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fayes-fics · 11 months

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Awakening

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: You experience an awakening a few days into your arranged marriage with the Viscount.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, female masturbation, slightly dom/sub (use of little one/my lord), innocence, corruption kink, vaginal fingering, oral sex (m to f).

Word Count: 3.4k

Authors Note: Unbetaed. Request fill for Anon, HERE, about Anthony being arranged married to an innocent reader. Sorry it's taken me so long to write this, Nonny, but I hope you still enjoy it, even though I changed the parameters of the request slightly. Enjoy <3

Viscount Anthony Bridgerton is most perplexing.

He is all at once both the best and the worst person you know. A providing husband, but an absent one. A polite, undisputable gentleman, but one who has barely said more than a handful of words to you, his supposed wife. An arrangement was brokered with your father, and now, merely weeks later, you are walking the halls of Aubrey Hall as the new Viscountess Bridgerton but barely feel as if you know your husband.

The night before your wedding, you had received a very vague talk from your mother about how you should expect your new husband to enter your bedchamber and perform his “spousal rights” and that, as his wife, you must allow whatever he decides to do. You still have no earthly idea what that might mean; your room has never once yet seen his presence—on that night or, indeed, any of the four nights since. Part of you worries you have somehow failed to be the wife he needs; part of you is relieved he has not done anything to you that you must endure in some way.

There is one thing you are certain of, though. While Anthony may be distant, almost an absence from your life, always busy with some business or other, there is no doubt you find his countenance pleasing. He is so very dashing and handsome. Earlier today, he swept in from a hunt wearing very tight tan breeches, and the sight caused a funny, warm tingling low in your gut. Between your legs, really. He nodded politely as he swept past you in the hallway, continuing his discussion with his brother as he did so. You twist to watch his retreating figure, wishing you could have the opportunity to speak with him, but the view of his shapely bottom in those tight trousers is at least partial compensation.

So as you lay under the covers on your fifth night alone, your ladies' maids having brushed your hair and taken their leave, you sigh deeply and snuggle into the crispy white sheets. Your thoughts turn to your husband again and that outfit he was wearing. The way those trousers clung to him, the movement of muscle as he strode purposefully. And that sensation rears again—the pulsing between your legs. It seems like your body needs something, but you do not know what. Flushed for some reason, you push away the covers. Before you know it, curiosity has the better of you. While you replay the image of him walking in your mind, your legs fall apart, your hand reflexively falling between them to provide a remedy—almost like an itch you need to scratch.

Your fingers slide through folds of flesh there, and strangely, there is unfamiliar sticky dampness. When you pass your fingers over a particular spot where your two lips meet, you get a pleasurable spike that makes your mouth slack.

Oh.

Almost without meaning to, you keep touching that spot, a call and response that is impossible to resist. The more you rub right there, your body swelling slightly under your movements, the better you feel. A languid buzz in your brain that feels both stimulating and relaxing. When your husband's image pops into your head again, everything suddenly gets sharper and more urgent. And so you do. You think of him. His handsome face, the way his forearms flex when you sit across from him at dinner, and he eats with his sleeves rolled up and again those legs and bottom in those tight trousers. Tumbling images that speed up in your mind as your fingers do the same, powerless to resist.

You are soon gasping and writhing, yet you do not stop; it feels too good. Something almost violent happens in your body, your lungs restricting, your brain buzzing, and suddenly, with a crest of physical delight, you are experiencing something completely novel. There is a squeezing, rippling inside, and you cry out as a remarkable ecstasy takes your body. When eventually the feeling subsides, you collapse back down, panting and bewildered; your whole body flushed, your fingers, still resting between your legs, wettened with a slick substance that could only have come from within you.

Whatever just happened, it's nothing you have been told about before. Not fully understanding, all you know is you want to experience it again. It's addictive, powerful, and so very relaxing once over. You instantly fall into a deep, sated slumber and wake up the most refreshed you have felt in many months.

And so it becomes a habit.

Whenever you feel the need and have a private moment, you retire to your room and touch your body until you feel that pinnacle—often thinking upon the Viscount as you do so. His name even falls from your lips, breathy, almost a tasty morsel, as you find your peak. It is no longer something you only do when you retire to bed for the night. You find yourself doing so any time of day, whenever the mood strikes you, an addictive, fun, illicit thrill. You wonder idly if such a thing is taboo, but you struggle to believe something that feels so good could ever be unacceptable behaviour as long as you are in private, alone.

One week after your wedding, on an uneventful afternoon, you put down your needlework and huff a sigh, your eyes drawn by movement outside. There, riding towards the house at speed across the lawn is Anthony. It's a sunny summer day; he wears only a shirt billowing in the breeze with sleeves pushed up around his elbows. And again, those tan breeches flexing around his legs as the horse gallops, him moving with the beast in a rhythmic motion. Time seems to stand still as you are inexorably drawn to the window to watch the sight coming closer and closer. The whole time your breath becomes more rapid, that telltale throbbing between your legs flares. You decide there is only one course of action.

When he veers off to the left towards the stables to the side of the house, you turn heel and run up the stairs. Keen to have that incredible high. This new, enthralling image will be the star of your thoughts this time. You pass his valet on the stairs and politely nod before scurrying and closing your bedroom door behind you.

You drop your underwear onto the floor, hitching up your dress and chemise around your hips as you throw yourself onto your bed, not even bothering to pull back the bedspread, so very keen to touch yourself.

It doesn't take much, that familiar slick already there, painting your fingers as you slide them against your nub, one hand reaching behind to grasp the headboard as you writhe on your fingers, all thoughts of Anthony and that repetitive bouncing motion of him upon his steed. So wrapped up in pleasure, his name on your lips, you do not hear the knob turning and the door opening.

“My valet told me you were here….” his loud baritone voice rings out around the room but grinds to a halt mid-sentence.

You squeal in surprise; the star of your fantasies standing right before you, skin sunkissed and his hair tousled from his ride, a look of utter shock painting his face.

Instinctively, you clamp your knees together and attempt to push down your dress, but it’s too little, too late. He has seen exactly what you were doing, and now he looks distressed, hIs breathing uneven.

“Did you…. Did you say my name?” The tone is not one you have heard from him before, rough but straining.

You sit up slightly and avert your gaze downwards, abashed he has interrupted your private moment.

“Yes,” you confess quietly.

He takes a hesitant step forward towards the bed and swallows heavily.

“You were touching yourself? And... and saying my name?” he looks almost winded.

“Yes,” again, it's soft, and you chew your lower lip, thinking perhaps you are about to be chastised. He certainly looks very… agitated.

“Do you know what you are doing to yourself?” he blurts out, a vein in his forehead prominent as he locks his jaw.

“Not really,” you admit, “only that when I think of you, I get an ache between my legs, and it feels wonderful when I touch it.”

He makes a strangled noise and closes his eyes, his head tipping back slightly.

“I… I did not expect to consummate yet,” he mutters heavily, “I thought I had more time.” He seems to be talking to himself as much as you.

“What does that mean? Consummate?” you inquire, your mother's words coming to the forefront. Perhaps this is what she was referring to.

“As your husband, I have perhaps been neglectful of my spousal duties,” he says slowly, his head tipping back down to look at you, his eyes intense.

“Duties?” you frown.

“What you were doing to yourself…” he begins, moving closer now so he stands by the bed, “it is because you desire me. I had not considered that may be the case.” He twists his mouth into a thoughtful pout, but you do not miss how he seems to stare at your breasts as they rise and fall inside your stays. “But now that I know it is true… it… changes things.”

“How?” you look up at him, wanting to understand.

A smirk tugs at the left corner of his mouth. “It means there are things I can teach you, things you should know that can happen between a man and a woman. Things you will find pleasurable, just like when you touch yourself. It is my responsibility, as your husband, to show you such things now.” His hand reaches out, and you inhale sharply as it lands upon your raised knee.

“You make it sound more like an obligation than something you want to do,” you respond, voice wavering at the distraction his hand is causing, the viscous throbbing between your legs even heavier now.

“Oh, nothing could be further from the truth; I want to, now that I know you desire it too.” His voice is a soft thrum that makes your nipples peak and a shiver run down your spine.

“Why have you not come to me before, husband?” it sounds breathy even to your ears.

“I thought you disliked me. That this was an arrangement you were enduring. That I should be polite and respectful. Keep my distance, at the least, until you adjust to your new life as Viscountess. Until an heir is needed. But now I know that is not the case…”

His voice is a pleasant low rumble as his hand starts to move, slightly calloused fingertips skirting the soft skin of your inner thigh, your dress and chemise bunching around his toned forearm as he does so.

“What are you…?” your breath quickening now.

“Shhhh, Viscountess, let me help you,” he hushes, and you stare at him with wide eyes as his warm fingers reach your folds. He hisses at the heat and wetness he finds there. “Oh, you really do like me,” he purrs, and something in you makes you lean slowly back onto the padded plush headboard, unable to look away from his face.

“Yes…” you whimper as his thumb, much broader than yours, makes a sideways swipe over your swollen nub.

“How often?” he murmurs, shifting to take a seat on the bed next to you, his thumb never wavering in its slow, intoxicating rhythm,

“How often wh-what?” You stutter, rapidly losing the ability to form words as your body riots, grasping the bedspread on either side of you, scarcely believing how amazing it feels when someone else touches you, especially him.

“How often do you touch yourself and think of me?” his voice gravelly.

“Everyday… so-sometimes m-more than once,” you pant out, your lips tingling, holding his fiery gaze.

“Oh, you naughty little thing,” he growls, and it sets your face aflame. “Touching yourself multiple times a day and thinking of me. Do you reach a peak every time?”

“Y-yes, my lord….”

His eyes flash; he leans in closer so you can smell spiced cologne and traces of his natural body scent, heightened from his riding exertions.

“Please call me that when I'm touching you,” he asks, but it almost sounds like an order, one you are happy to obey.

“Yes, my lord,” you respond instantly.

“Good little one,” he compliments, and the praise makes something bloom inside you, an urgent want to please him.

He changes his thumb’s motion to a circular pattern and presses more insistently. You gasp loud, glancing down at the slight of his toned arm flexing as he moves, his fingers obscured by your dress rucked up around his wrist.

“Tell me, have you put your fingers inside yourself?” his tone still velvety.

“No? What do you mean? I just,” you pause to whimper, “do as you are right now.”

His face turns into a handsome smirk you can't look away from.

“Would you like to find out how it feels to have someone inside your body, little one?” The question is molten, and you swear your entire skin feels too heated and tight.

You just nod, snagging your lower lip with your tooth, and then your eyes bulge as a finger slips lower and presses into a fleshy barrier that resists his touch.

“I can feel you are still intact, a chaste maiden indeed,” he rumbles, and part of you wonders what that means, but you do not ask. “Luckily, there is just enough of an opening for me to do this…”

You moan as a single finger pushes a fraction into your body, something completely novel and profound. You stare at him open-mouthed

“Oh, my dear little thing, I have barely even put the tip of my finger inside and look at you. Wait until it's my cock,” he warns darkly.

“Your what?”

He grabs your hand off the bedding and guides it to the junction of his thighs. Something is hot and hard under there, and you cannot hide your shock even as your hand curls around it and squeezes instinctually.

He growls. “That’s it, feel it. My cock is going to go inside you, right here….” he lectures, and his finger that was teasing pushes deeper into your pussy, aided by the pool of wetness leaking from within.

Again you moan at the invasion, and he looks so proud, pumping the digit slowly as his thumb restarts its movements on your clit.

“Oh my god,” you exclaim in a harsh whisper, the feeling so utterly mindblowing.

“No, your lord,” he corrects, preening from what he can do to your body.

“My l-lord….” you amend stutteringly.

He nods his approval and leans over you, his breath warm on your face as he observes your expressions, gauging your response to each move he makes. It's so overwhelming that he is touching you inside and outside your body.

You are rapidly losing the ability to do anything besides make noises and chase sensation; your knees falling further apart, your hand still on his cock, pressing unconsciously with the same rhythm his fingers play your body. He glances down at his lap, his other hand moving from its grip on your wrist to cover yours, his hips tilting a fraction, pressing more insistently into your palm.

“Would you like to come right now?” his breath almost as ragged as yours.

“W-what is that?” you stumble.

He huffs a bemused sound. “When you reach your peak, little one. It is called coming.”

“Yes, please, my lord,” you answer the instant you understand, spiralling fast now, your lungs heaving, your slit hot and slippery, where he teases you.

“Close your eyes,” he murmurs, and you obey instantly.

He gently removes your hand from his cock, and his fingers slip out of your body. You sense movement on the bed, and he manhandles your feet outwards and upwards towards your hips. Cotton brushing the back of your thighs, and a wave of warm air across your inner thighs, so open and exposed now. A few seconds later, you feel something entirely new— a wet, hot, thick mass sliding through your folds unlike anything else. Your eyes fly open, and you startle to see that Anthony has crawled between your legs and his head is now buried at the apex of your thighs. Then you cry out as he does the same thing again, realising he is using his tongue.

“What the….?” you can't even complete the sentence.

“It is not just my fingers I can use, little one,” he tutors, his tone dusky, his breath hot on the patch of hair between your legs as he pulls up slightly to talk, his eyes burning into yours.

You watch, mesmerised, as he flattens his tongue wide and lowers his face to lick a long strip through your entire slit, morphing into a spear as he maps your clit, swirling around all sides. It's so intense your channel flutters, wishing his fingers were still inside you.

“Yes, that is it, you like that, do you not? Come on,” he coaxes as he takes a deep breath, inhaling your body scent. The way he is handling you, so absorbed in you, a euphoric feeling burns behind your ribs at the idea he wants your pleasure.

He envelopes your clitoral hood and sucks hard. His eyes flashing with pride as he has to grab your hips and hold you down, your back arching off the bed, crying out without caring if anyone can hear. The way he growls as you do so tells you exactly how much he wants to hear it, his pride that he can do this to you.

Something primal washes over you as he bites gently on your swollen clit, holding it between his teeth as you feel two fingers at your entrance pushing in, making you cry as you stretch around him, your body accommodating them even as you feel so filled.

“Anthony… Anthony, my lord,” you chant repeatedly as he holds you down with one strong arm and rocks his fingers shallowly into your body, his tongue swirling. It’s a sight that you can’t look away from. His hips flex into the bed almost involuntarily, as if his cock needs friction, too.

You feel that tide rising somehow more potent when orchestrated by him, a white-hot burning where he plays you and a tension in all your muscles.

��Give it to me,” he snarls, muffled, feeling the ripples around your clit and pussy against his face and fingers.

He redoubles his efforts, almost mercilessly lashing you with his tongue, varying pressure and speed. Entirely without meaning to, your hands fly into his hair, loving the sensation of thick curls sinking between your fingers as you grasp his strands, making him cry out right into your body. And it’s precisely what you need.

Every fibre of your being held taut and shaking now snaps, the pressure inside you like a dam breaking, so much more intense than you have ever experienced from just your fingers. Something almost inexplicable, ephemeral, your body experiencing a hundred different things firing at once. Your world contracting and exploding. You can feel your own heartbeat in your extremities, a rush of blood in your ears, eyes screwed shut as you shudder under him, and yet he moves with you as your hips roll in waves, his mouth never leaving your body. You know you are leaking onto his face, your inside clenching powerfully around his fingers. Dimly, you are aware the noises you make are loud, but you find yourself unable to prevent it and don't even want to.

As you recover, he crawls over your prone body as you lay there panting, fundamentally changed in the sharing of this experience with him, of him to be the one to make your body reach its peak. A true awakening of your senses.

It’s then he kisses you for the first time since a cursory brush of lips at the altar on your wedding day. His face musky with your juices, his lips hot, soft and damp as they press to yours. This is so different to that kiss. It's lingering and hot, his lips plush on yours.

His handsome face breaks into a dazzling smile as he looms over you, the back of his hand gently brushing down your cheekbone as you stare up at him dazed, the taste of yourself seeping through your lips. “Rest for now, my dear wife.” His tone is softer now, the use of wife instead of little one making your breath catch. “I shall return tonight, and you shall become a woman,” his voice laden with untold promise.

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xveenusx · 5 months

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Wanted

Paring(s): JJ maybank x fem!reader

Summary: in a world where someone had everything, she still got treated like she was nothing. all she wanted was to be wanted.

Authors note: I wanted this piece piece to be as real as possible. It's not simple, its messy. We've all gone back to that one person we know we shouldn't just because being alone seemed worse. Also she gets absolutely railed so that helps. So please be kind to her lmfao.

Rating: smut, 18+, mdni, ANGST

Song rec: making the bed by olivia rodrigo

Part 1: Guilty

Bored.

I was so incredibly bored. I leaned against the built in bar as I watched Topper and Kelce take body shots off some tourists they invited. The loud bass of the music did little to tune out the annoying voice of Amy Culpo, who stood next to me, and rattled on about my mother’s latest line.

“I mean, it’s absolutely stunning.” I know it is. I was there when she designed it. “Any chance you have tickets to her next show?”

Ah, there it was. The brutal truth he reminded me of all those months ago. Every interaction was a strategic move to climbing the next prong on the social ladder. Everyone always wanted something.

I used to fight that notion. I thought I was better than them because I actually cared about other people. My wealth did not define me nor how I treated other people, but despite every effort I made both before and after him, I realized none of it mattered.

I couldn’t escape my wealth. It was permanently engraved into my body and no matter how hard I tried to scrub, it wouldn’t go away. I’ve now fully embraced that ugly truth and decided that I might as well use it to my advantage. I almost always had something that others wanted and I just had to figure out what they were willing to give. I didn’t need any more money, but there were things that were far more valuable. Favors, tickets to the hottest openings, plane rides. Since everyone already saw me as a spoiled little rich girl, I might as well play the part.

‘Depends. Are those last season MIU MIU?” I asked, tossing a look at the shoes on her feet.

“There from the season before-“ I pulled a face at her words. Before last season? I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing anything last season let alone the season before.

“Oh honey, if those are two seasons old, then I highly doubt you have anything I want.” The shocked look on her face dulled the aching pain that seemed to permanently reside in my chest.

“I can charter a plane-“

I raised my hand to silence her. “You don’t have your own?”

What was she even doing here?

This was a new little project of mine. I tossed away all those societal niceties that did little for me in the end. I still couldn’t get anyone to stay. This was much more fun. You’d be surprised by how much stuff you could get away with if you cut out all the bullshit.

Amy’s cheeks flushed red and maybe once I’d have felt bad or be disgusted by how I was treating her but I was numb. I realized nothing really mattered. Whether I was nice or rude, people all wanted the same things from me. At least this way, I could armor myself.

“There’s my pretty girl.” Warm hands curled around my waist, tugging me against a hard body.

I rolled my eyes. I wasn't his anything, Rafe knew that but he’s always had a flare for the dramatics. Tom Ford’s Noir de Noir filled my nose as I swatted at his hands, hands that I’ve grown quite familiar with.

“You left me.” I shot him a bratty look, one he met head on with a smile. Amy still stood there awkwardly, clearing her throat in an obvious attempt to gain my attention.

I turned around in Rafe’s arms, debating my next move. Almost immediately his chin came to rest on the top of my head while his arms curled around my front.

My eyes shot one last distasteful look at her outfit, before tossing out my arm in the opposite direction. “Shoo.”

She huffed before stomping away but not before shooting me one final glare. A look that would have made me cry before, but now it simply dinged off the impenetrable armor I’ve suited myself with.

“I was hoping it’d build character, but clearly that didn’t work.” I could hear the smile in his words as he pressed a kiss on the top of my head.

“The entire conversation was dull. She didn’t even have a jet, plus her shoes were two seasons ago.” I shuddered in disgust. Could never be me.

Rafe clutched his chest in mock disgust,”Not two seasons.”

I let out a huff, my chest going warm at the teasing glint in his eye.

There was no spark. There were no butterflies. Just familiarity and warmth. It was safe. We both knew what this was and expected nothing more. For now, we were just having fun. Despite the fact that I spent most nights at his place and rarely found myself without him.

I’ve found somewhat of a friend in Rafe. Someone to share the burden of being from a family like ours. He understood me. He enjoyed shiny things just as I did.

We spent a lot of our time going to the mainland because the idea of running into him still sent me to my knees. This was a small island. One that he was spending all his time running around with her instead of me. Rafe never said a word about it, never mentioned his sister or her pogue friends. And for that, maybe I do love him a little.

“You make fun of me now, but you’d still be wearing polo shirts and plaid shorts if it weren’t for me.” My hands smooth down the front of his linen light blue shirt, the first several buttons open paired with some black Gucci slacks and a black belt from Dolce & Gabbana. He no longer looked like a frat douche but a member of upper class society.

The same can’t be said about his friends.

“C’mon. Top and Kelce want us over there.” Rafe grasped my hand and tugged me in the direction of drunken yells. I pursed my lips but trudged behind him. The idea of being thrown up on was less than appealing, but being by myself was even less appealing.

“Hey guys.” Rafe nodded at them, taking a seat on the adjacent couch, a table with all sorts of drugs littered on it in between them.

The pair of them were obliterated, both their pupils blown wide and their speech slurred. That didn’t stop them from tossing me a sloppy grin and shouting a greeting.

The spot next to Rafe was vacant but on the other end was a couple gnawing each other's faces off that had me scrunching my nose up in disgust. He surely didn’t expect me to sit next to that?

He didn’t even bat an eye, instead Rafe patted his lap, tugging at my hand to sit down. “Wanna drink, baby?”

I nodded, deciding to once again indulge. It was better than feeling that stabbing pain that burned in my chest. It was a horrible solution but one that Rafe always supported, in fact he often took part in self-destructing with me. We were done with trying to be perfect for parents who couldn’t give less of a fuck.

A red solo cup with a familiar yellow concoction was waved in front of me. The pungent scent of tequila burned my nose and I shot him a secret smile. Rafe’s blue eyes narrowed in on me, glued on my smile before he shook his head in amusement.

“That’s the kinda night we’re going for?” He asked, his hand slowly gripping my thigh.

“Unless you don’t want to?” I sighed dramatically, pushing his dark blonde strands back from his face, something I knew he loved.

“If I ever say no to that question, feel free to shoot me.”

A giggle escaped my lips as I tapped my cup against his before bringing it to my lips, tilting my head back and zeroing it out.

The tequila left a burning trail down my stomach that I welcomed. It meant I was one step closer to not feeling anything at all.

“Another?” Rafe’s eyes pointed at my now empty cup and I nodded.

Being responsible was so overrated.

Lifting his hand up, almost immediately two younger boys, about 16, appear. Rafe pointed at me, muttering something before the pair nodded and took off.

I raised my eyebrow at him, confused.

He just shrugged, leaning forward to touch the golden pendant that hung from my neck. “I promised them tickets to the Charleston basketball game if they did whatever I said.”

“Why?”

“I was bored,” He hummed in response,”This is new, it’s pretty..”

I smiled back at him, the very picture of nonchalance, before replying,”Thank you. You bought it for me.”

His ocean eyes rested on me, the infatuation clear as day that had my stomach clenching. “Course I did. I have great taste.”

Rafe gave me his card about two months ago, not that I needed it, but he enjoyed taking care of me and I didnt mind. Plus, whenever he made me mad, I made sure to run the bill up, hoping for some type of reaction but it only left him amused.

Nerves gnawed at my stomach at the intense eye contact. Maybe the lines have blurred slightly. Clearing my throat to try and break the tension, I tossed my hair over my shoulder. “Want to see what else you bought me?”

“Enlighten me.”

I flashed him my freshly manicured nails, “What do you think?”

Rafe caught my hand, a half smile painted on his face, and kissed it. “Is that passion pink?”

“It’s actually bubblegum blush.”

“Beautiful, baby. I love it.” His words burned into my chest.

It was hard to describe. His approval had butterflies thrumming in my stomach. Maybe it was because we were stuck in similar situations, but his approval suddenly meant something to me. Being with him meant I wasn’t alone.

“You know we’re right here, right?” Topper's voice cut through the tension and I let out a laugh, relieved to look away.

“Fuck off.” Rafe laughed, regaining his composure as well.

Topper leaned forward holding out a black AMEX for me to take. My eyes paused on the card before shooting him a flat look.

“Are you kidding?”

Topper gave me a blank look, not a thought behind those eyes.

I rolled my eyes and stuck my nose up in mock outrage. “Rafe does it for me.”

The annoyed look on Topper’s face sent a thrill through my body. He was the easiest to rile up and Rafe knew it as he hid his chuckle with a quick cough.

The hand on my bare thigh slowly drew circles, the action almost unconscious, which had my brain blanking. It was a relief to not think. To not remember. To not feel.

“Are your hands broken?”

“No. I’m too pretty.” I shrugged, batting my lashes at him.

Topper openly scowled at me, his eyes dropping to where Rafe’s hands held me tightly. “What happened to the nice little girl who cried about everything?”

“Lay off.” Rafe snipped, leaning forward and snatching the AMEX out of his hand. His movements were quick and precise, with ease that only came with experience.

He separated the coke into three lines, one for me and two for him, just like always.

Bending over, I snorted the line quickly. Turning to hand Rafe the hundred dollar bill, his fingers dust off any remaining powder off my nose, before he bent over and did the same.

I leaned back into Rafe, the mixture of the tequila and the sting of the coke had me feeling sublime. It was a perfect balance. The alcohol got me warm and buzzed while the coke kept me awake and alert, an upper and a downer, a perfect description for every emotion in my body.

“I grew up.”

Topper hummed. “You certainly did.”

For the next hour, my mind never drifted to him. I enjoyed having thoughts that were my own, that didn’t revolve around him. Instead, my thoughts focused on the man below me. Rafe was always touching me. Even more so than usual, his hand never left my body once. If I let go of his hand to reach for my drink, he’s just moved it to my thigh. It was almost possessive which was odd, we didn’t do possessive.

Every couple moments, he’d pause in the middle of a conversation to press small kisses anywhere his lips could reach. It seemed performative, but I just couldn’t prove it.

“You’re thinking too hard.” His hot breath hot against the shell of my ear.

I said nothing for a moment before licking my lips and muttering,”Are you okay? You seem more clingy than usual?”

He just nodded, pulling me to his hard chest, his eyes darting to the side. “I just like having you with me.”

The sentiment was sweet and my heart tugged at his words. But, I couldn’t let go of the feeling that I was missing something. “I like having you with me too.” I allowed myself to give him a sliver of vulnerability, something I’ve avoided like plague, because it was true. He made living just a bit easier.

My head began to spin as I felt the lines of our odd friendship begin to blur. I knew neither of us would admit the sudden shift but it was there. I could tell with each lingering gaze and those secret touches. Maybe there was something here. I just had to give in.

“I’m glad you came to your senses,” He responded, but once again his eyes are not on mine but darting around me.

“What does that have to do with anything?” My voice comes out hushed, hoping it would get him to lower his voice.

My smile from his previous confession dimmed. Nerves slowly began to surface as I tried to read between the lines.

“You do belong with me, at least that's what you scream every night, isn’t that right baby?” He was boasting, loud enough to have his boys give him lame-ass high fives.

The small burst of happiness curdled like old milk in my stomach. I wasn’t a prude, not by a long shot, but I was a private person. Rafe knew this and he was still flaunting our private moments in a way that made me feel dirty.

“Stop talking about me like that.” I said, “What’s gotten into you?”

I felt Rafe go rigid under me. Frowning, I tilted my head back to make sure he was alright but his eyes were glued ahead.

“Rafe, I’m here for my stuff. Where did you say you put it again?”

My head turned and my stomach did a backflip. Sarah stood at the entrance of the room, looking immensely uncomfortable.

John B stood behind her, his big brown puppy-like eyes widened at the sight of me on Rafe’s lap. Or maybe it was because of the coke laid out in front of me?

But wherever he was, JJ wasn’t far behind. John B whispered something in Sarah’s ear, her eyes jumped to me for a split second before returning to his. She nodded and John B made a beeline for the other room.

I let out a choked laugh. I’m sure he was going to report back to his little lap dog. What were they even doing here in the first place? It’s not like Rafe knew-

My brain clicked into place. The constant need to touch me and the over the top PDA was because he was here. Rafe knew he was here and wanted to rub it in his face.

Rafe’s words were never for me. They were for him.

None of this was real. Not the endearing names, not the proclamations of affection. An ice bucket of realization poured over me and I felt like a fool. A fool for thinking that somebody else could want me, could maybe even love me.

Fuck this. Fuck both of them.

“You knew.” I accused, shoving his hands off of my body.

Rafe said nothing, but the flicker in his eyes gave him away. I wasn’t safe with him either. Embarrassment oozed into me, the feeling painstakingly familiar. We agreed to never make each other feel this way since our parents did it enough, but he did it to me.

Don’t think. Don’t feel.

Snatching the cup out of his hand, I forced it down, gulp by gulp, wincing at the burn. Straight tequila. “Babe-“

“Shut up.” I hissed, moving off his lap and shoving Topper to move over. Everyone always wanted something from me.

They never just wanted me.

Maybe I was defective. I had to be.

JJ didn’t love me when I was me. When I cared about other people and sacrificed pieces of my happiness for them.

Rafe didn’t love me now. When I was a spoiled brat who treated everyone like a transaction.

It didn’t matter if I was nice or a total raging bitch. Either way, I couldn't get anyone to love me.

I was just the stepping stone they used before they found the person they really wanted to be with. I was just there to make them feel good about themselves. For them to take and take just to toss me aside when they were done. Leaving me a shell of a person with no one, not even myself.

I guess, I was impossible to love.

“Line it up, Topper.”

“Can I at least get a please?”

“Be lucky that I’m even talking to you.”

Topper scoffed but did what I asked, lining up two lines of chalky white powder. “There you go, princess:”

A rolled hundred dollar bill was held out in front of me. Plucking it out of his fingers. I bent over the table. Don’t think. Don’t feel.

Dragging the cylinder bill down the crystal snow powder I’ve grown to love, I inhaled deeply. The chemicals flowing through the nose. I could practically feel the coke dissolving into my bloodstream, my body vibrating in response.

Dropping the bill on the table, I tilt my head back, begging my brain to shut off. I closed my eyes and chose to focus on the beat of the music that had my heart thrumming in my chest.

Then it happened.

All the air in the room was sucked up. The hair behind my neck stood up and my body suddenly awakened in a way it hadn’t in months.

My body recognized him before my brain did. The moment I opened my eyes, his eyes clashed with mine.

JJ.

It was like seeing him for the first time, a memory I thought I would never get the chance to feel again.

Heavy set blonde brows framed his bright blue eyes beautifully, the strong cut jaw that was currently clenched, and his lips soft and pouty, tightly pressed in a flat line. This face, his beautiful face, wouldn’t be complete without some mark. A bruise, a soft purple and yellow hue, decorated his cheek bone. His bottom lip busted.

He was so beautiful.

My body reacted before my brain could follow. I stood up quickly, too quickly that the blood rushed to my head and the room seemed to spin.

God, he was beautiful. And I fucking hated him for it. He was supposed to be like me, a complete and total mess, but instead, he looked the same, even better actually.

That thought alone had me ready to jump off the balcony.

My movements were clumsy and I drunkenly stumbled while standing still, his eyes clocking that in seconds.

Despite the loud music, I noticed the silence coming from the couch.

My eyes jumped to Rafe. All the laughter around us died off and everyone was exchanging nervous looks. It didn’t take a genius to read the room and the situation I’ve somehow managed to put myself in.

Blue eyes flickered between the two of us. It cracked my chest open wide and opened the floodgates I’ve been trying so hard to keep closed.

The crushing inescapable weight of shame hit me first. I was plastered, obviously so, and high as a kite. The evidence of what I’d been doing displayed out in front of me like a flashing sign. And I was fucking the one guy he hated.

It was unreasonable, I know. He left me and even pushed me in the direction of the one guy he hated and yet, I was the one feeling bad. He hasn’t even opened his mouth yet and it’s been turned onto me. But love never makes sense. It made the most sane people lose every coherent thought, I was the prime example.

“You should probably go, bro.” Rafe said, his tone was anything but.

He moved from his spot on the couch and stopped beside me. Rafe shoved a hand in one pocket while the other reached for mine, but I folded my arms across my chest. Mostly because I was mad at him, but a part of me didn’t want JJ seeing that.

JJ didn’t spare him a second glance.

