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rafeskai · 3 days ago

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Starstruck | Drew Starkey

Chapter Three

Summary: In the bustling crowd of a premiere event for Outer Banks, you find yourself caught up in a chaotic moment, lost in the sea of fans. Desperate for a way out, you stumble into an alley where fate leads you to an unexpected—and painful—encounter with Drew Starkey. What starts as a simple misstep soon spirals into something far more complicated, and your life takes an unexpected turn.

Pairings: Drew Starkey x Reader

Warnings: N/A

Author's Note: SORRY IT TOOK ME SO LONG TO UPDATE OMG. HERE'S A LONG CHAPTER FOR Y'ALL.

Masterlist Here

The faint buzz of your phone woke you before the sun had fully risen. Groggily, you reached for it, expecting some random notification or perhaps an email that could wait. But as you squinted at the screen, Ava’s name popped up, her message in all caps: “CHECK TMZ NOW.”

You rubbed your eyes and mumbled, “What?” It was too early for any kind of drama, but Ava rarely texted in all caps unless it was something urgent—or, more likely, celebrity gossip. Your curiosity finally nudged you to open your browser and type in the site’s name.

The headline on TMZ’s homepage made your stomach drop:

“DREW STARKEY SPOTTED WITH MYSTERIOUS WOMAN”

Your breath hitched as you clicked on the article. There it was: a grainy photo of Drew and you, blurry but unmistakably you. Your heart pounded in your chest. The mask you’d been wearing at the bar covered most of your face, and the dim lighting made it difficult to make out any details. But the white tank top, courtesy of Ava’s insistent styling, was unmistakable.

The article buzzed with speculation.

“Who’s the masked woman spotted with Drew Starkey last night? The Outer Banks star was seen leaving an intimate LA hotspot with an unidentified companion. Sources say the two appeared comfortable and spent several hours together inside the bar. Could this be Drew’s latest flame? Or just a casual night out? Our team are on the case!”

Your stomach churned. You scrolled through the comments section.

“Another mysterious nobody who’ll ghost him in two weeks, I bet.”

“Imagine being her. I’d die to just breathe the same air as Drew Starkey.”

“The way she’s covering her face... suspicious much?”

“She’s definitely hiding something. Maybe she’s married?”

A few deep breaths later, you set your phone down, but the sense of dread didn’t leave. Before you could even collect your thoughts, Ava burst into your room, her messy hair looking like a halo of chaos.

“Y/N!” she squeaked, waving her phone around frantically. “You’re famous.”

You groaned, falling back onto the futon. “No, I’m not. No one even knows it’s me.”

“They will,” Ava said with way too much enthusiasm. “TMZ doesn’t just let this go. They’ll start connecting the dots—who was at the premiere, who’s wearing that outfit in public, and eventually, they’ll figure it out. It’s only a matter of time.”

You ran your hands through your hair. “I’m never wearing that outfit again.”

Ava ignored you, pacing back and forth. “Look, we have two options. One: deny everything, keep your head down, and hope the internet finds someone else to obsess over. Or two: lean into it. You’re the enigmatic mystery woman. Milk it for all it’s worth.”

You shot her a flat look. “Option two isn’t happening.”

“Fine, fine,” Ava said with a dramatic sigh, flopping onto the futon next to you. “But come on! You have to admit, it’s kind of cool. You’re the first non-celebrity girl to pop up in Drew Starkey’s dating rumors without getting immediately torn apart. That means something.”

“Yeah,” you muttered, rubbing your temples, “it means I have to be extra careful. I don’t want my life blasted all over the internet.”

“Don’t worry,” Ava reassured you, her hand resting gently on your shoulder. “We’ll figure it out. And honestly? If Drew’s as decent as he seemed, he won’t let this get weird.”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Later that afternoon, as you sat in the corner of your room, your phone buzzed again. This time, the name on the screen made your heart skip: Drew.

Drew: “Hey, you good? Saw the TMZ thing. Sorry if this is overwhelming. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

You stared at his message for a moment, a mix of relief and panic flooding you. You could feel the weight of the situation pressing down. Part of you wanted to brush it off, pretend it wasn’t a big deal. But another part of you—the one that was still a little overwhelmed by the chaos—was grateful for his words of concern.

You: “I’m fine. Just... not used to this. Do you deal with this kind of thing a lot?”

Drew: “More than I’d like, yeah. But it usually blows over fast. People move on to the next headline. If you need me to talk to PR or anything, I can.”

You winced at the thought of involving PR—public statements, press releases—it all felt too formal, too... invasive.

You: “I don’t think it’s necessary. As long as they don’t figure out it’s me, I’ll survive.”

There was a pause before Drew’s response came through.

Drew: “If it helps, you’re handling this way better than I did the first time TMZ came for me. If you need to vent or just want a distraction, hit me up.”

His offer to just talk made you smile. You weren’t entirely sure what to say back, so you typed a quick reply, thanking him for the message, and then set your phone down.

As the day wore on, things quieted down. TMZ didn’t update the story, and the internet’s attention began to shift. Without a clear shot of your face or any definitive details about your identity, people started to lose interest. But that didn’t mean it was over for you.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The day crawled forward, each passing hour a mix of relief and unease. It seemed TMZ's interest in Drew’s “mystery woman” had dwindled without a fresh lead to stoke the flames. By early evening, the frenzy online was noticeably quieter.

Still, the tension in the air lingered, like a storm that had passed but left the skies unsettled.

Ava had mercifully stopped treating the situation like a red-carpet event. She sat cross-legged on the living room floor, scrolling aimlessly through her phone while munching on a bag of popcorn. You paced nearby, trying to shake off the knot of nerves in your stomach.

Then your phone buzzed. It was Drew again.

Drew: “Can I come over for a bit? Just got done with a photoshoot and paparazzi are everywhere outside my place, and I need to lay low for a while.”

Your heart leapt at the thought of him showing up at your apartment—your quiet, nondescript little corner of the city suddenly becoming a refuge for Drew Starkey. You glanced at Ava, who raised an eyebrow as she noticed your sudden stillness.

You: “Yeah, sure. How are you going to get here without being seen?”

Drew: “I’ll figure it out. I know a back way in. Just text me your address.”

You hesitated for a moment, then sent the details. It wasn’t long before he replied.

Drew: “Be there in 15. Thanks, by the way.”

The next 15 minutes passed in a blur. You hurriedly cleared the living room of any clutter, your nerves bubbling into a chaotic energy. Ava, meanwhile, perched on the couch with a dazed grin, clearly trying to play it cool but failing miserably.

When the soft knock finally came at the door, your pulse quickened. Ava bolted upright, her excitement palpable. “This is it,” she whispered, clutching the couch cushion like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

You opened the door, and there he was—Drew, in a plain hoodie and baseball cap, looking like any regular guy. He offered a small smile, his eyes scanning the hallway before stepping inside.

“Hey,” he said softly. “Thanks for this.”

“No problem,” you replied, closing the door behind him. “Figured you could use some peace.”

Ava, standing awkwardly by the couch, let out a shaky laugh. “Hi. Um. Wow. Hi.”

Drew chuckled, clearly used to this reaction but handling it with grace. “Hey. You must be Ava.”

She nodded rapidly, then promptly sat back down, her face bright red. Drew turned to you, his smile warm but tired. “I hope I’m not imposing.”

“Not at all,” you said, motioning for him to sit. “Make yourself at home.”

As he settled onto the couch, Ava finally seemed to snap out of her starstruck trance—at least a little. “Do you need anything? Water? Snacks? I have... popcorn?” she offered, holding up the bag as if it were a peace offering.

Drew smiled. “Popcorn sounds great, actually.”

Ava handed over the bag, then promptly excused herself to the kitchen under the guise of making tea, though you suspected she just needed a moment to compose herself. That left you and Drew alone in the living room.

“So,” he said, leaning back slightly. “How’s your day been? Any more chaos?”

You laughed softly. “Thankfully, no. The internet seems to be moving on. I think we’re in the clear.”

“That’s good,” he said, popping a kernel of popcorn into his mouth. “I feel bad for dragging you into this.”

“It’s not your fault,” you said, sitting down on the armchair across from him. “It’s not like you invited TMZ to follow you.”

He gave a wry smile. “Still, I appreciate you being so cool about it. Most people would be freaking out.”

“I think Ava freaked out enough for both of us,” you joked, glancing toward the kitchen. Drew laughed, the sound light and genuine, and you couldn’t help but feel the tension in the room ease.

Over the next hour, the conversation flowed surprisingly easily. Drew talked about his hectic schedule, his favorite low-key spots in LA, and a few funny on-set stories that had you laughing until your sides hurt. Ava eventually returned, having calmed down enough to join in without squealing every time Drew spoke.

As the evening wore on, the initial awkwardness faded entirely. Drew’s presence felt natural—like he belonged there, sitting on your couch, sharing popcorn and swapping stories. It was almost too easy to forget who he was, how absurd this situation really was.

At one point, Ava let out a dramatic yawn and stretched. “I’m gonna call it a night,” she said, giving you a not-so-subtle wink before retreating to her room.

That left you and Drew alone again, the apartment quiet except for the faint hum of the city outside. He leaned back against the couch, his gaze soft as he looked at you.

“Thanks again for letting me crash here,” he said. “I really needed a break from... all of it.”

You smiled. “Anytime. Seriously. It’s nice having company.”

He held your gaze for a moment, and you felt a flutter of something unspoken pass between you. Then he grinned, breaking the moment. “Well, if TMZ ever finds out about this, at least I’ll have a great story to tell.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The evening stretched on, a slow dance of easy conversation and laughter. It felt surreal—Drew Starkey, the star of Outer Banks and Queer, sitting in your living room, eating popcorn and talking about his favorite movies like any regular person. But the longer he stayed, the more normal everything felt. He wasn’t a celebrity in this space. He was just Drew, the guy sitting across from you, making you laugh and sharing little bits of his world.

Ava had retreated to her room after her not-so-subtle hint about bedtime, leaving you and Drew alone in the living room. You didn’t mind—it gave you the space to talk without interruptions, to get to know each other a little more.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Drew said after a pause, setting the popcorn down on the coffee table and shifting slightly on the couch. “What do you do when you’re not dealing with... all of this?”

You couldn’t help but laugh a little at the way he gestured vaguely around the room “Nothing nearly as exciting as your life, that’s for sure.”

He smiled, his eyes softening. “I’m sure that’s not true, although it’s definitely a different world, being in the spotlight like this.” He paused for a moment, his tone thoughtful. “I think people forget that celebrities are just people, you know?”

“I think people forget that about anyone, really,” you said with a shrug. “Everyone’s got their own thing going on. Whether you’re famous or not, it’s all the same. We all have our struggles, our ups and downs.”

“Yeah,” he agreed quietly, nodding. “I think that’s what I miss most sometimes. Just... being able to go out without feeling like everyone’s watching, analyzing your every move.”

You looked at him, the weight of his words sinking in. You hadn’t really considered how strange it must be to live under that kind of constant scrutiny. You found yourself wanting to offer him something more than just sympathy. “You don’t have to be ‘Drew Starkey’ tonight,” you said gently. “You’re just... Drew. And I’m just me. No TMZ, no cameras, no headlines.”

His smile returned, a little softer this time. “I like that. I really like that.”

The conversation drifted effortlessly from one topic to another. You talked about favorite childhood memories, your go-to comfort foods, and the last book you’d both read. He listened with an openness that made you feel like you could share just about anything, and the more you spoke, the more at ease you became.

Drew revealed little snippets about his life that were both surprising and comforting. Like how he had a weird obsession with vintage comic books or how, despite being a well-known actor, he still had the same group of friends he’d had since high school. You learned he was surprisingly humble, almost self-deprecating at times, and he had this way of laughing at himself that made him even more relatable.

“You ever go to concerts?” you asked after a moment, trying to steer the conversation toward something lighter.

He grinned, his eyes lighting up. “Oh, I love concerts. I try to hit up a few whenever I can. Nothing like live music, right?”

“Right,” you agreed, smiling back. “There’s just something about the energy in the air. It’s like everyone’s in the same vibe.”

“I’m a sucker for the energy,” Drew said with a nod. “What’s your favorite genre? Or are you more of a ‘whatever’s on’ type?”

“Definitely more of a whatever’s on type,” you said, laughing. “I like a little bit of everything. But I do have a soft spot for indie rock. You?”

“Indie rock, too,” he said without hesitation. “I swear, I could spend hours listening to bands you’ve never heard of and not even care.”

“That’s the best part, though. The discovery,” you said. “I love finding those hidden gems. The stuff that feels like it’s just yours.”

“I totally get that,” Drew agreed, and there was something about the way he said it—like he really meant it—that made you smile. It was nice, sharing something like that with someone, especially someone you’d barely known just a few hours ago.

As the night wore on, the conversation became less about anything significant and more about just... being. The silence that fell between you wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that happens when you’re with someone you trust, someone you don’t feel the need to fill every moment with words.

You glanced over at the clock on the wall and realized it was past midnight. You yawned, your body starting to feel the effects of the long, unexpected day.

“I think I’m about ready for bed,” you said, stretching a little.

Drew chuckled. “Yeah, me too. It’s been a long day.”

“Thanks for hanging out,” you added, not sure if it sounded too casual, but it felt right. “It’s been nice—just, you know, talking and not worrying about anything.”

Drew smiled, his expression sincere. “Yeah, it’s been nice. Really nice. I’m glad I could... hide out here for a while.”

You grinned. “Anytime.”

He stood up from the couch, stretching his legs. “Well, I guess I should let you get some rest. You’ve probably had enough of me by now.”

“Not at all,” you said, standing as well. “But I think I’m gonna crash before I regret it.”

“Fair enough,” Drew said, his voice warm. “Sleep well, Y/N.”

“You too, Drew. And thanks, again,” you said quietly.

With a final smile, Drew grabbed his hoodie and headed toward the door, turning back for one last glance.

“Goodnight,” he said, before stepping out into the night, leaving you standing there, a feeling of warmth spreading through you.

As you made your way back to your room, you realized just how much you’d enjoyed the unexpected company, the quiet conversation, the sense of connection with someone who, for a few hours, was just like you. No drama, no paparazzi—just two people talking about life.

You crawled into bed, your thoughts swirling with everything that had happened, the night’s laughter still echoing softly in your mind. And for the first time that day, you felt... peaceful.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The next morning, you woke up to a quiet, almost peaceful stillness. The events of the previous day felt like a dream—Drew in your living room, hanging out like any other person, sharing stories and laughter. The time spent with him had left you feeling light, surprisingly at ease considering everything that had happened. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d spent an entire night without feeling the weight of your worries, the world of social media, or the endless noise in your head.

You sat up, stretching, and reached for your phone. The screen lit up with a message from Drew.

Drew: "Hey, hope you slept well. I know we just met, but I was wondering if you’d be up for an adventure today. I’ve got a couple days left in LA before work picks back up, and I could use a break from the usual."

Your heart skipped a beat. An adventure? Just the two of you? The idea was tempting, and, honestly, you hadn’t expected him to reach out so soon after everything that had happened. But there was something about his message that felt... genuine. Like he just wanted to spend time with you, not because of the headlines or the drama, but because you’d connected.

You chewed on your lip for a moment, debating the logistics. It was sudden, but at the same time, it felt like a chance to break away from the chaos, to have a normal, carefree day. Maybe that’s exactly what you needed.

You typed back quickly, the excitement creeping in.

You: "I’m in. What do you have in mind?"

A few minutes later, his reply came through, and you couldn’t help but grin.

Drew: "Perfect. How about we start with a hike? I’ve heard this great spot in the hills with a killer view of the city. We can grab breakfast after and see where the day takes us. No paparazzi, no drama—just a chance to be outside for a bit."

You could almost hear his grin through the text, and you found yourself feeling a little giddy. It had been forever since you’d just wandered, no plans, no expectations.

You: "That sounds perfect. What time do you want to meet?"

Drew: "How about 9? Gives us a little time to get our bearings, but still plenty of daylight. I’ll pick you up at your place."

You: "Deal. I’ll be ready."

The exchange left you buzzing with excitement. There was something about this—a spontaneous day with Drew, exploring LA without the pressure of anything. Just... living in the moment.

You quickly jumped out of bed, got dressed, and packed a small bag with the essentials: water, sunscreen, a hat—anything that would make the day more enjoyable. As you glanced in the mirror, you couldn’t help but feel a little self-conscious. It was one thing to hang out with Drew at your place, but hiking? A day out in the open? You weren’t sure what to expect, but you figured you’d roll with it.

A few hours later, the knock on your door jolted you from your thoughts. You opened it to find Drew standing there, dressed casually in a t-shirt, athletic shorts, and sneakers, his hair slightly windblown as if he’d already been out for a little while. He was holding a water bottle in one hand, a wide, genuine smile on his face.

“You ready for this?” he asked, his eyes glinting with the same excitement you felt bubbling inside.

You grinned back, nodding. “I think so. Lead the way.”

He chuckled and gestured for you to follow him down to the car, where the day’s adventure would begin.

The drive was surprisingly calm, with Drew playing some laid-back tunes and chatting about random things—his love of LA's hidden gems, how he’d gotten into hiking recently, and how crazy it was that he was actually getting a few days to relax between filming schedules. You felt yourself easing into the rhythm of the day, his presence comfortable, easy.

As you reached the trailhead, you couldn’t help but stare at the sprawling view of the city below, the sprawling landscape unfolding in front of you like something out of a postcard. The hills were quiet, a peaceful escape from the noise of LA.

Drew turned to you with a playful grin. “Ready to get your steps in?”

You raised an eyebrow, matching his grin. “I’m ready. Let’s do this.”

And so, the two of you set off, the trail winding upward through trees and rocky paths, the air crisp with morning freshness. The conversation flowed easily between you both, sometimes serious, sometimes silly. You talked about your favorite movies, shared memories of childhood adventures, and joked about the ridiculousness of modern-day life, social media, and the constant pressure to perform.

The higher you climbed, the more the city seemed to disappear, swallowed by the dense trees and distant mountains. You took breaks along the way, sitting on rocks and chatting, letting the quiet calm of nature seep into your bones. There was something so refreshing about being away from it all, away from the spotlight and the noise, and just sharing these small, human moments.

After a few hours, you finally reached the summit. The view was nothing short of breathtaking. You could see the entire city sprawled out below you, the glittering skyline on one side, the ocean stretching off into the horizon on the other. Drew sat down on a large rock, motioning for you to join him.

You settled next to him, the moment stretching out peacefully between you. Drew glanced over at you, his gaze soft and contemplative.

“You’re quiet all of a sudden,” he teased lightly.

You shrugged, letting the view speak for itself. “It’s just... a nice change of pace. Everything feels so loud sometimes, especially in LA, you know? But up here, it’s just... quiet.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Drew said, his voice quieter now, a touch more serious. “It’s nice to get away from everything, even if it’s just for a few hours. No expectations, no noise. Just... living.”

You smiled, your heart feeling lighter than it had in days. It felt like this was exactly what you needed—a simple day of adventure, of discovering new places and enjoying the company of someone who wasn’t focused on all the distractions of the world.

