down the ramp once the plane has stopped on the runway. She’s jet lagged and worn out after eight hours of worrying, but she’s eager not only to finally get some news on you and your status, but to see her brother for the first time in a long time.

It’s not hard to find him.

“Chrissy!” He grins, hugging her tightly.

She has half a mind to complain about the nickname she’d endured her entire childhood, but she can’t find it in her as she hugs her brother tightly. She’s missed him, more than she realized. Their jobs have kept them busy, her with her medical studies and practice, and Alex with...whatever it is he does.

“It’s been far too long.” She says, pulling away from him. She’d love to stand there and hug him for an hour, but she can’t. They have more important things to do. Time is of the essence, if her worst fears are true.

“A lot has happened, a lot has changed.” He says.

She looks him over, spotting the more noticeable changes in comparison to the last time they were face to face. “You could say that.”

“We can talk about it later.” He turns to the other person with him, a woman. “Christine, this is Farah.” He introduces her. “Farah, this is my baby sister Christine.”

“Nice to meet you.” Farah says, shaking her hand.

“You as well.” Christine looks between them for a moment. She knows that look in Alex’s eyes as he looks at Farah.

“We should get moving.” Farah says, ignoring him.

“Laswell has moved off the grid.” Alex says, opening the driver’s side of the SUV.

Smart, if things are as bad as she thinks they are.

Christine gets into the back, letting out a long breath. She’s closer now to finding out what’s happened to you. The guilt is still eating her alive. If she just hadn’t left, if she hadn’t believed the phone call, put it above your safety.

Things might have been worse if she had stayed.

“Kate filled us in about everything.” Alex says as he drives away from the airfield. “At least in regards to the pack and your involvement.”

“There’s some things she’s not telling us.” Farah says. “Though if things are as bad as they sound, I don’t blame her.”

“I don’t know much of anything.” Christine says, staring out the window as they drive out of the city. “I feel like it’s my fault. If I hadn’t left her alone...”

“It’s hardly your fault.” Alex says, glancing at her in the rearview mirror. “If this was all planned, there wouldn’t have been anything that would stop it from happening.”

“They might have done worse if you had stayed there.” Farah says, speaking Christine’s own fears aloud.

“I wish I could see her. Make sure she’s alright.” Christine says. “If something happens to her...”

“From what I hear she’s a hardy omega.” Alex says, trying to comfort her. “She’s withstood a lot. She can survive the 141, she’s probably giving them hell as we speak.”

**Content Warnings: light torture, choking to the point of almost passing out, blood, very detailed descriptions of pain, non-fatal stabbing**

It’s getting hard to breathe. Phil’s grip around your throat is getting tighter and tighter, less and less oxygen getting to your bloodstream and your brain. Your mouth has an almost permanent metallic taste as blood drips down your chin. Blood stains Phil’s arm from where you bit him, teeth marks red and angry looking from where they broke the skin.

“You fucking bitch.” He growls, jaw clenched. “Your alpha should have taught you some manners.”

His hand squeezes tighter, cutting the air off entirely. You begin to panic, tugging against the restrains with your raw, cut up wrists. Black dots begin to dance in your vision, your legs straining against the zip ties keeping them attached to the chair. Your hands and feet are going numb, your entire body tingling. This is it. You’re going to be choked to death.

He holds his hand there for a moment, letting you struggle before he lets go and you suck in a gasp of air. You slump over in the chair, blood splattering on the floor as you cough, your throat raw and sore. Tears burn in your eyes as you heave, trying to get the oxygen flowing through your body again.

Phil bends down to your level as you sit there, head hanging as blood drips from your mouth. Your tongue is raw from how many times you’ve bitten it. It’s impossible to tell how much time has really passed. There’s no windows in the room. The only light source is the cracks around the door behind you. Even then with the bright light in your face constantly, it’s hard to tell anything anymore.

“Feisty still, but everyone has their limits.” His hand cups your chin as he stands, lifting your face to follow him. His hand holds the back of your head up as he wipes at the blood under your nose and on your chin almost gently.

Tears stream down your cheeks as you stare up at him, unable to even care anymore that his hand is so close to your neck. All he has to do is move it down just slightly and squeeze and you’ll be unaware of anything around you, at the mercy of his bidding.

That would almost be a relief.

He dumps another icy cup of water over your head, keeping you from slipping too much into a panic. The cold water stings the cut on your chest and the one on your arm as it slides down your shoulders. You’ve lost the ability to feel the throbbing in your calf, numb to most of the pain in your body.

Why haven’t they come for you? Where is your pack?

Have they written you off for good? Was finding Shepherd more important than you?

Phil’s phone goes off, your stomach dropping. He stares at the screen for a second before turning back to you.

You shake your head, the tears cascading down your cheeks. “No,” You start to shake. “No, please-”

“You know I have to, darlin’.” He moves behind you, tugging on your hair to keep your head up as one of his men stands in front of you with a phone in hand.

He counts down on his fingers before pressing record.

“Seems you boys still can’t follow orders. Your omega sure wishes you would.” Phil says as he reaches around your head, holding your chin in his hand. He tilts your head back making you look up at him. “Don’t you, darlin’. Tell them. Tell them how much you wish they’d follow orders.”

You’re still crying, unable to stop as you stare at the camera. They really have given up on you. They’ve deemed you unworthy of saving. They’ve let you sit here and be beat up and tortured all because they put the job first.

They really have given up on you.

Are they even watching?

“Please,” You croak out, half begging your pack to care, half begging Phil to have mercy.

“Since you can’t seem to bring yourselves to care about your own omega,” He shifts slightly, someone handing him something behind you. You catch a glint of metal, your heart rate picking up. You’re panicking, breaths coming in shaky gasps. You know he can do worse. He’s threatened worse, but what is he going to do? “It seems you need a little more...motivation.”

You try to wiggle out of his grasp in panic, wrists bleeding again from tugging at the zip ties. They’re coated in your blood, your leg throbbing but you don’t care. You need to get away, get free. “No, no-”

You let out a scream.

It’s sharp and piercing, but nowhere near the sharp pain in your neck. It fires through your very nerve endings, making you aware of the very cells in your body. It shoots up into your brain, igniting every neuron in your brain. Your very blood feels like it’s boiling, your skin on fire from the pain. Every inhale feels like you’re breathing in sand, and every exhale is like glass shards dragging through your lungs and up your throat. The tears streaming down your face may as well be slicing through layers of skin, every wound pulsing and throbbing with a new kind of angry vengeance.

You’re sobbing, nearly choking on air as the pain continues to pulse in your body. It’s too much, every sensation inside and outside of your body meshing together in an agonizing harmony.

“Shhh.” Phil tries to shush you as he bends down, his cheek resting against the side of your head. “I know, I know. You’ll be alright.” He presses a kiss to the side of your head before letting you go limp in the chair.

Your scream still hangs in the air even after the video ends.

It’s otherwise silent in the room, all eight of them feeling the weight of their decisions on their shoulders. The scents in the air are full of pain and regret and guilt and anger.

“Was that fatal?” Kate asks, breaking the tense silence.

“No.” Christine chokes out, her voice shaky. Her hands are trembling where they’re tucked against her sides. Her arms are crossed over her chest, trying to bring herself some kind of comfort after what she had just watched. “He went for the scent gland. It’s not a fatal injury, unless you go too deep, but he knew what he was doing.” She swallows the lump in her throat. “It’s just incredibly painful.”

Her words hang in the air for a moment, all of them still trying to process what they had just seen.

John slams his hands on the table, all of them jumping. “I fucking told you.” He says, his voice laced with the deep growl of his alpha. “I fucking told you Kate, she should have been flown out here as soon as you made the call.”

“I know.” Kate says, undeterred by his anger. She’s seen it many times, though she’s rarely been on the receiving end of it. “I know, I made a bad call. None of us knew they would take it this far.”

“But we knew something was going on behind the scenes.” John says, still radiating anger. “All precautions should have been taken.”

“There was no guarantee her being here would have stopped them. She might not have been any safer here.” Kate says, trying to ease his anger, even though she knows it’s completely warranted. “This goes far deeper than we thought it did. Even before this plan was set into motion.” She waits a moment, letting the air settle. “A year ago, a convoy was smuggling missiles and other weapons into the Middle East in an off-the-books operation. The convoy was attacked and the missiles and arms were stolen by a Russian PMC group. The operation was conducted under the command of Shepherd, and the soldiers in the convoy were all Shadow Company.”

“That’s how Graves is tied into this.” Kyle says.

“It goes deeper than that.” Kate says, pulling up a file and displaying it on screen. “The missiles and weapons being smuggled weren’t being sent to aid allies in the Middle East. Shepherd sold them to AQ and the Russians. The PMC group that attacked Shadow Company was hired by Shepherd to make it look like an ambush.”

“Fucking weasel.” Simon growls.

“I don’t know how much Graves knows, or how much he helped hide the entire operation, but his ties to this go even deeper.” Kate says, and they all shift closer. “Graves has history with your omega.” She says, pulling up an old photo. “We combed through one of her brothers’ Facebook pages. Found an old photo of her dad with Graves. They served on the same base when her family lived in Texas before Graves left to join MARSOC. She would have still been a child at the time.”

They stare at the photo, Graves clearly identifiable as he stands next to another man, beers in their hands. There’s two other boys in the photo, young and grinning at the camera. Standing in front of Graves is a little girl, a happy grin on her face. They’re all in various combinations of red, white, and blue.

4th of July, they assume.

“That’s how she got into the institute so fast.” John says, staring at the photo. He’s never seen a photo of your father before. You must take after your mother. “Graves pulled the strings.”

Kate nods. “He did, but under the condition he would be the one to claim her when she grew old enough. The CIA wiped out that claim when they froze her file.”

The 141 all shift on their feet, sharing looks. John feels a sick twisting in his stomach at the implications. Your position in the photo suddenly makes sense. Anger burns in him, deep and bubbling like magma. He’ll kill the bastard.

“This is revenge then.” Johnny says.

“In a way, I think.” Kate says. “We took away what he wanted. Graves wasn’t going to pass up this opportunity. He’s not afraid to get his hands dirty.”

“This all is what the initiative was created for.” Christine says, leaning against the table. “A contingency in case this all was uncovered.”

“A way to control us.” Kyle says.

Kate nods. “Yes. It was all a plan to give the 141 a weakness, a way to be controlled should the situation arise. In this case it just so happened to be the uncovering of his traitorous arms deals.”

“We were all pawns in this.” Christine says.

“We let them walk right in and take control like that.” John says, turning to Christine. “You let them walk in and take our omega.”

She turns to face him, undeterred by his agitation and anger. “I did what I thought was right at the time. I got a call from one of the front desk workers in the med center saying that someone was waiting in my office for me.” She explains. “They wouldn’t say who it was, and the whole thing felt off. I knew whoever would be visiting me was not going to be friendly, so I felt it was safer to leave her in the barracks than take her with me and risk something happening in a place she doesn’t know well. In the barracks at least she’d know places to hide and barricade herself.”

She takes a deep breath, still facing down John fearlessly. He’s coiled tight like a spring, ready to jump at any moment should he deem it necessary. It’s those protective instincts, the knowledge that his omega is somewhere else, taken unwillingly and being tortured feeding into that need to fight.

“My office door was open when I got there.” She continues. “I always leave it locked. I went in prepared to fight, but I was attacked from behind. Hit over the head and drugged with something fast acting, something that would keep me incapacitated long enough for him to strike.” She stares up into his eyes, projecting her scent just a bit to try and get him to calm down. “We all made mistakes here, things we thought were the right choice at the time.”

She’s not wrong. They all know it. They had just seen proof of it.

“The assailant?” John asks, turning back to Kate.

“Corporal McKinney.” Kate says. “He was in Shepherd’s pocket from the start. Someone who could watch first-hand. Someone who could sneak into the barracks unnoticed without many questions. He was likely the one that put the cameras up.”

“Fucking wanker.” Simon growls. “He approached her once in the mess. Early on. Tried to introduce himself to her. Backed off as soon as I intervened. Never tried again, at least that we know of.”

“She never mentioned him.” Christine says. “Or anyone else on base that might have tried to approach her.”

“Where is he now?” Kyle asks. They’re all angry, frustrated. How had they not seen this happening?

“Local police tracked his car to an abandoned airfield not far outside of Hereford.” Kate says. “He was dead inside. Police ruled it suicide.”

“I’m sure it was.” John says.

They all know it wasn’t.

“Shadow Company likely picked her up from there with orders to stage a suicide.” Kate says.

“One less loose string to worry about.” Simon says. “Covers their tracks in England.”

They all go quiet. How this had all happened right under their noses? They’re all guilty of falling for it, for being too trusting in a world they know they can’t be too careful in. Allies can turn on a dime and become enemies. Betrayals can be easily bought. Things can turn downhill within a blink of an eye. They’re supposed to be prepared for the worst, ready for every possibility.

They had written this off as a conspiracy, and now their omega is paying for it.

“We need a plan.” Farah says, breaking the silence.

“We can’t let Shepherd get away.” John says.

“We cannae just leave her.” Johnny argues against his alpha. It’s a brave thing, considering his alpha’s current mental state.

“I don’t know how much more she can take.” Simon backs his beta up, the desperation and pain on your face still visible in all of their minds.

“Let us go after Shepherd.” Alex says, offering up a solution. “He’s obviously watching for you to come after him.”

“We can move undetected.” Farah agrees. “He’s less likely to expect us. You need to focus on your omega. Shepherd will show himself again eventually.”

“Do we have a lead on their location?” Kyle asks, turning back to Kate.

She nods. “We do now. I sent a team out to try and track location through the videos and where they were being sent from.” She pulls a map up on screen. “We have a location.”

“Texas.” Alex says.

“He took her home.” Christine says.

“We have a plan then. We go after Graves, Farah and Alex start tracking Shepherd. Kate is eyes in the sky for us.” John says.

“She’s going to need medical attention as soon as possible.” Christine says. She looks at Kate. “Where is the nearest military base from their location?”

Kate types on her computer. “Naval Air Station Joint Reserve Base in Fort Worth.”

“Get me there and I’ll be waiting. She’s going to need someone she knows.” She says, looking at John. “She’s not going to just let anyone close to her after this. She may not even let you close.”

John stares down at her for a long moment. She stares back unflinchingly. She doesn’t get intimidated easily, not after years of dealing with institutes and alphas alike.

He lets out a breath, staring down at her for a long moment before he nods. “I trust you.”

“Short reunion this time.”

“I’m just glad I got to see your face again.” Christine says, looking up at Alex.

“Things are...complicated.” He says. “Maybe after all of this is over we can go and get some coffee. Talk about our lives...as much as we can.”

The corner of her mouth twitches up in a smile. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Alex pulls her into a hug, holding her tightly. “You’re doing good work, Chrissy.”

She shakes her head at the nickname, but she holds him just as tightly. “I’m trying to.”

Alex pulls away, squeezing her arms. “I’d say you are. You care a lot. To the point some might call it a character defect.”

She scoffs, slapping his chest playfully. “Not like you’re much better.” She glances at the car where Farah is waiting patiently. “I’m happy for you.”

“Oh, we’re....” Alex blushes to his ears. “We’re not...”

She gives him a look. “Mhm sure.” She looks up at him one more time. “Be safe.”

“As best I can.” He says. “Take care of yourself. Don’t be too hard on yourself either.”

“I try not to be.” She squeezes his hand before stepping away.

She watches the SUV drive off, stomach churning with nerves for both of them. Shepherd is dangerous, but Alex has fearlessly faced down danger since he was a kid. He’s always been brave and determined, loyal and unafraid to do what he thinks is right no matter what. She trusts him to take care of himself, she trusts Farah to help him, even if she only met the woman today.

She trusts them both to take care of each other. She trusts them both to help put an end to this.

**Content Warning: Blood, vomiting, 'mega forces herself into a panic attack**

Your body aches, muscles screaming. You can’t take much more. Your cheek throbs painfully, swollen to the point you almost can’t see out of your left eye. The pain burning from your neck makes the other pain in your body nearly irrelevant, nearly nonexistent. It’s like electricity, burning through your very cells. Every movement seems to make it flare, makes the electric shock jolt through you. The burning pain that follows makes you whimper, a pathetic choking sound squeaking out from your bruised throat.

The pain makes you nauseous, vomit staining the front of your shirt and pants. It’s mostly bile and the little food you’ve gotten since your kidnapping.

Nutrient bars, meant to keep you fed and nourished for a short period of time.

You may never be able to eat them again.

“Fuck.” Graves curses, staring at his phone. “They’ve backed off.” He steps up to you, looking down on your pathetic form. “Looks like your boys do care about you after all.”

Do they? Are they really coming for you, or have they simply given up chasing Shepherd because they lost all their leads. Will they come for you, or will they leave you here to rot? What will Graves do then? Try to take you as his own omega? Kill you out of anger?

Your stomach churns and you can feel the bile rising.

You vomit again, the warm liquid splashing into your lap. You can’t lean far enough anymore, not without the risk of not being able to pull yourself back up, not with the pain burning your every movement. You can’t even lift your head anymore, your body weak and battered and bruised. There’s blood everywhere, on you and on the floor. You can still taste it in your mouth, mixing with the sourness of bile.

Graves gives you a disgusted look before turning to the others in the room. “Duran, Lewis, keep watch. The rest of you come with me.”

He leaves the room for the first time in what you assume is days. For once the cocktail of scents begins to disperse, all but two of the alphas finally disappearing. Where they’re going or what they’re going to do, you don’t know. You can’t bring yourself to care either way. You just want to go home. You want to see your mother again, your brothers and sisters, even your father would be a welcome sight after this. You want your alpha, you want him to hold you, to take you in his arms, keep you safe.

He abandoned you. He left you to suffer like this.

Your breathing picks up as you sit there, chin to chest as you stare at your bloody shirt. The smells in the room are awful, the scents no longer there to block out the sour bile and metallic stench blood. Tears are streaming down your cheeks, pink tinted splatters dripping onto your pants. What are you going to do now? What are they going to do to you now? Will they keep you alive long enough for your pack to arrive then kill you in front of them? Will they torture them too, make them watch as the life slowly leaves your eyes in revenge for chasing after Shepherd?

A sob rips through your sore throat up out of your lips.

You just want to go home.

You just want to be free.

You can be.

Distress. The final defense. The last ditch effort omegas have to save themselves. Distress will lead to your omega taking over, and if nothing else, a quiet death you won’t even realize is happening. Your body will give out and you’ll be safely tucked into the back of your brain, comforted by your instincts. You won’t have to worry anymore. You won’t have to care.

If nothing else, the pain will be over.

I’m sorry.

You begin to breathe heavier, ignoring the pain in your body as you push yourself to hyperventilate. The alphas behind you might do something, might try to stop it. They could, but would they even know how? Would it even work if you got too far? They’re not your alpha. They can’t comfort you, bring you back from the edge without forcing you. Will they even bother?

You tilt your head to the side, putting pressure on your injured scent gland. You sob at the pain, the burning flowing straight into your very cells, making them scream. You push through it, your wrists twisting against the zip ties, digging them further into your already damaged wrists. The pain pushes you to a point of panic, your heart rate through the roof. You can feel it, the tightening of your muscles, your joints locking into place.

You’ve never done it purposefully before, but in this state, it’s not hard.

They left you. They’ve abandoned you. They’ve given up. It’s all your fault they left. They’re not coming for you. You’re not worth it.

The thoughts send you down the spiral, the edges of your vision starting to go dark. You’re floating away, hands and feet going numb as your wheezing, shallow breaths block the oxygen from getting to your brain. You’re sinking, your body floating as you begin to retreat into the back of your mind. The cage is open, your omega soothing you as you drift off, curling up in the back recesses of your mind.

You’re safe now. She whispers.

There’s no going back.

You’re going to get out.

Even if you have to do it yourself.

The last breath you remember taking is shaky, making you cough before your vision begins to fade to grey, then to black. You’re getting out of here no matter what. You’re going to go to sleep. If you fail, you’ll never know it. Your death will be quick and gentle and you’ll never know it happened until you’ve moved on to whatever is next.

You won’t remember any of this. That’s your only consolation.

Your vision fades to black as all memory and awareness leaves you. The last thing you remember is the snap of the zip ties around your wrists as they break.

“Graves has moved with some of his men to the western building. It’s likely the hostage is being held in the eastern building. Gaz and I will go after Graves. Ghost and Soap will try to secure the hostage.”

“Keller is on her way to NAS JRB as we speak. They’re on standby for medevac.”

“Stealth is our priority. They know we’re here, we risk losing the hostage. Quick and quiet, take them by surprise. The faster we do this, the sooner it will all be over.”

**Content Warning: blood and slight gore, someone gets shot offscreen, some gorey and explicit imagery towards the end**

He’s not unfamiliar with high stakes missions. It’s his specialty. He’s cool and calm under stress and pressure, which is why he gets chosen for them. He can detach easily, get the job done and then go home and forget.

So why are his hands shaking?

This isn’t a high stakes mission, not like one he’s used to doing. The stakes are higher, higher than he’s ever had before. It’s not just eliminating some faceless target, it’s not just rescuing some faceless hostage.

It’s rescuing you.

He hates that you were involved in all of this. He hates that they all fell for it, blind to the truth, blind to Shepherd’s traitorous actions. They refused to entertain those conspiratorial thoughts, and now you’re paying for it. He knows why Price made the decision he did, he understands the logic behind it.

He hated it, though.

How far would Graves have taken it if they had chosen to go after you first. Would things have gotten this bad? Or would he still have hurt you, tortured you just out of sheer anger for what happened between the two of you? He wouldn’t give up just because Shepherd told him to stop. He’s ruthless and uncaring of who he hurts and why. He gets his orders and he completes them, no matter what, so long as whoever is giving those orders can pay a high enough price.

How much did he get for this assignment? How much did he settle for once he learned you were involved?

Far too much despite that fact, most likely. Maybe he should become a merc. Less rules and more money.

It’s not a bad idea.

He lasers his focus on the building as they creep through the trees, moving silently. Two against however many are inside. It was impossible to tell with how many were moving between the two buildings constantly.

He brought the whole squad. He planned on putting up a fight regardless.

At least they have the element of surprise on their hands.

“We move silently through the building.” He says as they approach the door. There’s two guards standing outside. “They know we’re inside, things could go downhill quickly.”

“On you, LT.” Johnny says, taking point beside him.

“Drop one, I’ll take the other.” He says, aiming at one of the two Shadows guarding the door.

It’s quick and quiet, their bodies slumping onto the damp dirt. Simon scans the area before moving forward to the door. It’s unlocked, Johnny pushing it open slowly to check for a trip wire.

None.

Sloppy, or perhaps on purpose. They can’t be too careful. Shepherd will have let Graves know they’re not on his trail anymore. He’ll be expecting them.

They split up, combing the bottom floor of the building. He takes out two more Shadows, checking every room for a sign of their target, but they find none.

“Second floor.” He says, waiting at the base of the stairwell for Johnny to join him.

“You think she’s in here?” Johnny asks as they creep up the stairs, careful not to make too much noise.

“Well, we’ll find out.”

It’s far too unguarded to where they’re holding you. Graves will have assumed they’d split up. He must have moved most of his men to the western building to put up as much of a barricade as possible. He can picture Graves standing there, the smirk on his face as he holds a gun to your head. Will he take that risk, shoot you in front of them and give them nothing to live for? Or will he use a knife, letting you die a slow, painful death in front of them?

Or, maybe he moved them to the western building to make them think that’s where you are. Focus their attacks there so they leave you behind. He gets cornered, he send the word to kill you before any of them can get to you.

More red herrings.

He pauses before he reaches the top of the steps, taking out the shadow standing down the hallway. They split up again, looking through rooms at the top of the stairs, making their way down the hallway.

One of the doors is open, and he silently motions for Johnny. He counts down silently in his head before rounding the corner, rifle up as he scans the room. His stomach churns as he looks inside, taking a couple cautious steps forward. He’s seen a lot of things in his time, done a lot of things, but this is different.

“Screaming Jesus.” Johnny says, lowering his rifle as he steps in behind Simon.

There’s blood everywhere.

It’s coating the floors, leaving a sticky residue as it dries. It’s the room you were in. He recognizes it from the video, and the bright light in the corner is a dead giveaway. The chair in the middle of the room has been broken, the wood of the arms snapped off and splintered. There’s four bloody zip ties on the floor, along with several instruments on the floor including the ice pick.

He wants to shove that into Graves’ eye for what he did to you.

There’s two bodies on the floor, one of them dead in a pool of his own blood, the other choking as blood seeps onto the floor under him. He steps up to the shadow, putting his boot on his chest and pushing. The Shadow lets out a groan, coughing up blood.

“Where the fuck is she?” He growls, staring down at the quickly paling face.

“Fucking bitch went crazy.” He chokes out. “Went running.”

Simon steps back, pulling out his handgun and firing two bullets into the Shadow’s head.

“Price, we found the room.” He says into his comm. “The hostage isn’t here. A half-dead Shadow said she bolted.”

“LT.” Johnny says, motioning to the door, the only other exit from the room. There’s a bloody handprint on the door, one too small to be one of the Shadows’.

“I think she managed to get out.” He says, staring at the handprint. His stomach drops, his hand tightening around his rifle. He glances down at the bodies, throats cut and faces bloody. “I think her omega took over.”

“You and Soap go after her. She’ll do the one thing she knows to do, the one instinctual thing she can do if she has nothing to fight.” Price says. “We’ve got Graves cornered.”

Simon pushes the door open, cool air flowing into the stuffy room. There’s bloody shoe prints heading down the stairs. He can see the rapid turn on the concrete below before they head off towards the trees.

“I’ve got a trail.” He says.

“Go.” Price says. “Simon...you know what you have to do.”

He does.

He motions for Johnny to follow before hurrying down the stairs. The longer they delay, the further you’ll get. He doesn’t doubt some Shadows followed you if you made that much of a ruckus. The more time they waste, the more dangerous things get, and not just because they might lose you or the shadows might catch up.

He races towards the treeline, rifle in hand, but there’s no one else standing guard. Price and Gaz will have taken care of those in the other building, and those that were outside probably went after you.

He slows once they break the treeline, trying to catch any hint of your scent that might be left. His only hope is that you’ve left a trail. He’s a tracker, he knows what he’s doing. His senses are stronger, more in tune. He can find you. He can track you down. He has to.

The guilt is eating him alive. If something happens to you, he’ll never forgive himself. He’s right here, so close and yet so far. You’re running on borrowed time and there’s only so much of it left. Eventually you have to slow, eventually your body will start giving up. Will it be too late then? If a Shadow finds you when you can’t fight back...

“Dead Shadow ahead.” Johnny says, motioning to the slumped over body ahead of them. “We’re on the trail.”

“Let’s hope she left more markers on the way.” He says, kicking the Shadow, but the stab wound in his neck is all Simon needs to know. “Keep going straight.” He says, continuing on the path they’ve been following. He needs just a whiff, a hint of your scent. Something.

They come across another dead Shadow, this one off to the side of the path they had been following. He turns, making an adjustment before moving forward. Johnny keeps close, both of them watching for more Shadows, or for any glimpse of you. All they can hope is they’re on the right path.

He nearly sets off in a run as he hears a sound ahead. It’s a yowl, almost like a mountain lion. It sends a tingle down his back, his alpha blaring warning alarms. A threatened omega is a dangerous thing. Fierce and protective of themselves, capable of great feats and lethal if you get too close.

It’s you, no doubt.

Price had been right.

He has no choice.

He pushes forward, his steps quick as he makes his way through the bushes. He spots you near a boulder, trying to fight off a Shadow. He’s got the upper hand, using his size against you. You’re getting tired, your movements slowing. Simon aims with his rifle, a shot to the head dropping the Shadow. You drop into a crouch, surveying the trees. You’re covered in blood, a knife in your hand as your wild eyes search for them.

“Distract her.” He says to Johnny. “Make yourself as unthreatening as possible. I’ll go around and get her from behind.”

He doesn’t even wait for an acknowledgement before he’s moving, slipping around to the side of the boulder. Johnny steps into the clearing slowly, holding his hands up, talking to you quietly.

“Easy, kitten. Ye know who I am.” Johnny is careful not to get too close, his steps slow as he moves to the side, getting you to turn. “We’re just here to help ye. Get ye home and safe.”

You’re holding the knife up, brandishing it at Johnny. Simon isn’t sure if you’ve ever thrown a knife before, but he doesn’t put it past you to try in this state.

He hopes Johnny’s reflexes are fast enough.

He slips out from behind the boulder as you pause, wasting no time as he races up behind you and grabbing you before you can bolt or go for Johnny’s neck. You let out another yowl, struggling against him as he wraps an arm around your chest. Your teeth sink into his arm and he lets out a curse, but he doesn’t let go. He lets go, they won’t get another chance. It’ll be too late.

He doesn't want to do it. His mind flashes back to his father and mother, one of the few times his mother fought back. It hadn’t lasted long before her body went limp, practically a ragdoll in his father’s hold. Simon had grabbed Tommy and ran, barricading them in his room. They didn’t want to see what was going to happen next.

He doesn’t want that kind of control over you, he doesn’t want to put you through that trauma. The disorientation, the fear, the confusion. That must have been what it felt like after being sedated during your heat. You had been sick for days, crying in Johnny’s room. He had heard every sob, every attempt to soothe you.

He put you through that. He made you face that down despite the fear on your face as Johnny escorted you to the med center.

And now he has to do it again.

He has to this time. He has no choice. His only other option is to let you die. Price will never forgive him. Johnny won’t even look at him again. He’d betray them worse than you did, worse than Shepherd, worse than Graves.

You never really betrayed them in the first place, though.

You were afraid, untrusting of them, unsure because of your past. He had been foolish to blame you, foolish to think it was somehow your fault. You acted out of fear, out of terror. How you must have felt in those moments when that beta showed up, when you faced down Shepherd alone, when you returned to find your space invaded and those cameras all over your room. They weren’t there to protect you, they weren’t there to support you. They left you alone and you hid it from them because you didn’t know any better, because you were so afraid.

He’s a goddamn fucking prick he’s been.

Tears blur his vision as he tucks his free arm behind you, shifting your position just enough so he can get his hand around the back of your neck. You kick out with your legs, releasing his arm, your head tilting back in a last ditch, instinctual effort to protect yourself.

His eyes squeeze closed as you let out a yelp, his fingers digging into the back of your neck. It’s hard enough it will leave a bruise, but he has to be sure. It’s the only thing that might save you. It’s his only option, his only chance to keep you alive.

“There you go.” He says quietly into your ear. “Need you to relax for me.”

Your body goes limp in his hold, head resting back against his hand as he holds you there. Your muscles twitch as the tension leaves you, eyelids fluttering before they close. His arm stings where your teeth had sunk into his skin, hard enough to draw blood, but he doesn’t care.

“Keep resting.” He says, easing his hand from the back of your neck as he shifts you in his arms. “Gonna get you somewhere safe.”

You’re like a ragdoll in his arms as he lifts you up, cradling you against his chest. You’re warm, hair sticking to your forehead.

“Call it in.” He tells Johnny, his eyes still glued to your face. “We need that medevac now.”

“Price, we got her.” Johnny says into his comm. “We need medevac stat.”

You look so peaceful despite the blood soaking your body. Partially yours, partially the Shadows you killed in your escape. You look like a gruesome painting, a gorey depiction of an omega pushed too far. Something they’d put on display in a museum, a photo that would win prizes in celebration of such a natural state caught on camera. It would be circulated for decades, something talked about centuries from now.

A raw view of humanity’s inner beasts.

He can’t stand it, seeing you like this. They did this to you. They are the reason you’re like this. They made the bad call in the end, they put you through this. You won’t forgive them, not after everything. You went weeks without them, without a word and then this happened. Innocence tainted in the blood of the guilty. The bloodstained omega held in the arms of the blood-tainted alpha. He should be the one covered in their blood. He should be the one carrying the weight of torture and desperation on his shoulders.

The guardian dog covered in blood in the name of protecting his innocent sheep.

How he’s failed you. How they all failed you.

He pushes past the pain, past the grief, past the guilt and the horror of what they did to you, what they put you through.

They’ve got you back. You’re safe.

It’s over.

NEXT ->

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#call of duty #call of duty fic #poly 141 #poly 141 x reader #tf 141 x reader #John price x reader #captain price x reader #Simon Riley x reader #Ghost x reader #Kyle Garrick x reader #gaz x reader #soap x reader #John mactavish x reader #a/b/o #alpha/beta/omega dynamics #omegaverse

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lowkeyerror · 24 days ago

Text

Ours Together pt 2

Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Word count: 3.6k

Notes: Graphic depictions of violence, could be described as slight gore, more hurt/comfort, fluff, hopeful ending (i think), protective Rio and Agatha

Summary: With the three of you on the same page, walking the road should've been a cake walk. However things take a turn, when you end up with your own trial.

An: Yall asked for a part 2 so you know I had to deliver 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

Part 1 | Part 3 | Masterlist

Waking up in between Rio and Agatha brought a small smile to your face. It’s a luxury that you thought was long forgotten. You were careful to rise without waking them. Your back cracked as you stretched, the ground of the road was not comfortable in the slightest.

“So you’re a familiar?” Lilia speaks, staring cautiously.

The way your eyes cut over to her is soft. It’s softer than you want it to be. You look at the ground and then the sky, deciding not to look at the witch.

“Yep,” a rough sigh comes out with the simple word.

“It typical that familiars have a second form. A pet or a-"

“Do they look like pet owners to you?”

The others begin to stir, before the conversation can go any further. You’re grateful for the interruption. You were not here to dig in to your past. Well, not any more than reigniting your relationship with Rio and Agatha.

“Look alive, witches. Let’s get this show on the road,” Agatha yawns as the words leave her mouth.

Though you’d rather do anything else, you prepare yourself for the journey.

“What’s wrong?” Rio falls into step with you as you begin to walk the road.

“I still don't want to be here,” you admit kicking some of the dirt up with your heel.

Rio takes your hand in hers, “We can leave whenever you want.”

You dismiss the thought with exasperation, “I’m not abandoning Agatha.”

Rio squeezes your hand, “I don’t want to leave her either, but I don’t want you to be burdened by whatever this is.”

“Woah,” Alice’s voice, makes you look away from Rio.

The other witches also stop, most with their mouths agape. The sight before them unfathomable. This was drastic change from the other trial they had come in contact with.

Instead of a house, there was large mansion. The building was purely white with gold accents. The pillars that stood on each side of the building seemed to go all the way.

The color leaves your face staring at the building. You drop to the ground and begin to scramble away from the building. You shake your head vigorously. Your eyes wide in horror, you try to find the breath in your lungs but you struggle.

“No, no, no, no,” you begin to mutter under your breath.

Agatha and Rio are by your side at a moments notice. Agatha’s hands rest on your face and you can feel Rio’s arm wrap around you.

“Breathe baby,” Rio whispers in your ear.

You search Agatha’s face frantically, “Agatha, I can’t… I can’t. I’m not even a witch, I’m not in the coven. Why?”

“It’s not real, sweetheart. We know it’s not real,” she whispers for only you and Rio to hear.

You close your eyes and begin nodding your head. You swallow hard, trying to focus on the feelings of their hands on you.

“I’m guessing this is her trial,” Jen says, breaking the moment between the three of you.

Agatha glares at the witch, “She’s not going in there.”

Teen interrupts, “I don’t think that’s how the road works.”

The scowl on her face only deepens, “Then make it work Teen. She’s not a witch, she’s not in the coven, she shouldn’t have a trial.”

Alice interferes, “Is it possible it’s not her trial? The three of you are close.. could it be Rio’s or Agatha’s.”

“It would be mine, if not hers,” Rio offers up.

Lilia interrupts, “We have to go into this trial.”

“NO!” Your voice didn’t boom when you yelled, instead it cracked in desperation.

The conversation dies there, but not because of your outburst. You feel the energy shift all around you.

“The seven are coming,” Agatha mumbles under her breath.

“Nope,” Jen immediately turns to run into the building.

Lilia goes in after Jen. Alice and Teen hesitate, but they follow the other two women forward.

You can hear the seven getting closer.

“My love, we must move forward,” Agatha tries to hide her panic, but you see through it.

“We will protect you,” Rio helps you to your feet.

You look behind you, the seven quickly approaching. You look at the building once more, before rushing ahead inside.

Agatha looks at Rio, “Take her out if things get too much.”

Rio shakes her head, “We do not know the repercussions of leaving in the middle of a trial.”

“We both know what happens in there Rio. I can’t bare to see it.”

Rio grabs Agatha’s hand as they rush towards the building together, “She is stronger than we give her credit for.”

As they enter the building a bright light almost blinds them. They see the coven members dressed in all white. Most of them having full halos. Agatha looks similar. Rio however is dawning an all black hooded cloak. If it weren’t for your distress, she would’ve laughed.

The clothes felt wrong against your skin. There wasn’t much around. The walls were painted with clouds. The only other thing in the mansion was staircase in the middle of the room. It looked like it led nowhere, but you knew better.

“Where’s the trial? Do we just get to leave?” Teen says focusing on the stairs.

You try to keep your breathing normal, “Just give me a minute. I know what we have to do.”

“What is this place?” Alice looks around.

Lilia’s eyes sparkle, “I think this is Heaven.”

The coven turns their attention to you.

“Are you-”

Agatha interferes, “We’re already in the trial, save your questions to the end.”

Rio adds on, “Or better yet, don't ask any questions.”

“Let’s get this over with,” you wipe your hands on the white pants.

You stand at the bottom of the stairs. Agatha stand on the left and Rio on your right. The link their arms through yours.

“Up we go,” Agatha directs the coven.

When you get to the top, you can see an abyss waiting for you at the bottom. You can’t see the bottom, and you know what you have to do.

“It’s easier if you don’t look,” you turn your back to the abyss.

“Are you seriously just going to-”

Before Jen finishes her question you are leaning back first into the abyss. Your lovers at your side trusting you completely. The rest of the coven is hesitant, but they eventually all jump into the hole.

It's like you’re being pulled down. It feels like it’s never going to stop. When it does, it’s abrupt. You’re expecting flames and heat, but instead there’s only dirt around you.

The space is shaped like a cylinder. There’s a gracious amount of space. The floors and walls were both constructed of dirt. You looked at the ceiling and it too seemed to be dirt. It was like you all were buried alive.

“Take me back upstairs,” Lilia says looking around the dark and dirt filled hole.

“So, Y/n what now?” They turn to you, looking for guidance.

You use your hands to dig into the ground. You pull out a scroll.

“How did you-”

“Where else would it have been?” You snap at the Teen.

Rio peers over your shoulder, “Fly free with your clipped wings or submit to the sin of the earth.”

The dirt begins to rise as Rio finishes reading the paper. You look up again, this time being able to catch a glimpse of the white room where you had come from.

“Taking us down, to go right back up. How clever,” Agatha says.

“So is now the time we ask the questions?”

“Stand back,” you ignore the question, hoping to get this over with quickly.

The group listens to you. With much discomfort you pushed out the muscles on your back. There were a few loud pops and cracks. You bit your tongue to mask the pain. Your wings popped out and everyone in the room gawked.

“They’re-”

“White?” Rio says with confusion.

You wrapped them around your body, surprised to see white wings sprouting from your back.

“Questions later, fly up,” Agatha says and you do as she instructs.

You begin to flap your wings, dirt flying about in the space. You shoot up to the exit in less than 5 seconds. Instead of freedom you find yourself smacking hard against a piece of glass. You pound on it, hoping to break it.

“I can’t break it,” you call back down.

“Then we’re missing something,” Jen calls out.

The dirt begins to rise in the room at a faster pace.

“Start digging, maybe we’ll find something else,” Teen starts digging, the rest follows.

“Shit,” you hear Agatha cry out.

You decide to fly back down. You land close to her. “What is it?”

She pulls a pair of scissors out of the ground. Her palm bleeding from the cut on her hands.

You scramble back again.

“Didn’t it say something about clipped wings?” Alice recalls.

“That’s why they’re white,” Agatha connects the dots.

“Fuck no,” Rio stands in front of you. “I’m not letting you clip her wings.”

“We’re going to die,” Teen argues with the Death.

Agatha shares a look with Rio, “Get her out of here.”

You shake your head, “No, I’m not leaving you here. Give me the scissors.”

“Y/n, you don’t have to do this,” Rio tries to reason with you.

“Just heal the wounds when it’s over,” you say to her softly.

Agatha still has the scissors in hand, “I won’t let you.”

You get close to her. Your hand reaching for the scissors as you lean in. You can see her squeezing them firmly in her grip, deepening the cut in her hand.

“It’s not real,” you whisper to her just like she had done with you outside.

Her grip loosens just enough for you to pull the scissors from her hand. The dirt is piled at the mid thigh level now.

You once again fold your wings over your body. You turn your head to get a good look at your back. Your eyes follow the seam of where your back is lined with your wings.

Your hand shakes as you open the scissors, opting to use them like a letter opener. The nerves are piling up inside you. Your eyes close and you get a glimpse of your past. You see yourself kneeled over in pain with your back covered in blood.

“We’re running out of time,” Lilia says, as the dirt begins to climb higher.

You scream as you cut off your wing in one swift motion. The pain makes you want to fall to your knees , but its impossible with the dirt surrounding you. Tears fall rapidly as blood pours from your back. Snot drips from your nose as you sob at the pain.

You’re in too much pain to notice, but the dirt begins to rise at a slower pace. No one is happy, or joyful as they look at you in agony.

“Fuck,” you mutter as your body shakes violently at the pain.

The scissors had slipped from your hand at the sheer force you made the cut with.

“Rio,” it comes out of your mouth through gritted teeth. She’s close to you, and you know she carries a blade. “I- you have to do the other one.”

Rio’s eyes widen, “ I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Please, my love. I- I can’t die like this. Please, I just got you back, please.”

Your pleading breaks Rio’s heart. This didn’t feel fake, it was real. The wound pouring from your back, the tears in your eyes. The panicked look in Agatha’s face as she watched this unfold. The suffering felt real.

Rio pulls her dagger out, wading through the sand to get right behind you. It was hard, with the sand covering most of her torso. The sand burned as it pressed into your open wound.

Rio’s hard was cool and soft as it touched the bottom of your wing. She felt through the sand to find the seam of the wings. Once she found it she took a deep breath.

“Forgive me, my love,” her cut was much more swift than yours.

You fell forward as the yelled ripped through you throat. It burned your esophagus. You folded forward, Rio’s arms try to hold you from underneath your stomach, not wishing to touch your back.

The wings lay in the dirt beside you. The dirt that had covered everyone started to sink down back into the ground. Once it was all gone, one side of the wall began to open up. Stairs appeared, indicating the trial was over.

Rio is quick to carry you out of the trial and back on to the road. She hopes that bringing you back to the road will erase the injuries. However as she feels the blood coating her clothes, she knows they are here to stay.

She lays you on your stomach and you groan. She straddles the back of your legs. The weight of her is lost on you, all you can feel is the burning from where your wings were supposed to be. You squirm under her when her tongue connects with your back.

She licks the brutal cuts on your back, the taste of your blood clouds her thoughts, but she doesn’t dwell on it. Her own tears gather as she waits for the wounds to heal.

Agatha rushes to her side, “Is she going to be ok?”

Rio holds her breath, but as she sees the wounds slowly closing she nods, “She’s going to be ok.”

Agatha pulls Rio into a chaste kiss, “Are you ok?”

Rio’s forehead rest against Agatha’s, “No, I’m not.”

The rest of the coven watches the scene unfold with intrigue.

“So your familiar is an angel?” Teen can’t help, but ask.

You whine under Rio as you feel a new pain simmer in your back.

“Off,” you mutter, and Rio gets off of you.

You stay laying as you feel a well-known ache spread through your body. You dig your palms into the ground and let out a huff of irritation. In the spots that Rio had just healed, a set of wings popped out.

This time, they were black like tar. It hurt just as much as before. You prop yourself on your knee before standing to your full height. Just like when your voice had echoed, your eyes were purely black.

“I was an angel,” your voice vibrates through the road.

“What happened?” Jen asks, mesmerized by your wings.

Agatha and Rio are seconds away from forbidding the coven from asking questions. You use your wings to bring them into your sides.

“I fell in love. The higher ups, said it was… impure. Which was a falsehood; there had been nothing in my life or after that was as pure as this love. They wanted to have me banished to hell. I was ungrateful, wasting my eternal happiness by fraternizing with… Rio.”

“Why not Agatha?” Alice questions.

You look at Rio, who gives you a nod, “They didn't like my relationship with Agatha much either, if I’m being honest. Rio was different, forbidden because she is Lady Death.”

The coven members all look to Rio, their eyes wide in shock. Rio simply waves her up, wiggling her fingers in response, “Guilty.”

Lilia speaks next, “But if you’re her familiar, why would your relationship be an issue?”

“I wasn’t her familiar then,” you explain. “I became Agatha’s and Rio’s familiar because Rio interfered during my banishment ceremony. These ceremonies were somewhat of a public shaming. My wings had been forcefully yanked out of my back. Brute strength just ripped them right out of my back. They were in the middle of speaking when she appeared. I’ve never seen her so furious, yelling at Life and God and the other angels. She made an offer for my soul.”

Rio clicks her tongue a few times, “No, no I made a threat. They were going to give me your soul or I would take every soul that passed to hell. There would’ve been no more angels. A demon uprising would've been imminent. They didn't really have a choice.”

“Wait, I know this story. An angel who was swayed by darkness due for banishment, but saved by Death itself. You’re the first fallen angel,” Teen speaks enthusiastically.

You chuckle, “Not exactly the first, there’s one before me, but I am the first with this look. The black wings, dark eyes, echoing voice.”

“So what happened after you threatened them?” Jen is extremely invested.

“She took me to Agatha. I was powerless without my wings. They were trying to figure out what to do. When Rio went to heal the wounds they left on me, we didn't expect new wings to sprout, but they did. The power was different, stronger. They helped me navigate it.”

“It took us some time to realize what the agreement meant for her. They did not believe in our relationship, which is why they made her our familiar. It was a punishment,” Agatha adds some more context.

“How is that a punishment?” Teen’s confusion shines through.

“It burns to be away from them. Literally boils my insides,” your wings fold back into your back.

“Ok, kids, question time is over. We’re setting up camp for the night,” Agatha claps her hands together.

You can see them want to protest, but an eyebrow raise from Rio quiets them all. They begin to set up a camp similar to the night before.

“Come with us,” Rio tugs at your arm.

You follow her and Agatha away from the rest of the coven.