He had on a dark blue short sleeve button down shirt with black cargos and chunky black boots on his feet. A backwards red hat settled nicely on the blonde mass of wavy hair and his shark necklace hanging against the exposed part of his chest.

It was so JJ. All of it, right down to the colorful bracelets that littered his wrists.

A hand grasped my chin and tilted up. I held my breath. His fingers slid along my jaw and he rubbed his thumb over the skin. His eyes felt like lasers, honing in on every detail of my face.

I swallowed audibly. JJ leaned in closer, bringing his height down to mine. His thumb brushed a soft stroke below my nose while his lips brushed against my ear.

“You had a little something on your nose.”

JJ let go of my face, his expression hard. Then he brushed past me, leaving a gaping wound in his wake.

Tears burned behind my closed eyes. He didn’t need to say it because I already knew what he was thinking. Sure, JJ smoked some weed but he never touched any of the hard stuff, not wanting to pick up the same habits as his dad. Hard drugs were a hard limit for him and he found me snorting several lines of it.

I went and became the very thing he hated, just like he wanted. It didn’t feel as satisfying as I thought it would. Instead, I felt like I lost another piece of myself.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I said to Rafe, finally gathering the courage to open my eyes.

He shuffled beside me. “Him being here wasn’t going to change anything.”

We both knew that was a lie.

“It’s him, Rafe. It changes everything for me.”

Rafe scoffed and shook his head. “You’re really going to try and go back to that?”

“I’m not saying that-” I spluttered out, outraged as his voice continued to carry across the room.

“He didn’t want you.”

People around us began to whisper, their heads huddled together with their phones out. Wet hot tears threatened to fall as the control I took months to master began to unravel.

“Yeah, well you don’t either.”

“What the hell are you talking about? Before he got here, everything was perfect.”

“I’m not stupid. You think I didn’t notice what you were doing? That wasn’t for us, that was for him.”

“I didn't mean for you to think I was using you-“

I gripped his chin, and pulled his face down to my height, my eyes brimming with angry tears. “You don’t use me. I use you.” I shoved his face back, needing to collect my composure.

Everyone’s eyes were on us and I was desperate to save face. It was the only thing I had left.

“Get the fucking picture?”

“Crystal clear.” He responded through gritted teeth, his eyes hard.

“If you want a whore, go buy one.”

Rafe cleared his throat, his face iced over. “I thought that’s what I was already doing.”

I stood there for a moment, not understanding what I did to deserve to be treated like this by not one man but two. I felt like an idiot. Like the stupidest fucking person on this god forsaken planet.

Two hours ago, I thought that maybe Rafe had feelings for me and played with the idea of exploring that with him. And now, I was a gold digging whore.

I felt another piece of my heart break off, mourning the loss of the only friendship I really had.

Pressing my hair down with my hands, I look down to fix my dress, swallowing as I went, hoping to pull myself together and buy some time.

“I’m glad to hear how little you think of me.” I sent him a sad smile,” I guess I’m keeping up with everyone’s expectations.”

I stepped around him, heading to the direction of the bar, the adrenaline from all the excitement having effectively killed my buzz.

Staring at the bottles of liquor on the counter had me frowning, all being some bottom shelf brand I’ve never heard of. I moved around the bar to the cabinets behind it, looking for the good tequila. It was the least Rafe could do seeing as though he just blew up whatever the fuck we were doing.

Spotting the only tequila I drank, I grabbed the entire handle. Twisting the top off, I tossed it aside carelessly before taking a healthy swig. Then another. And another.

I stumbled into another room, shoving people out of my way. I ignored the angry shouts because I was way past the point of caring. I just-I just wanted to see him.

As if someone heard my thoughts, I spotted JJ leaning against a wall with a lit joint dangled between his fingers and a beer in the other.

He had so much charisma, it demanded the attention of the room. People gravitated towards him all the time but he refused to see himself that way.

Even now, he stood surrounded by several people, including a girl who was too close for my liking, and they were hanging onto every word. All of their bodies angled towards him, nodding along. The people around them curiously moving in to hear more of the story that had so many of them laughing.

It was almost ironic. It was the point I was trying to prove all those months ago. Kooks vs. Pouges was bullshit. Because, right now JJ is telling a story to a bunch of Kooks who were eating it right up. Neither parties cared about their status, they just wanted to socialize and have fun.

Why couldn’t he see that?

The organ in my chest began to flutter, the butterflies erupting in my stomach at his nearness. Panic began to set in. I thought I’d pushed it all down.

All it took was seeing him. Just once. For the last couple months of progress to be thrown out the window. I made sure to not feel anything anymore, because the alternative destroyed me. And yet, there he stood, looking like every dream I’ve ever had, and completely disarming my very being with one look.

I never wanted to feel that way again. My heart was open and my soul was bared, but I was naive. I thought love was supposed to be empowering. But really, it was poison. It slowly entered your bloodstream, coating every vein before slowly taking over every organ. It leaked into your brain and made you lose all common sense. The poison tricked you into thinking that certain treatment was okay because at least they were here. At least, they still wanted to be with you because they love you, right?

But eventually, like all things lacking an antidote, it began to cut off your oxygen. It curled around your lungs and squeezed until you gasped for breath with tears staining your face. It didn’t matter how much you screamed and shouted, nothing came out. The last organ it takes over is your heart. That silly little organ who was so trusting begins to pump faster, desperately trying to get that oxygen to your brain, because maybe then you’ll finally be able to think clearly. But in the end, it slows down. Each pump is slower than the last until finally it comes to a stop. The heart broke.

It’s the closest thing to dying I’ve ever experienced.

It was like drowning on dry land.

His words did not leave me dented, but destroyed.

I lost my sense of myself. I lost my identity. I put on a performance every time I left my house, wanting to see just how far I could get away with treating people the same way they treat me.

At first it didn’t feel good, but now I didn’t feel anything at all. Or so I thought until I saw him again. And I just want to see that he was doing okay and maybe, if I can admit it, to see if he still loved me, however little that may be.

I watched from my spot on the other side of the room as the crowd began to disperse, leaving JJ with some blonde. I vaguely recognized her from a shoot for one of my mom’s brands. I believe her parents worked in the fashion industry as well. Which would have been fine, had she not said something that had him give her one of those rare smiles, the ones he used to give me in private.

Nausea roiled in my stomach, maybe it was all the tequila or maybe it was seeing him smile at someone else when all I wanted was for him to smile at me.

She leaned into him, a coy smile played her lips, running her fingers down the shirt I bought him, which basically made it mine. And I hated when people touched my things.

The mix of tequila and coke emboldened me. I found my feet moving in their direction before I could stop myself.

“I wouldn't waste your time.” I could not get myself to stop talking.

“Why’s that?” The blonde’s eyes narrowed, her cheaply manicured hand resting on JJ’s bicep.

“JJ doesn’t go for kooks or so I’ve been told.”

“Maybe he just didn’t go for you.” Oh, how cute.

“Oh honey,” I sighed dramatically and took one step towards her, tilting my head to the side, dragging my eyes up her body, in obvious distaste. “Are you new here?”

“Well, yeah but-“ She tried to explain.

Clearly, she needed a run through on how the social ladder worked here. I was at the top and everyone else was at the bottom.

“Your mom works for some brand from Paris right?” I watched as her eyebrows pulled together in confusion.

“She does. We moved here because she’s doing a collab with-“

“With my mom.”

“So I suggest you take your hand off of him,” I smiled on cue, my tone dipped in sugar before batting my eyelashes at her innocently,” Unless you want her blacklisted?”

I could see her debating what to do. She didn’t know if I was bluffing but she'd learn rather quickly just how far I was willing to go.

“Hmm, cute shoes.” I hummed, “Chanel?”

She nodded, apprehension on her face.

“Won’t be able to buy those anymore if your mom doesn’t have a job.”

Her hand fell and satisfaction settled into my like molten lava. “You can go now.”

The blonde pursed her lips and stalked off, leaving me alone with JJ. “Trying a new type”

“And what type would that be?”

“Desperate.”

JJ tipped his mouth, saluting me before taking a sip of his drink. His eyes already glazed over from the joint in his hand.

“A thank you would be nice?” I muttered, taking another pull from my tequila. I couldn’t talk to him sober or I’d lose my nerve.

“A thank you?” He appeared almost amused, adjusting his red hat.

“Yeah, I just saved you.”

“I didn't realize I needed saving.”

“Self-preservation was never really your strong suit was it?”

JJ laughed, his eyes straying to the bottle cradled in my arms. “I could say the same thing, Princess.”

Fuck him for calling me that. So what, I’ve learned to indulge just a little. It made everything in my life a little more manageable.

“It’s called having fun, JJ.” Pouting as he snatched the bottle from arms just as I went to take another shot. “Since when did you become the responsible one?”

JJ leveled me with an unamused stare.

I huffed, blowing a stray strand of hair out of my face. “Tough crowd.”

JJ snorted, pushing the leaves of a nearby plant back before dumping the remaining tequila. My mouth dropped open as he wasted every last drop of my liquid courage.

How the hell was I going to talk to him now?

I pursed my lips, “That was mean.”

“I’m doing what your boyfriend should have done an hour ago.” His gaze fixed on my face, the intense stare causing my cheeks to turn red. God, would he stop staring at me?

“He doesn’t tell me what to do.”

“Then he shouldn’t have left you alone.” His tone laced with annoyance, “You have all these fuckers staring at you and you’re wasted.”

I tilted my head back to stare up at him, the annoyance I knew came from a place of panic. That was just how JJ was wired.

“So you’re in love with me?” Someone come arrest me, because I cannot keep my mouth closed.

JJ shook his head clearly fighting back a smile. “You’re so crazy.”

“What else could that mean?” I asked truthfully and I knew I had a love struck smile on my face. One that I’ve only given to one man in my life and he stood in front of me.

I just wanted to be near him. I wanted to hear his laugh and see him smile.

His face softened at my words. “Are you okay? Does he take care of you?”

“Of course, I’m okay. Why do you ask?”

“Only one of us is fucking loaded.”

I rolled my eyes and plucked the joint from his fingers. “Correct me if I’m wrong, and we both know I rarely am, are you not high too?”

“Not from cocaine.”

“Already back to judging so soon?” I mused, taking a hit off the joint, the familiar stinging sensation wrapped around my lungs and squeezed. “Careful, I might think you care.”

Kill me now. Thank god, he took away the tequila.

“Who said I ever stopped?” My heart lurched in my throat.

I blew the smoke out slowly, my fogged up brain rushing to keep up with his words.

Someone stumbled in front of me, slamming into my shoulder sending me flying forward into JJ’s arms. Something cold and wet splattered onto me, the bitter liquid dripping down my legs.

“Are you blind?” I shouted, shoving another drunk party goer off me. Looked like a tourist.

She held her hands up in apology.

“I’m so sorry. Here, let me help.” To my absolute horror, this fucking tourist used a napkin and went to scrub the stain. Are these people animals? This was custom versace.

“Stop!” My cheeks flushed, from the weed or from my constant streak of bad luck. “Clearly, you’ve never owned anything worth keeping but this is Versace, you dick.”

I needed to go home before I burned this entire house down.

“Is that how you talk to people now?”

I let out a loud groan. “Oh fuck off, JJ.”

I shoved him away from me, before grabbing the skirt of my dress and heading into the nearest bathroom, which just so happened to be Rafe’s.

In reality, I just needed to get away from him. I needed my hands to be busy so that I couldn't grab his face and kiss him. Because I really wanted to do that.

The sound of footsteps have my eyes widening in panic as I take in my ruined dress. All because of that blonde asshole next to me, if he hadn’t showed up, I’d still have my tequila and my sanity.

“I wanted to talk.”

I made a noise at the back of my throat. That didn’t sound like JJ at all.

“Fine, whatever. Close the door.” I didn’t need a million other people to see me lose my shit. I was already at my quota for the day.

Jj stared at me with a confused look. “Close the door.” I nearly shout as the footsteps get closer but he moves just as quickly and slammed it shut, putting the lock in place.

“I just got this piece too.” I grumbled, huffing at the stained skirt. It was the Medusa 95’ Cut Out Mini dress in a stunning pastel pink. And now ruined with a beer stain from that horrible girl outside.

“I remember this one.” JJ spoke from behind me. Of course he did. He remembered everything I bought.

He always demanded fashion shows after all my shopping trips. He knew nothing about clothes but he always paid attention to me. He used to sit for hours while I prattled on and on about clothes.

“Unzip me?”

“I’m sorry?” He choked out, setting his beer down.

“I need to clean it before it stains. Unzip me.”

In hindsight, I was goading him. I wanted to see what he would do. I could tell he was already on edge since seeing me with Rafe. I wondered what a little push would do.

Neither of us moved for a beat. JJ puffed out a breath from his cheeks before he walked toward me slowly. I remained stock still, watching his every move in the mirror. “It’s not like you haven’t seen it all before.”

My heart fluttered at his nearness. Something I wanted since the minute he turned around and left. Home, I wanted my home back.

I jumped up at the feel of his warm breath against the back of my neck, goosebumps rising instantly. The tug of the zipper had me swallowing the lump in my throat. His other finger caressing every inch of skin, the zipper surrendered.

The sound of the zipper stopped but he never dropped his hand. Instead, I watched as JJ swallowed before lifting his head, those storming blue eyes connecting with mine in the mirror.

I stood on my Magda Butrym Appliquéd satin sandals and a flimsy pair of tiny panties.

“I feel like this is a test.” I watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed.

“Is it?” I mused, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

“Yeah and I’m failing.”

The pads of his thumb brushed along my bottom lip, dragging it down slowly. My lips parted as a soft whimper escaped.

“You’re still so beautiful, it hurts.” He murmured, almost angry with the revelation.

Blistering hot satisfaction dripped over me.

JJ’s other hand grazed my bare back, the contact immediately chasing my back to arch. Sparks of sensitivity erupted from my skin as my body trembled with hot desire.

His hand moved higher, gripping onto my hair before wrapping the long strands around his hand, tugging my head back, demanding my attention.

He stared at me with heavy lids, eyes like ocean blue blades. My body began to heat up.

JJ’s eyes dropped back to my lips causing me to the lick them quickly. He backed me up against the Jack and Jill sink, my back resting against the cool granite counter.

I blinked slowly, making the decision for him, angling my head up and smashing my lips to his.

A groan ripped from his chest as he met my kiss with the same crippling desperation. His rough hands dropped from my face to my hips, his nails digging crescent shaped marks in the skin.

My legs began to slightly shake as his tongue finally brushed against mine. Oxygen was something neither of us needed as we fed off each other's energy.

His tongue licked and twirled around my own, another moan vibrating between us. JJ’s large hand trailed up skin, goosebumps appearing in its wake, before locking around my throat.

His grip was strong, not enough to cut off my oxygen but enough to garner my attention. He pulled me up to my tippy toes by my neck, my nipples brushing against the rough fabric of his shirt making me gasp at the contact. His mouth clashed with mine once more, his lips wrapped around my tongue, sucking gently before pulling back and biting out a curse.

My hands were desperate as they began to unbutton his shirt quickly, pushing the fabric off his shoulders. JJ whipped off the shirt just as my hands began reaching for his shorts, my fingers fumbling with the button.

The laugh he let out was devastating. His smile was purely lethal for my heart. “We got all the time in the world, princess.”

My stomach clenched at the nickname he gave me all those years ago. But, we didn’t. We both knew this moment would end the minute we came to our senses.

JJ unbuttoned his pants and dropped them in one smooth movement before pressing his warm body against mine once more.

“Up, baby.” My arms wrapped around his neck immediately, my nose grazing his. JJ gripped my thighs tight as he placed me on top of the counter.

He rested the palm of his hands on either side of me, enclosing my frame, daring me to move. JJ leaned down, his lips leaving phantom kisses along my collarbone, nipping as he went along. He stopped at the swell of my breasts, both hands encasing my heavy aching breasts before pressing them together.

He pressed scorching hot, open-mouthed kisses on every inch of exposed skin. His tongue pressing against my swollen nipples before closing around one and giving a strong suck. I was a mess beneath him, my chest heaving with heavy pants.

He nipped and tugged at the soft flesh of my breasts, leaving small purple love bites scattered on my chest. He pressed a kiss on each one, a pleased hum echoing within the bathroom.

JJ dropped to his knees slowly, each hand running down my bare legs. I wanted to see him.

I leaned back on the palm of my hands and arched my back in a teasing invitation. Pulling my legs from his grasp, I propped my feet up on the counter, but kept my knees bent, the tops touching.

The utter obsession that painted his face had me biting down on my lip hard enough to draw blood. “Please, Jayj.”

He stood stock still, similar to a statue. It looked like he almost stopped breathing as I slowly pushed my knees apart. I was drenched, I could feel myself soaking the skimpy fabric of my thong, my thighs glistening with the evidence of my arousal.

JJ’s eyes went black, locking in on my wet pussy before jumping back up to me. His hands found my thighs and roughly dug into the skin to keep my legs from closing.

He leaned forward, his index finger hooking the front of my thong before curling the fabric and tugging it up roughly between my lips. “Fuck.” I mewled, watching as he pressed his face between my legs and inhaled deeply.

I could feel my clit throbbing, needing to be touched. With one more tug, JJ slaps the side of my thigh, having me lift my hips up to take the last piece of fabric off my body. An insatiable grin formed on his face that went straight to my clit.

The first touch onto my lips had my hips shooting off the counter, his touch like electricity. He blew a breath against the aching skin, his hot mouth watering at the sight of me. Two fingers pushed apart my drenched folds, rubbing against the sensitive skin again and again, turning me into a mindless puddle.

He smirked at my trembling legs. “You okay, baby?”

“Fuck off.” I responded through gritted teeth, trying to gather myself.

He dipped forward, gathering saliva before slowly spitting it out, the stream of spit pattering against my spread lips. The sound was obscene.

“That’s not very nice.”

Tears of frustration began to build up as I discarded my hands into those loose blonde strands, knocking his hat off. “You love it.”

The grin he sent me was feral and I knew this was exactly what I needed. “I sure do, princess.”

He enclosed his mouth against my swollen clit and sucked roughly, a loud shout erupting from the depths of my chest. JJ parted my lips again, forcing his tongue inside and out, again and again, devouring every inch of my pussy.

My cunt clenched against his tongue making him moan loudly. My body was burning as he swirled his tongue along the bundle of nerves once more. Another cry left me as I tried to find something to grab onto. His tongue lapped up all the fluids that continued to come out and I found myself forgetting how to breathe.

I pushed his face deeper, grinding against his nose that continuously rubbed against my clit, my fingers tugging at his hair, needing a release. The knot in my lower stomach began to tighten as I whispered his name again and again like a prayer. The sound of my breathy pleas spur him on as he slipped two fingers in my pussy, meeting no resistance.

The squelching noises had me throwing my head back against the mirror which had begun to fog up. I clenched around his large fingers that rubbed against my sensitive walls wanting him to lose control.

JJ curled his fingers upward causing my knees to buckle and my mind go blank. I was close and he knew based on the tremors the shook my legs. I could barely hold myself up as everything went fuzzy.

A choked moan escaped my lips that curled into a ‘o’ as his mouth sucked that rigid spot of flesh while his fingers continued to hammer into me. The invisible band snapped and as a wave of pleasure washed over me. My body finally began to relax as I tried to catch my breath, my chest rising and falling dramatically.

I spared a glance at him. JJ’s eyes were low, eyes pitch black and glued to my face, and his cheeks flushed red. He looked pussy drunk.

“Looks like I have to clean you up.” He mumbled against the flesh of my thighs. My eyes rolled to the back of my head as his hot tongue began to catch all the arousal that dripped down my thighs. I was sensitive and tried to move back, but his hands locked around my thighs to keep them open. Shives forced their way up my spine as he lapped all my fluids up, humming as he went along, not leaving one bit of skin untouched. JJ pressed one last kiss before pulling back and licking his lips.

My heart hammered through my chest and vaguely though my haze of pleasure did I hear a murmur.

“Huh?” I felt him smile against my thigh, clearly finding my delirious state funny.

“Barry, man, have you seen her?” Rafe’s voice drifted under the door.

I froze at the sound of his voice, my eyes darting to JJ who just smirked from his spot between my legs.

“She’s right here, man.” JJ whispered, straightening up to press a kiss on the crown of my head. I shook my head at him, my eyes wide with a silent plea, but JJ disregarded it.

“She’s a little busy at the moment.”

I shook my head, pressing my palm against his mouth, his next words coming out muffled. He never knew when to shut up. The last thing I needed was Rafe finding us in his bathroom.

I kept my hand on JJ’s mouth until footsteps faded and we were alone once again.

JJ nipped at the palm of my hands, his tongue slipping out. My face screwed up as I let out a squeal, “Ew, Jayj.”

“Shouldn’t have tried to shut me up to protect your boyfriend’s feelings.” He said the words lightly, but I could hear the slight edge in his tone.

Pushing him off my softly, I hopped off the counter with shaky legs. “Since when do you care about Rafe’s feelings?”

I winced as I tried to take a step, my knees nearly knocking together from the aftershock. JJ always left me a shaking disheveled mess afterwards, but I felt lighter, because he was looking at me the way he used to.

And, I wanted that to last just a bit longer.

“I don’t care about his feelings-“ He scoffed, before pausing at the teasing smile on my lips. “You’re fucking with me.”

“Too easy.” I let out a shriek of laughter as JJ's arms wrapped around my waist, lifting me up in the air.

That was how I found myself sweaty, pressed against Rafe’s sheets, struggling to breathe. The violent sound of skin slapping echoing in the room, my raspy moans intertwining with his hot pants.

One of JJ’s hands gripped the back of my head, pinning me to the mattress, the other pushing down on my back, forming a deep arch, to pull his cock in deeper.

I couldn’t register anything he was muttering as he bottomed out since of me, my mind go blank. My walls spasmed against him with each rut of his hip, sucking him back in every time he pulled back.

I was soaked, my pussy dripping around him. The sopping wet noises spurring him on, his pace quickening with those deep purposeful strokes.

I couldn’t focus on anything but him. The smell; the feel of him. The way his cock continued to brush against my cervix made me borderline delicious.

“Fuck,” JJ shuddered, rolling his hips in and out of my pussy had me clamping around him once more, a tidal wave beginning to build up inside me.

I whimper left me, the coil in my stomach pulling tight as I searched for a release. The tip of his cock pressed into me repeatedly, forcing my legs to shake once more.

My hands searched for something to hold onto as I tried to anchor myself from being drowned in pleasure. “J. J, I-I cant-I’m gonna-“

I felt his pace begin to pick him, his cock twitching inside me as he continued his movements, grinding his hips against the globes of my ass, until there was no space between us.

It was like he was imprinting himself into my skin. Like he didn’t want me to forget him.

As if I could ever forget JJ Maybank.

My whines got louder, his words becoming more and more depraved. His large calloused hands ran all over my body like he was etching it to memory.

Quick and quiet gasps bled from my parted lips, as he hammered into me from behind, his hands lacing with mine against the sheets.

The coil in my stomach snapped, white flash blinding my vision, this orgasim more intense than the first. I could feel myself coating his hips and upper thighs, fluids dripping on the sheets.

I could hear JJ’s voice whine, he began to babble nonsense under his breath, with each languid thrust.

My heartbeat was in my ears as I pushed my hips back to match his thrusts, wanting him to finish despite all my sensitivity coming to head. His nails dug my hips, my cunt suffocating as he continued to grunt his cock into me.

“Fuck, Kiara.” His grunt echoed in the room.

Kiara?

I went numb. I couldn’t breathe-I couldn’t, I needed-

Bile coated my throat as whatever childish hope I had shriveled up in my chest. So I laid there, not knowing what to do, as JJ continued to pump in and out of me, but the soft intimacy we shared before dissipated.

Why did no one ever pick me? Why didn’t anyone want me?

I let my body go limp even though everything in me wanted to shove him off, but I just couldn’t get myself to move.

That was all it took for JJ to realize the slip of his tongue. JJ froze behind me as I shoved my face into my arms and choked on a gut wrenching sob.

“Fuck, I-hold on,” JJ’s panick was audible as he slowly pulled out of me. I cupped my mouth to try and muffle the scream I wanted to let out.

His blue eyes widened in horror at his mistake but it was too late. The words were already burned into my mind, replaying on a torturous loop.

JJ’s hand reached out for me, but I shrank back, scrambling to the headboard, desperate to put distance between us.

I curled into myself, pressing my back hard against the headboard, willing for myself to disappear.

“What did you just call me?” My chin wobbled. I tried to remind myself to breathe but with each inhale, my lungs were saturated with pain.

“I-That was an accident.” He stuttered, raking his hands through his hair roughly.

“Get out.”

“It just slipped out, I didn’t mean it.”

“Get the hell out, JJ.” I yelled, and pointed at the door with a shaky finger.

Like I said, his words never dented me, no they completely destroyed me. They cut me like a freshly honed razor blade.

And I was going to die of blood loss if I didn’t get him to leave this room. He had no problem leaving me then, why was he fighting it now?

Was he thinking about her the whole time he was inside me?

Thought after thought haunted me. Was he comparing our bodies? Was he comparing the sex?

Mortification had my stomach churning as I debated what to do next. My body was wound tight, on the verge of hyperventilating.

Did he love her? Did he love her like he used to love me? Did he fuck her the way he fucked me?

I hated him. Before him, none of these thoughts would have crossed my mind. I may have been alone but at least I liked who I was. I never would have questioned myself the way I am now. But after him, the only thing I hated more than him was myself.

“Was Kiara not available,” I murmured, “so you came to the one person you knew would say yes?”

JJ didn’t find my joke funny. The air was tense, as if we were trapped in a steamed up bathroom, making each breath harder than the last.

“Kie and I aren’t together.”

“JJ, you know where the door is. Use it.”

“I don’t want to leave.” He shook his head, his eyes flickering with something heavy.

“You had no problem doing it before.”

“That was-“ JJ squeezed his eyes shut, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

He shuffled closer to my body, but still wasn't touching me. I nibbled on my bottom lip and wiped the remaining tears from my cheeks hastily.

“I’m sorry.” He said, clearing his throat. “I am so so sorry.”

I lost my grip completely as those eyes perverted mine. His eyes were so blue, it was easy to get lost in them.

Words couldn’t find their way out of my mouth. With wary eyes, I watched as he stood up and disappeared in the bathroom before appearing again with his shirt.

JJ reached for me before pausing, his eyes asking a silent question. I nodded, forcing myself to loosen the grip I had on the sheets.

I let him put the shirt on me, its protection better than the flimsy sheet. JJ dropped his head on my chest, his tan arms wrapped around my waist, curling himself into me.

“I’m sorry.”

I was sorry too. I waited for months for him to be back in my arms, but he ruined every independent thought I had. I couldn’t stop the overthinking. I couldn’t stop the pain.

I was hurting too, but I was the one comforting him. I was always the one comforting him. What about me?

I laid on the soft sheets and stared up at the ceiling. Our heavy breathing echoing in an otherwise silent room. His heavy arm tossed over naked torso, his fingers softly tracing the curve. The whisper of his breath caressing the nape of my neck where his face was buried. The familiar tickle of his golden strands brushing against my nose, his coconut shampoo wafting my senses.

The JJ induced haze began to clear up and the ugliness began to set in.

A single tear escaped my eye, its trailing burning it’s way down the side of my face. I loved him. Even after he willingly abandoned me. After he humiliated me in front of everyone. After he called me her name.

I couldn’t cut him out. It didn’t matter what he did to me, the minute we’re within the same vicinity, my self preservation disappeared. Then I was left, treading water in the middle of a storm, with nothing but a life jacket.

I had no one to blame but myself in this situation. I knew how he spoke to me, how easily he left me, how embarrassed he was of me. But he just smiled and it was like everything melted away.

I so badly wanted to feel again, but not like this.

So all I can do is lay here. In this bed. With a boy who made me hate the kind person that I was.

I made my bed. I didn’t realize this was how I’d feel when I lied in it. I turned into someone I hated. And suddenly I was bone-tired, exhaustion suffocating my lungs. I had no idea who I was and I was tired of being someone I wasn’t.

“Where are my clothes?” I said. God, I needed to leave this room before Rafe found me.

“I wasn’t really focused on that part, babe.” JJ mumbled, burrowing himself deeper into my side.

My stomach lurched. I thought I’d feel different. I thought that maybe this would fix everything. That in some deluded way, we would get back together and everything else didn’t matter. Like he didn’t leave me standing at the party after stomping on my chest.

“I need them.” I mumbled. I choked down the need to throw up. The feel of our sweat coating my body and his soft breaths against my skin had me almost hyperventilating.

Home, he used to be home. But, I’ve never felt like more of a stranger than in his arms right now. This was no longer my home.

Kook pussy. Daddy issues.

I fucked up. Fuck, I fucked up.

This only made me feel worse. I was good enough to fuck, but not enough to stay.

“What are you in such a hurry for?” His fingers paused their persistent movement.

“I have to get back-“

“To who?” JJ snapped.

I moved to sit up, dragging the sheet with me as I avoided his gaze. “You know who.”

He didn’t need to know that Rafe and I basically ended. I just wanted him to hurt in the same way I did.

He let out a scoff. “You can’t be serious?”

“Dead serious.”

“This isn’t like you-“

“You left. You don’t know who I am anymore.”

“Clearly,” he chuckled under his breath, “But suddenly Rafe does?”

I shrugged. “He’s my friend.”

“I don’t give a fuck who he is-“

I tuned him out. I was too busy trying to get his actual voice out of my head.

Kiara. Not me. Kiara. Not me.

It had taken every bit of strength to not chase after him that day. To not call and text, begging for him to give me the time of day. And I know, I know I should be stronger. I know I should have said good riddance and moved on, but love was never simple.

When I saw him tonight, I thought that maybe it was fate. So all the waiting, all the practice of self control paid off because he came back. But, was this what was waiting for me?

“You slept with me,” I said, “ but you’re thinking about her?”

I didn’t want to know the answer, but I had to ask it. It was just one of a million questions I had since the day he walked away. Was there something I could have done differently?

I was wracking my brain to see where I had gone wrong, but maybe I just fell in love with the wrong person.

“From what I hear, you don’t care about anything these days. Why would you care about this?” I couldn’t detect any emotion in his words, just cold hard facts.

I really was out here exceeding everyone’s expectations of me.

But, he had to know that when it came to him, I always cared too much. That’s why his words caused another jagged piece of my heart to puncture my chest.

“Why would I care?” I whispered, shaking my head at him. “Are you listening to yourself?”

Had I deluded myself so much into thinking we experienced the same love in our relationship? How could he even question that. Everything I did was always for him.

“I care about you, that never changed.”

Something pained flickered through his gaze. “Care about me? Yet your fucking Rafe Cameron.”

“You’re mad about that?” I choked on a humorless laugh,”Let me jog your memory real quick since apparently you’ve got amnesia, you were the one that told me to be with him.”

“Well, I didn’t think you’d actually do that to me.”

I threw my arms up in the air, exasperated,”Then why say it at all? Wait, I forgot who I’m talking to. You’re the king of saying shit you don’t mean.”

“Saying shit and actually doing it are two different things.”

“Well, you did do it Jayj.” My lungs hitched.

His jaw tightened, tension seeping out of him in waves.

“You left. You did the one thing you promised you’d never do. You didn’t even look back as you did it.” I shouted, tears blurring my vision as my body continued to shake from adrenaline. “All because what? Rafe hurt your feelings? Because I have more money than you?”

I wanted to understand him. I thought I did once, but the more I thought about our breakup the more I saw it had nothing to do with me. And everything to do with him.

“Do me a favor and grow up. This is the real world. You’d swap places with any one of us in a second if you could.”

JJ narrowed his eyes. “I don’t want any part of your world. I thought I made that clear.”

“I’m aware. But I was there, remember? For every bonfire, for every boat ride with you and your friends. What was it you guys said again?” It rushed out of me, “to going full kook?”

He watched me stoically, his fingers tugging at his bracelets.

“I guess you’re the only one that can have the money in the relationship?” I raised my eyebrow at him, waiting for him to respond.

The beautiful blonde boy that seeped into my bloodstream and made me love him. But, ruined us in the process. He destroyed everything he touched.

He pressed the heel of his palms against his eyes,

“What happened?”

“You want to know what happened? You fucking happened.”

