#not that I can't Conjure a Response

[monster-noises]

I have spoken before on my trouble trying to do the thing where i Show Up to things and... Actually successfully follow through on the next step of Making Connections and a big biiig part of that that i'm going to vomit onto my blog about today is that I just

Mmmm

I simply have No Thoughts and that makes having conversations very! Very hard!

Now this isn't a~silly quirky~ like "No Thoughts Head Empty uwu" thing

What I'm struggling with when i'm trying to talk to people, usually strangers or people I've just met but this can and does stretch to people i've known for y e a r s too,

is that they will say something; express an opinion, tell me about something, give story about their life, you know, the things you have conversations about and in response my brain just Goes Silent.

and it's not that I'm not listening, I'm actually really good at the Listening part of having a conversation, but if the person I'm trying to talk to does not go off on some long diatribe or ask me a very specific question to formulate a response around...

it's radio static! it's a soft and thoughtless buzz maybe sometimes permeated by a vague feeling associated with what they were saying that, really, forms no basis for a response beyond basic platitudes.

I'd Love to say that like "Well actually I Do have thoughts but I'm so anxious about embarrassing myself I just can't voice them" but I dunno! because if it's that I probably wouldn't be writing this post because That's something I can Work On. I know what to do with something like That. This isn't!!!! That Though!! Experiencing this in real time in a conversation doesn't Feel like my other experiences with anxiety and nervousness, where I feel like physically held back or barricade from participating in the way I Want to. The thoughts would be there I just wouldn't be able to Voice them.

But there Are No Thoughts. It's a cold and silent wind blowing over a dark and dusty barren field, it's white noise static on a screen occasionally permeated with enough of an emotional reaction and recognition that I have to do Something to generate.. generic platitudes that don't really go anywhere.. (Though sometimes, Sometimes, like 10-20 minutes later, when I'm on my own again and Ruminating on fumbling Yet Another attempt to Participate and reach out, I'll be able to think of good engaging and charismatic responses I Could have used. Perhaps suggesting this Is a very extreme form of this anxiety where the nerves are screaming So loud it drowns out all else, which would explain why I can kinda get over this when having text conversations it just takes me about Ten Million Years to formulate a response.) And that's like... what the hell do I Do... about that. ? All the solutions I can come up with involve... having had thoughts. Which doesn't really help because again, it's not having thoughts but struggling to translate or release them, there is nothing there to release. Just silence, just static, vacant gaping hole where my brain should be.

I had a good chance to maybe form some connections with local comics artists via a zine fest today at the library but I was in and out in like ten minutes maybe less because I 1) only had like 20 bucks and that wasn't enough and I have Other Issues dealing with standing at someones table and then not buying anything, it makes me Feel Bad. and 2) Just could not hold a conversation to save my life! There were at least a few people there that I did stop buy a little bit I would have loved to have longer talks with and we'd probably hit it off but my brain blanked out and I nodded politely as they told me what was on there table, sweated a little bit in silence, bought something quickly and then ran away!! like!

Fuck man! I know I'm more of a person than that inside! but it sometimes it really doesn't feel like it! sometimes it really feels like I'm an animated husk with ideas above his station just kinda wandering around and sometimes stumbling into things sideways enough people think I'm a complete person! With this zine fest at least I know it's a local thing so I can try a different strategy of just Being There Physically often enough that people start to recognize me even if I don't say much which will ease the tension I guess?? Still strangers but not Complete strangers you know? For anything else though Idk what I'm going to do...

[yeagersss]

Your husband, Sukuna, stepped out of the shower just as you were done with your morning skincare routine.

He walked over to where you were, drying his hair with one towel while the other loosely wrapped around his waist.

You watched as he stood next to you, slinging the towel over his shoulders before staring at himself in the mirror.

It's a rare sight to see Sukuna with his hair down. Just one of the few things you have the privilege to witness. You smiled softly and reached up to brush away the wet strands clinging against his forehead.

"Your hair is getting long, love."

He simply gave you a hum as he grabbed his hair gel. You absentmindedly played with a lock of his hair as you thought of something.

"I've been thinking..."

"Oh no." Came his gruff, sarcastic response which earned him a smack on his shoulder. He smirked at your annoyed pout.

"Well, what is it? You can't just leave me in suspense." He said, squeezing some gel in his hand before slicking back his hair.