After a long while, you both stood up and started the trek back down the trail, still laughing and joking, your connection growing deeper with every passing moment.

When you reached the car, Drew turned to you, a mischievous glint in his eye. “So, breakfast time?”

You nodded enthusiastically. “I’ve never earned a meal so much in my life.”

“Great,” Drew said with a wink. “Let’s go get some pancakes.”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The drive to the diner was easy, the calm of the road soothing your nerves. Drew didn’t put on any music this time, letting the hum of the tires on the pavement fill the air as you both enjoyed the simple comfort of the drive. It felt grounding to be out of the whirlwind, just the two of you cruising through LA, away from everything else. No flashing lights, no rumors. Just a quiet moment.

When you arrived at the diner, it was an unassuming little place on a corner, a slice of nostalgia with its neon sign flickering invitingly. The retro décor inside felt like stepping into another time, and you immediately felt at ease in the warm, cozy atmosphere. Drew led the way, holding the door open for you with a smile that made everything feel effortless.

“Welcome to the best pancake spot in LA,” he said with a grin. “Trust me, they know what they’re doing here.”

You smiled, following him inside, and the waitress greeted you both with a friendly nod before leading you to a booth by the window. It wasn’t crowded, and the faint murmur of conversations filled the background as you both settled into your seats. It was the kind of place where you could be left alone to enjoy your meal, and the thought of it made you feel even more relaxed.

The waitress handed you both menus, and Drew glanced at his for a moment before looking up at you. “So, you’ve been in LA for what, a couple of days now?” he asked, his eyes bright with curiosity. “How’s it been? Adjusting from your small town?”

You hesitated for just a moment, taking in his question. It felt strange to admit just how big the change had been. In your small hometown, everything was familiar, comfortable, but LA was… overwhelming, in a good way, mostly. You had come here for something new, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a challenge.

“It’s been… different,” you said, shrugging slightly. “I mean, I grew up in a town where everyone knew everyone. You can’t walk into a store without running into half the people you know. LA’s kind of the opposite—huge, anonymous. It’s been nice, but also a little isolating. That’s why I’ve been trying to make sure I don’t get stuck in my own head too much. I’ve been trying to actually explore, you know? Get out and see the city.”

Drew nodded, his gaze steady, like he was really listening. “Yeah, I get that. LA can swallow you up if you let it. But it’s all about finding your rhythm. I think that’s why I love getting out of the city sometimes, doing stuff that reminds me what life’s like beyond the buzz.”

You smiled, feeling like you could connect with that more than you expected. “Exactly. It’s easy to forget there’s more to life than all this. I’m still figuring out how to balance it all.”

“That’s the thing with LA,” Drew said with a half-smile. “Everyone thinks you’re supposed to be constantly on the go, constantly working. But sometimes the best days are the ones where you’re just… present.”

His words made you pause, and you felt like the weight of the conversation wasn’t just passing by—it was something real. For someone who had so much of the world watching him, Drew seemed to get it, more than you expected. He was speaking to something you’d been trying to figure out since you’d gotten here: what life could look like outside the noise.

Before you could respond, the waitress returned, and you both ordered your meals, Drew sticking with his usual blueberry pancakes and you opting for a classic stack of buttermilks with a side of crispy bacon. The conversation drifted for a moment into lighter territory—favorite foods, places to visit in LA—but you felt the undercurrent of a real connection building between you.

As the waitress set down your pancakes, the sun had already climbed higher in the sky. You dug in, savoring the warmth and comfort of the food. It wasn’t just the pancakes you were enjoying—it was the feeling of normalcy, the feeling of being with someone who made you forget all the distractions.

“So,” Drew said between bites, “I remember you telling me that you came out here for a change. What was it like before? Your small town, I mean.”

You glanced at him, taken a little off guard by the question. You hadn’t really talked about your past in detail, and you weren’t sure how much to share. But Drew seemed genuinely curious, and something about the way he asked made it easier to open up.

“It was a lot quieter,” you said, your voice soft as you thought about your hometown. “A lot of people stick to the same routine, year after year. It wasn’t bad, but I knew it wasn’t the life I wanted. I needed something… bigger, I guess. Something where I could challenge myself. I didn’t want to wake up in ten years and feel like I hadn’t tried.”

Drew’s eyes softened with understanding. “Yeah. I get that. LA’s definitely a place that pushes you out of your comfort zone. I think that’s what I like about it, too—if you’re brave enough, it’ll make you grow.”

You nodded, feeling the truth of his words sink in. “I guess I’m just figuring out what that looks like.”

“I think that’s the beauty of it,” Drew said. “You don’t have to have it all figured out. The point is just… living it, you know?”

His words hit home in a way you hadn’t expected. Maybe it was the sincerity in his voice or the ease with which he spoke, but you felt like you were hearing something important. Maybe it wasn’t about having everything lined up or planned out. Maybe it was more about being open to the journey.

You smiled, realizing that being here, right now, with Drew, was a part of that journey.

After finishing your pancakes, Drew leaned back in his booth, looking satisfied. “So, what’s next? I know you’ve probably seen all the tourist stuff by now, but I’m thinking we hit some places that aren’t on the usual list. You up for an adventure?”

Your heart skipped a beat at the thought. You had only just started getting to know LA, and the idea of seeing it through someone else’s eyes—someone who had lived here long enough to know the best hidden gems—sounded perfect.

“Adventure sounds great,” you said with a grin. “What do you have in mind?”

Drew grinned back, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “You’ll see. Let’s go.”

And just like that, you were back on the road, ready for whatever Drew had planned. You didn’t know what the day would hold, but you were more than ready to find out. The city, with all its chaos and beauty, didn’t feel so overwhelming anymore. Not when you had someone by your side who understood what it meant to be in search of something more.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

As you and Drew cruised through the winding streets toward the beach, the excitement you felt earlier in the day had started to shift. There was a sense of unease building in the pit of your stomach, and you couldn’t put your finger on why. You’d spent the morning laughing, talking about your favorite places in the city, and getting to know each other more. But as the car neared the coast, something began to feel off.

Drew was in high spirits, excited about showing you something he loved. But just as you started to relax again, you noticed something—you hadn’t seen a single paparazzi yet. For a moment, you told yourself it was just coincidence. LA wasn’t that small, right?

Then, the first click of a camera caught your ear.

You froze, eyes darting toward the rearview mirror. Drew, blissfully unaware, was focused on the road, humming lightly to the music. But you could see them now—two cars trailing a little too closely. Paparazzi.

Your stomach dropped, and before you could say anything, Drew swore under his breath, his expression darkening.

“Shit,” he muttered, hands tightening on the wheel. “Of course, they found us.”

You started to speak, but Drew was already acting. He began weaving through traffic, trying to shake them off, but the paparazzi followed relentlessly. You felt yourself growing more anxious with each passing second, the buzz of the chase creeping into your nerves.

“This is ridiculous,” you said, glancing over at him, trying to make light of the situation. “We were just going to the beach.”

Drew’s eyes flickered toward you, but it wasn’t the same relaxed, playful Drew from earlier. He looked frustrated, panicked almost. “Yeah, well, this is what happens when you’re seen with someone like me.”

The words hit you harder than you expected, the weight of them sinking deep into your chest. You blinked, processing. “What do you mean, someone like you?”

Drew shook his head, his jaw tight. “I mean, me—a celebrity. People want to know every little thing about me. And now I have to deal with it because I invited you along. People are going to start thinking you're just another hanger-on, someone who wants to use me for the attention.”

His voice wasn’t cruel, but the implication stung all the same. It felt like he’d just dismissed everything about you—everything you were. As if your presence wasn’t your own choice but something tied to his fame, and he didn’t even see how that could hurt. You could feel the heat rise in your chest, the hurt twisting in your gut.

You opened your mouth to respond but stopped yourself. What could you say? You weren’t sure if you were hurt more by the words themselves or by the way they seemed to come so naturally to him. It felt like you were an accessory to his life, just something he had to keep in line to avoid drama. And yet, you hadn’t asked for any of this.

Before you could process it any further, Drew pulled into an alley near a side street, his car screeching to a halt as he scrambled to hide. He turned to you quickly, his eyes frantic. “Put this on.” He reached into the back seat and threw a dark hoodie at you.

“What’s this?” you asked, holding it up.

“A disguise,” he said, voice clipped. “Just do it, okay? I need you to look like someone else right now.”

You stared at the hoodie in your hands, a sinking feeling growing inside you. He was treating this like a game, like you were just a prop to be hidden away. You didn’t have time to argue, though—he was already turning the car around, trying to make his escape.

Your fingers fumbled with the hoodie as you quickly pulled it over your head, the oversized fabric swallowing you. Your mind was spinning, and you couldn’t shake the uncomfortable feeling gnawing at you. The way he’d talked to you, the way he was treating you—it felt like he was just seeing you as a part of his world, not you. And that hurt more than anything else.

“We can switch cars with Ava.” You offered. Within minutes, you were back at Ava’s apartment, and Drew was practically dragging you inside, his eyes scanning the street as if expecting a mob to pop up at any moment. He rushed you into the apartment, clearly panicked, and you could tell his nerves were getting the better of him.

“We need to go. We can’t stay here,” he said urgently, tossing a bag into the back of Ava’s almost-broken-down car. He had barely taken a second to notice the difference in the car’s condition before he threw the keys into your hands.

You didn’t protest—this was his world, after all. You just followed him, your stomach twisting, feeling more like an afterthought in his plans. The more you saw of this side of Drew, the more you realized that it wasn’t just the paparazzi that were a problem—it was the way he expected you to just fit into it, without a word.

The car started, and Drew floored it as he raced toward the mountains, hoping to escape the frenzy for a while. The roads became more winding, the city skyline fading behind you. But the paparazzi didn’t give up so easily, and just when you thought you were free, you saw the familiar outline of the cars in the rearview mirror.

You sighed. “They’re still following us.”

Drew’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath. “They can’t leave us alone for five minutes.”

In an effort to lose them, Drew took a sharp turn onto a stray road, one that seemed to go deeper into the mountains. The road grew narrower, the trees thicker, but the paparazzi stayed right behind. You felt your patience wearing thin, and as the car started to slow, Drew cursed again.

“We’re lost, aren’t we?” you said dryly, looking out the window at the dense trees that surrounded you.

“I’m just trying to shake them,” Drew replied, trying to hide the frustration in his voice, but you could hear it clearly.

A moment later, the car sputtered and came to a stop.

Drew swore again, banging his hands on the steering wheel. “Shit! We’re stuck.”

You groaned, leaning back in your seat, the weight of everything crashing down on you. “Are you kidding me? We’re stuck in the middle of nowhere, and we’re lost?”

“I didn’t plan this,” Drew snapped. “You think I wanted this?”

“Obviously you didn’t think this through,” you retorted, your voice rising in frustration. “We’re out here because you couldn’t accept that people are following you. You forced me into a disguise, dragged me out of the city, and now we’re stuck in the mud!”

Drew turned to you, his face hard. “You think I wanted any of this? I didn’t ask for this either, you know. I didn’t ask to be followed around by paparazzi all the time. I didn’t ask for people like you to get involved in my life.”

The words stung, and for a moment, you felt something inside snap. “You don’t get it,” you said, voice trembling with emotion. “I didn’t ask for any of this either. I came to LA for a fresh start, to get away from all of that. But now I’m just here, stuck with you in the middle of nowhere, pretending to be someone I’m not, and for what?”

Drew’s face softened, but the damage was already done. You couldn’t look at him anymore. The silence between you both was deafening as you sat in the car, the weight of the moment pressing down on you.

You weren’t sure what you were more upset about—the situation itself, or the way Drew had made you feel so small.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The car sat idling in the middle of nowhere, its engine sputtering one last time before dying with a sad cough. You stared at the dense forest surrounding you, the humid air creeping into the small confines of Ava’s beat-up car. Drew banged his fists lightly on the steering wheel and groaned, muttering something under his breath.

“I can’t believe this,” you muttered, unbuckling your seatbelt. “We’re literally stuck in the middle of nowhere because you—”

“Because me?” Drew interrupted, incredulous, turning toward you with wide eyes. “Let’s not forget, the only reason we’re here is because I’m trying to protect you.”

“Protect me?” you shot back, your voice rising. “You mean forcing me into a disguise, dragging me into some wild goose chase to avoid a couple of cameras, and now stranding me in the wilderness counts as protection?”

“You think I enjoy this?” Drew countered, gesturing wildly at the forest. “You think I wanted to get stuck in mud, in a car that sounds like it might explode at any moment?”

“Don’t you dare blame Ava’s car!” you snapped, your voice almost a growl. “It’s a miracle this thing even runs, and honestly, I’d trust it over you right now!”

Drew opened his mouth, then shut it, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered. “We should be working together, not blaming each other.”

“Oh, now you want teamwork?” you scoffed, crossing your arms. “You mean after you implied I’m some leech who can’t handle your celebrity life?”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Drew said quickly, his tone defensive. “I was frustrated, okay? You don’t know what it’s like having your every move watched.”

“I didn’t ask for this!” you yelled, finally stepping out of the car. The humid air hit you, but you didn’t care. You needed to move. “You dragged me into this! I just wanted a nice day out, and instead, I’m in the middle of nowhere, wearing your hoodie, and wondering if I’m about to be eaten by a bear.”

Drew stepped out of the car too, holding his hands up in surrender. “Okay, first of all, there are no bears here—probably. Second, I was just trying to make the day fun.”

“Oh, yeah, super fun,” you shot back sarcastically, pacing in front of him. “Getting chased by paparazzi, being forced into a hoodie that smells like Axe body spray—real thrilling.”

Drew blinked. “Axe body spray? That’s Tom Ford.”

“Whatever,” you said, throwing your hands up. “It all smells the same when you’re stressed out and stuck in the mud!”

Drew sighed, leaning against the car, his head tilted back. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t think it would get this bad.”

“You didn’t think at all!” you snapped, poking a finger at his chest. “And now we’re stranded, because apparently, your grand plan to escape paparazzi is to drive until the Earth swallows us whole.”

“Hey!” Drew said, his tone turning defensive again. “I was improvising. I didn’t see you coming up with any ideas!”

“Because I didn’t sign up to be part of your personal action movie!” you shot back.

There was a beat of silence before Drew’s lips quirked upward, the tiniest hint of a smirk forming.

“What?” you demanded, narrowing your eyes at him.

“You’re cute when you’re mad,” he said, a lazy grin spreading across his face.

You blinked, caught completely off guard. “Excuse me?”

“I mean,” Drew continued, leaning slightly closer, “the way you’re all fiery and passionate right now—it’s kind of hot.”

You gaped at him, utterly speechless. “Are you—are you seriously trying to flirt your way out of this argument?”

“Depends,” he said, his smirk growing. “Is it working?”

You let out a sharp laugh, more out of disbelief than humor. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Unbelievably charming?” he quipped, raising an eyebrow.

“Unbelievably infuriating,” you corrected, throwing your hands up. “I’m out of here.”

You turned on your heel and started walking toward the road, your footsteps crunching against the gravel. Drew scrambled after you.

“Wait! You can’t just storm off into the wilderness!” he called.

“Watch me,” you shot back, not breaking stride.

“Y/N,” Drew said, his voice dropping into a softer, coaxing tone. “Come on. You don’t want to leave me here all alone, do you?”

“Oh, don’t worry,” you said, turning around to glare at him. “I’m sure you can charm the forest animals into helping you out.”

Drew stopped in his tracks, his mouth opening and closing like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. Finally, he sighed and threw his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. You win. I screwed up.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “Go on.”

“I’ll admit,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “I didn’t think this through. I was trying to be... I don’t know, spontaneous? Adventurous?”

“Well, congratulations,” you said dryly. “You’ve succeeded in creating the most chaotic adventure of all time.”

Drew chuckled softly, his eyes meeting yours with a hint of guilt. “I’ll fix it. I promise. Just... don’t walk away, okay?”

You sighed, the fight draining out of you as his expression softened. “Fine,” you said reluctantly. “But if we get eaten by a bear, I’m haunting you.”

“Deal,” Drew said, grinning. And despite everything, you found yourself smiling back—just a little.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks #outer banks x reader #obx #obx x reader #drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #rafe cameron obx #rafe cameron request #rafe cameron season 4 #drew starkey fanfiction #starstruck

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darlingdaisyfarm · 9 hours ago

Text

one night, two Pines ⋆˚࿔

tags: nsfw, Stan x fem!reader x Ford, threesome, praise kink, dirty talk, reader deserves a medal for this, rough sex, oral sex, p in v, fingering, pet names

tagging: @cailleachcola <33

a/n: i cant help it i love making Ford jealous even tho he wouldn’t show it so obvious like Stan for example ?? it’s my headcanon idk

The Mystery Shack groans under the weight of another snowfall.

You glance toward the window, its edges crusted with frost, the outside world disappearing into an eerie haze of blue-gray dusk. Shadows stretch long and lazy across the wooden floor, falling on cluttered bookshelves lined with things Ford insists are cursed, but Stan swears they’re just old junk.

The coldness settles into your bones, making your fingertips ache and even the thickest socks don’t seem to help. The mystery Shack is equipped for this kind of weather. . . well, supposedly, but Stan always mutters about “old buildings” and “better insulation next year”. You’d laugh if your teeth weren’t busy chattering.

It got all got worse when the lights blinked once, then died completely. And now you're sitting in the darkness.

“Goddammit!” Stan’s voice barks through the room and it makes you jump from how loud it is. You barely make out his silhouette in the darkness.

Ford is pacing, muttering about fuses and the electrical grid. Stan, meanwhile, is busy cursing up a storm, flashlight gripped tight as he rifles through an ancient toolkit he probably hasn’t touched since 80s.

“Perfect fucking timing,” Stan growls, tossing a wrench over his shoulder. It clatters against the floor. “lights go out the one time we actually need ‘em. Figures.”

Ford, ever the optimist or maybe just too stubborn to agree with his brother, snaps back, “Well, if someone hadn’t overloaded the system with those ridiculous inflatable decorations outside—”

“You wanna run that by me again, sixer?” Stan turns, pointing flashlight to land directly on Ford’s chest. “i’ll have you know those ‘ridiculous decorations’ are what keep this place lookin’ festive, unlike your dusty ass journals stacked all over the damn place.”

You sit back, pulling old, oversized sweater tighter around yourself as you smile. They’re always like this. You can’t help it, the giggle slips out before you can stop yourself. Both of them turn to you.

“What’s so funny, kid?” Stan asks you.

“You two,” you reply, wiping the mirth from your lips with the back of your hand. “you argue like you’re in some bad sitcom.”

But it’s still dark, so dark you can barely make out their faces anymore, just shadows moving around the room and your fingers are already numb because it’s freezing, the temperature drops fast without the heater running. You exhale through your nose and hug yourself tighter, but it’s not helping much, honestly. The cold feels sharper, biting through your sweater and you decide you’ve had enough of waiting for them to figure it out.