That familiar anger flared in his eyes and I knew exactly what he was going to do. What he always did to me, but this time, I wasn’t going to let him erase me. Not again.

“Let’s talk about who you turned into?” JJ spat vehemently. “What? Rafe buys you a nice purse and you’re suddenly snorting lines of coke?”

“It was actually a couple purses.”

JJ shot daggers at me. “So what? You’re proud of that?” No, I only wanted someone to care about me if I died.

“I’m only doing what you told me, I’m sorry you don’t like the person you turned me into.”

I didn’t like her much either. But, JJ never gave me more and I realized he would never give me more, no matter how much I pushed. No matter how hard I tried to get him to see that I was the one he should be with.

It pained me that it took all of this for me to realize that there were parts of JJ he would never let anyone have.

“Why are you still here?” I said quietly. “I’m not going to let you sit here and make me feel like shit for how I chose to cope with what you broke.”

I was done giving the men in my life power over me. I needed to stand on my own two feet even if that meant I had to do it alone.

“Feel like shit?” JJ nodded his head with mock outrage,” Princess, you just let me fuck you in your boyfriend’s bed. I think you feel like shit already.”

He was right, but I still recoiled back at the venom he spat at me. I sagged with exhaustion. He was just lashing out the way he always did.

“I didn’t know, JJ.” My voice cracked. “I-I didn’t know. I just did what I thought I was supposed to do.”

JJ’s head snapped up at the waver in my voice. His ocean eyes showed a clear battle, one I knew he’d lose. “S-Sometimes it just felt like I wasn’t good enough.”

His confession broke me. I knew the thoughts that ravaged his brain only because those same thoughts now drown in mine.

My fingers twisted the hem of the shirt that my body was swimming in, a nervous tic I never got rid of. “But I never said that to you, you listened to everyone but me. You were more than enough.”

A tortured look passed his face, like the obvious miscommunication had disrupted everything. “I thought I was being paraded around to prove a point.”

I roughly wiped the tears that kept falling, “It’s okay to not want to struggle for everything in your life, JJ. You were exhausted and I just wanted to help you.”

“I didn’t know. I-just didn’t know.” I continued to repeat. And I didn't. I had no experience with love. I wanted him to have the world since he was born with less than most people I knew, yet he deserved so much more.

“You let your friends help you, I don’t understand how I was any different.”

His blonde hair was sticking up in multiple directions, a clear sign of his obvious distress. "Because they’re my family."

Irremediable sorrow burrowed in my chest. "But, I was your family too."

I felt layers of grief his me in waves, quick and hard, one after the other as I came to terms with the fact that JJ never considered me any part of his family.

"You were the only family I ever had. I thought I was your family.” I sniffled, my ribs began to ache from the constant crying.

A loud crack had me jump back as Rafe bursted into the room, chest heaving from exertion. He paused, his eyes locking in on the messed up sheets before dragging over to me and scanning my disheveled appearance.

I thought we hit a milestone. JJ finally started talking and letting me know exactly what was going on in that brain of his. And maybe, that would be enough for me, for now. This all happened because JJ didn’t know how to communicate and I knew that wasn’t his fault, but at one point he needed to grow up.

I was willing to hold his hand while he did it. But I watched as JJ’s eyes clocked the necklace Rafe wore with my initials. His gaze narrowed at the purse in his hand and my car keys in the other.

The jealousy was evident in the way he rolled his shoulders back, his face granite. “Cute necklace.”

Rafe smirked, tilting his head to the side. “Thanks. It looks even better swinging in her face.”

JJ’s cool demeanor dropped, his blue eyes darkened into a brewing storm. “Enjoy my seconds, bro.” He clapped Rafe on the chest.

My heart popped in my chest at his words, another bandage would do little to fix the shards that once resembled a heart. And, I knew then, that JJ confirmed the conclusion I just came to myself.

“JJ?”

“What?”

“You were right. I do deserve better than you.”

Loving him cost me something much greater: myself.

I couldn’t continue to hide myself in any man that told me pretty words. I was no longer my own person, just a mere extension of them. One that they treated poorly and only took out when they were bored. I was always willing to do what they would never do for me.

I was just a girl, in love with an extraordinary boy who couldn’t see past all the things he was not.

I walked over to where Rafe was, forcing myself to remember his cruel words also. It was the only way I could get myself to walk out of here. My eyes lingered on the necklace for a second before I pulled my keys from his grasp and grabbed my purse.

I wore nothing but JJ’s shirt, but at the moment I couldn’t care less. I left my clothes in Rafe’s bathroom, deciding it was better to leave them then spend another second in either of their soul sucking presence. I could always buy another dress.

I couldn’t buy another me. Not if I kept letting these boys break me.

This time, I was the one that never looked back.

Side note: I WROTE THIS THREE TIMES so pls pls pls be nice to me. I tried to incorporate a lot of people's ideas. I know the OC is very wishy washy but she's so real for that.

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strang3lov3 · 5 months

Text

Cinnabon

Summary: (mall rats 7, final part!) Joel ruins a special moment, leading to another stupid argument, leading to him fucking the daylights out of you on his couch. Lovingly.

Tags: AU where yeast is not dead and we can all bake and be happy. Cordyceps is no longer in the flour/sugar either (work with me) Cinnabons, 69, dirty talk, unprotected Piv, creampie because it’s me, strang3lov3. soft dom joel because again, it’s me, strang3lov3. Strange highs and strange lows, that’s how my love goes. You get it.

A/N: As always, thank you @papipascalispunk for editing ❤️ you’ve helped me so much on this series and you have no clue how thankful I am for that. Definitely abusing your talents for the next shit I wanna write! And thank you to everyone who’s read and reblogged, commented, all of that good stuff. This was a blast to write!!!

This may not be the absolute end of these two, so you might get an update on them here and there, most likely in the form of yet another lovers quarrel. But I have so much stuff planned and I hope you continue to keep up with me ❤️ excited for the new year and to share what else i've been writing with all of you 🩷

It’s early in the morning in late December when you’re walking up to Joel’s porch, holding a basket full of ingredients and a dusty copy of Betty Crocker’s Cookbook. You knock on the door, no answer. With Joel’s poor hearing, sometimes it’s better to knock on his back door. He seems to hear it better, closer to his bedroom and all that. You make your way to his back door, where you find Ellie quietly opening the window next to the door, no doubt sneaking back from a friend’s house. You startle each other, “Ellie, hi,” you say. You wrinkle your nose, she smells like weed. You can’t help but smirk.

“Oh,” she says, “Hi. I’m not– I’m just–”

“I won’t tell Joel,” you smile. Ellie’s staring at your basket of goodies, where one of your lacy Victoria’s Secret thongs sits on top of a blue Cinnabon apron. “I’m just…baking. For Joel. Are you gonna be home today?”

It’s Ellie’s turn to smirk at you, as she opens the window the rest of the way and lifts herself inside the house. You hear her heavy footsteps before she unlocks and opens the door for you. “I can disappear,” she replies, “I require payment, though.”

“I’ll leave you a plate outside your door.”

“Deal.”

Ellie goes to her room probably to change clothes, and you go toward Joel’s kitchen. “I want two of whatever you’re making,” Ellie calls out before slamming the back door again, probably going back to her friend’s house. That girl certainly knows how to negotiate. You can’t help but love her for it.

Joel usually wakes up early, but he’s not on his recliner where you expect him to be. Must be in bed. You smile to yourself, picturing Joel coming downstairs in his pajamas, hair messy and sighing in pleasure at the sweet aroma of butter and cinnamon.

You’re making Cinnabons this morning. Well, cinnamon rolls, as Betty Crocker puts it. When you and Joel were in the Barnes and Noble at the mall picking up books for Jackson’s library, you had stumbled across Betty Crocker’s Cookbook. Flipping through the pages, you found a recipe for cinnamon rolls and thought back to that first time in the mall with Joel, where he explained what a Cinnabon was, and then lied about his sweet tooth.

There were loads of recipes, many interesting pictures too. You brought the book to Joel and pointed at a picture of some odd, translucent dome-shaped food item. He told you it was called Jell-O, and that no one misses it. You wanted to take the cookbook back with you, but there wasn’t room in the duffel bag. And you couldn’t bear to rip out a single page for one recipe. That would just be cruel.

At the end of the day, you went back to Tommy’s office with Joel. Joel usually walks you home, but he didn’t that day. Said he was running late for game night with Ellie, so he took off quickly. Tommy told you he’d walk you home, though.

As you and Tommy went through some of the books, he heard you sigh disappointedly, “What’s gotcha down, hon?”

“There was this book I wanted, but we didn’t have room.”

“What book?”

“Cookbook,” you replied, “I wanted to make a recipe for Joel.”

“Ah,” Tommy murmured, flipping through the pages of an old picture book, “Which recipe?”

“Cinnamon rolls.”

“Oh man,” Tommy groaned. He checked his watch, then looked at you with a light in his eyes.

“I’ll take you back there right now to get that book.”

“You’d do that?”, you asked.

“For you, of course. But I got my motives. Ya gotta hook me up with some of those rolls.”

There are few things that make you feel as loved and appreciated as when Tommy’s eating your food, showering you in the sweetest compliments and praises. No problem, you’d gladly share your baking with him. So Tommy took you back to the mall. You led him to the bookstore, picked up your book and went on your merry way. Tommy still hadn’t gotten to check the mall out for himself, though. So he wandered through the same areas you did, through the food court you and Joel picked through all that time ago. At the Cinnabon stand, he tossed you a blue apron with the word ‘Cinnabon’ embroidered at the chest. “Bet ya could make Joel turn bright red with this.”

You picked up what he was putting down immediately. And, thinking about it, you had a lacy thong that would match the apron perfectly. You remembered the blush on Joel’s cheeks as you tried on lingerie at Victoria’s Secret, how he mumbled something about lingerie being a waste of time before fucking you in the dressing room, still wearing your pretty pink chiffon babydoll. You wondered if faced with a big, gooey cinnamon roll sitting in front of him, and you in nothing but an apron and a thong, he’d still lie about that sweet tooth of his and his disdain for lingerie. Cause for an experiment.

–

In Joel’s kitchen, you prepare the recipe. You prepped the dough last night, giving it plenty of time to rise. All you have to do this morning is prepare the cinnamon-sugar mixture and the icing. Oh, and put on that apron and thong. Not too hard.

Once the rolls are assembled in the pan, you put them in Joel’s oven and change into your little outfit, feeling a little breeze on your bare ass. Good thing Ellie’s gone. As you’re waiting for the rolls to bake, you lean over Joel’s kitchen table and flip through the pages of your cookbook. The Jell-O still has you perplexed.

Some time goes by. You’re reading about the Jell-O, how Betty Crocker said that it was great for parties and baby showers and other things like that. The slam of the glass door behind you startles you. You whip around, and there’s Joel with bright red cheeks, looking shocked and horrified. Through the glass door, you see Tommy in Joel’s yard. He waves at you, smiling. You wave back.

“Jesus Christ,” Joel grumbles, quickly pulling the blinds over the glass door to protect your modesty, “You gonna explain why you’re bare assed in my kitchen?”

“I thought you were sleeping,” you reply.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” he grumbles, as the egg timer you set prior goes off with a ding. You open the oven and pull out the cinnamon rolls with a pair of potholders, giving Joel a perfect view of your entire ass. “Oh my god,” he groans. When you turn around, he’s pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head, always so dramatic. You reach for the Pyrex measuring bowl full of icing you prepared and begin drizzling it over the warm cinnamon rolls. “You drive me fuckin’ crazy. You’re somethin’ else, you know that? I never know what–”, Joel stops speaking, and you look back at him once more. He’s intrigued, eyes wide. The pastry has pulled his attention away from your nearly-bare body. “Those uh– those cinnamon rolls?”

“Cinnabons,” you correct him, pointing to the embroidered logo on your chest, “But yeah– cinnamon rolls.”

“Right,” he murmurs, stepping closer to you. He reaches into one of his drawers for a fork and pushes you out of the way.

“Joel,” you complain as he steals a bite of the cinnamon rolls, right out of the pan. He blows on it first, careful not to burn his tongue. When he tastes the pastry, his eyes flutter shut. He moans softly. “You said once that you missed Cinnabons,” you explain, speaking softly. Joel reaches for another bite, right out of the pan.

“Mhm,” he mumbles, mouth full of dessert.

“What’s the verdict?”

“Cinnabon’s better,” he answers plainly.

Your face drops. “What?”

“Yeah this–”, he takes another bite, “S’no good at all.”

He’s fucking with you. Probably gonna say something dumb like how you should give him the pan, let him dispose of those no good cinnamon rolls for you. “Dick,” you punch his arm for scaring you like that. He doesn’t mind.

“You made these for me?”

“Yeah,” you say quietly, “For you.”

“For me,” he repeats, a soft smile on his face. You’re kind of baffled at his mood change, but you know what they say about men and food; the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, all that stuff. He steps closer to you, backing you against the countertop and turning off his oven, still wearing that smile, like he knows something you don’t.

“But I owe Tommy and Ellie one, too,” you continue, voice a little shaky. You’re nervous, why is he making you nervous? Joel sets his fork down and stares at you, lovingly, tenderly. “I made two batches before this, fucked both of those up. And then I ran out of sugar, actually. Tommy had to steal me some more.”

“I love you.”

His words hit you like a ton of bricks. He says it plainly, no frills. Just out with it.

“You do?”

“Mhm,” he hums, “I do. Still would like an answer as to why you’re half-naked, though.”

Your face heats up. What were you saying? The cinnamon rolls, right.

“I was– I don’t know. I had to knead the rolls by hand. The recipe said a stand mixer would be easier, but I didn’t…”, you trail off, feeling a little fuzzy, like you can’t think straight, your train of thought slipping away from you, “Didn’t have one. I love you too, actually.”

“I know,” he replies softly. He never doubted it for a second. Lord, he’s so handsome. His eyes sparkle more than usual, his fluffy curls untamed. The flannel he’s wearing suits him perfectly, and you can’t help but stare, stammering quietly. He reaches for your face with one hand, wrapping the other around your waist and pulling you close to his body, “I’m gonna kiss you now.”

Oh, fuck. You squirm out from his hold, away from the counter he held you against. Joel looks absolutely baffled as you smile sheepishly. “Can you grab me a plate for the Cinnabons?”, you ask, “I need to leave one by Ellie’s door.”

“I’d like to kiss you first, if you don’t mind,” he says, walking towards you. You keep walking backwards, around the kitchen table. Joel follows you as you look through his drawers for a spatula, opening and closing cabinets with shaky hands as you try to find a plate. Where are his fucking plates? Joel reaches for your hand to stop you. “Will you let me kiss you?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

Joel’s missing something here. Has to be. You love Joel. Joel loves you. That’s been established, just like, two minutes ago. And you’ve been intimate with him many times before. The next logical step in this series of very out of order steps would be to kiss you. Unless…“Are you nervous?”, he asks.

“About what?”, you ask, “Kissing?”

“No, underwater basket weaving. Yes, kissing,” he sighs, “You seem nervous.”

“I’m not nervous,” you lie, “I’d just like to be the one to do it first.”

“Oh,” Joel replies, still a little confused, “Yeah, naturally. Makes sense.” He takes you by the hand and leads you to his living room, sits you on the couch and takes his place next to you. “Lay it on me, then.”

“I can’t just–”

“You can,” he interrupts, coaxing you gently, “Come closer.” You scoot closer, but it’s not enough for Joel. Still wearing nothing but a thong and an apron, he lifts you by your ass and places you on his lap. Joel wears an expectant look on his face as you adjust yourself on his lap, feeling so awkward and out of your element. You’ve kissed people before, this should be no big deal. You’re not sure why you’re so nervous with Joel, especially when you’ve done everything else with him.

“Joel, I– I don’t know where to put my hands.”

“Right here,” he whispers, placing your hands on his shoulders, “Or here,” he moves your hands to his jaw, his patchy beard prickly under your fingertips. “Wherever you want.”

“I like your shoulders,” you whisper, dropping your hands back to his shoulders. One of your hands slides to the back of his neck, playing with his soft curls.

“S’good,” he says. And oh, his eyes. Brown and so warm, inviting, so beautiful.

“Close your eyes,” you demand, intimidated by his stare. “Sorry. Close your eyes,” you repeat, softer.

“My bad,” Joel replies, his eyes now shut. You’ve never noticed how pretty his lashes are before now. They’re gorgeous, so long. “They’re closed now.”

“Okay,” you breathe.

“You got it,” he encourages.

God, this is daunting. You close your eyes, lean forward��and smooch him right on the cheek. There. Easy.

“Doesn’t count,” Joel murmurs through a smile, eyes still closed. Fuck. You adjust yourself on his lap, lean forward and…nothing. Joel waits. And waits. And waits.

“I’m gonna kiss you now,” you say, trying to will yourself to just do it.

“Okay, sweetheart. You got it,” he whispers. But you don’t kiss him yet, and Joel keeps waiting, feeling himself beginning to grow hard as you keep squirming on his lap, adjusting yourself some more. “Hon?”

“Yeah?”

“Any minute, now.”

“I know,” you say, “I’m gonna kiss you.” But you adjust again. A minute passes with you on Joel’s lap as he waits patiently for you to finally kiss him. Another minute. And then you lean forward and – nothing.

“I’m gonna count down from three, and then you’ll kiss me. How about that?”

Yeah, sounds like a plan.

“Okay,” you reply.

“Three…two…”, Joel counts, and you prepare once more to kiss him, “One,” Nothing. Joel sighs, “You’re killin’ me here.”

“I was about to do it, Joel.”

“Uh huh.”

“I was,” you argue, “You just keep talking and–”

“Oh, you’re so full of shit. You’re the one doin’ most of the talkin’, like usual.”

“That’s not true,” you argue, but are interrupted when he opens his eyes. That’s not supposed to happen. He wears a mischievous grin as he sits up and his hands begin to slide up your sides. Your already pounding heart begins to beat even harder, faster, because Jesus Christ, he seems like he’s about to kiss you. “What are you doing?”

“Ya got three more seconds to kiss me. Three…”

“Joel, not funny,” you scold as he takes your face in his hands.

“Two…”

You’re beginning to panic, “Joel–”

And then he fucking kisses you, the bastard! No tongue, just a sweet, gentle peck. It’s despicable. You shove him back on the couch and glare at him, “You kissed me!”

“How awful,” Joel says with mock sympathy before he leans forward and kisses you again. You shove him again, harder.

“You asshole. I was gonna do it.”

“No, you weren’t,” he replies plainly. He tries to kiss you again, but you keep your hands on his shoulders, pinning him to the couch cushion. Joel’s smirking, but you’re scowling.

“Yes, I was.”

“Okay,” Joel laughs, “We can redo it, then.”

You sigh, “No, Joel, we cannot redo it. You already ruined it.”

“Is that right?”

“Yeah. That’s right.”

“Shit. S’too bad,” Joel feigns a sympathetic pout as he wraps both hands around your wrists that pin his shoulders, removing them from his body. He pushes your hands behind your back, holding them tightly as he kisses you again. And again, this time a little longer. Your lips begin to slide against his, and…god, they’re soft. The bastard.

“You’re ruining–”

“For the love of god, you’re drivin’ me fuckin’ nuts,” Joel mumbles against your lips.

“I was supposed to–”

“No. You had your turn. We’re doin’ it my way now,” Joel says, “That means,” he kisses you, “M’gonna kiss you,” another kiss, “And fuck you,” another kiss, “As I please, because I love you,” he whispers. He kisses you before he maneuvers you to lay across the couch cushions, now pinning your wrists above your head under just one of his hands “And you can’t do a thing about it. Got it?”

“I–”

He doesn’t let you argue further. Always so stubborn, you. “Good girl. Yeah, you got it,” Joel kisses you again. It’s different this time. Deeper, hungrier, messier. So much tension, time spent dancing around feelings, and it’s all out there now. His tongue slides past your lips and he tastes like cinnamon and sugar. You’ve been depriving yourself of him for too long. “And after all this, I’m gonna eat some of them cinnabons you made. And I won’t share, either.”

With his free hand, Joel unzips his pants to free his cock. “You know what you do to me, trouble?” he asks, breathing heavily. “Got me hard as a fuckin’ rock with all that squirmin’ ya did instead of kissin’ me,” Joel lifts the bottom of your apron up, exposing yourself to him, already dripping wet as he pulls off your soaked thong. You could have expected the ensemble wouldn’t have lasted long. And how are you already wet? One second you’re arguing about a stupid kiss and the next, he’s got you pinned beneath him and you’re dripping. You gasp as Joel gathers your slick with his fingers before stroking his cock, dipping his head back down to kiss you. He kisses your lips sloppily, then your cheek and down your jaw, your neck, nipping at the skin and soothing the marks with his tongue. It feels hot and passionate, and loving and dirty; all the best things at once.

“Oh, god,” you moan as he kisses further down your body, still stroking his cock. He pauses momentarily to pull the strap of the apron over your head, then lifting your ass to untie the apron in the back. He pulls the fabric away from you quickly, tossing it on the floor. He kisses your chest, dividing his attention equally between your breasts. Pinching, twisting one nipple, kissing and licking the other, then switching. He leaves them wet with his spit as he kisses down your body, stopping before he reaches your pussy. “Joel,” you whine, “Please– need your mouth on me.”

“Oh, convenient. Now you want my mouth,” he breathes, teasing you.

“Please, I need it, need you,” you beg.

“Wouldn’t ya know it, I need your mouth too.”

“So? Me first.”

“God, you’re a brat. Nice try,” Joel pulls away from your body, taking off his clothes quickly, “Said we’re doin’ things my way. Tryin’ somethin’ new today. Scoot,” he motions for you to move to the side. “On all fours, now. Come on, up,” you scoot to the side where Joel tells you to, slightly confused as you take the position. Joel takes his place next to you, wrapping his arms around your thighs and pulling you down to his face. “Sit,” he tells you.

“Joel,” you begin to protest. Surely he doesn’t want you to actually sit on his face, right?

“You trust me.” It’s not a question. He knows you trust him, he knows you know he’ll take care of you. Of course he will. His voice is firm, confident, “I need you to sit,” as he pulls your center to his mouth, wasting no time in pressing kisses into your folds, slick and sticky with your growing arousal. Your breasts are pressed against his soft stomach, hands gripping his meaty thighs. Freeing an arm from its place at your hip, Joel wraps his hand around his cock, rock hard with a swollen blushed tip. He uses his other hand to reach for your head, pushing your face towards his member. “Take me in your mouth,” he says. “See? We’re compromising. S’what people in love do.” What an asshole.

Wrapping a hand around his thick cock, you guide his tip to your mouth, pressing wet kisses against the smooth skin. He tastes like he always does, familiar and masculine, salty and sweaty, as you trace over his swollen veins with your tongue. Joel groans against your cunt as he parts your lips, your tongue still painting delicate swirls on his skin.

“Yeah, attagirl,” he praises in a raspy voice, “Best of both worlds, ain’t it?” Joel laps at your cunt, moaning softly at the way you taste, your arousal almost as sweet and delicious as your cinnamon rolls from earlier. He keeps you held firm against his face as he licks you, alternating between drawing firm lines with the tip of his tongue and fat stripes with his tongue flattened.

“Mmmm,” you moan, voice muffled by his cock. You’ve got him as deep as you can take him, your nose nudging his balls slightly as you cup them gently in your hand. Joel surprises you when he dips his tongue into your pussy, tasting every bit of your pussy. You stop what you’re doing, the only thing your mind can focus on is the feeling of his tongue working magic inside you.

He swats your hip, “Know it feels good, but it goes both ways, sweetheart.”

“Please, Joel,” you beg.

“You know the rules,” he says, “You stop, I stop. Keep goin’, you’re suckin’ my cock so good, sweetheart. So good. Always do, you know that?” You begin to bob your head on his cock once more, Joel rewarding you with wet, sloppy, open mouthed kisses against your pussy. It takes everything you have to focus on his pleasure when he attaches his lips to your clit, sucking gently on the sensitive spot and humming against you. It’s not long before that familiar feeling begins to build in your stomach, your first orgasm washing over you.

You gasp for air, “Oh my god, Joel,” as he works you through your climax. Joel never lets up, not once. He keeps sucking, licking your clit, his facial hair tickling your skin and only adding to the overwhelming sensation. Once more, your peak begins to build. “I’m– fuck, I’m gonna come again.”

“S’the fuckin’ point, my love,” Joel mumbles quietly, and you can feel his smirk. Despite the rules, you’re not even sucking his cock anymore, your face instead resting on his body, haphazardly stroking his length as pleasure erupts from your core. You’re a moaning mess, pussy dripping and soaking Joel’s face.

Joel gives you a moment to catch your breath. Underneath you, he places one last kiss right on your clit before he gently slides himself out from your body. You’re hardly coherent as he meets you once more, this time his face inches above yours, caging you in his arms. His cock bounces between your legs and he leans down to kiss you again. His lips are wet and you can taste your arousal on his tongue. “Look at that, I stole another one,” he taunts.

“You’re a dick,” you breathe against his mouth, your body betraying you as you can’t help the smile that forms on your lips.

“Yeah, yeah,” and in one swift motion, Joel lines himself up with your entrance and pushes into you. He kisses you again, swallowing your gasp as he parts your insides, letting you feel every inch of him. God, he feels good. You’ll never tire of that stretch, that delicious feeling of being completely full of him.

“Oh, Joel,” you moan. He pulls out slowly, then slides back in at a harsher pace, grunting when he bottoms out inside of you. He takes both of your hands in his own, pinning them above your head as he rocks his hips. It’s tender yet dominant, just how everything is with Joel. Just how you like him.

“Love this pussy,” he purrs, “An’ I love you so much,” as he fucks you deeply, intensely. You whimper through his thrusts, each stroke fluid and firm and intentional. He knows your body like his own. “Takin’ me so good, sweetheart. You always do.”

You writhe underneath him, relishing in the pleasure he gives you. His name and sweet whisperings of love are all you can speak, each word coming out in soft, broken cries. The wet, sticky noises of your pussy fill the room, along with your moans and Joel’s grunting, groaning, and heaving breaths. You tilt your head to the side, arms still pinned beneath Joel’s hands. You kiss his wrists and bite his skin there gently.

“Come with me, baby,” he coos, adjusting the angle and finding that sweet spot inside you, that spot he knows and loves. He lets go of your arms, one of his big, masculine hands now on your waist, the other thumbing your clit. “Give me one more, sweetheart.”

It’s all it takes. His words send you over the edge, your pussy squeezing him, walls fluttering and pulsing with every thrust of his cock. “Fuck, Joel,” you whimper as he fucks you through your orgasm. You wrap your legs around his body, the heels of your feet bouncing against his ass, simultaneously pulling him into a tight embrace with your now free arms. Everything about this moment with Joel is perfect, the way he smells, his hot skin, how close and safe you feel with him. It sends Joel over the edge, too. With your name on his lips, your cunt gushing and pulsing around his cock, he spills inside you, painting ribbons of himself deep inside you as he helps you ride out your own climax as long as he can.

He pulls out of you with a soft groan. He cleans you quickly with his t-shirt, a warm smile on his lips. He kisses your forehead, then sits back against the couch, catching his breath. You sit up too, and Joel holds out his arm as an invitation for you to curl into his side. Your head resting on his shoulder, you stare at him. All of his beautiful features, warm brown eyes, his smile lines, his aquiline nose. And then, you do it. You kiss him. Long and deep, passionate. Hours could be passing, you don’t know.

Joel breaks the kiss. He pulls away from you, no longer smiling warmly. Instead, he wears his teasing grin. “Finally,” he smirks. He holds up his hand for a high five. Fucker. You roll your eyes, lifting yourself off the couch and buttoning Joel’s flannel over yourself. You make your way to the kitchen, finding a plate and placing two cinnamon rolls on them. You reach for an old pencil that sits on the window sill, scribbling ‘Ellie’ on a piece of nearby scratch paper and leaving it next to the plate. A deal is a deal, after all.

“Don’t leave me hangin’, now,” Joel calls out to you from the living room. You turn around and he’s waving his hand, nagging you about his abandoned high five.

You flip him off. Asshole.

#strang3lov3 #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller #strang3lov3 recs #the last of us #pedro pascal #the last of us hbo #pedro pascal joel miller #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal characters #mall rats!joel #mall rats joel #mall rats

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humanpurposes · 7 months

Text

Mine All Mine

Michael doesn't have a lot of friends, nor does he want them. Now he thinks he might have found his perfect match, and he has no intentions of letting her slip away

Main Masterlist

Michael Gavey x unnamed female character

Warnings: 18+, smut, Michael Gavey being a little shit (affectionately), possessive behaviour (yk the drill here)

Words: 7k

A/n: This ended up leaning into more of a cuter side, I definitely wanna do something creepier with him at some point! Also available to read on AO3.

He gets to the room early, before the tutor has even arrived. It’s his first tutorial of the year and his first ever at Oxford. He stands straight with his head up and his hands unmoving, a picture of neutrality. He has his problem sheet in his satchel and runs through the questions in his head, not because he needs to, not because he doubts himself, but simply because he can.

He doesn’t even like maths all that much, but he’s always been good at it. He had considered doing something a little less straightforward, physics or economics, but then what would be the point in getting into Oxford to be anything less than perfect?

He knows his tutor’s name from his schedule, Stephen Breyer. He arrives only a few minutes later and they go inside. The tutorial room is small, with three of the four walls covered in bookshelves. In the centre of the room there is a table, an armchair on one side and a small sofa on the other.

Michael takes the seat closest to the door. It puts him in a slightly more direct line of sight with Stephen. It also means his tutorial partner will inevitably have to climb over his legs to sit down and the thought amuses him.

“How are you finding it so far?” Stephen asks, unpacking a thermos flask and a notebook from his bag.

“It?” Michael repeats.

Stephen pauses and looks at him, slightly bewildered. “Well, the course, the college, Oxford. All of it.”

“Right,” Michael says. He takes his time taking out a pencil and his problem sheet before placing them on the table. He sits back against the sofa and rubs his lips together in thought.

He supposes it’s been exactly as he had expected. Lectures have been fairly straightforward, Lincoln college looks the same as it had in the prospectus, and so far, most of the people seem insufferable. So many of them have no sense of urgency, no drive to truly succeed because to them, Oxford is a rite of passage rather than an earned privilege. He’s met maybe one person he’d consider worthy of his time, and even then, Oliver Quick is only a literature student. He might as well get a degree in overthinking.

Stephen is looking at him like he is still expecting an answer. Michael stares back. He’s never been one to bother with smalltalk.

“Alright then,” Stephen says, then nods to the empty place on the sofa. “Do you know if–”

The door opens and a girl walks in, closing it gently behind her. “Sorry I’m late,” she says, eyes flickering around the room and settling on the space beside Michael.

He’s seen her before, in lectures, in the dining hall, walking around the college with her little group of friends. He wouldn’t be surprised if they were all Cheltenham girls by the way they talk and dress in the stupid outfits rich girls wear to make themselves seem like normal people.

He watches her as she walks towards him, the awkward little smile she gives him before she steps over his legs.

“Sorry,” she says again, falling onto the sofa. Michael almost winces at the sudden jolt of movement and the faint scent of a sweet perfume drifting from his left. “Had some trouble finding the room.”

“You’re right on time,” Stephen says, “we haven’t started yet.”

She’s better at the smalltalk than he is. She has a constant smile on her face and a bright look in her eyes, already having plenty of humorous anecdotes to share, despite the fact it’s only their second week.

As they go through the questions on the sheet, comparing calculations and answers, Michael is horrified to find that he’s a little nervous. His throat feels dry and he can feel his heart pulsing in his chest. It’s her fault, he thinks. Everything about her is distracting, the sound of her voice, the satisfied little hum she makes when she realises she’s got another question right. Her black tights, the way her skirt rides up her thigh when she crosses her legs.

He wants to think she’s vapid, a pretty face dressed up in black boots and a denim jacket, but to his dismay, all of their answers are the same, down to every detail in their calculations.

That is until they reach the last question. It’s terribly complex and he had almost struggled with it. Almost.

He steals a quick glance at her sheet and notices their answers are different. Because she’s missed a step, he realises. He feels a smile creeping across his lips.

He proudly goes through his working out, delighted at the surprised look on her face as she goes over her own sheet.

“I got something different,” she says with a shrug.