You rolled your eyes and then sighed. "I think you'd look pretty good with black hair."

He raised his eyebrow at that suggestion before looking back at himself in the mirror. "Really now?"

"Mmhm. It'll match your eyes and make your tattooes look prominent—"

"They're already prominent as hell, woman."

You rolled your eyes again. "I'm just saying. I'm not asking you to actually dye your hair, love." You said, leaning up to kiss his cheek before leaving the bathroom.

Sukuna looked back at his reflection and squinted his eyes in deep thought.

Two days later, you almost jumped out of your skin at the unfamiliar sight of a mop of black hair on your couch.

But then you realized it was your husband, Sukuna, when he turned to look at you with that signature cocky smirk on his stupidly sexy face.

"There you are, wife. Where were you? Late shift again?"

Oh, he knows what he's doing to you. He knows. But he decided to keep acting oblivious as he stood up and walked closer to you. His smirk streching into a feral grin.

"What's this? My usually talkative wife is suddenly speechless? Something on your mind you would like to share—"

He didn't get to finish the sentence and resorted to cackling out loud as you, somehow, conjured up the strength to tackle him to the floor.

You two spend a few good hours there before finally moving to the bedroom.

[hyperlexichypatia]

I've seen basically two response arguments to Kennedy's slurs about autistic people being unable to pay taxes, have a job, play baseball, go on a date, write a poem, or use the toilet.

Both the responses are good and necessary, but I think they're incomplete. The two response arguments are essentially: 1. "That's not true, there are plenty of autistic people who have jobs and go on dates and play baseball," and 2. (largely in response to 1.) "Autistic people deserve acceptance and dignity even if they can't pay taxes or write poetry or use the toilet; people's value isn't determined by their abilities or productivity."

And, again, both of these responses are true and good and necessary. But what I'm not seeing people talk about enough is why Kennedy listed those specific skills, and what he's trying to imply with them. Because, see, when people are reduced to a dehumanized stereotype, "Not everyone is like that dehumanized stereotype" isn't sufficient, and neither is "Even people who are like that dehumanized stereotype deserve respect." The problem is the dehumanization. So let's look at the list of things we supposedly can't do, which Kennedy is using to conjure an image of "Inhuman Unthinking Blob."

Having a job. This is the big one. In American culture, your value, your personhood, is solely dependent on Your Job. Are you a valuable cog in the capitalist machine, or are you a cheap cog in the capitalist machine, or are you so worthless you're not even in the capitalist machine, and therefore have no reason to be alive? So it's good and necessary and important to spell out "A person doesn't have to have a job to be a person with dignity and rights." But there's a larger question out there, which is: What, exactly, constitutes "a job"? Yes, absolutely, everyone should have dignity and rights (and material needs like guaranteed housing, food, and consensual healthcare). But also, most disabled people, including ""severely"" disabled people, can and do perform productive labor benefiting their communities. It's just often labor that capitalist society doesn't classify as "a job," like caregiving, studying, or making art. It's important to say that people shouldn't need "a job" in order to deserve rights or resources. It's also important to point out that disabled people have been doing labor this whole time, just without the dignity, rights, or pay associated with "a job." In a socialist utopia where everyone had their material needs guaranteed, labor would still be done, and a lot of it would still be done by disabled people. That's important. Disabled people's contributions to society matter. And erasing that is something ableists do on purpose -- excluding the labor done by disabled people from the category of "job" is integral to excluding disabled people from the category of "productive" and thus the category "worthy of life."