“Okay,” you say, pushing up from the couch and ignoring the way their heads both snap toward you again, twin pairs of eyes watching your movements. “i’m getting candles.”

“Candles?” Stan repeats, sounding so bewildered.

“Yep, candles. You know, those things that make light and heat?”

Ford hums softly and smiles at your suggestion. “That’s actually a good idea,” he says and you think you hear Stan mumbling something like “of course he’d say that”, but you’re already moving toward the kitchen.

The candles are old, probably from some forgotten stash Mabel left behind last Christmas, but they’re pretty, short and fat with uneven edges, dusted with glitter and wrapped in little bows. And you carry them back to the living room with an armful of mismatched holders. You light them one by one and they glow softly, beautifully, their tiny flames flickering against the walls and filling the room with the faint scent of cinnamon, as room turns warm and so, so comforting. However, while you’re busy lighting the candles, you again hear two men arguing.

“I'm just saying,” Stanley huffs. “if you’re so damn smart, you could’ve fixed it yourself.”

Stanford pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing “And if you’d actually listen—”

“So, if you two are done arguing. . .” your voice interrupts their squabble. “maybe we should focus on keeping warm instead of trying to win whatever petty contest this is?”

Ford looks sheepish, running a hand through his hair, giving you an awkward smile while Stan grumbles “not petty, just proving a point”.

“But yeah, okay,” Stan waves a hand, brushing off your concern. “got plenty of blankets upstairs, i’ll grab a few.”

“And what, huddle together like we’re on some survival show?” Ford quirks a brow sceptically.

Stan’s reply is immediate. “Unless you’ve got a better idea, genius.”

Ford pauses, he doesn’t seem to have an answer. His gaze falls on you instead as he takes in your curled-up figure in the candlelight.

“Blankets it is, then,” he murmurs finally and Stan smirks a victorious “damn right.”

A few moments later, you’re all sitting closer than you probably should with the scratchy warmth of mismatched blankets draped across the three of you. Stan takes up the space of two people, leaning back with a wide grin, absolutely proud of himself and the way things goes now. Ford is stiff beside you, trying his best not to make contact to not make you uncomfortable, but the limited space forces his arm against yours.

It’s awkward, kind of, the silence. The proximity because you’re hyper-aware of every breath, every move, every accidental brush of skin. The candlelight dances across their faces, painting them in shades of gold and orange and you catch Stan watching you out of the corner of his eye, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Cozy enough for ya, sweetheart?”

Ford clears his throat, visibly bristling at the nickname. “I think she’d be cosier if someone didn’t take up half the blanket, Stanley.”

“Oh, cry me a river. Besides, she looks plenty warm to me. Ain’t that right, doll?”

And damn it, you do feel warm now, but not because of the blankets or the candles.

You sigh and swallow nervously, nodding and preparing for any outcome of the situation, but still, you move slightly, leaning into Ford just to see what happens, just to fucking see. At that, his breath hitches as his eyes widen, Stan catches it immediately.

“Huh,” Stan drawls, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “looks like sixer’s finally found his voice.”

Damn, it’s insane how quickly the room heats, despite the little useless candles you brought. Ford, for all his intelligence, looks at you, frozen in place, every muscle taut as though he’s weighing a hundred different outcomes. Meanwhile you feel the other twin already leaning in, closer and closer because damn, he’s been waiting for this moment for far too long.

“You cold, sweetheart?” Stan’s eyes dart briefly to where Ford’s arm presses against yours. “or maybe you just need a little. . . extra heat?”

Ford tenses beside you. “Stanley,” he fights the urge not to roll his eyes.

“Oh, c’mon, poindexter, you’re tellin’ me you haven’t thought about it? Not once? She’s sittin’ right here, for fuck’s sake.”

You bite your lip nervously, caught between them, their weight, their heat, the very presence of them pressing into you from both sides. Your body betrays you, leaning into Ford’s shoulder again, just to test the waters or maybe because you’re tired of pretending that you don’t notice the way his eyes darken when they meet yours.

Ford’s hand brushes yours, hesitant. Too careful. His fingers curl slightly, catching yours in a loose hold and you already think he’s going to pull away again, but no. His grip tightens and little smile appears on your cold lips.

“It’s, uh, it’s—” Ford begins, stuttering, but the words die on his tongue when your free hand reaches up to touch his face, grazing the edge of his jaw with your thumb. Oh, he’s warmer than you expected, softer, too and then he leans into your touch, what tells you everything you need to know about how much he’s been holding back.

“Don’t be a coward, sixer.”

Ford’s head immediately snaps toward his brother, shouting him a glare, but then your fingers trail lower, brushing along the collar of his sweater and he stops, softens. You don’t miss the way his chest rises and falls too.

You tilt your head, asking quietly in soft voice. “What are you so afraid of, Ford?”

It’s Stan who answers, leaning in close enough that you feel his breath on your neck. “He’s afraid you’ll like me better,” his hand finds your thigh beneath the blanket, squeezing hard enough to make you gasp softly right into Ford’s face. “ain’t that right, genius?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Then prove it,” Stanley’s hand slides higher as he touches the bare skin beneath your clothes and you shiver, definitely not from the cold this time. Meanwhile Ford’s grip on your hand tightens as he watches Stan’s movements.

“She’s yours too, isn’t she? Or are you just gonna let me—”

Whatever Stan’s about to say dies in his throat because Ford moves faster than you’ve ever seen, his free hand grabbing Stan’s wrist and pulling it away from your thigh.

“Enough,” Ford commands, his hand slides to your cheek, tilting your face toward his and surprisingly for three of you, his lips are on yours. But you don’t even get time to enjoy the kiss.

“So she tastes as good as you imagined, Ford?”

Ford pulls back to glare at his brother, but his thumb brushes over your bottom lip, dragging it down slightly and when good answer appears in his smart head, he smiles.

“Better,” his eyes stay locked on yours, searching, needing.

Stan watches this for a moment, his grin softening, turning less cocky, since when his brother got so romantic? “Well, great,” he leans back in, his hand returning to your thigh, caressing your skin. Ford finally pulls away, unable to take his eyes off your pretty lips now. Before you can say something, you feel Stan's mouth on your neck, so warm as he nibbles on your skin while Ford’s hands slide lower, pulling you closer.

And you’re not cold anymore. Not even a little.

Your breath tangles in your throat when Stan squeezes your thigh while Ford kisses you again. It’s everything you thought it’d be and nothing you could’ve prepared for, a tension that’s been threading through the air for weeks, months and now it’s finally snapping. You think you might drown in the intensity of it, feeling Stan’s hand dragging higher, his fingers teasing the edge of your panties as his teeth graze the shell of your ear.

“You’ve been playin’ coy for weeks, sweetheart,” you hear Stan muttering behind you, his other arm loops around your middle, pulling you back against the solid weight of him and your head falls against his chest. “makin’ us work for it, huh? You got no idea what that’s been doin’ to us.” his mouth is rough on your neck, trying to mark every inch of you and when he nips at your pulse, you can’t stop the sound that escapes you, it’s half a gasp, half a moan and you feel Ford’s hand twitching against your hip.

“You sound so fuckin’ pretty like that,” Stan’s hands are big and rough like the rest of him, so when he slides them under the blanket, slipping between your legs, you gasp louder.

The heat in the room doesn’t come from the candles or blanket anymore, it’s from their bodies pressing closer, crowding you against the sofa’s cushions. Ford is still in front of you, his eyes locked onto yours as if he’s trying to solve the most complicated equation of his life, but his trembling hands betray him, desperate to touch you. Stan’s behind you, his chest solid against your back, arms bracketing you in like a warm cage, and when his lips find the shell of your ear, you feel his grin.

“Tell him, sweetheart, tell sixer what you want.”

You don’t answer right away, you look at Ford, noticing his pupils blown wide and his breath uneven. He’s waiting, waiting for permission, waiting for you to say the words he clearly doesn’t have the courage to ask for himself.

Stan’s hand is skimming along your stomach, fingers curling over the hem of your sweater. “Or maybe you don’t want him to touch you,” he adds, teasing. “is that it? you’d rather just let me have all the fun?”

You shake your head, making the most needy face ever, giving Ford puppy eyes. “no. . . no, I want him to.”

“Hear that, Ford? our pretty little thing is giving you the green light.” Ford is still silent, his eyes are glued to where Stan’s fingers have disappeared beneath the hem of your sweater.

You shift slightly, arching your back as Stan’s hand slides higher, dragging the fabric of your sweater with it, inch by slow excruciating inch. The air feels cooler against your skin now. Ford’s hand freezing just short of touching your bare waist.

“Isn’t that right, sweetheart?” Stan purrs, his hand finally stopping just beneath your chest. He pauses, though, his thumb stroking a line along your chest as he waits.

You realise what Stan hints at, your eyes meet Ford’s gaze again and you give him a little coquettish smile. “Do you want to see?”

Not waiting for his brother’s slow and awkward response, Stan’s fingers curl under the fabric of your sweater, lifting it higher, exposing your skin painfully slow until the candlelight catches the soft curve of your beautiful breasts. The room is dim, the fire casting flickering shadows across the walls and you swear you can feel Ford’s gaze burning into you, hotter than the flames.

“Fuck, would you look at her. . .”

You should feel exposed, vulnerable, but hungry gaze of two men make your head spin.

“Touch her, dumbass,” Stan prompts as he tilts your chin back against his shoulder. “don’t just sit there looking, she’s right here, beggin’ for it.”

Stanford hesitates, the effort of restraint is physically painful for him. But then you breath out needy “yes, please” and his hand finally moves, he trails his fingers to cup your breast, brushing his thumb over your nipple in a touch that’s far too gentle for how much you’ve been aching for this.

His breathing quickens, blood rushing to his lower body and you watch his throat bob as he swallows nervously, his gaze fixed on the soft peaks of your breasts, bare now in the cold air. Your pretty nipples pebble, whether from the chill or their eyes drinking you in. His touch feels so warm and when his fingers catch on the sensitive peaks, you sigh, your hips jerking slightly against Stan’s thighs.

Stan chuckles, letting his hand go lower your stomach now. “there you go, see? not so hard, is it?”

Ford doesn’t answer, too focused on studying your beautiful face every time he tweaks or rolls the delicate skin beneath his six fingers. You whimper softly and the sound seems to spur him on, his movements becoming firmer, more confident, and oh god, you’re melting between them.

“You’re just so beautiful,” Ford glances at you, his eyes searching yours to make sure you believe him. “do you know that?”

You don’t get the chance to answer because Stan chooses that moment to push his hand lower, slipping his fingers beneath the fabric of your panties and brushing between your wet folds. You let out a gasp, reaching to grip his arms, but Stan just laughs.

“Looks at that, she’s dripping, all for us. ain’t that right, sweetheart?” his fingers circle slowly, teasingly and you let out a choked moan, your hips bucking against his hand.

Ford’s gaze drops as he takes in the way Stan’s hand moves, your body responds to every touch as you move your hips to chase the pleasure. “Stan, don’t—”

“Don’t what?” his twin interrupts, grinning. “don’t touch her? don’t make her feel good? or is it that you don’t wanna watch?” he presses his fingers on your needy clit. “because if that’s the case, you might wanna look away now, sixer.”

Oh, you’re trembling, your whole body is shaking apart under the weight of their hands and their voices. Stan’s thick fingers already teasing your little hole, penetrating just a little, but enough to make you moan, the obscene wet sounds filling the room now, slickness coating his fingertips. It’s shameless, loud and you should feel embarrassed for being this fucking wet, mortified even, but all you can focus on is Ford watching.

He’s staring at where Stan’s hand disappears between your legs, his own six fingers twitching, can’t decide where to go next.

“Go ahead.” Stan slides his fingers deeper into your pussy, earning another helpless moan from your lips. “she’s fucking soaked for you.” he turns his head, brushing his lips against your ear, and murmurs, “tell him, baby, tell him you want it.”

Your lips part, but no words come out at first, your brain too fogged up with heat and touch while Stan scissors his fingers inside you, spreading your wet folds, exposing your needy pussy to Ford. When Stan’s thick finger brushes against that tender sweet spot your vision goes white and you finally manage to whine. “Ford, Ford! please,” you reach your hand out blindly to grab his wrist, guiding him to you. “please, touch me.”

Ford settles his hands on your thighs and you immediately notice how his touch is so different from Stan’s, soft, tentative, awkward, trembling, scared to move too fast, but then you make this soft, pleading noise and it flips a switch in him. His hands slide up and he finally pushes Stan’s hand away, sliding his fingers into your dripping cunt with an eagerness that makes your head spin.

“Holy moses,” Ford groans as he presses his fingers deeper. “You’re— you’re so warm, so wet.” he moves slowly, exploring, testing and it’s clumsy, because you can feel how hard he’s trying to do it right.

“Woah, didn’t know you had it in you.” Stan’s hands move up your stomach until they find your breasts again, cupping them with a roughness that makes you arch into him. “don’t forget about these, though. They’re just as perfect as everything else.”

You moan when Stan’s thumbs circle your sensitive hard nipples, squeezing a little bit, meanwhile Ford’s fingers find a rhythm inside you that has your hips rolling forward, chasing the friction. “Oh, Stan, Ford,” you breathe, your head falling back against Stan’s shoulder, “pleasee. . .”

“Please, what? please touch you more? please fuck you right here in front of sixer? or is it sixer you want to—”

“Stanley, don’t, ugh, don’t talk like that!” Ford glares at his brother, but his long fingers never stop thrusting and moving, curling and twisting inside you, making you cry out while he scolds Stan for being “too dirty”.

Your thighs tighten around Ford’s wrist and you can’t stop the sound you make, you couldn’t even if you tried. You sound so high and broken, so loud, a trembling little wail that falls into the air and hangs there, suspended between the flickering candlelight and sound of Stan’s chuckle.

“That’s it, doll. Go on, let him see it, let that nerd see how pretty you are when you cum. Isn’t that right, Ford? Isn’t she the prettiest damn thing you’ve ever seen?”

And damn it, Stan can talk so well that his voice and words alone are enough to get you close. You whine again, taking everything they both give you like the goddamn obedient thing you are. Fuck, you're so ready to let Stan or Ford finally fuck you, feel that cock stretch you open, but you are so horny that even being stuffed full, you'll still be begging for more. And all you can do for now is cumming on Ford's fingers before you'll get the real thing.

Ford doesn’t answer, not in words, at least. He drops his gaze back to where his fingers disappear into you, his movements growing faster, more confident as he rubs your sensitive bundle of nerves that has you keening.

“Yes, fuck, yes, just like that,” you whine, close. “please, i’m— gonna cum!”

“Good girl.” you’re so lost in pleasure you can’t recognise who even says that. Ford’s fingers press deeper, until he finds that spot again, that perfect, maddening spot as his thumb circles your little clit. “just let go, sweetheart, i’ve got you. We’ve got you.”

Just like that, your hips jerk as the coil inside you tightens to the point of snapping. You bury your face in the crook of Stan’s neck, your soft cries muffled against his hot skin as you cum, shuddering in release while Ford’s fingers still working you through every last wave of it.

“Fucking hell,” Stan mutters behind you. “all fucked out and dripping down your hand, bet you’ve never seen anything so damn beautiful, huh?”

Ford just stares at your pretty face and the mess your pussy made, his fingers still buried deep inside you as he glances down at his own hand, glistening in the low candlelight. “Yes, shes just incredible. I don’t think i’ve ever—” but his response is too slow.

“Yeah, yeah, we get it,” Stan shuts his brother up, his tone edging on impatient as his hands move down, grabbing your thighs and pulling you back against him. “but i’m fucking done waiting.”

You whimper softly when Stan pulls you away from Ford, manhandling you like you’re nothing more than a toy in his grip. “Stan—” you start, but your words are cut off when he spins you around and lays you back against the couch, towering over you.

“It’s okay, baby.” his hands are already at his belt, yanking it loose. “you’re mine now.”

Ford looks up, finally waking up from his fantasies, still kneeling by the couch, his hand hovering like he doesn’t know what to do with it anymore. “Wait, what? But we—”

“Tsk, you’ve had your turn, sixer.” Stan glances at him with a smirk, pushing your legs apart with his hand. “but this pussy is mine.”

Then he tears open the foil packet with his teeth and you swear you never saw anything this sexy. Stan’s hands working fast and you can’t help the soft, needy sound that escapes you as you watch him rolling the condom on. You just wish to be filled now. “Been waiting too long for this,” Stan positions himself at your wet entrance, the head of his cock rubbing through your sensitive folds, coating his length in your wetness.

Fuck, the stretch burns, but it’s good, so good and that guttural groan Stan lets out as he sinks into your pussy deeper fills your stomach with butterflies.

“Fuuuuck,” he hisses as he bottoms out, feeling your soft walls around his cock. “tight little cunt’s squeezin’ me like a fuckin’ vice. How the hell are you this perfect?”

“Stanley!” your voice sounds so breathy, your hands reaching for him, clutching at his shoulders as your thighs tremble on either side of him.

Ford’s breath catches he watches the way you arch beneath his brother, the way your gorgeous body trembles with every thrust, every touch. His hand moves unconsciously toward the bulge straining against his trousers.

“Shh, sweetie,” Stan coos and presses forward, sinking into your cunt slowly, until he’s buried to the hilt. “fuck, you’re perfect.”

Stanford watches, wrapping his hand around his own cock, stroking himself in slow pulls as he takes in the sight of you, so flushed, trembling, undone as you let his brother fuck you. He can't really believe that this is happening right in front of his eyes, he didn't even have time to protest, his eyes flicker between your face and where Stan’s hips meet yours, his jaw clenching as he watches the way your little pussy stretch around him, taking him in so easily, so beautifully.

“You’re missing out, Ford,” Stan pulls his hips back before thrusting forward again slowly, his cock penetrates you deeper. “she’s so fucking tight, so warm, guess you’re wishing you’d been a little greedier, huh?”

Your lashes flutter, damp with tears you didn’t realise had spilled, your lips parted, all swollen, trembling and your voice is slurred now, pouring out in little whimpers that are hardly words at all, just fragments of syllables that tumble over each other.

“S-Stan, oh! oh god, it’s s-so big,” your nails digging into the couch as your hips stutter against his, helpless to the rhythm he sets.

“Just like that, honey.” Stan growls, gripping you hard to hold you still. “you’re taking it, sweetheart, all of it. Fuck, being such a good girl for me.”

“Good girl,” you echo back in the sweetest, dreamiest tone, your words spilling out soft as silk, trembling with every breath you take. Your head falls back against the cushions, strands of hair clinging to your hot flushed cheeks and you can barely manage another gasp before Stan presses his cock into your pussy again, harder this time. “m’good, right? f-fuck, fuck!” the question slips out, a broken little thing, barely there as your fingers claw helplessly at the cushions. You’re drowning, drunk on the way his dick drags against every sweet sensitive spot inside you, pushing you further and further into some heavenly haze.

Ford’s hand moves in slow strokes over his hard cock, every now and then stopping to squeeze at the base, his knuckles pale with the effort of holding himself back. He watches you, only you, his sacred vision meant to be cherished, wishing it was him filling you up instead.