Stephen invites her to talk through her answer. Her voice is quieter and softer than it was before, but not as defeated as he’d like.

“She has you beat there, Mr Gavey,” Stephen says.

It’s like being punched in the gut. “What?”

“Overextend yourself a little,” he explains, drawing a line through the last few calculations on his paper. “Make sure to read what the question asks of you.”

His blood is boiling and his fists are clenched. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s ever been wrong. A dangerous impulse in the back of his mind wants to scream his throat raw and tear his paper to pieces.

Then he feels a warmth settle over his knuckles. She’s placed her hand over his.

“It’s a compliment, really,” she says to him.

He looks up at her, only more infuriated by the gentle expression on her face. But he knows better than to let anger get the better of him. It will only leave him feeling ashamed. So he forces a smile and nods. “Thank you.”

She smiles too, sweet and reassuring.

He can’t bear the humiliation. Once they’re dismissed he packs up quickly, practically storming out of the room before she even has a chance to stand up.

He spends the rest of the day in his dorm, looking over the same problem and pulling at his hair, because now his mistake seems glaringly obvious. How could he be so useless? So careless as to not even read the fucking question properly?

His room is on the second floor, overlooking the quad. There are always people around, walking between classes, sitting on the grass, their voices and the smell of cigarette smoke rising and drifting in through his window. He hates it. He hates the noise, the distraction.

But as he goes to close the open window he spots her. It’s only for a moment. She’s walking towards the library with her hands in the pocket of her jacket and her backpack slung over one shoulder. She’s not with any of her preppy friends, in fact she looks rather solemn.

He feels a slight twinge of guilt in his gut. Perhaps he had been a little unfair to her in their tutorial.

He keeps noticing her, especially at meal times and during lectures. Whenever he enters a room he finds himself searching for her, and if he cannot find her, he waits for her to appear. He plays guessing games with himself, waiting to see what outfit she’ll wear, the pretty mini skirt or a pair of faded blue baggy jeans. If she’ll be with her friends or if she’ll be alone.

He never approaches her. He waits for her to look at him, and once they’ve made eye contact she’ll smile at him.

He likes watching her, and comes to the conclusion that she is charming and polite, but not overbearing, and that’s what's so intriguing about her. She knows how to talk to people, even the most insufferable of their peers, but she’s not nearly entitled enough to truly be one of them.

It’s a Friday evening the next time they actually speak. The library tends to be quieter at this time and he has a textbook to look over before his next lecture. Only, when he goes to find the book, he discovers the last copy has been checked out a matter of minutes ago. Fucking typical.

He goes to stalk out of the library, debating whether or not he can be bothered to ask Oliver if he wants to grab a drink in The King’s Arms, when he sees her.

She’s alone, with her chin in her palm, writing in a notebook as she looks at the textbook open in front of her. He’s willing to bet that’s exactly the book he needs.

He approaches her slowly, waiting for her to look up and notice him, but she seems utterly absorbed in what she’s doing. Only when he puts a hand on the back of her chair and leans over her shoulder does she react to him.

He sees her jump when he gets too close. “Jesus Christ!” she hisses, clutching her hand over her chest.

“Sorry,” he mutters, still hovering over her. “Did I frighten you?”

She hums a laugh but composes herself quite quickly. She turns her head to look at him. “I’m guessing you want the book?” she says, her breath fluttering over his cheek.

He straightens his back so he can look down at her. “Will you have it for long? Only I think I’ll get through the reading quite quickly.”

“Oh yes of course, you’re a genius, right?” she says with a grin.

Irritation scratches under the surface of his skin, hot and restless. That’s how he usually introduces himself, but it’s the truth.

“We could just share,” she says, gesturing to the empty seat beside her, “that is, unless you don’t think I’ll be able to keep up.”

There’s something exciting about the way she holds his gaze, the hint of a smile on her lips.

She offers to go back a page so he can catch up and admittedly, he skims through, only writing down a few notes before he tells her to move on. He can find the book again if he really needs to.

He has to lean over his left arm rather significantly to read the book properly. She notices this, and pushing it closer to him, shuffling her chair over to follow. They’re close enough that he can smell her perfume again.

“None of your little friends around then?” he asks quietly, so as not to disturb the other students.

“What?”

“That group of girls,” he says, “I’ve seen you sitting with them in the dining hall.”

She brings her chin back to her palm but doesn’t look up from her notes. “They live on my floor. I don’t need to spend every waking moment with them.”

“Touchy subject?” he asks, perhaps a little too hopefully.

His heart leaps in triumph when she looks up at him. “No. I’m just not sure I’d count them as friends, necessarily.”

“Why not?” he asks.

“Not my kind of people,” she says.

“Why not?”

She frowns briefly. He thinks she might scold him for being so direct, for asking so many questions, for being too intrusive. But she doesn’t.

The textbook is forgotten. She tells him about the village where she grew up, a sad little place by the sounds of it. She spent most of her schooling surrounded by the same twenty or so kids.

“For a long time, I knew there was something people didn’t like about me,” she says. “I didn’t understand why. I was never rude or cruel, I just kept my head down and did my work. The other girls told me I was a freak, the boys used to tease me, pull my hair, tear pages out of my books. Mum said people hated me because I was clever. Dad said I should stop complaining. So I did.”

He can’t help but draw a comparison to himself. He can feel it when he meets someone new, the inherent distrust, the sense that there is something inherently unlikeable about him. In a way he likes that people are unnerved by him because at least it’s something he can control. He has never been one for friends or common ground, a consequence of being the smartest person in every room.

He watches her intently as she tells him about a private school a few miles outside of her village, a proper posh place, Victorian buildings and sprawling estates. For her, it was her one chance of escape, and while her parents worked hard to make ends meet, the only way she was going to get in was with a scholarship. So she worked for it, got all A*s in her GCSEs, started at the posh school, and from there, set her sights on Oxford.

“You’re rather deceptive,” he says.

She smiles at him. “It’s not like I lied. Were you expecting a daddy’s money brat?”

“There’s enough of them about,” he says.

She huffs a laugh and rolls her eyes. “Fucking tell me about it.”

They start to make a habit of studying together, at first it’s by coincidence, and then she gives him her number so they can organise themselves more effectively. They meet at the library every Friday to share a textbook or go over problem sheets, in preparation for their lectures. They even start to meet before their tutorials together, to compare answers and make sure neither of them are left out. Sometimes they go for coffee after their classes, and branch off to chat about things that aren’t maths.

He tells her about the grammar school he went to, that most of the boys there were rugby playing morons. He tells her about his family, his mum, his dad, the family cat that’s been around longer than he has. He tells her about his summer, running numbers for his uncle’s accountancy firm.

She tells him about the posh school, that starting at a boarding school was like being thrown into a different universe. Sure, she had been the odd one out and got the odd “povo” comment, but it was the first place where she had felt like she didn’t have to be ashamed of her own intelligence. She learnt how to fit in, to the point where he can’t tell if she actually likes her preppy friends or if she just puts up with them for the sake of it.

He starts to wonder if he could consider her a friend. He likes that she’s smart and sharp, the slight air of competition when they compare notes or go through a problem together. He likes challenging her, making her second guess herself, watching the way she squirms and tries to hide that she’s flustered. Just once, he thinks it would be fun to one-up her, but of course, she never slips up, and she never makes a mistake.

On Halloween she mentions a party at Magdalene College being hosted by one of her old school friends. Of course he’s sceptical. Hanging around a bunch of stuck up posh kids, who no doubt will all be in slutty costumes and getting off on each other’s egos, isn’t exactly his idea of fun. Although, part of him is intrigued to see her in a different setting.

So he agrees to meet her outside her dorm at 10pm exactly. He doesn’t bother with fancy dress, opting for jeans and a black jumper so that he can just fade into the background.

She appears with some of her preppy friends. They’re all in pastel dresses of differing colours, matching wings strung on their backs, glitter on their cheeks, a little pack of fairies. She’s in white mini dress that floats around her thighs as she moves, more like an angel.

She introduces him enthusiastically to the girls, already giddy from their pre-drinks, pink gin and rosé. None of them seem that interested by his presence and he grunts in response.

She links her arm through his as they walk over the cobbles, through the maze of ancient buildings to the dorm where the party is being held. She talks about everything and nothing. She tells him who’s going to be there, who’s been uninvited but might show up just to stir shit, how many girls are going to be there and that they’re all going to be trying to get into Felix Catton’s Calvin Kleins.

“Are you going to get with anyone?” she asks.

He makes a sound of disgust.

“Come on, Michael, live a little!”

He shakes his head. “I don’t think– I don’t know–”

She puts her hands on his shoulders and turns him to face her. “Have you kissed anyone before?”

He swallows thickly. It’s not something he’s ever been ashamed of before, now it feels like a weight crushing down on his chest. “No,” he says, simply, determined to remain indifferent.

“Get with someone tonight!” she says excitedly, “just for the fun of it, we’ll find you someone good.”

He hates the idea, but he doesn’t have the heart to tell her. Perhaps it seems like fun to her, but to him it seems like an impossibility, and he thinks he’d rather have the consistency of being unwanted.

The party itself is loud and sparsely lit by neon lights. He starts off on bottles of beer to ease himself into it, but seeing everyone else is doing pills and white lines, he thinks he might need something stronger to get through the night, especially when she keeps getting distracted. The angel is quite the social butterfly and insists on saying hello to everyone, even the people she’s never met.

He finds himself in a common room and reaches for a bottle of whisky and a cup when he spots her. She’s leaning against a wall, wings discarded on the floor beside her. A tall boy, wearing nothing but jeans, a pair of feathery costume wings and a horrible Carpe Diem tattoo on his forearm, has his hands on her waist. She’s smiling and giggling into his neck every time he goes in to kiss her. Of all the girls Felix could go after.

His skin feels tight. He fears if he keeps having to watch this little display he’ll retch his guts up, and yet he’s utterly hypnotised by it, the way she had her arms around his shoulders, the way her fingertips trace the base of his neck. And fuck, he’s never seen her look so beautiful.

He ends up downing the rest of the whisky straight from the bottle and most of the night becomes a blur after that. At some point he thinks he starts trying to talk to one of her pastel fairy friends. He doesn’t catch her name, and he wouldn’t care to remember it anyway. She plays with his glasses, tries them on and giggles hysterically. He thinks she must be completely off her face, considering the look of utter disgust she had given him at the start of the night.

Somewhere in the noise of the party she throws her arms around his neck and they sway clumsily to the overwhelming bass of the music. He thinks he feels her lips graze his cheek, his jaw, his neck, but where he can help it, he keeps his eyes on his angel. Felix has one of her legs around his waist and his hands halfway up her skirt.

Fuck this.

He pushes the nameless girl off him and storms over to put an end to the scene before him. He grips Felix by his shoulders to pull him off her, grabs her by the arm and drags her out of the dorm. He doesn’t look back to see if Felix protests, he’ll probably find some other throat to stick his tongue down.

She tries to shout over the music. “Where are we–”

“I’m tired,” he snaps, bringing his face in close to hers. He gets closer than he means to, pressing his nose and his forehead against hers. He’s breathing fiercely, he realises, desperate to contain the full extent of his anger, his jealousy. “I want to leave.”

She stares back at him with parted lips, and nods.

He feels better the moment they’re outside, away from the disorientation of the party. He takes deep breaths of the night air, cold and sharp in his lungs. He snatches off his glasses, runs his hands over his face and his hair to find himself drenched in sweat.

His angel tucks herself in against him, under his arm, huddling her arms around herself and shivering.

“Do you want my jumper?” he says. His voice and the words on his tongue feel strange. His limbs feel weightless as he pulls it off and helps her into it.

“Hmm, thank you,” she says dreamily, clinging onto his arm as they stumble back to Lincoln College. He burns where she touches him, her fingertips digging into his skin. He loves it, and hates that her hands were on someone else before him.

“You were getting rather cozy with Miranda,” she says.

“Who?”

“Lilac fairy costume,” she says, playfully hitting his arm. “Did you kiss her?”

His heart sinks. He presses his lips together but she doesn’t seem to pick up on his annoyance. “No,” he says with a tight jaw.

“Oh no,” she says, looking up at him with a comically sad pout.

“It’s not important,” he says.

“It’s your first kiss! Or should have been your first kiss. It’s important. Did you at least have a good time before you got tired?”

“No,” he says, “your friends are all imbeciles.”

They walk the rest of the way back to her dorm in silence. He makes sure she has her keys, holds her face between his hands and tells her to drink a whole glass of water before she falls asleep.

She leans into his touch with a sleepy smile. “Yes, yes, I will,” she whines.

The sound stirs a wanting in his stomach. Suddenly his heart is beating faster than it ever has before.

“And call me if you need anything–”

“Would you want to kiss me?” she asks.

His eyes flicker down to her lips. His hands are still cupping her cheeks. “What?”

Her eyes are wide and alert. “I just mean, I could be your first kiss, if you wanted to.” She places her hands on his wrists, tracing her fingertips over his skin, along his forearms. It’s such a simple touch, and yet he can feel it driving him slowly insane.

He imagines her hands running over the rest of his body, down his chest, his stomach, teasing over the growing hardness in his jeans.

“You’re drunk,” he whispers, terrified of how desperate his voice might sound.

She rises onto her toes, inching her face closer to his, drawing her nose over his cheek. “So?” she says, lips brushing over his skin, “I promise it’ll feel good.”

Their lips find each other in a simple movement. It’s easier than he thought it would be, following the movements of her mouth, letting his hands fall from her face and rest on her waist. He can feel her breathing, the little hums she makes as she kisses him and runs her hands through his hair.

He decides, in that moment, that she is perfect. She is bright and beautiful, passionate and kind, soft and sharp, everything he wants for himself, the only person he has ever felt a need for. That need burns through his bloodstream, goes straight to his head and makes his mind hazy. It tightens in his gut and only makes that wanting feeling in his chest feel emptier. His heart races, his trembling hands graze over the thin, silky material of her dress.

His glasses come askew. He feels her smile against his lips and it feels good. Really fucking good.

His hands clench into a firmer grip on her waist. He needs to keep her close, to touch her, feel her, know she wants this as much as he does.

Only she’s slipping away.

Her hands come away from his neck and the cold night air stings his skin in her absence. She pulls her head away, not abruptly, but that’s the pain of it. He leans forward to chase her lips but he has no choice but to let her go in the end.

She looks up at him with a vague smile. “See? It’s nice, isn’t it?”

Nice in the moment. Pure torture that he’ll have to spend the rest of the night clinging onto the memory, only able to imagine how good it felt.

After that night he cannot escape the thought of her, when he’s in his lectures, when he’s in the library, when he’s walking between classes, when he’s in the dining hall. If he’s with her he cannot help but notice every little detail about her, her clothes, her hands, the colour of her nail polish, every micro expression, every word, every laugh, every sigh.

And when he’s alone, he can’t help but picture her in that white dress, the sound of her voice, the feel of her lips. He can’t help but imagine what it would be like to run his hands over every inch of her skin and make her a breathless, whining mess. When he’s in his dorm, it’s inevitable that his hand will end up dipping into his boxers, stroking himself until he spills over his knuckles with a grunt or a whisper of her name.

He’s never known himself to be so distracted.

Worst of all is the rage that comes with the wanting. He hates walking into the lecture hall to see her chatting to someone else, seeing her with her preppy friends around the college or drinking with that old school friend in the King’s Arms. None of them deserve her. None of them. Does she even realise it? How long before she loses herself, before she decides she doesn’t need him?

He knows he’s not a sentimental person. He doesn’t have a lot of friends nor does he want them. People have come in and out of his life, but this girl is different. He feels a draw to her, a hunger that he can’t satiate with his own imagination. She is everything he wants for himself, and he has no intentions of letting her slip away.

As Michaelmas terms comes to an end, the colleges and libraries are covered with garlands and wreaths. Despite the lingering worry in the back of his mind, Michael is rather happy with his collection of outcasts, though poor Oliver Quick seems rather unhappy at being a designated Norman-No Mates.

He finds it easier to get her attention as the term and the workload progresses. They’ve had tutorials and summative assignments, and she’s finally starting to struggle.

And then there was the incident about the scholarship. One of the preppy friends let slip that she wasn’t paying for her tuition fees or her accommodation, likely done out of jealousy after she’d gotten close to Felix at the Halloween party. He was there for her with a perfectly good shoulder to cry on when half the girls in her dorm started teasing her for it.

He tells her that she doesn’t have time to get distracted with parties or friends who won’t help her succeed.

He’s sitting at a table in the library, ready for one of their Friday evening study dates. She’s late but soon hurries in, pulling off the thick red scarf she has wrapped around her neck and shrugging off her denim jacket.

He has the textbook open at the right page and places a Crunchie in front of her when she sits down.

“Did you know there was a college Christmas party tonight?” Michael asks as she takes down her notes. “We’re NFI, apparently. Not fucking invited.” He’d checked his pigeonhole, and Oliver’s for good measure.

In the corner of his eye, he sees her look up from her notebook.

“As if we’d actually want to hang out with those vapid cunts,” he says, laughing to himself. He turns his head to check if she’s laughing too.

She doesn’t look very amused. “Actually, I was going to ask if you wanted to come with me,” she says.

He pauses, hovering his pencil over his worksheet. “You got an invitation?” he says quietly.

“Yeah,” she says, “I was chatting with some of the literature guys the other day, you know Farleigh Start–”

“What the fuck were you talking to him for?” He asks in a voice like ice.

She stares at him with wide, almost accusing eyes. “What, am I not allowed to talk to anyone besides you?”

“They’re not worth your time so stop acting like a fucking bootlicker” he hisses. “They’re all self-obsessed and cruel, and I don’t know why you’re so desperate for their approval.”

“Desperate,” she echoes.

The silence of the library is screaming at him. He has an awful feeling in his stomach, like he’s done something wrong, like he’s pushed a little too far.

It’s Halloween all over again. He can feel her slipping away, and he can’t reach out for her, can’t hold onto her and make her stay where he wants her. He curls his fists as he feels his body start to tremble.

“I guess I won’t waste any more of your precious time then,” she says sharply as she starts to pack up her things.

“No,” Michael utters. He reaches his hand up as if to stop her but she stands up, out of his reach. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

She throws on her jacket, wraps her scarf around her neck and turns around, glaring down at him with sad, glassy eyes. “I need to get ready,” she says. “Enjoy the rest of your night.” Then she sweeps out of the hall with a cold rush of air and a slam of the doors.

Michael groans and lets his head fall into his hands. How had he managed to fuck up that badly?

He can’t think about the problems on the sheet in front of him, or think about the reading from the textbook. All he can picture is her in some skimpy dress, letting some sick trust fund baby put his hands all over her. It makes him want to tear his hair out.

He stays there until the evening has turned to night, until any other stragglers have left the library, to attend this stupid Christmas party or to make their own fun.

He can’t understand why she keeps trying to befriend the people who would abandon her the moment they got bored of her, the very same people who shamed her for her scholarship.

He’d never leave her, never let her feel anything less than worshipped.

When he finally packs up his bag he finds himself walking to her dorm. A few girls are leaving as he arrives at the building and he easily slips in while they’re busy chatting. He knows which floor she’s on, and then all he has to do is find her name on one of the doors… and there it is, under the number 205. Perfect.

He glances up and down the hall. It’s deathly quiet. He wonders how many students have already cleared out of their rooms, how many will be at this party, at the pub with their friends.

He can hear music on the other side of the door, a voice singing softly to a song he doesn’t know.

He brings his knuckles up and taps four times against the wood.

She seems happy when she opens the door, but her face falls when she realises it’s him.

He buries his hands in his pockets, keeps his chin down as he looks up at her. “I need to talk to you,” he says.

She sighs and purses her lips, but steps aside enough for him to come into her room.

It’s not as neat as he imagined, but it’s cosy. There are photos and posters all over the walls, clothes strewn everywhere, an opened makeup bag on the floor by the mirror, pieces of paper and used mugs on the desk. His eyes are drawn to her bed, to the colourful comforter tossed carelessly over the duvet and the pile of mismatched pillows. It smells like her perfume, and something else that is distinctly her.

A red dress hangs on the front of her wardrobe, her outfit for the party, he guesses. For now she’s dressed in her favourite pair of baggy jeans and a tank top, her hair slightly damp and her skin dewy.

She sits on the edge of her bed with her legs crossed. She doesn’t prompt him, but he knows what she wants to hear.

He stands in front of her, his knees almost touching the bed. He tries not to look at the cut of her tank top, the way it clings to her torso and teases the swell of her breasts.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “You were right, I was being unfair.”

She looks up at him, furrowing her brows and catching her lip between her teeth, like she always does when she’s thinking. It makes his stomach drop.

“You can be cruel too, you know that?” she says, “and so full of yourself, but you hold it against everyone else you meet.”

“But I’d never lie to you,” he says, “and I’ve never pretended to be someone I’m not.”

She keeps frowning. “Neither have I.”

He hums a laugh. He can’t help but reach for her, taking her chin between his fingers. She doesn’t flinch away, doesn’t question it when he gently strokes his index finger over her cheek. “Silly girl,” he says, “you care too much about what people think of you. You’re smarter than that, but you’re happy to hide it.”

Her breath hitches as tilts her head further back and lets his thumb drag over her lower lip.

“Michael,” she utters, pressing her palms against his chest, but not enough to push him away. Her hands grip at the collar of his jumper and she nudges her nose against his.

He doesn’t know where the sudden recklessness comes from. Perhaps it’s in the way she said his name, the way her eyes are gazing up at him, but every part of him feels hollow.

He leans in closer. “Why bother? Why do you want to dumb yourself down when I could just fuck you stupid?”

She leans in to kiss him and he indulges her, letting his hand settle against her cheek as they clash together in a mess of lips and tongues. It’s more frantic than the night of the Halloween party, wetter, clumsier.

She comes up onto her knees, snaking one of her hands down to the hem of his jumper.

“Have you fucked a girl before, Gavey?” she says between their kisses. He can feel her smiling.

“No,” he says, practically tearing his jumper and his shirt off, “but I’ve thought about it a lot.”

“Anyone in particular?” she says, palming over the bulge in his jeans.

“Who do you fucking think?”

His hands are on the buttons of her jeans, ripping them open, dragging them down her legs before she’s on her knees again. He slips his hand between her legs, against her clothed centre and she ruts against him like a bitch in heat.

With his other hand he grabs at her waist, impatiently pulling her tank top over her head to reveal a lacy black bra underneath. He can’t stop himself, planting firm, desperate kisses over the flesh of her chest as he undoes the clasp.

He tosses her bra aside and takes one of her nipples in his mouth, sucking and circling his tongue over the sensitive bud. He loves how she whines for him, how she runs her fingers through his hair and pulls when it feels good.

And then her phone rings.

She sighs in frustration before she shoves Michael away and crawls over to the table by her bed.

Michael groans at the loss, wanting nothing more than to grab her and pull her back across the bed. “Who is it?” he asks, adjusting his glasses.

“Could be Farleigh, or one of the girls, I said I’d meet them before the party–”

That’s all he needs to hear. In an instant he’s on top of her, pinning her wrist to the mattress so she can’t reach her phone, legs on either side of her body as he presses her down.

She writhes underneath him, unintentionally grinding her rear into his crotch. She tries to turn her head over her shoulder, but it’s hard when she’s caged in underneath him. “Michael! What the fuck are you–”

“When are you going to get it into that pretty little head that you don’t need them?” he says, letting his lips brush against the shell of her ear. He feels her shudder, feels her heartbeat racing against his chest.

“I know I don’t need them,” she says.

“Hmm,” he says, leaning back to undo his jeans enough to free his hard and eager cock. I’m not convinced.”

He takes his time pulling her panties down her legs, kneads at her thighs and her ass, pulls her hips up and parts her legs so he can get a look at her slick, glistening cunt. He’s almost fascinated by it, drawing his thumb through her folds, noticing how she reacts to his touch, the sounds she makes, the way she fists the bedsheets when he gets close to her clit, but just enough to keep her on edge.

“I could be so good to you,” he says, leaning down to press a kiss to her shoulder, “so fucking good, so why do you act like you don’t need me?”

“I do,” she breathes, interrupting herself with a light moan when he presses firmly against her clit. “I do need you.”

“There you go, you’re starting to get it,” he coos, circling over her most sensitive spot with the pads of his fingers. He may not have the practice but he has the knowledge, and he needs this to feel good for her.

She responds beautifully, sighing and rocking her hips against him, and she just melts when he presses the tip of his cock against her entrance.

He has to push harder than he expects, pausing when she gives a little yelp of what sounds like pain, but she assures him she’s fine.

He grabs her hip for leverage, hissing through his teeth as he pushes in deeper. She’s so tight, so wet, so warm.

“You can move,” she says, letting her head fall against her arm. “Please, I need it.”

He starts slowly, focuses on the drag of his cock through her, the way she stretches around him, but he can’t hold back for long. Once he finds a rhythm he gets a little more reckless, snapping his hips against her rear, keeping his harsh grasp on her flesh as he fucks her into the mattress.

Her moans are heavenly and obscene. She’s given up struggling but she’s trying to look at him, trying to touch him but she can’t. She calls his name and it sounds so pathetic but so endearing.

He chuckles lowly to himself. “Silly little slut, didn’t know what she was missing, did she?”

“No,” she whines. He can feel her clenching around him and he doesn’t know how much longer he’ll be able to last. “Fuck, Michael, it feels so good…”

He pulls out of her, only to turn her back and slam back in. Suddenly she’s all over him, running her hands down his torso, wrapping her arms around his neck. She has her face buried into the crook of his neck, grazing her lips, tongue and teeth over his skin.

It feels good to have her close, but he’s still not entirely satisfied.

He pulls away to hold her down again, one hand on her throat, the other on her stomach. “Mine.” he huffs as he picks up the pace of his thrusts. “All mine. Fucking say it.”

She places her hands over his, urging him to hold her tighter, press harder. “Yours,” she utters, “all yours.”

“Good fucking girl,” he groans, and feels her respond to his voice, cunt fluttering, back arching, another whine sounding in her throat— maybe she likes that. “My clever little girl.”

He feels her come undone around him, back arching as he lets out a breathless moan, practically squeezing him to his own release.

He pulls out and with a few strokes of his hand, paints her belly and her thighs with his spend.

She’s trembling, smiling, reaching out to touch him again, grabbing at his wrists and pulling herself up. She guides him to lay back in the bed and straddles him, tracing her finger over his lips, his jaw, along his nose to push his glasses up for him. He can hardly see through them, the lenses fogged up and smeared with sweat.

“That was fun, wasn’t it?” she says.

“Yeah,” he breathes, pawing at her hips, watching his cum as it drips down her body. He can feel a sense of pride swelling in his chest, the arousal in his gut starting to tighten again.

He gasps when she drags her wet cunt over his already hardening cock. “You.. want to go again?”

She tilts her head, looking down at him with that familiar excited look in her eyes as her mouth spreads into an eager grin. “You’re adorable,” she says, tracing her fingertips over his chest, down the lines of his abs, to the trail of thin hair on his navel.

She leans down, reaching between them to take his cock in her hand, moving with agonisingly slow strokes. When he tries to protest she silences him with little more than a peck on his lips, before she trails down to his throat. “I stand by what I said, Gavey, and you’re not leaving this bed until we’ve taken that ego of yours down a notch.”

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uranometrias · 11 days

Text

goodbye love, you flew right by , spencer reid

this was inspired by the season fourteen episode 'truth or dare'... it's my take on the jeid confession aftermath. listen to ceilings while you read, but don't think too deeply into it, because the story has a happy ending... this is only part 1 though, and it ends on a awkward/angsty note, so sorry. reader passes out from a head blow.

i wanted it to be short, but i have no self control.

you tried to keep your mind on your training, you didn't really have time to panic, you needed to stay calm. you focused all your energy on your breathing, willed your fear away with thoughts of better things. you didn't even want to focus on the fact that spencer was across from you, hands pinned behind his back as he stared up at the manic man that was currently holding you, your boyfriend, and your closest work friend hostage. you believed in your team, and what you were capable of, you knew without a doubt you'd make it out alive.

"casey..." spencer speaks, his voice has matured over the years, rightfully. he sounds so official, and you find yourself sitting a touch straighter at the sharpness behind his words. jj was standing up, eyes glued directly on your captor, her face was pinched up with the proof of her worry. she catches your eye, and looks forlorn, you only hope that she sees the resilience resting in your own eyes, as you try and offer a semblance of hope through your own gaze.

"shut up!" he shouts, and his gun is aimed at spencer. he spits the words out, quickly stomping towards jj as he forced her to the floor.

"okay, okay!" she exclaims, and it's clear that he's hurting her. his patience has run thin, and jj's plan of getting through to him by playing along with his sick 'truth or dare' game was proving to be all for not. your foot unconsciously begins to tap, likely a nervous habit that you have no time to unpack. you're still too busy trying to appear unbothered, it always seemed to tick the unsubs off when it seemed like their bravado meant nothing. that's what you needed. you couldn't afford to let him think that he scared you.

"last chance." and his gun's trained directly at jj's head. "something you'd never say aloud, not even to your friends here." and casey's whirling around to point the gun in your direction, you think it might have been a mistake for him to turn around. when he sees your foot tapping his face contorts, he's annoyed with you, angry with you. your arms are uncomfortable from the way they were taped together behind your back, and the foot tapping has become involuntary.

his reaction is almost instantaneous, and you think you understand why the team's always telling you not to get so lost in your own mind.

casey's grabbing you by your arm and it hurts, especially as his nails manage to pierce through the skin. he seems to be doing it on purpose, yanking you up to your feet as jj and spencer both surge into action. "wait, wait, please-" jj's leaning forward, eyes wide and full of fear for the first time since this whole ordeal began. spencer's scared too, but he hides it much better you think.

"please, don't hurt her." he begs, and you find it a bit annoying that he's brought them to the point of begging, of using manners to appeal to his ego. casey's eyes jump from spencer to jj, and then to you, and he's sneering. he whirls you around, arm looping around your neck as he presses the barrel of his gun directly to your temple. you sing along to your favorite song in your head, using it as a way to stay grounded, it likely made you look like a mad man.

you supposed that it was your superpower, your ability to look death in the eye, and not flinch. the team often mentioned they weren't sure if you or emily was more stone-faced in a crises situation. "oh, you don't want me to hurt her?" he mocks, and you don't look at spencer, no, you keep your eyes on jj, because she's the one that has to play the game. if you didn't know spencer so well, you never would have noticed the slight movement of his arms, he was up to something.

he was fine.

jj was the one in the hot seat, and she needed you to be calm. freaking out would only make her all the more anxious. so you offer her a stern look, a look that expressed that you all would be okay. she doesn't look convinced. "i want your deepest, darkest secret." he insturcts, "impress me, or i'll kill her." and he slams the gun deep into your temple, the action dizzying as you try and maintain your balance. you feel pain blooming behind your eyes. "and then i'll kill him." he nods his head towards spencer, and jj's on the verge of tears.

you have no choice but to watch her, he's given you a first-class seat to the action. jj's eyes don't land on you though, instead she's looking over to spencer. he looks back at her, face pensive, but otherwise calm. she shudders for just a moment, and it looks like she's trying to work up the courage. "come on!" casey suddenly screams directly in your ear, and you flinch violently. it garners both jj and spencer's attention. casey tightens his hold on you, gun at the ready. "do you think this is a joke? do you think i won't blow this bitch's brains out?"

you're not too fond of being called a bitch, and the drama of it all, takes you out of the moment a bit. why were all unsubs so cliche?

jj takes in another shuddered breath, this one bordering on a sob as she takes in a puff of air. it takes her a moment to get her bearings, but then she's looking at spencer again. she offers him a weak smile, and you get a tingle up your spine, it feels like a warning for disaster. "spence..." she says his name weakly, voice harsh as she croaks. he's looking away from you finally, meeting the gaze of his best friend. "uh..." she inhales sharply. "um..." she looks at you then, and you're eyes are wide, confusion swirling there and she's exhaling.

there's a heaviness, a guilt that stares back at you, and you find yourself scared for the first time, but not of casey. no, you're scared of your friend. "i'm sorry." she mouths to you, and you watch as she looks back at your boyfriend, the clear love of your life. you feel dread then, because you know jj, you know her too well, and you know what's coming. why else would she be so worried, why else would she be looking at you with so much shame in her eyes. "i've-" she stops.

spencer's none the wiser, he wouldn't get it until she said it in full. so while you spiraled into despair, he sat patiently, doe-eyes wide and full of whatever innocence he still had left. you wish you could go back to before, you wish you hadn't been assigned to go with jj and spencer, if you were with the team you'd be none the wiser. you wouldn't feel so heartbroken, displaced, uncertain. but you're here now, and all you have to do is wait for the other shoe to drop. jj inhales, and you wish she would get it out. "i've always loved you."

and there it is.

you'd come to recognize the signs and signals of tears, it always started with your eyes burning like you'd been sitting in smoke. your nose stings next, and you bare down harshly on your tongue to keep them from falling. "and i was just too scared to say it before." it's a gut-punch, it would have likely knocked you on your ass had casey not been forcing you to take it all in. "and now things are just really too complicated to say it now." and she's crying, and that's how you know that she means it. that only makes you feel much worse.

jj, for all intents and purposes was a great actress, she could make any story believable, but she'd never been a good 'fake crier'. she could hide every single one of her tells when she spoke, but emotions were harder to manage. you remembered how she'd told you that one day while the two of you were hanging out. you don't know what brought you there, but she'd made it clear, that tears for her were hard to fake. which left you with what? a best friend that was in love with your boyfriend?