When you feel like you’re far enough from the rest. Your shoulders slump and your body trembles, getting the last of the aches out.

The two witches stop both worried for you.

“I’m fine,” you say softly.

Agatha can’t help but pull you into her, “You’re not, neither of you are. I think it’s time you left the road.”

Your head rests on her shoulder. Your lips press a gentle kiss against her neck, “I don't want to spend any time apart. Especially now.”

Rio is careful as she presses her front against your back, wrapping her arms around you. You grab her arms pulling her flush against you. The warmth of the two women, soothes the aches in your body.

“Baby,” Rio tries.

“Just hold me for a few minutes, please,” you beg the both of them.

The both tighten their grip.

“We’re not going anywhere sweetheart,” Agatha kisses the top of your head.

“Not ever,” Rio doubles down.

You breathe them in. Finding comfort in their presence. Agatha’s hand find a place in your hair, rubbing the tension away. You lay your hands over Rio’s keeping them against your skin.

“Aggie what do you need from this place?” You whisper against her skin.

“My purple.”

You raise your head to stare at her, “I can get them to blast you. Then we can all go home, together.”

“I tried that already, sweetheart. They know about my powers,” she admits to you.

“What if there's nothing at the end of this? We don't know what this is?” Rio tries to reason.

Agatha meets Rio’s gaze, “I do know what this is, you know too. We all know that the road isn’t real. Yet, here we are standing on it, going through trials. This magic is familiar to me, the sigil prevents it, but I know who that boy is. He’s just like his mother.”

“We can find another coven,” you suggest.

Agatha lets out a humorless laugh, “My reputation proceeds me, sweetheart. There are no more witches who wish to gather with me. Lilia, I trust her divination. This is the only way.”

“Then we have to stay,” you turn around to look at Rio.

Rio averts her gaze, “We must go after the next trial.”

You steel your gaze, “Why?”

The Green Witch looks to Agatha for help.

“Sweetheart, it’s not safe here. You just had to clip your own wings. Rio has work to do, and she can’t do it in here. Go with her and I will see you when this is over.”

“Agatha, I-"

She kisses you, softly, “I will come back to you. I won’t be going anywhere. It will be us three, I promise.”

“One more trial don’t say goodbye yet,” you say against her lips.

“I’m never going to say goodbye again, ok? It’s just a promise to meet later.”

You look at Rio, “And we’re staying together, right.”

Rio’s hand reach to cup your face. Her eyes are serious when they look into yours, “I’m never leaving you again.”

You press your lips hers, need seeping through your kiss. When you break the kiss, you find yourself between the two women again.

“Let’s get back to the camp, and rest. I’m sure you’re exhausted, sweetheart.”

“Carry me?” You ask.

Agatha rolls her eyes but scoops you up anyway . You hang on to her like a koala causing Rio to laugh.

“You have wings,” Agatha grumbles.

You nuzzle deeper into her, “They’re not as comfortable as your arms.”

“She got you there, my love,” Rio moves in closer to walk shoulder to shoulder with Agatha.

“You’re carrying her next time.”

The three of you share a laugh. A nice moment to end a chaotic couple of hours. The stress of the road ahead not lost on you, just pushed aside for a moment. There had been enough pain for the day. You didn’t want to dwell on the near future, opting instead to think of the moment it was over. When you’d finally get to have Rio and Agatha to yourself.

#lowkeyerror #agatha x reader #agatha harkness imagine #agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness x rio vidal #rio vidal x reader #agatha harkness x rio vidal x reader #agatha all along #jennifer kale #alice wu gulliver #billy maximoff #lilia calderu #agatha harkness #rio vidal

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celestialspritz · 2 months ago

Text

Why Sims 2 has been so broken the last ten years

This is down to my own research, and I'm not saying it is the one and only reason why the game is so broken these days, but I have some points worth mentioning.

So, you're bored one day. You remember this game you had so much fun playing a few years ago, or maybe as a child. It's The Sims 2!

The game has a few issues than from when you last remembered playing, so you search on google for some fixes for the tiny resolution, and among the countless posts you may find, you may find this:

Or this:

(to the creators and players mentioned here this isn't me making a dig at you, i'm just pointing out some cc that could affect the game from working properly. your stuff is all beautiful :D)

Lesya's game is gorgeous!!! Oh, how can I get it to look like that?

So you, with a clean, vanilla (ugly) game you decide to download a few mods she listed, such as:

Skylines by GCKP (you can get optimised ones by me here)

Skies by Lowedeus (you can get optimised ones by me here)

Trees by Criquette (you can get optimised ones here)

No More Blurriness by Voeille (you can get optimised snow only here)

Cool! And then you notice some cheats than can give the game that open-world, interactive feel. Even better!

And you shove them into your folder and you boot up the game. Everything's going great!

Until...

You search hundreds of posts looking for the fix. Some recommend 3rd-party tools, but they seem to make the problem worse. You reinstall, finding you only wasted your time. Something has to be causing this, but you'd never guess it'd be the mods everybody swore by.

Well, in fact, it is. Partly.

I've struggled with pink flashing since 2019, when I reinstalled Sims 2 after I got a decent computer for once. I did everything above, searched for fixes, found Lesya's blog which was my primary inspiration. It was through Lesya's guide that I was able to make my game look pretty!

These mods, which are a staple in the modding community, are beautiful indeed... but what if I told you that the reason they're so beautiful, is because they're high-quality. With textures soaring up to 4k, when, hang on--

In 2004, 4k resolution was... probably unheard of. With the leading monitor size being 1024x768, what would be the point of using such huge textures on an engine that was designed for monitors of at least this size? Would you be able to see the detail of 4k on a monitor of that size? Definitely not.

The max visiting sims, okay, a little hit or miss. If your sims are all wearing high poly alpha CC, then it's a problem. If not, good luck.

Then comes the cheats I mentioned. The lot skirt cheat expands the view distance a significant amount. With the mergenhoodflora cheat, that displays more trees. Combining the two, what do you get?

A massive view distance, blinded by trees.

With skies and skylines with large textures up to 4k, and trees with textures up to 2k, The Sims 2 will collapse. It's like forcing an old man with health conditions to do 20 situps, again and again.

It'll overexert him, by the very least. And you're overexerting the game by cramming custom content that is not optimised for the engine TS2 was built on.

So please, next time you encounter the pink soup, please check your CC folders, and research changes and cheats before you put them into your game. You will enjoy the game much more if you do this, and won't encounter this problem so often.

Don't use Graphics Rules Maker

Instead, opt for a maxis original Graphics Rules uploaded here by Veronavillequiltingbee. It's essentially a rewrite of an old tutorial I made a long time ago.

Once you download the file from VVQB, open DXDIAG by pressing WinKey+R and typing 'dxdiag'.

This value I've underlined is what you need to put after seti textureMemory. Open the sgr file and do CTRL-F and input seti textureMemory.

Add the value from DXDIAG and then save it.

You can use GRM for adding your GPU to the game, but I do not recommend it for anything but that.

Optimising the game... inside the game

*shoves GRM off the table*

We're going to go into TS2 in-game settings for this one.

These settings are optimal if you play CC-heavy households. It will ease the load on your game to make space for the heavy CC you have in your current household. You can tweak these when you want to take photos outside, but for playing I recommend them all to be off - especially at community lots as there are lots of sims there.

I never see anybody talking about Object Hiding.

Object Hiding hides objects from floors that aren't in view. If you're playing downstairs, objects upstairs won't be rendered, thus minimising the load on your game.

I have reflections and smooth edges off because I use ReShade.

Snow on Ground is optional. Sometimes snow can cause pink flashing, I believe it's due to texture replacements that are huge in size too, Voeille's is 2k. I've linked a resized one above.

This post will be updated with later findings. I hope you all found it informative :]

#ts2 pink flashing #ts2 guide #ts2

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angelfrombeneth · 11 months ago

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LET ME BE THE JUDGE OF THAT - T . NOTT

Mature Content Ahead

Theodore Nott x Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Enzo are best friend, you have a bi-weekly gossip session at the astronomy tower during your bi-weekly smoke break. During said gossip, Enzo drops some juicy goss about a certain slytherin boy and how he's 'packing', iygwim ;)

Warnings: SMUT, Switch Theo and Reader, Mentions of Smoking, Graphic descriptions of sex, Slight Male!Receiving Oral, Squirting

A/N: I apologise for any spelling mistakes or slightly off sentences. I did proof read but I am dyslexic with acrylics on so my spelling gets progressively worse.

Theodore Nott. The man he was. He was one of your friends, he was in the group of the original slytherins from day dot. You always harboured something towards him - you just didn't know if it was feelings or pure lust. The man was an absolute pantie dropper. He just got even hotter with puberty.

Though he wasn't as much as a whore as Mattheo, he definitely stuck his dick in a few things (stupid bitches). There were many rumours about him but no one knew it was real, no one kiss and told with him. For all you knew he could've been an absolute virgin. But one of the rumours was true, Enzo mentioned over your bi-weekly free period cig break in the Astronomy tower.

"Oh! I've got some goss for you" Enzo chuckled as he pointed his slender fingers at you. His cigarette perfectly slotted inbetween his index and middle.

"What?" You looked over at him intruiged, as you stayed sat against the railing of the tower, your feet dangling over the old cobble below.

"Theo" He smirked. If you were a dog your ears would've perked up. The way your body instantly sat up straight away as you looked over at him more alert than ever. Your hand paused infront of you, the cig butt burning out. "Its big" He winked.

"Oh fuck off 'Zo" You took a puff from your cig, letting it hit your throat before exhaling. "You're full of shit, I'm not sitting here and listening to you bullshit another stupid 'Big Dick of Hogwarts' again. Do you know I actually got with Adrien just to fucking see" You rolled your eyes.

Enzo laughed "Did you actually?!"

You nodded as you inhaled the smoke from your cigarette, flicking the end as ash fell from the tip. "Well embarassing too, was so turned off at the.. what 3 inches I had to work with, just walked out" You groaned.

Enzo snickered but collected himself. "I'm serious though, it's literally huge. He sent a picture to the lads groupchat-"

"Why?" You cut him off

"We wanted to compare dick sizes so we measure it against our DADA text books" Enzo shrugged.

"You lot are fucking stupid..." You shook your head. "But.. out of interest where abouts was it? Would you say centered with the authors name in the centre or? I know the book is 15 inches tall" You spoke, putting out your cig on the metal bar.

"Jesus fucking Christ you are a freak" Enzo laughed putting out his cigarette beside yours. "But it was to the title lettering"

You stood up in shock. "You're saying Theodore Nott has a 9 inch penis.."

"How do you know the size- Wait I'll just show you" He pulled his phone out of his pocket, pulling up the groupchat and showing you the picture. Now with Enzo, if you couldn't guess it by now, he was the male gay of the group - him and Pans representing the rainbow together. You all thought it would be Blaise he turns out he ended up hitting it off well with Luna Lovegood.

"No.. fucking way" You gripped the muggle phone as you stared at the picture. "This makes me want to fuck Theo even more 'Zo. I've been toying with the idea but fuck this solidifies it"

Enzo laughs "Well he's been having a 'dry spell at the moment' said he can't get it up because of an 'inconsistency' he said but he won't tell anyone. Sounds like he's seen something that'll only make him hard".

"Inconsistency? Pfft, I'll be the judge of that" You smirked.

"Oh I bet you will" He snickered.

"Jesus, this cig break was crazy" You laughed, giving Enzo his phone back and the two of you walked down the steps of the tower.

"I'll update you if I hear anything more from Mr 9 inches" Enzo winks.

You shook your head bidding him a goodbye.

Later that day, You made your way into the dungeons, walking to Enzo's dorm to tell him about the crazy fight between Astoria and a random Ravenclaw over Draco.

"Zo you'll never fucking believe it. Astoria ate shit today and got her ass handed to by a Raven...claw-" You flung open the door, looking up and locking eyes to chest with a very naked, towel covered sadly, Theo.

"My eyes are up here bella" He smirked.

You gawked at him, shocked to see him, especially how chiseled he was... as your mouth practically salivated at the sight of him.

"Bella?" Theo chuckled at your frozen figure.

"Respectfully Theo, I've always found you so fucking hot. But now I'm going to have to definitely suck you off" You smirked up at him.

He snickered as he gazed at you. His tongue running across his bottom lip before biting it. "You really dont play around... Come on then"

You slammed the door behind you as you lunged yourself at Theo, crashing your lips onto his. His hands roaming your body as your slid from his shoulders to his damp chest. Your fingers working through the crevasses slowly.

"My.. my.. So eager" He laughed as you pushed him back against a bed while yanking at the towel watching as he caught himself with his hands on the bed, sitting up as he supported himself completely naked.

You bit your lip as you dropped to your knees. "Fuck.. Enzo wasn't lying" You placed your hands on his thighs.

"What?" Theo froze.

"Enzo showed me your dick pic.. Its even bigger in person though" You bit your lip.

"Fucking Enzo.. So you saw my cock and now wanna suck it because of a picture?"

"Yeah pretty much" You licked a stripe up the base of his shafts to the tip as you peered up at him smirking as he let out a shaky gasp.

"You are a weird one Y/N.. Now hurry up before I fuck your face with it" He groaned slightly agitated at being teased.

"He also said about your inconsistency to get it up Nott.. you seem to not be having an issue" You smirked as you took his length into your hands as you jerked him off slightly as you kissed up his pelvis.

"Don't act so suprised bella.. We both know it was because of you and that cheeky thong of yours. Why'd you think that was OK?" Theo sighed as he bit his lip peering down at you.

"Me?" You questioned.

You peered outside your door, looking left and right before slithering out. You really wanted to grab some water from the kitchen but it was so late and you couldn't be asked to wait till breakfast.

You snuck out the common room, running down to the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water but also stealing a few biscuits while you were at it.

You had successfully made it back to the common room, slowly walking down the stairs before turning to walk up the stairs to your dorm. You felt a presence near you but you, looked around and saw no one. So you shrugged it off.

Third POV

"Fuck-" Theo hissed as he flicked his cigarette out the window as he stared at your figure stood at the end of the stairs.

The way you stood in your little black knee high socks, paired with an absolute ravishing black lace thong - leaving nothing to Theo's imagination. Not only that, a tiny crop top with underboov practically spilling out. Theodore was spoilt by this view. He noticed you didn't notice him as you crept back upstairs. The growing tent in his joggers as he stood up to readjust but ending up moaning at the slight friction of the fabric.

What you didn't know, is that night Theo went and jacked off 6 times thinking about you. He'd never came so much, let alone been so weak for anyone. You were all he could think about for weeks. Even when he came to the situation of fucking a random ass Ravenclaw after a party, he couldn't get it up. It wasn't until he thought about that night. You. He could. He ended up ploughing the fuck out of that poor Ravenclaw imaging the girl was you. After that he vowed to celibacy until he could get his hands on you.

"What are you talking about" You laughed as you kitten licked his tip, staring up at him as he fought back his moans. His fists whitening as he clenched then tightly.

"I.. saw you" He gulped, submitting and sitting on the bed as you shuffled closer. "Two weeks ago- You went somewhere I don't fucking know. But you were in a tiny fucking thong and- there was just so much boob and ass.." You tilted your head as you stared at him. "Y/N- I fucked my shit so hard- I fucked a random bitch- I nearly fucking moaned your name" He was pratically begging for you at this point.

You stood up, straddling his hips as you smirked at him, caressing his cheek. "I'm flattered Nott, if you wanted to fuck me you should've just asked" You bit your lip.

"God- S'bad.. I want you so bad Y/N" He pratically whimpered as his cock twitches up against your thigh.

"Who knew Theodore Nott was a begger.. especially with all this" You chuckled, running your hand up his whole length. You lifted your thong to the side as you lined up his dick with your entrance as you slowly sank down on it. Sighing softly as the poor boy whimpered under you.

"Good boy" You cooed, ruffling his hair as you slowly rocked your hips back and forth, biting your lip at the feeling of his dick moving inside of you, hitting your G-spot every. fucking. time.

"I fucking hate.. how weak you make me" He whines, a soft pout upon his lips as his hands grasp at your clothed breasts through your uniform.

You capture his lips, kissing him softly, speaking between the breaths- "You're so.. fucking.. hot.." You sighed as you arched your back, throwing your head back as you gripped his shoulders as you sped up the pace as you rode him. Your hips buckling against his chest as you left out soft whines and moans. Supporting yourself by your arms but you were growing weak. As much as it was hot to see a submissive Theodore, his dick was perfectly hitting your G-spot every fucking time that you were crumbling.

You threw your head forward, looking at Theo as you panted, your mouth open agape as you stared down at him. Lust in your eyes. "Ruin me Nott" you gagged out.

It was like a code word or something. In that moment, Theo pulled out and flipped you over. Ripping off your uniform but leaving your tie on. Slapping your ass harshly as he theusted his dick back into you, tugging on your tie, choking you slightly as he began to piston into you from behind. You gasped, a moan catching in your throat as your head leaned back slightly at the tug of the tie as you felt Theo's hand grip at your neck tightly as you gasped.

"Good girl.. Be good for me.. principessa" He whispered lowly as he let go of your tie, wrapping an arm around your waist as he yanked you up, leaning your back against his chest. You moaned lightly, gritting your teeth as his dick absolutely crushed your insides. His lips upon your neck, biting and sucking on the skin, as his free hand gripped your left breast.

"Fuck!" You whined out as you gasped. The overwhelming feeling of his dick and his touch was driving you insane. "I'm co-" You screamed out as he sped up his thrusts. You gripped his thighs, digging your nails into them as you screamed out. Your eyes rolling back as you let out a low groan as you came harshly against his dick.

Theo let go of you, letting you fall forward against the bed as you panted heavily, breath shaky as you gripped at the sheets below you. His dick still in you as he stared down at your twitching body.

"I'm not done yet, amore mio" He smirked, slapping your ass as he pulled out. Flipping you over as he leaned over kissing you softly. Your arms snaked around his neck, pulling his closer as you sucked on tongue as he gasped feeling him enter you once again.

"Theo- I don't think I can take anymore" You panted, giggling softly, slightly scared.

"You will" He smiled at you, kissing your cheek as he slowly dragged himself in and out of you. "I need to cum too, and you need to come atleast 2 more times" He winked.

His lips captured yours as he kissed you passionately. You wrapped your arms around his neck, your hand finding it's way through his curls as you tugged on them with each pummel into your G-spot. Theo definitely knew how to use all inches of his deadly weapon. You did question why you left it so long.

He pulled away, peppering kisses down your jaw, neck and collarbone, nibbling and sucking lightly occasionally scattering hickies and marks. "So. Beautiful" He growled as he grit his teeth. His grip on the headboard directly above you tightened as he thrusted harder onto you.

"T-Theo" you yelped, scratching down his back harshly with your sharp acrylics. Gasping as he cocked his leg up slightly hitting into you at a tilted angle driving you insane.

"Doing so good, darling. You look so beautiful" He pecked your lips as his grip tightened on his bed frame, thrusting faster as the bed below the pair of you began to creak with each movement. "Good girl.. You are doing so well" He kissed your cheek softly as you let out a soft string of moans.

Your eyes rolled back slightly as your panting became erratic, your toes curling as you shrieked, digging your nails further into his back. "Fuck! Fuckfuckfuckfuck- I'm cumming!" You screamed out as you arched your back, your legs twitching as Theo continued to relentlessly pound into you, showing no remorse for your sensitive state. You yelped loudly, throwing your head forward, locking eyes with him as the knot harshly unwrapped in your stomach as you came harshly against him. He continues to fuck you through your high causing you to squirt. Everywhere.

You threw your head back, squinting your eyes as you gritted your teeth whining as your hands fell from his back to the sheets as you fisted them. It took you a moment to come round, you were seeing white during your high. You noticed Theo slow down, but still continuing to slowly pump into you. You felt his hand caress your cheek as he chuckled softly.

"You alright bella? Thought I lost you there" He smirked softly as he kissed your forehead.

You looked up at him, panting softly, pulling his neck as you placed a soft kiss on his lips. "You're going to kill me Nott.. How have you still not came-" You groaned.

He laughed, hooking his arms under your thighs, he lifted you up causing you to shriek. The boy stood up, lowering you once against fully on his length. His hands gripping your ass as he thrusted into you. Your body recoiling against him as your skin slapped harshly against his.

"Fuck- There-" You gulped biting your lip as your hands gripped his shoulders.

"Love making you feel good.. I could make you cum all day, I don't care if i do too" You groaned, his jaw tensing as you noticed his dick twitch inside of you. He walked across the room, your body rebounding every thrust back into him as you whimpered lowly. He pushed you up against the door, his pace quickening once he leant u against it.

"Fuck yes! You're so tight for me bella, just for me-" He moaned softly into your ear as his face buried into your neck. Soft whimpers leaving his lips turning you on even more. Your hips bucked against him as you tightened your core as you began to lift yourself to bounce up and down. Soft moans leaving your lips as he bit at your neck, whining into your skin.

"M'close!-" He yelped, gulping as he kissed your roughly. You pulled him as close as you could as he continued to plough into you against the door. The pair of you gaining closer and closr to your releases. His thrusts progressively becoming more erratic.

Suddenly, Theo halted before he drop you to your feet, pulling out as you gasped at the sudden lack of pleasure. He pulls you to the bed again, pushing you face first down as he climbed ontop of you. You had no time to compute what was going on or question him. It all happened so fast. His legs eitherside yours trapping you down as he slaps your ass. A soft yelp leaving your lips as he spread your ass and thighs with his hand as he pushed back in. The boy was fucking mounting you like a horse.

He kisses your shoulder messily as he bites down on it, his thrusts becoming messy as you gripped at the sheets again. "Tell me if your- uncomftable" He groaned in your ear. His thrusts growing messier and messier as he sped up. His poor bed frame screaming for a break, constant creaking and slamming against the wall as you both moaned. You were worried for the dorm next door, the pair of you didn't think of a silencing charm.

His whimpering driving you over the edge as you screamed into the pillow. Theo knew you were close, he could feel it as you tightened around him.

The boy chased for his high along with you. You both letting out some rather unattractive groans and whines as you drew close together.

"Sei cosi' sexy" (You're so sexy) He groaned, nibbling at your shoulder as he continued to whimper softly in your ear. His pants become erratic as he continued to thrust into you, at a wildly animalistic pace. "Mio, tu sei mio..~" (Mine, you are mine..~) he whined out, pushing your hair aside as he sucked at your neck. His pants becoming gasps as his dick twitched inside of you. You had no clue what he was saying, but his Italian accent was making you even more wet.

"FUCK!-" you screamed as you sobbed into the pillow, biting the plush object as you harshly came against his thrusts as he sped up one last time, before delving deep inside of you, practically burying himself and his cum deep inside of you.

"Porca puttana, cosi' stretto! Tutto mio. Ti amo, cazzo-" (Holy shit, so tight! All mine. I fucking love you-) He groaned as he held himself above you, his arms shaking as he panted heavily. "Holy fuck.." He collected himself before pulling out and crashing beside you, pushing his hair out of his face.

The pair of you had a few minutes of silence, panting heavily and collecting yourself together.

You lifted your hair out of the pillow as you turned to look at his fucked out face beside you. You let out a soft snicker as you moved to cuddle him, putting your head on his chest.

Theo didn't know you knew a bit of Italian not much, but enough to know he just professed his love for you.

"Ti amo" You smiled up at him. His face shot to you, his eyes wide and his cheeks flushed.

"You understood?-" He gulped.

"Only slightly but, I love you too Theo" You kissed his cheek.

He shook his head, laying a soft kiss on your lips.

The two of you cuddled a bit longer before you retreated to the shower where you went another round. You don't know how you did it. Your legs certainly hate you at this point. He decided to leave some nasty bite marks and hickies on your thighs. He even drew blood a few times but that's something the two of you can toy with later...

Later you stumbled down the stairs in one of Theo's tshirts. Your hair very messy and skin peppered in hickies and bites from neck to thigh. Theo followed behind you.

You noticed your friends sat upon the couches in the common room.

You looked to Enzo "Can confirm it is definitely 9 inches" You both laughed as your friends look at you confused.

"Who-" Draco questioned before gasps came from them all as Theo walked downstairs, covered in scratch marks, bites and hickies as he stood behind you ruffling his hair in just his trackies.

"Oh my god" Pansy gawked.

If you enjoyed this fic and want to buy me a coffee, you can do so here!

#theodore nott x reader #theo nott x reader #theo nott smut #slytherin boys fanfiction #slytherin fanfiction #slytherin boys #theodore nott smut #harrypotter fanfiction #lorenzo zurzolo #angelfrombenethfics

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aliteralsemicolon · 4 months ago

Text

Wait until you like me again - 18+

See part 1 | Part 2 of We can't be friends (wait for your love) | See part 3

The decision to resign puts a lot of weight on your shoulders. A takedown gone wrong makes it the least of anyone's concerns, especially Spencer’s. You’re not willing to let him back in; it feels too little, too late.

Spencer Reid X Fem! Reader

DISCLAIMER This story is NSFW and contains graphic depictions. It is intended for mature audiences only, minors do not interact! You are responsible for the content you consume. Make sure to read all necessary warnings. Please remember this is a work of fiction; if you don’t like it, don’t read. Part 2 was highly requested and I’m sorry it’s taken so long to finish.

WARNING Panic attack mentioned, slight PTSD depictions, drugs (GHB), Case details (very poorly thought out). Violence: canon typical - strangulation, drugging, guns/gunshots. Proceed at your own risk.

Word count: 10.3K See notes at end for authors note & spoilers.

The most annoying part about making a decision in haste is the clarity of the situation when the dust settles. It’d taken Hotch just over two minutes to message you after you’d sent your email.

From: Boss Man 🕶 👔 My office, first thing tomorrow.

You didn’t take into account that you’d have to explain your sudden resignation to your unit chief, or that you’d need to think of a good enough goodbye to lessen the hurt of abandoning your friends. These are people you consider your found family; you’re leaving behind years worth of bonds with no proper warning or closure, in a measly few weeks. Your reasoning had to be good enough to convince them that this was for the best.

To convince you that this was for the best.

You’d spent the whole night in tears, racking your brain for an excuse, because ‘the person you care most about in this world and unrequited love of your life telling you that he didn’t want to see your face was a pathetic reason for discarding your life’s work. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t think of adequate justification. Even as the sun rose and you made your way through your pre-work routine, nothing came to mind.

“You can’t love me.”

Any time you tried to conjure up a defence your thoughts would wander back to Spencer. Too many words had been exchanged between you and your former best friend in the span of four months and not a single one of them properly explained why he was so butt-hurt. He loves you too much, but doesn’t want you to love him? That’s your understanding, at least.

“Please don’t come back here. It’s hard enough at work, I don’t want to see your face in my personal time too.”

Since you’d left his apartment the previous night, you’d been cycling through all the stages of grief in record time. Spencer once told you that people tend to remember more negative memories than positive. He was right. You couldn’t recall a lot of your happier memories with him. All you could think about was the two conversations where he’d hurt you in ways you never imagined he would.

You’re not sure exactly what part of you snapped at that moment, all you knew was that you were done making him the centre of your universe. Spencer Reid played no part in your decisions moving forward. He was not the reason for your departure with the BAU, a lie you made sure to relay to Hotch during your meeting with him.

“I’m just surprised, that’s all. Where is this even coming from?” He inquired from across you, hands folded neatly against his desk.

“I just think it’s time for me to try new things, you know?” It was a pathetic excuse, but less pathetic than the actual reasoning.

“I try not to interfere with the personal lives of the team, but this is just so…sudden. I have to wonder if this has to do with Spencer?”

“This has nothing to do with him.” You go out of your way to avoid saying his name, suspecting you might taste poison.

Hotch’s brow raises, as if his brain has been alerted to key information, head marginally tilting to the side like it does when he catches a lie. He doesn’t say anything, eyes narrowing in on you in stoic fashion. You feel like a petulant child that’s about to receive a scolding from their father.

“Hon–Honestly…Hotch, I just–”

Three rapid knocks cut you off, the door to the office swinging open without waiting for a reply.

“Sir, Hello, I’m sorry to interrupt but it’s an emergency. That case we were consulting on for Anchorage PD?” Garcia bursts into the room, slightly discoloured and more panicked than normal. “Well, five more bodies were discovered. Two of them pre-date who we initially thought was the first victim.”

“Garcia, tell everybody to meet on the jet ASAP. We’ll debrief on the flight.” Hotch orders abruptly standing from his seat. “You and I can finish this meeting later. This case is now our top priority, wheels up.”

Emily, Rossi and Derek were already in their seats when you boarded. You secured your go bag in one of the overhead compartments and temporarily took a seat next to Derek.

“How bad do you think this one is gonna be?” Derek sighs, dreading the horrors that await your arrival.

“We’re up to thirty six bodies and counting. Whoever this unsub is, they’ve been at it a while. So, bad.” You answer honestly.

“Speaking of bad, is everything okay?”

“That was not even remotely smooth.” You scoff.

“I’m just asking as a concerned friend.” He shoots his hands up in defence.

“What happened to the days where we at least tried to mind our business. You know, at least asked each other about our weekend plans before jumping into interrogation mode.” You roll your eyes and smirk.

“Heyyy, woah– no one’s interrogating anyone.” Derek chuckles. “What are your plans for the weekend?”

It wasn’t long before everybody had made their way on the jet, Spencer being the last one. You didn’t notice his arrival, too engulfed in your conversation. He definitely noticed you though. The sound of your giggles caught his attention the second he was in ear shot. He didn’t like how warm he felt at the sight of your smiling face. What he disliked more was that he could instantly tell that it wasn’t a genuine smile.

He quietly made his way to his self assigned seat on the couch, trying his hardest to focus on anything but you. Every laugh that Morgan coaxed out of you bothered him. Spencer’s agony only ended once the jet had successfully taken off.

“Alright let’s get started.” Hotch declared and everybody moved to gather around.

With all the details laid out by Garcia through the monitor, everybody began stating facts and suggestions. You wrapped up soon enough and retreated to an isolated seat in the back of the jet. It was an almost eight hour flight, seven of which you were planning to use to come up with a solid plan to announce your departure. Life always has to throw a wrench in your plans though, because the lack of sleep from the night before caught up to you and you dozed off almost immediately. Had you any energy left in your body, you might have been privy to the eyes that were on you.

“She didn’t say anything as to what the meeting was about?” JJ hushedly pries from her raven haired co worker in the cramped kitchenette.

“No, but Garcia said that ‘the air in his office was really tense’.” Emily relays, her fingers mimicking quotation marks. “Did Hotch say anything?”

“No. He just gave me his usual dry look and told me to focus on the case.” JJ rolls her eyes at the thought and leans back against the counter.

Despite being the FBI’s most decorated task force, the agents of the BAU weren’t strangers to workplace gossip. You’d just entered the bullpen this morning when Hotch frantically summoned you to his office, not even giving you time to set your things down at your desk. Witnessing the events sparked a guessing game sparked amongst the team.

“Is it something we should know about?” Sitting across from Hotch, even Rossi succumbed to his curiosity.

“Dave you’re not normally one to pry.” Hotch smirks, keeping his eyes on the case-file laid out in front of him.

“No I’m not. But with the events of the past few months...” Rossi sips his coffee, staring at his younger superior expectantly. “...there’s been some talk Aaron.”

“Talk?” Hotch meets Rossi’s eyes.

“Mhm.” Rossi nods. “Apparently you’re transferring one of our two youngest members because they haven’t been able to put their differences aside.”

“I’m not transferring anyone. Where did this come from?” The alarm in his tone makes Rossi snicker.

“Office drama. You know how it is. And while you may not be transferring anybody,” he sets his mug down and looks towards where you’re sound asleep. “I’m guessing somebody is leaving. Hence this morning's meeting.”

“We’re not supposed to profile each other, you know.” Hotch sighs. “I’d appreciate it if you could keep this contained. I haven’t had a chance to properly discuss this with her yet and I think she’d prefer to break the news herself.”

As you had predicted the case was by no means an easy one. On the first day everybody was split into groups to follow up with the M.E, victims’ families and examine the crime scenes. All the evidence and information gathered wasn’t enough to narrow the profile any more than the generic: male, mid thirties to early forties, hates women. You were now three days in with no viable leads.

You were especially frustrated because you felt that you weren’t working as well as you could. The stress of your announcement was taking its toll, you were unable to properly converse with your team out of guilt. Hotch sent everyone back to their hotel rooms with the idea that you would start fresh tomorrow. Normally you would room with Spencer, but lately JJ and Emily have been taking turns rooming with both of you. This time you were with Emily.

“I think this may be the first night we’ve gotten to turn in early.” Emily yawns as she dramatically stretches her limbs.

“I’m just glad we got to turn in at all, for a while there it looked like we may have to pull another all nighter.” You force a giggle, exasperated.

“You okay?” She doesn’t miss a beat, taking the opportunity to ask about your uneasiness.

“Yeah, fine.” You smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“You’re going to snap at some point, you know?” She examines your closed off posture, trying to figure out a way to get you to open up. “Something’s clearly wrong. Talk to me.”

“We’re all on edge right now. It’s this case.” You hope that you’re being convincing enough.

“It's more than that. You’ve been distant from everybody.” Emily briefly thought back to the Ian Doyle debacle, recognising all the signs of somebody preparing to run away at any given moment.

“I’m aware that I’m not working to my full potential–”

“That’s not what I mean and you know that.” She steps closer to you. “I can’t force you to tell me whatever’s actually on your mind, but I would really appreciate it if you would. I hate seeing you so…detached. Not just from us, but from yourself.”

It’s the empathy in her voice instead of the usual sympathy that finally cracks you. Tears pool your eyes and you sink to the floor. Emily sits down next to you without a word. She tries to pull you in for a hug but you push away.

“Please don’t.” You sob. “I’m sorry.”

She squeezes your knee to relay that she understands and retracts her hand. Your discomfort with physical touch was another thing you had in common with Spencer. It was just a personal preference for you, unlike his germophobia. He was the only person you were actually comfortable with in terms of touch, but you couldn’t fault others for not respecting that boundary when you’d never verbalised it.

“I’ve been trying to figure out the right way to tell you guys, but I don’t think there’s any way this gets easier.” You recompose yourself after a moment. “I’m, um, leaving.”

You expect her to get upset with you, but find her unfazed.

“You don’t look surprised.”

“Well it’s not entirely surprising. I mean given everything that’s happened.”

“So you’re not mad?”

“Why would I be mad?” She leans back with her mouth slightly open.

“Because I feel like I’m abandoning you guys.” You heavily exhale.

“You’re not abandoning us. You’re doing what you feel is right for you. I mean, am I happy about it? Definitely not. But I know better than anyone why you feel like you need to do this. And it’s not a decision you have to justify to anybody.” Emily reassures you.

“How do I tell everybody else?” You push for more advice.

“However you feel most comfortable doing it. It doesn’t have to be some big announcement. You can casually break it to them whenever you get the opportunity. They’ll understand.”

“Thank you, Em.” You genuinely smile this time, eternally grateful that she’s managed to take some pressure off your shoulders.

“Now while you’re in a mood to share…if you wanna talk about something else–” She attempts one last time to get you to talk about Spencer, sensing that the mood lightened a bit.

“Nice try.” You laugh as you rise to your feet, offering your arms out to her to help her stand.

The following two days were a lot easier on you, mentally. You took Emily’s advice and disclosed your news individually to each team member, each of them more understanding than you’d anticipated. You were surprised to learn that Rossi was already aware, assuming that it came with being a profiler for as long as he had. Derek and JJ did try to talk you out of it initially, but accepted your decision in the end. You still had to talk about this with Garcia, but felt a lot more at ease with mostly everybody knowing.

Except Spencer.

That thought lingered in the back of your mind. You still love him, it’s not something you can just turn off. You shake it off and divert your full attention to the case. Four more bodies had been discovered and with them, a new pattern to the killings. The unsub was devolving. You and Spencer were the only ones at the precinct when the last murder was called in. Meaning you were stuck working on the geographical profile with him while the others were out chasing new leads.

Realistically, only one of you was needed to build the profile and decided you were going to let him do it. You quietly sat in the furthest seat possible, trying to make yourself invisible and hoping that this would keep him busy enough to not talk to you. The whole week, you hadn’t uttered a single word to him unless it was absolutely necessary for the case. It was as if he didn’t exist, even if he was standing right infront of you. Spencer, on the other hand, spent the whole week prodding you for any reaction he could get. Anytime you made suggestions and he happened to be in the area, he tried to one up you.

At times it felt like he was purposely seeking you out, despite his brutal proclamation five days ago. Every attempt to rile you up failed. The most acknowledgement he got from you was a few scoffs and glares. He hadn’t even realised he was doing it, until Derek asked him point blank what his problem was. He didn’t have an answer, but now that he was aware of it he tried to go out of his way to avoid it.

That didn’t last more than a few hours. The fact that he had to consciously avoid talking to you pissed him off, especially because he couldn’t stop. You pretending like he didn’t exist pissed him off even more. The one time he took his eyes off the board in front of him they landed on you. You were busy scribbling words in a file, trying to get a head start on your paperwork.

“Do you plan to help at all?” He sneers, noticing that you looked a lot more relaxed than you did at the start of the case.

You snap your head towards the board behind him. A rough venn diagram was drawn on a map of the city, small tacked notes labelling prominent buildings in the area.

“How am I meant to help?” You question, darting your eyes between him and the board out of confusion.

“You’re asking me how to do your job?” He taunts, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes.

You dramatically groan, throwing your head back.

It’s hard to believe that he’s a man of logic in moments like these. There have been far too many in the last few months. You bounce off your seat and head over to the board. Spencer stays glued in his spot and your body accidentally brushes against his as you try to get past. He watches you take off some notes and add on new ones but doesn’t register what you’re doing at first. He’s too intoxicated by your scent. His hand runs through his hair as he steps back in an effort to regain his composure. His teeth grit and his jaw tenses momentarily, he hates that you have the ability to do this to him.

“What do you think you’re doing?” The pitch of his voice raises and his ears are burning.

“What do you mean?” You roll your eyes, shrugging your arms, sarcasm laced in your words.

“Don’t try to act all dumb!” He berates, shaking his head.

“Don’t try to act all smart.” Your eyes roll again. Spencer was slowly starting to wear down your apathy.

“I am smart.” He scoffs. Your blood boils, this trump card is becoming too repetitive.

“Savour that, it’s the one good thing you’ve got going for you!” You finally snap.

“You’re UNBELIEVABLE! The first time you bother to answer me all week and it’s just to argue?” He’s trying his best to refrain from yelling.

“Oh! You’ve been trying to start an argument all week and now that I’m giving in you can’t take it?! Actually, why have you been trying so hard, Doctor? I was under the impression that you can’t even stand to look at my face!”

He dryly swallows, unable to respond immediately. The reminder of his words makes him internally cringe. He never meant to say them. It was the most efficient way he could think of at that time to hurt you. Spencer hadn’t anticipated the sheer amount of will power it would take to stay away from you. You seeking him out made it infinitely harder. His fake disdain was a defence mechanism, he was hiding behind hatred to get the job done.

“YOU–”

“Alright, that’s enough!” Hotch loudly cuts him off.

Neither you nor Spencer noticed the teams return during your squabble. You’re slightly embarrassed, wondering how much they’ve witnessed. Spencer turns away from you and looks to the blank wall on the other side of the room. You look to the floor and bite the inside of your cheek.

“Care to explain what’s going on?” He grills and you feel like a petulant child receiving a lecture from your father.

“She wasn’t doing her job!” Spencer complains. “And when I brought it up she messed up my profile!”

“God you’re insufferable! It’s called ‘narrowing the profile’, Spencer. Maybe if you did it properly, I wouldn’t have to.” You retort.

“Hey!” Hotch scolds.

It falls silent for a second, awkward glances finding their way around the room. Rossi breaks it first.

“You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you two were bickering toddlers instead of FBI agents.”

You make eye contact with Morgan trying to hold in a laugh and it makes you snort.

“We will discuss this later. Let’s focus on the updates we’ve gathered.” Hotch dismisses due to more pressing matters at hand.

“After talking to friends of the latest victims, I can confirm that they were all last seen in the same club.” JJ pipes up first.

“And the dumpsites are all less than twenty minutes away from there. He’s definitely not holding them anymore.” Morgan adds.

“That has to be where he’s choosing his victims. Did the medical examiner find anything new?” Hotch asks.

“Traces of GHB.” Emily replies. “We don’t know how he’s administering it into their systems, but my guess would be through the drinks.”

“Gamma-hydroxybutyrate, mostly known as GHB, is a party drug that produces feelings of euphoria, confidence, relaxation and sociability. Side effects of GHB can include drowsiness, vomiting, mood swings, dependence, as well as more serious symptoms of unconsciousness. When mixed with alcohol the risk of overdose increases as it can cause respiratory collapse leading to coma or in extreme cases death.” Spencer’s about to continue but quickly recognises that it’s a tangent he needs to cut short.

“Wait JJ what club were the victims last seen in?” You inquire, walking closer to the map.

When she relays the name it clicks.

“That’s smack in the middle of the comfort zone.” You point at a small red note labelling the building.

“So how do we catch this guy? I mean the club would be packed and we don’t know what this guy looks like. The profile tells us that he would blend in, nothing would stand out about him.” Morgan subtly suggests a string operation.

“Except for when he’s alone with the object of his rage. Which in our case would be the women he’s using as surrogates. He'd be possessive, become clingy, hold on too tight and once those advances are rejected he’d fly into blind rage.” Spencer exclaims without realising the weight of his input.

“Yeah…but he has a very specific type.” Rossi hesitates.

A fact that everybody had been avoiding the case because of how close it hit to home.

You’re his exact type.

“No.” Hotch shuts down.

“Hotch, think about it. I mean this guy is not slowing down. A sting might be our best bet to stop him before he kills again.” JJ shares Rossi’s hesitation.

“It’s too risky!” Spencer blurts, making it clear he’s against the idea.

Everyone begins to chime in with their input, but you stay silent and think it over. None of them wanted to put you in this position, but you’d seen the bodies and what he’d done to those women. What he’ll continue to do to other women if he isn’t stopped. It was a no brainer on your end.

“I’ll do it!” You announce amidst the chatter.

It comes to an immediate halt, all eyes shifting on you.

“What?” Spencer scoffs.

You can tell that he’s genuinely surprised by the small hitch in his voice. Emily sceptically calls your name, posing it as a question.

“I’ll do it.” You reiterate, taking care to seem as confident as possible.

“Absolutely not! The odds of this going wrong are way too high!” Spencer howls with a little too much passion.

“Reid’s right. The unsub is way too unpredictable.” Hotch debates.

“JJ has a point, think about it!” You argue. “We know for a fact that he’s going to strike tonight. Sending me undercover as bait is better than staking out the place and waiting for him to target a civilian!”

“Okay so let’s send somebody else!” Spencer contests, his tone prayerful.

For a split second, you see your best friend again. He’s showing more regard for you now than he has in months and it makes your heart sink knowing it won’t be forever. Still, you try to reason with him while he’s there.

“There’s no time! I fit his type. This is our best option.”

“No, this is stupid and dangerous. You’re not going in there!” He’s gone again.

“That’s not your call to make!” You snap.

“Hotch no!” Spencer tries again.

“Kid, relax! This isn’t her first undercover mission.�� Morgan attempts to calm Reid. “Plus we’ll all be there in case anything goes wrong.”

“Statistically–”

“For God’s sake forget the fucking statistics! People’s lives are at stake!” You loudly end his tangent before it can begin.

“Alright, everybody calm down!” Hotch speaks up, making it a point to stare down Spencer.

He’d made his decision and Spencer can only stare back in disbelief, too breathless to argue.

‘Like Morgan said, we’ll be there watching over you, along with some local law enforcement. You won’t be wired, but we’ll have a fail safe just in case you need backup earlier than expected. We don’t have a lot of time. Let’s get to work.” The unit chief asserts.

Before anyone can make any further moves, Spencer storms out of the room. JJ runs after him, assuring Hotch that she’ll take care of it. The rest of you break off to your assigned tasks, preparing for the operation that night.

“Spence! Slow down!” She yells, chasing him all the way outside the precinct.

He’s breathing too fast, practically on the edge of hyperventilating. He pushes his hair back with both of his hands, pacing back and forth on the sidewalk.

“Spence what the hell is going on with you?” JJ pants, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

“Me?!” Spencer yanks himself away from her. “What the hell is going on with all of you?! You’re all insane for allowing her to do this!”

“She’s a grown woman and a trained agent! This is her decision. She knows what she’s getting herself into.” JJ reminds him.

“Well it’s not a very smart decision! She shouldn’t be making decisions this…this reckless!” He shrieks.

“Okay you need to calm down!” JJ sternly states.

“Jennifer, do not tell me to calm down! She’s about to make herself a direct target for a psychopathic sadist and you’re all just letting it happen!”

“So what? Should we let some innocent woman become his next target?”

“No! I’m not saying we should– just– why does it have to be her?!” The emphasis on his last word gives him away, JJ picks up on it instantly.

“That’s what this is about? C’mon you know better than this.” She relaxes her shoulders. “Spencer, we all care about her. We all want her to be safe. And she will be as long as we separate out feelings from–”

“Feelings? This has nothing to do with how I feel–”

“Okay stop! Stop! God!” JJ huffs with pauses between her words. “I am so sick of this! This is clearly about your feelings. The past four months have all been about–”

She smacks her hands against her face as she takes a deep breath, a display of frustration.

“Listen to me.” She commands, exhausted from the back and forth. “It’s clear that you two care deeply for each other, whether you’re willing to admit it or not. Neither of you will talk about whatever it is that’s caused this rift– fine! But don’t you think it’s time to bury the hatchet now that she’s leaving?”

Spencer freezes.

“...Leaving?” He repeats, taken off guard.

JJ takes a moment to read his expression.

“She didn’t tell you?” JJ mutters, still scanning his face.

“What– what are you…” He can’t find the words, his eyes blinking rapidly as he tries to process her words.

“She’s resigning, Spencer. She’s leaving the FBI.” JJ can’t hide how she’s surprised that you haven’t shared this with him.

“No, that's not possible. She loves this job. Why would she leave?” Denial is his first response.

Spencer thinks over your possible motivations and can only land on the obvious. You’d only leave if you grew to hate the job.

Did he do this? Did he make you hate it?

“We were all surprised when she first told us, I mean, it came out of nowhere.”

“We?” He rubs his temple, anticipating a possible migraine from the bomb that just dropped on him. “How long?”

“What?”

“How long have you guys known?” He balefully sighs, trying his hardest to not misplace his anger.