His gaze devours every delicate part of you: how your lips tremble as you moan Stan’s name, the soft arch of your spine when his brother thrusts deeper, the way your body, so soft, so sweet, melts against every rough movement. Ford’s chest rises and falls as he breathes shallowly and uneven, his jaw tight.

“She’s stunning, isn’t she?” you hear Stan’s proud voice, every thrust making you cry out, your body jolting forward only to be pulled back by the iron grip he has on your waist. “look at her, sixer. Look at this perfect little pussy takin’ me so fuckin’ well. But eh, what a shame you’re not brave enough to handle her like this, are you?”

Ford’s lips press into a thin line, he tries to ignore his brother’s mockery, tries to avoid conflict, narrowing his eyes, but his cock twitches in his hand at the sound of your soft begging voice. “Foord,” you whimper, reaching for him with trembling fingers.

“Go on. Let him see how much you love it. Let him hear how good this thick fuckin’ cock feels inside you.”

“You’re insufferable,” Ford finally snaps in serious voice. His hand tightens on his cock as he uses his thumb to smear the slick of precum over the swollen tip while he kneels beside you. “you think brute force is all it takes to please her? Amateur.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Stan spits back, though there’s a slight falter in his thrusts, more sensual and slow, bringing you more pleasure, making you whine. Your pussy clenches around him and the sound of your soft cries only makes him groan.

“Stan, oh fuck!”

“There you go, doll.” his grin widens as he watches you come undone beneath him. “You don’t even know how pretty you look right now, do you? All spread out for me, crying on my cock.”

“Yes, yes! it’s, oh god, it’s too good—”

“Oh, you’re just drunk on it, aren’t you?” he teases, his hips snapping forward again, drawing another broken cry from your lips. “Go on, sweetie, tell me how good it feels, tell me how much you love it.”

Your words are a jumbled mess, tumbling out in a rush of breathless babble: “so good, so big, can’t! oh, can’t think, Stan, i— i love it, i love you so much!”

“Take it, baby. Keep talking, let me hear that pretty voice.”

“S’too much, too deep,” your head is shaking, your cheeks flushed, your eyes glassy as you stare up at him, your lips trembling with every word. “c-can feel deep, so deep, feels so good. . . oh, please, please don’t stop—”

“Damn it, damn it,” Ford mutters from where he’s still kneeling by the couch, his eyes are locked on the spot where Stan’s hips meet yours, watching the way you take him, the way you stretch around him, the wet, messy sounds filling the room. “you’re going to fucking kill her.”

“Nah, she’s tougher than she looks, aren’t you, pretty?” Stan glances down at you, brushing his thumb over your swollen lower lip, then wiping your sweet tears off your cute face. “c’mon, sweetheart, show sixer how strong you are. Tell him you can take it.”

“C-Can take it,” you echo again as your lashes flutter. “wan’ more, need more, please, don’t stop, don’t ever stop—”

Stan laughs at how desperate you sound, so dumb and drunk on his cock sliding in and out of you, his hand moves down between your thighs, finding your swollen clit as he starts toying with it, and the sound you make is pure music, a beautiful cry that makes his cock twitch inside you.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking, hhnngh, perfect, could fuck you forever. Might just do it. . . keep you here, all pretty and fucked out and crying for me.” his thrusts grow harsher, dragging against your cervix in a way that has your toes curling. It’s too much, too good and the only sound you can make is a sweet, broken hum, your lips parted as drool threatens to escape.

And through it all, Ford is still there, his gaze devouring you. His six-fingered hand, so deft and steady in every other setting, now trembles as it pumps his leaking cock, betraying the tension rippling through him. His flushed dick twitches in his hand, as he tries to match the pace of Stan’s thrusts.

“Hah, you really wanna join in that bad? Go ahead, help yourself. I’m sure our doll here wouldn’t mind, right?”

Your head turns weakly, tears slipping down your cheeks as you nod, your lips quivering with your next plea. “Ford, please, please, wan’ you too. . . need you, need both of you. Can take it, promise, promise i can.” your brain turn to mush.

He exhales sharply through his nose, his broad shoulders heaving as he tries to control himself, tries to fight the pull of your voice, soft and begging and oh so sweet. But that bastard thrusts harder into you, making you forget about everything at once, especially about that worried look on Ford’s face. Stan fucks you even faster and your lips part. “Stan, Ford, wanna be good, wanna be so good for you, im. . . i’m your good girl, yes? wanna be good, please, let me—”

Stan uses his thumb to touch your flushed, tear-streaked cheek. “Oh, you’re more than good, sweetheart. You’re fucking perfect, our perfect little doll, huh?”

Ford’s brows furrow as he leans closer. “she’s. . . she’s really out of it. Stan, are you sure—”

“Cmon, sixer, you’re tellin’ me you wouldn’t do the same if you were in my shoes? she’s so fuckin wet, bet you’re wishin’ you’d been the one to break her in, or am I wrong?”

You can’t even think anymore, not a coherent thought left in that pretty, spinning head of yours. You sob out his name again, your hips bucking up against his, your head tilting back as the pleasure builds, until it’s too much while you moan “faster” and “please” as you fall apart all over again, babbling incoherent nonsense. But what comes out of your mouth next is definitely something Ford didn't expect.

“Ford, you’re s’good, so handsome. . . not fair, hnngh, you’re both so pretty. . . you, with all your. . . your smartness an’-an’—” your brows knit as you lose the thread of your sentence, but the pout that takes over your mouth is enough to make Ford combust on the spot.

Stan chuckles at your words, moving his fingers in slow, unrelenting circles that have you squirming. “Don’t try to flatter him too much, pretty. His ego’s big enough as it is.”

“She’s completely gone, Stan, is she even coherent anymore?”

Stan snorts, leaning back to admire the way you look beneath him, your tear-streaked cheeks, your glossy eyes and parted lips with drops of saliva running down your chin. “Oh, coherent enough,” he uses his hand to cup your jaw and tilt your pretty face to his brother. “tell that nerd how good you’re doing.”

“S-So good,” you sob. “so good, m’your good girl, promise, jus’ need you both so bad, so bad it hurts—”

“She’s. . . she’s not making any sense. She’s—”

“She’s good,” Stan cuts him off, sliding his hand down to rest against your lower belly, pressing lightly to feel the way his cock moves inside you.

“M’fine, m’really good, s’good. . . love you, Stan, love Ford, too! wanna—” your words break off into breathy giggle as you reach for Ford with trembling hands. “wanna kiss you, Ford, please, please, lemme—”

And just like that, Ford’s resolve shatters like glass. “Damn it,” he kisses you. It’s hesitant at first, his lips brushing yours so lightly it feels like a dream, but the soft, desperate moan that spills from your mouth pulls him in deeper.

“S’pretty,” you murmur against his mouth dreamily, your fingers curling around the collar of his sweater. “Ford, you’re so pretty, so smart, so perfect. . . wanna make you feel good, please, can i? please?”

“She’s gonna eat you alive, sixer,” Stan grins, slipping his large hand beneath your sweater to cup one of your breasts, brushing his thumb over the stiffened peak. “better give her what she wants before she drives herself crazy.”

“Y-You can take me too, can’t you?” Ford’s voice sounds like he’s barely keeping himself together.

“She’s made for it,” his twin answers for you, slowing his rough thrusts to a roll of his hips that grinds into just the right spot. “aren’t you, sweetheart? made to take every fuckin’ thing we give you. Tell him. Tell sixer how bad you want your pretty mouth full.”

“Please, wanna make you both feel so good, please, Ford, wan’ your cock, just wanna taste you— ah!” your moans are interrupted when Stan pushes roughly into your warmth again.

So Ford’s restraint doesn’t last. He lets out a broken groan, cradling your jaw with one hand while the other ghosts over your lips. “Open for me, darling,” you obey without hesitation, your tongue peeking out as he slips two long fingers into your mouth. The warmth of you makes his cock twitch again, his face flushed and torn with guilt. “Good girl,” he breathes, brushing his thumb against your cheek as you suck, your pretty lips glistening with spit.

“Fuckin’ adorable,” Stan slams his cock into you hard enough to make the couch creak. “think she loves you talkin’ to her like that, sixer. Makes her even wetter, fuck.”

“Can you take me here, darling? You're already so full, but i know you can take more. You’re extraordinary, after all.” you babble nonsense in response around Ford’s fingers, tears and spit mingling on your face as your gaze locks onto his. When his fingers leave your mouth, a string of saliva connects them to your lips, and Ford swallows thickly before leaning forward.

“Hear that, baby? you’re so goddamn perfect, even sixer here can’t help himself. Go on, open that pretty mouth for him.”

You don’t know if it’s that crazy desperation you have for both twins or Stan’s tone or that needy look on Ford’s face, but your lips part without hesitation again, and Ford exhales, his cock presses against your tongue, the weight of him dizzying as you wrap your lips around him, taking him as deep as you can. He whimpers and that noise makes your pussy throb once again around Stan’s length.

Six-fingered hand moves to the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair, not forcing, just guiding, as he starts to move, slow thrusts that press against the back of your throat. “Perfect, love, you’re. . . a-ah, perfect. Look at you, taking both of us like this. . . such a good little thing for us. . .”

You’re too far gone to answer, too consumed by the overwhelming fullness, Stanley is relentless, thrusting into your pussy, dragging against your cervix, making you sob around Ford’s length. It’s filthy, the wet sounds of your mouth and cunt harmonizing in this dirty symphony, echoing off the walls.

“Look at her,” Stan growls, gripping your hips to keep you in place as he grinds deeper. “bet you’re jealous as hell, huh? wishing it was you stretching her out like this?”

Ford’s response is a fractured groan as your throat tightens around him. “Don’t— don’t say shit like that, Stan.” even though Ford seems to be more gentle than his brother, his hold on you is firm as he guides your pretty swollen lips down and you let him. You let them, because that’s all you’ve ever wanted, to be theirs, to be good for them, to be their fleshlight they can use whenever they want.

Your body trembling from the overwhelming fullness, Stan splitting you open below while Ford’s cock steals the breath from your lungs. Tears streak your cheeks, glittering like gemstones in the candlelight, and Stan leans forward, his rough thumb smearing them away. “cryin’ so pretty for us, baby.”

Your warm mouth stretches as you take Ford in and he moans, moans and moans again, low-key turning into same mess as you when your tongue curls and presses against him. He accidentally thrusts too deep, making you gag lightly, tears spilling anew, but you keep going, keep sucking him off like the good girl you are. Because you’re their good girl, their sweet, obedient little thing who gives and gives until there’s nothing left. You hum around his length and the vibration making his knees buckle.

“Mmmph,” you manage, pulling back briefly to gasp for air before diving back down on Ford’s cock, hollowing your cheeks, your throat tightening as you try to take him deeper. “s’good, so full, love you both, love being yours. . . love being your good girl. . .”

Ford’s brows knit, his stormy eyes softening as he cups your cheek with one hand. “Careful, darling,” he caresses your spit-slicked lips with his thumb. “don’t push yourself too hard.” but his body betrays him, his cock twitching against your tongue, desperate for more of your warmth, your wetness, your everything.

“Careful? Sixer, you really think she’s not begging for more?”

You are. God, you are. Your body arches as Stan’s thick cock drags against that devastating spot inside you, your mind blanking with every sharp snap of his hips. “Please,” you gasp, pulling off Ford with a wet pop. “More, need more, please, Ford, want you both.”

Stan chuckles darkly, gripping your waist as he ruts into you, watching your beautiful nipples in the candlelight while he ruins your little pussy with every deep thrust, making you cry out around Ford’s cock. “Ugh, bet she’d beg to have us both at once if she could talk right now.”

“D-Dont—” Ford’s response falter as his head tilts back. “she’s, oh fuck, she’s doing enough.”

Your eyes flutter shut, your mind blank and when you pull back to breathe your voice is swallowed immediately when Ford presses his cock back into your mouth, your hands clinging to his thighs as your body shudders between them. Too rough.

Ford regrets his action immediately, his gaze softening as he watches you. “S-sorry, love, i didn’t m—“ he cant even finish his sentence as you take him deeper again. “Ahh, there. . . there's my good girl,” he strokes your cheek gently.

Stan’s growl sounds through the room as his grip tightens on your hips, burying himself deeper, his balls tighten as he pulses inside you. “fuck, angel, you take me so good, tight lil’ thing, this perfect pussy was made for me, wasn’t it? hell, im gonna cum. . .”

You’re trembling under him, eyes heavy-lidded and watery, your nails scraping helplessly against Ford’s thighs as your mouth hangs open, while he nudges his cock on your cheek now, rubbing it against your skin, giving his beautiful girl time to breathe and rest. But god, Stan’s cock makes you cry out so pretty it could’ve brought a man to his knees.

Ford’s gaze flicks to his brother, the irritation obvious in his eyes. “Stanley, she’s already so overstimulated. Can’t you slow down?”

“Slow down? Ford, look at her, she’s fuckin’ drunk on it.”

“Can’t you— damn, at least touch her properly?”

“What the fuck do you think i’m doing?” Stan drops his hand low, and when those thick fingers starts teasing that tender little pearl of yours, you cant stop the pitiful, muffled sob that leave your throat. “Happy now, professor? she’s got my cock buried in her and my fuckin’ fingers making her melt. Nothin’ to complain about.”

Ford falters, his brows furrowing as his eyes dart to yours, searching for any sign of discomfort on his beloved girl's face. Instead, he found you gazing up at him, adoring, your lips parting around his tip with a soft, wet sound. “I. . . still, Stanley, you could—”

“Don’t you ‘Stanley’ me. You’re not exactly mr. gentle here yourself, sixer. You practically fucked her throat.”

Ford flushes, holding your hair as his composure slips another notch. “I’m not, she’s just so—” he groans as you use opportunity and take his cock in your mouth again. “I just—! I don’t mean to—”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Stan’s rhythm falters when the tension in his body finally reaches its peak as his head drops back with a deep moan of your name. Fuck, the condom is the only thing stopping him from flooding you completely, but its hardly enough to dull the intense, claiming press of him inside you.

“Fuck— fuck, angel,” he pants. “gonna fill you up so bad if this wasn’t in the way— goddammit! wanna see it dripping out of you, doll.”

“S-Stan,” you whimper, trying to form a coherent thought. “so good, so good, i—”

Ford feels a mix of frustration and worry, watching the way his twin manhandles you. “Ugh, you’re going to break her at this rate. Do you even care that she’s—”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, sixer. Tell the man yourself, baby, you’re loving this, right?”

You manage a soft, breathless “yes, wan’ more, wan’ all of you—” before your words dissolve into a string of muffled moans and nonsensical sounds, your thoughts too hazy to form anything coherent because the way Stan fucks you feels unyielding.

Stan’s fingers flex against your clit one last time and then he’s gripping your hips like a man possessed, his teeth bared as his cock twitches one last time inside you, it pulses against the grip of your velvet walls. He holds you in place as he empties himself into the condom, muttering a string of incoherent curses. Your breath hitches, your body still oversensitive, needing and when his thumb circles your clit lazily, but deliberate, you shiver hard enough that you nearly collapse.

“Take it, baby,” Stanley tortures your sensitive pearl over and over, feeling your pussy flattering around him and he grins when you whimper. “such a mess, doll. S’pose we’ll have to fix that, huh? Fill you up proper next time. No damn rubber in the way.

Ford, meanwhile, is so ruined. His face is flushed and he’s pulling out of your mouth with a wet, sticky sound that sends a shiver down your spine. His cock twitches, shiny with your spit, he chokes out something that sounds suspiciously like a protest to his brother's words, but his voice falters when your hand wraps around the base of his cock, your tongue darting out to catch a bead of precum dripping from the flushed tip.

“I'm close, I'm so cl-close. . . Wait, wait, love, need tissues, dont want. . . don't want to make a mess.”

But you disagree. “Ford,” your gaze hazy but full of affection as you press your lips against his palm. “you don’t have to worry. I want to taste you. Please?”

Ford’s eyes going wide as his cock twitches in your grip. He looks at you like you’ve just said the most scandalous, sinful thing imaginable and you have.

“Go on, sixer, you heard the lady.”

Ford still has doubts, but he's not in a position to think and analyze for a long time. That's why when you taste the head of his cock, his resolve crumbles. You give his tip another gentle kiss, humming softly at the salty taste of him. Your hands cradle his hips as you move slowly, your tongue swirling around him, savoring every drop like it’s the sweetest treat.

He guides you back to him, his cock throbbing against your lips as you take him in, inch by inch. “Yeah, feels so good. . . ” his voice breaks, his fingers threading through your hair again.

You moan softly in response, your eyes closing as you focus on Ford, taking him deeper, letting him feel the full warmth of your mouth as your tongue presses against him. His hips jerk, setting the rhythm that lets him fuck your throat slowly, he mutters something that sounds like an apology, though it’s swallowed by a desperate groan.

“Darling, please, so good. . . You're so good for us.”

You can't help but get turned on by his voice again, even though you're not sure you can handle the second round right now, you still need to catch your breath.

Ford's gaze locks with yours and he nods as a warning that he’s close, watching your shiny lips, swollen around his length. The sound he makes sends a spark of heat straight to your core. Its messy, and noisy, and when Ford finally spills into your mouth with a sharp cry of your name, you swallow it down to the last drop, wishing he'd fill your pussy too, but it can wait. For now.

“Fuckin’ hell, you’re somethin’ else, doll.”

Ford pulls you into his arms the moment you release him, his hands cradling your face, checking if his precious girl he’s terrified to lose is okay. “Thank you, love, you were such a good girl for me.”

“For us, Sixer, for us.”

The room falls silent after the last of your trembling fades, and the three of you, sweaty and exhausted, lie on the couch.

Somewhere in the background, the storm outside rumbles one last time before finally giving way to quiet.

Then. . . click.

The lights flicker on, suddenly, obnoxiously bright, washing the room in unforgiving fluorescence. You squint, blinking against the glare as you lift your head from Stan’s chest, a groggy, borderline-irritated groan slipping from your lips.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” your voice sounds so weak from all the. . . well, everything.

Stan grunts, throwing an arm over his eyes as if to block out the light. “As i said, goddamn timing.”

Ford sits up a little, rubbing at his neck with a wince. His glasses are crooked on his face, and his hair is a mess, though not nearly as bad as Stan’s.

You can’t help it, you snort, slapping your hand against Stan’s big chest playfully. “You look like you’ve been hit by a truck.”

“Yeah? Well, you don’t look much better, sweetheart,” Stan retorts with a tired smirk. “besides, i’m too old for this shit. Don’t expect me to move for at least an hour.”

“Make it two,” his twin adds, leaning back with a tired sigh. “i think i’ve pulled something.”

You roll your eyes, pushing yourself up on wobbly legs. “Oh, you two are pathetic.”

“Says the girl who can't even walk straight now.”

You stick your tongue out at Stan, though you know he can’t see it because poor man already closed his eyes.

“Whatever, i’m taking a shower, try not to die of old age while i’m gone.”