Paying taxes. This is the most transparently ridiculous one, because absolutely everybody in the U.S. pays taxes. Poor people pay taxes (too much). Rich people pay taxes (nowhere near enough). Undocumented immigrants pay taxes. You buy a Snickers? It's priced $1.79 but you pay $1.92. That's a tax. You live somewhere? You're paying property taxes. You rent your home? How do you think your landlord pays their property taxes? From your rent. You're paying property taxes. You have a crappy underpaid minimum wage job? You're paying FICA. Everybody pays taxes. What Kennedy probably means to imply is "They're too poor to owe federal income taxes." Politicians love pretending that "taxes" means "federal income taxes" so they can claim to "lower taxes" while shifting the tax burden somewhere else (cf. Trump's attempt to claim that tariffs aren't taxes). And. And also. There's another subtle implication in there, that I see a lot from parents and ableists. Because of the deep intersection of ableism and classism, Kennedy is implying "They're too poor to owe federal income taxes" (therefore they're inferior) but also "They're not smart enough to do something complicated like file a tax return." When ableists talk about disabled people who "can't take care of themselves" or specifically "can't pay their bills" or "can't pay taxes," they're intentionally trying to conflate an economic state (having enough money to pay bills/taxes) with a cognitive ability (having the skills/executive function to manage money, budget, pay bills on time, or file a tax return). Kennedy probably doesn't file his own tax return either. I'm sure he has an accountant for that. Presumed-neurotypical people are allowed to do that. The world is full of rich people who lack executive function or money-management skills, whose wealth insulates them from the consequences of that, because they can either afford to just lose money, or they can afford to hire someone to handle it for them. The world is also full of poor people for whom one missed payment has ruined them. The world is also full of disabled people for whom one missed payment has gotten them declared mentally incompetent, institutionalized, or placed under guardianship -- by abled family members who probably hire an accountant to manage their own money. Again, all this is deliberate. Kennedy and other ableists/classists/eugenicsts are intentionally trying to conflate "lacks money," "lacks money management abilities/skills," and "lacks General Intelligence" as one more-or-less interchangeable phenomenon (Note: If you've read this far and haven't figured out my angle yet: There is no such thing as "General Intelligence" and the very concept is harmful).

Write a poem. Again, this is deliberately ambiguous wording -- pretty much anyone can write a poem, including people who can't write or speak. Have you ever expressed an idea in which the words you used had an additional meaning on top of their literal meaning? Boom, you can write a poem. Maybe not a good one. But Kennedy didn't say that autistic people's poetry is bad -- plenty of neurotypical people's poetry is bad too, after all. There is a somewhat positive stereotype floating around that neurodivergent people are creative. We may be tragic, burdens on society, our parents' heartbreak, worthless, stupid, subhuman, but at least we're creative. Probably due to being more animal-like, "closer to nature." And neurobigots like Kennedy absolutely hate this stereotype. No matter how much dehumanization the "positive" stereotype is rooted in, we cannot have any positive attributes at all. They must never let us forget that we have no redeeming value whatsoever. We must be rendered as completely lacking in thought, feelings, expression, and creation. I'm seeing some echos of 18th century racism, too -- a common belief among 18th century white Europeans was that even if non-Europeans were superficially clever, they could produce no "higher culture," no great art or poetry or literature, because they were intrinsically a lower tier of human. This seems to be the root of Kennedy's implication -- not that autistic people "can't" write poetry (anyone can), or that autistic people are bad at writing poetry (most beginners are), but that an autistic person's creative output cannot constitute true poetry, true "high culture," because it comes from an inferior mind.

Play baseball. This is an especially slippery one, because like writing poetry, it's a learned skill with gradations of skill level, not an intrinsic ability that someone does or doesn't have. Most autistic people aren't pro-level baseball players, but neither are most allistic people. And again, Kennedy didn't say "Autistic people are bad at baseball." He said that we would never play baseball. "Has ever played or will ever play baseball" is such a ridiculously low bar that even I can meet it. Technically speaking, I can play baseball. I have played baseball, in school gym class. I know how! You sit there minding your business until it's your turn to stand up, and then someone hands you a bat, and then someone throws a ball, and you're supposed to try to hit the ball with the bat, and in theory, after you fail three times, you're supposed to be allowed to sit back down again and go back to imagining wild self-insert fanfic, but the coach gives you "extra tries" out of pity, so you have to humiliate yourself with five or six attempts instead of three. Yeah. I can play baseball. So what's Kennedy going for with this one? Baseball in the U.S. is associated with two things: American identity, and idyllic midcentury childhood. If autistic people can't participate in America's Pastime, can we really even be Americans? Do we really count as citizens? I don't think Kennedy is personally, ideologically all that committed to xenophobia himself; he's just hitched his wagon to a deeply xenophobic administration because they indulge his medical conspiracy theories. But he knows how to align his goals to the administration's. He knows that his boss is deeply committed to narrowing and restricting who counts as "an American," who's not really part of "our culture," who's not really a part of baseball and hot dogs and the Fourth of July, if you know what I mean. Okay, okay. Maybe I'm reaching with this one. But I'm definitely not reaching with the other association he's going for: Idyllic Midcentury Childhood. All kids play baseball. By which I mean, all boys play baseball. I'm not sure Kennedy knows that girls can play it too, or that he cares. The point is, baseball is part of childhood, and autistic people are never children. We don't play, we don't learn, we don't go through developmental stages, we're just forever Mindless Blobs. That's why things that would be considered cruelty if done to neurotypical children aren't cruelty when they're done to us. We're not really children. We never become adults, either -- how can we, if we don't go through childhood first? You can tell we're subhuman because we don't go through the universal experiences of Real People Life.