“It’s hard enough at work, I don’t want to see your face in my personal time too.”

He had no one to be angry at, but himself.

“A day? Maybe two? She told us individually. Honestly with this case I haven’t had time to wrap my head around it.” JJ honestly reveals.

So not long. Maybe you were still making your way around to telling him? You wouldn’t just leave without so much as telling him, would you?

A few months ago, Spencer would’ve confidently answered no. Today he was sure that you would. He so badly hoped that he was wrong.

“Spence, look, we can talk about this later. But right now, you need to make sure you’re able to stay objective. Can you do that?”

He nods relentlessly, tucking his hair behind his ears. A habit he adapted early in life. It was an indicator of the gears turning in his head. JJ gives him a few more minutes outside before guiding him back in to help with preparations. Spencer absentmindedly performed his tasks, but all he could think about was you.

You’re leaving and he’s the only person you hadn’t disclosed this information to. Abandonment was a feeling he was all too used to, but he never imagined that you’d abandon him. He knows that he can only blame himself, but he still can’t help the irritation that’s creeping in his veins.

Even as he straps up his hidden bullet proof vest hours later, he can’t push the sentiment away. You were setting yourself up as bait for one of the most dangerous types of serial killers. On top of purposely putting yourself in direct line danger, you were leaving without telling him. He would’ve showed up to work one day and you’d be gone.

Right now he stands just a few feet away from you and you don’t look toward him once. No one would be able to guess that you’re undercover. It’s amazing how you’ve managed to transform yourself from supervisory special agent to a regular socialite and party girl in a couple of hours.

If he could overcome the hurt he feels at the moment, he might see how breathtaking you look. Then again, you always appear breathtaking to him. Before he knows it, he’s walked right up to you. You don’t feel his presence looming behind you until you bump into him when you turn around.

“Shit Spencer!” You jump, mostly because of the nerves from the upcoming night.

He’s about to say something but you beat him to it.

“Don’t start! I’m not in the mood.” You brush him off and disappear out of sight.

It was like that for much of the preparations. He’d muster the courage to try and talk to you, and you’d walk away. Much like how Spencer would avoid you when your friendship first fell apart.

“Everybody in position?” Hotch inquires through his ear piece.

“Affirmative.” Morgan gives the greenlight for your entry into the club.

You made your way to the bar, making it a point to sit alone. You didn’t have to wait long. Archie Carter, 36, cheated on by his ex fiance before their wedding. She ran away with another man because Archie failed to keep his sadistic traits hidden and it scared her off. Torturing and murdering women who looked like her was his way of giving her a real reason to be scared.

This was all information Garcia found after it was nearly too late. He’d managed to get you on the dance floor, subtly injecting you with the GHB. You didn’t even feel him do it. To everybody else it just seemed like you were playing your part really well on the dance floor, when in reality you were struggling to stand up. You couldn’t give out any signals and he was able to slip you away into the back alley under the noses of five FBI agents.

It was Spencer who’d found you fighting for your life against Archie’s grip around your throat. Spencer, who put the bullet in Archie’s head after being unable to talk him down. Spencer who kneeled above you, begging you to come back as he began CPR. If he’d found you any later you might’ve been gone for good.

Pissed was an understatement.

At the piece of shit that almost ripped you away from the world. At Hotch and the team for not listening. At himself for being right. Not you though, for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t pissed at you. He was terrified. Both for you and for almost losing you.

You had to stay a few extra days in Anchorage, bound to your hospital room. The team refused to fly back without you, each of them taking turns to keep you company. They all felt an immense amount of guilt but you reassured them that it wasn’t their fault. Your tongue grew tired of reminding them that this was a part of the job. Rossi joked that it was a good thing you were leaving it all behind in that case and it stung more than you were willing to admit.

In your brush with death you came to the revelation that you didn’t want to leave, but hearing Spencer’s voice lull you back to him confirmed that you needed to. You couldn’t bring yourself to hear him talk everyday and not be the person he was talking to. It was why you had basically barred him from visiting you during your recovery there. Seeing his face was more than you could handle at the time. Not seeing yours weighed on him, because he needed to see if you were okay.

Physically, he knew you’d be fine once the doctors confirmed it. Mentally, he knew all too well of the repercussions that came with almost dying directly by the hands of an unsub. You’d been discharged and cleared fifty eight hours after you were admitted, and the team was ready to fly back a few hours later. All the signs of being less than okay were there. He recognised them as soon as he saw you board the jet.

Besides the obvious bruises collaring your neck, there was some minor swelling that lingered. That wasn’t his biggest concern. It was the smile plastered on you when you put on your ‘I’m okay’ act for the others. Your eyes, like always, gave you away. You were already trying to sweep everything under the rug. Less than a few minutes after take off you isolated yourself in the back. You’d been doing that a lot in your recent cases.

It irked him how everybody just let you. He decided right then that he wasn’t going to. He didn’t care how much you hate him, he was going to ensure that you came out of this truly okay. You were mindlessly staring out the window, counting the clouds, listening to the music playing through your headphones. You tried to ignore the feeling of being watched. You’d felt like that since you came to, in the alley.

It took you a second to understand that you were actually being watched, turning to find Spencer in the previously empty seat across from you.

“You’ve gotta stop sneaking up on me.” You snark, ripping off your headphones, still recovering from the small jump scare.

“Sorry.” He chuckles out of habit.

You unintentionally smile at the sound and find yourself staring in his eyes.

“Are–” He falters as he thinks the question over in his head. “Is there anything I can get you?”

You’re taken aback, not expecting those words. You had a script prepared to waive off questions about your well being. He knows you better than that, throwing you off course as usual.

“What do you want?” You grumble, accepting that you couldn’t get past him.

“I want to know if there’s anything I can get you.” He repeats in a low tone.

There he is again. The Spencer you know and love. Your heart threatens to leap.

“If this is to clear some guilty conscience, don’t bother.” You verbally guard yourself. “I’m fine.”

It would be a lie if he said his reasoning was completely selfless. He was hardly able to keep away from you without feeling like he was drowning, but it was nothing compared to how he felt when he thought he may have lost you forever. The feeling didn’t last very long, he was able to revive you within a few seconds, but never feeling like that again would be too soon.

Spencer believed in two things; statistics and facts. One fact he refused to ignore any longer is that he couldn’t live without you. He quietly opened that satchel that still clung across his torso, fishing out some pain killers and an unopened water bottle.

“I know you probably forgot to take yours out of your bag.” He ignores your previous comment and slides the items across the table to you.

Your gaze lingers on the items in front of you, but your hands stay folded in your lap as you piece everything together.

“You know.” You whisper.

“Were you going to tell me?” He gulps after a beat of silence.

“Does it matter?” You're quick to respond.

“I wanna hear it from you.” He’s just as fast.

You look up from the leaf of pills, he’s already surveilling you. It’s a short lived staring contest because your focus shifts behind him to Hotch, who’s observing this encounter from the kitchenette on the other end. Spencer continues waiting on you for a response but you stand up, ready to walk away. It dawns on you when you see your supervisor that technically you hadn’t officially resigned yet. The paperwork never got started because this case took priority and that was a detail you needed to sort out right away.

“Don’t go.” Spencer pleads when you take your first step.

Was it a request to sit back down or to stay with the BAU? You didn’t bother to clarify, he had no right to ask for either.

You let out a deep, exasperated sigh as you lie curled up in your warm sheet, scowling at the floor beneath you. It seemed that the universe (your friends) had it out to delay your departure as much as possible. It’s been four days since your return from Anchorage and you’ve been stuck in your apartment since Hotch dropped you off here. He’s ordered mandatory time off for your recovery, meaning the paperwork has to wait.

You could be using this time in a more productive manner. You could be searching for a new job. And a new place to live. You should be trying to figure out where this new place would be. You never actually thought that far ahead. In your haste to run away, you forgot to plan your next steps. You’ve convinced yourself that you can’t do any of it until the forms are filled out.

The ‘universe’ isn’t the only thing delaying you.

If you really wanted to, you could have everything emailed to you. You can have it done online, but there are two major problems. The first is pretty straight forward; you’re not ready to leave. You know that this is the best course of action for everybody, but your brain and your heart are at an impasse. You’ve dedicated years to this job because you love this job. Unfortunately, you love Spencer more, which means that staying is going to drive you to hate your job.

The other reason is slightly more nuanced and you don’t want to think about it, opting to let your impasse be the reason for your lack of motivation to do anything other than bed rotting. It’s not as bad as it seems, it’s more self care than anything. Your body’s telling you it needs to rest and you’re simply obliging. Plus, it couldn’t be that serious if you still had bursts when you had to keep up appearances. You have to be okay if you’re able to force yourself to open the front door for your coworkers when they come to check on you. You really weren’t that miserable if you managed to smile and laugh for their short visits.

And it’s not like you’re truly rotting. You showered quite often, you actually just had your second one today. You were definitely okay if you could manage to keep up with hygiene. It’s not excessive, you need to scrub the purple away. You know that’s not how it works, but you can’t stand to look at the parts of your neck where his hands were wrapped around. If you close your eyes for long enough you can still feel him squeezing until–

You’re okay.

No, you’re irritated. The incessant knocking on your front door won’t stop no matter how much you ignore it. You were relieved when evening came. It meant that normal visiting hours were over and you could rest today. If it wasn’t any of your usual visitors then it had to be stranger. The thought made you uneasy, you hesitated to answer it at all.

You can’t live in fear all the time.

The door eventually opens and Spencer sees you for the first time in days. He actually tried to check on you earlier, but Penelope insisted everybody stick to her roster so you don’t get overwhelmed. The circles under your eyes were almost as dark as his, you hadn’t been getting much sleep. The swelling around your throat was almost all gone, but the bruising wasn’t healing like he expected it to.

“Spencer…what are you doing here?” Your voice is hoarse.

“I brought take out.” He gently dangles a bag of food in front of him, his voice high, but quiet.

You can practically smell the contents of the bag, nostalgia hitting you like a ton of bricks. It was your favourite thing to order on the days he’d come over for movie nights. Before Spencer showed you a side of him you didn’t know existed. It felt like a taunt, like he was twisting the metaphorical knife he plunged in your heart. It made you sick.

“I already ate.” You lie, mustering a dull smile on your face.

Spencer swallows and bites the inside of his cheek, not taking his eyes off you. Trying to think of the best way to call you out without causing you to shun him.

“We can do something else until you’re hungry again.” He gives a tight lipped smile and raises his furrowed brows, like he’s pleading for you to accept his offer.

“I don’t think I’ll be hungry anytime soon.” You awkwardly laugh– well it’s close to a laugh if not for your strained vocal chords.

“Can I come in anyway? We can put on a movie.” He’s using the voice he used to when trying to comfort you or convince you of something. Soft, low, steady. It’s a stark contrast to the voice you’ve been hearing for the last ten days.

Please don’t come back here. It’s hard enough at work, I don’t want to see your face in my personal time too.

Tears threaten the composure you’re working so hard to maintain.

“Why are you really here?” You sigh, unable to stick with the pleasantries.

“I told you.” He emphasises the bag of food in his hands again. “Take out. Maybe a movie–”

“Cut the shit.” You assert, harshly. “You can tell Penelope that you came to see me so she gets off your back, but please stop pretending like you care.”

“That’s…is that why you think I’m here?” His shoulders drop.

“Isn’t it?” You bite, your door now wide open as you lean against it for support. Your legs are aching to curl into your chest again.

“No.” His reply is short and clear, leaving no room for misinterpretation. “I’m here because I want to be here.”

“Why? There’s nothing in it for you.” You scoff, blinking from confusion. “Unless…is this some sick game? Seeing me like this– knowing that I’m– are you trying to gloat?”

“Gloat?” He repeats in almost a whisper, the hurt in his voice evident.

“Relish, rejoice, rub it in, I don’t know. You’re the walking thesaurus.”

He can tell from your lax posture that you're amused. Your back is against your door, hands behind your back and you’re leaning forward a bit as you stare at the ground. Not caring that your words cut deep.

Is this how low you think he is?

“Why would I be enjoying this?” His hopeful smile drops entirely as he tries to understand you.

“Call it epicaricacy.” You shrug.

“Epicaricacy?” He mumbles in a whispered tone, like he’s trying to process what you said.

Deriving pleasure from the misfortune of others.

Your eyes roll from how slow he’s acting and you have to hold yourself back from repeating the definition out loud.

“Do you honestly think I enjoy seeing you like this?” The change in pitch stings a bit.

“No, I don’t think you like seeing me at all.” You half smirk up at him, sadness evident in your eyes. “Which brings us back to…why are you here Doc?”

“That’s not true.” He cringes, ignoring the second part.

“Not true?” You wiggle your brows sarcastically.

“Not true.” He reaffirms, sighing deeply. “I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry.” You scoff again, shaking your head.

“I know that I’ve been unreasonable–”

“Unreasonable?” The tip of your tongue rolls against the back of your teeth, bewildered at his sheer audacity.

“A dick! I’ve been a dick.” He corrects himself, desperate to have you hear him out.

You tighten your jaw, inhaling lightly through your nose and your brows are raised as high as they can go.

“I was hurt. Okay? I wash lashing out, but, I–” He takes a deep breath to stop himself, wanting to get to the point. “I know that I’ve been acting otherwise but, I care about you. And when I found you back there…I just…I know what you’re going through, even if you won’t admit it. I don’t want you to go through it alone.”

Your expression softens as he speaks. Of course he knows. He knows you better than anyone. For a moment you consider allowing yourself to break down in his arms, like you would have once. It’s jarring, Spencer reverting to his former self after he saved your life. The comfort swiftly bubbles into anger. All your attempts for reconciliation were met with so much hostility before. It took you almost dying for him to care. It feels too little too late. The only thing you can think of as he stands next to you is all the ways he can further hurt you if you let him. You push off your door and stand straight, giggling bitterly.

“Spencer, go home.” You say with the same bitterness.

“Please–”

“Go home! I don’t want your pity!” You yell. It feels alleviating. “Do you honestly think that anything changes just because you saved my life? Do you think it erases everything that’s happened in the past few months? Because it doesn’t! Things can’t go back to how they were simply because you feel bad that I almost died. It’s not a flip you can switch. You don’t just get to start caring!”

You're heaving and he can only stare at the ground. He knows you’re right, except for the one crucial error in your speech.

“I never stopped caring.” He mumbles.

This fucking idiot.

Enraged, sad, frustrated, confused; all emotions you’ve been suppressing that are now fighting to show at the same time. You take a step closer to him and he meets your eyes again. You can see that he’s holding back tears, same as you. It fuels you in a twisted way. You have an opportunity to hurt him the way he hurt you and you don’t let it go to waste.

“Don’t come back here. It’s hard enough at work to see your face at work, I don’t want to see it in my personal time too.”

You can’t stay to see the effects of his words thrown back at his face, your heart’s threatening to burst from how fast it’s racing. His jaw locks from how tense he is. He knows exactly why you said it, but it’s still hard to hear. You turn around and rush into your apartment, shutting the door on his face, leaving him standing there. You don’t make it too far inside, collapsing on the wooden floor with a choked sob.

That didn’t make you feel as good as you thought it would. You hoped that maybe if you could make him feel at least a fraction of you’re feeling, you’d hurt less. It was more than just getting back at him for everything he’s done. You were unknowingly trying to punish him for what Archie Carter did too. It didn’t make you hurt any less, but at least you felt less alone in your hurt.

He didn’t come back for the rest of your time off. Everybody continued to follow the roster, showing up on their days and bringing you ‘get well soon’ goodies. Penelope even invited herself over for a night's stay once. You didn’t have the heart to say no, but you found yourself counting the hours until you’d be alone again, free to wallow. The only respite you got for the next week was on Spencer’s days. You could expect to be left mostly alone, only a bag of take out accompanied by an eerily fitting quote sitting outside your door.

You hate to admit that those were your favourite days. You had a chance to breathe and he somehow knew exactly what you needed to hear. You gave the food away in protest and the quote would go straight in the bin (once you read it). One final psych evaluation later you were cleared to come back. Not that you needed one since you didn’t plan to stay for long. It was really just a formality. By the time you returned only a few faded bruises remained, easy enough to cover with concealer.

“You’re back! Ooh, it’s so good to see you!” Garcia was the first with a warm greeting and a tight hug. You reciprocated to the best of your ability.

“Good to have you back, Pretty Girl.” Derek’s second, walking you through the bullpen as you make your way to Hotch’s office.

“Enjoy it while you can.” You giggle in reply. “Is Hotch in yet?”

“I see someone can’t wait to leave us.” Emily jokes, feigning a hurt look. You roll your eyes.

“Yeah, he’s expecting you.” JJ laughs, slapping Emily’s arm playfully.

“Thanks JJ!” You smile and they all watch you disappear behind the door.

“So it’s official? She’s really leaving?” JJ questions through a half-hearted smile.

“I asked Rossi and he said that Hotch is gonna ask her to stay until we find a replacement.” Emily replies, still eyeing the door.

“How did you get Rossi to admit that?” JJ turns to the raven head, questioningly, and Emily smiles coyly giving no response.

“Am I the only one who thinks this whole thing would end once they make up? I mean come on, we all know she’s leaving because of him, right?” Morgan looks at Spencer, who’s nose deep in a file at his desk.

“Yeah, but we can’t help if they refuse to talk to us about it.” Emily sighs, hanging her head back.

The three dive deeper into their discussion and you’re none the wiser from inside the cream-coloured walls of Hotch’s office. As per protocol, he’s just finished informing you of what’s next and you’re kind enough to accept his request to stay until they find a replacement. You definitely said yes because you want to make the team’s transition easier, not for any self indulgent reasons such as you not being ready to leave.

“Just return this to me once you’ve filled it out.” He instructs as he hands you a file containing your resignation forms.

“Thanks Hotch.” You smile, grabbing the file.

You begin heading towards the door when he stops you by your name.

“I understand that you’re set on this decision, but I am sad to see you go.” It’s insane how many emotions this man can get across while maintaining a blank expression. “However, if you change your mind at any point, let me know.”

“Thanks Hotch.” You playfully scoff, appreciating that even he has to try at least once.

If one more person tries though, you might scream. It wasn’t easy, pretending that you weren’t crumbling inside. The extra pressure doesn’t make it any easier. You leave his office, closing the door behind you and approach your desk. The resignation forms are put aside for later as you still have to finish your case report from Anchorage. Part of you wanted to put it off until the last minute, the other part wanted to get it over and done with as soon as possible.

“Coffee?” Penelope chirps, holding out a mug filled with the hot beverage.

“Thanks Pen.” You smile up at her, taking it out of her hands.

“No problem.” She smirks mischievously and trots off.

A strange lady, but your strange lady.

Upon your first sip you almost choke it out. It was perfect. Exactly to your liking. Which would be a good thing, except only one person knows exactly how you like it. Back when you first joined, you learned how popular coffee was with all the employees. You felt out of place because you weren’t a massive fan of the drink and you avoided too much sugar because it made you feel sick. You soon discovered that you liked it a lot more with honey instead. It was a weird preference, but it worked for you, making it sweet without overpowering your senses like sugar did.

You never declined a cup when offered by your colleagues, not wanting to dishearten them. It was Spencer who caught you sneaking honey into your cup when you thought no one was paying attention. He never mentioned anything to you, but the next time he returned with a cup to offer, you couldn’t help but the smile that adorned your face for the rest of the day. It was why you dedicated yourself to morning breakfast runs for him, memorising his coffee order as a silent thank you. Neither of you ever talked about it.

You spin your seat around to find Spencer engaged in conversation with Rossi. You consider walking past him and dumping the beverage in the sink to make a point, but it was a welcome energiser for the dreadful task at hand. Plus you aren’t wasteful. You spin back around and decide to accept it just this once.

When he’s sure you’re no longer looking he sets his sights back on you. A small smile forms across his lips when he sees you drink the coffee. He honestly expected you to throw it away. He feared that if he was the one to deliver the mug, you’d throw it on him. It was why he convinced Garcia to do it, bribing her by promising to buy a round of drinks on the next night out.

“Kid, are you even listening?” Rossi scolds in an incredulous way.

As the hours pass, your frustration grows. You couldn’t get yourself to write the details of the case. Your mind refused to think about it. You had hoped that taking breaks would make it easier, but everytime you returned to the page your head went blank.

“Need some help?” Spencer asks, spawning next to you.

“Christ, Reid!” You blurt, startled. “I thought I told you to stop doing that.”

“Sorry.” He chuckles as if on cue.

You glare at him expectantly. He doesn’t say anything, glancing between you and the unfinished case file, waiting for an answer.

“No thanks.” You keep it short, hoping he takes the hint.

“Let me know if you do.” He doesn’t.

“You wouldn’t even be the last person I’d ask if I did.” You snark.

“But you would eventually?” He stays calm, almost playful.

Smart ass.

You choose to ignore him, be the bigger person and all that. Even though he wasn’t antagonising you.

“Thanks for the coffee.” It’s forceful gratitude. You weren’t feeling grateful, but you still had manners.

“You’re welcome.”

“Don’t make it again.”

“I will not.” He grins and walks away to his desk.

You act like you don’t know he’s watching you work. Looking up often to find you stuck on the same page. Even if he knew that you know, he didn’t plan to stop. What he does know is that you’d never directly let him help you. He doesn’t care. There weren’t any new cases this week, so a ton of paperwork was to be expected. It’s taunting enough to write down details of your own assault, the extra paperwork would only add more stress. You’re too busy trying to push through the mental blockade to notice the sudden influx of files on his desk and the efflux on yours.

What you didn’t miss was how the next cup of coffee you were offered was just as perfect as the one from before.

“I thought I told you to stop with the coffee, Reid.” You lightly slam the paper cup on Spencer’s desk.

He leans back in his seat and chews on his lip with an entertained smirk.

“And I did. That’s not from me.” He’s earnest with his response.

“Oh, so JJ just happens to know my coffee preferences all of a sudden?” You sarcastically retort, crossing your arms.

“No.” He crosses his fingers across his lap. “I told her how you like your coffee when she said she was going on a coffee run.”

“And why did you do that?” You play along, unenthusiastically.

“Because you told me to stop doing it.” He states in the most casual way possible.

This was getting you nowhere. It was naive to think he’d let you spend your last few weeks here peacefully. Scratch that– he was being peaceful. Too peaceful. A new tactic to get under your skin?

“Stop. It.” The delivery of your words is slow and emphasised.

“Stop doing exactly what you’ve told me to?”

You bite your tongue and glare at him. His face, shoulders, arms, everything, is relaxed. You can’t even argue with him. You take a moment to consider how bad it would be if you bashed his head in with the back of your gun. Then you take another to critique how easy it is to pass the psych evals. They should really think about the consequences of using questions the BAU wrote on actual BAU agents.

After that day you went back to ignoring him. Any time coffee was offered you’d decline altogether. If he attempted to try and talk to you, you’d respond with yes or no for the sake of professionalism. This didn’t deter Spencer though. He gave you your space but kept a close eye on you, continuing to try and ease your burdens from afar. Exactly how he used to.

This only lasted until the next case came in. Specifically until you were back out on the field, where he perceived you to be in high amounts of danger. You tolerated it because it gave you comfort, not that you’d ever tell him. Having Spencer by your side made it easier to deal with the reality that there’s little you can do if another incident like Anchorage occurred.

Plus focusing your energy on ignoring him kept the flashbacks away. Or it did, until the take down. You once again found yourself in danger from an unsub, only this time the situation was controlled. All guns were pointed at the killer, except for the one that was pointed at you. The plan was simple: you talk down the unsub, take him back to the station and talk him into exposing his partner.

Everything was going according to plan, until Spencer realised that one of the cops in the room was his partner and he was about to shoot you. Nobody understood what happened before the situation calmed down. Spencer had fired the first shot towards the dirty cop and immediately tackled you to the ground, shielding you from the hail of bullets that followed after. All you remember clearly is freezing up, clinging to the man on top of you. One moment you were screaming out, trying to make sure that he was okay and the next you were back in the alley behind the bar, fighting for your life.

You didn’t comprehend anything until the panic attack subsided but Spencer was fine. His vest caught the bullets. Both unsubs were dead. Rossi and Prentiss came to the realisation the same time as Spencer and were quick to react. And you weren’t in the alley. You were in Spencer’s arms as he led you away from the scene when it was safe.

When you snapped out of it the medics had cleared him of any injuries. He tried to approach you during your check up, but you shoved him away, unable to even look at him. The only thing you remember clearly is Hotch sending you all back to your hotel rooms before tomorrow’s flight back. You should be asleep right now, if not from the exhaustion of today’s events alone, then from how long you spent reassuring everybody that you were okay.

You couldn’t sleep. Not when so many thoughts were occupying your headspace. This is the second time Spencer’s saved your life, in the span of roughly a month. The first time he’s put his life in direct danger to save yours. Had it not been for his vest he would be dead. The more you linger on it, the angrier you’d become. You were also wearing a vest, you would’ve been fine. What he did was unnecessary and reckless.

What if the bullet missed the vest? Entered through the side? What was he thinking?

You were mentally fighting the urge to barge into his room and yell at him for his stupidity, but you couldn’t bring yourself to go to him. What happens to him is not your problem anymore. You aren’t going to let your guard down just because he’s an idiot.

Spoilers: BAU! Reader, Reader almost dies, Reader and Spencer are pissing me off, bc they’re so dumb, angst, hurt no comfort, Reader gets a little revenge.

AN - Before you comment ANYTHING, there is one more part. It’ll be posted a lot sooner than this one was. Writing this made me realise how limited the English language is. There’s only so many words to use and ways to write them. If either part sounds repetitive at times, it’s not my fault!!! Casual reminder: I am not Spencer Reid. I don’t have an IQ of 187. Any facts I make him spew could very well be bull-shit and he only spews them for the purpose of the story. I also have no knowledge of how the FBI works and lack a ton of common sense. A lot of things were made up for the purpose of this story.

If you comment you garner good karma for yourself and that could lead to you meeting MGG someday (I’m not liable if this never happens), think about that...

Thank you for reading!

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fandom #ssa spencer reid #bau team #spencer reid fic #spencer reid angst #angst fic #criminal minds angst #spencer reid x fem!reader #fem!reader #dr spencer reid #; fics

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say-al0e · 5 months ago

Text

Electric Touch

Rating: M | This is smut! No one under 18, Minors DNI!

Summary: Following your marriage to Prince Aemond, you did not imagine there would be a bedding ceremony. Nor did you imagine yourself falling so quickly for the one-eyed prince. But you quickly learned he was more than met the eye. | Ft. Anon request for "“What part of I want you and only you do you not understand?” + “Love makes you weak but, god, I’d rather be weak with you by my side than face a life without you.” Warnings: Bedding ceremony, PinV, guarded Aemond, Aegon is an asshole (briefly, then he's gone), one mention of death in childbirth (not graphic, very brief), allusion to Aemond's brothel trip. Anything I missed, let me know and I'll tag it. Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!Reader (wife!Reader) Word Count: 5.1k Requests are Open | HotD Taglist

The fire blazing in Aemond’s eye was not what you expected. It was not fueled by desire, a lust for his new bride or the exciting conquest of claiming your maidenhead as you’d long been warned. It was not bright or joyous, a fire befitting the occasion of your wedding night. Instead, it was dark - angry, a wild blaze threatening to torch everything in its path with little regard for the consequences.

Though your new husband had been nothing but kind to you, polite and even occasionally charming, for the first time since stepping foot into King’s Landing, you finally understood why so many tended to avert their gaze lest they face Aemond’s ire.

Before you stood Aemond One-Eye, a fierce dragon rider whose presence commanded attention, and you struggled to keep from withering beneath his gaze as you held his dark look with an even one of your own.

Around you, his apartments teemed with life. Drunken revelers laughed as they surged into the room and circled the pair of you, some of them shouting tawdry jokes while others lamented the loss of the right to the first night. Regardless of their mood, it seemed as if every man in the realm fought to be at your side in a room that once felt so spacious but now left you struggling to catch your breath as they began tugging at pieces of your clothing.

As many hands clumsily tugged at well-tied laces and the heavy fabric of your gown, a few highborn ladies - friends you’d made in the short time you’d been at Court - dutifully removed Aemond’s clothes with much less vigor than their husbands or brothers or cousins.

Aegon led the charge, grin on his lips and breath reeking of wine as he leaned in close. Aemond’s gaze faltered for only a moment, turning to his brother and flashing a warning even the drunkest of men could read very clearly, before it returned to you as Aegon pointedly ignored him. Your drunken good-brother chose, instead, to tip your chin with fingers sticky with wine and draw your gaze away from your husband.

“Do not worry, good-sister,” he began, voice loud, despite his performative attempt at a whisper. He spared Aemond a look, eyes glinting with a mirth that bordered on malice - before he returned his gaze to you. “I made sure my brother was well-educated in the art of pleasure but should you find yourself wanting, you need only say the word.”

By design, you were not given the chance to respond. The last of your garments was removed from your body and Aegon released his grip on your chin to grab your waist.

The sea of revelers parted. Amidst a cacophony of cheers and jeers, a few murmurs as to how it was a shame your father had agreed to wed you to a man they saw as less than whole, Aegon and one of his friends carried you through the crowd and deposited you into Aemond’s bed.

It was only when you were settled amongst the furs and linens that they were all finally ushered out of the room.

If you were honest, it surprised you that Aemond allowed the bedding ceremony in the first place. The idea was put forth by his brother, a suggestion he’d barely blinked an eye at, but it was plain to see just how adversely the entire spectacle affected him as he approached the bed.

Aemond Targaryen, the very image of his house’s beauty and fire, stood before you with his face a mask of composure you had yet to see fully slip. There were cracks, glimpses into the churning abyss that lingered just beneath the calm surface, and you could see them beginning to spread as a jeer from the crowd echoed just beyond the steel and wood of the door.

There was a flash of hurt, a glimpse so brief you felt certain you’d imagined it, before he swallowed and his jaw tensed. He steeled himself, his resolve, and you could see the mask slip back into place.

“My prince,” you began, voice far quieter than you intended as you sat upright to meet his gaze. “I do not-“

A hum escaped your new husband as he stepped closer, pressing a knee into the soft surface beneath you and shaking his head slightly. “We will speak when there is no crowd standing guard just outside, waiting for evidence our marriage has been consummated. For now, we must fulfill our duty as husband and wife.”

There was an edge of finality in his tone, no room left for argument as he reached for you. Though his touch was not harsh, not as insistent or eager as the men who’d taken great joy in stripping you bare, it was firmer than you’d expected. In the weeks of your courtship, he’d lended an arm as you descended the steps in the garden or offered a hand as you climbed them - each touch soft, almost tentative, and as brief as could be considered proper.

It was wistful, possibly even naive, to believe the softness of his touch was affection or that it would continue as he pressed you back into the pillows. Aemond was not an outwardly affectionate man, that much you knew to be true, nor was he used to being treated so tenderly. His life had been one lived in a gilded cage, acquiescing to everything expected of him with little argument and even less connection. Love would not come easy to him, nor would affection.

Only time would bring him comfort, trust in you and the ability to be vulnerable, so you made no argument as he settled himself over you.

The dim candlelight made it difficult to see much - and you wondered how Aemond might react if you allowed yourself to savor the sight of him - but you took the brief chance you were offered to study him. Tall, lithe, muscular; he looked every bit the fearsome dragon rider and well-trained swordsman. Pale hair cascaded over his shoulders, a curtain that cast shadows over the sharp features of his face, but you could clearly see the intrigue in his eye as you lifted your hand to gently cradle his jaw.

Had you not been studying him so closely, so desperate to see some glimpse of warmth beneath the cool surface of your new husband, you might’ve missed his sharp inhale or the way his eye narrowed. Had you not been so enthralled by his appearance, you might’ve missed the way he swallowed or the split second he allowed himself to lean into your careful touch before the impassive mask returned.

Friends, some long married with babes while others had just wed, whispered and giggled when they shared what you could expect. Most of your friends lamented the act itself, thankful only that it often seemed to be over quickly, as many of their husbands were older lords in need of young wives to produce heirs. It seemed that few cared much at all about their wives’ pleasure and you’d wondered throughout your courtship if Aemond - though young, a man of your own age - might prove similar.

Now that the time had come to find out, you still felt wholly uncertain.

For a long moment, Aemond simply studied you. The deep lilac of his eye traced your face, shadowed by his hair and framed by your own locks - now free from the style your handmaids worked so hard to perfect - and his lips parted. He seemed poised to speak, though before he could, the sound of fists pounding the wood of the door broke whatever spell existed in the solace of the room.

Loud jeers from a drunken crowd reminded you both of your purpose, the reason you had been stripped bare for half the kingdom to see, and Aemond was the first to act.

Though you hoped for little and expected even less, Aemond wanted nothing more than to prove everyone wrong. He wanted to prove that he could be a husband, an adequate lover, a man who had everything and more. You had no way of knowing his motivation, not then, but you could see the flame in his eye as his hand fell to your hip.

With the hand still cradling his jaw, you managed to hold him in place as you leaned up and pressed your mouth to his. Since speaking your vows earlier in the night, you’d managed to steal two chaste kisses from your new husband - one just after the ceremony, in the few seconds you had alone before the feast began; the other, tucked in a corner before you were whisked away for the bedding. He responded well to both, stepping just an inch closer and allowing his lips to linger for a long moment, and you were pleased to find that he responded just as well to this kiss.

The ladies at court often lamented their husbands’ lack of skill or desire to share a kiss. They all sighed and confessed that the men found no use for it, no fun in it. It made you wonder if Aemond was humoring you, allowing you the kiss that seemed almost tender in nature, in return for your maidenhead - for your hand, your house’s newly pledged loyalty - but you knew well enough that your new husband was not one to indulge in anything he did not want to.

Hope bloomed, then, just beneath your ribcage that he might, someday, even grow to enjoy it as much as you suddenly found that you did.

Calloused hands began to explore your skin, touch light for a fleeting moment - almost reverent, almost tentative - before it grew steadier, more certain. The tips of his fingers left a path of fire in their wake, his skin always running hotter than anyone you’d ever met, and you nearly expected to find a visible path seared over the expanse of your torso as his hands dipped to your thighs.

As of yet there had been little outward sign of affection from your husband - everything felt like a courtesy, the actions of a well-educated prince, chivalrous out of duty only - and you knew that it might be wishful thinking to believe the slow drag of your husband’s hand up your inner thigh was anything more than slight trepidation. But you swore you could see the anger that burned so bright only moments ago morph into something closer to lust, desire, need.

Aemond’s fingers pressed firm into the plush of your thighs as he parted them and you bit the inside of your cheek to smother your gasp as his sharp gaze finally raked over your bare skin.

For all the wandering eyes, the lustful gazes that burned into your skin as so many lords of the realm crowded into the small room, it struck you in that moment that Aemond waited until you were alone to truly look. He waited until you were pliant beneath him, until you’d sated your own curiosity about him, to allow himself a glance at anything other than your face.

And despite the insistent jeers of the crowd beyond the door, he seemed determined to take you as he wished.

“They are expecting to hear us,” he reminded you as his fingers drew closer to your center. “Do not deprive us all of your charming voice.”

A handful of compliments had been levied at you from your new husband - more in regard to your intelligence than your most beautiful gowns, though one had ended with him calling you beautiful - but you still felt your cheeks heat as his fingers grazed your slit.

The swipe of his fingers was almost clumsy, less self-assured than he always seemed to be, but the thought gave you some comfort. Neither of you could disappoint the other if you were on somewhat equal footing.

Aemond’s touch grew more insistent, more assured, from the moment his fingers grazed the small bundle of nerves that wrenched a gasp from your throat and had your nails pressing into the muscle of his shoulders. He focused there, thumb circling the now aching pearl, as his fingers gathered the increasing slick. The deep lilac of his eye had almost vanished, replaced nearly entirely by lust-blown black, but it remained on your face - watching intently with every noise that spilled from your lips.

As desperately as you wanted to close your eyes, to hide from the intensity in his gaze, you found yourself unable to look away from his face. The sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the barely there flush that set high upon his cheeks; he was beautiful, regal, and you couldn’t help yourself.

“Gevi,” you breathed, hoping the word sounded as effortless falling from your own lips as it did from his. Your thumb brushed his cheek, just beneath his scar, and you could see the flash of an emotion you could not recognize in his eye.

For a moment, he remained silent, fingers slowing to a barely there press, before he tipped his head. Your hand slipped, fell to his jaw, and you realized it was calculated - purposeful - even as his gaze softened. “My clever wife,” he hummed, matter-of-factly, as the corner of his mouth lifted in something akin to a smile. “Full of surprises.”

A response formed on the tip of your tongue, nowhere near as witty as you hoped for, but the press of Aemond’s fingers into your core stole your breath and all coherent thought. The sensation was odd, unlike any you’d ever experienced, and you could feel your brows furrow as your body attempted to make sense of what was happening. It was not as unpleasant as you expected, nor as pleasurable as you hoped for, but you imagined that both would come in time.

Despite his appearance, his brusque manner, Aemond was not harsh. His touch was no longer soft, no longer tentative, and you could still feel the weight of his hands on your thighs despite his touch having moved, but he seemed to take note of the way you winced when his fingers began to press a little too quickly - a little too hard - and adjusted accordingly.

Soon enough, you found a delicate rhythm - an insistent press of his fingers, an exploration unlike any you’d ever felt, as you used the grip on his jaw to pull him into another kiss.

This kiss was different, heavier. It was hungry, a clash of teeth and tongue and noses that made the backs of your eyes sting. His teeth nipped at your bottom lip, a bite harsh enough to draw blood, and you inhaled sharply as he lapped at the copper staining your lips.

The copper tang seemed to spur Aemond on, remind him of his duty and the audience waiting for it to be done. He moved with a renewed vigor, with a confidence you’d quickly come to associate with him. His fingers pressed deeper, searching, and he only seemed content when you broke the kiss to fill the room with a breathless moan of his name.

Warmth spread over your skin, a combination of his body heat surrounding you and your own pleasure coursing through your veins. Every swipe of his fingers, every circle of his thumb over the aching bundle of nerves, made the edges of your vision white and the air harder to obtain.

It was then, as your stomach tied itself into knots and your nails sank into the toned skin of his back - his shoulders, his chest, his arms; wherever you could reach, desperate for some tether to reality - that he replaced his fingers with the filling warmth of his cock.

With every noise that fell from your lips, the noise outside the door grew louder. It felt as if the whole of the realm waited just beyond the wood, ears pressed to the door, and Aemond seemed acutely aware of your audience. Gone were the tentative touches, the firm but still careful brushes of his hands. After a few careful initial presses of his hips to yours, he began to sink into you in earnest.

A cry of his name rang through the room, fanning the flames of the fire outside, and your body seemed trapped in the path of the blaze.

Every word of gossip you’d heard from friends seemed true, impossibly, all at once. There was an ache between your thighs, a stinging pain that replaced the pleasant ache of desire, and a dull pinch at your hip as Aemond’s fingers pressed into your skin. The entire room was too hot, almost stifling, and the noise rang in your ears. The tawdry jokes and laughter in the hall, the rustle of linen, the lewd sound of Aemond’s cock pressing into your center, the keening of your moans, the huff of his breath; it was almost too much.

Each sensation that washed over you was distinct but beginning to muddle together.

Despite yourself, your best efforts to take the affection given to you by your husband and appreciate them, you found yourself hoping for something softer, something easier, something better.

Aemond was lost in that moment, stuck somewhere in the back of his own mind, and you could only whisper his name in hopes that he might allow you a moment to catch your breath.

“Aemond, I - please.” The whispered plea, gasped into the night air and barely audible over the cheers still echoing in the hall, seemed to break his reverie. It returned him to the moment at hand - the pinch of your brows as the ache between your thighs plagued you, the curve of your mouth as you fought to keep your composure, the sting of your nails biting into his shoulder - and gave him pause.

The snap of his hips faltered, slowed from the near manic thrusts to something more even, and you eased the grip on his shoulder as you inhaled eagerly.

That deep purple gaze swept across your face, searching for something you could not readily provide, before he squeezed your hip in what you chose to interpret as an apology. You accepted it, easily, and offered him a tentative smile as he continued pressing forward - still firm, still deep, only slower now.

Giggles from the past, old whispers that there was real pleasure to be found in bed, began to return to the forefront of your mind as Aemond’s new pace began to replace the pinch and ache between your thighs with that devastating warmth you’d only just experienced. Everything felt too hot, too bright, too much, and the thought must have been clearly written across your face as Aemond hummed.

“Take your pleasure,” he encouraged, voice low in your ear as he leaned in close. “Then, I shall have mine.”

Warmth continued to flood your veins. Fire lapped at your skin, consuming you entirely, and you took no notice of the noise that escaped your parted lips as you allowed Aemond to continue pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

The end was as beautiful as you’d heard, as blissful, and you could feel yourself melting into the plush of the bed as goosebumps erupted across your skin and your heart thundered in your chest. All that mattered in that moment was Aemond; the weight of him atop you, the warmth of his skin as he pressed himself impossibly closer, the low rasp of his voice as he all but whispered expletives.

That pleasure was only heightened by the warmth that flooded you as Aemond stilled atop you, a curse on his lips and head thrown back.

It was a beautiful sight - something worthy of committing to memory, something so beautiful you only hoped to see it again and again. And you only hoped your new husband felt the same as he tipped his head to study you once more.

Aemond lingered only for a moment, his gaze softer than you’d seen directed at you, before he pulled away. Another squeeze to your waist was the only affection he spared before he stood and pulled the white line from his bed. He shifted you carefully - almost tenderly - to remove the fabric then strode across the expanse of the room to the door.

Without ceremony, he wrenched it open and tossed the stained fabric into the crowd.

A loud cheer echoed through the halls, drunken revelers delighting in the evidence of your consummation, but was quickly cut off with the slam of the heavy door.

The crowd grew quieter, noise drifting back in the direction of the hall still filled with older revelers - opting to spend their time discussing matters best saved for an in-person meeting - and you took the brief moment to catch your breath as Aemond did the same.

For just a moment, he lingered near the small table that held a pitcher and glasses, before filling them with wine and bringing them to bed. He handed you one, nodded his acknowledgement to your thanks, and settled back onto the plush fabric at your side.

Silence fell over the room then, a welcome but almost overwhelming lack of sound after hours surrounded by a cacophony of noise. For the first time since you woke that morning, you found that you could hear yourself think.

Every thought centered upon your new husband.

Aemond Targaryen was a mystery. Rumors about him swirled through the realm and whispers abounded at court. None seemed to be in agreement, however.

Some thought him to be fierce, a fearsome warrior who would make a fine knight should he find himself so inclined. Others insisted that Vhagar was his only asset and that he was nothing more than a loyal hound devoted to his family. Others still insisted that the only person Aemond could ever be loyal to was himself and his own interests.

There were whispers that he was cold, unfeeling. There were rumors that he had no interest in anything other than books, that living people meant little to him. But you were beginning to see the truth.

Try as he might to hide it, the nature of his soul that he buried so deeply, you were beginning to see him for who he truly was.

Aemond wanted the things he’d never been given. He sought reassurance, comfort, love. He wanted to be wanted - truly wanted, desired; not needed because he possessed the largest, oldest dragon. And though your match began as a political alliance, you hoped to prove that he was worthy of his desires as you shifted closer and reached for his hand.

“Aemond,” you began, voice quiet as you hoped desperately he would not push you away, even as he tensed. To your relief - and surprise - he did not. Instead, he simply glanced at your linked hands before turning his full attention to your face. “Believe what you wish, but I am glad that it is you I married. I do not want Aegon or any of the other lords lingering about the castle. I did not accept this betrothal without thought and I hope that you will believe me when I say there is no other I could want.”

Though it was slight, you could see the raise of his eyebrow. So, with a sigh, you placed your cup onto the table and grasped his hand with both of your own.

“When my father made it known that he intended to offer you my hand, I was given more attention at court than I ever wanted. I never cared much for it all, but suddenly, it seemed as if everyone wanted me to join them.” With a weary sigh, you began to trace nonsensical patterns over the back of his hand. “Everyone had a tale of Prince Aemond they wished to share. Some heard word from a brother or cousin, others whispered tales from their own trips to the Red Keep. I heard so many whispers about you that I began to lose track of who whispered what. I have always held whispers in little regard but it grew so frequent that I nearly worried I might meet a monster.”

The moment you paused, Aemond hummed thoughtfully. “Targaryen’s are said to be closer to gods than men. Perhaps monsters are included.”

“Perhaps,” you agreed, pausing your tracing to glance up at him from beneath your lashes. The deep lilac of his eye met yours and you felt your cheeks heat. “But you are no monster. You are just a man. I was given the chance to reject our union. One word, and I would’ve been spirited away to some lesser lord. But I chose to stay.”

“Why?”

It was a genuine question, accompanied by a look you recognized as being tinged with skepticism. In response, you smiled at him.

“Despite your flaws, real or imagined or embellished, I find myself drawn to you. You have the beauty and fire of your house. You are proud, but not a braggart, quiet but not without charm. You are a noted swordsman and a dragon rider, yet you take no pleasure in tourneys. You are young and capable, intelligent and thoughtful. Of all the qualities one could want in a husband, you possess most."

This earnest admission was met with yet another hum of acknowledgement from your husband, a thoughtful rumination as he allowed the compliment to linger for a moment. Only then, after seeming to savor your words, did he ask, “Which qualities do I lack, wife?”

Had you not grown so accustomed to studying every twitch of his brows, every curve of his mouth, you might’ve missed the hint of a smile he wore. It was a question asked in jest, teasing, and you allowed yourself a laugh.

“Time shall tell,” you assured him, returning his barely-there smile with a soft one of your own. “Though, I would never dare call you perfect, lest your head swell to the size of Vhagar’s.” Aemond allowed you a glimpse of a true smile then, fleeting, but you savored the sight just the same. It brought a strange warmth to your chest, wound the hope that bloomed beneath your ribcage into a tendril that squeezed your heart, and you offered his hand a gentle squeeze. “I understand why we were wed. But I have hope that even if we do not find love in one another, we shall find friendship at the least.”

“You would not ask for more?”

“Men’s battles are fought in fields, at sea, on dragon back,” you answered, carefully turning his hand in yours to trace his palm. “A woman’s battle is fought abed. If I were to die there, my only hope is that it would be for someone I cared for, someone who cared for me.”

That lilac eye studied your face once more, more intently, and you could see the weight of your words settling on his shoulders as he realized that he was no longer alone, nor did you have any misunderstandings as to what this life meant for you both. Though he was the spare, pushed down in the line of succession by his brother’s children, he was expected to have a family and in return for giving him heirs, all you asked of him was companionship.