Ford smiles softly at your behaviour, but Stan just groans, waving a hand at you dismissively. “Have fun. Don’t expect me to move a fuckin’ inch.”

You roll your eyes again, muttering something about men as you disappear into the bathroom.

But what you don’t see and what Stan doesn’t see too is how Ford’s gaze lingers on you as you go.

The door clicks shut, and Stan sighs heavily, already half-asleep. “Wake me up in a week.”

Ford glances at him, smirking faintly. “Sure, Stanley. A week.”

The bathroom.

You’re standing under the spray of hot water, letting it wash away the stickiness and sweat, when the door creaks open behind you.

“Stan, i swear to god, if you’ve suddenly decided you can—” you start, turning to glance over your shoulder only to freeze when you see Ford stepping inside.

“Not Stan,” he answers as he locks the door behind him.

Your brows shoot up. “Ford? what are you—?”

“He’s out cold,” Ford says simply as he steps closer. “and besides,” his fingers brush over your hip, and you shiver from wild contrast of his cool touch against your heated skin. “i didn’t get nearly enough of you earlier.” he presses you back against the cool tile, cupping your face, tilting it to capture your lips in a kiss which now feels more possessive than gentle.

“Ford,” you whisper, half-scolding but mostly breathless. “he’ll—”

“He won’t,” he interrupts. “and even if he does. . . well, perhaps it’s time Stanley learned to share properly.”

Before you can respond, his hand is slipping between your thighs, using his fingers to part you.

“Now, let’s see if you can stay quiet, darling. Don’t want to wake him, do we?”

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darknight3904 · 1 day ago

Text

All Too Well

Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Joel deal with the aftermath of Adam's appearance.

Warnings: Violence, torture with a knife, guns, mentions of SA (not depicted in detail) Language, death, animal death

Word Count: 2k

Previous Part / Series Masterlist / Main Masterlist

There is a trail of blood staining the grass in front of you. Joel has dragged Adam off somewhere while you sit on your rock, awaiting his return. A long line of ants march along on the ground, they redirect when they come across the blood.

“We should get back.”

Joel’s deep voice pulls your gaze off the ants and their new path. Joel runs a wet rag across the skin of his hands and Adam’s blood disappears.

“Okay.”

The gates of Jackson groan in protest as they open for you. Brett and Louis sit atop the wall and give a nod to Joel as you enter.

“Are you alright, sweetheart?”

“Fine.” You huff, and you feel your brow fur as you struggle to remove Pepper’s saddle. It was as if all your strength had been zapped from your body.

About 3 hours earlier, in the clearing:

“You can run off, spread your legs like a whore for this one here-”

Whatever was coming next never left his lips as Joel’s hand pulled back and shoved his knife into Adam’s thigh.

It’s a good one, deep but not enough that he’ll bleed out. Joel twists a bit before yanking it from the flesh. Satisfaction fills his body as Adam’s gasps and whines of pain fill the forest.

“Not another fucking word.”

Joel’s voice is so deep, that he doesn’t even recognize it. All he knows is that he wants this man to suffer for what he’s done to you. Joel knows that he wants to see him burn for his sins. Adam doesn’t fucking deserve to even be breathing the same air you do. He glances back to where you now sit on a couple of rocks, your eyes glued to the new wound on Adam’s thigh. Your eyes flick to Joel and then to the knife.

Joel takes this as the green light and moves again, Adam is never leaving this clearing, not alive anyway.

The knife cuts like butter as Joel runs it along Adam’s pale skin. Blood pours onto the grass, staining the ground below him. It runs down his hands, staining his skin as he cuts. Joel yanks at the collar of Adam’s shirt, tearing it a bit, and exposing his collarbone. A dove tattoo sits just below his collarbone, the ink has faded over the years but Joel can tell what it's supposed to be.

Joel taps the dirty tip of his knife twice against the ink. He leans in close, ignoring the way this monster reeks of body odor and the metallic stink of blood.

“Doves, they represent peace, hope, freedom.”

Adam’s head lolls about like he can’t focus on Joel’s words right now and Joel lets out a small grunt.

“Stop it.” Adam wheezes

Joel slowly runs his knife through the tattoo. A shallow trickle of red follows his blade as Adam begins to cry,

“Please, Please, let me go! I’ll never come back! Please!”

What a fucking joke. Joel shakes his head and tells Adam the truth, it’s not his call to make. You’re calling the shots here.

Adam begs, cries, even pisses himself as he begs you for his life. Joel listens as Adam finally owns up to what he’d done to you. His hand tightens on the hilt of his knife as you push yourself to your feet.

“Say the word, sweetheart.” His knife rests on the delicate skin of Adam’s neck

Joel steps back when he sees the silver Colt Python in your hands. Your eyes are distant, trapped in a memory of the past as Adam’s voice fades from Joel’s ears. The caw of a bird registers in Joel’s mind as he focuses on what’s always been the most important, you.

“No!”

Joel doesn’t even blink as you pull the trigger. How could he? He’s heard so much gunfire in the past twenty years.

“You don’t get to say no to me.”

Present time:

Joel watches as you walk beside him. You’re silent and the only noise between the two of you is the sound of your shoes scrapping along the ground. When you reach your house, Joel watches from the mailbox as you walk up the porch. He nearly turns around to go back to his own place, in need of a hot shower before you’re finally speaking to him.

“Can I stay with you?”

A hot shower is just what he needed. Joel scrubs the blood from his body and lets the water soothe the ache in his back. Horseback riding was getting more difficult every time he went out. By the time he’s out again, he’s thinking of what he might make you for lunch. He’s got ingredients for sandwiches along with a few servings of chili from an older woman named Janet who lives four houses down.

Joel pushes the door to his room open and walks over to his dresser. He lets his fall towel to the floor in a messy heap, but the sound of a loud sniffle has him yanking it back up with a curse,

“Fuck!”

You nearly give him a heart attack from your position under his covers. You’re wrapped up in them, laying on your side, staring at him.

“Sorry, I thought you were lying down in Ellie’s room.” He says apologetically

You shake your head the best you can from your spot. Joel opens his mouth to speak again but fat tears begin to stream down your face.

“Woah, hey.” His hands tighten the towel around his waist before sitting down next to you, “What’s wrong?”

He knows that he sounds stupid asking. You’d just killed your abuser and he was asking what was wrong, what an idiot he was. The blankets fall away and Joel feels his heart rate speed up as you climb into his lap and rest your face in the crook of his neck. He needed to get himself under control.

He gently rests his hand on your back and slowly rubs his hand up and down. Gradually, your sobs die off and he listens to the sound of your breathing.

“Thank you.” You softly say

“It’s nothin’” Joel waves you off, comforting someone sad is something anyone deserved.

“I mean about Adam.” You sigh

Joel is quiet as you reach for his hand. You draw it into your lap and fiddle with his fingers, your skin is oh-so soft against his.

“I should’ve shot him the moment he walked into Jackson. Shouldn't have even let him lay eyes on you again.”

You shake your head and wrap his hand in yours, “M’ glad you didn’t.”

“You are?”

“Yeah…I always wanted to be the one to put a bullet in his head. Used to have dreams about it.”

Joel nods, he knows the feeling. How many nights had he dreamed of killing the soldier who had gunned down Sarah? Even now, Joel would do it. Revenge was a mighty powerful drug once it took hold in a person’s heart.

Joel nearly faints when you press a warm kiss on his cheek. The soft scent of you wraps him up as he feels a blush creep across his face. Another kiss presses against his skin, this time to his neck, and then one more, on his collarbone.

You shift against him, moving so you straddle his lap. Horrifyingly, his cock twitches against his thigh, god he was pathetic. Your hips roll down into his and he quickly pulls away from you.

“What’s wrong?” You ask softly

“Nothin’...we just can’t do that right now.” He says

Your face drops into a scowl and your hands drop from their spots on his shoulders, “What the fucks wrong with you?”

“Sweetheart, it’s not a no forever. It’s just for now. You’re hurtin’ and I’d be taking advantage.” Joel says honestly. As much as his body wants this, he can’t let it happen. You deserve better.

Your hard stare meets his softer one as your hands wring nervously in your lap, “You should just say it.”

“Say what?” Joel asks softly

“That you don’t want me.” You spit, “You don’t want me anymore. Just like when I was in college, you don’t want me. First, it was because I was too young, too naive.”

“I shouldn’t have done that to ya.” Joel starts but you cut him off,

“And now you’re hanging me out to dry again. You must think I’m some used-up whore, just like Adam said.”

“No, I-”

“You think I wanted it, Joel? You think I wanted to be fed my pet and then used as a fucking sex slave?”

Your voice is full of venom and self-hatred as your hands come up, nails digging into Joel's soft chest. He winces when one of them digs a bit too deep.

“It’s all my fucking fault. I should’ve just died on outbreak day.”

Joel catches your hands in his, squeezes them, and meets your eyes. A thousand words dance in his mind. He wants to tell you so much, that he loves you too damn much to hurt you right now. Yet, none of it leaves his lips as he speaks,

“Stop it.” He commands, “Just stop.”

You scoff and pull your hands from his, “Then stop being a coward and fucking kiss me.”

“No.”

You let out a groan and shuffle off his lap, back under the covers, this time facing the wall so he has privacy to dress.

“Listen, I’ll get dressed, make us some lunch.”

“Whatever.”

Ellie pushes the front door open. School was such a fucking bitch. Why did she need to know about fractions? She knew how to shoot a gun and had literally walked across the country. What was a faction going to do for her?

The first thing she sees is you and Joel, seated at the table together, big bowls of chili in front of both of you.

“What happened with the new people?” She asks, thinking of how wild you’d been last night

“Nothin’ that concerns you right now.” Joel dismisses

Ellie huffs and looks over at you. You’re silent as you slurp up your food, avoiding her gaze.

“Slower.” Joel coaches, his voice is gentle.

“Fuck off.” You seethe, your spoon slams down on the table, “I don’t want to hear your voice right now.”

Tommy watches as Maria sleeps. He smiles a bit as she begins to snore softly, beside her in a bassinet a perfect baby girl lays, her own snores matching her mother's. Dark brown hair sits atop her head, hidden by a little hat that had been knitted by one of the old ladies who lived in Jackson. Tommy takes Maria’s hand in his and runs his thumb along her palm.

The soft knock at the door has his eyes tearing away from the perfect sight before him. Dr. Hill is standing in the doorway, beckoning him into the hallway.

“Maria just fed er’ twenty minutes ago. Can’t we let the vitals check wait for a bit, they’re sleepin’.” He says as he pushes the door shut

“This isn’t about them.” The doc says, “Can you come with me? It won’t take long.”

Tommy sighs but follows the doctor anyway. Who is he to deny the person who made sure his kid got into the world safely? Dr Hill leads him to the other side of the clinic to where the smaller exam rooms are, the ones they use to just treat people with basic illnesses like colds or stomach bugs.

“Last night, there was an issue…Patrol let in people.” Dr. Hill starts

“What?” Tommy stops dead in his tracks, his hand grabs the doctor's upper arm

“Joel handled it.” Dr. Hill says, dismissing Tommy’s initial fear.

Tommy nods slowly. Joel had good judgment about people, surely there wasn’t anything to worry about then.

“This morning, Matt carried an unconscious woman into the clinic. I didn’t want to bother you with her since Maria had just given birth, but…” Dr. Hill’s gaze darts over to the closed door of an exam room and then back to meet Tommy’s eyes,

“I think you should talk to her.”

Next Part

Ugh, the fanfic writer curse is so real guys. Right after I published the last chap, I got horribly sick and finally got better like a day ago…Anyway hope you enjoyed this part.

Comment to be added to the tag list. This tag list is not chapter by chapter, I carry the tags over to each part.

Tags:

@lunaticgurly @orcasoul @snowlycanroc @freythecrazyfae

@person-005 @greenwitchfromthewoods

@elli3williams @yawnzzzzzzzz @am-3-thyst @concrete-jungleeee

@cherrypieyourface @kanyewestest @bambisweethearts

@sarahhxx03 @loveisacowboyyy @amyispxnk

#joel miller #the last of us #tlou #sarah miller #ellie williams #tommy miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fluff #joel the last of us #tlou fanfiction #fanfic #joel tlou #joel miller x you #joel miller angst #pedro pascal

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sulumuns-dootah · 2 days ago

Note

This might not be very good request but it seems adorable in my mind…falling asleep on the kings? Maybe watching a movie or something and we just conk out. This may come from the fact that I’m a hardcore Leviathan hater but I feel he’d push us to the ground 😪

Falling asleep on the WHB kings

⟡ Masterlist ⟡

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The moment Satan notices you're out, he looks down at you and can't help but smile

You look so peaceful which is a welcomed change from the constant stress of angel attacks

He'll try to lay still for you, but can't promise anything

If he needs to move, he'll first try and test to see how deep asleep you are before picking you up and moving you either to bed or back where you fell asleep

༺☆༻

This man is as comfortable as a rock

I know we technically slept on him in the main story, but c'mon... just by looking at him you can tell his muscles could cut glass

So if you happen to fall asleep on him, he'll remain unmoving

A part of him is giddy that you feel this comfortable around him and that you see him as your protector

༺☆༻

Now, Leviathan pushing you to the ground depends on how close you are

And since he even considered to allow you to watch a movie with him, I'm guessing you're kinda closer

Okay so, if you fall asleep on him, he probably won't mind right away

But he won't try to be still for you either

He'll pretty much ignore you

At least until he has to get up or something

Only then he'll push you off and whether it's gently back onto the surface you're on or the floor depends on how close you are

༺☆༻

Another one that I'm not sure how you fell sleep on

Staying still is damn near impossible for Beel

And honestly, 0/10 would recommend falling asleep on him even if you could

Like the jokester he is, the moment he sees you're asleep, he's getting the marker out and doodling on your face

Honestly, I'd say the only time you're safe falling asleep from his shenanigans is after getting your insides rearranged and Beel feels all lovey-dovey

༺☆༻

Let's be honest here

Belphegor is the first one to fall asleep

So you can safely fall asleep too

And if do happen to beat Belphie to it, he'll just chuckle

'Who's the slothful one now, huh?'

All in all very wholesome ♥

༺☆༻

Watching a movie?

It maybe started that way, but you surely don't end the evening that way

Over the course of the movie transitioned you from sitting next to him to cockwarming him and to making you bounce on his lap

So the only way you could pass out is from all the action

At that point when your body slumps down against his chest, he'll just continue fucking up into you and groping your body

Only after he finishes for the nth time, he'll check if you're okay and slip out of you to set you down to rest next to him

༺☆༻

Writing these last four kings is always funny bc of how they usually go back and forth :D

Lucifer is the exact opposite of Asmo

When you fall asleep on him, he'll try to move without waking you up so you don't have to sleep in such an awkward position

In moments like these, he also allows himself to get a bit more clingy and cuddles up with you more

Too bad you're not awake to feel all his affectionate touches and gentle kisses all over you face :(

#what in hell is bad #what in “hell” is bad?#whb satan #whb beelzebub #whb lucifer #whb leviathan #whb mammon #whb belphegor #whb asmodeus

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honeypiehotchner · 1 day ago

Text

The Gambit (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part five

I've officially gone back to work full time, so I might be a bit slower with writing, but hopefully not too much! I'm really excited keep posting this little story with all its twists and turns 🤭🤭 (That being said, the end of this one will prob make zero sense but TRUST ME, it will make sense later on)

Warnings: more of the case, more arguing, depictions of a panic attack, more vagueness about Reader's backstory 👀

Hotch watches you through the two-way glass as you speak to Richard Monroe once again. Rossi stands at his side, watching him watch you.

“She’s doing good,” Rossi comments. “Considering she just started.”

“She’s hiding something,” Hotch says quietly.

“Aren’t we all?” Rossi tries to make light of the moment, though it clearly doesn’t work. “What’s got you spooked?”

Hotch shakes his head slowly. “He recognized her somehow.”

“You’re sure he’s not toying with her?” Rossi asks. “He’s obviously attracted to her. He’s been flirting with her since she stepped in there.”

Hotch can’t explain why but that makes anger burn inside his chest even hotter.

“Relax,” Rossi says.

“I am relaxed,” Hotch says too quickly, too defensively.

Rossi stares at him. “You’re on edge because she’s here again, and she’s on edge because you’re making her on edge.” He points between the two of you to emphasize his point.

Hotch isn’t ready to back down so easily, but he does ease slightly.

He is on edge because you’re here again. He was on edge during that case all those years ago for a reason he couldn’t place — he still can’t place it. Not to mention, you seemed determined to push any and every button of his that you could find. And then some. He lost it, you lost it; it was a disaster. He was as happy to leave as you were to see him go. It’s barely been forty-eight hours since you’ve been back and it’s obvious the same pattern is repeating. Only this time, you’re both stuck with one another. For the indefinite future.

Because, at the end of the day, you’re good at your job, and Hotch is glad you’re here because you’re so good at what you do.

Hotch casts his eyes back to Richard. Is he flirting with you? Hotch can’t exactly tell, yet Rossi says he is. Or did Rossi only say it to get a rise out of Hotch? Not unlikely, knowing David. But it doesn’t make it sit any more right with Hotch.

But you’re getting somewhere with him. That’s important; that’s worth focusing on.

Richard admits that there is one person in particular who had it out for him more than the others. The problem is, that person is in prison. Or he’s supposed to be. Because Richard had him framed.

“Already on it,” Rossi says, putting his phone to his ear. He rattles the name off for Garcia and she goes to work.

Inside the room, you’ve leaned over on the table, your chin in your palm. Clearly sympathetic, trying to get more out of Richard.

Hotch sees it now, the way Richard is looking at you. And he doesn’t like it. He straightens, uncrossing his arms, ready to haul you out of there any second.

+++

You’re getting good information out of him. You haven’t shown him the phone yet, but you will. You wanted him to warm up again first, and he has. You hope Hotch is eating his foot right now from how much he doubted you. And you hope Rossi is laughing at him.

You almost laugh yourself, but you stop, and just in time too, for Richard to throw another curveball your way.

“I think I know what it is,” he says after a moment of looking you up and down — which he won’t stop doing. “You’re all grown up.”

You’re not sure what he’s getting at. “What?”

“Why I didn’t realize it at first,” he continues. “You’re different from the pictures. Older.” He narrows his eyes. “But it’s definitely you.”

“We’re not talking about me,” you redirect him. “We’re talking about Lila.”

“We could talk about you,” he ignores your bait. “Where’d you grow up?”

“Where would he take Lila?” you plow through. “Think about your daughter, Richard. If he has her, where would he take her?”

“He probably just wanted me to turn myself in, the bastard,” Richard says. “Give him a few hours. He’ll let her go.”

“Will he?” you ask. He doesn’t seem at all upset that someone has his daughter. “What about what he’ll do to her? What he’s probably already done?”

He shrugs, then a sinister smirk crawls onto his face. “You were let go without a scratch, weren’t you?”

You can’t hide your reaction. It’s impossible to, when that— that is the last thing you expected him to know.

Before you can react — or realize the laughter you hear is coming from Richard — Hotch is throwing the door open and ordering you out.