"i'm sorry, but you should know." and you'd hoped she'd at least have the decency to look at you. she doesn't. instead, she's still looking at spencer, and you feel like you're intruding. more than that you feel so stupid. spencer's got this look on his face, this shock and awe and confusion that makes you want to vomit, it makes you want to throw yourself to the ground and throw a tantrum. you want to open your mouth and scream, remind them that 'hey, you're here too'... remind them that you were apart of this, that this was a very very bad thing.

hope was not the sort of look he should be wearing, it's not how he should be responding. you don't know what you'd expected, but certainly not for him to look so relieved, not while you were sitting right there in front of him with a gun to your head. he gives her a half smile though, and you crumble. casey's suddenly chuckling, shoulders rocking as they're pulled out of their little moment. "hot damn!" and he's releasing the gun from your temple, holding it like a little prop, as he forced you back to the ground.

you don't resist, your knees slamming into the floor as you conceal your wince, conceal everything.

"now that's what i'm talking about." casey mutters excitedly. "now those are some last words right there..." he nods his head. he then looms over her, gun pointed directly in her face. "but not good enough to save your life-" before he can hope to pull the trigger, spencer has shot him. the shot echoes all around you, but it doesn't seem to pull you from your muffled mind. casey falls to the floor, jj jumping as he lands down next to her. she shudders violently.

then she's looking back at him, at spence. your spence.

you don't like how it makes you feel, that they've conjured this small habit of getting lost in one another. you clear your throat, and they're finally, finally looking at you. jj looks mortified, but you can't read spencer at all. he doesn't look at jj again, doesn't say a word, instead he's looking at you. you should feel something other than rejection, but you don't. not even when his eyes seem to brim with all those feelings that you know he has for you, because now it feels fake.

he's quick in the way he rushes towards you, kneeling as he inspects you like porcelain. his dominant hand moves to gently brush over where you'd been hit with the gun. you don't want him to touch you though, so you pull back, it's more like a hard jerk, like you were frightened of his touch. you try to play it off, pretend it never happened, but you know that he knows. it felt like the beginning of the end, like the prerequisite to something god-awful.

he looks so upset, hurt by the action, but you think out of the two of you, you're the one who's really hurt. "can you just get me out of these, please?" you don't sound like yourself either, instead you sound hollow, like a grieving woman. you probably are, grieving that is. spencer gives you a worn down nod, but maneuvers until he's behind you. he gently tugs at the tape, but it still hurts as it strips at your skin. you bare your teeth, but don't say anything, head hanging low, until he was done. he offers you his hand, you ignore it.

"y/n." jj calls, and she sounds so distraught. you ignore her too, you don't know what other choices you have. the room's not big enough to hide in, so instead you find yourself rushing over to melissa. you think it's silly, to leave the two of them alone while so much hung in the air, but it was better that way. "melissa." you say her name quietly, kneeling in front of her, despite how shabby they felt. "i need you to hang on, okay?" you exhale shakily.

"help will be here before you know it." you promise, and you're pressing on her wound, blood smearing your hands and your fingertips as she winced painfully. you don't hear anything from jj and spencer, but it doesn't make it better. clearly a glance was all it took for the two of them now. you hate the way this has thrown you, you don't exactly know why you're so fearful. jj was married, she had two sons she adored, and a marriage she was happy in. so why did it feel like the confession was the start of something bad.

were you so insecure that you felt like you didn't stand a chance?

you don't want to think about that, it might actually be enough to make you upchuck. instead, your masochistic mind has you chancing a glance back to where it all went down. you see that spencer has taken the tape off her hands. she's looking up at him, and he's staring down at her. you think that you hate them then. the door bursts open a second later, and you're glad. soon enough a medic would come to see to the wounded, and you could get the hell out of dodge.

"we're going to need an EMT, we've got three down." you exclaim. the room immediately jumps into action. you hear the incessant thrum of conversation as everyone jumped into action, and you're more than grateful when you feel someone looming. your mistake was believing it would be a medic, your face falls flat when you're met with the sight of jj. she had always had a bad habit of trying to force the hard conversations. today though, you were determined to stand your petty ground. you avert your gaze, attention back on melissa.

"y/n, please don't do this." she says this quietly, and you hear the genuine anguish in her voice. it doesn't sway you, it can't possibly.

"it's already done." you quip, and you're grateful to have slowed the bleeding of melissa's wound, as a medic takes your place, finally. you stand to your feet, bloodstained hands itching to smear against your jeans, but you refrain. you ignore rossi and tara's questions, not really in the mood to answer different variations of the 'are you alright?' game. you needed air. silly you to think it'd be over just because you'd willed it to be. just as you're stepping outside, you feel a warm hand encompassing your wrist. you don't want to stop, but it's habitual.

"let me go, spencer." you try quietly. you don't want to be that girl, the one that lashes out, and causes a scene. diplomacy was the name of the game. your eyes are glued to the ground, you didn't want to picture him with that stupid hopeful look on his face anymore. you knew that night when you closed your eyes you'd see it over and over. it would taunt you, play on an endless loop while you tore yourself to shreds. what was it about her? why was this happening to you?

"i can't." he replies, and you wish he'd spoken to you earlier. you wish that he had communicated with his mouth, rather than with his eyes. maybe you wouldn't be so far gone. it didn't have to be a big deal, because at least you would have known that it didn't matter. that her confession hadn't changed anything, but he'd stayed silent, and he'd looked at her in a way he'd never looked at you before. you knew there was history, you'd heard whispers from derek and penelope about a football game from years and years ago.

you had never expected for it to matter now.

"you can, you're just choosing to hold me hostage." you mumble, and despite your anger, you can't lash out. you can't be irrational.

"i'm not going to let you leave angry with me." and you hate how he knows you so well. you think it's something you'll miss. "i want us to talk about it, i think that we need to." he says in that voice he often used when he was trying to gently guide you towards the right choice. you don't want to be policed or treated like you were the one that had messed things up. all he'd needed to do was shut it down, all you'd wanted him to do was not look so happy, like it was something he'd spent his entire life waiting for.

"what's there to talk about, spencer? it's happened, okay? let's just move on, before this turns into something it doesn't need to." you shoot back, and he's not convinced, nor is he willing to budge.

"you're treating me like some stranger, as if i don't know you well enough to see when you're lying to me." he's gaining that disappointed lilt to his voice, and you think long gone are all your chances of getting out of this place without it turning into a full blown soap opera meltdown. "we're not going to get anywhere if you can't be truthful with me." he adds, and you don't want a lecture, because you'd done nothing wrong. you were the one casey had held, you were the one that had a gun pressed to your temple.

you weren't the one that made the life changing confession.

"i'm asking you to drop this." you say sharply, and you're hoping to snatch your arm away from spencer. he doesn't let you, and on any other occasion you'd feel so protected, so wanted. now though, you feel claustrophobic, trapped, you didn't feel safe. "i understand that you're trying to preserve our relationship, and i wish i could tell you that this doesn't change anything..." his face morphs, eyes screaming at you not to proceed. "but i just need a second to wrap my head around all this, okay? can you give me that? space?"

to him space always felt like the beginning of the end. he thinks that's why he's determined not to let you go. "will you come back? if i let you go?" and he's already dropped you wrist, so you know that he's not really talking about right now. he sounds uncertain, scared, and it does remind you that there was love he felt towards you. the fear wraps around you, and you're not sure how it really makes you feel. you exhale shakily, and you don't want to give him the wrong answer.

"agent l/n." you're both being pulled back to reality, back to what was going on around you. you note the bleeding gash in his hand, likely from the shard he'd used to free himself from the tape and you sigh.

"i don't know, spence." and it's true. "i'm just a little bit confused right now." you admit. "and my feelings are hurt," you shake your head rapidly. spencer doesn't know how to express the way his mind is running. all he knew was that jj's confession would not be enough to make him want to throw away his time with you. he wanted you to know that you weren't a consolation prize, but he didn't know how to say it now without seeming ingenuine. he knew how it looked, he knew how he'd feel if he was in your shoes.

but, he wasn't in love with jj. he remembered a version of himself that tripped over himself at her gaze, the version that stayed up late at night replaying conversations in his head. a part of that guy would always exist, he couldn't lie and say it didn't. he loved her so wholeheartedly that sometimes it still managed to scare him, but she was an illusion, a fantasy. realistically he doubted they'd make sense in a romantic sort of sense, it was only something to think about... not something to uproot lives behind.

more than that though, he'd never felt for jj the way he felt for you. he remembered the first time you'd waltzed into the bullpen. you'd knocked him right on his ass, took every thought in his head, and made it your very own. you consumed his time, and he was willing to let you. he wanted you to be the only thing that could quiet his running mind, he wanted you to be the only person that could help him sleep. he didn't want to give this anymore attention than it needed, because he was set in his heart. it wasn't a question.

he didn't know why he couldn't just say that. why everything felt so lopsided and off focus now. his lips curve down into a deep pout.

"my head hurts." you mumble, your bottom lip trembling as spencer's frown deepens. he wants to hug you, but after your initial rejection he doesn't know if he can take another one. you feel a bit drowsy, likely a side-effect of the way casey had manhandled you.

"i know, you'll need to get checked out." he says quietly. "you might have a concussion, he really did a number on you." and despite his initial protests, and your earlier reaction, he's reaching for you again. you don't know if you're insecure, or if your profiling skills are allowing to see him for who he is, but the look in his eyes pushes you to relax. his fingers are gentle in the way they cradle your face, and instinctively you're leaning into his palm, cheek pressing against his hand. "i'm sorry." and you don't know which part he's apologizing for.

"can you come with me?" a quiet and still hopeful question. "we could sit together in the ambulance, pretend everything's alright just for a second?" you offer, and you think that's an answer to his question in itself. you didn't know how long it would take to get checked out, you didn't know how long it would take for them to bandage his hand and assess him for other scrapes and bruises, but you could take advantage of it, just the two of you. you could sit in silence, and dance around in that space between love and betrayal.

it was possible.

"y-yeah." he didn't stutter much anymore, so it stands out and makes you want to frown. "we can do that." his expression is torn, and you want to know what's on his mind, what he was thinking. you needed to know, you wanted some sort of sign, anything, that would show you he hadn't given up on you all because jj was in love with him. you hoped you weren't that disposable. "i want to." he adds, and he blinks harshly, almost like he's warding off tears, and it feels so awkward. the usual banter, the back and forth, the flirty remarks that always managed to leave you both shy were all gone.

in a matter of moments.

"good." and at the very least, he's here with you right now. "give me your hand." and you're careful not to grab the one he'd split with the glass, instead stepping around him to pull his clean palm into your slightly stained one. your fingers interlock, and it's a habit, a natural one at this point. "don't think too hard about it." you instruct, and he scoffs at you. he's upset, he's disappointed, hurting, angry, confused, you can see it. all his emotions seem to pile up on one another.

"how can i not?" he asks, and he sounds so tired. "it feels like you're seconds away from telling me that you're done with me." you're a not surprised at the pivot in his demeanor.

"isn't that what you want now?" you've started to walk, and spencer's letting you lead him, not quite ready to let your hand go once you reached the medic that was currently trying their hand at getting your attention. "i mean the girl you've always loved just put herself on a silver platter." you adds with a quiet sneer a second later. "what do you need me for?" you question, and he hates the feeling of his heart mimicking the sensation of pulling and squeezing. it hurts.

"y/n..." he tries, and you shake your head. "you have to know that nothing has changed." he promises, and you scoff. it stops you in your tracks.

"everything's changed!" you hiss. "she's in love with you. jj, our friend. she's been harboring feelings for you for years, but nothing's changed?" you huff, a tear seems to find joy in slipping from your eye in that moment. it's just one, but you know it's a opener to the main event. it's probably because despite everything, he makes you feel safest. part of that safety came an inability to shield your emotions and reactions from him. you'll have to try your darndest to do so now.

you don't really know if you can conceal them, but you don't want them to turn into full blown sobs. a few stray tears were easy to ignore, but the second it became a meltdown you knew you were finished. this wasn't your secret to share, and despite how angry you were with jj, you knew that it wasn't her fault. things were complicated, and you couldn't fully blame her for how she felt. you just wondered if she was biding her time, if she thought she was better suited for spencer than you. did she actually like you?

did she actually believe all that she'd told you regarding your relationship with spencer?

'i've never seen him smile so big' ... 'you guys are actually perfect for each other' ... 'tell us y/n, are you gonna be the one to give spence a few baby geniuses? the boys need some cousins'. your heart aches at the thought of it all being nothing but lip service. but you'd never expose her to the team, you'd never hurt will and the boys like that. which meant you'd have to shape up before the team was back.

"i mean for myself. nothing's changed for me and the way that i feel for you." he presses. "i wouldn't just toss our time together away like that." spencer looks stern as he scolds you. "was there a time that i thought about what it would be like? to be with jj... to-to have her love me back? yes... i won't lie about it." he says, and your face crumples up, and you want to run away. you don't know what he's getting at, but his words don't help as much as he might've hoped.

it causes you to yank your hand away, head shaking back and forth as you step back. "i said that i didn't want to talk about it." and you feel hypocritical because you'd thrown a few rocks to get you to this point in the conversation. "so stop it, okay? we're going to let it go, and we're going to talk about something else." you try your hand at deflecting. spencer's got an exceptional amount of patience, you see it wearing thin on his face, but you're not willing to budge.

"no, we need to talk about this." spencer argues. "i'm not going to pretend with you, and we've been together long enough for you to realize that you don't have to pretend with me, either." he adds. "if we don't now... i'm scared that we never will, and you're- you're angry with me, and i need you to tell me why." he pleads. "if we can't deal with things like this, we'll never make it past the hard stuff." he exhales, "i really want to make it past the hard stuff with you."

"i don't want to talk about it." you feel yourself getting a bit more irrational, angrier. your head feels like it's hurting even more, throbbing as it passed behind your eyes.

"why are you acting like this?" he's growing a bit frantic, he's got abandonment issues, and it feels like you might leave. he's lost a lot of people in his life, he's never been the best with change, he's never been the best with moving on, getting past the hard stuff. he doesn't want to push you too far, but he feels like he's got to hold on tight or risk losing you forever. "why can't you just tell me what you're thinking? if you're gonna vent, why not with me? let me help-"

"i don't want you to do anything for me!" you snap, and you're getting looks from the officers outside. you see rossi and his eyes are directly trained on the both of you. the rest of the team is scattered about, but much like rossi they're looking your way. it's officially become a scene. you run your hands across your face, dried blood caking over your skin, as you press your hands together, taking in a shaky breath. "i told you that i didn't want to talk about it." you remind him harshly.

"y/n-" you don't give him the chance to say much else, because you're immediately cutting him off.

"no!" you're ensuring your volume stays at appropriate levels, especially now that you seemed to have garnered a small audience. tara's still looking, and you know that every so often jj's taking it all in too. you at least owe it to the both of you to not go too far. "i want you to respect that maybe this isn't something you can fix with your extensive knowledge." you proceed. "you're smart as a whip, but boy do you still have a lot to learn about emotions." and you think you might have gone too far. you've definitely gone too far.

your head is really hurting though, and your vision's getting spotty. you don't have it in you to be politically correct, but you see the way his face morphs, how he looks so hurt. he towered over you, but he never looked more like a little boy than he did in that moment. "and my feelings... whatever they may be aren't just something that you can push out of me to make yourself feel better. this isn't just going to go away and be fixed by bed time, doctor reid."

he blinks.

"i wasn't-" he exhales, heartbeat wanting to rise in his chest. "that's not-" he's not prone to panic attacks, but he knew a lot about them. he knew how they could come out of no where, and be crippling. he was panicking, freaking out, mostly because he was being misunderstood. he never wanted you to misunderstand him, especially as it pertained to his intentions and his feelings towards you. "i wasn't trying to manage your feelings... i-" he's trying to breathe. "i just want us to be okay, i don't want to lose you."

you want to reply, really you do. you don't think you can though, because your brain feels like it's about to erupt. your knees lock, and you almost jerk. spencer's eyes widen and he's surging forward to catch you the second you start to fall. it brings him to his knees, split hand be damned. "y/n." and his suspicions about your concussion were confirmed, it makes guilt lash at him instantly. if he'd just bit his tongue, you wouldn't have passed out. he'd let you get too overwhelmed, you'd told him your head was bothering you.

he's so busy beating himself up, and trying to ensure that you were breathing, he doesn't even realize that matt's trying to garner his attention. "hey, what happened?" and he snaps out of it when tara's gently shoving at his arm. he feels like everything's going in slow motion now, he's just concerned about you. that's nothing new.

"i think she has a concussion..." he mutters. "casey-" he tightens his hold on you. "casey hit her in the head." he explains, and he wonders why he hadn't been more diligent earlier. the EMTs are joining next, and he should feel more relieved that you'll be getting the care you need. he knows most times unconsciousness wanes about fifteen minutes from the time that the victim passes out, but it doesn't calm him down. guilt was one hell of a problem.

"she's gonna be alright." tara is telling him, as they're rising to their feet, eyes following the stretcher you were laid out on. "she's a real fighter." and he already knows that, he thinks you're the strongest person in the world, but he should've never pushed you.

"spence!" jj's calling him, and she's approaching before he can reply. "what happened?" she sounds about as worried as he feels. guilt clearly was a dinner for two. "is she okay? w-what's wrong with y/n?" she fires off, and spencer thinks he should be the one talking to the EMTs and not tara and matt, but he can't seem to move. or respond, based on the way jj's face contorts. "spence!" she calls him again.

that snaps him out of his reverie.

"she's got a concussion, it's all my fault." he says what he's thinking. "i shouldn't have tried to force her to talk-" and he hates that right now is the moment he decides to word vomit. "i just-" he looks up at jj, who's got a mixture of emotions swirling in her eyes. "i should have let her go get checked out." he explains.

"this isn't your fault. spence, you're not the one that gave her a concussion. you're not the one that hurt her, casey was." she insists.

"casey's not the one that blew everything up." his retort is quick, and in hindsight, he doesn't blame jj for anything. he knows things are complicated, tricky, weird. but he doesn't want her to be the one to comfort him, and tell him everything was going to be fine. not right now.

"what? are you blaming me now?" jj asks, and she sounds heartbroken. spencer thinks he's getting used to the feeling of his foot being in his mouth. there's a moment of tense silence, a stare off that occurs where neither of them knows what to say. they don't know how to proceed, and he doesn't know why he keeps getting caught in this limbo of not knowing what to say. "i didn't mean to make things difficult." she finally says. "i never-"

they're pulled from this moment by tara. "spencer." and his head turns. "are you going to ride along to the hospital?" and it should've been the natural decision, except he's not feeling particularly ready. he takes a small step back, and it's one everyone seems to notice. the only people that were privy to what went down in that room were you, jj, and himself, and yet it felt like in that moment the entire team was given a front row seat to the obvious aftermath.

something had shifted, changed.

"y-" he shakes his head. "you go ahead." he offers, and tara's eyebrows raise. her shock makes him feel worse, but she doesn't question it. she climbs into the ambulance, and soon enough they're peeling out. his hand still hurts, the gash gnawing at him, but it's a welcomed pain. he'll have to bandage it soon though.

"spence." jj's wearing this look, a mixture of emotions he doesn't want to deal with. "it wasn't your fault." she insists. it doesn't make him feel any better, instead he's forced to come to terms with the decision he'd just made. you'd been taken to the hospital, and he'd stayed behind. he'd stayed behind and been reassured by jj.

you were never going to forgive him.

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luveline · 2 months

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May I pretty please request an emergency medicine doctor!reader x Hotch blurb? I’d love to see both of them in careers that are difficult, yet despite that they still manage to be together because they understand each other so much. Maybe something with the rest of the team as well if it’s possible 🫶🏼🥹

Emily used to think Hotch would never be happy again. She’d drive him home after work, pick him up in the mornings, and she’d think about how miserable he was, the kind of misery that hooks you in its grip, has you turning to wine or whiskey just to keep breathing.

She thought for sure he’d buckle. When Hayley died, he’d have to. How could you not? But he kept going and proved she should’ve had more faith in him, becoming the father Jack deserves, and, surprisingly, your partner.

“You’re squeezing me too tight,” you mumble, just loud enough for Emily and the others to hear you where Hotch hugs you a few feet from the dinner table. “Why are you trying to break my back?”

“I haven’t seen you in three weeks.”

“Eighteen days is not three weeks.”

“It might as well be.” Hotch peels away from you to give you a once over. Emily’s half jealousy and half fondness, seeing him love someone so obviously. “Are you hungry? I ordered for you.”

“Super hungry. Do I smell like antiseptic?”

“No, just soap.”

“Well, that’s not much better.”

Hotch puts his arm behind your back and guides you to the table. The team squeeze out hellos between mouthfuls and you take your place at Hotch’s side behind a steaming plate. You’re as ravenous as the rest of them after your long shift; Morgan can hardly get a word out of you for the first ten minutes, though he tries, and you attempt to be polite. Emily nudges him until he gets the hint to stop.

“Here,” Hotch says, putting a heaping of his food onto your plate with a large spoon.

“Stop.” You attack his spoon with a fork.

“It’s fine, you like it more than I do.”

“Don’t care. You need your energy. I’m going to make you carry me up the stairs home.”

He’s unintimidated. “Ah.”

“Ah,” you echo. “You sound so doubtful.”

Hotch looks like he might try to keep flirting with you, but he gives in quickly, betraying how much he’s missed you with a hand slipping under the table. Emily sees his fingers curl over your knee, averting her gaze with a feigned sip of coke.

She can deduce the silent question you ask one another about anyways.

“We’ll have dessert,” you say. We won’t skip out early. “What are you having, Dr. Reid?”

Hotch orders you three different things, which you eat fast.

“They’re not feeding you at the hospital?” Rossi asks.

“Three emergency transfers in twelve hours,” you explain, slouching now into Hotch’s side, one slow inch at a time. “I didn’t have time for much.”

“That’s not healthy,” Hotch murmurs in concern.

“I’m sure I can ask any of your friends about your eating habits and find a similar schedule,” you brush him off, raising your gaze to Emily, then Morgan, then Rossi and Reid. Everyone smiles the same way. Hotch is caught, and his laugh jostles your shoulder.

“Have you ever heard the saying, ‘do as I say, and not as I do?’” he asks.

God, Emily thinks with a huff of a laugh she can’t contain, get a room.

“He likes that one,” Spencer says.

“I don’t doubt it.” You lift your lips to his jaw and press a peck to the line of it. One, then two. “Maybe that’s why we've lasted as long as we have. Mutual disregard for our wellbeing.”

“And a great deal of care for each other,” Rossi says, nodding sagely. “This is why my marriages never last.”

“Is that why?” Spencer asks.

“You’ve gotten to be quite the lark.”

“Lark,” Hotch whispers to you. Emily, sitting at his other side, might be the only one who hears, the others distracted by Spencer and Rossi’s ensuing squabble.

“Scoundrel,” you agree.

“How’s your head now?”

“It’s gonna be a hundred percent better if you give me that,” you say, pointing hopefully at his full drink.

He doesn’t hesitate to press it into your hand. Emily would never suspect you hadn’t seen one another for weeks; you move and he follows. You rub your cheek against his shoulder. He touches his nose to your hair, his eyes shuttering closed for one stolen, blissful second. “Missed you,” he says under his breath.

Emily looks away with a smile. Hotch isn’t hopelessly miserable anymore.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble

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suashii · 4 days

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— 𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝑜𝓌𝓁 ౨ৎ

boothill x f!reader. 2k wc. ﾉ sfw ﾉ vaguely suggestive bits ﾉ fluff ﾉ non-canon compliant ﾉ farmhand!boothill ﾉ pet names ( darlin’ + sweetheart :3 )

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it’s late—you know so because the sky has turned to a deep navy. you can hear the crickets chirping through the open window, feel the cool night breeze whisper against your skin. beyond those telling signs, your eyelids are beginning to feel heavy. they’re screaming at you to close them but you know that if you do, you’ll fall asleep in a second. you can’t do that now, not when you’re on the phone giving your weekly update to your friend back home.

“so,” her voice crackles over the line, “how are things in farmville?”

you snort at meg’s nickname for the little town you’ve come to know as a second home. as much as she pokes fun at the idea of having a ranch to run away to, she’s been supportive of your decision to retreat here for solace. she keeps you in the loop when it comes to the drama unfolding in the office and listens attentively when you tell her what you’re up to on the farm.

you have a feeling she might be offended that you didn’t tell her this bit sooner.

“fine.” you draw the word out, rolling onto your other side on the couch as if repositioning will give you enough time to stall. despite not being able to see her face, you imagine that the woman is wearing an expression that says something along the lines of i know you’re hiding something. even through the phone, she can see through you. “i might have gotten a concussion a few days ago.”

she gasps and you can hear her slap her hand over her mouth. you’re sure if she could, she’d reach through the phone and shake you by the shoulders before thinking better of it and rushing out a string of apologies. though, she can’t, so she settles on questioning you instead. “what happened? are you okay? why the hell are you just now telling me?”

you relay the series of events to her—how it happened, boothill finding you, your visit to the doctor, and boothill playing nurse since then. her worry seems to dissipate as you explain and by the time you’re done, she’s laughing.

“what are you giggling about?” you ask her, but a little part of you already knows. boothill’s name always seems to make its way into your conversations and since the start of these weekly calls, meg has held onto the belief that you’re harboring a crush on the farmhand. you brush her off every time she suggests that you like him but like a leech, the thought always latches on and lingers.

“probably hard to deny your feelings now, huh?” you can hear the smile in her voice. you pucker your lips in annoyance. you didn’t think telling her about the way boothill makes you feel would result in meg throwing it back in your face at any given moment. though, you suppose you can’t be surprised. she’s frustrated that you’ll admit those feelings to her and not him, that you won’t act on them. “he’s already taking care of you like you’re his girlfriend—how romantic!”

“it’s not romantic,” you tell her, shaking your head, “he’d do that for anyone.”

“even better!” meg squeals. the shrill sound makes you pull the phone away from your ear and you only return it to its former position when the woman lowers her voice. “if he’s like that with everyone, that means he isn’t trying to impress you. he’s just a compassionate, caring guy who happens to have a thing for you.”

you chew on your cheek as you contemplate her words. you’ve never doubted that he’s a good guy—you’ve seen too many instances of his big heart in action to think otherwise, though, the part about boothill having a “thing” for you is a bit harder to believe. sure, he’s called you pretty numerous times, unintentionally held your hands on a couple of occasions, but that means nothing, at least when it comes to whatever feelings he might have for you. you’ve convinced yourself that most of the things he does that make your heart flutter or your cheeks burn are simply to get a reaction out of you—a little embarrassment for the sake of his entertainment.

“ugh, when are you going to be brave and spill your guts to him?” meg’s voice cuts through your thoughts.

“never! i’m not telling him anything.” you close your eyes and take a deep breath to ground yourself. “i don’t know how long i’ll be here and, more importantly, i have no idea if he even likes me.”

“and you’ll never find out if you keep running away.”

you’re about to tell her that you aren’t running away or avoiding anything but you press your lips together before the words can hit the air. because you have been—you can recall a number of times you have in the past and you’re even thinking about it now, leaving without coming to terms with your feelings or figuring out if boothill reciprocates them.

“i’m not—” not running away? not going to tell him? not ready to tell him? you huff out a sigh, one that’s a mixture of frustration and confusion. “not now, meg.”

“that’s fine,” she assures you, her voice soft. “i just don’t want you to regret anything.”

“i know.” you nod even though she can’t see you.

she’s right. you’ll regret it if you don’t say anything, if you go home without facing your feelings head-on. the what ifs and what could have beens will follow you there, mercilessly haunting your mind.

“it’s getting late,” you tell meg, “i think i’m going to go to bed.”

“sure,” she hums. there’s a brief pause like she wants to say more but she settles on, “good night.”

“g’night.” you pull your phone away to end the call and toss the device on the other end of the couch. you should go upstairs and get in bed like you planned to but all these thoughts so fresh in your head make you feel like falling asleep won’t come easy tonight. slumping against the arm on the couch, you let out a groan, one quiet enough to not wake your grandpa and boothill upstairs but loud enough to grant you the slightest bit of relief.

though, the sound is cut off by another. it comes from the kitchen and you sit up to peer over the back of the couch to see if you’re hearing things—you’d prefer it that way. your fantasy comes to an end when you see boothill standing at the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water and closing the door once he’s finished.

he meets your gaze and shoots you a smile before uncapping the water and taking a few gulps. it’s strange seeing him at this hour; he usually sleeps early so he can wake up with the sun. you rarely ever see him wearing anything but his jeans and his top of choice but the look is traded in for pajamas now—if you can call nothing but a pair of boxers pajamas.

you gasp at the sight and turn around. he just wanders around the house half-naked? carelessly risks running into you while wearing nothing but his underwear? you might not have heard him but he certainly must have seen you stretched out on the couch or at the very least heard you talking to meg on the phone.

the call.

you quickly turn around to face him once more.

“how long have you been there?” the question comes out rushed but you’re frantic to know if he was around to hear you talking about him.

he shrugs and swallows, setting his bottle on the counter before leaning against it. “i don’t know. long enough to hear you’re having some boy troubles.”

the confession makes your heart jump into your throat. you choose not to expand on it, instead reprimanding him for eavesdropping. “it’s rude to listen in on conversations you aren’t part of.”

“my apologies.” he raises his hands in mock surrender. “i just didn’t wanna interrupt.”

you stare him down in an attempt to read his expression and the look in his eyes. his perpetual smile is in place like usual but nothing else about his countenance seems knowing. he’s either very good at hiding it or he didn’t pick up on the fact that he was the one you’re talking about.

“want some advice?” boothill speaks up, tilting his head in a question of its own.

you look at him for a second before a laugh bubbles up from your chest, permeating the air. boothill’s smile slowly falls and that’s the last you see of him before turning your back to him. it seems a little more polite to laugh at him if it isn’t in his face.

he doesn’t stay at his place in the kitchen, feet carrying him to the back of the couch. you’re still laughing when he gets there. he’s never heard you laugh like this before—not at anything he’s said or done. as captivated as he is by the sound, he’s a touch more curious as to what brought it about. a cushion in between you, he leans over the back of the couch to ask, “what’s so funny?”

“i’m sorry.” you try to clear the humor from your voice but it lingers with your explanation. you turn your head to look boothill in the eye. “it’s just—what do you know about problems of the male variety?”

“hello?” he straightens up and gestures to himself and it’s only then that you remember how…undressed he is. that’s enough to sober you up from your humor. “you’re looking at a man, sweetheart.”

you don’t need him to tell you that—you’re more than aware of that. you just meant that he doesn’t seem like the type to help people out of romantic hardships, rather, he’s the one who causes them. strangely enough, though, you consider hearing his perspective. after all, he is the subject of your “boy troubles” as boothill called them.