“I believe you shall be a fierce warrior,” he declared, gaze dipping to your fingers gently sweeping across his heated skin.

“And I believe you are all I could have hoped for in a husband,” you confessed, hoping he might agree - that he might declare you to be all he could’ve hoped for in a wife.

And though he seemed unopposed to you, he instead asked, “Do you believe that truly?”

“I do,” you confirmed, pausing your tracing to meet his eye. “I’ve long been afraid of marriage, of becoming trapped with someone who cared little for me, but I am more afraid that growing to love you will be easier than I ever imagined.”

“Love makes you weak,” he all but whispered, though the words held little conviction and even less weight. They were the words of someone afraid, someone unused to love and affection, and you met them with a gentle smile.

“Perhaps it is a good thing we are married, then. I believe love makes you stronger. My father loved my mother and he fought like hell to return to her each and every battle he waged. Love provides motivation,” you offered, only to be met with another thoughtful hum. Rather than pressing, you shifted the conversation after a moment of silence. “Why did you allow the bedding ceremony?”

Aemond paused for a moment and seemed to consider his answer. “I had every intention of forgoing it,” he confessed, free hand tracing the lip of his glass. “Then, we met and it was selfish, I suppose. I have something most men in King’s Landing will covet - a comely wife from a noble house who has made me the sole object of her affection. Allowing the ceremony provided an opportunity to boast, to show that while they may look, you are mine. No other will know the pleasure of your company.”

The reasoning behind his allowance was understandable, even more so when you considered that he was the second son of a man who scarcely remembered his sons in the first place. It was not often he was given something others desired, not often he could be envied, and you could not begrudge him the opportunity he’d taken.

“I am yours,” you agreed, lifting his hand to place it over your heart. “While I believe love will make us stronger, I would not mind being seen as weak, just so long as you are by my side. Others may whisper or believe what they wish but know, lord husband, that I want you and you alone. I look forward to the future and hope the gods bless us with a long and happy marriage.”

“I shall leave faith to you,” he declared, though the words were softer than you believed he intended. “But I have little doubt that you will be left wanting.” Aemond turned, then, and removed the eyepatch covering his eye. The sapphire glimmered in the dim candlelight and you squeezed his hand to keep yourself from reaching out for him.

“Gevi,” you repeated, smiling upon the full face of your new husband.

Aemond’s mouth curved once more, a touch more noticeable, before he sighed and shifted to lie amongst the pillows. “Sleep, dear wife,” he encouraged, pulling you into the pillows at his side.

With the morning sun, your new life would begin. As tentative as you’d once been, you no longer felt any fear. There was far to travel, much to be gained in the way of your new husband’s trust, but you imagined he was right; neither of you would be left wanting, so long as you had the other.

_________________________________________________

Author's Note: It's my first time writing for Aemond (or anything GoT/HotD related) so I hope it's alright. I didn't want to go too soft but I also didn't want to go too mean/cold? I dunno. Let me know what you think! :)

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen imagine #hotd smut #aemond x reader #aemond x reader smut #aemond smut #aemond oneshot #v's fics #hotd imagine

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r4spb3rr13s · 6 months ago

Note

holds out my hands

greeting my mcbling angel

maybe i pretty please ask for shoto, iida and denki meeting their own mcbling hottie 🙏🙏🙏

- 🍥 anon

pro heroes meeting their mcbling gf

♱ todoroki, iida, kaminari

♱ pt.1 here pt.3 here

notes : ur too cute anon 🥰🥰

Shoto has been stood staring at his options for soba for the past ten minutes. He’s deep in decision, hand on chin, in the middle of the store just before closing.

So deep in thought, he’s completely oblivious to you strutting round the corner to the aisle he stood in.

You’re on your phone, moving by muscle memory. Your favourite noodles are always in the same spot, so your uggs lead you to where the soba is-

But you look up.

Shoto- your favourite pro hero, for reference- is stood like the motherfucking Thinker. In your presence.

You backpedal, but it’s too late- he’s seen you!

Shoto turns you to and his eyes widen. You’re in a neon pink graphic cami, big hoops hiding from beneath (locs/braids/curls/strands) and as his eyes trail down…

His cheeks go as pink as the thong peeking out your pants’ waistband. I mean, Shoto didn’t really have time to register your slack jaw.

There’s so much running through your head at the minute- who wears a black compression shirt to the store? How are his muscles bigger in real life than on billboards? Why does his hair look so soft?

He coughs and it breaks the moment.

“Oh- sorry, can I just-”

“Yeah, I apologise,” He replies. When you lean over to grab your noodles, a waft of sugary, almost sickly, perfume hits his nose. It was intoxicating- not in a bad way.

You’re trying to steady your breathing- he’s just another guy, Y/n, chill! Boys fall left and right for you, just breathe.

Breathe.

“You’re Shoto right?”

Ohmygodidiotidiotofcoursehe’sshotowhaythefuckyo-

“Yes, that’s me.” He smiles slightly, corners of his lips lifting. Every nerve in your body is screaming to swoon - maybe he’d catch your fainting body?

You could look into his gorgeous eyes, and he’d brush the hair from your face-

“Is everything alright?”

You snap out of your daydream and smile awkwardly. “Uh… I’m just a big fan, is all.”

He nods and smiles down at you, softly. You clear your throat and hoist your bag further up your shoulder.

“I like your clothes.”

Your world stops for a minute. How do you breath again? It’s not hard, Y/n, come on-

“Where did you get the inspiration?” He says. Shoto makes no move to leave - you’re not an annoying fan, begging for his autograph.

Plus, you have the prettiest eyes he’s ever seen.

You blink owlishly at him - his heart skips a beat, of course - and you just nod dumbly for a second. Then, it registers that he’s actually interested in you?

“Umm… 2000s stuff, American celebrities mainly. What about you?”

Shoto huffs a chuckle, “I don’t really have style.” He glances at his watch, and his smile morphs into a… pout? It’s subtle, but his brows furrow ever-so-slightly, and his bottom lip just out a little bit.

“Oh God, don’t let me keep you,” You hurry. Good lord, your face is burning up aggressively.

He shakes his head, but bites his lip still looking at his watch. “No, I’m on shift soon… it was nice meeting you…?”

“Oh, Y/n!”

Shoto smiles again, glances at his watch with an internal frustrated groan. He needed more time to talk to you, to understand you, to get to the bottom of the neon pink and leopard print-

Oh, right.

“Could I get your number, Y/n?”

:::

Tenya spent his nights going on walks. Why? Because he liked to meet his neighbours’ dogs… did he know that’s why he liked them, however? No. He just thought walking around gave him immense joy for no reason.

And they call him ‘smart’.

His favourite dogs were the least of worries when he walked past the park and heard shouting.

Tenya’s head snapped to, and he was marching through the park gates.

You, a grown woman, were stood on a table, wafting away… chihuahuas. You, in a tiny denim skirt and a babydoll top, were using your small purse to shoo away a trio of stray chihuahuas.

In all fairness, Tenya disliked chihuahuas the most of all the dogs he’d met, but he’s never seen someone in platform sneakers clamber onto a picnic bench to get away from them. Or scream at the top of their lungs at the tiny puppies.

He could not help but let out a laugh at the sight, making you look up at him. You straightened up a bit and stopped screaming, but still sounded shaky.

“You’re that hero right?”

“My name is Ingenium, yes,” he replied. One of the rat-dogs had turned to growl at him now, but Tenya paid no mind to it.

You pointed at the dogs. “Could you… y’know, be a hero and save me?”

He raised a brow without meaning to. He shouldn’t be judging you for your fears - he’s a hero! Here to help everyone!

But still… three tiny dogs?

He sighed and nodded. Suddenly, all three dogs were in his arms, and being carried towards the kid’s sandbox. He paid no mind to them nipping and jumping up- not like they could escape his large forearms.

Large firearms that you were looking at with much interest…

He returned, ignoring the yapping puppies trying to escape the gates, but not being tall enough to get out. “I’ll call animal control, Miss…”

“Oh, just call me Y/n. What should I call you?” You asked, taking his hand and stepping down.

Tenya tried to ignore how small your hand was in his, or how your skirt hitched up your thighs when you stepped down. Instead, he helped you stand upright on your wobbly legs, and pushed down his blush when you thanked him.

“Iida. Tenya Iida.”

You looked him up and down. Tenya Iida was tall, broader than a fridge and had glasses you desperately wanted to push up his nose for him.

“Well, Tenya Iida… can I take you out for a drink to thank you?”

Tenya froze and he couldn’t stop the red that stretched across his face at your question. But he nodded. But it was so unprofessional! A true hero would never use a victim’s position to their advantage, the power imbalance was-

“I’ll need your number then!” You sang out.

Tenya’s internal protests were lost as he passed you his phone, and you type in your digits with your long, zebra print nails.

:::

Now, Denki has met a few of Mina’s friends. They were all… nice. He flirted casually, maybe exchanging numbers with them, but they never ended up getting a call.

So when Mina announced she was bringing ‘fresh meat’ to their group’s monthly reunion, he didn’t really prepare himself for much.

Then, you walked in.

All giggles, sparkly black eyeshadow and lipgloss. Mina was whispering in your ear before strutting you through the doorway, but Denki was more focused on your shiny lips curling up into a grin.

A black tube top held you in, pink bikini straps wrapping around the back of your neck. His eyes travelled down- shamelessly, might I add- to the leggings hugging your curves. ‘PINK’ written on your ass caught his attention like a siren, and your matching hot pink toes from your sandals didn’t help either.

“This is Y/n!”

Katsuki and Eijiro barely looked up, immersed in an aggressive game of … cards, or something - Denki was not paying attention to them. He was, however, paying keen attention to the once-over Hanta gave you.

Mina grabbed your bangled-wrist and tugged you to sit with her between the two boys.

The unmistakeable scent of sugar and apples wafted over his face when you sat down. You shot him a big, toothy grin and Denki thought he was going to short-circuit right there-

He didn’t realise he actually was letting off electricity until he watched your hair stand on end.

“What the…” You tried to pat your hair down, while Mina cackled behind you. The pink woman draped an arm around your shoulder.

“Aww, Denki’s all nervous! Look at him!”

You stopped focusing on your hair and looked at the man next to you. Lean, tan and blushing furiously. He was, in truth, letting sparks fly off him like a faulty wire.

You chuckled, “You alright?”

Denki did not know what to do. You were staring at him with a cheeky smile, eyes wide and soft, and his friends were laughing and pointing at him behind you.

“Yes.” It was the only word the poor boy could get out. You snorted at him and rolled your eyes, pulling out your phone.

He watched with wide eyes as you grabbed his hand but you pulled back for a minute when he shocked you.

“Shit- sorry-”

“Just put your number in my phone, okay?”

You held out the device in your hand with a cocky grin.

Mina had to usher him to another room to calm down before he blew your phone up in his hand by accident….

note: pls shoto is so OOC IDFK HOW TO WRITE HIM 😭

#{ mcbling baddie }#bnha #bnha x reader #mha #mha x reader #shoto #shoto todoroki #todoroki x reader #shoto x reader #iida tenya #iida #iida x reader #denki #denki kaminari #kaminari x reader #denki kaminari x reader #bnha imagines #bnha headcanons

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reareaotaku · 4 months ago

Note

Hi! I saw your yan Bill hc's and I really enjoyed them so I was wondering if you could please do a prompt or hc's of a reader that taunts Bill after finding out he can't bother them anymore (because he's trapped in the theraprism).

Like Bill thinks reader is there to visit but in reality they're there out of spite? Sorry if this is too specific btw

I'm so glad you liked it! I also have a 'Rev! Pine Twins vs Pine Twins' & 'Teenage Ford and Stan Pines Headcanons' in my drafts. Really excited for the future of Gravity Falls

I hope that this is to your liking!

👁️ He's not supposed to have contact with the outside world, but you still heard through the grapevine that he was in the Theraprism. As a victim of Bill, you were allowed into the Theraprism as a hope for Bill to rehabilitate faster. For you it was more of making sure he was really gone and wasn't going to bother you anymore.

👁️ He was thrilled to see you, even if he was behind a force field. They left you alone and for a second, he thought you came here to help him get out. Imagine his surprise when you start laughing. He's angry and embarrassed.

👁️ "You know, when I heard you were locked up, I was imagining more chains, but it looks like you got a worse fate than prison." You laugh pointing at him. "Aww, you almost look cute in there."

👁️ "Shut. Up."

👁️ "Or what?" You tease, tilting your head, causing a smirk to appear on your face.

👁️ "When I get out of here-"

👁️ "Oh, Billy... You really think you're getting out of here? Don't be ridiculous."

👁️ He decides to just turn around and start ignoring you, much to your annoyance, because you were having fun teasing him. You were annoyed and Bill just wanted to have some control over you, even if it was having control over your anger.

👁️ "Oh, what are you? A child? Stop throwing a tantrum."

👁️ He shakes his triangle body, in a way that lets you know he means no. You frown, your brows scrunching together.

👁️ "God, you're like a kid. For someone so powerful, you really are so... Immature."

👁️ "You think I'm powerful?" He turns around, his eye lighting up. If he could blush, he would.

👁️ You groan, rolling your eyes and turning away from him. "Of course that's all you heard."

👁️ He gets close to the glass, eye to eye with you, "You have to get me out of here, Y/n."

👁️ "Why on god's earth would I do that?"

👁️ "I can give you power you've only imagined. We could rule this world toget-"

👁️ "Yeah, I'll pass. Thanks tho."

👁️ He frowns, making a sound of a pout/huff and going back to his corner.

👁️ You sigh rolling your eyes, "You know, I won't let you out, but if you're good, maybe I'll come ba-"

👁️ "Yes! Yes, you must come back."

👁️ "Mkay. I will." You dig through your bag, before pulling out a cupcake.

👁️ Bill watches you pull open the little window between you and him and pushing the cupcake in. He devours it in one bit, it was rather graphic, taking you back.

👁️ "When will you be back?"

👁️ "I don't know..."

👁️ "As soon as you can?" He practically pleads and you sigh.

👁️ "Sure, Bill. As soon as possible."

#gravity falls #bill cipher #bill cipher x reader #gravity falls x reader #demon x reader #yandere x reader #yandere horror #yandere headcanons #yandere bill cipher #yandere bill #bill x reader

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senseofnewness · 6 months ago

Text

SILENT DEVOTION

pairing : patrick zweig x f!reader | art donaldson x f!reader | patrick zweig x tashi duncan | tashi duncan x f!reader

rating : explicit

word count : 17.6k

contains : smut 18+, obsession, delusion, stalking, jealousy, toxic relationship, vaginal sex, object insertion, masturbation, eating disorder, mentions of underage sexual awakening but nothing graphic until they’re all of age

summary : Patrick Zweig was your everything. For five years, you took every opportunity to get closer to him and learn everything about him, shaping yourself into the woman you believed worthy of his love, even as he remained unaware of your existence. But soon, he would notice you, you were determined to make sure of it.

Patrick Zweig had been a part of your life for as long as your older brother had been enrolled at the Mark Rebellato Tennis Academy, yet you had never really noticed him before.

Though tennis had once held a special place for you in your childhood, the thrill that once accompanied the sport had long faded. Attending tournaments had gradually transformed into a dutiful obligation imposed by your parents in order to support your brother. Your brother, the prodigy who was flourishing in sports while you had yet to find an interest of your own. Sure, you found enjoyment in many activities, but none seemed to garner the same level of pride from your parents as your brother's accomplishments in tennis did.

Only at the age of fourteen did your life begin to find its true purpose. Your brother faced off another student on the court, and perhaps it was the hormonal changes in your body taking over your mind, but your attention fixated solely on that boy with a lanky figure with sharp features and captivating green eyes. His every move executed with an intensity that seemed to transcend the game itself. The confident smirk he wore as he claimed victory stirred something deep within you, so deep that it left you feeling physically unwell for the rest of the day. That night, the urge to relive the moment with your hand down your panties was so overpowering that you had barely slept.

You had attempted to inquire about him from your brother, but without much luck. He had simply shrugged with a sigh, still nursing the sting of defeat. "He's around fifteen, I guess. Comes from a wealthy family, the Zweigs. Why the sudden interest?" You found yourself crafting a tale, pretending to be unaware of Patrick's presence until now, expressing surprise at the notion of a newcomer joining the academy so late in the year.

You only caught glimpses of him a few more times that year. Each encounter filled you with eager anticipation, dressing in your most mature outfits, and accentuating your features with your mother's makeup, all in the hope of capturing his attention. Yet, despite your efforts, he remained immersed in the game, seemingly oblivious to your admiration. Even so, you held onto the belief that he might eventually look up during a set and acknowledge your support with a smile. However, he never did. Nonetheless, this didn't deter your teenage imagination from running wild, crafting fantasies of a future life together where he would confess he had loved you all those years. Then would come dating, then marriage and babymaking. Every detail meticulously mapped out in your mind.

●

You were now sixteen, and despite being only a year older than you, Patrick had morphed into a man. Or so the adolescent you were, thought so. Gone was the thin boy of the past. His body had doubled in size, with his biceps and thighs notably thicker. You couldn't resist imagining the sensation of being embraced by him, or sitting on his lap, and gently running your fingers through his dark curls. You hoped Patrick would also recognize the changes your body underwent over the summer. "Maybe you should pay a bit more attention to your diet." Your mother had suggested, her gaze lingering on your slightly rounded stomach. Sure, you didn't look as toned as you did when you were younger but you had breasts and hips now. Like a real woman. A woman worthy of Patrick Zweig's affection.

He was dominating the match, as usual. Or at least, that's what you believed. You weren’t really paying attention to what was happening on the court, but you knew for a fact that he had it all, looks AND talent. Plus, losers weren't your type.

Although no one was really your type except Patrick.

When the umpire announced the set break, you watched your Patrick walk to his chair and remove his shirt. You had to stifle a gasp in front of your parents, at the sight of him. You had seen your brother and father shirtless before, but it was nothing like it. His skin was smooth with freckles adorning his broad shoulders. His arms were slender yet defined, with muscles that showed his dedication to tennis. His toned stomach and firm abs were accentuated by a trail of black hair disappearing into his shorts. Following the line, you let your eyes linger a bit too long on his crotch. Your knowledge of the male anatomy was minimal, and you had never felt compelled to learn more until that instant. That thought made you cross your legs tighter and clutch your skirt in an attempt to keep the dampness forming in your underwear under control. His adjustment of his shorts only intensified the sensations coursing through your body.

After the match, you hastily excused yourself to the bathroom. The image of Patrick's hand gripping himself through his shorts played on repeat in your mind. Sometimes, you imagined your hand replacing his, or him touching you instead. It was enough to ignite a fire within you. After finding release, you stared at your reflection in the mirror, adjusting your skirt and shirt with care. The realization of what you'd just done hit you, doubts about your sanity creeping in. But the thought of sharing this story with him one day, perhaps after you're married, eased those worries and brought a smile to your lips. Feeling lighter and fulfilled, you exited the bathroom, only to come face to face with Patrick. His brief glance, meeting yours for a split second, sent a rush of excitement through you as he disappeared toward the locker rooms. Finally, he knew you existed. It was the best day of your life.

●

Upon hearing of his qualification for the US Open Junior Boys Doubles Championship in 2006, you were convinced you were supposed to go. He would want his future wife there to witness his victory, you thought to yourself, so, as always, you attended. For the doubles, he was paired with another young man who appeared to be around your age. While his face seemed familiar, you had never paid enough attention to the game to notice anyone else but your man. When Patrick hit the winner, the two boys leaped into each other's arms, shouting with joy, tumbling onto the court in an affectionate embrace. You couldn't deny the cuteness of the moment, but how you wished it were you he was wrapping his muscular thighs around and showering with kisses.

After the game, you wanted to congratulate Patrick but there was so much attention around him that you decided against it. You didn't want to share this moment, your moment, the moment he would lay eyes on you and fall in love with you, with anyone else. You weren't just one of his fans, you were the woman he was going to marry after all. Disappointed, you walked back to your hotel room. You knew that winning the doubles assured them a spot in the singles and that tomorrow was going to be THE day. The day you would reveal yourself to him. You knew he was going to win. He always did. You could already imagine yourself sharing the sweet memory of falling in love with Patrick on the day he became a US Open champion with your friends, or even with your kids in a few years.

The day was still young, with a few matches scheduled for the afternoon, yet none captivated your interest if Patrick wasn't involved. Thankfully, memories of Patrick's triumphant grin would be enough to keep your mind and hands occupied for a couple of hours.

Except it did not.

Those kinds of things sufficed when you were fifteen, but now, as a woman with deeper needs, they fell short. You sighed, mindlessly gazing at the ceiling while lying on your bed. Your imagination was running dry, you needed to see him, touch him, smell him, feel him.

Perhaps tonight's party, which your brother mentioned was being thrown in honor of the female winner of that afternoon's game, would spark material for your fantasies. All the players from the championship were invited, so there was a chance Patrick might attend. You would finally see him outside the court, in his everyday clothes and without his racket, the true object of his affection. You had the entire afternoon to prepare yourself both physically and mentally. If tomorrow was destined to be the big day, tonight could serve as a rehearsal.

Despite being already dolled up from the earlier match, you aimed to make a statement tonight. Entering the shower, you scrubbed vigorously, intent on achieving the smoothest skin possible. Every inch mattered. You reached for your razor, meticulously attending to your legs and intimate areas. What grooming choice would Patrick prefer? Was he the full bush type of guy? Would he like a bit of hair left intact? Completely bare? You opted to keep a small amount of hair. While shaving it all off would be ideal for tonight, the regrowth would definitely ruin your big day tomorrow.

After lathering, rinsing, and drying off, you smoothed lotion across your entire body. Spritzing perfume onto the nape of your neck, the insides of your elbows, behind your knees, and even sparing a dash of fragrance for your bits. You generously applied deodorant under your armpits, secretly wishing Patrick would skip this step of his routine. You were eager to experience his natural scent. The thought of burying your nose in his sweaty, hairy pits was utterly intoxicating.

You had packed lightly for your trip, leaving you with a sparse collection of makeup products. In that instant, you wished for better makeup skills or the company of girlfriends to lend a hand and share their supplies. You settled for a touch of pearly eyeshadow, mascara and pink lip gloss. As for your outfit, the options were equally limited. With only one dress, a common black piece with spaghetti straps, hitting at knee length. Feeling underwhelmed, you made a silent vow to yourself that once Patrick would be yours, you would dress sexier. Slipping into the dress, you tugged at the fabric, attempting to shorten it just enough to expose your thighs.

You gazed at your reflection briefly. Despite your best efforts, you didn't perceive yourself as particularly attractive. At best, you would qualify yourself as average. You pinched your stomach, acknowledging your mother's previous comments about letting yourself go. With a deep breath, you sucked in your stomach while pulling your hair into a ponytail, hoping to remember to maintain that posture throughout the evening.

You grabbed your cream-coloured luxury purse, a gift of your parents for your eighteenth birthday, trying to fit all the essentials for touch-ups in there. One essential item was missing : condoms. If the evening was to take a favorable turn, they would be necessary. Surely, he would have some, being a guy and all, right? Upon further reflection, you hoped he didn't. The idea of feeling him release his warm load inside you was enticing. You would probably spend days in bed afterward, with your legs crossed in an effort to keep a part of him inside you for as long as possible. Plus what was the worst thing that could happen? Pregnancy? You had been waiting to carry his child since you were fourteen.

●

The party had been underway for some time. While preparing had consumed a significant amount of your time, it was the mental rehearsal of what you would say upon seeing Patrick that had caused the delay. Your brother was already present, encircled by friends, casually sipping a beer. You couldn't help but envy how effortlessly he blended in. A successful career, a social circle, a loving girlfriend, and a genuine passion. He had it all.

All you had was… Patrick.

Was he even present? Scanning the room, your gaze instantly locked onto him. He possessed the ability to stand out in any crowd. With his head of messy curls, his devilish smirk and his baby blue polo shirt paired with beige shorts, he was a vision. His shorts showed just enough of his oh-so-biteable meaty calves. You could tell he had strong legs, strong enough to carry your weight as you would ride him like there was no tomorrow. You closed your eyes and exhaled deeply. Were you losing your mind? The mere sight of the curve of his ankles was enough to bring heat to your cheeks.

He wasn't alone, his earlier teammate stood beside him. Perhaps it was the perfect moment to introduce yourself and offer congratulations on their victory. But first, you made your way to the bar to grab a drink. You wanted to appear nonchalant, just a random guest blending in rather than coming across as one of his groupies. You were fond of sugary drinks but since you needed to watch your diet, you opted for a bottle of Perrier. When you turned back around, bottle in hand, the two boys had vanished. Spotting them a few feet away, engrossed in conversation with Tashi Duncan. You recognized her from the posters your brother hid under his bed. The tennis star. The embodiment of beauty.

There was something truly hypnotizing about Tashi Duncan. She was athletic yet slender with long tan legs, a thin waist and toned arms. Her facial features were equally striking, with piercing black eyes, high cheekbones, and a captivating smile that could light up a room. Her hair flowed in dark luxurious waves, the undulations tumbled in soft patterns, framing her face with an effortless grace. It cascaded down her delicate back, reaching the spot right above her perfectly firm muscular ass. She was like a siren. Captivating all attention on court and outside. You envied her. Especially now that Patrick's attention was on her. You could never be half the woman she was. Her beauty did not only reside in her physical features but also in the way she carried herself, confident but also playful.

Intrigued, you navigated through the crowd, drawing nearer to them, and leaned against the wall behind the couch where the tennis queen was seated. Taking a sip from your bottle, you struggled to listen to their conversation above the din of the music. They were discussing their future endeavors. A couple of references to Stanford in their conversation hinted that Tashi Duncan was enrolling too. Would she become a rival for you? Despite her apparent lack of interest, it was clear that Patrick was mesmerized by her. You had to intervene.

"Sorry for eavesdropping but you're going to Stanford too?" You introduced yourself, extending your hand for a handshake. You could tell by the dozens of posters celebrating her that she was the victor of this afternoon's match. "Congratulations by the way!" Despite the jealousy gnawing at you, you forced yourself to be friendly. You barely knew her, yet Patrick's attention seemed solely fixed on her. Forming a bond with her would surely draw attention to you as well. "Thank you. And yes, and he's going there too actually." She nodded in the blond boy's direction. You glanced at him indifferently and stepped closer, ready to shake his hand too. "Art Donaldson. Nice to meet you. I've seen you before right?" You vaguely recalled him from earlier but you weren't sure you ever crossed paths before. You would have remembered. He was a handsome boy. Tall, athletic, with messy golden locks and a bright smile. There was a certain boyish charm about him. Surely, a lot of girls were drawn to him. However, he paled in comparison to your Patrick.

"Maybe. My brother is at Mark Rebellato." You mentioned casually, subtly dropping your brother's name, showing little interest in engaging in small talk with Art. "And you, are you also...?" You then turned towards the man of your dreams, extending your hand towards him. "Patrick Zweig." As he shook your hand, the sensation of his cold, calloused hand against your skin sent shivers down your spine. Images of him grabbing his crotch years ago were suddenly flooding your brain.

It was the first time you were seeing him up close, you delicately examined every contour and feature of his face. From his long, pointy and slightly hooked nose you dreamt of sitting on to his adorable protruding ears you would use as handles while doing the said sitting. The charming way only one side of his mouth curled when he smiled, his sun-kissed skin covered with hundreds of freckles, each more loveable than the other or his straight teeth that would leave the most exquisite marks on your body. There wasn't a flaw to be found in that man. "No, college isn't my thing." He explained, casually sipping on his Coca-Cola bottle. Your smile fell, replaced by furrowed brows. Stanford had a reputation of recruiting talents from the Rebellato academy, which was the sole reason you had applied there. You harbored hopes of encountering Patrick on a daily basis. "Oh?" Before you could delve further, a deep voice interrupted the moment.

"Baby, I need to steal you for a second. Over at the trophies." Tashi's father had requested her presence. She excused herself, greeting each of you with a goodbye. "I suppose I'll see you at Stanford, Tashi!" You waved politely, secretly hating her for being so perfect and for the effect she had on your man. With her departure, you found yourself only in the company of the two boys. Just one left and you would finally be alone with the love of your life. Your stomach twisted into a knot of anxiety. You realized you needed to come up with a topic of conversation quickly to redirect the focus onto yourself. Despite all your mental preparation, you had not considered the fact that Art and Patrick would be glued to the hip.

Patrick sank into the couch with a heavy sigh. You mimicked his action and sat opposite of him on the second couch. He looked defeated by the sudden absence of the great Tashi Duncan. Before you could even open your mouth to cheer him up, Art turned to Patrick. "Now what?" Both of them had their eyes fixated on her. "What do you mean, that was it." They continued to talk as if you weren't even there. The night couldn't get any worse until Patrick mentioned taking the shuttle back to their hotel. You couldn't believe it. After all the effort you put into making yourself worthy of him, he was ignoring you, you felt nauseous.

"Let's go." Art proposed, prompting Patrick to rise from his seat. "Yeah, let's go." He stood up and headed towards the exit without so much as a glance in your direction. With a polite smile and nod from Art, the two boys vanished from your sight.

Your night was ruined, perhaps tomorrow would bring better fortune? As you made your way towards your hotel, you spotted them seated away from the crowd, smoking cigarettes. Approaching them, you noticed Tashi was already present. Feeling overwhelmed, you stepped back, knowing you couldn't bear witnessing Patrick's attention fixated on someone else. Seeing all three of them leave together only exacerbated the lump in your throat and the tears welling in your eyes. Taking a seat on the couch, you picked the very spot Patrick had just left, longing to feel his warmth. On the table before you rested the ashtray, bearing the cigarette butt that Patrick had just put out. You picked the discarded cigarette and placed it carefully in your pocket.

Once you returned to your hotel, you didn't bother undressing or removing your makeup, too eager to examine your newfound treasure. You simply lay on your bed and placed the cigarette between your lips. Having never been kissed, this was the closest thing to it for you. You probably wouldn't ever know as you couldn't imagine anyone but Patrick tasting your lips and touching your body.

Despite Patrick's lips having touched the cigarette, it felt cold, damp, and impersonal. The smell of cold tobacco, however, reminded you of him. You closed your eyes and slid your hand down your underwear. That very same hand he had shook earlier was now caressing your cunt, stroking your folds, you were so wet for him. You had recently found an interest in porn in an effort to calm the heat in you and now you knew how to make yourself cum with a few precise strokes of your clit. Porn had been very instructive when it came to finding new things to fantasize about. Maybe you were even getting a bit too addicted to it. But now you ached for Patrick's thick cock down your throat making you gag with each thrust, Patrick violently slamming himself up your ass, so deeply that you would feel him in your stomach, Patrick using you like a whore, plunging himself in you only caring about his own pleasure not yours and denying you orgasms, forcing you to gobble his big hairy balls or using your tongue as a cum rag, Patrick choking you with his veiny hands, so hard that you would lose consciousness and he would continue to fuck your inert body. God, his hands. You moaned rubbing your clit one last time before exploding, calling his name. You placed the cigarette on the bedside table, breathless. You could tell your fantasies were becoming more and more… uncommon but it was only a proof that you would let him do anything of you. Nobody would ever love him more than you and he needed to know that.

●

Waking up the next day had been challenging. You were still wearing your dress and you could tell by the stains of your pillow that your makeup was also still on. After a long shower, you grabbed one of those tiny tennis skirts you had prepared for the occasion. If he was too bothered to notice you yesterday, you would be sure to be seen today. It probably wouldn't be the big day you had dreamed of, with a declaration of love, Tashi Duncan was the reason for that, but it could still be worth it. It was time to revise your plan. If his mind was someplace else, you could still fuck your way to his heart and drive him insane. Once he would see how devoted you are to him, he would surely choose you. Tashi Duncan wasn't the type of girl who would get on her knees and worship his cock. She wanted to be worshiped while you didn't care how badly he treated you as long as he filled every single one of your holes.

Today's match featured Patrick Zweig against Art Donaldson, marking the highly anticipated finale of the US Open Junior Boys Singles Championship. To secure a front-row seat, you had arrived an hour early and witnessed the two boys stretch and warm up on the court, engaged in conversation. Their close friendship was evident. You couldn't help but wonder how their bond would influence the game's dynamics. You were concerned that the match might be underwhelming if neither of them was willing to assert dominance, fearing it could strain their relationship. Observing the scoreboard, you couldn't help but notice their respective seeding positions. Patrick held the second seed, whereas Art was ranked fifth in the tournament. It was evident that there was already a significant disparity in power. That would probably make the game interesting.

The thought of cheering for Art as loudly as possible to make Patrick jealous had crossed your mind. Normally, you were Patrick's most vocal supporter, and he would undoubtedly notice the absence of your chants. Without you, no one would be shouting his name, but you would be doing so for Art. However, you quickly dismissed the idea, as the concept of screaming another man's name made you physically ill.

When the umpire tossed the coin, it flipped in favor of Art who decided to serve first. The two boys took their positions. "Game on." The umpire announced, blowing his whistle as Art delivered his first serve. Patrick promptly returned it, initiating a series of exchanges. The ball moved like a blur between the two. The crowd held its breath with every swing of the racket.

Patrick was the first to score, letting out a triumphant yell. His vocal enthusiasm throughout the game had made you feel light-hearted. The groans he emitted each time he struck the ball with his racket were indecent. Was he that loud in bed? You were dying to find out. And it wasn't the only thing. The way his hand was so tightly wrapped around the racket reminded you of your earlier fantasies. You wondered how his large sturdy hand would look, milking himself all over your face. The echo of the racket striking the ball filled your mind with fantasies of a day you would be enduring such forceful backhands on your ass.

After winning the first set, he bowed his head and curtsied towards the audience.Your eyes followed his gaze. Of course. Tashi fucking Duncan. You let out an irritated sigh, and you weren't the only one who noticed. The tension between Patrick and Art was palpable. Art glared at his friend, feeling humiliated by his arrogance.

You had to admit tennis was growing on you even if Patrick was the one you wanted to feel growing in you. The match ended with Patrick winning the game. You exploded in joy, screaming his name and clapping as hard as you could. You didn't care to look desperate for him at that moment, you were. You knew he would win, he simply was the best.

Patrick draped his arm over Art's shoulder as he escorted him to the locker rooms. It was evident that something had changed in the demeanor of the blond boy. He appeared defeated and withdrawn, while Patrick was radiant, boasting to his friend. As the audience began to trickle out of the court, you lingered near the locker rooms, uncertain of your next move. You hadn't yet thought of a plan. At the very least, you could congratulate the champion. Hopefully, he would recall your encounter from yesterday and engage in further conversation. Or so you hoped. If not, maybe you would drag him back to the changing rooms, drop your panties down your ankle and bend over. Offering your pussy to him without asking anything in return, a proposition difficult to refuse.

Your scenario was abruptly interrupted by the arrival of the golden girl herself, Tashi Duncan. She greeted you as she noticed you leaning against the wall. Moments later, Patrick emerged and joined her. She smiled at him, slipping a piece of paper into his hand, eliciting a chuckle from him. His grin far surpassed any victory smile. "You earned it." She said, planting a soft kiss on his lips. That fucking slut. You couldn't believe your eyes. Sensing your eyes on them, she looked back at you and so did Patrick, finally noticing you. "Are you waiting for Art?" He asked. "Yeah, sure. I will come back later." You lied before sprinting back to your hotel room.

Upon entering your room, you flung yourself onto the bed and let out a scream into your pillow. How could he betray you like this? You had put everything on hold for him. He was supposed to be the one. That night, you had cried so much that your eyes were red and your voice gone for days.

●

The few weeks before freshman year had been the most depressing period imaginable. The horny young woman with a wild imagination that you once were seemed like a distant memory. Without Patrick, life felt devoid of excitement. You struggled to have an appetite, found sleep elusive, and questioned the purpose of your existence. Even masturbating had lost its fun.

During those couple of weeks that felt endless, you haven't heard a thing from him. You had even tried to add him on Facebook, but your request remained pending. Your sole source of information was Tashi. She reached out to you on Facebook a week before school, expressing eagerness to find a familiar face in Stanford's halls. Despite your conflicting feelings about her, you couldn't resist putting on a friendly facade. Your dad's advice to keep your friends close and your enemies closer echoed in your mind. If Tashi wanted a girl friend, you would oblige and be the best of friends. After all, she was your only link to Patrick.

You learned that he was on tour, striving to turn pro, and you were also aware that he and Tashi had started dating shortly after the championship.

This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. He wasn't meant to thrive without you. He was supposed to be miserable. As miserable as you were.

Your blooming friendship with Tashi wasn't the most unexpected aspect of university life. That dreadful meeting in front of the locker rooms after the match had seemed to plant the idea in her mind that you harbored feelings for Art, leading her to make it her mission to play matchmaker for the two of you. She extended invitations to every party and lunch they shared, often bailing at the last minute to leave you alone together. Despite Art being a kind and supportive friend, you found no romantic interest in him. Nonetheless, you went along with Tashi's schemes, knowing that if anyone was closer to Patrick than Tashi, it was Art. At least this arrangement allowed you to stay within their social circle and be present whenever Patrick made an appearance.

Your heart raced when spotted him in the cafeteria during his first stay over, his dark curly hair and athletic frame catching your eye right away. Tashi sat beside him, with Art across from him. You resisted the urge to dash to him and wrap him in a hug. You took a seat next to Art and set down your lunch tray. "Hi, Patrick." You greeted, grinning from ear to ear, your voice betraying your excitement with a slight crack. "Hey." He responded with a nod, his hands buried in his pockets. How much you had missed him, it was maddening. Wearing jeans, it was the first time he wasn't exposing his legs to you. Was this some form of punishment? After all that time, you couldn't get a glimpse of his hairy thighs that you desired to be strangled with? Just thinking about them, you could feel the tingling sensation in your lower stomach that you had thought gone for days.

Apart from that, he didn't look that different except for a tanner skin. He was even sporting a sunburn on the bridge of his nose. You only wanted to kiss it better. "So Patrick, heard you've been losing. A lot." Art bantered before you shot him a kick under the table, diverting your attention to your salad. What a fucking cunt. "Be nice." You scolded him, avoiding making eye contact with any of them.

"I can't be lucky in every field. I already won the best prize." He jokingly knocked Art's cap off his head and planted a kiss on Tashi's cheek. Disgusting. You looked at them in disbelief. They really shouldn't act like that in your presence, especially when you were holding a knife. They carried on with their conversation, mentioning classes, the tour and tennis, of course. Feeling uneasy, you directed your attention to your tray of food, consuming more than necessary. Once done, you discarded your dishes and followed them outside.

Patrick had lit a cigarette and was pulling on it. The trio bursted into laughter, while you were watching them, a smile on your face. Even if the two parasites were standing between you two, you already felt immensely better just being near him. You were convinced that Patrick possessed some kind of power over you, the kind that could mend you with just a glance. It made you wonder if you would explode with happiness if he were as close to you as possible, if he were inside you. Or maybe you wanted to be inside of him? How you longed to be in the place of his cigarette at that moment. "Mind if I take a drag?" You asked although you didn't smoke. Health was a second thought when you already knew your love for him would be the death of you, before cancer could even reach your lungs. He passed it to you and you placed the stick between your lips. It felt different from the first time you had done that, in your hotel room. You could feel the warmth from his lips this time. Art glanced at you with curiosity, taken aback by the sudden action. You returned his gaze, silently pleading that he wouldn't bring up the fact that you didn't smoke in Patrick's presence. You handed the cigarette back to Patrick, ensuring your hand brushed against his as you did. Above all else, you yearned for physical connection.

"By the way, how did you two start dating? Tashi never told me." You asked him. She had not told you because you didn't want to ask. What had she done that you couldn't do? "It's quite the tale." He warned before recounting the event of the Adidas party. It had started on the beach, continued in the hotel room and finished on the court. He didn't forget to mention the kiss they shared, all three of them and brag about how he managed to seduce THE Duncanator once her number was in his possession. Tashi rolled her eyes, a grin playing on her lips, while Art turned bright red. Patrick seemed thoroughly pleased recounting the story, making you wonder if boys were now also in the competition for Patrick's affection. You couldn't ignore the fact that Patrick always lit up when discussing Art or anything related to him. Was there more to their connection?

Struggling to conceal your jealousy, you chuckled at the story and flashed a smile at a sheepish Art. "The three of you?!" That little fucker. He had possessed Patrick in ways you had not, and you could swear something had shifted in you. You had never found him as appealing as you did at that moment. You felt an urge to devour him, to experience Patrick through him, and that's how everything began.

That evening, Patrick and Tashi were unreachable. You tried calling her on her cell phone repeatedly, but received no response. As for Patrick, you didn't have any way to contact him at all. Despite their silence regarding their plans for the night, you weren't oblivious. You knew they were fucking. And your effort to disrupt their evening with your presence had been unsuccessful. Returning to your dorm room after a review session at the library, you walked past Tashi's room. Driven by curiosity, you leaned in, pressing your ear against the door, and were met with Tashi's muffled moans, Patrick's heavy panting and the creak of the bed beneath them. You felt a sudden wave of sickness taking over your body. You knew this was happening, of course, but hearing it was a whole other thing. Sadness settled over you, weighing heavily on your chest, as the reality of the nature of their relationship sank in. Each moan felt like a stab to your heart. You sprinted back to your room, not wanting to hear them any longer.**

●

Entering your room, you collapsed onto your bed, tears of rage forming in your eyes. Their moaning had sent jolts of electricity to your core and you could feel wetness between your legs. Your hand would have been enough to calm yourself on any other day but you were so sickened by the betrayal that you decided to go against your own principles. If Patrick was going to act like a whore, why would you bother saving yourself for him? You reached for your phone, sending a text to the only guy who cared enough about you to show up, hoping that he would be willing to offer some sort of comfort.

← [To : Art - 8:13pm]

Movie night?

→ [From : Art - 8:14pm]

Sure.

← [To : Art - 8:14pm]

Roble Hall, Room 74. Bring the snacks.

●

When Art showed up at your room, you were in an oversized t-shirt and gym shorts. This was not exactly the sexy outfit you had imagined wearing to mess around with a boy. But after your rushed cold shower, you couldn’t be bothered to pick a nice outfit. He wasn't Patrick anyway, dressing up for Art wasn’t necessary, it would even be out of character. Besides, he was also in gym clothes. You wondered for a second if he thought of this as a friendly invitation or sports clothes was all he owned. With a big smile, he revealed a bag of salted popcorn he had been hiding behind his back as if it were some kind of great gift. Even his snack choice was bland and unoriginal. You invited him in, gesturing towards the twin bed where your portable DVD player was resting.

You didn't own that many DVDs, but Art still took the time to skim through each one, reading the back covers. He settled on Batman Begins. You inserted the disc into the DVD player. The cramped bed and the tiny screen forced proximity between you, leaving you practically all over each other : both lying on your stomachs with your hips touching and your feet occasionally brushing against one another.

"Christian Bale's hot." You squinted at him, amused. Men could appreciate other men's attractiveness without wanting to fuck them, you were aware of that. But knowing about his little experience with Patrick, you couldn't help but scrutinize Art's every action and word. What if all this was pointless? You needed to ensure you weren't wasting your time. You gently grabbed his chin, turning his head to study his face in detail. His slender face boasted a sharp jawline, framed by a fair, smooth skin that, despite its youth, bore faint lines on his forehead and around his eyes, lending him a tired appearance. His small, downturned blue eyes, one spotting a curious half-brown hue, seemed to vanish when he smiled, his thin lips parting to reveal prominent teeth. The feature of his you liked the most had to be his sizable, slightly curved nose. Completing the picture was his blond, wavy hair, adding to his boyish allure. Nothing Patrick-like but that would do. "I think you're hotter than him." His blush reassured you that you weren't a lost cause.

As the movie continued to play you realized you officially hated action movies, though Art seemed completely engrossed. You reached for the bag of popcorn and noticed the brand. "Skinny Pop? Is it an intervention?" You joked, playfully slapping your own ass to make it jiggle. You caught him staring for a moment. "No, I just stole them at practice." You popped a piece of popcorn into your mouth and fed him another. "You were at practice? Did you even shower before sitting on my bed?" You prayed he had not. "Of course! Who do you think I am?" He said, feigning indignation. Shit. He really had a knack for making things less exciting.

Things weren't progressing the way you desired. And naturally, he had chosen the least sexy movie ever. Despite your attempts to engage : playing with his feet, tracing patterns on his back, even shifting positions to lay facing him, the only reward you got was a smile. It was clear you needed to take matters into your own hands. So, when he reached for popcorn, you tapped his shoulder and opened your mouth, waiting for him to feed you and as he did, you playfully bit his fingers. "Eh!" He protested, frowning at you. Finally, a reaction! You seized his hand and enveloped your lips around his index finger, gently sucking on it. He watched you in astonishment as you shifted your attention to his thumb, licking off the salt. Releasing his hand, you leaned in closer, crushing your lips against his.

Despite his initial surprise, you sensed the tension ease as he leaned in to meet your kiss. With closed eyes, you both immersed yourselves in the moment. Just a few hours earlier, kissing another man would have been unimaginable. Yet, here you were. As he turned to face you, aligning his body with yours, your fingers traced the contours of his jaw before gently cupping it, drawing him nearer. Craving to deepen the connection, you explored his lips with your tongue, begging him to reciprocate. The sensation of his firm hand on your waist sent a pleasant shiver down your spine, not quite butterflies, but a tickling feeling nonetheless. As he responded, parting his lips, his tongue mingling with yours, you playfully nudged your nose against his, unable to contain your amusement. "Oh god, finally." You murmured, a laugh escaping as your lips met. He pulled back, chuckling softly. "Why do you say that?" His ears flushed a bright shade of red, adding to your amusement.

With a playful shove, you tipped him onto his back, confidently straddling his hips, your weight settling comfortably and your hands resting on his chest, tracing the outline of his pectoral muscles. "Well." You teased, a playful smirk dancing on your lips as you gazed down at him. "Let's just say that if my tongue wasn't enough for you to get the hint, I was already planning my next move along those lines. Something a tad more... persuasive." You slowly bounced on top of him before leaning over him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips before trailing a series of gentle pecks down his jaw, nibbling on his skin. "To be honest with you, I thought you were into Patrick." He mumbled, his voice breathy from the attention you were giving him. You arched an eyebrow, surprised by his comment. Even Art could tell? You snorted, feigning to be offended by the idea. You briefly considered retorting that you had your suspicions about his interest in Patrick as well, but instead, you chose a different response to his comment. "Would a girl who is into Patrick invite YOU to her room?" Probably, if she were as desperate as you.