“Out, Y/N. Now,” he repeats, glaring at Richard. Not you. Surprisingly.

You stand and leave, your feet working on their own. You pause just outside the room, pulse racing in your ears. The door shuts and Hotch is at your side, looking at you weirdly -- or is that sympathy in his eyes? You don’t know. And you can’t hear a damn thing, but you see Hotch’s mouth moving.

“Y/N,” he says. “I said are you okay?”

“Fine, don’t touch me,” you swat his hand away, not that it was anywhere near your arm. He’s just standing too close and looking at you differently and it’s setting you off all over again. “I’m gonna go get some air.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t try to stop you or lecture you, both of which are a feat for him. He should be proud of himself.

The jab is weak, even in your head. You’re too disoriented to even try something harsher.

You’re out the front doors of the precinct before you can blink, and pacing the sidewalk before you can breathe.

You still can’t breathe, actually. You can’t at all. That’s a problem.

You lean against one of the BAU cars and try to inhale, but it’s like your lungs refuse to expand. They’re shrinking with every passing second and—

You’re sitting on the ground and someone is hovering over you— No, they’re kneeling. They’re saying your name, saying breathe, and you’re trying, but—

“Look at me, you need to breathe, come on,” Hotch takes your hand and presses it between both of his, trying to ground you. “With me, okay?” He takes in a deep breath and you nod, mirroring him, or trying to. You swear you’re trying.

It takes some time, but eventually your breathing evens out again. Reality comes crashing back to you — and Hotch too, apparently, because you both split apart from one another like you’re burning.

“Thanks,” you say, taking in another deep breath.

“You’re welcome,” Hotch replies. He doesn’t sound at all angry, but he won’t stop looking at you.

“No.”

“No?” he asks.

“No,” you repeat. “I’m not talking about it right now.”

“I wasn’t going to ask.”

You scoff. “Sure.”

He pauses. “We will have to talk about it.”

“For god’s sake,” you mutter, rubbing your forehead with a shaking hand. “Not now. And not until we’re back in Quantico. Okay?”

Surprising you, he nods. “Okay.” He waits another beat, still studying you. “Take your time. Come back in when you’re ready.”

You blink after him as he walks away, wondering if that really was Hotch that you just talked to. And not some nicer alien who replaced him.

+++

When you walk back into the precinct, the entire team tries — and promptly fails — to not give you pitying looks.

“I’m fine,” you bite out when Morgan opens his mouth.

He snaps it closed. “Cool. I was gonna ask if you wanted some coffee.”

No he wasn’t. But you let it slide. “Sure. Thank you.”

You settle down in the conference room next to Reid and JJ. Apparently Emily is trying to talk to Richard now with Hotch and Rossi watching, but you’re not sure how far she’ll get, if anything. He seems done being cooperative now. He got what he wanted. Which, for some reason, was to rattle you to your core.

You’re still just not sure how he even knows any of that. The world of serial killers can’t seriously be that small, can it? There’s no way he could’ve known your father and the man who kidnapped you when you were a kid.

And how the fuck are you going to explain any of this to Hotch? He’s not going to let it go; you know he won’t. He will corner you the second you’re back in Quantico and demand answers. Even if you tell him to leave it alone, you know he’ll try to find out in other ways. Because he’s a stubborn jackass like that.

“Here,” Morgan says, handing over a steaming cup of coffee.

“Thanks,” you take it and offer a smile in return. He squeezes your shoulder as you take a sip.

It might be police precinct coffee, but it’s good enough, and it helps. That’s about all you can ask for at this point.

The four of you go over what you know so far once again. Garcia calls with no new leads from the most recent rabbit hole Hotch sent her down, and a promise to keep digging.

“Thanks, Garcia,” you sigh, putting your head down on the table as the call disconnects. “What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know,” Morgan sighs with you. “I mean it’s been well over the window for—”

“Don’t,” you whisper, but loud enough that he stops. “Don’t say it, please.”

“Sorry, kiddo,” Morgan whispers back, resting a hand on your back.

You lift your head. “We’ll get her back.”

JJ and Reid share the same sad look. You hate it. You hate this.

You were gone for two days when you were a kid. You were found on the morning of the third day. There’s still time. Just because it’s been over twenty-four hours doesn’t mean she’s—

Hotch enters the conference room looking just as disturbed as he was when you left the interrogation room earlier. Rossi and Emily trail behind, both watching you closely.

“Morgan and Reid, I want you to go speak with Mrs. Monroe again. Reid, take a close look at Lila’s room, see if there’s anything at all that we’ve missed. Actually, JJ, go with them. Talk with Mrs. Monroe. Update her on everything.”

The three of them nod and begin gathering their things to head out.

“Prentiss, I want you and Rossi to go back to the area where Lila’s phone was found. Canvas the area, keep open eyes. A few officers are already there to help.”

That leaves you. With Hotch.

“Call me with whatever you find,” Hotch tells them. “No piece of information is too small or insignificant right now.”

“Roger that,” Prentiss nods.

One by one, the team files out of the room, and the door shuts behind them. You swallow thickly.

The conference room suddenly feels far too small.

Hotch pulls out one of the chairs next to you, sitting down. He leans his elbows onto the table, not looking at you. Earlier, he wouldn’t stop looking at you, and now he won’t even meet your eyes. You’re five seconds away from tossing this lukewarm coffee in his face.

“Richard mentioned—”

Make that two seconds. “Hotch,” you interrupt him immediately. “I said I’m not talking about this right now.”

“Richard mentioned,” he starts again, ignoring you, “something earlier that startled you.”

You scoff, pushing back from the table. You need to pace. You can’t sit if he’s going to start hounding you for answers now. Right now, of all times.

“We have a missing kid,” you gesture wildly. “In case you forgot.”

Hotch leans back. “We do. And her father seems to know more about your past than I do.”

“Well, you and I aren’t exactly friends.”

“Are you and Richard Monroe friends?”

“What? No!”

“Is he a family friend?”

You freeze. He’s getting too close to the truth already. “What the hell are you getting at?”

Hotch stands slowly, and you take a step back even though he hasn’t moved toward you at all. He notices the action and tilts his head ever so slightly. Fuck. You’re not going to make it out of this. Not when he reads you like a damn book.

“When he said you were let go without a scratch,” Hotch presses. “What did he mean?”

You shake your head. “Nothing. He meant nothing by it.”

“Really?” Hotch continues. “If it was nothing, you wouldn’t be trying to flee this room.”

You blink and realize you’re much closer to the door than you thought, your hand reaching behind you for the door knob. You stop, dropping your hand.

“He mentioned your father,” Hotch says evenly. “But wouldn’t give us a name. Why?”

“Ask him,” you growl. “Ask him these questions since he knows me so well.”

“I’m asking you.”

“What?” you yell. “What the hell do you want from me, Hotch?” There are tears pricking your eyes and you hate it. You hate him. “Now is not the time to go digging through my past just because you have it out for me. I get it, okay? I get that I am the last person on this planet that you wanted to join your team. Believe me, you are the last person I wanted to be working under. But these are the cards we were dealt, alright? So I’d appreciate it if you’d just for once in your sorry, stubborn little life show me some goddamn mercy and leave this alone.”

A tear has escaped that you wipe away quickly, pissed that you let it fall in the first place.

Whatever expression he wears, you can’t read it. “If you’re connected to this case, I need to know. If there’s anything—”

“I would’ve fucking told you already,” you hiss, ready to punch him square on the nose. “I told you to drop it. I can’t do this right now.”

His phone rings, saving him from attempting to say anything else that you might want to deck him for. Thankfully, Hotch answers it.

“Hotchner. Hey Rossi,” he watches you as he talks. And he freezes. “What? Where? How?”

“What happened?” You surge forward, trying to get closer to listen to the call.

Hotch pulls his phone away from his ear and puts it on speaker. Rossi’s voice rushes through.

“An ambulance is taking her to the hospital, but she seems alright,” Rossi says. “We’re going with her.”

“Good, don’t let her leave your sight,” Hotch says. “Are the police canvassing the area?”

“Doing everything they can to look for him.”

“Good. We’re coming to join them.”

You look at Hotch wildly, not exactly excited for sitting in a car with him for hours searching the area for who kidnapped Lila. Not to mention, you seem to be the only one who knows damn well that whoever it was is long gone by now. There’s no way he’s sticking around, or that he’d be dumb enough to turn himself in like Richard.

“We’re not gonna find him,” you mutter.

Both Hotch and Rossi stop talking. “What?” Hotch asks.

“We’re not going to find him,” you repeat. “He’s long gone.”

Both men are quiet. You and Hotch stare at each other. He knows it, too. He knows it’s the truth.

But still, you canvas the area. You sit in the passenger seat as Hotch drives, less reckless than usual. You know it’s no use. You also understand the feeling of guilt that would’ve come if you didn’t at least try.

+++

Lila is sitting up in the hospital bed looking perfectly healthy and intact when you arrive with Hotch. Mrs. Monroe wraps you in a tight hug the second she sees you.

“Thank you,” she says. “For bringing my baby back to me.”

You politely thank her, telling her the entire team helped. You offer a smile to Lila who returns it with a little nod.

You ask some questions, but truthfully, Lila is okay. Shaken up, but she says nothing bad happened. You’re not sure if she’s blocking it out and will one day remember, but all that seems to matter is that she’s back with her mom, and the two appear to be on better terms.

Unsurprisingly, the man who had Lila didn’t tell her his name. He let her see his face, though, which is odd. Bold of him. Hotch makes sure the police know to get a sketch artist to see Lila for a full picture.

Hotch asks as pointed behavior questions as he can, but again, Lila says it was fine. He was irritated, grumpy. Seemed to be waiting on something, but didn’t say what. She was in a house not far from here, in the basement. The police have already swarmed it, but it’s empty, of course. They’re collecting evidence, but Hotch isn’t sure what they’ll find, if anything.

Richard Monroe will keep his deal of life in prison, not the death penalty, if he continues to cooperate. The police seem to hope that with the sketch and Lila’s descriptions, Richard might recognize the guy. Or maybe his face will pop up in the FBI’s database, and Richard can answer questions about him. Until any of that happens, though, Richard remains in custody. And still wants to see his daughter.

You’re not sure if Mrs. Monroe will allow it. Your mom didn’t.

You still don’t know if you wish she would’ve or not. Some days you’re glad she didn’t. Others, like today, you wish she had. There are so many questions you don’t have answers to. So many that you know you’ll never get them all.

#The Gambit #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #hotch x fem!reader #hotch x reader #hotch x you #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfic #enemies to lovers #angst angst angst #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic

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thanoskin · 1 day ago

Text

FLICKERS OF YOU

( first post..kinda nervous… Enjoy! )

Pairing: Thanos x Nam-gyu

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

SFW

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

— It was lights out, there was a faint light down the hall of the large room, the remaining players, exhausted from the day’s game, sat in silence, no one dared to sleep after what just happened. Thanos leaned against the wall, his purple hair catching whatever small light there was. His hands were shaking, he needed to calm the fuck down.

Nam-gyu peered down at him from his bunk, the sharp click-click of the lighter was infuriatingly steady, like a clock counting down the moments to the next game. Nam-gyu clenched his fists, his nerves on high.

“Would you stop that?”

Thanos looked up at him, a grin plastered across his stupid, cute face. “What? Nervous, friend?”

“Big day tomorrow, could be your last.”

Nam-gyu scowled. “You think everythings a joke, don’t you?”

Thanos stood, pocketing his lighter as he stretched. “Not everything, just you.”

Nam-gyu glared at him, but Thanos just smirked, leaning against the bunk’s frame. “Relax,” Thanos said casually. “I’ve got a way to take the edge off. Come on.”

Nam-gyu scrambled off the bed, quickly following his lead like a lost puppy.

“where are we going?”

Thanos gestured toward the door. “The bathroom. I’ve got some cigs. Thought you might want one before… well, you know.”

Nam-gyu immediately got defensive as he continued to follow Thanos. “Why would I need….”

Thanos smirked again. “Because you need it. Or are you too scared to be alone with me?”

Nam-gyu brought his hand to his face to hide his blush as he followed Thanos, the tracksuit sleeve snug against his cheek.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Thanos kicked open the door and leaned against the wall by the sinks, pulling a slightly crumpled cigarette from his pocket and lighting it. He took a long drag before holding the pack out to Nam-gyu.

“Here.” Thanos held out the pack, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

Nam-gyu hesitated before shaking his head. “I don’t really smoke like that.”

"Figured,” Thanos said, flicking ash onto the floor. "You're too much of a good boy for that."

Nam-gyu bristled. "I'm not a 'good boy.”

Thanos chuckled, stepping closer.

“Oh, i know you’re not. But you sure like pretending to be.”

Nam-gyu's breath hitched as Thanos stopped just a step away, close enough that he could smell the faint scent of smoke.

Nam-gyu crossed his arms, leaning against the opposite wall. “You dragged me all the way here for this? You could’ve just smoked alone.”

Thanos chuckled, tapping ash onto the floor. “And miss the chance to see you squirm? Nah.”

Nam-gyu blushed again. “I’m not squirming.”

“Sure you’re not,” Thanos said, his tone amused.

“You’ve been on edge since the first game. Always looking over your shoulder, like you’re waiting for someone to stab you in the back.” He took another drag, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Let me guess, you think that someone is me, huh?”

Nam-gyu’s silence was answer enough. He loved Thanos to death, he’d do anything for him. His partner in crime, he couldn’t stand the thought of being abandoned and kicked out of his sight.

Nam-gyu’s pulse raced, his mouth dry. “Maybe you should focus on yourself instead of trying to analyze me.”

Thanos leaned in slightly, “Maybe I’d rather focus on you.”

Nam-gyu’s breath caught, his stomach twisting with anxiety and something else he didn’t want to name.

“Why are you doing this?”

Thanos hesitated for the first time.

“Because I’m tired of pretending I don’t care,” he admitted, his voice softer. “You drive me crazy. And not in the way this place does. I can’t ignore it anymore.”

Nam-gyu stared at him, his heart pounding. “You’re serious?” he felt as if Thanos was joking.

Thanos gave a lopsided grin. “Serious enough to tell you here, in the worst place imaginable.” He stepped back, giving Nam-gyu space. “I’m not expecting anything. Just thought you should know, okay?”

Nam-gyu swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to the floor. “You’re still an ass,” he muttered, his cheeks visibly burning. He covered his hands with his sleeves nervously.

Thanos smiled, flicking the cigarette into the sink. “Yeah, but you’re blushing.”

Nam-gyu looked up, scowling. “I’m not.”

“Sure you’re not,” Thanos teased, stepping past him toward the door. “Come on, let’s get back before these guards thinks we’re up to something.” he wiggled his eyebrows.

Nam-gyu hesitated, the warmth in his stomach refusing to fade. With a sharp sigh, he followed, though he couldn’t stop the faint smile tugging at his lips.

#squid game #squid game fanfic #squid game season 2 #squid game smut #squid game x reader #smut #gay men #nam gyu #thanos squid game #player 230 #player 124 #thanos x nam gyu #thanos x reader #nam gyu x reader

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nakylvr · 3 days ago

Text

VIDEO GAMES

sophia laforteza x tmasc!reader

summary: after "ignoring" your girlfriend because you were playing a video game, she decides to take matters into her own hands

warnings/tags: language, nsfw content, established relationship, tmasc!reader, dom!sophia, sub!reader, bondage, mommy kink, strap on, riding, not proofread

minors dni

the new marvel rivals game had just released, and all your friends were begging you to play with them. so, after waiting five hours for it to download, it was eventually finished and you started playing.

you were playing all throughout the afternoon into the night, when you got a call from sophia. quickly sliding one of your headphones off, you grab your phone and answer the call, using your shoulder to keep it secure. "hey babe, what's up?"

"i was on the way and wanted to ask if you needed anything while i'm out," sophia says over the phone. when you don't answer, she speaks up again. "yn? are you listening?"

"huh?" you let out. "sorry, no, i think i'm good. when will you get here- shit!" you curse loudly when you die, slouching back in your chair and sighing.

"are you playing a game?"

"yeah, the new marvel rivals game just released and my friends wanted me to play with them," you answer.

"well i'll be there in ten minutes."

"okay, i'll have the door unlocked," you reply. as soon as she hangs up you put your phone down and start playing again.

you did unlock the door, but when sophia walked inside she was met with the sounds of you yelling at your computer. after setting her bag down she heads over to your room, opening the cracked door wider to see you sitting at your desk with your eyes glued to the screen.

silently, she walks behind you and wraps her arms around your shoulders, causing you to jump and slide your headphones off, turning your head around to see sophia.

"hey, baby," you smile at her, pecking her lips quickly.

"hi," sophia smiles back at you. "how's your game?" she asks, playing with your hair as it was messed up from the headphones on your head for such a long period of time.

"super fun!" you reply, your smile growing. "just let me finish this match and i'll get off."

"mkay," she nods, kissing your cheek as you look back at the screen.

an hour passes by, and you still were on the game. your friends were trying to get to the highest level they could before stopping, and you ended up agreeing and continuing as well. you wanted your moon knight's special mr knight skin, obviously you were going to work hard for it, even if you would end up paying in the end. sophia's sitting on your bed behind you, half watching you play and half contemplating what to do.

"yn," sophia says. "it's been over an hour."

"hm?" you glance behind you to look at her before at the clock. "shit, i'll get off after we finish this match, okay?" you look back at the screen. "jason! what did i tell you about healing me?! i'm about to die, asshole!"

after another forty-five minutes and you were still playing, sophia decided to take matters into her own hands. getting up from your bed, she walks up behind you and rests her chin on your shoulder, moving one of your headphones off your ear. "honey, you said you'd get off two hours ago," she says to you quietly, her voice laced with a tone you knew far too well.

glancing over at her for a split second, you nod your head before looking back at the screen. "i know, i know, i'm sorry. just give me five more minutes to-"

you're cut off by sophia grabbing you by your cheeks firmly, turning your head to face her, her nails digging into your skin lightly. "no. turn it off now."

your eyes widen at both the demanding tone in her voice and the look on her face, swallowing the lump in your throat and nodding quickly. "o-okay." you tell your friends you're getting off before quickly turning off the system and taking the headphones off your head. "i didn't mean to-" you start trying to explain yourself, however being cut off again before you could get more than a few words out.

"ah," sophia shakes her head, grabbing the back of your head and tugging on your hair lightly to look up at her. "what do we say instead of giving excuses?"

you wince lightly at the feeling of her pulling on your hair as you look up at her. "i'm sorry, mommy," you mumble out embarrassedly, your face heating up at her eyes on you.

"mm," she hums, nodding her head. "well, i forgive you. but you're gonna have to be good and take your punishment, okay?" she tells you, her hand still tangled in your hair.

"okay." you nod as best as you can despite the pain you're feeling on your head.

a smile forms on sophia's face, and she leans in, kissing you roughly. a little noise of surprise leaves your mouth at the sudden action, but you instantly are kissing back, letting her take over the way she wanted. when she pulls away, you're left breathless as she walks over to your closet. your eyes watch where she goes, your eyebrows raising slightly as she walks back to you with your strap, and a pair of handcuffs.