“so, how about it?” he rounds the couch and plops down on it beside you, leaving a safe amount of space between the two of you. you hold his gaze, light gray irises glowing like stars in the darkness of the living room. “wanna hear my opinion?”

your heart rate quickens and you can’t tell why. because he’s this close to you and practically naked? because those gray eyes are boring into you, urging you to hear him out? because his advice could be the courage you need to admit your feelings or the very deterrent to keep you from doing so?

maybe you aren’t quite brave enough to spill your guts yet but it’s time for you to stop being so scared of the what ifs. “okay, go for it.”

that seems to be the answer boothill was looking for, if his growing smile is any evidence. he doesn’t waste any time sharing his insight. “i say throw caution to the wind, tell him how you feel. and if he doesn’t feel the same way, well then, that’s his loss. because you, darlin’, are a catch. any man would be lucky to have you.”

you know boothill isn’t one to sugarcoat his words. every word he says, he means. is that the case here, too? any man would be lucky to have you—would he feel the same if that man was him?

“i’m headin’ to bed.” he groans as he stands up, stretching his arms above his head, mouth falling open in a yawn. you watch him silently, pondering his words. he doesn’t comment on your silence, doesn’t bother to tease you about your staring. all he does is offer you a wink before telling you, “sweet dreams.”

just as quietly as he appeared, he’s gone.

you let out a shaky breath that you didn’t know you were holding. instead of following boothill’s lead and going to sleep, you rest your head on the arm of the couch and turn your eyes up to the ceiling. your heart is still beating wildly against your rib cage but it’s not bad nerves this time around, it’s anticipation.

courage it is.

thanks for reading! reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!

#₊˚ପ⊹ signed: honkai star rail #boothill x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #boothill drabble #hsr drabbles #boothill fluff #hsr fluff #honkai star rail fluff

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loveliestlovelygirl · 3 months

Text

play for me

pianoteacher!anakin x student!reader

synopsis: mr. skywalker asks you to play the piano for him. only this time, he wants you to sit in his lap.

w.c: 0.9k+

warnings!! {minors dni} age gap, power imbalance, cockwarming, gentle dom!anakin, sub!reader, fem!reader

inspired by this ask

The humored grin Mr. Skywalker wears as he opens the door for you tells you he’s not exactly surprised that you show up on his doorstep this weekend. He pats you on the head and moves back to allow you in his home.

“Already missing me?” he teases, shutting the door and locking it behind him.

You hold your hands behind your back and bite your lip as you nod. Your heart suddenly quickens when he steps toward you, closing the gap.

“I missed you too,” he murmurs, pulling you into his embrace. As he holds you, he presses the side of his face to his chest and his chin rests on your head. “How’s college going? I’ve been meaning to call you.”

“Really?” You wanted to say why haven’t you, but this wasn’t the time. And you think you know why. It’s probably for the same reason why you didn’t reach out to him. You’re doubting things.

It’s only been two weeks since you last saw him. So, his lack of calling you might be meaningless. You came back to remind him of what you want.

He takes your coat and hangs it up for you. “Every night I’m missing you. I-I just figured... you might be busy.”

You grab his hands and slot your fingers between his. “That’s not true.”

Anakin turns to hide his face. “Have you thought about... us?”

Hearing him say us melted you. Does he know that you’re all his? Only his. You belong to him. He’s the one you gave everything to. He’s seen, touched, and kissed every inch of your body. He’s been inside you. Why is he acting... hesitant?It’s so unlike him.

“My feelings haven’t changed,” you say. “I drove home to see you.”

The grin that builds on his lips is smug. “Oh. So, mommy and daddy don’t know you’re here?”

You shake your head, feeling almost humiliated by the infantilizing way he asked you that. The fact that you liked it unnerves you even more.

“Good,” he starts pulling you by the hand into the parlor. “You’re not gonna have time to see them anyway.”

“Why?” you ask, feeling stupid for not knowing the answer.

He chuckles. “You’re going to be spending every minute with me, angel.”

You jump on him to hug him. You squeeze tightly. Inhaling hard, you drown in his familiar scent. You’ve missed him so much you could almost cry.

“Play for me?” he asks, then kisses the top of your head. He lifts the lid of the white grand piano. He says that because he knows it will make you feel better.

With your body against his and the bottom of your chin pressed against his chest, you look up at him. “Of course. I’ve been working on something new.”

He plops down on the bench first. “I wanna hear it.”

Holding onto his hand, you step around and smooth the back of your little spring dress down. But before you make contact with the cushion, Anakin grabs your hips and forces you down onto his lap.

Your eyes instinctively enlarge, you fight against him at first. “What’re you—”

He turns you to the side and grabs the back of your neck to shut you up with a kiss. The way his mouth defiles you as his tongue pushes past your lips instantly relaxes you. Closing your eyes, you hold onto him and give into him completely. It’s like he knew this was what you needed to break the uncomfortable tension. You couldn’t help it though. For the last few weeks, you worried that he lost interest.

Yet the hand that ascends the length of your thigh puts your fears to rest. And his lips reveal that you’re still the object of his obsessive desires.

You feel his fingers invade and create a space between you and the crotch of your panties. In one motion, he swipes them from your legs and sets them to the side. Come to think of it... he never returned the last pair he ripped from your body. For a moment, you consider the perverted reasons he held your favorite panties captive.

Surprisingly, your teacher’s hand leaves you wanting. You expected him to finger you. You’d be grateful just to be edged. You’ve missed him. And when he breaks the kiss, the ache of being left unsatisfied builds.

You know he sees the disappointment on your face.

“Stand up for me?” He helps you to his feet.

With your back to him, you hear him fiddling with something. You glance over your shoulder to see his leather belt removed from his pants and dangling in his hand. There’s no question where this is leading, especially hearing him unzip.

No words between you, he grabs your hips once more and pulls you down on him, this time guiding his cock inside your pussy. You’re already slick just for him. The hours and hours, days and days of waiting left you always on edge. Sometimes, just thinking about him was enough to turn you on.

With his length fully seated inside you, he hugs you close to him. His lips brush against your ear. “Are you comfortable?”

Both of you are completely still. Your face is hot... and so is the rest of your body. Your heart beat is a little quicker than normal, but that’s only because you feel so close to him. When he’s inside you, all you feel is contentment and pleasure because everything you could want is in your grasp.

“Yeah,” you whisper back.

He nuzzles the side of your neck. “Good. Are you going to show me what you’ve been working on, angel?”

“Right now?” You look over your shoulder. “Like this.”

“Yeah,” he shifts his hips, and the new, deeper angle makes you shiver, “exactly like this.”

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#divider by chilumitos #best viewed in dark mode :)#loveliestlovelygirl #lovely fics #pianoteacher!anakin #student!reader #anakin #anakin skywalker #anakin smut #anakin skywalker smut #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin fanfiction #anakin x reader smut #anakin skywalker x reader smut #anakin x you #anakin skywalker x you #anakin x fem!reader #anakin oneshot

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justauthoring · 9 months

Text

Just to be Enough [1]

a series of snapshots of your life with geto and gojo -> this part: what if geto had called you that night?

a/n: this will more or less just be a collection of different one shots of potential moments of a relationship with geto and gojo. sometimes the plotline might change :)

pairing: satosugu x f!reader, shoko x f!reader

read the other parts here: one - two - three - four

His hands were shaking.

Part of you thought yours were as well.

You weren’t sure what to say – what was there to say? Being awoken by a call from Geto at three in the morning certainly wasn’t how you’d expected your day off to start; nor was the shakiness of Geto’s voice something you’d ever expected to hear. He was always confident, in your many years of knowing him that was something you’d come to expect – the unwavering confidence that both him and Gojo displayed no matter where they were, what they were talking about or what was happening.

He’d sounded afraid and distressed and on the brink of… you weren’t even sure what. Your heart pounded with fear of just exactly what.

Two girls. That’s all he’d manage to utter. Something about two little girls, locked and beaten and… his voice was twisted with something terribly painful and he was breathing heavily, words mixing together with his panic. You swear you’ve never called for Ijichi so quickly, now in a state yourself; enough that you hadn’t even had the politeness to feel sorry for waking the poor man up so early and abruptly.

It was when you were in the back seat of the car that you called Gojo.

“Something’s wrong with Suguru.”

“...what’s wrong?”

He’s away on a mission of his own. Just like he always was nowadays. It had been hard on your relationship, always missing one piece to make you all whole; but you understood, just like you understood that Geto was called on just as many missions. It was something you’d long ago come to terms with if you were going to be with the two strongest sorcerers, and you had no doubt about what that meant in terms of being physically with them.

Perhaps he’d answered, despite being on a mission, so quickly because, like you, he’d noticed the steady decline of Geto over the past few months like you had. Noticed but deflected every time you’d tried to ask. You’re a sorcerer yourself, and while you might not be as strong as them or sent on as many missions, you know the strain it puts on one's well being. You see it in yourself, in them, in your friends.

It seems Gojo did as well.

And, if truth be told, not a single one of you had made it out of that mission last year the same.

It had taken you a second to reply, mainly because you weren’t sure how to. “I don’t know,” you confessed with a choked breath, “he just called me, said he found two girls. Satoru, they’d been locked in a cage, starving and with bruises all over them. I tried to get him to calm down enough to tell me where he was. But he sounded…. wrong.”

There’s an echoing pause, then; “you’re on your way now?”

You nod, even though he can’t see. “Yeah.”

“Okay, I'll be there.”

You hear the sound of him pulling away, as if to hang up; you can’t stop yourself from crying; “Toru!”

There’s a moment of silence before you hear him respond, rather softly; “yeah?”

“I’ve never heard him sound like that, Toru. I’m scared about what I’ll find when I get there.”

It feels wrong to admit – why would you be scared to see Geto? A boy you’ve loved since you’d first walked into class on your first day at Jujutsu Tech and laid eyes on him? But you are, terribly so; your hearts racing and it feels like you can’t breathe the closer and closer you get. You don’t know how to help – that was the whole issue of it all; how? How can you help him? How can you make it better?

What if you didn’t?

“I’m gonna be home soon, okay, Y/N/N?” Gojo whispers, gently; so opposite of how he normally sounds. “We’ll figure it out together, yeah? Just get him home.”

You nod, once again, “okay,” you whisper.

“I love you.”

“Love you too, Toru.”

You’re pulled up next to Geto ten minutes after that.

He’s standing there, the jacket of his uniform taken off, left bare in his white button up and slacks. When your eyes flicker lower, to the two little girls standing beside him, you find his jacket wrapped around the two of them; big enough to envelop them fully, huddled together. As you pull up beside him, stopping just in front, you first notice the girls; bruises and scuffs marked all over their skin, what little clothing they have on them ripped, dirty and clearly old, and then you see their big, wide, afraid eyes staring back at your own and your heart breaks.

When you raise your gaze, you meet Geto’s. He’s already staring at you, but his expression is blank; like he’s staring right through you.

You send a nod Ijichi’s way before opening the door, slipping out into the cool night air.

The girls are watching you carefully, shuffling closer to Geto, clearly scared of you, and as you stand fully, letting the door shut gently behind you not to scare them, you glance at Geto just briefly before crouching, so you’re at eye-level with the girls.

“My name’s Y/N,” you introduce softly, voice extra quiet so as not to spook them. “I’m Suguru’s friend. What are your names?”

They glance at each other, slowly, unsure, before looking up at Geto. He nods, a simple, silent gesture and then, as if relaxing, their tensed bodies ease and the lighter haired one speaks up first; “i’m Nanako and this is Mimiko,” she introduces her sister for her, and when you glance at the twins, it’s clear who protects who. The thought brings a smile to your lips, thinking back fondly to memories of your past, and nod.

“Those are such pretty names,” you smile, eyes crinkling with warmth. “Are you both cold?”

Nanako nods slowly, and you watch as Mimiko’s lips tremble.

“It’s nice and warm in the car, and there’s a nice man named Ijichi who’ll give you some snacks, okay?”

They look to Geto for guidance once more, and all it takes is one more simple nod before Nanako is eagerly grabbing Mimiko’s hand, pulling her sister forward just as you open the car door. They clamber in, and you adjust Geto’s jacket around them better as they huddle to the middle of the back seat, still holding tightly onto one another, before you let the door shut gently.

Left with Geto, silence echoes as you slowly push yourself up.

Then, with a shaky breath, Geto whispers; “I wanted to slaughter them all.”

His words scare you, but you force yourself to swallow down the fear, reminding yourself who this is and where you are. So, with a small step forward, you close the gap that had existed between both you and Geto, licking your lips. “The village?”

He nods.

“They did that to them?”

Once again, a nod.

“They would’ve deserved it.”

Geto blinks at that, shocked you’d agree with him. “...what?”

“I’m not going to tell you that you’re wrong, because… you’re not,” you confess with a shuddering breath. The worlds feel wrong even if you believe them. There was a time that the simple thought of death upon anyone, even the worst of scum, would’ve made you feel ill. But now, it didn’t always feel so wrong — at least not in thought. Not in the deepest, darkest parts of your mind.

“But you didn’t,” you add, closing the gap completely between the both of you. You take a leap, ignoring your uncertainty and fear and everything in between and take his hand in your own, squeezing. “That’s what’s important.”

“But I wanted to.”

You meet his eyes and finally see something in it — a glimpse of hope, maybe. There’s something other then empty in those eyes, even for just a second, and you grab onto it, tightly, knuckles white as hope floods you because that was all you needed.

Geto wasn’t gone.

“I’ve wanted to,” you confess, and it isn’t hard to know who and what you mean. “But I didn’t either. Do you think I’m a bad person?”

And his answer is instant; “no.”

“You aren’t either.”

His gaze lowers, and you think that’s all that can be said. At least now. Right now, those two little girls are important. Shoko’ll need to see them and when you get back to the school, Gojo will be there and he’ll help. You’re sure of it.

“Let’s go home,” you whisper, threading your fingers through his own. “Okay, Suguru?”

Gojo almost looks mad.

But one look at you, and his features soften, tense shoulders fading and he’s forced to remind himself of something maybe he just doesn’t quite understand.

He’s never been good with words, at least not when it came to comforting. Not when it came to things like this.

So he doesn’t say anything.

After Shoko had checked the girls, and assured bith you and Geto that despite bruising, they were okay. They’d need water and food, but most importantly, sleep.

You tuck them into your bed.

Geto is silent the entire time. He doesn’t say anything, just stands behind you, his presence is always there. There’s moments you catch, just faintly, where one of the girls will look at him and he’ll smile with a softness you’ve only ever seen directed at you or Gojo.

It fills you with a warmth, and that glimmer of hope you don’t want to lose.

The second he’s sure they’re okay and fast asleep, he slips out of your dorm and heads straight to his. A moment passes before you follow him, and when you finally reach him, he’s in his bed, back turned with the covers pulled up, as if hiding himself from everyone.

You stand there, watching, for ten minutes before Gojo arrives.

It takes him only one minute, after your look and after his acceptance to step forward, slipping into Getos much too small bed to carry two six feet tall men. But it doesn’t stop Gojo. He pulls the covers, slips underneath and presses his face into Getos back. It’s oddly soft for Gojo, caring in a way that words aren’t needed and comforting in a way only possible for him.

You feel distant from them in that moment.

You didn’t know how to help. What to say, what to do. You did what you thought was right, but it still hadn’t felt enough. Sure, you’d gotten Geto home, but he’d still been distant, cold and that look in his eyes still remained strikingly blank and gone.

Yet, you watch as the simple touch of Gojo relaxes Geto’s shoulders and he seems to ease, as if some, if not all, of the anxiety just washes away.

It hurts while comforts you.

You turn to leave, even if it’s your bed; maybe Shokos still up and—

“Y/N.”

Your body freezes, head slowly turning at the sound of Geto’s voice. He’s not spoken one word to you since you’d found him.

He’s looking at you, meeting your eyes directly and one of his arms is stretched out towards you, as if inviting you.

Lips parting, you hesitate.

“Please.”

That’s all it takes. Your feet are moving before your mind can process, rushing towards the bed with an unfamiliar urgency. You’re desperate for acceptance. Desperate to help and comfort and be there for Geto — because that’s all you want. All you ask for. You just want to help.

He’s grabbing onto your arm the second he can, tugging you to the other side of him, back pressing against the wall your bed is pushed up against and your chest pressed against Geto’s own as he wraps his arms around your waist. You lay there for a moment, before Geto’s pulling you closer, a hand pressing to the back of your head so you’re leaning into the crook of his neck.

Everything washes away then, the warmth of Geto soothing you.

And the words he utters next could make you cry;

“Thank you.”

His words echo in the silence, and then, your eyes flicker upwards, meeting Gojo’s. His gaze is already on your own, soft, warm and there’s a smile on his face.

Everything’s okay then, you realize.

Geto’s home and so is Gojo, and you did help.

You did.

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jjk #jjk x reader #satosugu #satosugu x reader #satosugu imagine #geto suguru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #geto suguru #shoko ieiri

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eee-lordy · 4 months

Text

Practice Makes Perfect

!!! nsfw minors dni !!!

Jacob offers to help fem!reader get her first time over with. 6k

───※ ·❆· ※───

"Ready for your big move?" Jacob huffed, dropping a particularly heavy box onto the top of another. He'd come over to help you start packing up, you had a week left.

"Mostly, yeah I think so." You grinned, knowing he was talking more about emotionally than materialistically. Your eyes scanned the bare bones of your first apartment. It had been a welcoming and safe space for a handful of years now, but the time had come to move onto bigger and better things.

"Let's drink to the beginning of the end, then, shall we?" Your dearest pal declared, toting over glasses and liquor from your fridge.

"Don't say it like that, nothings ending here." You warn, sick at the thought of there being a time limit on your friendship once a little space got in the way. Jacob sat next to you on the sofa, pouring you each a drink.

"Okay sorry, we'll toast to now, then. May we enjoy every moment." Jacob's sincerity past the silly tone he used warmed your confounded heart. So many feelings had plagued you since finding out about your big move. How excited you were for the fresh start, and how you were, in fact, dreading leaving behind everything you loved so dearly, everyone.

As you sat and drank, it was all Jacob could talk about. He asked you all kinds of questions. What the place was like you were headed to, how you may come to decorate the home you were set to buy. How you may plan to spend your time. You fawned over descriptions of some new furniture you'd had shipped to your new place. And excitedly quipped about the plans you were making for the distant future.

"I hope to just go wild. Create a whole new thing for myself, ya know? Try everything, live to the fullest." The realizations that you could become whoever you wanted most to be in an all new place had your imagination running wild since theses plans became solid.

"And what are you most nervous about?" Jacob countered, squinting as if he knew this question was one that might really challenge you.

"Oh... I don't know." You feigned a laugh, hoping your face hadn't flushed red. Because you had been increasingly nervous about one thing, fretting over the many outcomes your imagination brought to life every time you wondered how to take on this certain situation...

"Ohhhh no." Jacob grinned wickedly, shifting in his seat to face you a little more head on, pointing his half full beer in your direction. "There is something, I know when you aren't telling me things, you know?"

"Jacob, can we please drop this?" You plead, feeling like sinking in on yourself for letting your facade drop for even a second.

"All I'm saying is, if you're this nervous about something, maybe I can help?"

"I highly doubt you can help with this one, dude." You let out a mortified giggle, feeling your blush coming back tenfold.

"Hey." Jacob lowered his tone, cocking his head to catch your eye. His were serious. "You know you can tell me whatever it is-"

"Is embarrassing-"

"And I won't judge you. You know that." And you did know. Jacob had told you his own mortifying confessions, from the time he'd lost his clothes in a sketchy overnight gym, to the salacious dreams he'd had about certain unattractive costar way back before you knew him. As you reminded yourself of the story Jacob once told you of his mishap with a zipper during the first night he spent in the bed of a lady, you realized you could tell him what was on your mind.

"Okay fine." You gritted through your teeth, clasping your hands together only to anxiously wring them. Jacob stayed quiet and awaited your words.

"I'm most nervous about having sex." You declared. "Because I'm more than ready to get out there and do it, but the thought of sleeping with some stranger is appalling, and I don't know who I trust enough to ask to see me through that awfully awkward first time. And what if I never meet someone I trust enough, just-" With a disgruntled sigh, you realized you were rambling.

"You're a virgin?" Jacob's mouth twisted into a confounded frown as his head turned much like a baffled puppy dog. Your friends studying of you made you want to slip into nonexistence.

"So what?" You huffed a nervous laugh, daring to meet Jacob's piercing eyes for the first time since revealing your secret.

"It's just I thought you'd have done it, like... a lot." He shrugged. "Being so smokin' hot, and all."

"I am not hot, Elordi, and despite really being ready, I'm way too nervous to do it. That's the whole issue here." You scoffed, taking a frustrated swig of your drink.

"Uh, yeah you are. And what is there to be nervous about, anyway?" He quizzed.

"What if I do the wrong thing or say something weird or just make a complete fool of myself? Or what if I hate it? I'm ready for it. But I really am scared I will never meet the right person to deal with how in my head I am about this..."

Jacob let his gaze fall to the floor, seeming to puzzle over your words. A considerable amount of silence settled about the room before either of you spoke again. He was the one to break that silence.

"Do you... trust me?"

Your eyes widened and your stomach tied itself into a knot.

"I mean, you know I think you're attractive. So, I won't care or even notice if you make a complete fool of yourself. And we know all each other's secrets. That's trust. And if you hate it, we stop. I'm kind of the perfect candidate her, love." His confidence had blossomed with the help of the drinks you two had shared tonight. Jacob spoke with assuredness, letting no signs of awkwardness show in his daring offer. The whole thing had your head spinning.

"Jacob."

"All I'm saying is... if you want, I'm down. If not, I get it." He took a swig, the last of his third glass. "I'm just saying..." Jacob let his sharp dark eyes rake across your figure as you sat in place, trying not to squirm. You considered the expression in his gaze, clearly drinking you in, yet keeping a respectable distance.

"I'll... think about it." And you really would.

He nodded. You nodded. He got up and turned on a movie. You went searching for more to drink. As some rather boring action flick unfolded on your telly, your mind raced. You did trust Jacob. You did find him attractive too. With his angelic features and fit figure. And you wouldn't mind if this little... experiment led to something a little more serious either. But that was a wild far off distant dream. And still, all the things that mortified you about doing it with a stranger made you just as nervous to consider in the company of one of your closest friends.

"It would just be, like, educational right? Just... one friend helping out another?" You pipped up in the middle of the action movies climax.

"It would be whatever you needed or wanted it to be, doll. I'm offering my sincerest assistance." Jacob spoke easily, keeping his apparent focus on the telly screen, settled an inch away from where you sat on the sofa.

You hummed in understanding, acknowledging how both of you kept your eyes glued to the movie on your screen, and that seemed soothing. There didn't seem to be any pressure, there didn't seem to be any stakes. And as you considered your nerves, you wondered if the feeling was more that of anxious wonder. And then you realized there was a way to test this theory...

"Kiss me. Then I'll know." You thought out loud.

"Know what?"

"If you're a shitty kisser or not. And if I'd even dream of letting you sleep with me." You were drunk enough to speak without consideration. You were curious enough to take Jacob up halfway on his offer. You really hoped he wasn't a shitty kisser. You may have let him have his way with you even if he was.

With a decided shrug Jacob leaned in. His lips were soft, the gentle way he pressed his against yours was more than comfortable. You let yourself relax into pressing your own kiss back, and he took that as a signal to deepen his display of affection. And the kiss that began as a seemingly casual interaction took a different form. Jacob let his lips slowly open, encouraging yours to do the same. As your kissing grew longer and deeper, your very dear friend let his fingers reach to brush your hair back; then let his digits press against the base of your neck to pull your lips ever closer.

The gentle forcefulness Jacob commanded brought a contented sigh from your throat, and your friend's smile in response broke your interaction.

"I'll take that as a yes?" He smirked, eyes focusing on yours close up.

"It's just... a lot to consider."

He had kept his hold on you. His hand clutching the back of your head, his thumb rubbing soothing circles against your hair.

"Listen. I won't push this on you. It's no sweat if you decide against it. But I really would be very patience and more than glad to help you out here. That's the last I'll speak of it. Now, what are we watching next?"

You spent the rest of that evening next to Jacob in mutual silence. You watched films until your friend grew tired and called it a night. All the while your mind raced from one scenario to the next. Wondering what the worst could turn out to be, if you said yes, or no.

///

Jacob stopped by one night later, saying he was simply in the neighborhood and wondered if you'd needed any kind of help continuing to pack up. So, you put him to work, cleaning out drawers and folding clothes into suitcases. You talked a lot while working, about eachothers lives and dreams and silly things. But the conversation kept leading back to the topic of your move.

"I'll be hours away from all my family and it's not like I won't see them but I'll be so alone you know?" You confessed your fears for living in solitude and worrying over worst case scenarios.

"Hey, you'll make it just fine. You don't give yourself enough credit." Jacob insisted, moving about your room from one task to another. "Plus, I'm only one phone call away."

"I know." You whispered, peering up to your friend through your lashes, biting back a frown. You set a roll of tape and a box cutter on a nearby shelf, done with the tools for now.

"This is supposed to be a good thing, a happy thing." Jacob reminded you, shuffling to stand before you. He reached out to tilt your chin upward as if that would encourage a smile from you.

"I know." You whispered again. And with no way of knowing who leaned in first, all you knew was Jacob was kissing you again. And you relished the comfort of his affection. Nothing stopped you now from slinking a lazy arm around his neck as the guy let his grasp splay across your back.

Jacob was the first to break away, like before. But unlike then, he said nothing now. Jacob just leaned back far enough to catch your eye, as one of his brows lifted in a silent question.

"I think I might want to take you up on your offer..." You seemed to realize out loud. Maybe you had always wanted it to be him. Or maybe his encouragement had done the trick of talking you into feeling this way now. But you were never surer about being intimate with someone than now, with the way your dearest friend held you in his arms.

"Yeah?" He nodded with a furrow in his brow.

"Yes, I- if you're really sure." You stuttered.

"I am if you are." Jacob continued to nod. And after a beat, when he asked "Like, now? Right now?" You moved to nod along with him, even though your heart threatened to leap from your chest.

"Okay." He whispered. "You just need to tell me if it gets all too much, no matter what. Promise me you will."

"Yeah. I'm, like, really nervous. That's the big problem. But I trust you, so I am very sure."

"Well, I can certainly help with that." Jacob brought a hand to your hair, "I think." He lightly chuckled, pulling a face, setting your nerves at ease already.

"We'll just go very slow. How does that sound?" He asked, still keeping a hand rested on the side of your head, while his other crept down to the bend of your waist. You let out a held breath and nod assuredly.

"Okay." You flickered a smile. Jacob nodded too, his lithe grin remaining as he searched your face, his eyes landing on your lips. You hadn't fully expected him to agree to this, and you hadn't at all expected things to start right off the bat. But you couldn't complain when Jacob closed the gap and pressed a gently feather light kiss to your lips. As he did so, he tucked a bit of your hair behind your ear, and ever so slightly tightened his grip at the bend of your waist.

This resulted in your hands finding his shoulders, resting them between there and his chest- where you wondered if you were feeling your own rapid heartbeat in your palms, or his.

His lips left yours for a moment, but another feather light kiss came soon after. A couple more small steady pecks made you comfortable enough to fully relax in the hold Jacob was beginning to wrap around you; his hand moving to hold the back of your head, his other moving from the bend of your waist so his arm circled around you.

When your arms slid into a loose hold around the guy's neck again, his kisses started to ever so slightly deepen. His tongue teased your lips, his thumb caressed soothing circles against your rib cage, a delightful hum escaped his throat.

"This okay so far?" Jacob wondered in a hushed rumble, meeting your eyes between kisses. You nodded and softly smiled, waiting for the guy to continue. When he dove back in, his kisses deepened even further, his tongue pressed against yours, his hold tightening, pulling you almost entirely against himself. You stayed like that for what felt like forever, just kissing and letting hands roam against backs and through hair.

He'd barely done as much as hold you close, but you were already feeling the hot coil of desire burning low in your belly, and it was starting to spread every place else. Your every nerve was already on end.

"I could gladly do this all night." Jacob hummed, moving his kisses to pepper your jaw, and then down your neck. "But would you like to go any further? You tell me, doll."

"Sure, we can go further. I just need you to guide me through." You blew out another shaky breath, trying to release the jitters.

"I can do that. Just remember you can tell me to stop anytime for any reason." Jacob kissed your forehead and waited for you to nod in agreement. He kissed your cheek and then your lips, and let his hands begin to roam new territory. his fingers grazed under the hem of your shirt, brushing against the skin of your hips, skin that had never been touched by anyone but yourself until now. It was starting.

"Can I take this off, doll? I'll take mine off too. We'll be on the same page." Jacob sighed into your mouth, and couldn't resist kissing you between words. He left one set of fingers creeping under your shirt while the other gently tugged at the garment.

"I like that idea." You smiled, his lips brushing against yours in a phantom kiss.

He opted for his first, shedding his tee in a lazy fashion, revealing a sight you had seen before, his bare chest. But now was different from the hot summer days you'd been near the guy in such a state. Now you were free to oggel his frame entirely.

Jacob watched you watching him as he delicately took hold of the base if your shirt, and pulled it up. You lifted your arms instinctively and tried not to shiver in an anxious display of vulnerability.

The man you'd come to trust tossed aside your favorite old concert tee and brought both his hands to the bare skin of your waist. He'd see you in swimsuits and crop tops but he'd never been so close. Never had his hot skin been so easily accessible under your touch. Never had he caressed you in such a state. The pair of you stood there, holding each other in a delicate morphing clasp, for a brief moment. Your breathing synchronized before Jacob nuzzled against your neck and mumble something about how beautiful he thought you looked, and how lovely he thought it was to hold you so close like this. It was almost too sweet, his musings and the gentle way he held you. But the pecks he placed against your neck turned into something fiercer, his teeth grazing, his breathing audible. All the while, his caresses turned too, his fingers pressed possessive against your skin, one hand moving to bring your hips as close to his as possible.

You let it happen, dragging your nails across his shoulder blades and letting out a delighted sigh. You knew this was supposed to be a fun positive experience. But you felt quite unprepared for how much you were enjoying yourself.

Jacob planted another sloppy kiss to your lips, encouraging you to match his energy.

He began to drag you a few steps in another direction, never daring to break away from the kiss you were sharing, until he had to. Jacob eased onto the side of your bed, gently pulling you into his lap. He maneuvered you into a straddle you were happy to settle into, leaving no space between the two of you, as your kisses continued.

"This all okay, doll?" Jacob hoped, as his warm hand made its way toward your breasts, still covered.

"Yes Jacob," you breathed, taking your turn in moving kisses down the man's neck, not totally sure of your execution but lead by passion what could go so wrong, you wondered?

To your delight, Jacob practically melted under your bites and licks, and you were beginning to melt a little yourself, as he kneaded at your bra.

"You can take it off. If you want." You sighed, keeping up your work at his neck, moving from one side to the other.

"Oh, I've wanted to for a longer than you know." He let out a little laugh after his confession.

You sat up to meet his gaze, asking a question with one look.

"You know I've always thought you were beautiful. But I have always wondered just how much more beautiful under all your clothes." Jacob mewled, unclasping your bra after two tries. You let the thing fall away and slide down one arm to the floor, as Jacob ogled you shamelessly. Somehow the moment didn't cause you nearly as much nervousness as you'd anticipated. The way Jacob was handling this new interaction, the way he'd been handling you; caused your nerves that kept arising the settle, provoking much more excitement than you knew you were capable of feeling in a time like now.

"Even more beautiful than my imagination has been able to conceive." Jacob grinned up to you before rolling his eyes closed on his mission to cover you in kisses.

You couldn't hold back your sigh, one you'd never heard yourself make. A noise you didn't know you were capable of producing. Jacob's lips closed around one of your nipples while he let his hand attend to the other. You could feel his pants tightening beneath you, and his messy hair tangled in your fingers as you grasped at something to ground you. Things were moving at a steady pace yet seemed to be rocketing into progression much quicker than you were prepared for.

"Jacob." You reluctantly halted him, grabbing his attention away from making you feel so good. "Jacob, I don't want to stop, but can we slow down a little?" You asked in a shaky breath, watching your chest rise and fall rapidly, like you'd just run a mile.

"Of course." He promised, planting closed mouth kisses across your collarbone. "Come'er."

Jacob pushed you from his lap to the middle of the bed and adjusted himself behind you, as you took in a couple deep breaths. Then his hands found your shoulders, and began to massage the tense muscle there.

"Are you still nervous? More or less? What can I do to help?"