You didn't give him a chance to respond, pressing your lips against his once more and running your hands through his hair. His hands hesitantly found their way to your hips. You were pissed that he could see right through you, but you weren't about to let that frustration go to waste. You now found yourself kissing him with hunger, holding your breath as you swirled your tongue around his. The kiss turned sloppy as you weren't really sure if you were doing things right. Your high school friend had once told you that you didn't need practice, you just needed to follow your instincts. But those very instincts urged you to sink your teeth into that tongue, bite it off and swallow it. It was the exact same tongue that Patrick had tasted but now it yearned eagerly for you. You withdrew, taking a moment to catch your breath, your fingers still tangled in his blond locks. You traced your hands down his chest, lifting his shirt as he sat up to assist in removing it with a certain impatience. Once his shirt was off, he grabbed your ass, fondling it with firm hands. You then embraced him, wrapping your arms around his neck, drawing him nearer to you. He felt sturdy and reassuring in your embrace, yet you yearned for the sensation of his soft bare skin against yours. "Take off mine…" You purred into his ear before turning your attention to his earlobe, enveloping it with your lips and giving it a gentle suck.

With a ferocious tug, he grabbed the hem of the oversize shirt, lifted it over your head and threw it aside. You didn't need to ask twice before your chest was bared to him. The awkward boy you had to kiss with insistence was now a distant memory, replaced by a lustful impatient man. You could sense his gaze lingering upon your chest. He raised his hips, bringing you up higher so your breasts were now at mouth reach. He encircled one of your nipples with his lips. You gasped audibly, taken aback by how delightful it felt. His wet tongue flicking your bud made your legs shake. You wanted to experiment more of this. It felt like you were on a high.

Growing increasingly impatient, you pressed your heated core against his clothed arousal. He was hard and throbbing. You raised your hips, eager to remove his pants, leaving only his underwear and your shorts as barriers between you two. Rolling your hips against him, you began with a slow, deliberate pace, ensuring maximum pressure each time your body met his. The sensation was maddening so much so that you momentarily forgot about his mouth on your chest. You didn't know you were capable of making sounds of this sort. Feeling self-conscious about your voice, you rashly took his face in your hands and kissed him passionately while still bouncing onto him. His frustration at losing contact with your breasts was evident so you decided to distract him in your own way.

You let your hand glide down his abdomen, your fingers toying with the elastic band of his underwear. The smoothness of his body was a stark contrast to Patrick's. The absence of hair leading to his groin was disappointing. You then slipped your hand beneath the fabric and palmed his length. The boy squirmed beneath you upon contact. Aware of how porn could create unrealistic expectations, you braced yourself for disappointment. However, you were pleasantly surprised to find that Art's member was of a respectable size. This was an interesting new sensation. It didn't feel as smooth as you thought it would, you could feel texture due to the presence of veins and the stubble from his recent shaving. You ran your thumb across his circumcised head, coaxing a moan from his mouth. This part felt much smoother. You teasingly squeezed his balls before retracting your hand. It was your first time attempting such a move, but there was no need for him to be aware of that fact. After immersing yourself in porn for the past year, you felt confident in your ability to handle the situation. It was just jerking a guy off. You broke the kiss, spat into your hand, maintaining eye contact with Art, and with a teasing smirk, slid it back down into his shorts.

You gripped the base of his shaft with your hand and began to stroke it slowly, moistening it with your saliva. Meanwhile, his mouth returned to your breast, lavishing attention on your other nipple. You also felt his fingers teasing you through your shorts. You hated that you were wearing clothes, all you wanted right now was to feel his fingers in you. You sat on his hand, trying to feel him more. You gasped, your eyes fluttering as the overwhelming sensation washed over you. It was evident how wet you had become. You continued to grip his cock firmly. Honestly, you weren't sure what to do next, it felt like you were endlessly stroking him, and he was nowhere near climaxing. While you could tell he was enjoying it, you were eager for him to reach orgasm. Porn had made it seem so easy.

After some time, Art began delicately slipping his fingers beneath the hem of your shorts, exploring your moist entrance. The sensation sent waves of ecstasy through you as you clumsily stimulated him. His fingers pressed against your opening, the touch distinctly different from your own.

"I want you so much." He whispered into your ear, his fingers still toying with you. "Then take me now." You whimpered, unable to wait any longer.

"Condoms?" He asked as you shook your head. That had not crossed your mind. He rolled his eyes with a frustrated sigh, laying back on the bed, resting his hands back on your hips. You slided your hand out of his underwear and placed it on his chest. The loss of contact made him whine, frustrated. If it had been Patrick, you would have let him slam himself bare inside you but there was no way you would let another man fill you. There was always pulling out. You could tell by the way Art was looking at you that the idea crossed his mind and the question was burning his lips. But you were now, with thoughts of Patrick filling you up, totally turned off by Art, dry as sand. "I can blow you.. If you want."

In a hurried motion, you stripped off his underwear, discarding them entirely. You knelt beside him, your fingers trailing along his chiseled abs as you leaned in closer. His cock twitched beneath your touch, hardening even more under your gaze. Now, you could fully admire his body. While his shaft matched the rest of his skin tone, his tip boasted a subtle pink hue. Without hesitation, you took him into your mouth, savoring every inch of his length. Your hands stroked his thighs eagerly while you continued to devour him hungrily. Your tongue darted in and out of his slit, tasting his salty sweetness as you relished every moan and whimper he made. With one hand on his balls, massaging them gently, you used the other to grip the base of his shaft firmly, pumping rhythmically as you blew him

His hands gripped your head tightly, guiding you deeper until you slightly gagged on his thickness, your nose buried in the stubble covering his lower abdomen. What a shame that he was so keen on getting rid of any kind of body hair. You wrapped your lips around his tip, swirling your tongue around its sensitive ridge. Moans escaped from both your throats as you sucked harder, drawing out each groan as if it were music to your ears. You looked up at him in an attempt to stare into his eyes. You had heard that guys enjoyed eye contact during a blowjob but Art was struggling to keep his eyes open. You could gauge the impact of your actions from the way his stomach contracted and his legs trembled. It was a good sign, you didn't completely suck at this. Your jaw was starting to hurt like hell though and your mouth was filled with saliva. How much longer did he need?

"I'm about to..." He gasped. There was no chance you would allow that man's load to be shot down her throat. Quickly, you withdrew yourself and began manually stimulating him again. When he ejaculated, you didn't anticipate it to splatter everywhere as it did.

You crawled off him, grossed out by his fluids and grabbed a tissue from your bedside table, wiping your hand. While you were busy getting rid of the cum running down your wrist, Art seized the opportunity to pull down the hem of your shorts, exposing your buttocks. "What are you doing?" you asked, panic evident in your eyes. "Returning the favor." He replied, wearing a foolish grin. "You don't have to." You reassured him, tossing the tissue into the bin. "I want to." He insisted firmly. No one had ever gone down on you before, and the thought both excited and terrified you.

With hesitant movements, you flopped onto your back, sliding your shorts down your legs and kicking them off. Your heart was pounding in your chest as Art positioned himself between your legs.

He looked up at you for confirmation before lowering his head, his warm breath tickling your sensitive flesh. Your body twitched in anticipation as he placed a gentle kiss on your inner thigh.

Slowly, he traced a line of kisses up towards your core, teasingly avoiding the place that craved his attention the most. When he finally made contact with your folds, a gasp escaped from deep within your throat. His tongue glided over your clit in slow circles, applying just enough pressure to send shivers down your spine.

You arched your back and tangled your fingers in his hair as he continued to work his magic. His tongue dipped lower, giving your opening short and quick laps before returning to focus on your swollen clit.

The sensations were overwhelming. It felt like you were on fire. Art obviously had experience in this area. "Don't stop…" You moaned, your hips instinctively bucking against his mouth.

Art moved one of his hands to your cunt, sliding his index and middle finger into you as he continued to eat your bud with a hunger that matched your own. He replaced his lips with his thumb over your clit, massaging it as he sloppily nibbled on your labias. He raised his second hand to one of your breasts, groping it. Your hand quickly joined his on top of your breast, tightening his grip while your other hand tugged on the sheet.

You felt pressure in your lower body as your orgasm built up, threatening to crash over you at any moment. The pressure was becoming too much to handle. "F-fuck…" You moaned while trying to muffle the sound by biting into your arm.

With one final flick of his tongue, Art sent you over the edge. Your body convulsed as the waves of pleasure washed over you.

You had brought yourself to come countless times, but this was the first time someone else had given you an orgasm.

The post-nut conversation turned out to be less awkward than anticipated. Art revealed himself to be interesting when tennis wasn't the sole topic. Eventually, he checked his watch and rose from the bed. "He's waiting for me." He remarked as you watched him retrieve his crumpled clothes from the floor and dress up in hurry. You felt a bit abandoned but the fact that he did not invite you to come with him. You knew he was going to join Patrick at the court for a nighttime match. "See you later." You murmured, disappointed. He leaned in for a sloppy kiss that you broke after a few seconds, tasting yourself on his tongue. You briefly considered mentioning that your juices were spread all around his chin and cheek but you didn't. "For sure." He responded with a grin so wide that everyone could tell he just had some action and then left your room.

●

You were having lunch with your English literature classmates when you noticed Patrick leaving the cafeteria alone. Without hesitation, you stood up, excused yourself, and followed him outside. If he was going for a smoke, it was the perfect opportunity for a private moment. As you opened the exit door, you saw Art already there, sitting on a bench and chatting with Patrick. Fucking parasite. He smiled and waved at you as you approached and took a seat between the two. "Hey there." Patrick greeted you with a smirk, making your heart skip a beat. You glanced at Art, who was grinning from ear to ear. Of course, he had told Patrick. If fucking Art finally made Patrick see you in a different light, hell, you'd do it every day. "What are you guys doing?" You inquired, already aware of the situation. "Just chatting." Art responded, smoothly extending his arm behind you, his fingertips lightly brushing your spine. What was he trying to prove? "How was the game last night?" You asked, though you weren't particularly interested. "Fun. I'm sure Art enjoyed himself a lot." Patrick snickered as Art shot him a dirty look. You looked from one to the other before rolling your eyes. "I'm sure the game didn't go as well as he hoped. I heard he couldn't play the final set." You commented, taking a jab at Art. He looked at you in disbelief, while Patrick laughed at your remark. You nibbled at your lower lip, wondering if you had gone too far. But you didn't really care, you were the reason Patrick was laughing. Your heart was beating out of your chest. Art's gentle pinch on your back eased your racing heart. "Alright, I should head back to my table. You can get back to your gossip." Before you could stand up, Art caught hold of your arm. Leaning in close, he whispered in your ear. "Wanna hang out in my room tonight?" You shrugged. Did you really want to? Not particularly. But it was too late to back out now. Patrick would be grilling Art for details in the morning. His room, though? Tonight was definitely the night. He was so tactless that you wouldn't be surprised to find his bed littered with condoms. "Sure." You replied, then swiftly left the scene.

●

Art's room wasn't that different from what you had imagined. It was clean, with the bed made and the room smelled like deodorant. There were also more personal items : trophies, medails, posters and pictures. You looked closely at all the pictures of the wall. You didn't know the vast majority of those people although you could guess that some of them represented his parents due to the resemblance. There were many pictures of the Mark Rebellato academy players. You could even spot your brother in the background of one. But Patrick's face was present in every picture but one of them caught your attention. It was a recent picture of the two of them, plastered about the bed. Patrick had that side smirk that made your clit throb while Art was smiling with all his teeth.

As soon as you sat on the bed, Art joined you, sitting by your side. He smiled, gently brushing your hair away from your neck before kissing you passionately. It was clear you weren't there to chat. You tilted your head, giving him room to explore your neck, while you placed a hand on his thigh, giving it a slight squeeze. "Honestly, I thought I'd be greeted with you tossing condoms like confetti." You chuckled, your hand sliding up his thigh, nearing his crotch. "I kind of pictured you running to the store first thing in the morning." Art grinned at your comment, then leaned over to his bedside table, grabbed a handful of condoms, and playfully tossed them at your face. You threw a few back at him before pushing him onto the bed and straddling him. You lifted his shirt, exposing his bright pink nipples and hairless chest. "Did you go around telling everyone I gave you head?" You asked. Patrick wasn't just anyone, though. He shook his head. "I only mentioned it to Patrick... Sorry about that. And just so you know, he's also aware of the pussy-eating part." You shrugged as you unbuttoned his pants and pulled down the zipper. "Patrick's fine, don't worry. But now you're going to have a reputation. Plenty of girls lining up at your door." You teased, tugging at his underwear to take a peek. "Let's hope they knock loud enough, we might not hear them tonight."

●

You watched, captivated, as Art smoothly rolled the latex onto his erection, his eyes never leaving yours. You couldn't back out, Art was on top of you, ready to enter you. It was official, Patrick wouldn't be the one deflowering you.

Finally, unable to contain yourself any longer after all that foreplay, you begged him to enter you. As Art penetrated you, the pressure was intense yet exhilarating. You gripped onto his shoulders tightly as you tried to adjust to his size. At that moment, you hoped that he couldn't tell you were a virgin. Art began to move within you, his thrusts slow but steady. Each time he sank further into your warmth, your senses heightened, your mind lost in the sensations coursing through your veins. You let out a breathy whine and bit into his shoulder, trying your best to not name the wrong man.

Soon, his rhythm quickened, becoming more urgent. But even as your body responded eagerly to his touches, your mind wandered back to Patrick's face, frozen in time in the picture on the wall. He pushed inside you, savoring the way your muscles clenched around his shaft. You moaned softly, arching your back and inviting him deeper.

"Fuck, you're driving me crazy." You wrapped your arms around his neck, rolling your hips beneath him and melting into him completely. Despite Art being an attentive lover, you couldn't bring yourself to climax, your mind too cloudy with conflicting emotions. Finally, Art exploded in a series of shuddering spasms. He collapsed onto the mattress, spent and exhilarated. Not wanting to hurt his feelings, you let out a small groan before leaning into his embrace, feeling more confused than satisfied. Was this really what you wanted? There was tenderness here, gentleness. You wanted raw, unbridled passion, the kind that threatened to consume you whole.

"I came so hard." Art whispered soft words of praise into your ear. "Did you?" You felt a pinch of guilt stirring inside you once more, wondering whether you should confess your true feelings. But then, you remembered why you started sleeping with Art in the first place: to get closer to Patrick. And so, you forced a smile and assured Art that you had a good time. "Yes." You breathed, pulling him into a deep kiss to avoid dwelling on the question. Sex was enjoyable, but it didn't live up to the glamorous portrayal in the media. Perhaps it lacked satisfaction without emotional involvement. You attempted to push these thoughts aside as Art's fingers traced down your spine, sending shivers down your body. Yet, whenever he kissed your neck or whispered sweet nothings into your ear, your mind wandered back to that photo.

●

It only took a couple of weeks for Art to ask you to be his girlfriend. The reason for that decision was still a mystery to you. Because outside of sex, which had gotten so much better with time, you weren't really seeing each other. Maybe he felt obligated after using up your holes so much. Perhaps he had asked you because he was so busy with you that he didn't have time to meet other women?

You had no idea how long it had been since his last partner because that boy was always horny. You would spread your legs for him every day, sometimes meeting him twice a day. And when you weren't together, you would receive grainy pictures of his erect penis. One positive aspect of all the sexual activity was that now he could make you climax most of the time. But you still wondered how he would manage to find all that energy after tennis practice.

The officialization of your relationship had been pretty much uneventful. He had uttered the words as you laid in bed, your face nestled in his hairy pits, fully inhaling his scent. Sex being the only time you could savor Art's faint smell of sweat. "Should we be exclusive?" His choice of words amused you because you knew for sure that he wasn't fucking any other girl since you already had the talk about giving up condoms and getting on the pill. You had thought about your answer for a second. In your wildest fantasies, Patrick would have been your one and only but you said yes anyway because being with Art was as close as it was to being with Patrick.

No one knew Patrick like Art. And Art knew a lot. He would tell you about Patrick's history, his family's business, his tastes in music, his previous girlfriends whom he always found weird, or about his seeding position before each tournament he would take part in. You were told numerous tales of their childhood adventures. You barely remembered Patrick's appearance as a boy. These anecdotes predated your teenage infatuation with Patrick, yet you couldn't help but smile at the genuine love with which Art recounted his bond with his best friend. While some stories were cute, some would turn you in unspeakable ways, like when he told you about his first experience with masturbation. You couldn't help but imagine them stroking themselves in sync, Patrick instructing Art on which move to make and Art acting like a studious learner. You could tell you were completely wet at the thought, so much so that you had suggested recreating the scene, masturbating in front of each other.

"Why would I jerk off when I have you?" He was hesitant at first until you grabbed his hand and slid it down your panties. Your underwear was soaked with your juice. Of course, he tried to insert a digit into you but you tugged on his hand to remove it from your pants. His hand and fingers were now coated with your secretion. "Use me as lotion."

You were both lying side to side, on your backs, Your eyes were focused on Art's hand grasping his tip. "Does that feel good?" You breathed, locking your half-lidded eyes with his. He nodded, breaking the contact with you and staring at your hand between your legs. "Describe to me what you're doing…" You found his request hot. "It might sound weird but I actually prefer my legs crossed, it creates more sensation. And then it's all about clitoral stimulation." You explained with a whine. Your hand was furiously rubbing your clit. It wouldn't take long for you to climax, you had done it so much, you knew how your body worked. "What about you? What do you like to do when you're alone?" Art was fisting his cock at the pace as you were stroking yourself. "I love holding it very tight, when it's on the edge of hurting." He grunted, tightening his grip. "Come for me.." He continued to stroke himself, twisting his wrist to his tip. The head of his penis was red and throbbing. He moaned your name and released himself all over his stomach. "Fuck, you're so hot." You turned to him, your hand still between your legs, rolling your hips at a faster pace. Your eyes were now closed and you were biting your lower lip as you could feel your orgasm coming. You grabbed your clit and let out a low moan. Your breasts were lifting with each pants as you tried to catch your breath. "Was I better than Patrick?" He laughed and pulled you closer into a kiss.

●

Being Art's girlfriend, the clean-cut and sweet guy, could have been worse. He would take care of you, speak highly of you, always make sure to include you in every activity he was a part of. You enjoyed his company but it was clear that you didn't love Art. Instead, you found yourself drawn to the fact that Patrick loved him.

Dating Art came with another perk : you always knew in advance when Patrick would come visit. And each time you would ensure to fulfill Art's every fantasy beforehand. The kinkiest, the better, as you knew Patrick would be the first informed. And if Patrick knew you were willing to do all those degrading things, he would undoubtedly reconsider his relationship with Tashi.

The only issue was that Art's kinkiest fantasies were still quite vanilla, nothing noteworthy. From riding him to doggy style to 69ing, there wasn't anything that really excited you. You had succeeded in broadening his horizons, but you were always the one taking the lead. You had to guide his hands to encircle your neck and coax him to tighten his grip. Most of the time, he was so gentle that you could still breathe normally. As for public sex, that option didn't even cross his mind until you had massaged his dick through his pants in so many rooms of the university that he was unable to hold back anymore and screw you against a wall behind the main building. You also had to suggest to let you ride his face. It didn't take much convincing for him to say yes. If that man was a thing, he was a pussy eater. But as always you always wanted to take things further and one night after he had released himself in you, you sat on his face and let his own cum drop down his mouth and commanded him to swallow it, which he did. He was lapping your slit like a thirsty man, scooping his seeds out of you with his tongue. He had enjoyed every moment of it, but you were confident that he never shared the story with Patrick. And if anyone asked, he would likely act as if it had never happened. You could tell by the way he would shush you everytime you would call him your little cumslut. His shame was so enticing that you would occasionally spit his semen back into his mouth after blowing him. Watching him swallow his own load was the hottest thing.

There also was a time when you practically had to beg him to fuck you in the ass. He was uncertain about whether he would enjoy it, but you were confident he would love it even more than you did. You reassured him that he could stop at any moment if he felt uncomfortable, and with that assurance, he agreed to try. Ever the considerate and attentive boyfriend, Art had spent days researching online how to do it safely. Knowing this made you tempted to sneak onto his computer and check his search history to find out what kind of anal sex content he had looked up. After an hour of prepping you with lube and his fingers, which had removed parts of the fun, you were stretched out and he was ready. You were ready too, but deep down, you knew you didn't need all that preparation to begin with, you just wanted him to spread you open. You grabbed the headboard, holding yourself as you arched your back when he shoved himself into you from behind. You didn't feel any kind of discomfort, you mostly felt… full. Your ass wasn't as sensitive as your cunt, the feeling was entirely different. "Move already, you asshole." You snapped at him before he grabbed you by the hips, lifting them and violently slammed himself deep into your core. Right in front of you was the picture of the two boys you were constantly looking at. You were starting to really enjoy it, staring at Patrick in the eyes while Art was pounding into you. "Touch me." You pleaded, grabbing one of his hands resting on your hips and placing it over your pussy. When he finally started spreading your folds and stroking your sensitive clit, you let out a growl. You were now bouncing back on his cock, rocking your ass against his hips as his fingers roamed their way to your opening, adding his middle finger. You whined, frustrated by his action. You didn't need his fingers in you, you needed the on your clit, abusing it. You grabbed his hand again and pressed it as hard as you could against your crotch. You were practically humping his hand at this point trying to create some friction against your bud. "You're such a horny slut." He was talking to you but all you could hear was his high cry when you would clench your anus and the sound of his balls slapping against your ass. You could feel him grow tenser in you, he was close to coming. "Pinch my clit, I beg you." You groaned as you could feel your climax build up. He acquiesced and grabbed your button forcefully, pinching it until you could feel your blood circulation being cut off. "P-..Art!" You cried out as you exploded. You felt him spurt his thick load into you. It had to be one of the best sex you ever had with him. Not having to watch Art's face as he climaxed was also a big plus. You despised it so much as it reminded you of the obvious fact that it was not Patrick. As you laid afterwards, tangled in sheets and limbs, you couldn't help but marvel at just how far you had come since meeting.

●

You were running low on ideas to spice things up, but your friendship with Tashi proved to be a valuable resource. Over the course of a month, your bond with Tashi had deepened. Despite not having much in common, and secretly hating her, you clicked well together. Additionally, you often joked about the unique situation of your respective boyfriends being boyfriends together, which led to a secret nickname between you: ‘The other women’. Having someone you could rely on was comforting, and Tashi felt the same. Being in a relationship with her boyfriend's best friend made you her confidante, and she would often confide in you, even though it was sometimes difficult to listen. Despite this, you couldn't resist the urge to learn every detail about her relationship with Patrick.

It had become a weekly ritual after a significant match: you and Tashi would retreat to her room, crack open a few beers, share a joint, and exchange amusing stories.

On one particular evening, fueled by a bit too much alcohol, you both felt mischievous. "Shotgun?" you suggested, and Tashi nodded, a smile playing on her lips. Taking a drag, you gently held her face and leaned in, exhaling the smoke into her mouth. Curious to understand the sensation Patrick experienced every time he kissed Tashi, you closed the gap between you and initiated a soft kiss. It was an innocent moment, devoid of sloppiness, yet kissing Tashi proved to be exhilarating. As you both pulled away, laughter bubbled up from within, leaving you both in fits of giggles. "Look at us, we could be girlfriends too!" Tashi suggested, her hands resting on her hips.

The notion wasn't as off-putting as you initially imagined. Tashi was undeniably attractive. If Patrick proposed a threesome, you wouldn't hesitate for long. You might not be experienced in eating a woman out, but you were willing to learn. After all, you had no knowledge of sucking dicks just a few months ago.

●

When Tashi was tipsy, she became so chatty it was difficult to stop her. But there was one specific topic she couldn't seem to stop talking about: Patrick.

She would complain about how he would never shut the fuck up during sex. And how he was constantly talking dirty to her, no matter the time and place. How was that a problem? Patrick could whisper his shopping list into your ear and you would come on the spot. Or the way he was always demanding blowjobs, even in the most random places. Was she aware that you would blow him on the tennis court in front of the audience if he would ask? She almost killed you on the spot when she mentioned how he liked coming on her breasts but she hated it. What a spoiled brat. You would let him completely cover you with cum without even thinking twice. You would even ask for more. His enormous uncircumcised dick bumping into her cervix and making her feel uncomfortable for days was apparently an issue too. It only sounded like the most heavenly way to die to you. Or when he would try to slide it into her ass which she refused to do. What a cunt.

You took a mental note to check all those boxes with Art so he could brag to his friend, like boys usually do, and make Patrick die of jealousy. "What about Art?" What about him? You thought about it for a second. You didn't have much to say about Art but maybe if you praised the quality he possessed that Patrick didn't, it would intrigue Tashi into experiencing it. "He's very attentive to my needs if you know what I mean." You held your index and middle finger up in a V and flicked your tongue between them which made Tashi snort. "Maybe that's cheesy but he's the best sex I've ever had." Only sex you ever had, but she didn't know that. You knew exactly what would pique the ever-demanding and controlling Tashi Duncan's interest. Leaning closer, almost whispering as if sharing a secret, you said, "He's a bit of a sub. Quite a strap fanatic." That was a lie. Once, you had suggested fingering his ass while blowing him, and he freaked out, insisting he wasn't gay, which led to a snort from you and an ensuing argument.

"Really?! Now that you mention it, he does give off that vibe." Tashi responded. Ah! Take that, Art. "Have you ever..." You mimicked a thrust. "...with Patrick?" She shook her head, slightly pouting. "No. Wouldn't it be weird if I refused to give him my ass but asked him to give me his?" You took a sip of your drink and shrugged. "I don't think it's weird, when you love someone, you are willing to do everything to make them happy." Of course that comment was targeted to her as well, planting the seed in her brain that she might not love him as much as you 'loved' Art.

To be truthful you actually knew even more than Tashi suspected about her intimate life. Every time Patrick would visit, you would sneak at night just to listen to them through her dorm's room like that first time. Except now, you had your hands down your panties massaging your swollen clit. It was even more exciting to think that someone might surprise you in the corridor. You had become intimately familiar with the sound of his balls slapping against Tashi's ass, his loud moans, how long he lasted, and the noises he made when he came. Sometimes, you would finger yourself to climax in sync with him. Afterwards, you would slip into Art's room and have sex with him without offering any explanation. Often, you would mimic the exact actions you had heard through the door, your eyes still fixed on the picture of Patrick on the wall.

●

You waited until dinner time to ensure no one would be in Tashi's room. Sneaking in and going through her things wasn't a spur-of-the-moment decision, you had been planning it for weeks. You had tried a few times before, but the door was always locked. Today, however, you grabbed the handle and pushed, and to your luck, the door opened. You stepped inside and quickly closed the door behind you.

Her room was unusually messy, a stark contrast to her typical tidiness. The disorder could only be attributed to Patrick's presence. His bag was tossed in the middle of the room, with his shoes and clothes strewn across the floor. You started rummaging through Patrick's things.You weren't entirely sure what you were searching for.

One of the first things you noticed was one of his rackets. Though completely worn out, you admired the shaft, noting how Patrick's sweaty hands had eroded the handle. The blue grip tape had turned brownish and frayed. Lifting the racket to your mouth, you kissed the handle, tasting the saltiness. Your mind wandered back to countless hours watching Patrick dominate opponents on court, sweat pouring down his face as he hit each ball with precision and skill. You pictured his toned arms flexing as he swung the racket, sending the ball hurtling towards his opponent. But tonight, the racket would serve a different purpose. A crazy idea had crossed your mind. If you couldn't touch Patrick, you could let Patrick touch you.

You slipped off your underwear, exposing your bare cunt beneath your dress. Sitting on the edge of Tashi's bed, you spread your legs wide open. Guiding Patrick's racket between your thighs, you closed your eyes and let out a moan, pressing yourself against its handle. As your body responded to the sensations, you gripped the racket tighter, drawing yourself closer to ecstasy with each stroke. You maintained the rhythm of thrusting the handle into your pussy while simultaneously rubbing your clit with the same pace. The intensity built with each thrust until finally, you cried out in a hushed moan, overwhelmed by pleasure.

You didn't take time to catch your breath as you had to be quick before any of them returned. Carefully, you pulled the handle from your folds and placed the racket back into his bag, relishing the thought of his hands covered in your dried juices during his next match. You pulled your panties back on. Now onto your next treasure.

Patrick hadn't packed many clothes, so stealing one of his shirts would be too obvious. Instead, you rummaged through his belongings and settled on an old, worn pair of socks. Bringing them to your nose, the initial whiff was pungent and overwhelming, yet strangely captivating. As you buried your face in the fabric, the scent became a heady mix of musk and earth. He smelled divine. Unable to resist, you discreetly tucked one of the dirty socks into your bra before quickly leaving the room with your treasures.

On your way out, you spotted Tashi's pink gym shorts, the ones she had been wearing earlier before her encounter with Patrick. Upon closer examination, you noticed an obvious wet spot on the front of the shorts. Whether it was Tashi's or Patrick's doing, you didn't care. Without hesitation, you grabbed the shorts and exited the room for good this time.

When you got back to your room, you couldn't wait to begin exploring those newfound objects of desire. You couldn't help but smile at your mischiefs.

The sock was perhaps your most prized possession. It carried the scent of Patric, Patrick after practice. You inhaled deeply, savoring the aroma before biting into the fabric, sucking on the spot where Patrick's toes had been earlier. You knew you were acting irrationally, but you couldn't resist. You were addicted to his scent, his taste, to him.

Next up was Tashi's shorts. You longed to mix your own wetness with Tashi's juices. However, when you attempted to put on the shorts, they wouldn't budge past the middle of your thighs. In that moment, you felt larger than ever before. Was this the type of woman Patrick desired? Reflecting on it, Tashi had a lean, sculpted body. Quite the opposite of yours. You tried to suck in your stomach, attempting to force the shorts over your hips, but to no avail. You had to confront the truth: you felt enormous. Perhaps your mother was right? It was time to start watching your diet. If you hoped to capture Patrick's attention, you had to become worthy of it.

You swiftly hid the items in a suitcase under your bed and decided to get to work immediately.

●

Youtube was a never ending source of working out videos. Every morning you had a routine of pilates and running around the block. While at first it had been hard to move your body so much while continuing to have enough energy to satisfy Art's needs, you were now used to the challenge. You were also following a strict diet. While the app you had downloaded suggested a 1200 calories a day diet, you were now down to 500 calories a day.

As you entered the cafeteria, you scanned the crowd for them. The trio had secured a spot near the window, leaving room for you. You settled in, placing your soda and an apple on the table. Greeting them, you cracked open your diet coke. "Hey you." You placed a quick peck on Art's cheek. "Your highness." You waved at Tashi "Patrick." You nodded your head in his direction "Hey. Well fuck, you okay?" You raised the can to your lips and glanced up at him, puzzled. Was his question directed at you? His gaze seemed fixed on you, leaving you uncertain. Was he concerned about you? You flashed your brightest smile and nodded. How could you not be okay now that you knew he cared? He raised an eyebrow and went on about his tour. He wasn't doing too well, and Tashi was giving him a hard time about it. However, he seemed to enjoy himself otherwise, sharing stories of parties and sightseeing in numerous cities. The boys were chatting energetically while both you and Tashi remained silent, only listening. It felt as if you didn't exist anymore. They had so much to discuss and were planning to stroll by the courts. You were jolted back to reality when you felt Art's soft lips against your nape. "See you later. Your dorm?" Art gave you a familiar look, the same one he always gave before asking for a blowjob. How amusing it was that nothing seemed to make both of you hornier than Patrick's visits. Patrick planted a gentle kiss on Tashi's lips. You already felt nauseous but now there was no way you were going to touch that apple. It pained you to see how your misery deepened as the months went by and Tashi and Patrick's relationship flourished. You knew this love was slowly killing you physically and mentally. The boys left the table, waving goodbye.

Wrapping his arm around Art's neck, Patrick put him in a headlock and guided him out of the room. You could still hear their voices. "Your girlfriend looks..." Was Patrick referring to you? Art's glance back at you confirmed it. What was he talking about?

As you refocused on your meal, you noticed Tashi sitting across from you, lost in her own thoughts. "Can I trust you with something?" You nodded in response. "This conversation stays between us." Despite Tashi being the primary obstacle to your happiness, she was now your only confidante, with Art no longer filling that role as he was way too busy filling something else. "Did Art mention another girl Patrick was seeing while on tour?" Another girl? Oh no, you could feel the anger growing in you. Was he seeing someone else? Tashi was one thing, but another bitch? You were RIGHT THERE, ready for him to fuck you into oblivion, why would he need another girl? "No, I never heard anything about that. Why do you ask?" She toyed with her food, clearly uncertain of how to proceed. "Art said Patrick is not in love with me." You couldn't believe your ears. Art had grown balls and was going on the offensive. Leaning back in your chair, you narrowed your eyes and crossed your arms. "Uh. Did he?" Your mind raced to devise a strategy that would benefit you. "Do you think Patrick told him that?" You asked, trying to gauge the situation. "I don't know... I can't think of any other reason why Art would tell me that." She responded. Oh, you could think of plenty of reasons. "I swear those two are just waiting to drop our asses and just buttfuck each other." You sighed, trying to lighten the mood. Her lips twitched into a small smile."If you want my advice. You should talk to him. Like, it's ok to not be in love so early in a relationship, but it's not when there's a difference in intensity of feelings."

You hugged Tashi, gently rubbing her back and lightly tickling her with your fingertips. The heady scent of her shampoo and perfume filled your senses. You didn't want Patrick to love her, but at the same time, any guy who wasn't madly in love with her was an idiot. "Good luck tomorrow, champion. I'll be there to cheer for you." She thanked you as you left the cafeteria, abandoning your apple and can.

You walked back to your room, you had a lot to process. Art's scheming had added a new layer to your plan. Even if you benefited from Tashi and Patrick breaking up, would Art become a rival? What was his endgame? Did he want Tashi or Patrick?

You sat on your bed, still consumed by the fact that you had overheard Patrick mention you. Even though you had no idea what he had said, the thought filled you with joy. You longed to hear him say your name, to talk to you, touch you, kiss you, and more. Leaning over, you pulled out the suitcase hidden underneath the bed. Opening your treasure chest, you took out the sock and pressed it to your nose, savoring the fading scent. Your reverie was abruptly interrupted by Art's energetic knock on the door. Quickly, you hid the sock back in the suitcase and shoved it under the bed. You opened the door, and Art immediately jumped on you, smothering your face with wet kisses. "Art!" You whined, kicking the door shut.

●

Exhausted and breathless, you both lay intertwined, Art resting on top of you, his full weight pressing down, as you wrapped one leg around his hip. Cuddling you while still being inside you was one of his favorite things, which you found deeply bothersome. "Patrick said something earlier and I didn't really notice until now since I see you everyday but…" You looked at him curiously, excitement in your voice. "Patrick talked about me?" You could feel yourself getting in the mood again, the fire between your legs burning. This was so much more exciting than anything that had happened earlier. You slightly rolled your hips under him, trying to create some friction against your clit. He gazed at you, nibbling on his lower lip. That look made you wonder if he was now assured of the impact Patrick had on you. You hadn't been subtle about that one. "Yeah.. He said you have gotten really thin." So Patrick had noticed? This confirmed your suspicion, his type really was svelte girls, how shallow of him. You didn't care how bad that made him look though, you were a few steps closer to his type. You clenched around Art's length trying to get him to move as he went on about what Patrick had to say about you. But he didn't, he only huffed and kissed your neck.

You still had a long way to go to be perfect for Patrick. Tashi's shorts fitted you now but they were still quite snug around the thighs. "I want to get healthier. A couple of months ago, I was having a sleepover with Tashi and she gave me one of her pajamas. It was so tight, I could barely breathe. I realized how I had let myself go." You confessed wrapping your other leg around him, and grabbing his asscheeks in an effort to feel him deeper into you. If he wasn't going to relieve you, you knew what could get that little conniving bastard to. "Tashi always wears the best outfits. Wouldn't it be fun if we could lend each other clothes? I'd die to be able to fit into one of her tennis skirts." You knew that put ideas in his mind. In fact, you could feel himself growing hard again inside of you. "Just don't overdo it." He mumbled, his face in the crook of your neck. "Maybe I should get into tennis? I want a body like Tashi's. Her thighs are so firm and tanned." You rolled your hips once more under him to get him to start pounding into you. "Have you noticed how her breasts stand on their own? She doesn't even need a bra. She told me she doesn't even own any." Finally some movement. You let out a sigh of relief while he was biting into your shoulder. You had done it so many times before that you knew for a fact that he was trying his hardest to not pronounce the wrong name. "Have you seen how firm her ass is too? No wonder Patrick likes her so much." It broke your heart to say it out loud but you needed to bring Patrick back on the table. Art wasn't the only one who could get his little fun. "They make a hot couple though. He's gorgeous too." He was now aggressively thrusting, deeply buried into you. "His thighs.." You moaned, back arched under him.

You were aware that his mind was filled with images of Tashi while he was ball deep in you. Or perhaps it was images of Tashi and Patrick. Who even knew at this point? Watching his eyes roll back, highly responsive to your words, you felt compelled to propose something to him to add excitement, an idea that had been on your mind for months.

It would start with you being Tashi. Wearing one of her tiny tennis outfits, the kind that showed the underside of her ass everytime the wind blew. Pretending to train him to be a champion, calling a little bitch and insulting him at every mistake of his. You would make him overwork himself just to get a praise from you and even when he would do it, you would just command him to worship your cunt. When he would beg for a release, you would just let him jerk off while watching you play with your cunt.

And he could be Patrick. Even if you doubted Art had it in him. He would treat you like the little whore that you are. Making you gag on his gross sweaty cock right after practice. Wrapping his hands around your throat, while ramming into you. You would let him abuse every single one of your holes while reminding you how you're nothing to him and nothing without him. And even when he would be asking you to ride him, not willing to put any effort into fucking such a used-up whore, he would still be… dominating you.

Thinking about it, their relationship dynamic did not make sense. Was it a constant fight for dominance? Perhaps you had misjudged Tashi? But you couldn't be mistaken about Patrick, you knew him better than anyone else.

But you had too much on the line to make such a request anyway. In theory, he could only love the idea, but in fact? He was a coward who refused to see the truth. Would he call you a freak and put distance between you? And distance between you and him meant distance between you and Patrick. You couldn't risk that.

It didn't take long for you to climax, as you were already sensitive from the first round. Just a few precisely angled thrusts and Art's skilled fingers on your clit did the trick. You had to admit that Art had gotten better at pleasing you, you didn't have to fake it as much anymore. But it was also pretty easy when Patrick was occupying your mind. Art came a moment later with a low grunt. After a brief pause, he withdrew and rolled onto his back.

Your conversation with Tashi kept replaying in your mind. She appeared so insecure at that moment. How could she doubt Patrick's affection when he only had eyes for her? You were the best person to testify to that, as you counted the moments he glanced your way. Art had truly succeeded in toying with that poor girl's mind. Hold on a second. Were you feeling sorry for the woman who possessed everything you desired?

Art was now affectionately nuzzling your neck, planting gentle kisses behind your ear. Yet, his actions repulsed you more than it usually did. Were you angry at him because he had begun plotting to seduce another woman, or was it because he had taken a step forward in the race while you remained stagnant with Patrick? The scenario where he would begin dating Tashi, leaving you without him, Tashi and Patrick was now likely You found yourself in a position of weakness, a clear indication of the chaos in your relationship. You had shamelessly used him for months, but now that he was the one with the upper hand, that was unacceptable. It was time to call it quits. Art wasn't the one for you anyway. You were meant to be with Patrick. And Art was meant to be with Tashi or whoever else he pleased, you didn't really care anymore.

●

The next day, Tashi Duncan was playing against Maria Foster from Pepperdine.

Patrick's visit that week revolved around the match, and tonight marked his departure. It would be months before another opportunity. Although you hadn't yet ended things with Art, your plan was to do so after the match. There wasn't any certainty that things would progress your way after that but you needed him off your back. One idea you had was simply offering yourself to Patrick.

Showing him how much of a good girl you could be for him. His needy whore, little play toy. Dropping to your knees, your face buried in his balls, inhaling the exquisite musky scent of his sweat like an addict. You would then gobble on them like a starved woman. His hard sack felt warm and well-filled against your lips, it would take everything in you to not bite into them. You would then trail your wet tongue along his shaft following the pattern of his veins up to his head. Seeing his dick would be the well-deserved reward for all those years of longing. Without hesitating a second, you would pull his foreskin back, exposing his head and flick your tongue against it, paying extra attention to his slit, almost dipping your tongue into it wanting to taste every single drop of precum you could find. That cum was yours, it had always been yours. Wrapping your lips around the head, you would twirl your tongue around, tasting him fully for the first time before hollowing cheek, sucking him as hard as you could. You would probably slobber all over his length and he would love it, you were sure of it. With your head bobbing frantically, you would look like a maniac. You wouldn't even give yourself time to warm up before taking him whole in your mouth. The pain that would come with his crown hitting the back of your stiff throat was the most intoxicating part. Throating him desperately like the future of your relationship would depend on the quality of that blowjob. You would let him use your mouth like a fleshlight, fucking it aggressively, your nose crushing against the messy wet curls of above his cock. You would love the feeling of his strong hands pulling your head closer to buckle his hips into your mouth, his fingers pulling on your hair with force. Being able to breath would be the least of your worries as choking to death on his cock would be an honor. You would keep him in your mouth for hours, no matter how much your jaw hurt. But then your favorite part would come when he would. Swallowing his cum had always been one of your dreams but you wanted him all over you. You would pull away and stick your tongue out for him, drool running down your chin and clothes. Begging him to shoot his cum all over your face and tits, the same way Tashi refused to do. You wouldn't even bother to wipe his semen off, wearing it with pride, like a trophy, in Stanford's halls. But that was just an idea, of course.

In the worst-case scenario where you would be facing rejection, you planned to use Tashi's doubts about his loyalty as a justification. And like the exceptional friend that you are, you wanted to ensure he was worthy of your friend. You would both laugh it off and move on.

But before that, you were stuck with Art, who was acting distant. You could feel something had shifted last night. You were both aware of each other's plans and everything felt forced. You and Art had agreed to attend to support Tashi, as good friends should. Or at least, that was Art's justification. For you, it was obviously because you wanted to fuck her boyfriend. That very same boyfriend who soon would be sitting on the empty seat beside you.

"Where's Patrick?" You asked, disappointed by his absence. The game was about to start, Tashi was entering the court and Patrick was nowhere to be seen. Art was typing on his phone. "Seems like they had a fight." Art shrugged and rolled his eyes, like their altercation was something predictable. You could tell he had something to do with it. A fight? You couldn't help the smile on your face. That surely helped your case.

The game reached an intensity you hadn't witnessed before, with Tashi displaying an unprecedented determination to win. The ball darted from one end of the court to the other so swiftly that it was challenging to track. Tashi's backhands grew progressively stronger with each strike, her focus unwavering as she moved with agility. Suddenly, Maria Foster's throw forced Tashi to sprint across the court. In the midst of her movement, her knee gave out, causing her to stumble and fall.

With a scream, Tashi collapsed to the floor. Art sprang to his feet immediately, naturally the first to rush to Tashi's side. Could you blame him? If it were Patrick lying there in pain, you'd likely be by his side, holding his hand.

Without much of a choice, you had followed both of them to the infirmary. Waiting in the corridor for the ambulance to arrive was the best alternative to not witness their sickening intimate moment. Art had won the game. You also wanted to be available in case one of them would ask you to call Patrick. That way you would finally get a hold of his number.

But without a call, he showed up. There he was, finally, panting, his brown curls slightly disheveled, and his shirt clinging to his damp skin. Your smile faded into a frown as you noticed Tashi's shirt adorning his back, another indication of her ownership over him.

"Patrick, get the fuck out!" Art's raised voice startled you. Why was Art screaming at him? You didn't know the circumstances of the fight, but you could fathom Tashi being mad at Patrick. But Art siding with her and not his best friend? Was his friendship with Patrick just an excuse to get closer to Tashi all along? You would have never guessed how alike you and Art were.

Patrick walked out with red eyes and a visible lump in his throat, leaving the campus in a rush without a glance in your direction. That had been the last time you ever saw him.

●

Despite the weeks that slipped by, you couldn't help but cling to the hope that he might appear. That Tashi and him would somehow make up, that he and Art had maintained a friendship but no. Each morning you believed that today would be the day you would see his gorgeous face, only to have your hopes crushed by his absence. The disappointment became a part of your routine.

Art had left you for Tashi, using her recovery as an excuse. Although he never had the decency to formally end things with you, it was clear he no longer wanted to be around you. Every single free hour of his day would be devoted to training with Tashi or keeping her company during her physiotherapy. Sure, he would still smile at you from across the hall or kiss your cheek hello and goodbye when he would bump into you at the cafeteria. But there were no more texting or late-night visits to your room to release his built-up frustration.

It didn't make sense, Patrick was out of the way, it was the perfect time to make a move on Tashi. He just didn't. It was not like you were an obstacle either, if he really wanted you gone, he only had to say it. But maybe he wanted Tashi to believe he was still taken and harmless, just a friend without ulterior motives, a good guy helping her out of the kindness of his heart? How noble of him. It made you gag.

She wasn't any better than him. Tashi was avoiding you as well, likely feeling too guilty about her growing affection for your boyfriend to face you. Not that it mattered anyway. Patrick was gone. Forever. And it was all their fault. You hated them for it.

●

Stanford seemed rather dull now. You had spent months with them and had barely made any friends outside of Tashi and Art. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner were all spent alone from now on. At least the weight of your courses and the ever-growing pile of homework kept your mind busy. As for Patrick Zweig, he only crossed your mind from time to time at night when you would rub yourself to sleep. You had almost accepted the fact that you would probably never see him again. As you opened your laptop to begin typing your overdue essay, a notification on your Facebook wall caught your eye.

Patrick Zweig accepted your friend request.

You can find part two here.

♠♣♥♦

Tagging : @starrgurl46 @egcdeath @izzywags478

Thank you everyone for taking time to read my stuff. If you have any criticism, please feel free to send a message. I'm trying to improve my writing.

See you next time!

#challengers fanfic #challengers fanfiction #patrick zweig #art donaldson #tashi duncan #patrick zweig x reader #art donaldson x reader #challengers #challengers smut #challengers 🎾#the main character is unhinged i'm sorry #should i write more stuff?#writing in americanised english was a STRUGGLE #i'm sorry this is so long i was having a mental breakdown #fic : silent devotion

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d1stalker · 3 months ago

Text

The Feeling's Mutual | Part Two

Summary: Working with Logan means you have to accept constantly getting the short end of the stick; it means discovering things about yourself you didn't ever expect. Still, despite dealing with all of this, you two make a pretty good team.