"wh-" you try to say, but you stop when sophia spins you around in your chair.

"since the games are more important than me, i think we should have some fun," sophia says. "put it on."

you nod again, knowing better than to oppose the woman when she was like this. hastily, you strip yourself of your shirt and shorts, leaving you in just your boxers. you stand for a moment to take the strap from her, securing it around your hips. opening your mouth to speak, you end up not saying anything when she pushes you back down onto the chair.

sophia grabs both your hands in hers, putting them behind the back of the chair and then putting the cuffs on, tightening them to the point it dug into your skin lightly.

"mommy i-"

"shh," sophia's quick to cut you off, putting her finger on your lips. "you can handle it, can't you? you're my strong boy, right?"

you nod your head, a little pout on your lips. "yes, mommy."

"good boy." she smiles at you, patting your cheek gently before kissing you.

you didn't realize just how much you liked having your hands on her until now with your hands restrained behind your back. the metal of the cuffs digging into your skin when you tried to move them, causing you to give up fairly easily from the stinging sensation. when sophia pulls away from the kiss, you're breathing heavily, your eyes watching her slowly strip off her clothes. your breath hitches in your throat as she straddles you, looking at her with big eyes and pupils dilated.

she doesn't say anything as she sinks down onto your cock, a small sigh leaving her mouth while putting her hands on your shoulders. your eyes don't leave her face as hers flutter close for a moment, her lips parting slightly with a little whimper coming from her. after taking a moment to adjust, she starts rocking her hips, a quiet moan escaping past her lips. when she opens her eyes and looks at you, you swore your heart stopped beating for a second.

"keep your eyes on me, baby," she tells you, one of her hands raking through your hair and grabbing the back of it. the stinging pain forcing you to do exactly that, your eyes wide as she starts moving faster, the chair squeaking with every move she makes. "oh my god, baby," she whimpers, tugging on your hair and throwing her head back. "mnnh you fill me up so good."

she's started getting louder and talking more on purpose. you knew that. it went along with not being able to touch her, to just sit there and let her use you like you were a toy. you couldn't lie and say you didn't like it at least a little bit. all you could do was watch as she moaned and whined with your hair tight in one hand with the other clawing into your bicep.

"fuck...see what happens when you leave me– ah– needy for hours? if you paid as much attention to me as that goddamn game then maybe i'd let you fuck me."

"i'm sorry, mommy," you say, hissing quietly at the pain in your head from how tight she was gripping your hair.

"will you listen next time?" she looks down at you, pupils blown wide filled with darkness.

"yes, mommy." you quickly nod your head. "i won't do it again, i swear."

a smile forms on sophia's face when you respond, her hand moving up to your shoulder and grasping you for support. "that's my good boy," she whispers, leaning down and kissing you.

your lips slide together with teeth clashing against one another, feeling her moaning into the kiss as her hips rock against you in a fast rhythm. parting from the kiss, she pants against your lips with more whimpers and moans leaving her mouth.

"fuck, i'm gonna cum," she whimpers, putting her face in your neck. her hips move sloppily, trying so desperately to get herself to cum while she whines into your neck. "you feel so good, oh my god."

"fuck," you whisper. her moans are loud right next to your ear, feeling little drops of sweat hitting your skin but you didn't care enough to mind it. all you wished for is that you could use your hands. to grab her hips, her chest, her neck, anything. your knocked out of your thoughts when you hear her whine loudly against your neck, her body shaking slightly with her orgasm crashing down.

pulling her face away from your neck, sophia's hand lets go of your hair, fixing it back into place while looking down at you with a small smile on her face at your expression. "what's wrong, baby boy? you wanted to have your fun with me?"

"please, mommy," you say. "let me show you i'm sorry."

when you look at her with those puppy eyes she can't help but give in, leaning close to you while smiling still. "awe, my baby wants to make mommy feel good?"

you nod your head quickly, not even realizing her hands moving around the chair to unclasp the cuffs off your hands until you don't feel the metal anymore and hear it clink on the ground. immediately you move your hands to grab her hips, looking up at her. "please?"

all she does is nod her head, her smile growing when you pick her up and move over to the bed. maybe you being on the games for too long wasn't that big of a problem, now that she knew how to fix it.

#katseye thoughts 💭#katseye x reader #katseye imagines #katseye scenarios #katseye smut #sophia laforteza thoughts 💭#sophia laforteza x reader #sophia x reader #sophia imagine #sophia scenarios #nsfw.

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starlost-mochi-x · 2 days ago

Note

hello 🙊 for the prompt list thing may i request 17 + 28 with lino or jisung pls 😌 excited to see what you'll come up with heheh

i had fun with this request, anon. it's kind of sad so maybe i'll write a little part 2 to it but ig we all need some angst from time to time. i was actually going to write jisung for this fic but i'll save him for another ><

rose - lee minho

pairing: lee minho x reader

summary: you and lee minho, the smartest student on campus, get unexpectedly paired up to work on an assignment

genre: kinda angsty ngl, escalates quickly, college!au, mutual pining, mentions of being thrown out a window (it's a minho fic what do you expect)

a/n: this isn't really how i saw it going but fuck it we ball. dividers by @kodaswrld

⛓️ prompts: 17. "Why are you looking at me like that?" / 28. "You're looking at me like that again."

skz prompt list | skz masterlist

"It doesn't make sense," you groan, dropping your head into your hands. Giving up completely, you drop yourself further into the mess of books and papers scattered across Minho's low desk.

Today, the sun is watery and filters weakly through the wide windows of Minho's dorm bedroom, making everything seem pale and slightly colder than usual. You rub your feet together under the desk, your fluffy socks providing some comfort, before it evaporates as you turn back to the part of the assignment you've been struggling over for the past hour.

Minho is sitting across from you, embedded in his own section of the assignment; his head is bent and he sits with his back straight, his elbows positioned so that they just touch the edge of the table. He is pale in the weak sunlight and the only movement he makes comes from the slight flicking of his wrist as he neatly scribes down notes, apparently unaware of your predicament.

He looks like a statue, you think.

"Hey, Minnie," you hum lowly, resorting to annoying him instead of re-attempting your part of the assignment. "Help me out."

"No. And don't call me that."

You groan, pressing your fingers down onto the table and pushing several miscellaneous papers his way. A couple of sticky notes go flying too, and Minho sighs irritatedly as he plucks one off of the collar of his pristine white shirt.

Your eyes follow the trail of his hand as he lowers it, before it creeps back up. His top two buttons are undone and you can see the attractive glint of a necklace, a sleek chain perhaps, against the perfect porcelain skin of his throat-

You sigh. Of all people, why him?

You wish you'd been allowed to choose your own partner for the project. But your professor had other ideas in mind and decided to pair up random people 'to facilitate teamwork and spark new connections' or whatever. Something like that.

Much to your disappointment, you'd been separated from your friends and teamed up with Lee Minho. You knew of him but had never actually talked. Unless you counted that one time where you'd run face-first into him as he'd been coming out of the college library. And all that had been was a rushed apology from you and a slight, huffy glare from him.

He was kind of strange, you thought. He always sat at the front of every lecture, always finished his work way before it was due and scored perfectly every time. Without missing a beat and without breaking a sweat. It was so incredibly irritating.

On top of that, he was popular, usually swarmed by friends and other students whenever he walked the halls. Not that he seemed to notice most of the time. Or maybe he just didn't care. Maybe he was a robot. It would explain his behaviour.

A really attractive robot at that.

You crane your neck a little, peering over the stacks of books between the both of you and see that he's almost done writing up his notes for his section. All without even so much as a glance in your direction. Your page isn't even half-full and you're stuck.

"Why'd you ask me to come to your dorm if you were just gonna ignore me?" You whine.

"Because," he says calmly, "it's easier than having to do it over the phone."

Little shit.

"What about the library?" You retort. "We could have just gone there."

Minho doesn't take his eyes off the paper and he doesn't reply either. Faint colour rises in his cheeks but you're too wrapped up in your own current problems to notice.

"Minho, come on. We're supposed to be working together." You tilt your head and fix him with a pleading gaze, half-despair, half panic. You're not dumb, and maybe not incredibly smart like Lee Minho either, but this assignment is difficult. And it's harder when he's refusing to help.

You don't take your eyes off of him, deciding to keep your gaze fixed on his face until he chooses to acknowledge you. You wait almost ten minutes before he looks up again, and he jolts slightly, like he hasn't realised you've been fixated on him all that time.

He stiffens. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because. I need help."

"You're clever. Figure it out on your own."

Your heart flutters from the rather direct compliment but you choose to ignore it. "Minho, please."

He smirks suddenly, a short bout of apparent confidence, teasing as he imitates you. "Minho, please."

You swear and lift a fist but he doesn't even flinch. He looks at you quietly and his smile disappears, then he gets up and crouches down beside you, poring over your page.

He hums. "You didn't write shit."

You groan. "Yes, I know. Thank you for clarifying."

"You're welcome," he murmurs, unfazed, eyes fixed on the page.

It's then that you realise how close he is; he's not sitting down fully, leaning on the balls on his feet, a temporary sitting position. One hand is on the desk and he's leaning in a little, his mouth moving slightly as he exhales out words, skim-reading your page.

He smells good, you think.

Minho is there for what feels like hours but is probably a few seconds, and then he leans back, fixing you with a stare. You feel the unusual warmth of his presence near you fade, like a mug of hot tea gone cold, and a bitter feeling rises in your throat. You open your mouth a little, maybe to prepare for whatever insult he's concocted, but it doesn't come.

What does come is an unexpectedly gentle explanation of your section of the assignment. He moves a little closer to point things out on your research papers, so close that if you turned your head, the tip of your nose would brush his chest. He's looming over you a little but you feel strangely protected, and you find yourself relishing in the almost-contact of Minho being there beside you.

So much so that when he leans back to clarify that you've understood what he's been saying, you find yourself as a loss for words. All you can do is gaze up at his stupidly perfect face, mind whirring with many thoughts but none as present as the fact that you hadn't been listening and now he will probably throw you out the window.

"Y/n."

You blink once, slowly, stupidly.

"You're looking at me like that again."

And maybe it's the fact that this whole thing feels unreal, or that the assignment has you so dazed, or that you're working with Lee Minho of all people, but you suddenly find your hand reaching up to brush a strand of soft hair out of his eyes. It trails down until your thumb rests gently in the middle of his plush bottom lip. You expect him to move back, chide you, glare, push you away.

But he doesn't.

Later, you will be embarrassed by this memory, and the fact dimly registers somewhere in the back of your mind.

It seems to register in Minho's mind too, because his eyes widen a fraction and suddenly you find yourself falling off the soft, ethereal cloud of fantasy into the real world, where consequences and rational thoughts exist, though they didn't several seconds earlier.

You jerk your hand back and he looks almost disappointed, but you don't notice. A strand of fumbled apologies leaves your mouth as you stand, almost tripping, and quickly collect your belongings.

Minho has his hands out, seemingly trying to stop you, but his face is burning and unsure and you brush past him, fleeing as your eyes sting with tears. You rush through the unfamiliar setting of his dorm and eventually find the door.

"Wait," Minho gasps, seemingly out of breath. From what, you don't know. He still has his hands out, but he doesn't move to touch you, maybe afraid that he might scare you or cause some sort of unwanted reaction. Not that you're not already having one.

"Please," he says, quieter. You're still fumbling with the lock on the door, back to him. And you're not listening, too dazed and afraid to turn and face him. Humiliation washes over you in waves.

You feel so embarrassed.

But Minho has yet to throw an insult or a glare. He's just standing there, his hands out, almost reaching, and an expression of near-worry on his face. It looks strange, like he's not quite sure how to move his features to express it. In other situations, you would have laughed. Now all you want to do is cry.

The lock on the dormitory door finally gives and you rush out, disappearing down the hallway in a blur. Minho lets out a last, frantic 'wait' and considers rushing after you, but his rationality tells him it would just make things worse.

He pushes the door shut in a haze and sinks down against it, his hair ruffling against the smooth, white wood. He finds himself out of breath again, like he's been running, though he hasn't, and his stomach feels funny. Like something is leaping around inside it.

It's not unpleasant, almost a nice feeling, but it's unfamiliar and Minho has learnt to recognise that unfamiliar is usually not a good sign. He's supposed to know things and the feeling won't stop, so he puts both hands on his stomach to try and press it out, maybe.

But it doesn't work. Flashes of you run through his mind and the feeling only intensifies. His face feels like it's burning and he is bewildered, rosy in the weak sunlight. And he has a sudden, strange longing, yearning, maybe, to see you again.

Is it because you touched his face like that and he kind of liked it, maybe? Is it because he enjoyed having you around even though you're not a friend, or is it because you're a familiar face at college, and familiar is good and familiar is safe? He doesn't know.

A rather raw feeling surfaces in his chest and he almost gags at the unexpectedness of it. Suddenly he's on a stormy ocean, waves ravaging and lightning flashing all around him. He falls off his boat and loses his grip on the anchor and sinks into the cold, dark sea.

It runs down his cheeks, staining them wet and salty. And he's not one to be overemotional or show much of it in the first place unless there is a real reason, but he can't stop.

Minho puts his head in his hands and cries.

a/n: part 2?

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cherryxbooo · 2 days ago

Note

Hey 😊 I love your writing sooo much !

Would you maybe write a Tim Bradford imagine where you're also a TO and you're having feelings for each other but you both try to ignore them, not to let them get in your way during the job. One time that changes as like in the episodes where Lucy gets kidnapped, it's you instead of her after a date gone wrong. Tim is on the edge the whole time till they find you. And when he sees you in that barrel, barely alive, his world crashes. Of course you can be saved and he stays at the hospital all the time. When you get home he also insists on taking care of you and there he also finds the courage to tell you his feelings properly, how much he loves you and that he'll always be there to protect you. I hope that's okay with you 💗🫶🏼

I’m not going anywhere

Summary: Tim and Y/N, both tough and dedicated TOs, struggle to suppress their growing feelings for each other. When Y/N is abducted after a date goes wrong, Tim refuses to back down, risking everything to find her.

Note: I'm so glad you enjoy my stories, love! 🫶 Thank you for this amazing request, I absolutely love the idea! I decided to give it my own spin to keep it unique and fresh instead of copying the entire episode. I hope you enjoy it! 🤍

Reader x Tim Bradford

Genre: fluff/angst

Being a Training Officer was never easy. You were expected to mold rookies into dependable cops, but it was also your job to keep them alive.

Every shift brought challenges that tested your patience and skills, especially when you worked alongside someone like Tim Bradford.

Tim was a force of nature. His bluntness could crush egos, his discipline was unmatched, and his loyalty ran deeper than any badge.

As a fellow TO, I admired him more than I cared to admit. But admiration had morphed into something more, something complicated.

I had feelings for him. And it was maddening.

Tim was infuriating. He challenged me at every turn, pushed me to my limits, and managed to crawl under my skin like no one else ever had.

But then there were the moments that made my heart ache:

the quiet glances when he thought no one was watching, the softness in his voice when he checked on me after a tough day, the way he never let anyone, rookie or otherwise, disrespect me.

We would also text each other back and forth to check in on one another.

It got to the point where if one of us didn’t respond within an hour, we assumed something was wrong.

That’s what normal colleagues do, right? Checking up on one another, or am I just fooling myself?

For months, I’d buried those feelings, telling myself that they were a distraction I couldn’t afford.

This job was dangerous enough without the added complication of being in love with my colleague.

Still, there were moments when I wondered if he felt the same.

I mean, someone like Tim Bradford wouldn’t just know my favorite coffee order for no reason, right?

The station was already filled with people when I arrived, the smell of burnt coffee and stale paperwork filling the air.

I was halfway to my desk when I heard Tim’s voice behind me.

“You look like you didn’t sleep,” he said, stepping beside me.

“Good morning to you too, Bradford,” I replied, rolling my eyes.

“I’m serious,” he said, giving me a once-over and putting the coffee he got me down on my desk.

“Late night?”

“Something like that,” I muttered, collapsing into my chair.

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Work-related?”

“No.”

He didn’t ask further, but the tension in his jaw told me he wanted to.

The truth was, I’d been on another date last night.

For weeks, I’d been trying to distract myself from my feelings for Tim by going out with guys I barely knew.

The dates were always the same, awkward conversations, forced laughter, and a growing sense that I was wasting my time.

But I kept trying, convinced that if I could just find someone else, I’d stop thinking about Tim every second of every day.

“How’s the rookie?” I asked, steering the conversation away from myself.

Tim sighed. “Still green, but they’ll get there.”

Before he could say more, Angela appeared, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Well, if it isn’t the dream team,” she teased, leaning against my desk.

“What do you want, Lopez?” Tim asked, crossing his arms.

“Nothing,” she said innocently.

“Just enjoying the sight of you two pretending you’re not completely into each other.”

I nearly choked on my coffee. “Excuse me?”

Angela smirked. “Oh, come on. It’s obvious to everyone but you two.”

Tim’s ears turned red, and he muttered something under his breath before walking off.

“You really need to do something about that tension,” Angela said, winking at me.

I glared at her. “There is no tension. Besides, I'm going on a date later tonight." I added to make her shut up.

“Sure, but we both know the real reason why you're going on that date,” she said, walking away with a laugh.

I glanced at Tim, who was now at the other end of the room, barking orders at a rookie.

For a moment, our eyes met, and my heart did that stupid fluttering thing I hated so much.

Angela might have been onto something.

That evening after my shift, I found myself sitting across from Eric, my date for the night.

He was tall, dark-haired, and charming in a way that felt almost too polished.

We’d met at a coffee shop a week ago, and while I hadn’t been particularly interested, I’d agreed to go out with him.

“So, what made you say yes?” Eric asked, flashing me a grin.

“Honestly? I don’t know,” I admitted, sipping my drink.

He laughed, leaning back in his chair. “Well, I’m glad you did.”

I nodded, but my mind wasn’t really on him. As he talked about his job in finance, I found myself comparing him to Tim.

Eric was nice, but he didn’t have Tim’s sharp wit or his quiet strength.

“You’re distracted,” Eric said suddenly, his voice breaking into my thoughts.

“Sorry,” I said quickly. “Long day.”

“Let’s fix that,” he said, signaling the bartender for another round. “How about we go somewhere quieter after this?”

I hesitated, knowing I shouldn't agree to go with a stranger but I wanted to forget about Tim.

His charm had a rehearsed quality, and his smile didn��t quite reach his eyes. Something about Eric felt... off.

But I pushed the thought aside, chalking it up to my overactive imagination.

“Sure,” I said, forcing a smile

Eric’s apartment was in a run-down building on the outskirts of the city.

The moment I stepped inside, unease crept up my spine.

The place was sparse, too sparse, and smelled faintly of chemicals.

“Nice place,” I said, trying to keep my voice light.

“Thanks,” Eric replied, locking the door behind us.

When I turned to face him, his expression had changed. The easy smile was gone, replaced by something darker.

“You’re a cop, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice low and sharp.