Go on a date. Okay. This one. This is the one where I get actively angry at the well-meaning, "inclusive" responses. "Just because an autistic person has high support needs and can't do XYZ doesn't mean --" no. Stop right there. There is no such thing as a disabled person who "can't" date. There is no impairment or disability that prevents someone from dating. There are people -- autistic and otherwise, disabled and otherwise -- who for whatever reason, choose not to pursue dating. Maybe they're aromantic, maybe they're loners, maybe they have religious objections, maybe dating just isn't something they're interested in. Fine. That's their choice. But there is no such thing as a disabled person who "can't" date. There is no such thing as a disability that renders people incapable of romantic relationships. There is no such fucking thing as being "too disabled" or "too severe" or "too profound" or "too high support needs" to have a romantic relationship if two or more people want one. That is not a thing that exists. That is a thing ableists made up. There is no such thing as an autistic person who "can't" go on a date. There are autistic people who aren't allowed to go on dates, because their family or caregivers control them, infantilize them, restrict their freedoms, or treat them as mindless blobs. But all disabled people (yes, all) can pursue romantic relationships. All disabled people (yes, all) deserve the human right to pursue romantic relationships if they choose to. With other disabled people. With abled people. With whomever. And yeah, dating doesn't necessarily have to be romantic or sexual, but let me be perfectly clear -- disabled people, autistic people, "high support needs" autistic people have a right to have sex, too. A multiply disabled autistic person who needs 24/7 assistance deserves the absolute, unreserved right to have wild, kinky, balls-to-the-wall, whole-chicken sex with the entire starting lineup of the Detroit Lions, if xe so chooses to, and if said Lions are on board. We should not accept the premise that there is any such thing as a disabled person who "can't" go on a date.

Use a toilet without assistance. This is the Kennedy playbook trump card, but unlike some of the other claims, this one is actually true. There's no such thing as a disabled person who "can't" date, but yes, there are in fact plenty of disabled people, including autistic people, who need help with using the toilet. So what's Kennedy going for here? He's trying to evoke two things: Disgust and infantilization. We have a visceral disgust around excretory functions. Needing to eliminate waste reminds us that we're animals made of meat, not the higher intellectual beings we pretend to be. Everyone poops. So we do it in private, we describe it with euphemisms, and if someone needs help with it, well, they're not keeping up their end of the social compact to collectively pretend we're not animals with animal bodily functions. So people who need assistance with the waste process are disgusting, subhuman, a violation of imagined purity. And of course, they're babies. Babies wear diapers. Babies need help using the toilet. So an older child or adult who needs diapers or toileting help is basically a big baby. We have entire election cycles centered on "Which candidate has incontinence issues?" as a proxy for "Which candidate is a big baby unfit to lead?" as though someone's bladder leakage has any bearing on their wisdom or policy positions. And of course, since people who need help with toileting Are Babies, we're meant to assume that they can't do any of those other things, either. They can't even use the toilet, let alone write poetry or go on a date. In reality, plenty of people who need toileting help are writing poetry and going on dates. One of the biggest misconceptions that holds disabled people back from education or, in some cases, from basic communication, is this myth of linear "developmental stages" -- that if someone isn't "smart enough" to master an "easier/earlier" skill, then they can't possibly be "smart enough" to master a completely unrelated skill that some abled person thinks of as "more advanced." This is literally the primary barrier to communication access for speech-disabled people, and the reason nonspeaking people who type to communicate are so often disbelieved -- if someone isn't "smart enough" to master a "baby skill" like talking, they can't possibly be "smart enough" to read and write! Nevermind that for many speech disabled people, reading and writing are much easier than speaking. And if someone isn't "smart enough" to use the toilet unassisted, they can't possibly learn any advanced topics at all, because they must the "mind of a baby." (The only people with the minds of babies are babies. A 50 year old with incontinence has the mind of a 50 year old.)