"Still nervous. But you've been very patient so far and I can't imagine doing this with anyone else. Thank you, Jacob."

"You're practically a natural," Jacob purred in your ear, keeping up his work on your shoulders. You began to feel more at ease under his touch, and more ecstatic by his words and the tone of his voice. "Nothing to be nervous about."

Your hum gave him a green light to follow his hands with his lips, kissing the trail of his massaging.

He soon let his hands start to wander, keeping his face in the crook of your neck as his hands trailed lightly across your chest and tummy, stalling for a brief second at the hem of your pants before ghosting back up to brush at your already exposed skin.

You flipped around crawling into a position closer, moving to undo the button of his pants.

"You sure?" Jacob asked quickly, waiting for you to nod before shedding the trousers as lazily as he removed his shirt.

"Want me to do yours?" He asked, not wondering if you'd rather handle the task, but if you were ready for the next step to be initiated at all. You told him you were ready, looking right in the guy's hooded deep brown eyes.

Jacob gently pushed you against the stack of pillows at the head of your bed. For one small moment, you paused to look at each other and smile. And then your friend shifted and reached for the button of your trousers. You watched as he hooked a couple fingers in the hem to peel the fabric away from your body, his eyes drinking in every newly exposed inch of you. You helped kicked away the pants, as Jacob reached to pull you back into his lap. In one swift move, you pushed him back into the pillows. You relished having the boy pinned below you, as you closed in for another kiss.

His hands traced across the expanses of your skin, his warm form settled beneath yours in the very best ways. You began to let your fingers trace patterns across his chest, feeling the hammer of his heart. Now both clad in nothing but underwear, the thin fabric allowed for you to feel more exactly of how worked up you'd gotten the boy.

You weren't nervous now to roll your hips against his. Or even if you might've been, they seemed to move on their own accord, your body seeking to satisfy its growing desires. Your rocking against the man's lap grew quietly more confident, and in the matter of a couple grinds you had Jacob whimpering against your lips.

Jacob gently pushed you from his lap, moving to hover over you in turn. "Okay?" He asked more succinctly but paused and watched for your confirmation just as patiently as every time before. And right as you began to nod, Jacob pressed his clothed hips against yours, encouraging your legs to open a little wider to make space for him. He kept his eyes sharply focused on yours, as he kept grinding, palming at your breast all the while. You were overcome, the coil in your belly tightening, and you hadn't even gotten to the good part.

His hand that had been working at your breast traveled downward, stalling near the hem of your underwear. Just as Jacob opened his mouth to ask if his next move was allowed, you were quicker. You grabbed his forearm and gently pushed his hand past the fabric of your undergarment, immediately glad for it.

His fingers found their way gently to your heat, giving subtle barely there caresses to the part of you that was most sensitive. Your toes curled and your heart stalled as he touched you with such tender intention. The pair of you managed to settle side by side, and without discussion, you reached to move Jacobs fingers to the spot he'd been nearly close to finding. The feeling that followed sent sparks through your nervous system, and your own hand shot out toward Jacob's underwear in response. You didn't ask, you simply slid your digits up and down the clothed length of your friend's crotch, relishing the shuttered breaths he released as you did so. The pair of you kept this up for a short moment, kissing when you weren't stealing each others breath away.

"Can we get to the part where you fuck me?" You sighed, worried that if you didn't do so soon, in the midst of your highest confidence, you'd lose the nerve. Jacob let out a quiet chuckle as he nodded, moving to shed the last of both of your clothes. Gentle as ever, he took as much time with this process as ever, making you more at ease and anxious for the next step all the same.

"Are you sure?" Jacob worried, settling between your legs. You kept one hand against his face and the other set of your fingers grasping his shoulder. You nodded quickly between shaky breaths, your nerves heightening slightly at the realization this was happening. But then Jacob shook his head. "I'm not doing anything until you relax, doll."

You were fully aware of your uneven breathing and the tensing of your body, due to the anxiousness that threatened to swallow you whole. You wanted this, you really did. But that didn't stop your nervous system from going a bit haywire during such an unprecedented situation.

"Relax." Jacob repeated. He petted your hair back and smoothed a hand across your shoulder, attempting to ease the tension you held there. You tried your best to settle a bit more comfortably against the sheets as the guy spoke up again. "Take like four deep breaths, and relax." Jacob guided you through his desired number of focused inhales, taking them in just as deeply himself. You closed your eyes during the last couple and felt yourself truly a little more at ease by way of Jacob's help and kind focus. You watched the guy breath out same as you, the fourth time, and after a beat he gave you a subtle nod.

"Good, that's better. Now, are you super sure?" He prompted, letting his hands hold you firmly against him, not daring to move until you gave your full, more at ease, confirmation. When you said yes with a smile, Jacob smiled too, and proceeded to line his hips up with yours.

As he pressed into you slow and steady, he cooed in your ear. Mumbling pet names and sweet encouragements about how good you'd already made him feel. Between his saccharine words and the pressure between your legs, you were done for.

Your breathing quickened all too soon but wasn't as shaky and uneven as before. Your skin burned with want. Your legs spread far as they could. He placed a loving hand against your temple, and you gripped his wrist as he began to move his hips in a sinfully slow manner.

The press of his lips to your throat was made more intimate by the grazing of his teeth there too. The speed at which he rocked into you began to increase, your heart rate following suit. everything felt better than you could've even fathomed. You were glad you did this with someone you knew and trusted. Someone whose hands were familiar to at least some parts of your own body and whose voice was welcomed in your ear. So glad you were doing this with someone you'd let do it all over again. So glad you're doing this with Jacob.

"You're doing so good, so good, nothing to be nervous about." The last word of his sentence was abruptly cut off by a growl the man couldn't seem to hold back.

Jacob was relentless now, pulling your hips against his as he rocked so hard against you, the bed frame kept hitting the wall. You couldn't imagine feeling much better than this, but then he asked if you were close to reaching your breaking point. You realized you'd never known before, and you really weren't sure now. "I don't know." You admitted with a twinge of worry. "It feels so good, Jacob, but I-I don't know." A sigh escaped your lips as he hit a certain spot within you. He grumbled encouragement in your ear, saying it was okay that you didn't know, and kept up his efforts.

"But I can't hold back much longer, I'm sorry." Jacob cried, his movements becoming sloppy, still heavenly though. It was your turn to encourage him, and let him know it was okay to come undone. Jacob was a goner soon after your brief pep talk, pulling himself from you as his seed spilled across your stomach. As Jacob caught his breath, he promised to go hunting for a towel to clean you up as you propped yourself on your elbows.

"Is it disappointing that I didn't come?" You worried, sitting up a little, catching your own breath. Jacob smirked, and petted back your hair, settling a little closer to you.

"I'm just glad you didn't fake it. Sometimes it just takes practice to know how to make it happen... to find out what you like, ya know?"

"Yeah, I s'pose." You contemplated, a bit cross that it hadn't happened, because it was half the reason you were eager to get this first time sorted out, so you could know how to handle yourself. Jacob had spotted a towel a few steps from your bedside, and was quick to retrieve it. And as he sweetly took to cleaning up the mess he'd made about you, he spoke up.

"You know, I never said our little educational experiment was over..." Jacob was smug, but turned up a brow to nod seriously your way and in a moment that made your cheeks flush even still after everything that had just occurred.

"Would... would you?"

Jacob said nothing. He simply dove back in to kiss you again, with more passion than ever, you thought. The man pressed you to lean against the pillows once again, as his fingers danced lower and lower down your abdomen.

"You seemed to like when I did this." Jacob cooed, letting his fingers ghost over your heat for the second time that evening, grazing a certain spot you'd once helped him find. You sucked in a breath at the feeling, giving Jacob the green light to proceed with more vigor. He pressed his fingers against you with more certainty, swirling more meaningful circles in that one spot. Jacob watched as you bit your lips together, struggling to keep an undignified moan from bursting from your chest.

"Think I must be doing something right." You friend boasted, keeping up the motions he'd settled into perfectly making. All the while, he moved to kiss you. His mouth, you were certain, must've left marks peppered across you skin as his lips moved from your neck to your throat, to your breasts and down further and further and further.

Once his lips ghosted across your core, you knew you were done for. The man let his tongue replace his fingers, as his digits moved to slide inside of you. His hair tickled your thighs, and every sensation added up together was nearly too much to process.

You thought Jacob's hands were magical, his lips and tongue were mind blowing. His warm breath, his teeth grazing, it was all more intense than you'd though it could've been. Your back arched, your hips rolled, and Jacob shouldered closer, putting as much vigor into this process as he could manage. Now, you suddenly seemed to understand the answer to his previous statement. You were close, now. You had to be. Your every sense buzzed and all you felt was increasing ecstasy.

You couldn't begin to hold back your cries of pleasure now, as Jacob worked you into a frenzy. He kept up his efforts until your legs shook, and only when you nudged his head gently away from it's latch onto your lower half, did he cease.

"I would ask if you enjoyed that but I think I know the answer." Jacob grinned, crawling to lay at your side. You laid in a daze, wondering how someone could've gotten that reaction from you. Of course it was Jacob who had.

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, and for no good reason at all, you both burst into a fit of laughter. Exhausted giggles, that died down when a cough alerted you to how dry your throat had become from all the harsh breathing you'd done.

Jacob insisted on taking care of you, finding water for the pair of you to drink and escorting you to the shower. You pulled him in with you, and talked about silly things as you washed up, comfortable as before in your friendship.

"Hey, thank you. I really was so scared to go through all that. But you made it easy. You made it fun." You confessed, as Jacob wrapped a towel around your frame. He ran his hands up and down your arms, warming you from the chill of the room.

"Thank you for trusting me. You'll never know how much of an honour it was, really." Jacob nodded sincerely, before pulling you into an embrace. He went home shortly afterward, promising to see you soon, and joking that he'd more than happily help you practice again, anytime. You laughed along with him, and secretly hopped he wasn't joking.

///

After he left, sleeping with Jacob constantly played back in your mind. The phantom feeling of his body lingered about your skin. You thought of little else than your dear friend, as you moved through the motions of the next day. So, to remedy your fever for the lad, you called him and asked about meeting up for dinner. He responded quickly insisting he'd love to, and that he would swing by your place a little later on. Time dragged on as you counted the minutes until he arrived.

When the knock came at your door, you opened it with perhaps too much excitement. Neither of you said anything, and a brief moment of silence filled the space between you.

"It's still a little early for dinner." You schemed. Jacob quirked a brow, stepping in as you stepped back to make room for him. He shut the door behind himself, as you crossed your fingers behind your back... "Maybe... to kill time, we could do what we did the other night?" You hoped, casting a hopeful glare up to the man before you. And before you even finished your sentence, he reached out to pull you closer, crashing his lips against yours once you'd finished talking.

It wasn't long until he had you lifted from the ground in his arms, your legs wrapped around his torso as he moved to throw you on the sofa.

"You do have a lot still to learn." Jacob smirked, untying the joggers that hugged your hips.

"But we are eating later." You demanded, craving a certain local restaurant.

"Well, I'm not waiting till later." Jacob growled, smiling as he lowered himself between your legs right away. The night spiraled into a mess of moans that were familiar to you now. When the pair of you were spent, you cleaned up and went to dinner, and then parted your separate ways.

After that night, there were four days until you were set to move away. And Jacob showed up at your door every evening with a different excuse each time.

He'd wanted to see the newest horror film in the local theater. You left halfway through to fuck in your car. Jacob mentioned that practice made perfect, and he was more than happy to help you hone this craft. You'd wanted to throw a party with all your friends before summer sent you each different way's. A whole soiree was planned in which you and Jacob skipped out early on; because the broom closet you'd snuck into wasn't giving either of you enough space to work with, and you'd both concluded this may be the last chance you got to really participate in your new found hobby.

But the next day, he found his way over all the while. And neither of you had to ask. It was only a matter of time before he had you pinned against the bathroom counter, and you'd never been happier. Just as you began reaching your climax, Jacob spoke up between sighs, "I don't want you to leave."

"Then come with me."

"What?"

"Come with me." You manage to get out the words before losing all composure. He followed close behind. But you both knew finding release together wasn't what you meant when you asked him to come along.

As you both caught your breath, Jacob brushed your hair back, and let his eyes consider all of your features. As he took too long to respond, you decided to draw a bath, and invited him to settle among the bubbles with you, where you brought up your question one more time.

"We've had lot's of practice, you know." You settled across from the man you'd come to know better than you ever expected. "Maybe we can go pro. Make it official?" You watched Jacob watch you, as you spoke.

"Was this your plan the whole time? You're twisted way of getting me to fall for you?"

"No, I genuinely just wanted your help that one night. Then it turned into many many nights. And now I don't want to ever have to worry about practicing with anyone but you."

And so after a few more rounds of questions of answers, it was decided. Jacob would follow you to a new town to live a new life. But with your oldest friend at your side and under shared sheets, you weren't so nervous about all the new things you would get to encounter, together.

───※ ·❆· ※───

#jacob elordi x fem!reader #jacob elordi fanfic #jacob elordi x reader #jacob elordi #jacob elordi smut

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elfyelation · 9 months

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𝐢'𝐦 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 | oneshot

pairing—astarion x m!tav summary—when tav falls ill, everyone at camp is surprised to find that astarion is intent on staying by his side until he’s better warnings—illness, mention of poison, soft astarion, worried astarion, worried party, hurt/comfort, extensive use of pet names, super soft, extreme fluff word count—754 rating—teen note—this is entirely self-indulgent because i’ve been really ill this past week (thanks covid) and the whole time i was thinking about how astarion would comfort tav if he was hurt/sick so i came up with the idea for this

“How is he?” he asks and for what might be the first time, she can hear sincerity in his voice.

“Better,” the cleric sighed, “He’s getting better but he’ll still need some time to recover. You can sit with him but if I see those fangs of yours anywhere near him—”

Astarion rolled his eyes and folded his arms over his chest. "I assure you, Shadowheart, my intentions are far from what you seem to believe. I would never harm Tav. Surely that much has become clear to you by now?"

The sceptical half-elf hummed, “I suppose he will be safe enough for now. Even if your concern for him was a lie I doubt you’d want to risk sucking up any poison that might still be loitering in his veins.”

He knew she had every right to be distrusting of him, especially when it came to Tav’s safety. He only hoped one day they would all finally see just how much Tav really meant to him. That his feelings weren’t a lie. Until then, he’d have to make do with their concern over their friend and his questionable taste in partners.

“A… Astarion?” His weak voice croaked out the moment the vampire spawn ducked inside the tent.

Tav was laying on the blankets, his body completely sweat-ridden as his face contorted with discomfort. He was in still pain, still so vulnerable.

Astarion was by his side in an instant, his cold hands reaching out to gently touch his lover’s forehead. “Don’t worry, darling, I’m here. I’m right here.”

The cool touch of his hand was welcome as it immediately began to cool Tav’s fever. Gale had already expressed his suspicion that it would do as much. There certainly were at least a few perks of being undead.

“Let’s cool you down, shall we?” He wasted no time removing his shirt before crawling down beside his lover. One strong arm gently wrapped around Tav and pulled him closer, hoping that the coldness of his skin would help ease at least some of the pain.

Tav's laboured breaths finally began to slow as he nestled into the embrace, finding solace in the chill of Astarion's body. His fingers wrapped themselves around the cool arm around him, pulling it closer to his chest.

The vampire spawn chuckled against his ear. “Easy, little love, I’m not going anywhere.” His fingers traced delicate patterns on Tav's forehead, willing the fever to subside.

Outside the tent, Shadowheart kept a close eye on the pair and, in doing so, her initial scepticism gradually gave way to a begrudging acceptance of the vampire's genuine concern. She couldn't deny the tenderness she saw in Astarion's eyes as he cared for their companion. It was a side of him she hadn't seen before. A side of him she hadn’t even known was there.

Maybe it wasn’t just about self preservation or sexual desire. Just maybe he truly did care for Tav. She never thought love was something he was capable of but the longer she watched them, the more she realised just how wrong she had been.

Soon enough, his lover was sound asleep in his arms. Sleeping without a sign of pain or discomfort. It was the first time he’d slept properly since his affliction which meant Shadowheart was right, he was getting better.

“You know, you really scared me for a moment there. I… I thought I was going to lose you. I don’t want to go through that again.”

He spoke despite knowing there was no one to hear him. Speaking to a sleeping lover who, as if on instinct, rolled over to snuggle closer into him.

"I'll protect you with everything I have, my love," Astarion murmured, "I promise you that. You mean more to me than I ever thought possible." He knew that Tav couldn't hear him, but the words were as much for himself as they were for his lover.

Astarion had always been a creature of darkness, bound by instinct and desire. Forced to do his cynical master’s bidding. Yet, in Tav's presence, he had found a glimmer of something different, something more profound. It was a love he never thought he deserved, but now that he had it, he would do anything to defend it.

And so, beneath the starlit sky, Astarion held Tav close, vowing silently to cherish every moment they had together, determined to prove that his love was not just words but a promise to protect and endure, no matter the cost.

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azrielbrainrot · 3 months

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I Laugh Like Me Again... She Laughs Like You - Part 3

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Description: Azriel would give anything to hold you one more time.

Warnings: Angst, Memory loss, mentions of death

Word Count: 5950

Notes: Sorry for the wait but I had to map things out to answer all the questions I started in the previous chapters (set myself up there) and lack of motivation was kicking my ass. Still, I hope you enjoy!

Part 2 ○ Part 4

You were picking at the food on your plate as Azriel stared at you, looking like he'd rather feed you himself. As hungry as you were, everything was hard to stomach. You tried to tell him as much but had only been met with a scolding, he seemed extremely interested in your health. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was content with watching you even if you never actually gave him anything. It seemed like the spymaster wasn't too preoccupied with the fact that he had caught you stealing from his High Lord.

Following your sudden breakdown, Azriel had managed to calm you down enough, insisting that you didn't talk about anything else until you ate and were ready for it. Your eyes still hurt and were probably puffy from the tears that had flowed not even an hour ago, and your head still ached, even if it didn't come anywhere close to the excruciating pain you felt before.

The same feeling as before still crawled under your skin, the same questions swirling around in your mind, but you managed to find your composure after the ache had transformed into something manageable and the tears had dried. Admittedly, you were a bit scared of prying into your mind and triggering the same reaction as before - it really had felt like your brain was trying to forcefully escape your skull.

You were still trying to make sense of everything, denying that you were missing important information wouldn't help you. There was no way Azriel was confusing you for someone else, not with the way your body reacted to him and the dreams you've had for far longer than you've been here. There was also the problem of you being a prisoner in this room, as nice and attentive as your prison guard has been there has to be a punishment waiting for you.

When your head felt like it was going to burst, you could swear someone else had barged into the room but you couldn't stay focused on it or hear what they were saying through your own desperate screams. You think you saw something red glinting, but didn't even make out anyone's form, your vision was too blurry. You're not even sure how many of them walked through the door. By the time you came to and calmed down it was only you and Azriel in the room again, and all you could feel was his arms around you, grounding you.

You bite down on another small piece of sausage, arranged as if they were meant to feed a child - you hadn't seen him cut them but you know it has to be his work - as you remembered how desperate he sounded in that moment. You're not sure if the soothing words he whispered in your ear were meant for you or for himself, he was just short of begging you to be okay. It was a little embarrassing to think about how fragile he had seen you in that moment but it was even worse remembering how intimately he held you.

Looking up at Azriel, you're not surprised to meet his eyes, they haven't left you for longer than a second, it's like he's scared you'll disappear if he looks away. You can still see the concern swirling in the beautiful hazel.

You had so many questions, knew he had even more, but you weren't sure where to even begin. Any hope of him starting to talk was evaporating faster with every second. He had told you he wouldn't bring anything up until you were ready but you thought he'd at least ask about the robbery, start off easy. You couldn't push your doubts aside any longer, it felt like you were both playing a part, ignoring the elephant in the room.

“Azriel?” His name triggers the same reaction every time you say it. You might have to go to a healer if you survive this, having your heart fluttering so often can't be healthy.

“Yes?” He leans closer letting his wings pull in closer to his body, ready to give you his undivided attention.

You've noticed how his wings move with him and can give you small clues on what he might be feeling sometimes, like a cat's ears, perking up or dropping with his emotions. The same happens with his shadows really, moving towards you when they're interested, like a tail you suppose.

“There's something wrong.” His eyes open wide and he's on his feet before you can even blink, standing over you and reaching out for your hand. That might not have been the best way to start.

“What's wrong?” He holds onto your wrist, feeling for your pulse. “Does it hurt again?”

“No, nothing hurts,” you try to calm him down, cheeks slightly flushed. “I mean this.” You gesture between the two of you, hoping he's aware of the terrified expression on his face. “You're worried about me.” He visibly relaxes at that, understanding you're not physically hurting again.

“Of course, I am.” He sits on the side of the bed, never letting go of your wrist but holding onto it a little softer, drawing circles with his thumb over your skin. You're not even sure if he's doing it on purpose, or if it simply comes naturally.

“Why would you be?” You have an idea of the answer, he's already made it more than clear that he knows you very well. “I thought you'd be guarding me to make sure I didn't escape but you've been taking care of me instead.”

His eyes roam over your desperate face, taking notice of every expression you make. He's probably scared of saying something that will send you into the same state as before, clawing at your head to stop, but you can see how much he wants to tell you, to stop pretending.

“You're my wife,” he admits, a small smile playing on his lips right after, like saying the word is enough to make him happy, and looks down at his hand still wrapped around your wrist, running his thumb down the veins to the palm of your hand, loosely holding it instead.

“I don't…” You thought there had to be some sort of romantic relationship between you and him, or the person he thinks you are, but you didn't expect him to say wife. “I've never been married.” You never even thought it would be a possibility with your job.

Him thinking you're his wife definitely answers a lot of questions, mostly the reason why you aren't in a dark dungeon after what you've done to them, but it just opens up a whole other box of chaos.

You set the plate aside, knowing you can't keep any more food down with the way the conversation has to go. You wish you could just crawl into your own bed, in your own home and wait until all of this mess passes. Running a hand down your face, you steel yourself, recognizing you need to get to the bottom of this, not only for your sake but his as well. Whatever was at play here was larger than you could have imagined.

“I don't remember you at all, Azriel,” you admit. He just nods, almost pouting, without looking away from your hand still clutched in his. “But I've dreamt about you.” He perks up at that, surprised eyes darting up to meet yours.

“I dream about you almost every night,” he admits softly, a reddish tint covering the tips of his ears.

“If I'm supposed to be your wife, should I be offended that it's not every night?” The lame joke does nothing to ease your nerves, as you intended, but the blinding smile he rewards you with certainly makes the next words easier to come out.

“What you called me before… that's not my name,” you continue slowly, “My name is Maya.”

“Maya,” he tries it out but the discomfort is obvious on his face. To your surprise, you don't like how it sounds coming from him either, while every other word he utters sounds like honey.

“I know that's my name. I know I'ver never been here or met you before,” you explain, “I know I never married you either. I can account for every year of my life, there are no gaps in my memories. You're not in any of them, neither is this house,” you look into his eyes the whole time, squeezing his hand slightly, wanting him to feel your sincerity, “but there's something wrong.”

He studies your face with an unreadable expression. If this whole situation is hard for you to wrap your head around, you can't imagine what it is like looking in from the outside. The only reason you believed him was because of your body's response to him, but all he can see is a female who looks just like his wife yet doesn't recognize him.

His hand leaves yours as he takes the ring he was wearing off slowly, taking your hand and depositing it on your palm gently.

“What's this?” It's a simple silver ring, worn out from what you assume is years of training and fighting while wearing it. Your heart palpitations come back the longer you study it, you know it.

“My wedding ring,” he almost whispers, “You had yours when…” You look up at him and he shakes his head almost imperceptibly, “I don't have it.”

You nod and let it fall on your finger, in place of where your own wedding ring would be. It's too big on you, it would likely be too loose even if you had put it on your thumb, but you almost don't want to take it off. Goosebumps spread all over your body, your heart rate picking up.

“Do you feel anything?”

“I'm not sure I can explain it,” you breathe, not fully understanding the reaction your body has to him.

“Try me,” he insisted.

“Ever since I heard about this mission and stepped foot into this city, it feels like my brain is screaming at me to remember something really important but I can't,” you say, watching the way the wedding band hangs around your finger, “and when I put this ring on just now.” You hold up your hand for him to see, the light catching on it.

You look up at him before continuing, “When I first saw you. When you told me your name. When I… When I stabbed you.” Your eyes travel to his stomach, where an open wound had been just a few hours ago. “I feel a pain in my chest.” It makes itself known again as you think of the way his blood had dripped down your hands. “Holding the ring feels right. Saying your name feels right. But hurting you… didn't.” You take a deep breath in, knowing there's no going back, “So, as insane as this whole situation is, I think I believe you, Azriel.”

The admission lingers in the air as both of you feel its weight. Acknowledging the particular situation you've found yourselves in is only the beginning. Now you must try to understand what happened and how to fix things, if you want that. Part of recognizing what Azriel told you as the truth comes with accepting that some of your life was a lie, and, at this moment, you have no tangible evidence for what is real or not aside from the goosebumps you get when the male in front of you touches you. You don't even know who you truly are.

“If you say I'm your wife then what made me leave?”

“You didn't,” the hesitation is almost tangible in his tone, “I thought you were dead.” Your hand immediately shoots up to your neck, feeling the softened scar under your fingertips. The movement seems to break the dam holding his emotions in check, making everything flow out at once.

“I don't know what happened,” he lets go of you and stands up, running a hand through his hair and pacing around as he explained with an anguished voice, “It was a simple mission. We never found out how exactly but it looked like you were taken by surprise and attacked by bandits. My shadows told me they couldn't sense you so I went to meet you but when I got there all I saw was blood. There was so much blood.”

When he meets your eyes again you can clearly see the tears gathering in them, the pain that still lingers from recalling that moment.

“I looked for you. We all did. We searched in every corner of the world, I sent spies everywhere. We found the bandits and made them talk but when they left your body was still there and your throat was cut.” His wings droop, the bottoms of it touching the floor. Azriel looks defeated. “We thought you were dead. I tried denying it for a while but it came to a point where I couldn't anymore. But now you're here and I- Fuck. I should have kept looking. I shouldn't have given up so easily.”

“Azriel,” you call for him, bringing his attention back to you. The desperation and raw pain in his voice were breaking your heart. “Whatever happened wasn't your fault.”

“I should have found you,” he whispers, completely contrasting with his tone mere moments before.

“You thought I was dead.” The words are hard to form, and you can't linger on them too long. You always knew the injury you suffered was severe, that it had been near miraculous that you survived but finding out there were people out there that truly believed you were dead was chilling. “This whole situation still feels impossible, there's no way you could have known I was still alive.”

He nods at you, but you can clearly see he can't let go of it. The attentiveness and overprotection he's been showing you makes much more sense now. Azriel sits on the chair he has barely left since you were brought to this room. He seems to try to regain his composure, combing back the hair he had tousled and bringing his wings up closer to his body again. But his eyes don't meet yours like before.

You fall back against the headboard, the impact softened by the pillows he fluffled out for you, picking at his wedding ring still on your finger. You feel like you're going insane. Maybe letting the guild find you wouldn't be so bad, at least they'd put you out of your misery. Though it's hard to ignore the fact that they seem to be the ones who put you in this situation, letting you live a lie for almost a century.

“It's been a century since then,” you repeated aloud, “And you still…” Love me? You wanted to say, but that wasn't really you, not for now at least. You don't remember anything of your time together, or about yourself. Maybe the only thing that survived was your body. There's a possibility that the female he loved had actually died, that he'll never fully get her back even if you regain your memories.

“I told you,” the smile you witnessed earlier comes back to his face, even if with only half the prior intensity, “I dream about you almost every night.”

“This doesn't make any sense.” You had moved to sit cross legged over the covers, tired of laying in bed when your body wasn't even hurting. Nibbling on a chocolate cookie the House, who Azriel told you is sort of sentient, gave you.

“I know.” He had calmed down since his outburst, going back to what you assume is closer to his usual demeanor, though he might not always act the same as when his dead wife is sitting across from him. His shadows seemed to have relaxed as well, most of them had left him in favor of swirling around the room like smoke. “When I saw you in the living room, I thought you came back.”

“But I came to rob you instead.”

He lets out a chuckle, “I couldn't have imagined that in my wildest dreams.” His gaze turns a bit more serious before he adds, “my High Lord and High Lady want to speak to you.”

“I figured as much.” You were actually surprised they hadn't shown up yet, the sun was already close to setting. “Did you tell them you think I'm your wife?”

“They know. You and Rhys were friends too.”

The thought that you could be friends with a High Lord is almost laughable, but so was being married to his shadowsinger and yet the fluttering of your heart every time he speaks to you in that deep, soft voice of his doesn't lie.

You think for a bit, remembering the information you had been granted before coming on your mission. Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court, the most powerful one in history and the bearer of one of the most sought-after and frightening abilities - daemati. It's said his mate, the recently turned fae, Feyre Archeron, shares the same talent.

“Is it true that he's a daemati?” He simply nods, knowing you're following his train of thought.

“You want him to look into my head.”

“He might be able to find out what happened to you,” he nods, “the reason you forgot me, forgot us.”

“And you're sure he'll want to help me after what I did? He looked pretty mad when I saw him last night,” you say as you chew on your lip.

Granting him passage into your mind might be more than a leap of faith. You've found it easy to talk to Azriel, to trust him, but you haven't met anyone else, and can't trust they won't want to hurt you. Azriel seemed to not care much about your initial reason for coming to the court or even what you did to him but you can't expect everyone to feel the same, even if they had been your friends a century ago. And a daemati could break you beyond repair, even just seeing their abilities in action has always left you unsettled.

“Rhys won't hurt you,” he tells you, his face showing he has no doubts about his words.

“It's not like I have much of a choice anyway,” you brush the crumbs off your nightgown, stretching your legs and moving until you are sitting at the edge of the mattress. It brought you closer to him, your knees brushing his, the feeling of the leather feeling oh so familiar against your bare skin, making your next words come out breathier than you wanted them to, “You can call them.”

Something flashes across his tantalizing eyes when he looks down at your bare legs, noting the change in your tone, but it disappears when he looks back at you, nodding softly and letting his eyelids shut as if to level himself. Some of his shadows come back to him and, as his silence prolongs, you realize he must be speaking to them in his mind, calling his High Lord just as you asked.

The pressure in the room changes as soon as he opens his eyes, the air getting harder to breathe. It's not as strong as what you'd felt the night before but the tamed magic is enough to have the hairs on the back of your neck stand, and a shiver to run down your spine. You truly hope Azriel is right about them.

Azriel stands just as the door opens to reveal his High Lord followed closely by his mate. His unreadable purple eyes study your stiff form, walking inside the room and letting Feyre close the door behind them. She seems more serene, not showing any obvious hostility towards you but you know not to underestimate the human who freed the fae of Prythian.

You stand when they stop in front of you, not letting fear make you appear weak. If they chose to hold you accountable for your actions you would accept their punishment head on.

The first word out of the High Lord's lips is the same name Azriel had called you before, and the same feeling of deja vu consumes you once more.

“Maya,” you correct. His head tilts to the side briefly, before looking over at Azriel who is watching the scene unfold warily.

“Well Maya,” his eyes meet yours again, “Are you going to explain why I've found you lurking around my house?” The venom was clear in his voice, but you expected as much.

“I was sent here on a mission,” you say as emotionlessly as you can, just like the guild taught you, “I was supposed to find an ancient book with a particular set of runes, it seems it belonged to your grandfather.” You hope the lack of information doesn't make you appear suspicious because it truly is the only thing the guild had deemed enough for you to be able to complete your mission. “Since I failed the mission, they've probably already sent assassins after me, in case I tell you or anyone about them.”

“No one is going to hurt you,” Azriel promises, anger rising at the mention of someone wanting to kill you.

“You were in the wrong place for that,” the High Lord responds after a moment, and watching Azriel's reaction. “The book is in the library under this House.”

“It doesn't matter now.”

“You're right, it doesn't. What I want to know is where you've been all these years and why you attacked my brother.”

The pressure in the room increased again but you could now see it was the result of him trying to hold his power down even though his temper was rising.

“Rhys,” his mate warns, but it falls on deaf ears, his striking eyes never leaving yours.