PART ONE PART THREE

Warnings: bickering, graphic descriptions, canon-level violence, revelations WC: 8.2k - MASTERLIST

----

"Alright, you’ve slept long enough."

You're jolted awake by a rough tug on the covers, the sudden chill of the morning air hitting you like a slap in the face. Your eyes flutter open, still heavy with sleep, and you squint up at the figure looming over you.

Logan, with his perpetually grumpy expression, stands there with an annoyed look, as if your very act of sleeping is a personal offense.

You groan and sit up, the duvet still tangled around your legs, as you blearily glance at the small bedside clock on the rickety nightstand. The red numbers blink back at you: 7:00 AM. “Seriously?” you mumble, rubbing the sleep from your eyes with one hand, your other still clutching the edge of the bed. “It’s way too early for this. Can’t I get a few more minutes?”

His eyes narrow, not even a flicker of sympathy crossing his face. He rolls his eyes as if to say, ‘You’ve got to be kidding me,’ and crosses his arms over his chest. "You look fine to me," he says flatly, his voice dripping with impatience.

Throwing the covers back with more force than necessary, you let out an exaggerated sigh. The cold floor sends a shiver up your spine as your bare feet make contact with it. "What’s the rush?" you ask, your tone sharp with irritation as you glare up at him. "You’re acting like we’ve got a deadline."

Logan’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s a telltale glint in his eye that betrays him. It’s subtle, but you catch it—a fleeting spark of amusement that makes you think he’s secretly enjoying riling you up. Suddenly he turns and heads toward the makeshift kitchen in the corner of the warehouse and pulls a piece of bread out of an ancient toaster, the appliance looking like it’s barely functioning.

Without warning, Logan flicks his wrist, and the piece of bread comes flying at you. The movement is so fast and precise that you barely have time to react. It’s only thanks to your heighten reflexes that your hand shoots out to catch the bread mid-air. You stare at it, bewildered, the heat from the toast seeping into your palm.

"What’s this for?" you ask, still confused and a little off-kilter from the morning's whirlwind of events.

He raises an eyebrow. "Fuck does it look like? Eat up."

You roll your eyes, but there’s a hint of amusement tugging at the corners of your mouth as you take a bite of the slightly burnt toast. “You know," you mumble between bites, "you could’ve just handed it to me like a normal person."

"Where’s the fun in that?" he shoots back, a rare, almost genuine grin tugging at his lips as he watches you chew. There’s a moment of silence as you both settle into the morning routine, the tension easing just a bit.

As you finish the toast, you can’t help but glance up at Logan, who’s now leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching you with that same unreadable expression.

"You wanna know why I really woke you up so early?" he asks, his voice low and direct.

"Why? Because you’re secretly a morning person who loves watching the sunrise?"

Logan snorts, clearly unimpressed with your sarcasm. "No, because your fighting form is shit"

You gape, caught off guard by the bluntness of his statement. "Excuse me?"

He doesn’t let up, leaning in a bit closer. "Yeah, you heard me. When we were fightin’, you were all over the place. If you’re gonna be any use out there today, you’ll need some pointers. So for a bit this morning, we’re gonna train."

"You woke me up early... to tell me I suck at combat?" You stare at him, processing his words. The audacity makes you want to laugh.

"You don’t suck,” he begins. “You just need to get better. And since I’m the one stuck with you on this mission, it’s my job to make sure you don’t get yourself killed."

You let out a sigh, rubbing the back of your neck. "Great. Just what I needed first thing in the morning”

“Think of it as a warm up.”

He doesn’t wait for your agreement. Instead, he just jerks his head toward the exit and turns on his heel, clearly expecting you to follow. With a resigned sigh, you grab your boots and tug them on as you hurry to catch up with him. He leads you to a cracked patch of concrete behind the building, a makeshift training ground that looks as rough as you feel.

“Okay, let’s see what you’ve got. Don’t hold back.”

“Fine,” you say, squaring up.

In a flash, he lunges at you. Luckily, you dodge the first blow by sheer instinct, a sharp jab aimed at your ribs. The intensity sends a shockwave through your body, even though you managed to twist away just in time. It’s 7:00AM!!

Logan doesn't give you a moment to catch your breath. He’s on you again, faster this time, his movements a blur as he swings a fist toward your head. You duck just in time, feeling the rush of air as his punch grazes past your temple. Jumping to the side, you try to put some distance between you and his relentless assault

"Faster!" he snaps, his voice cutting through the morning air like a whip. "You're movin’ like a damn slug. If this were a real fight, you'd be dead ten times over by now."

His words are irritating, but they only fuel your determination. Summoning the latent power within you, you leap back, opening a gap. You can feel it there, just beneath the surface, waiting to be unleashed. He pounces again, and this time, you’re prepared. Channeling you super speed, you begin to dart around him, moving so fast he can’t keep up. In one swift motion, you lift your leg and land a swift kick to his side.

Logan grunts, but still he barely flinches, spinning around to face you. His eyes narrow in assessment. "Not bad," he grunts, "but not good enough."

His claws extend with a shink before you can even respond, and he swings at you, slicing right up in your face. You try to dodge, but the tips catch your cheek and create a deep gash.

"Are you trying to kill me?" you shout, frustration bubbling to the surface as you counter with a punch of your own, your strength amplifying the blow.

Logan blocks it with his forearm, the impact reverberating through both of you. You’re pretty sure you heard a few bones crack. He snarls, his eyes flashing with challenge and something else—maybe pride. If you want to be optimistic.

"I’m trying to make sure you don’t get yourself killed," he retorts, pushing you back with a forceful shove.

Your anger blazes at his words, and without thinking, your powers flare up again. This time, your hands crackle with energy, a faint orange glow sparking to life at your fingertips. You lash out at him with a rapid series of punches, each one laced with your mutant energy. He dodges most of them, but a few land, sending sparks flying where they connect with his body.

"That’s more like it" he says. He advances, switching to the offensive, forcing you to backpedal. "But you’re still letting your emotions get the better of you."

"Maybe because you’re pissing me off, asshole!" you snap, your frustration boiling over as you land another punch, this time aiming for his chest. The impact sends him stumbling back a good five metres, but he recovers quickly, his expression a mix of annoyance and amusement.

"Good," he says, rolling his shoulders as if to shake off the pain. "Just don’t let it control you.""

His words barely register as your anger continues to rise, fueled by his constant ‘pointers’. You keep pushing, your attacks becoming more aggressive, more reckless. Logan meets each one with an attack of his own, his claws flashing as they slice through the air, blocking your every move. The tension between you is electric, the air thick with the energy of your growing powers and the heat of your rising emotions. You go at him again, harder this time, and that’s when it happens.

Something straight out of a nightmare. You feel a sudden surge of energy—hot and thick, like molten lava—coursing through your veins. It’s overwhelming, and before you can fully comprehend what’s happening, your hands begin to glow brighter, the orange light intensifying until it’s almost blinding.

“Whoa—what the—?” you murmur, staring at your fists in shock as they burn with an intense, fiery orange, like heated iron.

Logan should be scared. You clearly have no idea what this is or what you could do with it. Yet, he doesn’t back down; instead, he presses onward. “Stay focused!”

But the energy in your hands is overwhelming, a burning heat that demands release. You feel it building, pushing you to the edge of what you can handle, and by impulse, you swing at him, aiming for his midsection with all your might.

The moment your fist connects with his stomach, the world seems to slow down. The sensation is surreal—you can feel your hand sink into his flesh, the resistance giving way as if his body were made of butter. Heat radiates from your fist, searing through his skin and muscle with an intensity that you’ve never felt before. To your absolute horror, your glowing hand doesn’t stop; it punches right through him, emerging out the other side.

For a second, everything is silent. The world holds its breath as the shock of what you’ve just done paralyzes you. Your breath catches in your throat, a suffocating lump of panic rising as you stare in disbelief at the sight before you. The feeling of your hand inside him, of flesh parting and melting, is too much, too wrong.

Then, the silence shatters as you scream, the sound raw and filled with terror. You jerk your hand back, nearly stumbling as you pull away, eyes wide. Logan stumbles too, his usually steady form momentarily thrown off balance. His shirt smokes from the burn, a charred hole marking where your hand had been. The smell of burnt fabric and flesh hits you, making your stomach twist in nauseous fear.

“Oh my God, Logan!” you cry out, “I—I didn’t mean to—”

But to your surprise, he doesn’t collapse. Instead, he looks down at the gaping hole in his stomach, then back at you, his expression more impressed than anything.

“Knifey,” he grunts, sounding almost amused despite the situation, “that was one hell of a punch.”

You stare at him, wide-eyed, as the glow fades from your hands. “Are you—are you okay? I just burned a hole through you!”

He chuckles, though the sound is definitely a bit strained. “A little hot under the collar, maybe, but I’ve had worse.” He winces slightly as his skin begins to knit back together, healing rapidly thanks to his mutant ability. “Don’t worry, this’ll close up in no time. You’ve got nothin’ to apologize for.”

“But I… I could have killed you.”

“Nah,” Logan says, waving off your concern. “You’re not the first person to try and fail. Besides, I’m more impressed that you’ve got that in you.” He glances at his now-healed stomach, then back at you with a smirk. “Just maybe aim a little better next time, yeah?”

----

You’re fucking exhausted. He really put you through the ringer—pushing you further than you’ve ever been pushed before. Your muscles ache, your skin is slick with sweat, and your breath comes in ragged gasps. Logan, on the other hand, seems barely winded, though even he has a sheen of sweat on his brow, and a gaping hole in his shirt.

Your hands are on your knees as you bend over and try to slow your breathing. “You… really don’t… know when to quit, do you?” you manage to gasp out between breaths.

“Well, you’re not gonna drop dead on me, are you?” He shoots back, not caring at all about your current state.

Shaking your head, too tired to come up with a snarky retort, you barely respond. “Not yet,” you mutter, trying to rub some life back into your aching limbs.

“Good. Now come on,” Logan says, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “We’ve got a job to do.”

He steps away, heading back toward the warehouse, and you force yourself to follow, your legs heavy and protesting with every step. He moves with purpose, heading straight to a small table tucked in one corner, where a map lies spread out, weighed down by a few random items—a knife here, an old mug there. Not wasting any time, he leans over the map and traces a finger across several locations marked in red.

“Look,” he says, not bothering to wait for you to catch up. You step closer, peering over his shoulder at the map.

“We’re here,” he begins, pointing to a spot on the map that corresponds with your current location. “Your last few mutant encounters were in these areas.” He taps on the cluster of red dots. “We’re gonna hit these spots, see if we can find any leads on where they’re comin’ from.”

“Okay…” You follow.

He stares at the pages for a brief moment longer, before looking up at you with a small smirk, like he know’s hes next words are going to piss you off.

"Change of plans by the way. I’ll go on the roof, and you’ll stay on the ground. That way, the mutants will be able to find you."

You blink at him, your expression shifting from frustration to disbelief. "Pause. You’re using me as bait?"

"Yeah. Works better if they’re lured in by something they’re actually interested in." His smirk widens into a full-blown grin, the kind that shows he’s fully aware of how ridiculous it sounds but doesn’t care.

"Oh, great. So I’m just a distraction for you now? What happened to teamwork?"

Logan just shrugs nonchalantly in response, as if this is the most logical plan in the world, . "We’re still teamin’ up," he replies, his tone infuriatingly casual. "Just taking a different approach. Besides, you’ve shown that you can handle them," he adds, mocking your voice in a poorly done imitation, “26 kills, remember?’"

You narrow your eyes at him, now fully facing him and glaring daggers in his direction. "Handle them?" you echo, "What if I don’t want to be used as bait for some dangerous plan? I thought we were supposed to be on the same side here."

"It’s not like I’m asking you to walk into a death trap, bub. It’s just a way to flush them out. I’ll be right above, ready to help if things get too hairy."

"Yeah, that’s real reassuring," you snap back, "what’s next? Are you going to throw me into a pit of mutants and hope I manage to climb out?"

"I wish," he retorts, his voice tinged with sarcasm.

Letting out a heavy sigh, you just keep your mouth shut. The idea of being dangled out like a worm on a hook doesn't sit well with you, but arguing with Logan has proven to be as effective as punching a brick wall. Your muscles are screaming for rest, and your mind is a whirlpool of fatigue and annoyance.

"God damnit. Fine," you concede reluctantly, rolling your shoulders in an attempt to shake off the lingering soreness. "But if this goes south, it’s on you, jackass."

“Fair enough,” he says, grabbing a worn leather jacket from the back of a nearby chair and slipping it on. The jacket strains slightly across his muscular frame, the creases and scuffs telling tales of countless past encounters.

He then shuffles toward a cluttered metal locker against the wall, pulling it open with a screech of old hinges. Inside hangs an assortment of gear: knives of various sizes, a couple of handguns, and a coiled rope. Is this even legal? You think. He grabs a sleek, compact earpiece from a small shelf and tosses it in your direction.

"Keep that on," he instructs. "We'll need to stay in contact. If you spot anything—or if anything spots you—you let me know immediately."

You examine the earpiece for a moment before fitting it snugly into your ear. A short burst of static confirms it's operational. "Got it," you reply, adjusting it until it sits comfortably.

Logan equips his own earpiece before reaching back into the locker and arming himself with a couple of vicious-looking weapons, tucking them into concealed sheaths along his belt and boots. The familiar routine seems to settle him, his movements efficient and practiced.

He catches you watching him as he methodically puts on his gear, and instead of asking if you’re armed, he pauses and reaches into the locker. With a swift swoosh he pulls out a sharp, gleaming blade.

The blade is perfectly balanced, and when he passes it to you, it fits comfortably in your hand. As you inspect it, you notice the craftsmanship—sturdy, reliable, and razor-sharp. Definitely an upgrade from your usual gear.

Guaging your reaction, his eyebrows raise in amusement. "Better than your last weapon, ya think Knifey?" he says.

You glance up at him, unable to suppress a small smile as you give the blade an experimental twirl. Giving a brief nod, you tuck the blade securely into a sheath at your side, feeling a bit more confident. He nods back in acknowledgement, and then he checks his watch. The morning is slipping away, and the streets outside will soon be bustling with people going about their day—a perfect cover for the dangers you're hunting. Folding up the map, he stuffs it into his back pocket before striding toward the exit.

----

Once you’ve entered a busier part of the city, he pauses, his gaze sweeping over the surrounding buildings with a practiced eye. He turns to you, his expression all business. "We'll start over on Fifth Avenue," he says, nodding toward a maze of streets that stretch out ahead. "That's where the last sighting was reported."

You shield your eyes against the glare, following his line of sight. The streets look deceptively calm, but you know better than to be lulled into a false sense of security.

"Stay alert," he commands. "Don't make yourself too obvious, but don't be too subtle either. We want to draw them out, but not scare them off."

You scoff lightly, adjusting your jacket and running a quick hand over your gear to ensure everything's in place. "So act like a clueless pedestrian but also like a tempting target. Got it."

He gives you a pointed look. "Just be yourself," he quips, before he turns away and starts toward the side of the building. Rude, you think.

You watch as he approaches the fire escape, his movements fluid and sure. After a quick glance around to ensure no one's watching, he leaps up, grabbing the bottom rung and hauling himself up with ease. Within moments, he's scaled the side of the building, disappearing onto the rooftop above.

His voice crackles to life in your ear. "You ready down there?"

Taking a deep breath, you step out onto the sidewalk, blending seamlessly into the flow of pedestrians beginning their day. "As I'll ever be," you reply, starting to walk at a casual pace down the street.

The city unfolds around you, a tapestry of sights and sounds that are at once familiar and disconcerting under the circumstances. You weave through clusters of people, your senses heightened as you scan your surroundings discreetly, looking for any sign of unusual activity. Above, you catch fleeting glimpses of Logan moving along the rooftops, his silhouette a shadow among shadows as he keeps pace with you. Minutes tick by as you make your way toward the target street, each step measured, each glance calculated. The morning bustle grows thicker, and the air fills with the scents of street food vendors setting up shop and the distant rumble of construction work.

"Anything?" His voice buzzes softly in your ear.

You shake your head slightly, replying under your breath to avoid drawing attention. "Nothing yet. Just the usual morning rush."

"Keep moving. They could be anywhere."

You continue on, turning onto Fifth Avenue, and as you pass by a narrow alleyway, a prickle of unease runs down your spine. You pause briefly, casting a casual glance down the shadowed corridor. It's empty, littered with discarded boxes and a stray shopping cart, but something about it feels off.

"Logan, you see anything unusual around here?" you murmur, pretending to adjust your earpiece like they’re earbuds.

There's a fleeting silence before he responds. "Hold on." You look up subtly, catching sight of him perched on the edge of a building, his eyes scanning the area with predator-like focus.

After a moment, his voice comes through again, lower and edged with caution. "There's a van parked two blocks down that doesn't seem to fit. Tinted windows, no plates."

You resume walking, heading in that direction while trying keeping your demeanor relaxed. "Could just be someone avoiding parking tickets," you suggest, though your instincts tell you otherwise.

"Shut up," Logan replies with zero hesitation, calling your bluff. "Stay sharp."

Approaching the intersection, you spot the van he's referring to. It's an unmarked, nondescript vehicle that seems deliberately inconspicuous—a little too inconspicuous for this part of town. Slowing down your pace slightly, you pretend to window-shop as you try to take in more details. The engine is off, but you can make out faint movement behind the tinted glass. "Definitely something going on there," you whisper, angling your body to keep the van in your peripheral vision. "Think it’s our guys?"

"Could be," Logan responds tersely. "Keep walking. Let's see if they follow."

Doing as instructed, you walk past the van and cross the street, risking another glance back. The van's engine has started, its headlights flicking on as it pulls out into traffic, maintaining a slow but steady distance behind you.

"Yup, they're following me," you report.

"Good. Lead them toward the park ahead. Fewer civilians there."

You spot the small urban park a few blocks down—a patch of green amid the concrete jungle, dotted with benches and sparse morning joggers. "On it," you confirm, quickening your pace just enough to be noticeable without raising suspicion.

The crowds thin out as you near the park entrance. Behind you, the van slows to a stop along the curb, and you can feel eyes boring into your back. "Logan, they're stopping," you inform him, subtly scanning your surroundings for any immediate threats.

"I see them," he says. "Three guys getting out. Can't get a clear look from here. Keep moving forward. I'll get into position."

You carry on down the path, resisting the urge to look back. Your senses are on high alert now, adrenaline surging through your veins and washing away the remnants of your earlier exhaustion. Footsteps echo behind you—heavy, purposeful strides that are too close and too focused to belong to casual park-goers, and you catch a glimpse of their reflections in a nearby puddle: three men dressed in dark clothing, their faces obscured by caps and sunglasses.

"Closer than I'd like," you mutter under your breath.

"Just a little further," Logan assures you. "There's a clearing up ahead. Better visibility."

A grassy open space surrounded by trees, currently deserted, comes into view just as he footsteps behind you quicken, closing the distance rapidly. You stop in the center, turning slowly to face them, and although you’re positively shitting bricks, you try to stay composed.

The three men fan out in a semi-circle around you, their postures aggressive and eyes cold. "Well, well, what do we have here?" the one you think is the leader sneers, his voice oily and mocking. "Out for a morning stroll all alone?"

You force a casual shrug. "Just enjoying the fresh air. Is that a crime now?"

He chuckles darkly, taking a step closer. "Depends on who's asking. You look a little lost. Maybe we can help you find your way."

Your hand inches toward your concealed blade, fingers itching for reassurance. "Appreciate the offer, but I'm good," you reply evenly, eyes darting between the three men as you gauge their intentions.

"Don't think you understand," another one pipes up, his voice harsher, more eager. "We insist."

Before you can respond, the leader's eyes flash with a sudden, green glow, and you feel a sharp, invisible force slam into your chest, knocking you back a few steps. You grit your teeth against the pain, steadying yourself quickly.

"I think now would be a great time to do something," you murmur urgently into the earpiece, your fingers closing around the grip of your weapon.

"On my way," Logan’s voice comes through, and you can hear his breathing as he jumps through buildings.

The men advance, confidence oozing from their stances as they prepare to strike again. You draw your weapon in defence, not waiting for them to make another move. "Back off," you warn.

He laughs, a grating sound that echoes through the clearing. "Or what? You gonna stab me? Go ahead, try."

Challenge accepted. You aim the blade, and hurl it towards him. The target is on point, but inches before impact, it stops mid-air, falling harmlessly to the ground as the leader smirks, his powers deflecting the attack effortlessly.

"You're gonna have to do better than that," he taunts, his hands glowing with a sinister energy as he prepares to strike again.

Then, a feral roar cuts through the air, and Logan drops from the trees above like a force of nature, landing directly on top of one of the men and driving him into the ground with bone-crushing force. Claws out and eyes blazing, he wastes no time, slashing at the second man who barely manages to leap back in time, a gash opening up across his chest.

The leader's smug expression falters as he takes in the sudden turn of events. "Who the hell is this?" he snarls, recoiling slightly as Logan stands between you and the attackers, his presence an unyielding wall of defense.

"You don’t want to find out" he growls, his voice menacing.

The other two mutants, momentarily stunned by the Wolverine’s sudden appearance, quickly regain their composure. The first one charges, his hands crackling with energy. But Logan is faster—much faster. He sidesteps the attack with grace, then drives his claws into the mutant's side, a deep, brutal strike that leaves the man gasping and crumpling to the ground.

The second mutant, seeing his comrade fall, hesitates for a split second before launching himself at you, clearly deciding that you're the easier target. Except you’re not. As he closes in, you speedily side step around him, a blur of motion as you reach for the blade on the ground.

Once it’s in your grasp, you pivot around, and slash upward, slicing through his clothing, biting into his flesh. He lets out a strangled cry, stumbling back as blood blooms across his shirt.

"Think again," you snap, your voice cold and sharp, fueled by the adrenaline coursing through your veins. You press the attack, your blade a barely visible with the speed at which you wield it as you force him back, not giving him a chance to recover. The leader, seeing his subordinates falling one by one, finally shakes off his shock and focuses his eyes at you. With a snarl, he raises his hands, the air around them shimmering. He thrusts his hands forward, sending a pulse of raw power hurtling toward you.

Feeling your power surge through your veins, heating your blood, your hands begin to glow with that familiar fiery light, the same power that burnt a hole right through Logan earlier that day. You meet the leader’s attack head-on, your fist colliding with the ball of energy. The force of the impact sends shockwaves through the air, and makes you grimace, but you hold your ground, refusing to be pushed back.

The mutant’s eyes widen in disbelief as he watches you deflect his attack. His confidence wavers, replaced by a creeping fear. "This wasn’t part of the plan," he mutters, staggering back as he desperately tries to summon more power.

"Don’t care," you retort, slowly stalking closer and closer. He tries to make a run for it, but you catch up to him easily, grabbing his arm, causing him to scream in agony as the heat sears through his flesh.

Logan, upon discarding his now lifeless victim, approaches the leader in an instant. He grabs the man by the collar, lifting him off the ground effortlessly with one hand. The mutant struggles weakly, his energy spent, his body trembling from the burns and the wounds inflicted by your hands.

"You picked the wrong target," Wolverine growls, his voice a lethal whisper. He tightens his grip, his claws hovering dangerously close to the leader’s throat. "Who sent you?"

The leader gasps for air, his eyes wild with panic as he looks between you and Logan. "We were… sent to attack… ," he stammers. "Mind control… we were forced to…"

Your heart skips a beat as his words sink in. It’s confirmed: mind control. These mutants weren’t acting on their own—they were being manipulated, turned into weapons against you. "Who’s controlling you?" you demand, stepping closer, your hand still glowing with residual energy.

His lips part, as if he’s about to speak, but then his entire body seizes up. His eyes widen in terror, and you think he might be having a seizure. He tries to speak–to move his mouth, but no sound comes out, his expression contorting as he struggles against some invisible force.

"Oh God, something’s wrong," you say, glancing at him with concern.

Logan lowers him to the ground, and crouches beside him, gripping his shoulder firmly. "What the hell is going on?" he growls, but the mutant can only gasp, his eyes rolling back as if in agony.

You can see the panic in the man’s eyes as he fights against whatever is controlling him. It’s clear that he wants to tell you something, but he’s physically unable to do so. The mind control is stopping him, choking off his words before he can get them out.

Desperation drives you to act. You drop to your knees beside the mutant, gripping his other shoulder. "You need to tell us where they are," you insist, your voice urgent. "Give us a clue—anything."

His body shakes, his teeth grinding together as he forces out a single, strained word. "T… tunnel…" he gasps, his face turning a ghastly shade of white. "Underground…"

But before he can finish, his body convulses violently, as if an electric shock is coursing through him. His mouth opens in a silent scream, his eyes wide with terror. Blood begins to trickle from his nose, his body seizing uncontrollably. You and Logan can only watch in horror as the man's life is snuffed out right before your eyes. His head snaps back, and just like that, his body goes limp, collapsing to the ground with a final, sickening thud.

Logan bends down to check his pulse, but you already know the answer by the grim expression that settles over his face. "He's dead," he says flatly, wiping his hands on his pants as he stands back up.

You stare down at the lifeless body, your heart pounding in your chest. "Damn it," you mutter under your breath. Whoever was controlling him clearly didn’t want him to reveal anything more. "They got to him."

Logan clenches his fists, his jaw tightening in frustration. "Looks like they’ve got failsafes in place. This wasn’t just a fluke."

"So now not only are we dealing with a puppet master, we’re dealing with a psycho fries people’s brains if they talk. Fantastic."

He shoots you a look. "You done complaining? Because we’ve still got shit to do."

"Complaining? I’m just pointing out that our situation sucks, Logan." You glare back at him.

He shrugs, clearly unbothered. "Yeah, well, whining about it won’t get us anywhere. We need to find another way to track down whoever’s behind this."

You’re about to snap back when your eyes catch on the van still idling at the edge of the park. "The van," you say, your tone shifting from irritation to sudden realization. "Think we can track it back to whoever sent them?"

Following your gaze, his expression softens slightly as he considers the idea. "Maybe. If we’re lucky, they didn’t wipe the GPS data. Could give us a clue where these bastards came from."

You let out a huff, trying to ignore the slight sense of relief that Logan actually liked your idea. "Well, let’s hope they’re not as smart as they think they are."

You reach the van and climb inside, the smell of sweat and metal thick in the air. The dashboard is cluttered with tech—nothing too advanced, but enough to suggest this van has been modified for more than just transport. A laptop is mounted to the dash, screens dim but flickering to life as you settle into the passenger seat.

He slides into the driver’s seat, turning the key and bringing the engine to life. "Let’s get this thing back to the warehouse," he says, "We’ll see what we can pull from the system. Might give us something solid to go on."

Not waiting for anything else, he just shifts into gear and pulls away from the curb, keeping his eyes on the road as he maneuvers through the narrow streets.

----

Back at his place, Logan grabs the laptop and other tech from the van, motioning for you to follow him as he heads to a makeshift workstation near the back of the warehouse. The setup is basic but functional—tools, weapons, and old electronics.

Following him, you can still feel the adrenaline from earlier buzzing through your system. He sets the laptop down, and powers it up. The screen flickers to life, and he starts navigating through the van’s GPS system. "You think they’ll be expecting us to track them?" you ask, leaning against the edge of the workbench.

All you get in response is a grunt, his eyes never leaving the screen. "They’re not idiots. They’ve probably figured out we’d try to follow the trail. That’s why we’ve gotta be smart about this."

The screen fills with maps, coordinates, and location markers. Logan hones in on one spot just outside the city—a cluster of old industrial buildings with access to underground tunnels. He taps the screen, highlighting the location. "This is where the van’s been going. It’s our best lead."

You study the location, a sense of unease creeping in. "So, what’s the plan? We just storm in?"

He shakes his head, leaning back slightly as he thinks it through. "No. If we go in too soon, they’ll be ready for us. We need to play this smart—wait a couple of days, let them think we’re not doin’ shit.”

Recognizing the wisdom in his approach, you nod. "Alright, but what do we do in the meantime? Just sit around and twiddle our thumbs?"

"We keep an eye on the place, see if there’s any movement. We prep, we rest, and when the time comes, we hit them with everything we’ve got. We’ll be bunking here for a few days.”

You look around the warehouse. In a day, this place has gone from some ugly dump to your new safe haven. Great.

Logan moves to secure the van, checking the locks and making sure everything’s in place. As he does, he glances over at you, almost as if he can hear your thoughts. "You’re lucky you’ve got a bed—my bed," he emphasizes.

You shoot him a teasing look. "Hey, you offered. I would’ve taken the couch… but don’t offer that now because I’ve decided I like the bed."

With the van in place, the clawed mutant moves toward the small kitchen area tucked away in a corner of the warehouse. You watch him curiously, wondering what he’s up to. He pulls out a few ingredients from the pantry, setting them on the counter with practiced ease.

"Figured you might be hungry," he grunts, opening a few cabinets and pulling out some pots and pans.

"You cook?"

He tips his head back just enough to catch your eye. "Yeah, I cook. What, you think I survive on just beer and grumpy stares?"

"Wouldn’t be too far off," you snicker, leaning against the counter as he starts chopping vegetables..

"Sit down. This’ll be done in a bit," he says, focusing on his task.

You do as he says, settling onto a nearby stool and watching as Logan moves around the kitchen with surprising skill. He’s making pasta—something simple but hearty. The smell of garlic and onions sizzling in a pan soon fills the air, mingling with the scent of fresh tomatoes and herbs. It’s strange to see him like this, in such a domestic setting, but you can’t deny that he knows what he’s doing.

"Didn’t peg you as the culinary type," you comment, unable to resist.

"You pick up a few things when you’ve been around as long as I have” he says, tossing the vegetables into the pan with a flick of his wrist.

When the meal is ready, Logan plates up the pasta and hands you a bowl. The aroma is mouthwatering, and you dig in eagerly, surprised by just how good it is. The two of you eat in companionable silence, the tension from earlier easing as you enjoy the food. You watch him for a moment, the normalcy of it all striking you once more. It’s a side of him you hadn’t expected to see, but one that makes you appreciate the depth of the man behind the gruff exterior.

As the night falls, Logan heads to his makeshift bed in the corner of the warehouse, while you make your way to the bed he begrudgingly gave up.

"You sure you’re okay with the couch?" you ask, more out of habit than anything else.

Logan shoots you a look, already half-lying down. "You’re the one who wanted the bed, remember? Just get some sleep.”

You smirk at his gruffness, knowing now that it’s just his way.

----

The next few days in the warehouse pass in a strange, almost surreal calm. The constant adrenaline of your life as of late takes a backseat as you and Logan settle into a routine that feels more like a bizarre kind of roommate situation than anything else.

Each morning, you wake to the sound of Logan already up and moving, the metallic clang of his claws as he practices in the open space of the warehouse. You join him for training, and though the sessions are intense, they lack that certain edge of urgency. It’s like you’re both conserving your energy for the fight to come, knowing that the real battle is just on the horizon.

"You’re still dropping your left shoulder," he points out one morning as you spar, his claws swinging.

You huff, blocking his strike with your blade. "And you’re still grumbling like an old man."

He rolls his eyes, dodging your next attack with a quick sidestep. "That’s because I am an old man, Knifey. What’s your excuse?"

"Just trying to keep up with you, gramps." You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head as you press the attack.

In the afternoons, after you’ve both worn yourselves out with training, you’d find yourselves sitting on the edge of the raised platform that serves as Logan’s makeshift living area. The warehouse is quiet, the distant hum of the city outside and the occasional creak of metal settling in the walls. It’s in these moments of stillness that you start to learn more about Logan—not the Wolverine, the fierce, unrelenting fighter—but Logan, the man behind the claws.

He doesn’t talk much about his past; it’s clear that there are parts of it he prefers to keep buried. But every now and then, something slips out—a story, a memory, a glimpse into the man he used to be before everything went to hell.

One specific day stands out. The two of you are sitting side by side on the edge of the platform, the remains of a quick meal scattered around you. Logan is unusually quiet, his gaze fixed on his retracted claws as his hands rest on his knees. His usual tough exterior seems to soften, just for a moment, and you can sense that something’s weighing on him.

"You ever wonder what it would’ve been like… if things had gone differently?" you ask, breaking the silence. The question is vague, open-ended, but you know he’ll understand.

His expression darkens slightly, but he doesn’t look away from his hands. "Yeah," he says after a long pause, his voice rougher than usual. "Sometimes. But thinking about it too much… it doesn’t change anything. Doesn’t make it easier."

You nod, feeling the weight of his words. "Weapon X… they really did a number on you, didn’t they?"

He finally lifts his gaze to meet yours, and what you see in his eyes is old pain and hard-earned resilience. "Yeah," he admits, his voice carrying the weight of years of suffering. "They did. Turned me into a weapon. Made me forget who I was… who I wanted to be."

He pauses, the memories clearly painful to revisit. "They didn’t just mess with my body," he continues bitterly. "They messed with my mind. Took away my memories, twisted what was left until I didn’t even know my own name. I was nothing but a tool to them, somethin’ they could use and discard when they were done."

The brutal honesty in his voice makes your chest tighten, and you can’t help but feel anger on his behalf. "But you fought back," you say softly, more a statement than a question.

Logan nods. "They tried to break me, and for a while, they did. I was just… lost. But they didn’t count on me fighting back. Didn’t count on me surviving."

"They underestimated you," you say, listening intently, feeling a deep respect for the strength it must have taken for him to claw his way back from that darkness.

A hint of a smile tugs at the corner of Logan’s mouth, and for a moment, you see a flicker of pride in his eyes. "Yeah," he says, a little lighter now. "A lot of people have."

There’s a fleeting pause, his words settling between you. It’s heavy, but you’re seeing a side of Logan that few people ever get to see, and you can tell that it’s not easy for him to open up like this.

Then, almost as if sensing the need to shift the mood, Logan changes the subject, leaning back on his hands as he starts to tell you about some of the more absurd things he’s witnessed over the years. "You wouldn’t believe some of the crap I’ve been through," he says, his voice taking on a dry, almost amused tone.

He launches into a story that’s so ridiculous, so utterly bizarre, that you can’t help but laugh—really laugh, for the first time in what feels like ages. The way he tells it, with that deadpan delivery and his signature gruffness, only makes it funnier.

"You’ve really seen it all, haven’t you?" you say, shaking your head in disbelief after one particularly outrageous tale involving a mutant with the ability to turn into a giant bird. "Seriously, how do you even get into these situations?"

Logan shrugs, a smirk playing on his lips. "It’s just another day in the life, Knifey. Weird shit happens when you’ve lived as long as I have."

His words linger in the air, and suddenly, a realization dawns on you. You’ve been so focused on the immediate dangers, the fights, and the missions that you haven’t fully processed what it means to be a mutant, to have regenerative abilities like Logan’s. If you can heal from almost any wound, if your body can recover from injuries that would kill anyone else… does that mean you’re going to live as long as he has? Decades, maybe centuries? The thought hits you like a freight train.

"Oh shit, Logan," you blurt out. "Am I going to be around as long as you? I regenerate too!"

Immediately noticing the change in your demeanor, his sharp eyes lock onto yours. "Hey, hey," he says, reaching out to steady you. "Breathe."

But it’s like a dam has burst inside your mind, the implications of what you’ve just realized flooding in all at once. "Logan, if I have these abilities… I’ll outlive everyone I know, everyone I care about…"

Your thoughts begin to spiral, the fear and uncertainty taking root, and suddenly the idea of immortality—something you’d never seriously considered before—feels more like a curse than a gift. You’re faced with the prospect of endless years, of watching everyone you love age and die while you remain unchanged.

Logan’s grip on your shoulder tightens, his voice dropping to that commanding tone that brooks no argument. "Look at me," he says, and when you meet his gaze, the intensity there makes you freeze. "I know what you’re thinkin’, and yeah, it’s scary as hell. But you gotta keep it together. You’re not alone in this."

"But how do you deal with it?" you ask.

He’s quiet for a moment, his expression hard as he wrestles with the weight of your question. When he speaks, his voice is deep, almost a growl.

"It ain’t easy," he admits, his tone roughened by years of pain. "There are days when it feels like too damn much. But you take it one day at a time. You focus on the people who matter, on what you can do right now. ‘Cause that’s all any of us really got, no matter how long we’re around."

His words are meant to comfort, but the enormity of what he’s saying still feels overwhelming. "And when everyone’s gone?" you whisper, the thought of outliving everyone you love already eating you from the inside out. "What happens then?"

Jaw clenching, teeth grinding, Logan’s eyes hardening with a resolve that you can almost feel. "You keep goin’," he says gravelly.

"You keep fightin’ ‘cause that’s what you do. You find new people to care about, new reasons to get up in the morning. The world keeps turning, and there’s always somethin’ worth fighting for. The people you lose, they wouldn’t want you givin’ up."

The conviction in his voice, the sheer will to survive, even after everything he’s been through, gives you something to hold onto. You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the fear still lingers. "I don’t know if I’m strong enough for that.”

He meets your gaze. "You are," he says. "You’re tougher than you think. And you’re not doin’ this alone. I ain’t dying anytime soon.”

You nod slowly. "Yeah… we’ve got each other."

His hand moves from your shoulder to your back, giving you a firm pat, like he’s trying to physically drive the point home. "Damn right we do. And don’t go worryin’ ‘bout the future. One day at a time, got it?"

You manage a smile, the first real one you’ve felt in what seems like forever. "Got it," you whisper, feeling a sense of calm starting to settle in.

Logan seems satisfied with that. He’s about to say something else when he stops, gaping. He just stares at you, his usual tough-guy demeanor slipping for a second as he takes in the sight of you smiling—really smiling, something he probably hasn’t seen much of.

The words die on his lips, and for a moment, he looks almost… caught off guard. His eyes are fixed on you, like he’s seeing something he hadn’t noticed before, and it makes your heart skip a beat.

"What?" you ask.

Logan blinks, shaking his head slightly as if snapping out of a daze. He clears his throat, quickly looking away, his gruffness returning like a shield. "Nothin’," he mutters. "Just… you’ve got a nice smile, that’s all."

You feel a warmth rise to your cheeks, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. The way he said it, so simple yet so sincere, makes your heart stutter in your chest.

"Well, don’t get used to it," you quip. "I’m sure you’ll piss me off again soon enough."

Logan huffs out a laugh, shooting you a sideways glance, his lips quirking into a small smirk. "Wouldn’t expect anythin’ less."

----

A/N: The plot is really going to pick up from here on out!

----

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joelmillerisapunk · 10 months ago

Text

my dirty little secret

no outbreak bfd!Joel Miller x f!reader

masterlist

↳ Wordcount: 5,422

↳ Summary: Since staying at the Millers, you've done nothing but tease Joel, seeing just how far you can push him. Joel's tired of it and decides it's time to take control of the situation.

~ Or ~

↳ Joel's tired of being hard all the fucking time while you're around and gives you a taste of your own medicine.

↳ Warnings: 18+, soft but dom, large age gap (make it your own 🩷), teasing, unprotected p in v, use of "daddy, baby girl, good girl" slight use of "slut" and "brat"

↳ Notes: Hi, this is the first fic I've ever posted anywhere and the first smut I've ever written. I'm scared beyond belief, but I hope you enjoy 🥰 dividers by @saradika-graphics. This was inspired from many different songs and that scene in preoutbreak where Joel's on the phone with Tommy in the gif I horribly made but it gave 'me giving daddy a nice treat while he's on the phone'.

Joel tried to avert his gaze, but it was near impossible when you left the door halfway open. It seemed like an intentional act, a performance meant solely for him. The way you nonchalantly slipped off your shirt, your bra following suit, revealing your bare shoulders and neck, was a sight that he couldn't ignore. He knew he shouldn't be watching, that it was wrong on so many levels. You were significantly younger than him and, more importantly, Sarah's best friend. But when your jeans dropped to the floor, and you bent over to remove them, Joel couldn't help the surge of blood that rushed to his cock.

He yearned for your panties to join the pile on the floor. As you started putting on your pajamas, he remained transfixed, watching your hips sway as you donned the tiniest pajama shorts he had ever seen, and the t-shirt from the previous night. He felt an urgent need to leave before you realized he was there, watching. But he couldn't bring himself to move.

Ever since you started staying with him and Sarah, you'd been a constant presence in his dreams. He couldn't fathom why, but the thought of you was never far from his mind. The dreams were always so vivid, so real, and they left him yearning for more. He wasn't sure if it was you or your presence that attracted him. But the urge to reach out and touch you, to feel the softness of your skin under his fingers, was becoming increasingly difficult to resist.

In his dreams, he'd already crossed that line, reaching out to you, pulling you close. His cock twitched at the memory, and he groaned softly, his imagination running wild. When he finally opened his eyes, he realized you had finished dressing. He quickly left, hoping to escape before you caught him. But the image of you, half-naked, was burned into his mind, a sight he knew he wouldn't be able to forget anytime soon.

As soon as you were certain Joel had left, you tiptoed to the door, peeking around the corner. Seeing no one, I giggled to myself and closed the door. The thought of Joel had been consuming you ever since you first met him and Sarah during your first day of college. Watching him lug around heavy boxes, his thick arms straining with the effort, had sparked something within you. You couldn't help but imagine what those large hands would feel like on your body.

So, when you found yourself in need of a place to stay, you couldn't have been more grateful for the Miller's hospitality. They welcomed you with open arms, offering you a room as long as you needed it. And you couldn't resist the urge to test the waters, to see just how far you could push Joel.

In your mind, you were determined to break him, to make it impossible for him to resist you. Every glance, every touch, was a calculated move on your part. You wanted him to see you, to really see you, and to want you just as much as you wanted him.

Your mind wandered back to the way his eyes had lingered on your body, the way his breath had caught in his throat. It was a small victory, but it was enough to keep you going, to keep pushing the boundaries.

The morning sun streamed through the curtains, casting a warm glow on your face as you slowly stirred from your slumber. The scent of pancakes and coffee wafted up from downstairs, mingling with the faint sound of music coming from down the hall. Your bed was soft and inviting, but you knew you needed to start your day.

You made your way to the bathroom, still half-asleep, eager to take a quick shower and start your day. But as you opened the door, you were met with an unexpected sight. Joel was in the shower, completely unaware of your presence.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do. But you couldn't resist the temptation to take a peek. You positioned yourself behind the privacy wall, peeking around the corner just enough to catch a glimpse.

Joel was soaping himself up, completely oblivious to your presence. You couldn't help but notice the way the water droplets slid down his muscular arms and chest, tracing a path through the greyed hairs that decorated his body. You imagined what it would be like to run your fingers down his toned chest, feeling the strength and warmth of his body beneath your fingertips.

The sight of him took your breath away, and you couldn't help but feel a stirring of desire deep within you. You had always found Joel attractive, but in that moment, you realized just how much he had been consuming your thoughts.

Joel suddenly turned off the shower and turned around, catching you mid-peek. Your eyes were still glued to him, and you couldn't help but stare at his god-like form, his body dripping with water. He couldn't help but smirk at you, his muscles glistening in the light.

Joel started walking toward you, stopping inches from your face. You could smell the body wash he had been using, and you felt your heart racing in your chest. You were frozen in place, unsure of what to do.

"Sorry, Mr. Miller, I thought the shower was free," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. Joel just smiled at you, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"It's okay, darlin', I don't mind the company," he said, gently touching your face. You felt his strong hands on your skin, and you couldn't help but close your eyes for a moment, enjoying the embrace.

Joel leaned closer to you, his face almost touching yours. He put his other hand around your waist and pulled you against his wet, naked body. You could feel his warmth radiating off of him, and you couldn't help but shiver in anticipation. "Mr. Miller - I," you started to say, but Joel interrupted you mid-sentence, covering your mouth with the hand resting on the side of your face.

"Shhhh," he whispered, pressing his lips against your ear. You shivered slightly as he sucked softly on your earlobe, sending goosebumps up and down your spine. He began to stroke your hair, and he whispered again, "You can't help it, can you? You wanted this, didn't you?" His voice was husky and deep, and it sent shivers down your spine. Your heart was racing, and you couldn't help but nod your head in agreement.

"You been with a man before?" he asked in a low voice as he moved his lips further south and down your neck. Joel's tongue flicked out lightly, grazing your collarbone, and you sighed at the sensation.

But you quickly remembered Joel was asking you a question, and you had to answer honestly.

You shook your head, "No" you squeaked quietly, "No sir," the truth was you had been with other men before, but they were no men compared to who you were with right now. Joel chuckled a bit, his cock definitely growing now.

"Oh sweet girl, I'm gonna show you how a real man's supposed to take care of you," he said, his voice low and husky. Suddenly Joel pushed you against the tile wall and pinned your hands above your head. He kissed you deeply, then moved his lips down your jaw, neck, and collarbone, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

As soon as Joel caught you peaking behind the wall, he lost all resolve. He knew you were playing some game, but right now all he could think about was getting inside you. With you in his arms, pressed against the wall, Joel pressed his lips to your neck, breathing you in and letting out a groan. Your nipples hardened in anticipation through the fabric of your thin pajama shirt.

Just as Joel was about to take you to his bed and fuck you senseless, he heard Sarah's rushed footsteps making their way up the stairs. Without wasting another second, Joel carried you to the shower and turned it on, hoping to muffle any sounds you might make. The water was cold at first, but Joel quickly adjusted the temperature, and you gasped as the warm water cascaded down your body.

"Dad? Breakfast is ready. It's gonna get cold!" Sarah called out, clearly wondering where Joel was.

"Uh yeah sorry kiddo, I'm coming," Joel called back, his voice strained with restraint. As he turned the shower off, you tried to pull his hand off your mouth, but his grip only tightened.

"Hurry up!" you both heard before the rushed steps back down the stairs. Joel let go of your mouth and pulled you to his bare chest. He buried his nose in your neck and inhaled deeply. You moaned in contentment.

"I think it might be time for me to get out, baby girl," Joel murmured, his voice low and husky. He could feel how needy you were, and he was desperate to get inside you. Your body warmed furiously, and you nodded against his shoulder before slowly pushing yourself away from him. Before leaving the shower, he grabbed your chin in his hands and tilted it, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Daddy's gonna take care of you, don't worry." He grinned before wrapping a towel around his waist. He left the bathroom, leaving you to get dressed and compose yourself.