So. To sum up: Kennedy is intentionally evoking the concept of autistic people as The Abject Unthinking, and neither "Plenty of autistic people can do those things he says we can't do" nor "Disabled people deserve respect and dignity even if they can't do those things" fully addresses the dehumanization he's trying to conjure. Maybe I'm just jaded, too, about calls for "respect and dignity" for disabled people that don't challenge the concept of The Abject Unthinking. I see behavioral therapists, institution staff, and parents pursuing adult guardianship talking about "respect and dignity." I see articles about how to restrain and forcibly drug people with "respect and dignity." Ableists literally murder disabled people in cold blood in the name of "respect and dignity." I don't know what "respect and dignity" means to these people, but it's sure not synonymous with "bodily autonomy" or "civil rights." By this point, I consider "respect and dignity" about as meaningful as "thoughts and prayers." All disabled people can, and deserve the right to, express themselves. All disabled people can, and deserve the right to, make their own decisions about their own bodies. All disabled people can, and deserve the right to, participate in their communities. All disabled people can, and deserve the right to, pursue relationships with other people of their choice.

[tsuyalovebot]

watch you entertain.

pairing: xia yi zhou / caleb x reader (love and deepspace)

synopsis: caleb comes to a few conclusions when you give him a blowjob for the first time.

cw: NSFW and explicit sexual content, mdni. established relationship. mentions of intercourse. oral sex (blowjob). mentions of reader receiving oral sex. hair pulling. imaginative violence (not to reader). petnames (pretty, pipsqueak). mention of oral sex (receiving). he slaps his dick on your face (not sorry). mention of spanking and watching porn. caleb-typical warnings.

wc: 1.7k (drabble....ish????)

author's note: i can't defend myself since 90% of this is word vomit. i'm working on another caleb piece right now, but i needed to get this out of my system. think of it as a precursor piece, like an hors d'oeuvres. also, please disregard any typos. (— - —)|||

The first time Caleb felt your lips on his was magical. The second, third, fourth, and succeeding times were all but surreal.

He had all but convinced himself that your mouth, pressed to his in a flurry of tender touches or desirous cravings, was something he conjured up in the blurry moments of his delusions. You always manage to kiss them away, though.

Later on, you admitted that he was your first kiss.

"When I visited you after you moved out," you said. Hands wrung, your gaze averted downward as you were perched on his lap one evening.

He knows what you're talking about. Remembers its vividness with a startling clarity that would have embarrassed him otherwise, if you didn't share the same sentiments.

By now, you've already kissed and made out in the intimacy of his place beyond finite counting. Had sex with him on whatever surface the two of you could get your hands on. You've long since spoiled him with your presence, both physical and mental. There's a key tucked away in his headspace with your name engraved into the metal. Magnetic and the signification of a special place for you in his heart.

He spoiled you, and now, you spoil him. Neither of you complain about this mutually beneficial arrangement. Why would you?

Though, he can't say he's exactly pleased at the current moment.

"That's it, mmm. You're being so sweet today."

He's watching you, as he always is. You're on your knees before him—you insisted, said it added to the atmosphere despite his crows of indignance at the possibility of them bruising—and your mouth impossibly full of his cock.

You're bare before him, towel discarded on the coffee table with your body damp and he's barely presentable in his uniform. Disheveled and pants undone, he wasn't sure if he was exactly living up to the honorable nature of the clothes he donned. He tried to undress, but you'd been pawing at him the second he walked through the doorstep in nothing but one of the towels he bought you, so his resistance was doomed from the start.

His arms spread on the top of the couch, he tilts his head back and sighs slowly. Hot breath escapes him in time with his Adam's apple bobbing, swallowing a heavy moan that threatens to break free. It takes him a few moments before he peers at your kneeling form once more.

One of his hands cups your cheek, the cool leather swiping over your cheekbone and pushing some of your hair back. Rapt attention on you, whispering soft words of, "that's how you do it" and "a biiit wider, pipsqueak— yeah, like that" with so much appreciation in his tone. Because that's what he feels toward you right now; so much appreciation in his heart belongs to you.

Your tongue was doing sinful licks along the underside of his cock's curve, the girth hefty in your two hands, and your eyes stayed closed in a quiet pleasure. It's expertly done, and the creation of human response as you wrap those pretty pink lips around the tip of him and suckle on it, strings of your saliva leaving sticky wefts along the shaft.