I froze. Not understanding why that was important. “What?”

“I saw your badge the other night,” he said, stepping closer.

My heart raced. “Eric, I think you’re confused—”

Before I could finish, he grabbed my arm, his grip bruising.

“You cops think you’re so smart,” he snarled. “Always sticking your noses where they don’t belong.”

“Let go of me,” I said, trying to pull away.

He didn’t. Instead, he shoved me against the wall, his hand clamping over my mouth.

“You’re going to regret this,” he hissed.

Panic surged through me as he dragged me toward a side door. My mind raced, searching for an escape, but he was too strong.

The last thing I saw before everything went black was the glint of a syringe in his hand.

When I woke up, my head throbbed, and my body felt heavy. I was in a dark, cold room, my hands bound and my mouth gagged.

Eric stood over me, a twisted smile on his face.

“Slept well, officer?” he taunted.

I glared at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.

“You thought you could mess with me?” he continued, pacing. “Well, now you’re going to see what happens when people cross me.”

He opened a barrel in the corner of the room, the metallic smell making my stomach churn.

“No one’s coming for you,” he said, lifting me effortlessly and shoving me inside.

As the lid closed, plunging me into darkness, I fought to stay calm. I couldn’t die here. Not like this.

Meanwhile, Tim paced through the station, his instincts churning. Something was wrong.

He couldn't explain it, but the nagging feeling in his gut had only grown stronger since Y/N hadn’t responded to his messages.

It wasn’t like her to leave him hanging, and she always checked in after her shifts or when she went out.

He tried to push the thought aside, she was a grown woman, capable and strong, but it wouldn’t leave him.

Tim knew her routines, and her habits, and something didn’t add up. He checked his phone again.

Nothing.

“Where is she?” he muttered under his breath, frustration bubbling over.

Back at his desk, Tim pulled out his phone and shot her another text:

“You home safe?”

The minutes ticked by, and there was no response.

He told himself she was probably asleep or didn’t hear her phone. She always replied, though. Always.

Another text: “Y/N, call me when you get this.”

Tim stared at the screen, waiting, the worry clawing at him now. He scrolled through their recent messages, trying to reassure himself.

Her last text had been earlier in the evening: “Heading out now. Have fun working your long shift!”

It sounded normal. Casual. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

He stepped out into the hallway and called her phone. It rang and rang before going to voicemail.

“Y/N, it’s me. Call me back when you get this, alright? Just… let me know you’re okay.”

He hung up, his chest tightening. Something was definitely wrong.

Tim called her again, then again, but there was no answer.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, pacing back and forth.

He decided to start with the basics. Heading to Grey’s office, Tim knocked and stepped in without waiting for an answer.

“Bradford, what can I do for you?” Grey asked, looking up from his paperwork.

“Have you seen Y/L/N? She didn’t come back to the station tonight, did she?” Tim asked, keeping his tone steady, though his mind was racing.

Grey shook his head. “No, she clocked out on time. Why?”

Tim hesitated. “No reason just hadn’t heard from her. Thought she might’ve stayed late.”

“Everything okay?” Grey’s perceptive gaze lingered.

“Yeah. I’m sure it’s fine.” Tim turned and left the office, though his gut told him otherwise.

Tim strode into the bullpen, where Angela Lopez and Nyla Harper were deep in conversation over their laptops.

“Have either of you heard from Y/N?” Tim asked abruptly.

Angela looked up, frowning. “Not since this morning. Didn’t she have a date tonight?”

The word date hit Tim like a punch. “Do you know where?”

Angela shook her head. “She didn’t say much, just that it was someone new she met online. Why?”

Tim’s jaw tightened. “She’s not answering her phone.”

Nyla set her coffee down, her sharp instincts immediately kicking in. “How long has it been?”

“Hours,” Tim admitted, his frustration evident. “She always checks in. This isn’t like her.”

Angela exchanged a glance with Nyla.

“Alright,” Nyla said, standing up.

“Let’s figure this out. You said she had a date, does she use any apps? Maybe tech can pull her messages.”

Angela nodded. “She mentioned using something, but I don’t remember the name. Let’s get tech on it.”

Angela grabbed her phone, calling tech support while Nyla placed a calming hand on Tim’s shoulder.

“We’ll find her, Bradford,” she said firmly. “You know Y/N, she’s tough. She wouldn’t go down without a fight.”

Tim didn’t respond, his jaw clenched tightly.

The bullpen was full of people and their voices, but to Tim, the noise was a distant hum.

His focus was razor-sharp, his jaw clenched so tightly that his teeth ached.

He loomed behind the tech analyst’s desk, the tension radiating off him making the others keep their distance.

Angela and Nyla exchanged concerned glances nearby, but no one dared to interrupt him.

“Anything yet?” he barked, his voice cutting through the room like a whip.

The analyst flinched slightly but kept typing. “I’m pulling her dating app data now. It’s just taking a moment to decrypt the server.”

Tim’s fists clenched at his sides. Every second felt like a lifetime.

Y/N was out there, somewhere, and the thought of her being in danger gnawed at him like a vice around his chest.

Finally, the analyst straightened. “Got something!”

Tim surged forward, leaning over the desk as the analyst brought up a profile on the screen.

“She was messaging a guy named Eric Dawson,” the analyst explained, scrolling through the messages.

“They had arranged to meet at a bar in Eagle Rock.”

Tim’s heart pounded. “What bar?”

“Solana’s Tavern,” the analyst replied.

Nyla crossed her arms, her brow furrowed.

“That area’s rough. Not exactly where you take someone on a first date.”

Tim’s chest tightened further. “Pull traffic cams from outside the bar. I need to know if she made it there and if she left.”

The analyst nodded and got to work, typing furiously. The tension in the room was suffocating as everyone watched the screen in silence.

Tim paced behind the desk, every step heavy with barely restrained anxiety.

“Tim,” Angela said softly, approaching him.

“Maybe you should take a beat. Let us handle this.”

He spun around, his eyes blazing. “No. She’s counting on me. I’m not sitting this one out.”

Angela held up her hands in surrender, backing off.

“Got it!” the analyst said, breaking the silence.

Footage from a traffic camera outside the bar flickered onto the screen.

They watched as Y/N appeared, her expression hesitant as she walked into the bar.

“There she is,” Angela said, pointing at the screen.

Tim leaned closer, his eyes locked on the image of Y/N.

He barely noticed how hard his hands were gripping the edge of the desk.

The analyst fast-forwarded the footage, scanning for her exit. About an hour later, Y/N appeared again, walking out with a man.

The guy had his hand on her arm, his grip firm, his body language all wrong.

“She doesn’t look comfortable,” Nyla said, her voice low.

“He’s leading her. She’s not willingly going with him.”

Tim’s stomach churned. “Run his plates,” he snapped, his tone sharp.

The analyst zoomed in on the car the man guided Y/N towards, pulling up the plate number.

Seconds later, the vehicle’s registration information appeared.

“The car is registered to an address just outside the city,” the analyst said.

“A warehouse on the outskirts of town.”

“That’s it,” Tim said, already moving.

He grabbed his vest and radio. “Gear up. We’re heading there now.”

“Tim,” Grey’s voice called, cutting through the chaos.

Tim stopped but didn’t turn around.

“You need to stay focused,” Grey said firmly, stepping closer.

“I know how much this means to you, but if you’re too emotional, you’ll compromise the operation.”

Tim turned, his eyes hard. “With all due respect sir but again, I’m not sitting this one out.”

Grey studied him for a long moment before nodding. “Fine. But keep your head on straight. She’s counting on you, and I can't afford to lose one of my best officers.”

Tim nodded sharply, strapping on his vest.

“Let’s move,” he said to Angela and Nyla, his tone leaving no room for argument.

With the rest of the team following behind.

The warehouse loomed in the distance, a decrepit shell of concrete and rust that felt suffocating even from the outside.

Tim’s heart pounded in his chest as he and the team moved in silently, weapons drawn.

Every instinct screamed at him to hurry, but he forced himself to stay focused.

This wasn’t just another rescue mission. This was Y/N. His Y/N.

And he was barely holding it together.

They moved through the darkened halls, their flashlights sweeping over scattered debris and abandoned machinery.

The air was thick with the smell of oil and mildew, but there was something else, a faint metallic tang that Tim couldn’t quite place.

It turned his stomach.

“Clear,” Angela said, her voice steady as they swept one room after another.

Tim’s jaw clenched. Every second that passed felt like an eternity, and with each empty room, the knot in his chest tightened.

“Over here!” Nolan’s voice cut through the tense silence.

Tim turned, his flashlight catching the glint of something metallic in the corner of the room. A row of barrels.

“No...” he whispered, his legs moving before his brain could catch up.

The closer he got, the stronger the smell became, an acrid mix of chemicals and fear.

He dropped to his knees in front of the nearest barrel, his hands trembling as he pried the lid off.

Empty.

He moved to the next one, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Bradford,” Angela said gently, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“No!” he snapped, shaking her off. “I’m not stopping.”

The third barrel was heavier. He could feel it as he pulled at the lid, his muscles straining. And then it came loose.

Tim’s flashlight illuminated the inside, and his entire world shattered.

It was her.

Y/N was curled inside, her body limp, her skin pale and clammy. Her wrists were bound, the rope digging so deeply into her skin that blood had dried in angry, red streaks.

Her breathing was shallow, her chest rising and falling so faintly he almost missed it.

“Y/N!” he choked, dropping his flashlight and reaching in to pull her out.

“Get a medic!” Angela yelled, her voice distant as Tim focused solely on Y/N.

He cradled her against his chest, his hands shaking as he checked for a pulse. It was there, but weak.

“Come on, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Stay with me.”

Her eyelids fluttered, and for a moment, he thought he’d imagined it. But then her lips parted, and a barely audible whisper escaped.

“Tim...”

Relief surged through him, hot and overwhelming.

“I’m here,” he said, brushing the hair from her face. “I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”

Her head lolled against his chest, and he tightened his grip, as if holding her closer could somehow shield her from everything she’d been through.

The paramedics arrived moments later, but to Tim, it felt like hours.

He reluctantly let them take her, his hands still hovering as if afraid she’d disappear if he didn’t keep touching her.

As they loaded her into the ambulance, Angela placed a hand on his shoulder again. This time, he didn’t shrug it off.

“You did good,” she said softly.

He didn’t answer. All he could think about was the sight of her in that barrel, the life nearly drained out of her.

And how he never wanted to feel that kind of fear again.

The first thing I felt was pain, dull, throbbing, and constant pain.

It was everywhere, but especially in my chest, like I couldn’t breathe deeply without it stabbing me from the inside.

My eyes fluttered open, and I was greeted by a blinding white light that made me squeeze them shut again.

I tried to move, but my body protested. My throat was dry, my lips cracked.

“Y/N?”

The voice was soft, deep, and familiar. I forced my eyes open again, squinting, and slowly turned my head toward the sound.

“Tim…” I croaked, barely above a whisper.

He was right there, leaning forward in the stiff hospital chair like he’d been glued to it for hours.

His hands were gripping mine tightly, and his face was a mixture of relief and worry.

“You’re awake,” he said, his voice rough and unsteady.

His eyes softened as they roamed over my face like he couldn’t believe I was actually there.

“Where am I?” I asked, my voice barely audible.

“You’re in the hospital,” he said, sitting up straighter. “You’re safe now. We found you.”

The memories started flooding back. The date. The man. Everything.

My heart rate spiked, and the beeping from the monitor beside me quickened.

“The barrel…” I whispered, my voice breaking.

Tears stung my eyes as I remembered the cold, the suffocating darkness, and the terror that had gripped me when I thought I’d never get out.

Tim’s hand tightened around mine, grounding me.

“It’s over. He can’t hurt you anymore,” he said firmly, his voice laced with a quiet rage.

“I thought… I thought I was going to die,” I admitted, my voice trembling.

Tim’s jaw tightened, and he leaned closer. “You didn’t. You fought, Y/N. You held on long enough for us to get to you. And I swear, nothing like this will ever happen to you again. I won’t let it.”

Tears slipped down my cheeks as I looked at him.

His face etched with so much emotion that it was hard to believe this was the same Tim Bradford who kept his feelings so close to his chest.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

He shook his head, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. “Don’t thank me. Just… promise me you’ll be more careful. No more dates with guys like that.”

I let out a weak laugh that quickly turned into a wince. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

His lips curved into the faintest smile, but the worry in his eyes didn’t fade.

The drive back to my place was quiet. Tim insisted on taking me home himself after I got discharged.

I didn’t have the energy to argue. My ribs ached with every bump in the road, and the painkillers they’d given me at the hospital were starting to wear off.

When we got to my place, I reached for the door handle, but Tim was faster.

He was already out of the car and opening my door before I could even unbuckle my seatbelt.

“You don’t have to hover, you know,” I said, trying to inject some humor into my voice.

“You’ve barely been out of the hospital for a day,” he shot back, ignoring my attempt to downplay things.

“I’m not taking any chances.”

I didn’t argue. Honestly, I didn’t want to be alone.

Inside, Tim helped me settle on the couch, propping me up with pillows and making sure I had everything within arm’s reach: water, my phone, and even the remote for the TV.

“Comfortable?” he asked, standing in front of me with his arms crossed.

“Yes, officer Bradford,” I teased, giving him a tired smile.

He smirked but didn’t respond. Instead, he disappeared into the kitchen, and I heard the faint clatter of dishes.

A few minutes later, he returned with a cup of tea.

“Here,” he said, handing it to me carefully. “Drink. Doctor’s orders.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Since when did you become so domestic?”

“Don’t get used to it,” he said, sitting down in the armchair across from me.

We sat in silence for a while, the tension between us thick and unspoken.

I sipped my tea, glancing at him occasionally, and each time I did, I caught him staring at me like he was afraid I might disappear.

“You know,” I said finally, breaking the silence, “you don’t have to stay. I’ll be fine.”

Tim frowned. “I’m not going anywhere. End of discussion.”

There was a finality in his tone that told me arguing would be pointless. Still, I couldn’t help but ask,

“Why?”

His jaw tightened, and he looked away, his fingers tapping restlessly on the armrest.

“Because I need to make sure you’re okay,” he said quietly.

Something in his voice made my chest tighten. “Tim…”

“I thought I lost you,” he said, cutting me off.

His eyes met mine, and for a moment, all the walls he kept so carefully constructed were gone.

“Do you know what it felt like, finding you like that? You were barely breathing, Y/N. I’ve seen a lot of horrible things on this job, but nothing ever scared me like that.”

I set the cup down, my hands trembling. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“Don’t be,” he said firmly. “This wasn’t your fault. But I can’t—” He stopped, his voice breaking.

“I can’t go through that again.”

Tears welled up in my eyes as I looked at him, my heart aching at the raw emotion in his voice.

“I’m still here, Tim,” I said softly.

His shoulders relaxed slightly, and he nodded. “Yeah. You are.”

Later that evening,

The room was quiet, the soft hum of the TV filling the background.

I was cocooned in a blanket, my body still aching, but the dull pain was nothing compared to the storm of emotions swirling inside me.

Tim was sitting close, his arm stretched along the back of the couch, his presence steady and comforting.

Without thinking, I shifted closer, leaning my head against his shoulder.

It wasn’t intentional, or maybe it was, but it felt natural like this was exactly where I was supposed to be.

Tim didn’t move. He didn’t say a word, but I could feel him tense slightly under my touch.

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, his voice cutting through the quiet.

I lifted my head, glancing at him in confusion. “For what?”

“For everything.” His eyes were fixed on the TV, but he wasn’t really watching it.

“For not seeing the signs. For not protecting you. For letting this happen to you.”

“Tim…” I reached out, placing my hand lightly on his arm.

“You couldn’t have known. It wasn’t your fault.”

He finally turned to look at me, his blue eyes swirling with guilt, and something deeper, something I couldn’t quite put into words.

“That’s not all I’m sorry for.”

A knot formed in my stomach. “What do you mean?”

Tim hesitated, his jaw tightening as if he was debating whether or not to say what was on his mind.

Then, he shifted, turning his body toward me fully. “I’ve been holding something back. Something I should’ve said a long time ago.”

My heart began to race. I swallowed hard. “Tim…”

He shook his head, cutting me off gently. “Just… let me finish.” He took a deep breath.

“When I saw you in that barrel, when I thought I might lose you, I realized how much I’ve been lying to myself. About you. About us.”

His words hit me like a freight train, and I struggled to find my voice. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying…” He paused, his voice soft but steady.

“I’m in love with you, Y/N. I’ve been in love with you for months. And I’ve been too much of a coward to say it because I thought it would mess everything up. The job. Us. But after what happened…”

His voice cracked slightly, his vulnerability breaking through. “I can’t keep pretending anymore. I can’t lose you without you knowing how I feel.”

I stared at him, my heart pounding so hard it drowned out the noise of the TV, of the world.

Tears welled up in my eyes, and before I could stop myself, I let out a shaky laugh.

“You have no idea how much I needed to hear that,” I whispered.

Tim’s brows furrowed slightly in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” I took a deep breath, the words spilling out before I could overthink them.

“I’ve been going on those dates to forget about you.”

His eyes widened, shock flickering across his face. “What?”

“I thought…” My voice cracked, and I looked down at my hands, suddenly unable to meet his gaze.

“I thought you’d never feel the same way. I thought if I distracted myself and forced myself to move on, I could stop feeling this way about you. But it never worked. No matter what I did, I couldn’t stop thinking about you, Tim.”

Silence settled between us, heavy and charged. Then, Tim let out a breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “You should’ve told me.”

“I was scared,” I admitted, finally looking up at him.

“Scared of ruining what we have. Scared of losing you.”

“You’re not going to lose me,” he said firmly, his voice leaving no room for doubt.

He reached up, his hand gently cupping my cheek. His thumb brushed away a tear I hadn’t realized had fallen.

“Not now. Not ever.”

I leaned into his touch, my heart swelling with relief, with joy, with everything I’d been holding back for so long.

“You mean that?”

“Every word,” he said, his eyes locked on mine.

Slowly, he leaned in, and my breath caught in my throat.

He gave me every opportunity to pull away, to stop him, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to.

When his lips finally met mine, it was soft and tentative at first, as if we were both still testing the waters.

But then it deepened, carrying months of unspoken emotions, of longing, of everything we’d tried so hard to ignore.

When we finally pulled apart, I let out a breathless laugh, leaning my forehead against his.

“That was a long time coming.”

“You’re telling me,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips.

I pulled back slightly to look at him, my expression turning serious. “What happens now?”

He smiled softly, his eyes warm and filled with a rare tenderness.

“Now, we take it one day at a time. No rush. No pressure. But I promise you this: I’m not going anywhere.”

Tears stung my eyes again, but this time, they were tears of relief, of happiness.

I smiled, leaning into his embrace as his arms wrapped securely around me.

“I think I can live with that,” I murmured, my voice muffled against his chest.

And in that moment, wrapped in his arms, I felt more at peace than I had in weeks.

Maybe even months. No matter what challenges lay ahead, I knew one thing for certain:

We’d face them together.

The end

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