After your little encounter in the shower, Joel couldn't help but steal glances at you throughout dinner. He sat across from you at the table, trying to maintain his composure as he listened to Sarah chatter on about her day. But his thoughts kept wandering back to you, to the way you felt in his arms, to the way you responded to his touch.

He couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt for betraying Sarah's trust, but he couldn't deny the feelings that had awakened within him. You were a breath of fresh air, a ray of sunshine in his otherwise mundane life. You made him feel alive, and he couldn't help but be drawn to you.

You tried to focus on the conversation, but you couldn't help but steal glances at Joel as well. You couldn't help but think about the shower, about the way his body felt against yours, about the way he looked at you with such intensity. You hadn't even kissed him yet, but you couldn't deny the attraction you felt towards him.

Taking advantage of the distraction, you allowed your foot to brush against Joel's under the table. You felt him stiffen slightly, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he subtly moved his foot closer to yours, letting you know he was enjoying it.

As Sarah kept talking, you couldn't help but let your mind wander. You imagined what it would be like to kiss Joel, to feel his lips on yours. You imagined what it would be like to run your hands over his body, to feel his muscles tense beneath your fingertips. Before you knew it, your foot had made its way up Joel's inner thigh, stopping just short of his hardening cock. Joel jolted in his chair, trying to maintain his composure as he felt your foot against him.

He tried to shift in his seat to create distance, but your leg always seemed to find its way back. This time, it made its way to the tip of his very hard cock. Before he could think, he quickly put his hand on top of your foot to hold it down. But it was too late. Sarah looked confused when he did so, and Joel just smiled at her apologetically. He couldn't say anything because he felt like he might come any second. When he finally regained his composure, he cleared his throat awkwardly.

"I'll clean up in a bit, need to use the washroom." Without missing a beat, he bolted out of his chair and was walking a little too fast upstairs.

After your footplay under the table, Joel excused himself and went upstairs to collect himself. When he returned, he found the kitchen cleaned up and you sitting on the couch. He sat down next to you and asked, "Where's Sarah?" You looked over at him, smirking playfully. "She said your cooking made her sick."

Joel laughed at your comment and moved closer to you. He brushed his finger along the soft flesh on the inside of your thigh, causing your breath to catch in your throat. "You're playing a dangerous game little girl, and I think you know that." He whispered huskily against your skin, leaning closer to you until his lips touched your neck. He gently nibbled your earlobe before whispering, "But, I don't mind playing dirty."

He placed his mouth softly against your earlobe, causing you to shiver with anticipation. His hand was now moving further and further up your inner thigh until it just brushed over your throbbing clit. His lips still hovered by your ear. "You're quite the little brat, aren't you?" He murmured. "Thinking you can tease me like that, huh? Gotta play by my rules right now, I'm in charge tonight... and you're gonna behave, is that understood little girl?"

But you were still feeling a little defiant. You wanted to see just how far you could push him. You pulled away, keeping your face inches from his. "You think you can tame me?" You questioned, watching as his eyes darkened slightly. Joel grabbed your face roughly with his calloused hands, causing you to back down a little in surprise.

"I don't like the word tame. I prefer the word... break." He said, his voice low and commanding. "If I'm gonna take charge, I'm gonna take it completely. I promise you, you're not gonna be wild by the end of the night. Not with the way you've been goin' around acting like a little slut. I'm not gonna sit back and watch you throw yourself at me. I'm not gonna be satisfied just sitting there waitin' for you. I'm gonna fuck you until you can't walk. I don't plan on being patient tonight, so unless you want me to take you right here, right now..."

Before Joel could finish his sentence, you heard footsteps begin to descend the stairs. Joel immediately released your face and turned towards the staircase. You stood up, your heart beginning to pound wildly in your chest as rushes of adrenaline and arousal rushed through you. Joel stood up as well, taking a deep breath and attempting to steady himself. He glanced at you, and you could see the hunger in his eyes. You bit your lip, staring nervously back at him,

The footsteps grew louder as Sarah descended the stairs, and it felt like time slowed as you both waited for her to make it down. She looked at the two of you suspiciously. "Uh, hey. Was just gonna watch a movie." she pointed to the couch where you and Joel had been sitting.

"Well, I think I'm gonna turn in early. I'm feeling a little tired. Enjoy your movie." You said, before heading upstairs. Joel's gaze watched your figure retreat up the steps, and he turned back to Sarah. "I got some paperwork to catch back up on. Enjoy your movie kiddo." He walked past Sarah and headed upstairs.

He was going to go to his room but something made him want to check in on you. So Joel approached your door and let it creak open slightly. To his dismay, you weren't there. Probably in the bathroom, he thought.

So he headed back down the hall to his room, and when he opened the door, there you were, on his bed.

Joel's jaw dropped slightly when his eyes connected with yours. He could barely focus on anything other than you, how you were lying, how you were breathing, how your hair looked, and how perfect your body was. Joel slowly closed the door after him and took a couple of slow steps toward you. You laid perfectly still, watching him with wide doe eyes - the ones of a tease, a brat who needed a real man to take control of her...and Joel was gonna deliver.

Joel made a quick glance to his door, before turning back to you. "Are you trying to kill me?"

"Nah, I just thought you deserved a little surprise." You teased, while letting your hand run delicately down your body and under the band of your shorts. Joel was done with your games, your teasing. He was about to fuck you like you had never been fucked before. The look in your eyes was almost as arousing as the way your hand worked its way down your body.

You were giving him a look that screamed submission. It said you would do whatever he said if he only commanded it of you. So he leaned down, grabbing a chunk of your hair roughly in his hand, forcing your head upwards, causing you to gasp in surprise and arousal.

"You do exactly what daddy says, and I'll treat'ya real good baby." Joel, as if on cue, reached his other hand underneath your shorts. His fingers found their way to your pussy, lightly caressing you through the fabric of your panties. You couldn't help whimpering and moaning. Joel began massaging more intensely, increasing your pleasure with each second. It was all too much, and Joel was enjoying every second of it. Your moans became higher pitched and more desperate as he continued, "Daddy please."

When the words "Daddy please" came from your sweet lips, Joel couldn't help but smile. A rush of heat landed in his abdomen, and he knew he had to take control of the situation.

He took his hands off of you and backed away from the bed completely. He sat in the chair in the corner and slowly undid his belt, letting it fall to the floor. "Come on, be daddy's good girl and get undressed."

As he sat there waiting, he continued to unbutton his pants and release the zipper. He never took his eyes off you as he let his cock free from the confines of all material. You couldn't help but whimper a little at the sight.

"Come on now, nice and slow baby, give daddy something nice to watch." He motioned for you to start undressing.

You stood from the bed and started with your top, ever so slowly lifting it over your head and letting it land beside you. As soon as your top hit the floor and your breasts were exposed, Joel let out a pleasurable groan.

You walked closer to Joel and grasped the waistband of your shorts. As soon as your tank top fell, and you walked toward him, you felt Joel place his hands on your wrist. "Let daddy help you."

With your wrist still in his hand, he led you to the chair he just got out of. "Bend over," he ordered. Joel pulled the chair closer, so he could reach your ass. You let out a shaky breath as he knelt behind you.

He slowly removed your shorts and panties, taking his time to admire every square inch of skin that came through. Finally, the materials were down your ankles and hitting the floor. Joel let out a deep primal moan, almost a groan at the sight, at the perfect globes sitting inches from his face.

When the words "Daddy please" came from your sweet lips, Joel couldn't help but smile. A rush of heat landed in his abdomen, and he knew he had to take control of the situation.

"Come on now, nice and slow baby, give daddy something nice to watch." He motioned for you to start undressing.

You stood up from the bed, your heart pounding in your chest as you slowly lifted your top over your head, letting it fall to the floor beside you. As soon as your top hit the floor and your breasts were exposed, Joel let out a low groan of pleasure.

You walked closer to him, your legs feeling like jelly as you grasped the waistband of your shorts. As you began to slide them down, you felt Joel's hands on your wrist. "Let daddy help you," he said, his voice deep and husky.

With your wrist still in his hand, he led you to the chair he had just been sitting in. "Bend over," he ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument.

You did as you were told, bending over the chair and exposing your ass to him. Joel pulled the chair closer, so he could reach you better, and you let out a shaky breath as you felt him kneel behind you.

He slowly removed your shorts and panties, taking his time to admire every inch of your skin that came into view. Finally, the materials were down your ankles and hitting the floor. Joel let out a deep primal moan, almost a groan at the sight of your perfect ass sitting inches from his face.

You weren't sure what you expected when you came into Joel's room, but here you were, face down, ass up on his bed. When Joel's large hands found their way onto the curves of your ass, squeezing tightly, you couldn't help but let out a gasp and whine.

You lifted your hips slightly, trying to relieve the ache forming between your legs. You could feel Joel's warm breath against your inner thighs as he teased you, inching upward to your clit.

Ever so lightly, he swiped his tongue over your clit, and the feeling sent waves of shivers shooting down your spine. You began to buck your hips up against his lips, trying to encourage him to continue. But Joel stopped suddenly and moved up, planting a kiss on your shoulder.

"Now let's see your pretty little mouth get to work, hmm?" he growled huskily into your ear.

You whimpered, not sure how to answer, too much in a lust overload, unable to speak or even process any coherent thoughts. Joel could tell you were caught up in the moment, gently guiding you to your knees so you were facing him.

"Come here," he demanded, his voice low and commanding.

Without hesitation, you crawled forward, positioning yourself between Joel's legs as he sat back on the chair. You placed your hands on his thighs as he guided you to kneel before him.

Once you were positioned, Joel bent forward, his hands reaching out to tangle in your hair. He guided your head down towards his lap, and you couldn't help but moan at the sight of his hard length in front of you.

You wrapped your hand around him, feeling the velvety smoothness of his skin over the steel hardness beneath. Joel hissed in pleasure as you began to stroke him, your hand moving up and down his length.

"Open your mouth," Joel commanded, his voice low and husky.

You obeyed, parting your lips and letting him guide himself inside. You could feel him hit the back of your throat, and you struggled to suppress your gag reflex as he began to move in and out of your mouth.

Joel's hands tightened in your hair, pulling slightly as he thrust deeper. You could feel him hitting the back of your throat, and you tried your best to relax and take him in.

You could feel the saliva pooling in your mouth as you sucked him, your hand still moving in time with your mouth. The feeling of him in your mouth, the taste of him on your tongue, it was all so intoxicating. But before you could take him over the edge, Joel's lips met yours in a fiery kiss, his tongue parting your lips and exploring every inch of your mouth. It was a kiss full of passion and desire, a kiss that made your head spin and your heart race.

His hands roamed your body, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You moaned as he cupped your breasts, his thumbs teasing your nipples until they were hard and aching for more. Joel broke the kiss, his lips trailing down your neck and across your collarbone. You gasped as his teeth grazed your sensitive skin, sending shivers down your spine.

His hands were everywhere, touching and exploring every inch of your body until you were trembling with need. You couldn't help but whimper as his lips found your nipples, his tongue swirling around them before he sucked them into his mouth. Joel's hands travelled lower, cupping your ass and pulling you closer. You could feel his hard length pressed against you, and you couldn't help but grind against him.

"Please, Joel," you whispered, your voice barely audible. Joel's eyes darkened as he looked at you, his voice low and commanding. "Beg for it. Beg for what you want baby."

You whimpered, your mind hazy with lust as you tried to find the words. "Please, Joel. I need you. I need you inside me." His plan to have you please him orally was quickly forgotten as his overwhelming desire for you took over, he needed to have you. Now. Joel stood up, pulling you to your feet. Joel's grip on your hair tightened as he pulled you to your feet, his eyes blazing with desire. "You want me inside you, baby?" he growled, his voice full of raw need.

"Yes daddy," you whimpered, your body trembling with desire.

"Good girl," he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. "You're such a good girl, begging for what you want. Say it again.”

"Want you inside me, Joel. Please," you begged, your voice barely above a whisper.

Joel's hands travelled down your body, cupping your ass and lifting you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist, your core pressing against his hard length. "Is this what you want?" he asked, his voice low and husky.

"Yes, please, Joel. I need you," you moaned, your nails digging into his shoulders.

Joel walked over to the bed, laying you down on your back. He hovered over you, his eyes locked on yours as he slowly entered you. You gasped as he filled you, your body stretching to accommodate him.

"You feel so fucking good, baby," Joel murmured, his lips trailing down your neck as he continued to thrust into you. "So tight, so perfect."

"Yes, Daddy," you moaned, your hips meeting his thrust for thrust. "You feel so good inside me."

"Beg for it, baby," Joel commanded, his voice low and dominating. "Beg daddy to make you come."

"Please, Daddy," you begged, your voice trembling with need. "I need to come. Need you to make me come."

Joel's thrusts became harder, faster, his pace matching the desperation in your voice. You could feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, your body tense with pleasure.

"Come for me, baby," Joel growled, his voice commanding. "Come for Daddy now."

With one final thrust, you came, your body convulsing with pleasure as you tried to stay quiet.

"Good girl," he murmured, his voice full of satisfaction. "You're such a good girl, coming for Daddy like that."

Joel pulled out of you, leaving you feeling empty and wanting. But before you could protest, he flipped you over onto your hands and knees.

"Daddy's going to take you from behind now," he growled, his hand coming down on your ass with a sharp smack.

You couldn't help but moan at the sting, your body tensing with anticipation. Joel positioned himself behind you, his hard length pressing against your entrance.

"You ready for me, baby?" he asked, his voice low and husky.

"Yes, Daddy," you whimpered, your body trembling with need.

With one swift thrust, Joel was inside of you, filling you completely. You couldn't help the way your body trembled with pleasure.

Joel's hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he began to thrust into you. Each movement sent waves of pleasure crashing through your body, your moans and whimpers filling the room.

"You like that, baby?" Joel asked, his voice full of raw need.

"Yes, Daddy. It feels so good," you gasped, your body begging for more.

Joel's thrusts became harder, faster, his pace matching the desperation in your voice. You could feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, your body tense with pleasure.

"Come for me again, baby," Joel commanded, his voice low and dominating. "I want to feel you come apart around me." Joel's fingers dug into your hips as he continued to thrust into you, each movement causing you to moan and whimper with pleasure. He could feel your body tensing up once again, your walls clenching around him as you got closer and closer to another orgasm.

"That's it, baby. I want to feel you milking my cock with your tight little pussy," Joel growled, his voice full of raw need and desire.

His words sent you over the edge, your body convulsing with pleasure as you screamed out Joel's name into your own hands, to try to keep quiet. You felt him pulse inside of you, his warm release filling you up as he reached his own climax.

Joel collapsed onto your back, his breath hot and heavy against your neck. He wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you close as he caught his breath.

"Fuck, baby. You’re such a good girl aren't cha?" he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear.

You couldn't help but smile, your body still trembling with aftershocks of pleasure.

Joel slowly pulled out of you, leaving you feeling empty and wanting once again. But before you could protest, he turned you over onto your back and climbed on top of you.

"I'm not done with you yet, baby," he growled, his eyes blazing with desire.

He captured your lips in a passionate kiss, his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth as his hands roamed your body. He trailed his lips down your neck, across your collarbone, and down to your breasts.

He sucked one nipple into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue before moving onto the next. You couldn't help but moan, your body responding to his touch once again.

Joel's hand travelled lower, his fingers finding their way to your clit. He began to rub slow circles around it, causing you to gasp and writhe beneath him.

"Please, Joel. I need more," you begged, your voice trembling with need.

Joel's fingers dipped inside of you, curling up to hit that perfect spot. He began to thrust them in and out of you, his pace matching the urgency in your voice.

You could feel yourself getting closer and closer to another orgasm, your body tensing up as you reached the edge.

"Come on darlin’ I want to feel you come all over my fingers," Joel commanded, his voice dominating.

With one final thrust of his fingers, you shattered and your body convulsed in the same motions it had the last two or three, or - you had lost count at this point.

Joel pulled his fingers out of you, bringing them to his mouth and sucking them clean. You couldn't help but watch him, your body still trembling with aftershocks of pleasure.

"Mmmm, you taste so fucking good, baby," Joel murmured, his eyes blazing with desire.

He collapsed onto the bed next to you, pulling you into his arms and holding you close.

"I think I'm gonna keep ya around," Joel chuckled.

You couldn't help but smile, your body still trembling with pleasure. "I think I'm gonna let you," you whispered back.

You weren't sure what the future held for the two of you, but in that moment, you were happy. You closed your eyes as you snuggled closer to Joel, feeling safe and protected in his arms.

Thank you for reading. Take a second to let me know what you thot and I'll send you pictures of my baby cows 🐮🥹

#joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #daddy!joel miller #tlou fanfiction #joel miller #pedro pascal

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wh0reforcoriolanussnow · 1 year ago

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Revenge, a Dish Served Colder than Snow || Young!Coriolanus Snow x Reader

GIF by @kvtnisseverdeen and divider by @firefly-graphics

A/n: I'd just like to say that this is not book or movie accurate whatsoever. Finnick is not even alive yet when Coriolanus was in his early 20s. I just really wanted to include him in this because he's hot and I love him. Also, lets just imagine he has been gone long enough that the next hunger games was about to happen.

Warnings: choking, swearing if there are others lmk

Wc:

P.t 1 P.t 2

Coriolanus Snow Masterlist

“Go fuck yourself Coriolanus,” You sneer at him as you turn around but was stopped when his hand takes a hold of your arm. “The fuck did you just say to me?” He scrunches his eyebrows, fury in his blue eyes. You shake off his grip, staring at him square on. “I said, to go fuck yourself. Or, if you find her, go fuck Lucy Gray!” You rage, spinning around and walking out of the bathroom.

Coryo stands there in utter disbelief at what had just happened moments earlier. The image of you causing a scene infront of everybody and that tribute from district 4, his hands roaming around your body shamelessly. He felt pure rage coursing through his veins as he slams his fist against the wall.

Coriolanus watched with curious eyes once he saw you enter the room. He hadn't seen you for a couple weeks after that day he came back and moaned out Lucy Gray's name while fucking you. Even under that masquerade mask, Snow could tell it was you.

His eyebrow quirks up when he notices a man by your side. "Who is that?" He points to the mysterious man beside you as Livia looks over to where he was pointing. A chuckle leaves her lips, "Jealous, snow?" She swirls the alcohol in her flute before taking a sip.

"That right there beside your dear y/n is none other than Finnick Odair," Livia wets her lips. "A tribute. From district 4," She continues as Coriolanus' eyes follow the two of you, Finnick's hand resting far too low on your back for his liking.

"What is a fucking tribute doing with her then?" He scoffs, leaning forward on his seat. "Has your time as peacekeeper in district 12 forgotten how much power Y/n has?" She looks at him as if he was an idiot. "She just vouched for him, convinced her daddy to let him stay with her." Liv shrugs.

Coriolanus lets out a scoff, "Are you jealous of a district boy? He is pretty handsome don't you think. A strong competitor for sure," She says before standing up and leaving Snow in his thoughts. A few minutes later, he gets up from where he was sitting and manoeuvres his body across the crowd of elitist members and other wealthy people of Panem.

"What are you doing here with him?" Snow pops a grape into his mouth as you pause your actions and look to him by your side. Of course he was going to be here. "And why do you care? Coriolanus?" You chastise, "Do not. Call me that," He mutters at you, a stern expression on his face as you smirk.

"Well, if you must know. I took a liking to the tribute and let's just say, gotten quite comfortable with each other," A smile makes it to your lips as you could see Snow visibly annoyed. "He's a fucking tribute-" "Oh isn't that rich coming from you, Snow?" You let out a laugh as you face him. "That's exactly what I thought when I questioned your intentions with Lucy-" "Y/n, don't" "And there you were. Moaning her fucking name while inside me!"

You harshly say as a couple people around pause to look at you both. Coriolanus could tell you had drunk a bit more than you could handle. "Y/n, let's talk somewhere else," He takes your hands, ready to pull you away. You yank his grip off of you.

"No! I'm not done!" Snow runs a hand down his face at your loud outburst. "I never knew that you could stoop so fucking low you know. First it was cheating so that your precious tribute would win, and then you go chase her in her district and-" You couldn't finish your sentence as Coriolanus lurches towards him, hand gripping the base of your neck as your look at him in horror.

He squeezes it enough to make you shut up and gasp slightly for air. The people around you gasp at what had just happened. "Shut the fuck up. Shut your mouth before I do something I will regret," He spat, his hand squeezing as he shakes you."Get off of her!" Finnick shouts, pulling Snow away from you as you hold onto him, your hand touching your neck.

You then push Finnick away before doing something that further fueled the fire inside Coriolanus. You bowed. Just like her. Exactly like how Lucy Gray bowed at the reaping ceremony. A few stifled laughs could be heard throughout the room as Coriolanus looks horrified. He gulps, loosening his tie as you smirk at him

Coriolanus quickly leaves the room, breathing heavily as he runs his hands through his hair. He didn’t know what took over him. But he saw red the second you mentioned Lucy Gray. He swore he never intended to harm you. But he couldn’t help it.

His pent up emotions from the past couple of weeks needing diffusing. And you were pretty darn good at pushing specific buttons within him. Coriolanus caught glimpse of your figure entering the bathroom, he follows you whilst looking around, making sure no one was around.

You stared at yourself in the mirror, tears brimming your eyes as you study your neck, already bruising from his iron like grip. You were horrified, shocked, and most of all hurt, by Coriolanus. He never once touched you with such violence and he always reassured you that he would never hurt you and here you were. Crying in the bathroom stalls.

Even after the events that occurred when he came back, you couldn’t stop thinking about Coryo. You just couldn’t help yourself. He was your first everything. You lean your hands on the counter as you drop your head, tears cascading down your cheeks.

Coriolanus immediately heard your cries the minute he’s close to the bathroom door. He pauses. Leans his ear against the door and lets out sigh before entering. His entrance caught you by surprise as you stumble back upon seeing his tall figure.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I hurt you.” He says, sadness and guilt laced in his tone as he looks at you in sympathy, his eyes flickering your neck where he caused damage. You refused to meet his eyes as you turn your head to the side.

“But you should know better than to publicly humiliate me infront of everyone-“ A loud scoff emits your lips as you turn to him. “Go fuck yourself Coriolanus,” You sneer at him as you turn around but was stopped when his hand takes a hold of your arm. “The fuck did you just say to me?” He scrunches his eyebrows, fury in his blue eyes. You shake off his grip, staring at him square on. “I said, to go fuck yourself. Or, if you find her, go fuck Lucy Gray!” You rage, spinning around and walking out of the bathroom.

Before you walk through the door, you stop and turn to face him. His expression angry, his hands were bawled up into fists, the wall beside him had a whole where he punctured it with his hand. “Don’t ever try talking to me again, Coriolanus. I mean it. Or I’ll do something you’ll regret.” You conclude before turning back around and walking away.

Coriolanus Snow knew without a doubt that you were capable of so many things that would hurt him, and his reputation. And he did not need further damage. So he listened. Regret seeped into him every single day as he left you alone. He would always watch you from afar though, he loved you, there was no denying.

What occurred that day with Lucy Gray was a mistake, a mistake he wished he could take back more than anything.

Taglist: @valenftcrush @ghostlycrystobalove @esquivelbianca @duds31 @threeinchminimum @shadowsepiphany @novacaneformybrain @crazylokonugget @unclecrunkle @darkqweenn @marihoneywk @beckinator7 @stelleduarte @1950schick @celineandtulips

#fanfiction #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow fanfiction #lucy gray x coriolanus #the hunger games #hunger games the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas imagine #tbosas #tom blyth imagine #tom blyth x reader #president snow #coriolanus snow angst #young president snow

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reidmarieprentiss · 3 months ago

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Breaking Point

Summary: Spencer has a partner, his partner is not necessarily a great person. You really just want to connect with him, he is your roommate, Penelope's, friend after all. But Spencer just does not seem to like you, can you change that?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, angst

Warnings/Includes: Spencer has a partner, implied bisexual Spencer, non-graphic cheating, emotionally distant partner, controlling partner, Spencer is sassy and kind of mean, mention of Spencer's drug problem, insecurities

Word count: 14.6k

a/n: i know i can treat you better than they cannnnn -- happy one day early post !!!!

main masterlist part two

The evening was typical for you—a night out with the team at one of their usual spots, a lively bar that served as the backdrop for many of their post-case celebrations. You were perched on a high stool at the bar, sipping on a cocktail Penelope, your roommate, had insisted you try, something bright and fruity with just the right amount of sweetness. The music was loud enough to make conversation a bit challenging, but not so much that it drowned everyone out.

You leaned back slightly, your eyes casually scanning the room. Derek was engaged in a playful argument with JJ about some obscure movie reference, and Rossi was deep in conversation with Hotch. Everyone seemed relaxed, their faces lit with the glow of well-deserved downtime.

But then, something caught your eye—a flash of movement at the other end of the bar. Spencer, the quiet and reserved member of the team who had always been somewhat of a mystery to you, was engaged in what looked like a rather intense conversation with someone you didn’t recognize. The contrast between Spencer’s usual timid demeanor and the animated gestures he was making now piqued your curiosity.

You leaned closer to Penelope, who was sitting beside you, tapping away on her phone as usual, her fingers a blur of activity. "Who’s that?" you asked, nodding toward Spencer and the unknown person.

Penelope glanced up from her screen, following your gaze, and immediately sighed, rolling her eyes in a way that suggested this was a scene she had witnessed more times than she cared to count. "That’s Eli," she said, the name laced with a tone that was hard to miss. "Spencer’s partner."

Your eyes widened in surprise. "Spencer has a partner?" The revelation blew your mind. You'd known the team for over a year, seen and been seen in all sorts of situations—some more embarrassing than others—and not once had Spencer ever mentioned having a partner. It was like discovering a hidden chapter in a book you thought you knew well.

Penelope gave you a knowing look, her lips pressing together as if she were debating whether or not to continue. You nudged her lightly, urging her on. "What is it? You can’t just leave me hanging."

She sighed again, this time more softly, and leaned in closer so that only you could hear. "It just doesn’t seem like they’re very happy together, you know? They always seem to be arguing about something or other. I don't think I’ve ever seen them have a normal conversation."

You turned your attention back to Spencer and Eli, who were still deep in conversation—if you could even call it that. From where you were sitting, it looked more like Eli was doing most of the talking, their tone sharp, while Spencer listened, his face a mask of confusion and quiet frustration.

"Why does he stay with them if they’re so unhappy?" you asked, the question slipping out before you could stop it.

Penelope shrugged, taking a sip of her drink before responding. "Spencer's complicated, you know? I think part of him feels…responsible or something. Like he has to make it work, even if it’s not working."

You nodded, still watching the exchange between Spencer and Eli, feeling a strange mix of emotions. Part of you was shocked that Spencer, someone who always seemed so put-together, was caught up in a relationship that didn’t seem to bring him any joy. And another part of you, the part that had always felt a bit of an inexplicable attachment to him, felt a pang of something else—something almost like protectiveness.

"I never would’ve guessed," you murmured, more to yourself than to Penelope.

"Yeah, well," Penelope replied, her voice tinged with a hint of sadness. "There’s a lot about Spencer that’s easy to miss if you’re not looking closely."

As the night wore on, you couldn't help but keep glancing in Spencer's direction, wondering what else you might have missed about him over the past year. The more you thought about it, the more you realized how little you actually knew about the man who had somehow managed to become both a puzzle and an enigma in your life.

—

You’re not sure what brought on this new damn near obsession with Spencer Reid, but ever since you found out about him having a partner, you’ve been thinking about him differently. It was as if knowing he was capable of being in a relationship made you want to be the one who showed him what a healthy one looks like. The thought had wormed its way into your mind and now, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t stop thinking about him in your daily life.

Whether you were at work, at home, or out with friends, your thoughts always seemed to drift back to Spencer—his quiet demeanor, the way he fiddled with his hands when he was nervous, the way his eyes lit up when he talked about something he was passionate about. You found yourself daydreaming about what it would be like to be the one who made him smile, the one who could take away the stress you’d seen him carry.

Weeks passed, and you tried to push these thoughts to the back of your mind, but they always crept back in. So when Penelope proposed a night at Rossi’s, you jumped at the opportunity, hoping that maybe being around him might help you understand why you were feeling this way.

When you arrived at Rossi’s, the place was buzzing with laughter and conversation. Penelope was already engaged in a lively discussion with Derek and JJ, and Rossi was busy pouring drinks for everyone. As you scanned the room, your eyes landed on Spencer, standing off to the side, a drink in hand. He was alone—no Eli in sight.

Your heart skipped a beat, and before you knew it, you were making your way over to him, driven by an urge to finally talk to him alone. Maybe this was your chance to get to know him better, to bridge the gap that had always seemed to exist between you two.

“Hey, Spencer,” you greeted, nudging your elbow gently against his as you walked up next to him.

“Oh, hi, Y/N,” he replied, his voice carrying a hint of confusion as he looked at you. It was as if he wasn’t quite sure why you had come over.

“How are you?” you asked, trying to sound casual, though your heart was beating a little faster than you’d like to admit.

“Fine, thanks,” he nodded, his gaze drifting away from you almost immediately. “And you?”

“I’m great, thank you!” you answered with a smile, hoping to ease the tension that seemed to hang in the air between you.

But Spencer didn’t reply. Instead, he stood there, clearly feeling awkward, his eyes focused on some distant point in the room. You bit your lip, trying to think of something else to say, something that might spark a real conversation.

“So…I didn’t know you were seeing someone,” you ventured, letting out a small, nervous laugh, hoping to lighten the mood.

At that, Spencer stiffened. He finally turned to look at you, his expression hardening in a way that caught you off guard. “Well, you don’t really know me, do you?” he said, his tone colder than you’d ever heard it before.

“What?” you asked, taken aback by his sudden shift in demeanor. The sharpness in his voice sent a jolt through you, making you feel like you’d stepped onto thin ice without realizing it.

But he didn’t stop there. “You don’t know me at all, Y/N,” he continued, his voice carrying an edge of bitterness as he scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Why would you be privy to intimate details of my life?”

The words hit you like a slap in the face, and you stood there, stunned and at a loss for words. “Oh—I don’t know, I’m sorry,” you stuttered, your confidence crumbling as you tried to process what had just happened. You had expected many things from this conversation, but this level of hostility wasn’t one of them.

“Yeah, okay,” Spencer muttered, a bitter laugh escaping his lips as he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving you standing there, violently confused.

You watched him retreat, your mind racing to understand what had just happened. The warmth and excitement you had felt moments ago were now replaced by a cold, sinking feeling in your chest. What had you done wrong? Why had he reacted that way?

As you stood there, the lively chatter and laughter of the party continued around you, but it all felt distant, muffled. All you could think about was Spencer’s harsh words, and the way he had looked at you—like you were a stranger, like you had crossed a line you didn’t even know existed.

“Hey mama, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. You good?” Derek’s deep, familiar voice cut through the fog of your thoughts, grounding you back in the present.

You blinked a few times, forcing a smile onto your face as you turned to face Derek. “Huh? Oh yeah, I’m fine,” you replied, doing your best to sound convincing. “It’s good to see you!”

Derek didn’t seem entirely convinced, his brow furrowing slightly as he studied you, but he didn’t press further. Instead, he smiled back, his usual warmth returning as he pulled you into a quick hug. “Good to see you too, girl. Let’s get you back in the spirit of the night, huh?”

You nodded, grateful for his easy going nature as you allowed yourself to be swept back into the flow of the evening. Derek had a way of making everything feel a little lighter, and as the two of you rejoined the group, you found yourself easing back into the laughter and conversation around you. It wasn’t hard to get caught up in the fun, especially with Penelope’s infectious energy and Rossi’s endless supply of stories.

But no matter how much you tried to focus on the good vibes of the night, there was a nagging thought at the back of your mind—a quiet, persistent echo of your brief and bewildering interaction with Spencer. You couldn’t shake the image of his face, the sudden hardness in his eyes, and the way his tone had shifted so drastically from the Spencer you thought you knew.

You stole a glance across the room, where Spencer was now engaged in a conversation with JJ, his expression relaxed, his laughter genuine. It was as if nothing had happened at all, as if your exchange just moments earlier hadn’t rattled you to your core.

The contrast was jarring, and it left you feeling even more confused. How could he seem so unaffected, so nonchalant, after what had just transpired? It was like the sweet, shy man you’d come to know had been ripped away in an instant, replaced by someone who was colder, more distant, and completely unreadable.

You couldn’t help but wonder what you had done wrong, why such an innocent question had triggered such a reaction from him. It was just one question—one that, in hindsight, seemed harmless. And yet, his response had been anything but.

“Hey, earth to Y/N,” Derek’s voice snapped you back again, this time with a playful nudge. “Where’d you go just now? I was asking if you wanted another drink.”

You blinked, realizing you had zoned out again. “Oh, sorry! Yeah, I could use another one,” you said, offering him another smile. This time, you meant it. Maybe another drink would help you forget the odd tension for a little while, help you push Spencer out of your mind.

—

That night, as the evening began to wind down, you noticed Spencer slipping out quietly after saying his goodbyes to everyone but you. A pang of something—hurt, maybe?—struck you as you watched him head toward the front door, his figure receding into the night. You tried to brush it off, telling yourself it was just the lingering awkwardness from earlier, nothing more.

But then you noticed something out of place—Spencer had left his satchel behind, the one he always carried with him, filled with books, notes, and who knows what else. Without thinking, you grabbed it and rushed out the door after him, your heart pounding with adrenaline and the hope of another chance to talk.

“Spencer! Wait!” you called out, your voice echoing in the cool night air as you ran down the driveway, the gravel crunching under your feet.

Spencer, already halfway into the passenger seat of the car, paused at the sound of your voice. He looked back over his shoulder, his expression immediately shifting to one of mild annoyance when he realized it was you. For a brief moment, you wondered if he was hoping it would be anyone else but you.

“You left your bag,” you panted, holding it up as you caught up to him.

“Oh,” he replied, his tone flat, his eyes glancing at the bag as if it was the last thing on his mind. “Thanks,” Spencer added, his voice barely above a mumble as he took the satchel from your hands.

You forced a smile, trying to ignore the awkward tension hanging between you. But just as you were about to wish him a good night, your eyes shifted to the driver’s seat where Eli was sitting, glaring at you with a cold, suspicious gaze that sent a shiver down your spine. The intensity of their stare made you falter, your words catching in your throat.

“Have a good ni—” you started, but before you could finish, Eli’s hand jerked the car into gear, and the tires screeched against the pavement as they peeled out of the driveway. The door barely had time to close behind Spencer before they were speeding off into the night.

You stood there, breathless and confused, watching the taillights disappear down the road. The cold night air seemed to wrap around you, a stark contrast to the warmth that had filled Rossi’s home just minutes ago.

You couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling that had settled deep in your chest. The way Spencer had looked at you, the way Eli had glared, the way the car had sped off as if they couldn’t wait to leave you behind—it all left you feeling more out of sorts than ever.

—

The next time you saw Spencer, it was completely by accident. You were excitedly attending the grand opening of a vintage bookstore that had been on your calendar for months. The store was rumored to have an original copy of Pride and Prejudice, and you were determined to get your hands on it. As you approached the entrance, ready to join the line that had already started forming, a tall, familiar figure caught your eye.

Spencer was standing off to the side, hunched in on himself as he spoke into his phone. His posture was tense, and his voice, though hushed, carried a tone of desperation and frustration that made you slow your steps.

“—you said you would be here! You know how important this is to me…” His voice wavered, and he paused, listening to whoever was on the other end of the line.

Your heart ached as you watched him, his expression filled with hurt and disappointment. His next words were spoken with an urgency that tugged at something deep inside you.

“I went to your comicon, waited all night in line to get a video game for you, and I did that…thing! This morning, remember?”

You couldn’t hear what Eli was saying, but from the look on Spencer’s face, it was clear that whatever it was, it wasn’t what he wanted to hear. You could hear the strain in his voice, the way it shook as he tried to hold back his emotions.

“Eli,” Spencer sighed, the sound so full of defeat that it nearly broke your heart. He sounded like he was on the verge of tears. “I never ask you to do anything…it does matter! It’s not stupid…okay. Yeah. Bye. Love you too.”

As he ended the call, you watched as he put his phone in his pocket, his shoulders slumping as he sniffled, clearly trying to compose himself. The vulnerability in his posture made you want to reach out, to comfort him, to tell him that he deserved so much better than this.

But before he could see you, you quickly made your way past him and into the line, your heart racing. You didn’t want to embarrass him by acknowledging what you had overheard. It felt too private, too raw, and you knew that if the roles were reversed, you wouldn’t want someone to witness such a moment of weakness.

Little did you know that Spencer had seen you walk by, his heart sinking further as he realized you might have heard his conversation. The idea of you knowing how he couldn’t even get his partner to come to a bookstore—a place that meant so much to him—was mortifying. It was bad enough that Eli had chosen to watch football with their friends instead of joining him, but the thought of you knowing about it only added to his embarrassment.

Spencer fell into line a few people behind you, trying to shake off the lingering feelings of rejection. He wished that the rift between you two didn’t exist, especially on a day like today. The thought of walking through the store with someone, discussing books, sharing little discoveries, was something that would have brought him immense joy. But now, with the awkwardness hanging between you like a thick fog, he knew it wasn’t possible.

As the line moved forward, you tried to focus on the excitement of the bookstore’s opening, but you couldn’t help but steal glances back at Spencer. He looked so alone, so isolated, and it made your chest tighten with an emotion you didn’t quite want to name. The bookstore should have been a place of happiness for him, but all you could see was the shadow of his disappointment.

You had managed to find the original Pride and Prejudice that you wanted, and your heart felt so full it was almost overwhelming. This book meant the world to you, bringing back memories of your grandmother reading it to you when you were sick as a child. The familiar scent of old pages and the sight of the worn, delicate cover brought a lump to your throat, but it was the good kind, the kind of feeling that reminded you of warmth and love.

As you clutched the book to your chest, savoring the moment, a voice came from behind you, pulling you out of your reverie. “Great choice, I can’t believe they have an original.”

You turned, surprised, to see a very attractive stranger standing there. They had strikingly beautiful eyes that seemed to draw you in, making you momentarily forget where you were. “Yeah, it’s my favorite,” you replied with a bright smile. “I’m so glad I was able to get it.”

“Shane,” they offered, extending their hand with an easy, confident smile. “Nice to meet you.”

You took their hand, feeling a pleasant warmth from the gesture. “Y/N,” you said, your smile widening. “Nice to meet you too.”

The conversation flowed effortlessly after that. You and Shane chatted about literature, the excitement of the new bookstore, and your mutual love for classic novels. Their enthusiasm for books mirrored your own, and you found yourself enjoying the banter, feeling a sense of connection with this person you’d just met.

What you didn’t realize was that Spencer was watching from afar, his heart twisting in knots as he observed how easily you interacted with new people. It was something he envied—how naturally you navigated social situations, how the friendly vibes seemed to radiate off you in waves. Anyone could see how nice you were, how approachable, and it only made him more aware of the tension that had built up between the two of you.

He wished things could have gotten off to a better start between you. But every time he thought about trying to fix things, that cold interaction from the other night lingered in his mind, making him think it was too late. And now, seeing you so effortlessly connect with someone else, someone who had already made you smile, only deepened the pang of jealousy in his chest.

As you made your way to the register, Shane walked with you, continuing the conversation. Just before you reached the counter, Shane asked, “Hey, would it be okay if I got your number? I’d love to keep talking about books and maybe grab a coffee sometime.”

You smiled, feeling flattered by the request. “Sure, I’d like that.” You exchanged numbers, feeling a small flutter of excitement as you parted ways with Shane.

Meanwhile, Spencer watched from a distance, the jealousy tightening its grip. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the effortless way in which you interacted with others, or if it was the fact that someone else had gotten your number so easily—something he knew he could never have done. Either way, the feeling gnawed at him, making him feel even more isolated than before.

When it was your turn to pay, you glanced back and noticed Spencer standing behind you in line. His eyes were downcast, his expression unreadable, but you remembered how upset he had been earlier. Knowing he was having a bad day and sensing the awkward vibes that had developed between the two of you, you decided to do something small to brighten his day.

Leaning in to the cashier, you whispered, “Could you estimate how much his books would cost?”

The cashier smiled and nodded, quickly scanning the stack of books in Spencer’s hands with their eyes. They told you the amount, and you quietly pulled out your bills, paying for Spencer’s purchases along with your own. Without saying a word to him, you took your bag and left the store, hoping that this small act of kindness might bring a bit of light into his day.

As Spencer approached the counter, still lost in his thoughts, the cashier smiled warmly at him. “You’re all set, sir. The woman in front of you already paid for your books.”

Spencer blinked, momentarily stunned. “She… she did what?” he asked, his voice filled with disbelief.

The cashier nodded, still smiling. “She paid for everything. Said she hoped you’d have a good day.”

Spencer stood there, dumbfounded, holding the bag of books as if it were the most precious thing in the world. His mind raced, trying to make sense of why you would do something so kind for him when he had been nothing but cold to you since you met. The memory of your most recent awkward exchange at Rossi’s house replayed in his head, and guilt washed over him like a tidal wave.

Why would you do such a kind thing? He didn’t deserve it, not after the way he had treated you. And yet, you had done it anyway, without a word, without expecting anything in return.

As Spencer left the store, the bag of books clutched in his hand, he was overwhelmed by a mix of gratitude, guilt, and a growing sense of something missing. He’d had doubts about his relationship with Eli before, but he had always convinced himself that this was just how relationships were—messy and full of compromises.

But after seeing your kindness and how effortlessly you connected with others, Spencer couldn’t help but wonder if he was missing out on something better. For the first time, he questioned whether he deserved more than what he had settled for with Eli. Your simple act of paying for his books had cracked open a door in his mind, making him realize that maybe there was a different, happier path he could take—one that might even include someone like you.

—

When Spencer walked into the bullpen that Monday, he immediately noticed Penelope animatedly talking with Derek and Emily. The moment she heard someone enter, her eyes lit up as she saw him.

“Reid!” she exclaimed with her usual enthusiasm.

Spencer couldn’t help but smile as he walked over to her instead of heading straight to his desk. “What’s up?” he asked, his tone light and amused.

“Look!” Penelope gushed, thrusting a book into his hands with excitement.

Spencer glanced down, recognizing the book instantly—it was a first edition of a title he knew Penelope loved. His eyes widened in genuine awe. “Wow! Where did you find this?” he asked, marveling at the rare find.

Penelope sighed happily, clutching her hands to her heart. “Y/N got it for me! I couldn’t make it to the new bookstore, and she knew how sad I was, so she bought this to cheer me up!”

Spencer processed this new piece of information, feeling a warmth spread through him. Of course you did, he thought to himself, you’re the nicest person ever. “That’s… that’s really great, Garcia,” he said with a sincere smile.

“Isn’t she just the sweetest?” Penelope beamed, taking the book back and staring at it as if it were the most precious thing in the world.

Derek chuckled, adding, “Yeah, mama. That girl is a gem. I’m glad someone is treating you good when I’m not around.”

Spencer nodded, his mind lingering on you. It was just another reminder of the kind of person you were, and it made him think even more about what he might be missing out on.

"Something brewing in that big brain?" Emily teased, noticing Spencer had gone quiet, his thoughts clearly elsewhere.

"Hmm?" Spencer responded, looking up at her, momentarily pulled from his reverie.

"Are you okay, Reid?" she tried again, her voice tinged with concern.

Spencer shifted uncomfortably under the weight of their stares. "Oh, yeah, I'm fine. Just... haven't had my coffee yet," he replied, forcing a tight-lipped smile.

Derek chuckled, sensing Spencer's discomfort. "Rossi just made a new pot. I'll go grab a cup with you, pretty boy."

Spencer nodded gratefully as the two men headed to the breakroom, which was mostly empty, save for a few agents from other departments who were too engrossed in their own conversations to pay them any mind.

"Do anything fun this weekend?" Derek asked casually as he started making his coffee, glancing over at Spencer with a curious look.

Spencer allowed himself a small smile as he replied, "Yeah, I went to that new bookstore. They had their grand opening."

Derek thought for a moment, then asked, "Did you see Y/N there?"

Spencer's hand froze mid-stir, his expression faltering. "Oh, uh, no," he said, clearing his throat awkwardly, clearly caught off guard by the question.

Derek narrowed his eyes, not missing the way Spencer suddenly seemed on edge. "Alright, spit it out, kid," he pressed, sensing there was more to the story.

"Spit what out?" Spencer sassed, attempting to deflect, but his tone lacked conviction.

Derek just sighed, giving him a look that said, Don't bullshit me. "I've noticed you don't necessarily... enjoy Y/N's company. Did you run into her? Was it weird?"

Spencer let out a sigh, knowing there was no point in trying to hide it from Derek. "Yeah, I saw her," he admitted quietly, his gaze dropping to the floor. "But it wasn't weird. I mean, not exactly. It’s just... complicated."

Derek raised an eyebrow, waiting for Spencer to continue. "Complicated how?"

Spencer hesitated, his shoulders slumping slightly. "I think she might have overheard me on the phone with Eli... They were supposed to come with me to the bookstore, but they didn’t. I was upset," Spencer shrugged, trying to downplay the hurt in his voice.

Derek softened his gaze, sensing the vulnerability in Spencer’s words. "I’m sorry, man. Did they give a good reason?"

Spencer shrugged again, his eyes welling up as he struggled to keep his emotions in check. "Um, they said they needed to watch the football game. Something to do with the fantasy league they’re in."

Derek rolled his eyes, his frustration evident. "That is not a good reason. Eli should have known this was important to you."

Spencer cleared his throat, staring intently at his coffee, willing the tears not to fall. "They knew... I don’t know if they cared."

"Reid..." Derek began, his voice gentle, but Spencer quickly waved his hand, cutting him off.

"No, no. It’s fine—we talked about it," Spencer said, his voice wavering but firm, clearly wanting to move past the topic.

Seeing that Spencer didn’t want to delve deeper into the matter, Derek decided to let it go for now, though he still hadn’t gotten the answer to his earlier question. "What does that have to do with Y/N?"

Spencer sighed heavily, the weight of his embarrassment pressing down on him. "She was walking past during the end of the call. I think she might have heard me, but she was too polite to say anything. I don’t know… I’m just embarrassed. My own partner wouldn’t show up to something that important to me, and she probably heard how pathetic that sounded."

Derek frowned, his heart going out to his friend. "You’re not pathetic, Reid. You’ve just been dealt a rough hand. And Y/N… well, she’s not the kind of person to judge you for that. If anything, she probably feels bad that you were hurt."