Alternating between peppering his length in kisses and taking a couple inches into your mouth, he's fighting for his fucking life trying to not bust a nut. He's sort of ashamed to have dreamt of this moment for years. You would never let him live it down.

As if the deities couldn't get enough of his suffering, his mind had made the fatal mistake of noting the visible difference of the size of him and your hands and your mouth. It gets him going, that stark contrast and how gently you were treating him.

It's a sight reserved for his eyes alone. Something he wants to pocket and immortalize because it's his and only his. That's the only reason for the powerful plethora of emotions boiling over in his gut. Truly, the only reason.

That's what he tells himself as he observes you with a progressively darkening, clinical, dead-eyed stare that you weren't aware of. A little voice in him nagging at his conscience, spitting words of venom that feeds into the slowly, slowly expanding green-eyed monster rising onto its feet.

"I got a question for you, pretty," he says calmly, deceptively so. Making sure to sound as casual as possible, his gloved hand coming to stroke over your damp, silky hair. You really just couldn't wait to please him, immediately pawing at him when he arrived home and you were fresh out the bath.

You murmur something in reply, lips suctioned to his shaft. Those gorgeous eyes, ones that beheld him with such reverence and adoration in round shape flicker up to his. The vibrations and sight hit him like a freight train and he groans, low and deep. He lets the pleasure settle into his bones.

"You have to answer honestly, 'kay?" He croons down at you, assuring. His facial expression had finally relaxed from its initial, contemplative one. You're happy with this, he notes as you eagerly bob your head, careful to remain quiet.

Good. It'll make hearing your voice all the more worth it. When you said he was your first kiss, he was beyond ecstatic.

Hopefully, you can echo the same thing now.

With an easygoing air betraying that of his positively threatening smile, he asks, "Where'd you learn how to do this?"

There's a sick sense of pleasure in watching you process his words a second too lats. Because you're such an open book with him, aren't you? The way your eyes widen and your lips halt, as if your heart stopped even beating. Even if makes his own blackened heart speed up, its thudding resembling a rabbit's stomping.

Your blinks were a linguistic of their own, and he was the expert in unraveling the lexicology of your existence.

You don't answer fast enough. Or, you don't answer at all. Because now, you're staring him like a child chastised for having their hand in a candy jar—where they weren't supposed to be.

Unfortunately for you, that was more than telling for him.

Caleb doesn't speak. The air is several degrees colder now, like the air circulation was suddenlt cut off, and he drinks in the way anticipation tenses your muscles and your uneven breaths smooth over his skin when you pop your lips off his cock. Those sinful lips that he stole away as his were now glistening in a mix of your spittle and his pre-cum.

He could almost forgive you right now. But, you make the crucial mistake of looking away from him.

"Oh?" It's inquisitive—his tone, yet it has the power of a knife being drawn.

The hand on your head loses its comforting, encouraging air and instead becomes a weight.

A threat.

The visual that's formulating in his head isn't a pleasant one. An image of stained glass shards, blurry yet clear in the vision of you on your knees for another guy. The scattered light capturing your mouth wrapped around the faceless stranger, servicing him the same way you're handling Caleb, seeking that same, sickly sweet tang of validation.

Could it have been that Xavier guy he sees on your phone notifications from time to time? Or is it someone closer to you, from your Association? There's a chance someone else from your childhood reached out to you, maybe after his disappearance. Did they hold you in ways he's been craving to hold you for years?

That's not fair, now, is it? He's worn your hairtie around his wrist for years, disregarded countless scribbled love letters from bystanders, based his little trinkets around those apples you love so much, and spoiled you countless times in his misplaced desire for playing the role of your protector. It simply isn't fair that you sought gratification from a source that wasn't him—because for him, it was always you.

Is it too selfish of him to want your everything?

You don't say anything even as your mouth opens and closes. You're either searching for an excuse, weighing the costs of lying to him at the moment, or you're genuinely floundering for words at the sudden blankness in your head.

He hums again, and it's lower than before. Full of thought and contemplation as his amethyst eyes bore holes into your speechless state. It's full of disappointment and he sees the worry creep into your eyes like a leaking faucet.

Threading his gloved fingers into the tresses of your hair, its smooth leather massaging your scalp, his face softens.