“I don't remember you or him,” you admit.

“So he's told me.” Rhysand didn't sound too convinced. “You won't mind if I check for myself right?” He barely made it sound like a question but you nod in answer all the same.

Black talons scrape along your mental walls as soon as you give him permission, you lower them for him, pushing everything the guild taught you aside, inviting the enemy straight into your mind. If they could see you now you would definitely be mocked and executed on the spot.

His presence is barely felt in your mind before a sharp pain takes your senses, similar to the one you'd felt before. You squeeze your eyes shut, hands moving to hold your head. Scarred hands are on you immediately, holding you up against a strong body before your knees meet the ground. As the talons retreat from your mind, the pressure lessens and you take a few deep breaths before opening your eyes.

When you manage to blink away the wetness making your vision blurry, you find the High Lord looking at you with wide eyes, remorse clear on his face and his mate holding onto his arm.

“What did you do to her?” Azriel's voice was rough with barely restrained anger.

The High Lord ignores him, looking into your eyes as he explains with a notably softer tone than earlier, “There is something blocking your memories. When I tried to bypass it… It hurt you.”

“What does that mean?” Your voice was scratchy, a dull ache lingering in your head. You lean away from Azriel and sit back on the mattress. No use trying to act tough, you're truly at their mercy.

“It means I can't access your memories for the time being,” the change in his demeanor would give you whiplash if the pain you were feeling gave way long enough for you to focus on anything else, “I've never seen anything like this, there's no way of knowing what it can do to you.”

“I think your memories aren't only being blocked,” he's still speaking directly at you but you can't really wrap your mind around anything at the moment, letting them discuss amongst themselves. “They're being overwritten at the same time.”

“That's why she forgot Azriel but remembers her life at the guild?”

“I've never heard of anything like that,” Azriel's voice sounds further away, you almost want to reach out and pull him back to you.

“Me neither,” the High Lord admits, watching your crouched form warily. “We'll have to ask Amren and research it in the library but it's the only explanation.” You find yourself nodding, even if you don't know Amren you understand the ancient creature might be able to help, if she wants to that is.

“At least your mental walls are still intact. They're the same ones I taught you to build.”

“No, I learned at the guild,” you finally look up at him, sweat still covering your forehead.

“There's still an open channel, like an open door for me to be able to talk to you.” So I can do this. You can't help but jump slightly at the sound of his voice in your mind, and the promise of a smile twitches on his lips. It doesn't go unnoticed that the talons moved a lot more carefully in your mind, almost tenderly.

“You're staying in this house until we can be sure you're not a threat.” His eyes move to Azriel's, an unimpressed look taking over his face at the scowl the shadowsinger sends him. “In the meantime you can fill Azriel in on everything you can about the guild. I want to know if there's a chance they'll try to attack us again.”

“We'll try to find any information on what is blocking your memories and keep you safe from the guild in exchange,” the High Lady adds, “It's a fair trade for both parties.”

You can't tell if she's saying it to convince you or her mate but appreciate the sentiment nonetheless. Also noticing how she omits the biggest reason for this mutual cooperation - the shadowsinger standing by your side.

⋆｡°✩°｡⋆

His hair was still wet when he started dressing himself, not wanting to leave you waiting for too long, as much as he hated to admit it he wasn't too happy about leaving you with Feyre either. He can tell everyone is still suspicious of you, even after Rhys tried to read into her memories to find nothing, stuck between their memories and stories they heard about you and the image of you stabbing a knife through his stomach.

Azriel knows his High Lady, his friend, wouldn't hurt you, but you're in a complicated situation at the moment and he doesn't want to find out what that guild has taught you to do in cases such as these, doesn't even want to think what Feyre would do to stop you. She didn't know you before, meaning she wouldn't have any reason to hold back if not for his sake - something he knows she wouldn't put above saving Velaris, he would never ask that of her either.

It's hard to accept he doesn't know how you'll react in certain situations, there was a time he knew you better than he knew himself. Now, he can't even begin to understand what you must have been through working for a world known assassin guild.

He'd obviously heard about them before, he wouldn't be a decent Spymaster if he hadn't. There wasn't much information on them, no one knew how large the group even was since there were rumors other groups were actually integrated in the guild. Names for it vary as well.

Even if you hadn't tried to steal from his High Lord, he knows he'll have to try getting as much information about them from you as he can, for his court's sake, and he can only pray you'll give it to him willingly or he'll have to let go of his position.

He doesn't know how you've been able to bear the guilt a job like this brings. As much as you've forgotten, your personality didn't seem to change a lot. You always reminded him of Cassian at times like these, gratuitous killing had never been for you. He hopes you don't have to deal with the torment he had been through in the first decades of working for the former High Lord, his soul had never recovered from everything he'd seen and done during that time.

Noticing his shadows reach up his shoulders, he physically shakes the dark thoughts out of his brain. Everything has been going better than expected, not only did you agree to cooperate but Rhys had given you the benefit of the doubt. You also agreed to have dinner with him so you could talk more.

He just told you he'd be joining you for dinner, omitting how excited, downright giddy, he felt at just the idea. It had been so long since you two shared a meal, talking for hours while enjoying the tasty food the House prepared for you.

He couldn't recall the last time he'd been this nervous for an outing, even if it wasn't exactly that - it was simply a trip to one of the House of Wind's guest rooms. Going as far as picking clothes in your favorite colors on him, letting the top buttons on his shirt undone because he knows how much you liked seeing the beginnings of his swirling bargain marks.

All of this could be for nothing, you don't remember him after all, but, he was almost certain your body did in some way and it gave him hope. You calmed down in his arms just as you did a century ago, said his name in the same sweet cadence and never shied away from his touch, from his hands. His shadows told him as much. Sang to him about the way goosebumps rose in your skin at his touch and attentiveness, how your thoughts and intuition warred in his favor. He refused to let his thoughts deter him.

When he gets to the room he sees you and Feyre standing by the dresser, almost wanting to apologize for winnowing in instead of knocking first, but he can't seem to find any words as he sees you've changed as well, ditching the nightgown in favor of a sleeveless dress that went down to your knees. The cobalt blue was as striking against your skin as he remembered, the garment in itself was simple enough yet in his eyes you had never looked so stunning.

Feyre must have been the one to give you the dress, he was only surprised it had taken her so long to meddle in your relationship. If there were any doubts, they were quickly answered when she threw him a knowing smile before excusing herself from the room.

“I'm guessing the blue is supposed to match those gems you wear.”

“Siphons,” he offers, entranced by the way you walk closer to him, the silky fabric moving with your body and giving you an ethereal glow.

“Did I used to do that a lot?”

“Yes.” He observes the way your eyes run over his body, lingering on the unbuttoned shirt. Seems like his old tricks still work. “I always loved seeing you in blue.”

You tilt your head to the side slightly, biting the inside of your lip the way you always did. He tries to stand as still as possible without appearing too awkward, making sure you knew it was alright to do with him anything that crossed your pretty brain. You seem to make up your mind as you walk closer to him.

“Can I see them?” You hold up your palm and he holds his hand over it without hesitation, letting you grab onto his hand to study the glowing siphon. The swirling light shone in your eyes and he can't help but be reminded of the first time you asked him to do the same exact thing shortly after meeting him.

“All Illyrian warriors have them,” he explains, “They're used to help us control our powers.”

“It's beautiful.” He tries not to let his wings twitch as you now hold his hand with both of yours. “I don't think I've seen anything like this before.”

“You have,” he can't help the somber smile that crosses his face. The reminder makes you look away from his hand to watch him, a conflicted expression falling over your pretty face. “You always liked them.”

The abrupt change in the atmosphere has him asking the house to get the room ready for your dinner. Not being able to hide the smile as he watches your amazed expression at the table that pops up beside you, full of delicious looking food and decorated with candlesticks, the faelights around the room dim in favor of the candlelight.

“I only asked for the food,” he admits with a bashful expression. He's glad you can't tell that, aside from the candles, the plates were also some of the fanciest ones. The House was going all out for the two of you.

He uses the grip you had on his hand to guide you to the chair and help you sit before making his way to his own seat, settling down and giving order for the House to serve both of you. Letting himself enjoy every little expression you made as you eat and listening to anything you felt like telling him, also answering all your questions about the House and the food.

He knows this doesn't have the same meaning to you as it does to him, knows that, as much as you don't seem to hate his company, you're more interested in finding out more about the version of you in his memories, trying to make sense of your own identity. It's hard to imagine how this whole thing must feel for you, finding out half of your life was made up and that you forgot such an important part of it. Still, this must be the best night he's had in a century.

You set your elbows on the table and rest your face on your hands, watching him with undivided attention as he tells you about his sparring match with Cassian. Your eyes don't leave his face after he finishes, appearing lost in thought. He lets you gather them, relishing in the comfortable silence. He'd be content with simply watching you for eternity.

You let out a soft sigh and lean back against the chair, closing your eyes for a few seconds before meeting his gaze again.

“What happens if I never remember you, Azriel?” Your voice barely above a whisper.

The question and the uncertainty in your voice as you asked it make him pause. He keeps trying to push back the thought that you won't regain your memories but it seems you were having the same doubts.

Just last week, he wouldn't have believed having you back was even a possibility, so getting your memories back can't be out of reach, it just can't. He was ready to give his life to make it so.

Still, he witnessed how painful it had been for you when Rhys simply tried to access your memories, he'd also told him trying harder, forcefully, could break your mind completely. If their research doesn't go well, if they can't find who did this to you, there might not be another way of bringing your memories back.

But he'd sooner die than live another day without you, whether your memories come back or not.

“I'll make you fall for me again.”

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#azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #azriel angst #azriel fic #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel fanfiction #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #acotar x you #divider by saradika

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buckybabesonly · 1 year

Text

I Wanna Be Yours

Summary: You are afraid to believe that someone like Bucky might actually love you back.

Pairing: Bucky x Female!Shy!Insecure!Reader

Genre: Angst with happy ending

Warnings: Casual sex (?), misunderstandings, self-deprecation

A/N: I’m actually not very happy with how this turned out but I hope some of you might enjoy it anyway?

Word count: 4.8k

You had never fallen in love before until you met Bucky.

You had spent your whole life wondering when it would happen to you - when you would feel that heart-racing, mind-blowing, bliss-inducing love that you saw so often in movies and read in novels.

Falling for him had been unexpected, like you had been turning corners in an endless maze until suddenly - there he was. This unbelievably talented, unique, intelligent man who treated you with respect and kindness. He showed interest in you when you were too shy to approach him first, talking to you about the everyday mundane, making you feel special. Out of all the incredible people Bucky knew and interacted with, he made you feel like you counted, too.

You worked as a lab tech at the Avengers compound since landing the coveted job two years ago, working closely with Bruce Banner, and had witnessed first hand when Bucky joined the team. He had been quiet at first, introverted, but you watched as he blossomed like a flower. He revealed more of his great sense of humour, wicked smile and subtle charm which made you fall for him.

When you were around him, you felt like your nerve endings were on fire. Every touch from him on your arm, your shoulders, the small of your back, sent pulses shooting through your body and a flush of red straight to your cheeks. The power he had over you was undeniable, and you were certain he knew it, too.

The moment you realised you were in trouble was on a Saturday afternoon, four months after you first met him. He returned to the compound one day with a nasty gash on his forehead and blood crusting his hands, his eyes tired and face pale. The moment you saw him, you knew that if anything were to happen to him, you would have no idea how to cope. Even seeing him with relatively minor injuries made your chest clench in fear and anxiety.

Without a doubt, you had finally fallen in love.

Your first time with Bucky was unexpected. He was perched on one of the counters in your lab, snacking on a pack of cashews as he watched you peer into a microscope. You could barely focus on the work at hand, hyper aware of his presence and ocean blue eyes on your form.

“You’re not supposed to eat in here, you know,” you murmured, trying to hide your smile.

“I know,” he countered, continuing to chew obnoxiously.

You had been harbouring your secret feelings for him for over a year and a half. With every day that passed, you found it harder and harder to figure out what to do. Sometimes you felt that he reciprocated them - the constant flirting, the close touches, the excuses he made to spend time alone with one another. But you were too afraid to ask him outright how he felt about you, and too shy to make the first move.

“How’s your leg?” you asked, if only to distract yourself from your thoughts, referring to the injury he had received a few days ago.

“Much better. Strong as ever.” He kicked it out suddenly as to punctuate his words.

“Hey,” you exclaimed, alarmed. “I wish you would be more careful. Seems you’re always getting patched up lately.” You were frowning, and Bucky seemed amused at your concern.

“Occupational hazard.”

“Whatever. Just don’t bust open your stitches and bleed all over my lab. It’s just been sanitized.” You sniffed as Bucky cocked his head at you, flashing his adorable grin. “In fact I’m violating several health and safety rules just allowing you to be in here,” you said, trying to keep your face straight as Bucky threatened to tease a smile from you.

You turned back to the work at hand, working in comfortable silence as Bucky observed you. He soon seemed restless, however, and you looked up again when he jumped off his perch and walked over to you, bumping you with his shoulder. He smelled so good - like the forest after it had just rained. He looked down at you, giving you one of his trademark dimpled smiles yet again.

“What?”

“I’m bored,” he shrugged.

“Don’t you have top secret, dangerous mission stuff to do?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at him. Your heart was beating fast as he leaned closer suddenly, eyes flickering from yours down to your mouth. He had been doing that a lot as of late.

“Rather do something else,” he said quietly, his tongue darting out to wet his lower lip.

Time stood still. He suddenly closed the distance between you, and then you were kissing. His lips were soft, his hands gentle as they raised to cradle your face, sliding into your hair.

Your hands raised on their own accord to grab the edges of his leather jacket, pulling him closer, feeling surreal as he deepened the kiss.

He pulled away just long enough for you to ask breathlessly, “Is this actually happening?”

All he did was chuckle and pull you back against him again.

You were positively floating as Bucky grabbed your hand and led you to his private floor in the compound, into his bedroom. You thought you were dreaming when he lay you down softly on his bed, undressing you both because your hands were shaking.

“Is this okay?” he whispered, eyes searching your face as you nodded.

“Yes,” you said instantly. “It’s okay.”

That night, you had sex with him for the first time. He held you tightly as he thrust inside you, peppering your face with kisses, making you whimper with pleasure until you both reached the inevitable climax.

You felt you could die happy now as you fell asleep in Bucky’s arms, feeling like the luckiest girl in the world.

Insecurity was an ugly thing.

You woke up a couple of hours before Bucky, lying with your eyes wide open as the ink black sky slowly lightened, the sun bleeding across the horizon.

You looked at this man lying beside you - this perfect specimen, eyes closed and lips slightly parted as he slept, his chiselled jawline, ruggedly handsome features. The reality of what had happened was slowly sinking in, bringing with it doubts and questions as to what this meant.

God, he was so beautiful. So perfect in literally every way. You were fully aware of his contrast to you.

You had never considered yourself a beautiful girl. You had always been very conscious of your flaws, the way your body didn’t look quite the way you wanted it to, the way you felt that no one really gave you a second look.

I’m bored, Bucky had said yesterday. Were you just a cure for his boredom?

You gnawed at your bottom lip, uncertainties flooding into your system as you recalled the conversation and events leading up to the steamy encounter yesterday. Had he pulled you tighter against him, or had you simply imagined it? Did he do this all the time, or were you an exception?

People had causal sex all the time. You knew that Natasha and Steve had fooled around before and continued as friends only, and a lot of the S.H.I.E.L.D agents you knew had been known to sleep around interdepartmentally, lending to some interesting work gossip.

You knew you were stupid to let yourself think something serious might be happening. You and Bucky hadn’t even spoken about feelings or been on anything which remotely resembled a date. Bucky had been a proper charmer back in the day, you were well aware.

Your heart plummeted as you continued to think. You were suddenly so relieved you hadn’t revealed your feelings for him last night in your stupor. You had been so happy to be held by him, to be kissed by him, but that’s all it was - just a bit of fun. It had to be.

You felt Bucky stir beside you eventually, and you clutched the covers close to your naked body as he opened his eyes and smiled at you lazily.

What was the proper etiquette? Were you supposed to leave as soon as possible?

“Morning,” he said huskily. He looked so adorable that the panic in your chest quelled momentarily.

“Morning,” you smiled.

He yawned, his dark hair unruly as he ran his fingers through it.

“What’s the time?”

You cleared your throat. “Just gone seven. I have an early meeting with Bruce.”

“Mmm. Okay. You have to go now?” He looked at you with what may have been disappointment.

“I should probably get going, yeah. Need to prepare,” you said, eyes scanning the room for your clothes as you blushed at the thought of dressing in front of Bucky, even though he had seen you in all your naked glory last night.

Bucky suddenly moved in close and kissed you, causing your breath to hitch. You felt self conscious about how worn out you probably looked first thing in the morning, but melted into his touch nonetheless.

"Are we going to do this again?" he managed to get out against your lips.

"If you like," you answered carefully.

"I would very much like."

“Me too,” you said shyly, pulling back from Bucky and ducking your head down.

"So you're okay with this?"

Your heart constricted then, wanting to shout loudly that no, it’s not okay, and you actually wanted a serious relationship. But how terrifying would that be to suddenly dump your confessions onto him when the poor man had no idea how you felt?

But you didn’t know what was worse. Just being friends with benefits, or actually confessing your true feelings and pushing him away completely.

“Sure,” you said finally, keeping your voice purposely light. “It’s just sex, Bucky. It’s okay.”

Bucky froze then, his expression unreadable as he stared at you. His eyebrows were slightly drawn together, his lips stiffening as he swallowed.

“What?” you asked carefully, feeling inexplicably nervous.

Bucky was silent for a beat before responding. “Nothing.” He gestured between you with his vibranium hand, frowning ever so slightly. “This is nothing. Right?”

He wanted affirmation. You felt shame flood your chest.

“Right,” you said weakly, turning away before Bucky could see the tears in your eyes. “I better get going.”

He didn’t say anything as you hurriedly pulled on your clothes and mumbled an imperceptible “Bye” before you let yourself out.

As it turned out, it didn’t happen again.

You had no idea what you had done or how you had messed it up, but you had.

You had never done this before. Never casually hopped into bed with a man without something greater at play. You had one ex-boyfriend from your college days who was sweet but you were never truly in love with, and sex with him had happened a few months into your relationship.

You didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know how to act around Bucky anymore. Didn’t know what he even wanted.

You thought he just wanted a fling. No strings attached. But after that day, somehow, the two of you were never alone again.

He gave you small, if a little curt, smiles now and again and sometimes spoke to you about work-related matters if necessary, but everything else had suddenly disappeared.

A monstrous, ugly feeling gnawed a hole in your chest, slowly over the next two weeks until it was a gaping cavern. Had you messed it up so badly that Bucky just wasn’t interested anymore? Or worse - had it been his objective all along to just get you into bed and then disappear?

No, he wasn’t like that, you decided, quickly dismissing the thought. The only logical conclusion, then, was that your performance had been so poor that he just didn’t want to be intimate again, but didn’t know how to tell you.

You felt so lost. This isn’t what you wanted, not really. You were never one for casual sex, and yet it killed you how Bucky was avoiding you now. You’d rather reduce yourself to his fuck buddy than nothing. That one night with him had been magical, had made you think about an entire lifetime of mornings waking up beside him.

Your misery was clear to see to all those around you, particularly Bruce, whom you had become very good friends with since you worked together in such close proximity.

“Are you okay?” he asked suddenly, exactly two weeks after your night with Bucky. You were prodding about with some equipment you were working on for Sam’s wings. “And don’t just say you are, because I can tell you’re not.”

You shrugged half heartedly. “I guess I’m not. But I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“You might feel better,” Bruce said, approaching you with a sympathetic tilt of the head. “You know I don’t usually pry, but I’m kind of worried. I can tell you’re upset.”

“Not upset,” you lied quickly, meeting his eyes. “Just…I need to get out of my own head, maybe.”

Bruce studied your face carefully but didn’t delve any further. “Tell you what. Maybe you’ll feel better tonight at the party.”

You wanted to groan loudly. Tony’s annual charity gala. You had looked forward to it before, the prospect of dressing up and maybe getting a dance with Bucky, but you weren’t quite in the party mood anymore. Still, you decided to maintain as positive of a mindset as you could, returning Bruce’s smile and promising yourself that you’d try and have a good time.

You left work with a slightly reinvigorated mindset as you headed back to your apartment to get changed. Maybe tonight could be a chance to relight that spark with Bucky again - if not that way, then you at least wanted some assurance that you were still friends.

You tried your best to uplift your mood whilst you got ready. You changed into a silky blue dress, one which complimented Bucky’s eyes, you realised. Perhaps this had been in your subconscious the day you’d picked it out. It was a long number, quite form fitting with a modest slit up the leg. You tried hard with your makeup and jewellery, the idea of impressing Bucky at the forefront of your mind as you tried to steady your racing heart every time he popped into your head.

Observing yourself in the mirror, you smoothed down the sides of your dress and tried to practice your smile. You managed to leave your apartment in a much better, optimistic state as you hailed a cab to take you to the gala venue.

It was being held in a new building commissioned by Tony next to Central Park, extravagant enough to rival the Met. You walked into the marble lobby, gaping at the high, vaulted ceilings and chandeliers hanging everywhere for just a moment, before you began searching the crowd for a familiar face.

You found yourself mingling with your other fellow lab techs who were buzzing with excitement to be invited to such an event, and you suppressed a frown as 30 minutes passed with no sign of Bucky.

Eventually, the crowd filtered into the main room filled with round tables where dinner would be served, and a huge glass bar which stretched along one side of the room. People were still socialising before food was to be served, and your eyes were roving non-stop, unable to focus on proper conversation with anyone.

Finally, just when your hope was dissipating, you saw him. He was standing in the middle of the crowded bar, clad in a black tux. This was the first time you had ever seen him in such an outfit, and it took your breath away. He held a flute of champagne in one hand, a complete vision and so different to how you usually saw him, typically fresh off the battlefield in his combat gear.

He was talking to Sam who had his back towards you. Bucky’s expression was unreadable but, as if sensing your burning eyes on him, he glanced towards you.

He did a double take, pausing mid-sentence to Sam, and you held your breath. He gave you a polite, if slightly terse, smile. He turned his attention away from you again, and your heart clenched.

It hurt more than you thought it would. It was just a tiny gesture, and he had acknowledged you, but why did it cause you pain?

No. Stop overthinking. You excused yourself from your colleagues and found yourself walking towards Bucky and Sam, reminding yourself that you were friends. You spoke to Bucky all the time - okay, maybe not in the last couple of weeks, but you had nothing to be afraid of. Just act normal.

“Hey guys,” you said lightly, watching as Bucky cleared his throat and gave you that same, tight smile.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Sam beamed, giving you a one armed hug. “You look stunning.”

You smiled shyly, twisting your hands together as you looked at Bucky.

“Thanks. You both look very handsome.”

As if answering your prayers for alone time with Bucky, you heard Clint in the distance beckon for Sam to go over, and he excused himself, leaving you two stood in a slightly awkward silence.

Bucky raised his champagne and took a sip as you tried to get him to meet your eyes.

“How have you been?” you asked finally. “Haven’t spoken to you in a while.”

Bucky shrugged, finally looking at you. “Been okay. Busy.”

You felt frustration rising. Usually he would be telling you all about the things that had occurred in his day, his daily arguments with Sam, anything and everything in between. But now he spoke to you as if you were merely acquaintances.

“Listen. Did I do something wrong?” you said finally, surprising yourself by cutting to the chase. You just wanted Bucky back, and you let your desperation take over.

Bucky seemed taken aback at your forward approach, but he composed himself quickly.

“Nothing,” he said, his tone ever so slightly blunt. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You felt like you were going to cry. You didn’t know how just a fortnight ago, you and Bucky had been locked in a passionate cinch in his bed, and now he was completely icing you out.

“Okay,” you said, deflating slightly. You knew that if he didn’t want to tell you, there was nothing you could do to squeeze it out of him.

“I’m gonna go take a seat,” he muttered, giving you one last look before he walked away.

You quickly hurried back to your colleagues, embarrassment searing your insides.

The evening passed painfully slowly. You found yourself sat quietly at your table after dinner service had ended and people were either having drinks, chatting out on the balconies or dancing in the middle of the ballroom.

You felt the gala could not get any worse. Until it did.

Natasha and Bucky were in the middle of the dance floor, swallowed up in the sea of couples and yet standing out due to their striking attractiveness. Natasha was dressed in a short, tight black dress, so simple and yet so gorgeous. Her red hair was straight and sleek, and she looked up at Bucky as they danced, his signature almost-cocky smile on his lips. A smile which he had not shown you since that day.

Natasha was effortlessly beautiful. She didn’t even have to try and she could get any man she wanted. Bucky included, obviously. You watched their movements closely as they danced, how they spoke to each other in low voices.

The emotions rising in your chest was like bile in your throat. It burned, it hurt, and it was able to illicit a terrible response in your brain.

You felt so ridiculous.

The dress you had on suddenly felt too tight, too uncomfortable around your stomach. You caught sight of your reflection in one of the large, ornate mirrors hanging off the walls and suddenly felt so ugly. You had tried so hard tonight, and for what? Bucky had barely given you ten seconds of his attention, and at the end of the day, no amount of effort could make you feel beautiful.

You didn’t know how you could’ve let yourself believe in something more. You had to make every effort to even just feel somewhat presentable, but women like Natasha didn’t have to. She was stunning and talented and intelligent, the obvious choice.

God knows why you had been questioning Bucky’s lack of attention. Maybe you had simply been misinterpreting your closeness all along.

You stood then, not wanting to cry in front of an audience. No one would notice you early departure anyway.

You left the ballroom, almost tripping in your stupid heels as you collected your things from the cloakroom.

Shrugging on your heavy coat as you marched through the empty lobby, you yelped in pain as you rolled your ankle clumsily, sending you crashing gracelessly onto the floor. You cursed, coat half-hanging off your body as you felt tears spring to your eyes.

It was the last straw. You were crying as you tried to stand, ankle throbbing, feeling mildly grateful that there was no one around to witness your childish episode. You thought you might have heard someone calling your name, but you ignored it, the roaring in your ears failing to stop.

Your tears didn’t cease, not even when you finally made it back home, ripping off the dress as soon as you could and crawling into the safety of your bed.

Bucky finally found you the next day in your lab on your lunch break. You were startled to see him appear in the doorway, your eyes tired and swollen from a night of crying. You hoped it wasn’t too obvious.

“Bruce isn’t here,” was the first thing you said.

He looked almost annoyed as he walked in and said, “Wasn’t looking for him.”

“Oh. What do you want?” The words came out harsher than you intended. Bucky definitely looked annoyed now, a scowl fixed on his face.

He shook his head. “Never mind. Forget it.”

“Bucky!” Your voice came out loud and sharp as he turned back around. Frustration erupted. “You know what - you have no right to behave this way.”

“Excuse me?” He turned to look at you incredulously, forehead creasing.

“The way you’ve been treating me - the past few weeks since that night - you just ignore me now,” you were practically spluttering, all your feelings fighting to pour themselves out at once. “It’s horrible. I thought we were friends.”

“We were,” he said, looking almost torn.

“It’s not fair.” Your eyes were stinging and you were mortified, hurriedly lifting your hands to wipe them.

“Are you crying?” Bucky asked softly, looking nervous.

“Yes,” you snapped. “I thought we were close - I thought you liked me.” You were humiliated at your confession but ploughed on. “I thought that night meant something. But you -”

“Woah, hang on -”

“Don’t interrupt me!” you huffed.

Bucky took you in his arms, pulling you into his chest as you tried to pull back.

“Calm down,” he grunted, holding you still as you let out an exasperated noise. “Breathe.”

You knew he wouldn’t let up, so you let your anger reduce to a simmer as you focused on breathing steadily.

“Good girl.”

His presence was comforting despite your anger and frustration towards him. He always made you feel safe.

“I thought you liked me,” you repeated in a quiet voice. You were staring at his chest, refusing to look at him.

“I do,” he said, his voice tight.

“No, I thought you liked me as more than a friend.”

Bucky pulled back, lifting two figures under your chin and forcing you to meet his eyes.

“Can we rewind?” His request was soft. “Tell me. What did that night mean to you?”

“Are you really going to make me do this?”

His silence spoke volumes.

You tried not to let your frustration get the better of you. “I really like you, Bucky. I’m not a girl who enjoys sex with no strings attached. Especially not with you. I mean, I enjoyed the sex -” you blushed violently, “- but I - I want more.” Your words were rushed and you stared at the empty spot above his head, wanting to die from embarrassment.

“More?” he promoted.

“A relationship,” you clarified. “I know that’s not what you want. And that’s fine. But if we could at least just go back to how we were, where you actually spoke to me and spent time with me, I would really like that. Because I miss you.”

Bucky looked perplexed as he released you, mouth opening wordlessly. Finally, he uttered, “I don’t want that.”

Searing pain burst inside you, and your face crumpled.

“No, no, no,” he said hurriedly as your vision blurred. “I mean - I don’t want to be friends, because I want to be together. I want a relationship.”

“With me?” you asked, confusion marring your face.

“With you.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” you said instantaneously. “Are you joking? This isn’t funny.”

“Would I joke about something like that?”

“You said you were bored,” you blurted. “You asked me if I was ‘okay with this’.” As you spoke, you realised how groundless your assumptions actually might be, but you refused to believe the alternative - that Bucky genuinely wanted to be with you.

Bucky threw his hands up in the air, looking defensive. “You said it was ‘just sex’! I never at any point told you that this was just fun for me.”

“I thought that’s what you wanted.”

Bucky dragged a hand over his face, sighing. “Okay, I think we may have had a breakdown in communication.”

“But I don’t get it,” you insisted. “Why would you want to be with me? I saw you with Natasha last night.”

“Dancing,” he said indignantly. “Just dancing.”

“You didn’t dance with me,” you shot back. “I - I only went to that dumb thing because I wanted you to ask me to dance.”

Bucky looked pained, biting down on his lower lip with regret. “I didn’t know.”

“I wanted to look nice for you,” you confessed quietly.

“You did. You were gorgeous.”

You laughed humourlessly. Bucky frowned.

“I’m being serious.”

“Sure.” You genuinely didn’t believe him.

“Stop that and look at me,” he said sharply.

His eyes were filled with both annoyance and affection, making you falter. You didn’t say anything when he sighed and stroked your hair.

“I wanted to tell you how beautiful you were. But I just couldn’t bear to be near you. I thought you just wanted something casual. And I don’t think I can handle that.”

“I can’t handle that either,” you confessed. “I really want to be with you, Bucky.”

Bucky beamed then upon hearing your words, relief washing over his face.

“Really?”

How could he ever doubt that? You smiled and nodded, but your smile was fragile and faded at the thought of Bucky and Natasha dancing last night. Even if there was nothing untoward happening, you still felt that he should be with someone as equally impressive as Natasha.

“Yes,” you confirmed. “I want to be with you, but at the same time, I don’t know why you would want to be with me.”

Bucky frowned. “Is it that hard to understand?”

You didn’t say anything, so Bucky continued, “I thought you knew how I felt. I’ve been making it pretty damn obvious these past few months.”

“I thought you were just being nice,” you mumbled. “I did think, sometimes, maybe you had feelings for me, but then I decided it just didn’t make sense.”

“Tell me why,” Bucky said gently.

You took a deep breath, knowing you could be vulnerable around him. “I’ve never felt that I was good enough for you. I feel so average, so normal. And you - well, you’re you. So outstanding in every way.”

Bucky shook his head, lifting a hand to cup your cheek. He smiled slightly when you blushed in response, skin flaming.

“Listen to me. Do you know how I view myself? I’m completely flawed, my morals are sometimes questionable, I’ve done terrible things -”

You were shaking your head vehemently in disagreement, and he smiled.

“See? You’re proving my point. We’re our own biggest critics. And maybe you don’t see how amazing you are, but I do. And I want you. I have pretty good taste, you know.” The way he looked at you made your self-doubt falter - he was observing you like you were so precious, the softness and tenderness in his face making your heart flutter.

You smiled then, Bucky taking a step closer, dipping his head to whisper against your lips.

“I’ll spend the rest of my life convincing you how brilliant you are, if that’s what it takes.”

#bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #avengers fic #Bucky one shot #bucky barnes x you #bucky fic

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