Spencer nodded, though the shame still lingered. "Yeah, maybe. It’s just hard, you know? I don’t want her—or anyone—to see me like that."

Derek gave him a reassuring pat on the back. "I get it, man. But Y/N… she’s good people. Maybe talking to her might help, even if it’s just to clear the air."

Spencer considered Derek’s words, the idea of reaching out to you both comforting and terrifying. But deep down, he knew Derek was right. It wasn’t too late to make things right, and maybe—just maybe—you’d be the understanding ear he desperately needed.

After parting ways with Derek, Spencer realized he’d forgotten to mention how you had quietly paid for his books at the bookstore. Wrapped up in the emotions of their conversation, it had slipped his mind. But as he returned to his desk, the memory resurfaced, and he found himself holding onto it like a cherished secret.

Spencer wanted to keep that moment to himself, a private reminder of your kindness. It had meant more to him than words could express, especially in a time when he often felt overlooked. Your simple act of generosity was a bright spot, making him feel seen and cared for in a way he rarely experienced.

—

Thursday evening marked your first date with Shane, and it was everything you had hoped for. They had called earlier in the week to make plans, and you were excited to have someone showing genuine interest and making an effort. Penelope had eagerly offered to help you get ready, her expertise in all things beauty proving invaluable.

"Pen, you’re seriously the best," you gushed as she applied the finishing touches to your look. "I don’t know what I’d do without you."

Penelope giggled, her eyes twinkling. "Probably show up looking a lot less flamboyant!"

"And we would not want that," you teased with a smile, savoring every moment of girl time with your roommate and best friend.

When Shane arrived to pick you up, they were the epitome of courteousness—opening doors, pulling out your chair, and keeping the conversation lively throughout the evening. It was an amazing first date, made even better by Shane’s undeniable attractiveness. You enjoyed yourself thoroughly, feeling a spark of excitement about where this could lead.

Meanwhile, across the restaurant, Spencer sat at a table with Eli, his view of you unobstructed. What should have been a special anniversary dinner had been overshadowed by the effort it took to even get Eli to agree to go out. Spencer had to beg them to celebrate, with Eli initially resisting, claiming they didn’t want to spend the money. Spencer had insisted it was worth it, that their relationship was worth celebrating. Eli eventually caved, but only because they didn’t want Spencer to start crying—again.

As Spencer watched you laugh and smile with Shane, he felt a sharp pang in his chest, the desire to drown his sorrows in a bottle of wine nearly overwhelming. The contrast between your joyous date and his own crumbling relationship was stark. Eli sat across from him, more interested in checking their fantasy football league stats than in engaging with him.

Of course, you would go on a date with the attractive person from the bookstore. In Spencer’s eyes, they were everything he wasn’t. It made sense that you’d find happiness with someone like that, while he watched his own chances at joy slip further away. It was just another reminder that good things, happiness, were always just out of reach for him. As he sat there, barely holding back his tears, he couldn’t help but feel the weight of his own choices, the realization that he had pushed away someone who might have brought him the kind of happiness he saw reflected in your smile from across the room.

After Shane paid the bill for your dinner, causing you to swoon at the kind gesture, the two of you walked toward the exit, Shane’s hand resting intimately on your lower back. As you passed by Spencer's table, you couldn’t resist saying hello, the expensive wine Shane had ordered loosening your tongue.

“Spencer! Hi!” you greeted excitedly, your smile wide.

Spencer looked up at you, clearly caught off guard, his expression quickly shifting to a polite smile. “Hello,” he replied, trying to mask his surprise.

“What are you doing here? Is this Eli?” You turned to the person sitting across from him, offering a warm smile.

Eli, however, gave you a cold, sinister look. “Wow, beauty and brains, what a catch,” they remarked snidely, directing their comment at Shane.

The sarcasm completely flew over your head, and you responded cheerfully, “I think you’re pretty too! It’s so nice to meet you, and Spencer, so good to see you! Bye!” You gave a little wave, before taking Shane’s hand and dragging them toward the car, their laughter following behind you. Shane, having had much less to drink, simply smiled, amused by your tipsy enthusiasm.

As soon as you were out of earshot, Spencer grew even more quiet, while Eli’s anger simmered, their face contorting with irritation.

“What the fuck was that?” Eli asked, their voice low and venomous.

Spencer’s head snapped up, startled by the harshness in Eli’s tone. “What? Y/N? She’s drunk,” he replied, trying to defuse the situation, though he felt increasingly uncomfortable under Eli’s glare.

“No shit, Spencer,” Eli scoffed, rolling their eyes with frustration. “But why did they say hi to you?”

Spencer fumbled for an explanation, feeling cornered. “Umm… I guess we’re kind of friends by association?” he offered, his words uncertain, as even he wasn’t sure how to define your relationship.

Eli’s eyes narrowed, their anger intensifying. “I told you not to talk to her. I asked you to do one fucking thing in this relationship—how hard is it to not talk to some dumb bimbo?” they snarled.

Spencer shrank in his seat, feeling like a scolded child. His embarrassment was palpable as he tried to explain, “I can’t help that she’s Penelope’s roommate. I like to be civil.”

“Civil, sure,” Eli spat, their tone dripping with contempt. “But I’m serious, Spencer. Don’t. Fucking. Talk to her.”

Spencer sat there, shrinking further under Eli’s gaze, a sense of helplessness washing over him. The contrast between your cheerful, lighthearted demeanor and Eli’s seething anger left him feeling more isolated than ever. The joy you had shown in such a simple greeting only highlighted the growing chasm between him and his partner, making him question, yet again, why he was holding onto something that felt so toxic and damaging.

—

It was a few weeks before your paths crossed with Spencer again, and during that time, he couldn't help but wonder if Eli had somehow managed to keep you away from him. But today, here you were, standing in the bullpen with Penelope’s phone in hand, panting slightly from your rush to deliver it.

“Y/N! You’re a lifesaver!” Penelope cried out, pulling you into a tight hug.

You laughed, catching your breath. “I don’t even know how you made it out of the house without this thing, I thought it was attached to you!”

Derek and Emily joined in the laughter, clearly enjoying the interaction. “Baby girl was excited to come in today—they gave her a new monitor,” Derek teased, grinning.

“Ohh, show me!” you clapped your hands in excitement, your enthusiasm infectious.

As you followed Penelope to her office, you passed by Spencer’s desk, giving him a soft, “Hi, Spencer,” your voice low and warm.

But Spencer didn’t look up. He simply stared down at the file in front of him, his mind far from his work. Eli’s threat echoed in his head, reminding him that he couldn’t talk to you. The lack of response went unnoticed by everyone except for you and Emily.

After you disappeared into Penelope’s office, Emily walked over to Spencer’s desk, her expression concerned. “Reid…? Is something wrong?” she asked cautiously, her voice gentle.

Spencer looked up, shaking his head as if to brush off her concern. “No,” he replied curtly, but his tone was anything but reassuring.

Emily wasn’t convinced. “Okay, well, it’s just… you ignored Y/N pretty harshly. I think she was just trying to be nice.”

Spencer knew it was an overreaction, but the turmoil in his mind was overwhelming, clouding his judgment. He felt cornered, and before he could stop himself, he snapped, “Oh yeah, Emily? Is that what you think? I’m sure you’re right, seeing as you know everything.”

With that, he abruptly stood up, storming out of the bullpen, leaving Emily and Derek in stunned silence.

Rossi, who had been quietly working at his desk nearby, looked up, his brow furrowed with concern as he fixed Emily and Derek with a questioning gaze. “Is he using again?” he asked, his voice heavy with worry.

“Fuck,” Derek muttered under his breath, quickly getting up to chase after Spencer, his heart pounding with fear and urgency.

Emily exchanged a worried glance with Rossi, both of them hoping that whatever was going on with Spencer could be addressed before it spiraled out of control.

"Reid, wait up!" Derek called out as he watched Spencer stride quickly down the hall, his pace fueled by frustration and confusion. Spencer, too caught up in his thoughts, didn’t stop or even acknowledge Derek's voice. But Derek was determined, and he quickened his pace, finally catching up to Spencer and grabbing his arm, halting him in his tracks.

"Kid, I need you to tell me right here and now if you’re using again," Derek panted, his concern clear in his voice.

Spencer's face immediately morphed into one of shock and offense. "What? No! I’m clean," he replied, his tone defensive but honest.

Derek sighed deeply, relief flooding him. "Okay, thank God."

Spencer frowned, still reeling from the accusation. "Why would you think that?"

Derek looked at him intently. "Did you hear yourself just now? You were out of line with Prentiss. She was only trying to help."

Spencer let out a bitter laugh, the sound harsh and sharp. "Isn’t that what everyone wants to do? Help poor, defenseless Spencer," he said sarcastically. "Why can’t I ever just take care of myself?"

Derek gave him a sympathetic look, his concern deepening. "That’s not what I meant. I’m just worried about you. Is it more stuff with Eli?"

The mention of Eli’s name set Spencer off again, the anger bubbling back to the surface. "Christ, is there no privacy anymore?" he snapped, his voice tight with frustration.

Derek held up his hands in a placating gesture. "I’m not trying to invade your privacy, man. I just want to make sure you’re okay. You’ve been off lately, and I’m concerned. We all are."

Spencer’s shoulders slumped slightly, the weight of everything pressing down on him. "It’s… nothing, Derek."

Derek nodded, his tone softening. "It doesn’t seem like nothing, kid."

Spencer looked down, his voice small and almost defeated. "Can you just… stop being a big brother for a second?"

Derek’s expression softened even more as he asked gently, "Who do you want me to be?"

Spencer let out a weary sigh. "I don’t know… a wizard? Then maybe you could help me go back in time."

Derek started to ask, "Why do you need–" but before he could finish, his phone rang, the familiar tone signaling a new case. He glanced at the screen, then back at Spencer with a resigned look. "Time to go."

Spencer nodded, the moment slipping away as the reality of their work took precedence. But as they walked back toward the bullpen, Derek couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more going on beneath the surface—something that Spencer wasn’t ready to share yet.

—

When the team arrived back from the case, Spencer dreaded going home. He hadn't talked to Eli since the day they left, sending only a brief text to let them know he was heading out on a case and another just now to inform them he was back. But as usual, there were no messages waiting for him in return. Eli had done this before—the silent treatment. It was their way of letting Spencer know he had messed up, though the reason was often unclear until Eli decided to spell it out.

As Spencer approached his front door, the familiar feeling of anxiety settled in his chest. He knew what awaited him: the cold, silent disapproval from Eli, followed by the inevitable confrontation. It was why he was dreading going home, but there was no avoiding it.

When Spencer unlocked the front door, he was greeted by the sound of football blaring from the TV, and not much else. The usual signs of Eli’s presence—a drink on the coffee table, their shoes kicked off haphazardly—were all there, but the silence from Eli themselves was telling.

He announced his presence quietly, hoping to gauge the mood before he ventured further into the house. Without much of a response, Spencer headed to the laundry room, deciding to busy himself with washing his clothes. It was a mundane task, but it gave him something to focus on, a way to delay the inevitable confrontation.

What Spencer wasn’t expecting was for Eli to suddenly come up behind him, wrapping their arms around his waist and kissing the back of his neck. The affectionate gesture caught him off guard.

“Hey, baby,” Eli whispered, their voice soft and intimate.

“He–hey, Eli,” Spencer stammered, unsure of how to respond. He couldn’t tell if this was going to lead to something good or if it was just a precursor to another argument.

“I missed you while you were gone,” Eli mumbled, their lips trailing across Spencer’s neck, planting gentle kisses along his skin.

“Yeah?” Spencer sighed, tilting his head slightly to give Eli more access, his body instinctively responding to the affection despite the uncertainty gnawing at him.

“Mhm, it’s so lonely here without you,” Eli murmured, continuing their gentle assault of kisses.

That evening, Spencer found himself in the company of a sweet, loving, and cherishing Eli. It was a side of his partner he didn’t see often, and he was left wondering what he had done to deserve this sudden tenderness. But instead of questioning it, he allowed himself to be swept up in the rare affection, choosing to savor the moment rather than dwell on the why.

For that night, at least, Spencer let himself believe that everything was okay, that maybe this time things would be different. Even if it was just for a little while, he wasn’t going to complain.

—

You got a mysterious text from Shane, asking if they could come over to talk. You agreed, of course, but a nervous feeling settled in your stomach. Things had been going really well between the two of you—multiple dates, kisses, and they had even met Penelope. But as you opened the door to let them in, you immediately sensed that this wasn’t going to be good news.

"Hey, Y/N," Shane greeted with a sigh, giving you a sad smile. "Can I come in?"

You opened the door wider and motioned for them to enter, trying to brace yourself for whatever was coming. The two of you sat in the chairs by the window, the tension palpable as you waited for Shane to speak.

"What’s up, Shane?" you asked cautiously, your heart already preparing for the worst.

Shane sighed again, scratching the back of their head, clearly uncomfortable. "Well, I really respect you, so I felt it was only fair to tell you face to face... that I met someone. Someone I want to pursue things with exclusively."

Your heart sank. Of course, the one genuine person you meet found someone better than you. "Oh," was all you could manage to say, the word barely escaping your lips as you processed the rejection.

"I’m sorry, Y/N," Shane continued, their expression full of pity. "You’re a lovely person, and I really enjoyed our time together. But I just—"

"You don’t have to explain," you interrupted, forcing a small, tight-lipped smile despite the ache building in your chest. "I get it."

Shane frowned, clearly feeling bad, but they didn’t push further. They stood, clearly sensing that it was time to leave. "I really do wish you the best, Y/N. You deserve someone amazing."

You nodded, but the words felt hollow in the space between you. After you closed the door behind them, you sank into your chair, the weight of disappointment settling heavily on your shoulders. You hadn’t expected this, and now you were left alone, wondering why this always seemed to happen—just when things seemed to be going well, they unraveled.

As you sat there, staring blankly out the window, the weight of the rejection settled deep into your chest. You tried to convince yourself that it wasn’t a big deal, that these things happen, but the familiar voice of self-doubt crept in, louder and sharper than ever. Of course they found someone better. Why wouldn’t they?

You couldn’t shake the feeling that it was always you—never enough, never quite the right fit. You replayed the last few weeks in your mind, analyzing every detail, every moment, searching for where you might have fallen short. Maybe you weren’t interesting enough, not exciting enough, not worth sticking around for.

What if I’m just not the kind of person people choose? The thought gnawed at you, sinking deeper into your mind. Every small flaw, every insecurity felt magnified, and you couldn’t help but wonder if this was just how things would always be. Always second place. Always left behind.

—

Meanwhile, everything between Spencer and Eli seemed to improve dramatically. Eli was suddenly attentive in ways Spencer hadn’t experienced in a long time. They bought Spencer flowers, cooked him dinner, and even made an effort to engage in the things Spencer loved—whether it was sitting with him through documentaries or accompanying him on long walks through the city.

Spencer wasn’t sure what had sparked this radical change in Eli, but he didn’t dare question it. Part of him was afraid that if he asked, the magic would break, and everything would go back to the way it was before—the cold indifference, the emotional distance. For now, he clung to the fleeting happiness, allowing himself to believe that maybe this was the turning point he had been waiting for.

But in the back of his mind, a quiet voice whispered that good things never lasted for him, and any moment, it could all disappear. He knew better than to get comfortable, but for now, he basked in the attention, unwilling to let go of this brief glimpse of a perfect relationship.

Eli had never been one for grand gestures, but lately, everything felt different. Spencer came home one evening to find a bouquet of brightly colored flowers on the kitchen table, their fragrance filling the room.

"Hey, you’re home!" Eli called from the kitchen, a warm smile on their face as they stirred something on the stove. "I made your favorite—pasta with garlic bread. Thought you might like something comforting after your day."

Spencer blinked, his mind racing as he tried to process the shift. He set his bag down, cautiously approaching the flowers. "You… got these for me?" he asked, his voice soft, unsure.

Eli chuckled and walked over to him, wiping their hands on a dish towel before wrapping their arms around his waist. "Of course, I did. You deserve it, Spencie."

Spencer smiled, though his brow furrowed slightly in confusion. This wasn’t like Eli at all. "I… thank you. They’re beautiful." He leaned down to smell the flowers, a wave of warmth flooding him, but a lingering doubt hovered at the back of his mind.

Later that week, they were sitting together on the couch, something they rarely did. Eli had insisted on watching one of Spencer’s favorite documentaries, something about ancient civilizations that Spencer would usually watch alone.

"I never knew this stuff was so interesting," Eli commented, their head resting on Spencer’s shoulder. "Why didn’t you make me watch this with you sooner?"

Spencer looked down at them, unsure of how to respond. "I didn’t think it was really your thing," he admitted, his fingers absentmindedly playing with the fabric of Eli’s shirt. "You’ve never really… wanted to before."

Eli sat up slightly, turning to face Spencer, their hand coming to rest on his knee. "Well, I want to now," they said, smiling softly.

Spencer’s heart swelled at the words, but the confusion deepened. This was everything he had wanted from Eli for so long, but the sudden shift left him off-balance. Still, he wasn’t ready to question it—not when things were finally good. He forced himself to smile back, leaning in to kiss Eli’s forehead.

"I appreciate that," he whispered, a hint of vulnerability in his voice. "I just…I’m happy."

Eli kissed him softly on the lips, pulling him closer. "I love you, Spencie," they murmured, their words sweet and tender. "And I want to make sure you know that."

Spencer wrapped his arms around them, his mind swirling with unanswered questions. He wanted to ask what had caused this change, what had made Eli suddenly decide to be the partner he had always hoped for. But the fear of losing this fleeting happiness kept him silent. He wasn’t ready to risk it all, not yet.

—

Penelope had been watching you closely for days, her eyes filled with concern. She knew something was wrong, but you had been keeping your walls up, retreating further into your sadness after things fell apart with Shane. Every attempt she made to drag you out of the apartment had been met with a firm, “I’m just not feeling up to it, Pen.”

But Penelope wasn’t one to give up so easily. "Come on, honey, you can’t just sit here and stew over that idiot forever," she urged, practically bouncing on her feet. "We need to go out, have some fun, and remind the world who the hell we are!"

"I don’t know…" you trailed off, glancing at the TV as though it had something to offer. But you knew it didn’t. You just didn’t have the energy.

"Y/N," Penelope said firmly, placing her hands on her hips, "I love you, but sitting in pajamas while watching reality shows for the third night in a row is not how we get over this. You are coming with me."

You sighed, knowing she wasn’t going to relent. "Fine," you groaned, finally giving in.

Penelope’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. "Yes! Shower, now. I’m doing your makeup, and we are going to paint the town red!"

It wasn’t long before she had you dolled up, feeling like a different version of yourself. The two of you hit the town with one goal: to get drunk and forget all about stupid people like Shane. JJ, Emily, and Derek met up with you at the bar, and soon you were all dancing up a storm. The music, the energy, and the friends surrounding you were doing exactly what Penelope had intended—they were lifting you out of your funk.

You loved the attention you were getting, and it was absolutely helping you feel better about everything that had happened. The compliments, the laughs, the warmth of your friends—it was like a balm to the hurt you had been carrying.

After a while, you started feeling parched from all the dancing, so you drifted away from the group to grab some water at the bar. As you reached the counter, you bumped into someone.

"Oh, I’m sorry," you yelped, turning quickly to see who it was you’d run into.

To your surprise, the body turned around, and there, standing in front of you, was Eli. Your stomach dropped slightly, expecting some snide remark, a cutting comment like the ones you’d heard before.

But instead, Eli let out a light laugh. "No problem!" they said with a smile, their tone unusually friendly.

You blinked, taken aback by the unexpected response. Even Spencer, standing next to Eli, looked just as surprised, his brow furrowed slightly at Eli’s easygoing attitude toward you.

"Uh… thanks," you said, forcing a polite smile, still not entirely sure what to make of the encounter.

Eli nodded, still smiling, before turning back to their drink, leaving you standing there, feeling slightly bewildered. You couldn’t help but glance at Spencer, who gave you a small, almost apologetic smile, as if to acknowledge how strange the moment had been.

The interaction left you feeling a bit off-kilter, but as you grabbed your water and headed back to the dance floor, you pushed the weirdness aside. Tonight was about you, about having fun and moving on. Whatever Eli’s sudden kindness meant, you weren’t going to let it throw you off track.

Soon, you couldn’t just brush off the strange interaction because, much to your surprise, Spencer and Eli joined the rest of you on the dance floor. It was a sight you hadn’t expected.

“Whoa, pretty boy! I didn’t think you’d show!” Derek cheered, clearly having invited Spencer without anyone else knowing.

Spencer gave a half-smile, looking awkward as he stood on the outskirts of the group. “Yeah, uh… Eli thought it would be fun,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, his discomfort obvious.

“Well, loosen up, genius!” Emily called out, playfully nudging him. “We’re here to have fun.”

Eli, however, had no problem jumping right in, grabbing Spencer by the hips and guiding him into the rhythm of the music. Spencer’s movement was stilted, clearly uncomfortable with the attention, but Eli didn’t seem to mind, dancing all around him, their hands sliding over his shoulders and down his sides. The contrast between Spencer’s stiff posture and Eli’s free-spirited movements made for an interesting sight.

You tried to brush it off, but the more you watched, the more an odd sense of jealousy began to brew in your chest. It’s just because I’m newly single, you told yourself, trying to rationalize the pang of envy. But it didn’t feel that simple, and as you watched Eli spin Spencer with a grin, you couldn’t help but wonder why it bothered you so much.

Penelope noticed your mood shift immediately, her eyes following your gaze. She knew you too well, and it wasn’t long before she saw you slipping off the dance floor, making your way outside for some air. She wasn’t surprised at all—you needed a moment to clear your head.

What did surprise you, though, was when the door opened a few minutes later, and Spencer stepped out, his hands shoved into his pockets as he came to stand next to you. The cool night air felt refreshing against your heated skin, but Spencer’s presence made your heart race slightly, unsure of what to say or do.

Neither of you spoke for a moment, the silence hanging between you like a thread waiting to be pulled.

“You okay?” Spencer finally asked, his voice soft as he looked at you, the concern clear in his expression.

You shrugged, trying to keep your tone light despite the heaviness in your chest. “Yeah, just needed some air. It was getting a little... crowded in there.”

Spencer nodded, his gaze drifting down the street before returning to you. “Yeah, I get that,” he said quietly. He shifted his weight, looking almost as uncomfortable out here as he did on the dance floor.

You glanced over at him, curiosity tugging at you. “You don’t really seem like a club guy,” you said, half teasing.

Spencer chuckled awkwardly, his shoulders rising and falling in a small shrug. “I’m not,” he admitted. “I, uh, don’t really dance. Eli’s more into that.”

You nodded, watching him for a moment. There was something in his eyes—something that made you feel like he wasn’t entirely thrilled to be out here either.

“Eli seems really into it,” you said, testing the waters, unsure why you even brought it up.

Spencer’s smile faltered for a split second before he nodded again. “Yeah,” he replied, his voice quieter this time. He didn’t elaborate, and the silence between you grew, filled with unspoken thoughts and emotions that neither of you seemed ready to address.

After a moment, you decided to break the tension. “I didn’t expect to see you out tonight.”

Spencer chuckled softly, kicking at a loose pebble with his shoe. “I didn’t expect to be out, to be honest,” he admitted. “But, well... here I am.”

You smiled, feeling a strange connection in that shared sentiment. “Yeah, here we are.”

Spencer didn’t know why he followed you. Maybe it was the way you quietly slipped away from the group, or maybe it was something deeper—a feeling he couldn’t quite explain, like an invisible string pulling him after you. He had hesitated for a moment, glancing at Eli before deciding he needed to step outside.

“Hey, uh... is it okay if I step out for some air?” Spencer asked, trying to sound casual.

Eli’s eyes flickered toward the door, then back to him. “With Y/N?” they asked, their tone neutral, but it made Spencer catch his breath, suddenly nervous that Eli might get upset in front of everyone.

Spencer swallowed hard. “Is that... okay?” he asked tentatively, trying to gauge Eli’s reaction.

Eli’s face softened, a sweet smile forming as they nodded. “Yeah, Spencie! Go check on your friend.”

Relief washed over Spencer, though a small knot of confusion lingered. Eli’s sudden sweetness left him feeling a bit unsettled, but he didn’t question it. Instead, he gave a small smile in return before quietly making his way outside to join you.

As he stood next to you in the cool night air, the questions he had about Eli faded, replaced by an inexplicable need to be there with you, to share this quiet moment away from the chaos of the night.

You and Spencer remained side by side, chatting politely, both enjoying the quiet reprieve from the crowd inside. The cool night air felt refreshing, a stark contrast to the warm chaos of the dance floor.

“Are you, uh—still seeing that person from the other week?” Spencer asked awkwardly, his words stumbling out as he glanced at you.

You stiffened slightly at the mention of Shane, the wound still fresh, not something you wanted to discuss right now, especially not here. "No," you said simply, hoping to leave it at that.

Spencer shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting away before he coughed. "Oh," he mumbled, then added, "I’m sorry. They’re an idiot."

You couldn’t help but smile, the warmth of his words cutting through some of the lingering pain. "Thank you," you said softly, genuinely appreciating his attempt to comfort you.

Spencer nodded, and when he finally looked at you, something in his expression changed. His eyes locked with yours, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to stand still. He realized in that instant that what he felt looking into your eyes—this connection, this spark—was stronger than anything he’d ever felt with Eli. Every moment he had shared with Eli over the course of their relationship paled in comparison to what he felt standing there with you now.

The realization hit him like a tidal wave, both exhilarating and terrifying. He wasn’t sure what to do with this feeling, and the fear of what it meant gripped him tightly. Spencer wasn’t ready to confront it, but in that moment, he knew something had shifted between the two of you. And that scared him more than anything.

—

The next time you saw him, Eli was by his side once again. The team was gathered to celebrate Aaron Hotchner’s birthday with a fancy dinner followed by a play, and the atmosphere was light, filled with laughter and easy conversation. The dinner had been delicious, and everyone was in high spirits as you all made your way to the theater, excitement buzzing in the air.

Finding your seats, you realized the universe must have been playing some sort of twisted joke. The numbers on your tickets had placed you directly next to Spencer. It seemed innocent enough—JJ was on your other side, and Eli sat beside Spencer—but the proximity between you two felt charged in a way that was hard to ignore.

The lights dimmed, and the show began, captivating the audience almost immediately. You focused on the performance, but you had no idea that Spencer's mind was far from the stage. Since the moment you walked into the restaurant tonight, Spencer’s mind had been a chaotic kaleidoscope of images of you. The way you looked, the way you moved, the sound of your laugh—it was overwhelming.

Sitting so close to you now, he felt a primal, almost feral need stirring inside him, something he'd never experienced so intensely before. It was beyond mere attraction; it was hunger. He could barely focus on the play as his thoughts drifted to you again and again.

Spencer’s chest tightened with guilt as his mind began slipping away from innocent thoughts. At first, his musings were harmless, but they quickly escalated to PG-13, and then further, to places he had never allowed himself to go before. He couldn’t shake it, this wild, uncontrollable pull toward you. He wanted to tear his thoughts away, but every fiber of his being was hyper-aware of your presence next to him.

It was horrible—he felt like he was betraying Eli, even though the thoughts stayed locked inside his own head. He clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white as he tried to suppress the desire building within him. He knew he shouldn’t be thinking about you like this, not when Eli was sitting right next to him. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the intense attraction coursing through his body. The guilt gnawed at him, but the desire burned even stronger.

He felt trapped, stuck between the relationship he had and the undeniable draw he felt toward you. And in that dark theater, surrounded by his friends, Spencer’s thoughts were anything but innocent.

During intermission, Spencer excused himself, practically fleeing to the restroom. Once there, he splashed cold water on his face, hoping to wash away the guilty, indecent thoughts that had plagued him throughout the first half of the play. What the hell is wrong with me? he thought, staring at his reflection, trying to regain control of himself.

Meanwhile, you headed to the concession stand, grabbing a lemonade. It came with a straw, which you twirled absentmindedly as you made your way back to your seat. You settled in, sipping slowly as everyone found their spots again.

When Spencer returned and sat next to you, he tried to focus on anything but you—the play, Eli, anything—but his eyes kept drifting to your lips as you wrapped them around the straw, sipping your drink. The way you casually sipped, completely unaware of the effect you were having on him, made his throat dry.

You noticed his lingering gaze and raised an eyebrow, suppressing a small smile. "Want a sip?" you offered, holding the drink out toward him, your voice teasing but light.

Spencer hesitated for a second, knowing that accepting it would be a bad idea. But then again, what harm could one sip do? "Sure," he replied, his voice low, almost strained.

Instead of taking the cup from your hand, Spencer leaned over, resting his hand lightly on your thigh as he bent toward you. His touch sent a jolt of warmth through you, and your breath hitched as he brought his lips to the straw still clasped in your hand. He took a slow sip, his hand remaining firmly in place, his fingers brushing lightly against the fabric of your dress.

Your face flushed a deep crimson, the simple act of him drinking from the same straw suddenly charged with an intimacy you hadn’t anticipated. You glanced quickly at Eli, but they were preoccupied, furiously typing away on their phone, not even noticing what was happening between you and Spencer.

As the lights flickered, signaling the end of intermission, Spencer pulled back, the drink slipping from his lips, but his hand stayed where it was, resting warmly on your thigh. The lights dimmed once more, and the play resumed, but Spencer’s touch remained, grounding you in a way that made it impossible to focus on anything else.

Neither of you said a word, but the unspoken tension between you hung in the air, heavier than ever. You didn’t dare move, and neither did he. And as the minutes passed, you could feel the weight of that moment, the quiet acknowledgement that whatever was happening between you was more than just fleeting glances or stolen moments.

Spencer’s hand stayed on your thigh for the rest of the show, and you tried to rationalize it. It’s probably just the wine he had with dinner, you thought, convincing yourself he was just feeling a bit more friendly than usual. After all, the two of you had bonded that night at the club, and maybe this was just an extension of that. Still, the warmth of his hand lingered longer than it should have, sending ripples of confusion through you.

When the lights came back on and the play ended, you quickly stood, clapping in applause and efficiently removing Spencer’s hand from your leg. You didn’t want to dwell on it, but the moment left you feeling uneasy. As the theater cleared, the group gathered outside to say their goodbyes, but you found yourself avoiding Spencer’s gaze.

Leaning over to Penelope, you whispered, "I’m not feeling so great. I think I need to head out."

Concern flashed across her face, but she didn’t question you. "Of course, babe. Let’s go."

After wishing Aaron a happy birthday, you and Penelope left before you could make any eye contact with Spencer. Your thoughts raced as you hurried away, unsure why he had acted the way he did. You didn’t hate what had happened, and that made it worse. He has a partner, you reminded yourself, the guilt settling heavily in your chest.

Meanwhile, Spencer and Eli made their way home as well. The silence between them was thick with unspoken tension, but when they arrived, Eli wasted no time initiating an intimate night. Spencer let it happen, going through the motions as his mind drifted back to you. He felt a surge of guilt and self-loathing. As Eli’s hands moved over him, Spencer’s thoughts were filled with the image of you, your laughter, the feel of your thigh beneath his palm. It made him feel like a monster, like he was betraying not only Eli, but you as well.

But what Spencer didn’t realize was that he wasn’t the only one with someone else on his mind. As Eli kissed him, their thoughts weren’t on Spencer either. The unspoken fractures in their relationship were growing wider, with both of them secretly imagining someone else, locked in a cycle of unaddressed desires and unvoiced doubts.

—

It was October now, and Halloween was rapidly approaching—Spencer's favorite time of year and his absolute favorite holiday. The excitement had been building for weeks, and it was palpable. He loved everything about Halloween—the history, the traditions, and, of course, the chance to dress up and lose himself in the festive spirit.

But as the holiday approached, so did the Halloween party you and Penelope were throwing. The entire team had been invited, along with their partners and a few other friends. It was going to be a night full of fun, laughter, and celebration, and you couldn't wait to show everyone the apartment, which was fully decked out in spooky decorations.

Though you were looking forward to the party, there was one thought that kept crossing your mind: Spencer. He’d be there, of course, with Eli by his side. It was hard to shake the feeling that no matter how much time had passed since that strange, tension-filled evening at the theater, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. The truth was, you knew you couldn’t have him—he was spoken for, and no matter what had happened or hadn’t happened, he was off-limits.

But that didn’t stop you from hoping your costume might catch his eye.

You’d spent extra time picking out the perfect outfit—something that was fun and playful, but with just enough edge to make an impression. Part of you wondered if he would notice, if he would look at you the way he had during the play. Even though you knew it was dangerous territory, the thought lingered in the back of your mind.

As you finished adjusting the final Halloween decorations, you glanced around the apartment, satisfied with how everything had turned out. The anticipation of the party and seeing everyone—especially Spencer—left a mix of excitement and nervousness brewing inside you.

One night, you thought. One night to celebrate, to have fun. Just let it be enough.

By the time people started arriving, your apartment had been fully transformed into a Halloween wonderland. The living room is draped in warm, spooky hues of purple and orange, with bats hanging from the ceiling and a wreath made of autumn leaves and tiny pumpkins framing the window. The couches are decorated with plush pillows and blankets, and a coffee table sits adorned with jack-o'-lanterns, flickering with eerie candlelight, surrounded by scattered fall leaves.

The hallway leading to the party area is wrapped in dark, twisting branches and shimmering orange lights, creating a haunting yet whimsical path. A skeleton sits at the dining table, illuminated by the warm glow of string lights that crisscross overhead, casting playful shadows along the walls.

Further in, an archway framed with grinning pumpkins welcomes guests into a dining area, bathed in the glow of purple lights. Jack-o'-lanterns of all shapes and sizes line the walls, giving the space a playful but eerie ambiance. It’s the kind of atmosphere that will make the party unforgettable, setting the perfect tone for the night.

You and Penelope stood by the door, greeting your guests as they entered your neon-lit, spooky apartment, handing out glowing necklaces as a fun touch to set the party's mood. Amid the excitement and stress of hosting, you nearly forgot that Spencer would be walking through that door any minute now. Your thoughts had been focused on making sure everything was perfect, greeting the steady stream of guests, and keeping the energy light and fun.

Just as you were handing another glowing necklace to a guest, the front door burst open, and in strolled Derek, as confident as ever, with Emily on one arm and JJ on the other. Emily looked striking in her sleek Morticia Addams costume, with her sharp features highlighted by her dark makeup, and JJ exuded playful fierceness in her Kill Bill-inspired outfit. Penelope, as usual, was a burst of color and creativity in her neon-pink, revealing Alice in Wonderland-esc cat costume.

Derek, dressed as a dashing fighter pilot, took one look at you and Penelope, his eyes wide with exaggerated awe. “Wow! My god, you gorgeous ladies are gonna give me a heart attack!” he playfully swooned, placing a hand dramatically over his chest.

Penelope grinned, striking a pose next to you, her Cheshire cat grin almost matching the one she had painted on her face. "Careful, Morgan. You might need to be resuscitated."

You couldn’t help but laugh at the exchange, but your heart fluttered slightly as you realized that any moment, Spencer would be walking in, and you wondered what he would think when he saw you in your costume.

The whole team had arrived about 20 minutes ago, with everyone dressed to impress, save for Spencer. You couldn’t help but worry he wasn’t going to come, despite his excitement about Halloween. You tried to stay positive, especially since everyone else seemed to be in good spirits. Even Hotch and Rossi had put in some effort, dressing up as Men in Black, though it was hardly a stretch from their usual look—very creative you thought with a smirk.

The party had started in full swing, laughter and music filling the room, but you couldn’t shake the slight disappointment. What if he doesn’t show?

Then, suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Without thinking, you crossed the room and swung it open, your jaw practically hitting the floor when you saw who was standing on the other side.

There, in all his unnervingly handsome glory, was Spencer—no Eli in sight. He was dressed as Patrick Bateman from American Psycho, complete with a suit, raincoat, and an ax slung over his shoulder. His normally disheveled hair was slicked back, and the blood splatter across his face made him look dangerously alluring. You could feel your heart stutter in your chest.

You stood there with your hand still on the door, staring at him for far too long to be socially acceptable. But Spencer wasn’t faring much better. His eyes had widened when he saw you in your Ghostface costume—though this was your take of the infamous killer, your fitted corset and thigh-high slit showing more than enough to leave Spencer speechless.

His lips parted slightly, the two of you caught in an awkward, electrifying silence. Neither of you moved or spoke, both seemingly frozen in the moment. You tried to find something to say, but your brain refused to cooperate. He looked breathtaking, and from the look in his eyes, you were certain he thought the same about you.

"Uh… wow," Spencer finally managed, his voice low, almost reverent.

You blinked, snapping out of your trance and feeling your cheeks heat up. "Spencer… you… look…" You trailed off, biting your lip as your eyes roamed over his form again.

"Yeah," he murmured, his gaze dropping to your costume. "You too." He cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly but never taking his eyes off you.

You stepped aside, finally remembering your manners. "Come in," you said, your voice breathless.

As he walked past you, your heart fluttered wildly in your chest. Tonight was going to be interesting.

“Boy wonder!” Penelope squealed as she caught sight of Spencer walking into the party. Her arms flung open dramatically before pulling him into a big squeeze.

"Hey, Pen, great party!" Spencer laughed, his voice warm as he returned her embrace.

JJ approached, tilting her head curiously. "Where’s Eli?"

Spencer didn’t seem fazed by the question as he shrugged casually. "Oh, their friend is having a party tonight too. They might stop by later, but I wouldn’t count on it," he replied with a small laugh, seemingly unbothered by Eli’s absence.

Derek, being a sharp observer of Spencer’s moods, raised an eyebrow. “...And you’re cool with this?”

Spencer just smiled brightly, brushing it off with a light chuckle. “Yup! We don’t have to do everything together.” He laughed again, the sound easygoing and relaxed.

Everyone seemed to accept his answer, nodding along before the party really began to kick into gear. Laughter and conversation flowed easily around the room, the energy of the Halloween festivities keeping everyone entertained.

But despite the natural rhythm of the night, you couldn’t quite shake the nagging feeling in the back of your mind. Something about Spencer seemed off—not in a bad way, but different. He seemed almost too happy that Eli hadn’t joined him. There was something about his energy, a lightness that hadn’t been there before, and the more you watched him throughout the evening, the more you wondered what was really going on beneath that bright smile of his.

You were in the kitchen, pouring yourself a drink, when the sound of footsteps behind you caught your attention. Without hesitation, you glanced over your shoulder and saw Spencer standing there. Instinctively, you turned to face him, not wanting to give him the chance to sneak up on you.

"Hello, Spencer," you greeted with a warm smile, trying to mask the sudden nervous energy that surged through you.

"Y/N," he nodded, stepping a little closer. "You know, maybe we should team up. Might make things easier," he added with a smirk, his costume and demeanor making him look every bit the psycho he was dressed as. The sight of him like that sent your heart racing, and to your dismay, you found yourself stuttering.

"Wh–what? You, an–an–me?"

Spencer just laughed, the sound low and amused. "Ghostface and Patrick Bateman? We’d make quite the team."

You chuckled nervously, trying to shake off the butterflies in your stomach. "Oh, hah, yeah, you’re right. So, um, who’s our first victim?" you asked, playing along with the joke.

Spencer rubbed his chin, pretending to be deep in thought. "Hmm… I’d say we start with the Men in Black. Take out the authority first."

You couldn’t help it—the laugh that erupted from you was genuine and loud, a real cackle that caught you off guard. You quickly covered your mouth, embarrassed by how loud it was.

But before you could fully hide, Spencer reached out and gently grabbed your wrist, lowering your hand. "Don’t cover up," he said softly, his eyes locking with yours. "I like your laugh."

His touch sent a warm shiver down your spine, and for a moment, the playful atmosphere shifted into something heavier, something unspoken hanging between you both. You smiled, the blush creeping up your cheeks, unsure of how to respond to the sudden intimacy.

"Thanks," you murmured, your heart thudding in your chest, the moment feeling far more charged than a simple Halloween joke should have been.

You cleared your throat, turning back to focus on your drink, trying to regain some semblance of composure. "So, um, how do we take them out?" you asked, trying to keep the conversation light and playful.

Spencer tapped his chin in mock thought before flashing you a mischievous smirk. "Let's make it a game," he said, his voice low, adding to the playful tension between you. "We have to turn off their glowing necklaces without them noticing. If you’re successful, you get a point. Most points by the end of the night wins."

You grinned at the idea, nodding in agreement. "Alright, you’re on."

And just like that, the game began. You and Spencer spent the rest of the evening sneaking around the party, laughing and conspiring together like mischievous children. You’d catch each other’s eye from across the room, silently plotting, and then spring into action, working to stealthily turn off people’s glowing necklaces without them noticing.

Every time one of you was successful, you’d stifle giggles, slipping back into the crowd with a triumphant grin. The whole dynamic between you and Spencer had shifted into something new—something light, fun, and undeniably flirtatious. Your shared laughter echoed through the room, drawing the attention of the other guests.

It didn’t take long for people to notice the change. Derek raised an eyebrow at the two of you, watching as you and Spencer darted around with smiles and whispered jokes. JJ and Emily exchanged knowing glances, clearly curious about this unexpected shift in your relationship. Even Penelope caught on, throwing you a sly look that said she’d definitely be asking you about this later.

Everyone seemed to be wondering the same thing: Since when did these two get along so well?

But you didn’t care. For the first time in a long while, you were having fun—real fun—with Spencer. And, despite the attention from everyone else, you weren’t ready for it to stop.

—

As the night wrapped up, the energy was still buzzing. Everyone had enjoyed themselves, and the party had been a huge success. You felt a sense of pride as you waved goodbye to your guests, making sure everyone had a designated driver or had called a cab. Once the last person had left, you closed the door, feeling the peaceful silence settle in.

But the quiet didn’t last long.

Penelope wasted no time, immediately bombarding you with questions, her eyes wide with curiosity. "Okay, spill! What was that? You and Boy Wonder sneaking around, giggling like a couple of high schoolers? Since when are you and Spencer all… flirty?!"

You laughed, still riding the high of the evening, but you could see the concern in Penelope’s eyes. She leaned in closer, her expression softening as she lowered her voice. "Look, I loved seeing you have fun tonight. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you smile like that," she admitted, "but I just want you to be careful. Spencer and Eli seem very happy together, and I don’t want you getting hurt."

You hesitated, knowing she was right. "I know, Pen," you sighed. "It’s just… it was harmless fun, you know? Nothing serious."

Penelope gave you a look, the one that said she wasn’t buying it. "I just don’t want you caught up in something messy," she said softly. "You deserve someone who’s all in, not someone who’s already got someone else."

You nodded, appreciating her concern, but at the same time, you couldn’t shake the way Spencer had looked at you tonight, the way you’d both laughed together like nothing else mattered.

Meanwhile, Spencer drove home in silence, not having had a single drink all night. His mind was still racing from the party, the memories of sneaking around with you and laughing filling his head. The evening had been… unexpected. He couldn’t deny that he’d had fun, maybe more fun than he’d had in a while.

When he pulled into the parking garage, he noticed Eli’s car wasn’t there. He assumed they were still out, maybe spending the night at their friend’s place. It wasn’t unusual for Eli to stay out late when they were with friends, and Spencer didn’t give it much thought as he unlocked the front door and walked inside.

He moved through the apartment quietly, heading down the hall to the bedroom. But what he didn’t expect—what stopped him dead in his tracks—was the sight that greeted him when he opened the bedroom door.

There, in his bed, was Eli. And they weren’t alone.

It took a moment for Spencer’s brain to register what he was seeing, but when it did, the shock hit him like a tidal wave. The person with Eli—the one tangled up in the sheets, very clearly entwined with his partner—was none other than Shane, the same person who had taken you on a date.

His heart pounded in his chest as the weight of the betrayal sank in, the scene before him twisting his stomach into knots.

Shane looked up at the sound of the door opening, pulling away from Eli and quickly covering both of them with the blankets, their face contorting into a mix of shock and confusion.

“What the hell?” Shane yelled, voice panicked.

That finally snapped Spencer out of his state of shock. “What the hell? What the hell! Get out of my fucking bed!” he screamed, his voice cracking with raw emotion.

“Your bed?” Shane’s face instantly fell, their eyes darting to Eli, whose expression was now cold, almost indifferent. “Are you married?” Shane asked, their voice trembling with fear and disbelief.

Eli scoffed, pushing themselves out of bed, making no effort to cover up. “No,” they said with a lazy shrug, “this is Spencer.”

“And who is Spencer?” Shane asked, sounding utterly heartbroken.

Spencer’s voice trembled with emotion as he stood frozen in the doorway, tears welling up in his eyes. “Yeah, Eli... who is Spencer?”

Eli rolled their eyes, casually pulling on a robe, unfazed by the entire situation. “My partner,” they said dismissively, as if it meant nothing.

“What?” Shane cried out, turning to Spencer, tears streaming down their face. “I am so sorry, I had no idea. We—we’ve been seeing each other for weeks.” Shane’s voice cracked with guilt and devastation.

Spencer felt like he should have been more hurt by the revelation, but the truth was, Shane’s emotional investment was far greater than his own. He saw now why Eli had been so suddenly attentive and kind—there had been someone else.

“It’s—it’s fine,” Spencer muttered, running a shaky hand through his hair, trying to keep it together. “I’ll, um, I’ll stay somewhere else tonight. Eli, let’s talk later, okay?”

Eli just nodded, entirely unaffected. “Cool.”

With that, Spencer grabbed a few things and left the apartment, feeling numb and hollow.

—

Back at your place, you and Penelope were still sitting on the couch, talking about the party, when there was a sudden knock at the door. You exchanged a curious look, not expecting anyone else to stop by at this hour.

Penelope shot up, tiptoeing over to the door and peeking through the peephole. She gasped loudly before rushing back to you, whispering in a hurried panic, “It’s Spencer!” And then, without any warning, she dashed off to her bedroom, the unmistakable sound of the door locking echoing through the apartment.

You let out a long sigh, standing up and making your way over to the door, wondering what could have brought Spencer here so late. You expected him to say he’d forgotten his phone or maybe just needed something small.

But when you opened the door, Spencer didn’t say a word.

He didn’t ask for anything, didn’t explain himself. Instead, he stepped forward, his eyes heavy with emotion, and before you could even react, he reached out, grabbing your face gently but with a sense of urgency. Then, without hesitation, Spencer pressed his lips to yours in a kiss that was both desperate and full of longing.

The world seemed to stop in that moment, your heart pounding as the warmth of his lips consumed you, every thought and question vanishing into the kiss.

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