"I guess I did say you should be honest, not fast," he murmurs, laughing to himself quietly.

His lips tilt into a boyish sort of grin, and it's so full of mirth and entertainment that it's easy to process as him diffusing the situation. It works like so, and you're soon tilting your head into his palm and seeking his touch.

In the distance, the kettle in the kitchen screeches like an alarm of what's to come.

Disconcertingly relaxed, his smile seems absolutely sarcastic. A bit sharp at the edges.

"I should make it easier to understand. Let me rephrase it, then."

He pulls your hair. It's one harsh motion and it jerks your head up. A gasp torn from your lips as they fall open, the slight sting shooting through your body with an charged breeze.

"Who did you learn this from?"

He's so used to tasting you before fucking; your sex and his tongue are practically best friends in his eyes. It never once occurred to him to have you suck him off.

He should've been suspicious the second you offered to begin with.

The blood drains from your face some more and he relishes the blank yet alert state your eyes reflect. He's sure your mind is in disarray right now. The feeling is mutual, though you're aware of that too, most likely.

"I have a right to know. I always said that you could come to me if you needed help with anything, right?" It's a rhetorical question. You both know that. You're doomed either way.

You make another breathless noise, and he wants to explore your vocality. Now, how would you sound gagging on him?

"Caleb—"

He shushes you softly and you quiet down in an instant.

"I don't need an answer that isn't related to my question, don't you agree?"

Another rhetorical question as he cocks his head, the gesture mocking.

"You're always tellin' me to be honest and share my thoughts with you. I'm bein' honest now. Everything should be mutual, so, answer my question. I might even go easy on you."

You're totally panicking now, aren't you?

His other hand wraps around the base of his cock and he slaps the shaft onto your cheek, then smearing his leaking tip over your glistening lips, a thoughtful smile playing on his own as if he were offering you candy.

"And depending on how you answer, I'm either taking you over my knee while you spell their name out, or you'll be showing me exactly what pornos you've been watching without my knowledge. So, what's it gonna be?"

[cuteandhughesy]

Couldn’t Make It Any Harder╰┈➤ LD29

summary: you and leon draisaitl hate each other. point blank period. your best friend, lauren and her fiancé—as well as leon's teammate—connor are sick of it. they conjure up a plan that ends with you and leon sharing a rather passionate kiss. after that, you can't tell how much you and leon actually hate one another, but with lauren and connor��s wedding coming up, you both have no choice but to try and get along.

[word count] 18.9k

warnings: NSFW! enemies to lovers | bickering | angst with a happy ending | kissing | drinking | overall petty behaviour | reader deals with unwanted advances in a bar | leon punched a guy and there’s blood | smut | oral (f receiving) unprotected p in v intercourse | mature themes and dialogue | read at your own discretion

a/n: i’ve been saving this idea for the right player and as soon as my brain put leon with this plot….it was a done fucking deal. i’m so obsessed with this idea, and I hope you guys enjoy it as much as me ❤️‍🔥

🎵 couldn’t make it any harder by sabrina carpenter, you're so vain by carly simon, don't leave by snakeships, haunted by beyoncé, false god by taylor swift, + no i'm not in love by tate mcrae

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the crunch of the nut between your teeth echos through your skull, the slightly sweet taste accompanied by the perfect salty aftertaste wrapping around your tongue and attacking your tastebuds. you chew the beer nut slowly, like you're savouring each one you toss in your mouth like it's a game.

after all, it is a game. maybe not the actual eating part, but the part where you keep your eyes trained across the dimly lit bar, gaze never filtering from his as he too tosses individual beer nuts in his mouth.

you're waiting patiently for him to crack—pull a disgusted face, which inevitably he will do. because leon draisital hates beer nuts almost as much as he hates you. you know leon's distaste for the bar snack only because you heard him say the very first time you met 4 years ago, ironically in a bar.

your friend, lauren insisted that you had to meet her boyfriend's teammate—the infamous leon draisaitl. you let her drag you out to a local edmonton bar, one that was too dark and smelt like leather. you let her hype leon up like he was a trophy—like he was going to be your new best friend. but leon was not a trophy. he was pissed off, and when you smiled at him, he scowled in response. and when you tried to give him a handful of beer nuts as a piece offering, leon said; 'I fucking hate those things.'

you tried to chalk it up to a bad night, or maybe even a shitty week. but as months passed, leon never changed. he hated you. if he wasn't completely avoiding eye contact with you, he'd roll his eyes. if you were in the same room, he'd make sure he was across it and far away from you. if leon was anywhere near you, he'd make sure you knew he didn't want to be there. so in return, you decided you hate him more. and oh god, as the years have gone by has that hatred brewed and constricted into an endless loathing and bickering cycle.

slowly, you grab another beer but between your red painted finger nails—red because it's leon's least favourite colour—and bring it up to your lips. you let it rest there for a moment, testing him. is he going to do the same thing? is leon going to play the copy game? just as slow as you, leon reaches into his own jar of beer nuts on the other side of the bar, his much larger fingers bring a single nut up to his lips.

your lips part, and you toss the nut into your mouth. leon does the exact same. you chew as slow as you can once more, savouring the combined flavours because that means leon has to do the same, and you know it must be torture.

and that makes you smile.

just when you think you're going to have to repeat the whole process, there's the smallest pull of disgust across leon's face, and he takes a large gulp of his beer to wash down the nut.

your grin smugly, and without breaking eye contact, you raise the entire jar of beer nuts to your mouth and down the entire thing. you chew happily, and then look away with a satisfying feeling low in your belly.

you spin off the bar stool, fully intending to slink through the crowd until you find one of your friends and then force them to dance with you to take your mind of the german red flag across the bar. but as soon as you spin, you're meeting the eyes of lauren soon to be mcdavid—also known as your best friend.

you jump, a hushed curse passing through your lips as you clutch your thumping heart.

"what are you eating?" lauren asks like she didn't just send your stomach down to your ass. her blue eyes dart over your shoulder to briefly look at the empty jar before she curiously looks back at you.

you're still chewing the mouthful of beer nuts you just shoved in your mouth like a deranged chipmunk. "beer nuts." you say, although it sounds more like deer guts through your full mouth.

but lauren hears you perfectly fine. "beer nuts?" she asks, "seriously? are you and leon playing that stupid game again?" the words beer and nut combined together never fails to send a shiver through your best friends spine—mostly because she knows their tied to leon and your hatred for one another. and then when she remembers that her best friend and her fiances best friend hate each other, she gets another shiver and the whole thing repeats itself.

you swallow the remainder of food roughly, "it's not a game to me," you huff ludicrously, "he's the childish one that feels the need to copy every single move I make—"

"alright," lauren sighs, cutting off the ramble that was surely about to happen, "I get it. i've heard it enough times now, I think I could recite it for you—I'll save you the breath." her tone isn't serious, but you know your and leon's hatred upsets her.

you sigh softly, falling back against the backrest of the bar stool. lauren slips into the empty seat beside you, flagging down one of the bartenders and ordering herself another sex on the beach. once she's done, she turns to look at you. "are you guys going to be able to get along for the wedding?"

the wedding in question is her own—a wedding in which both you and leon where apart of. as much as you love your best friend, and you're looking forward to the royal wedding of the hockey community, you've also been dreading this summer for the exact same reason. and that reason being having to be apart of the same wedding party as leon fucking draisaitl.

your eyes dart back across the bar, and you find that leon is already looking in your direction. he's not alone now, connor and one of connor's childhood friends are sitting with him—chatting and laughing like they have no care in the world. once your eyes meet, leon looks away.

you roll your eyes before looking back at lauren. "if there's no beer nuts there, everything should be hunky dory."

the dig at leon doesn't go unnoticed by her, and lauren sighs again. "y/n, i'm being serious." her and connor's wedding is just under two weeks away, and she honestly didn't think she'd still be dealing with the bickering between you and leon—but here she is, stepping on eggshells around you both.

you frown and run a hand through your bouncy hair. guilt laces through you, "you're right, i'm sorry. I know it's important to you, and i'm trying my best but god, he just...frustrates me so much." you laugh like it's a joke, scratching at your arms as if you're trying to crawl out your body. "I feel like my body is on fire when he's around."

lauren nods emphatically, leaning against the side of your body like she's giving you a hug without arms. "I know it's hard but please, just try. for me."

lauren was one of those girls who has been planning her wedding since she came out the womb. when she was 10 she already had one of those scrapbooks that detailed everything she wanted included on her big day. she's been planning the entire wedding without a planner simply because she wants to. that combined with her clothing brand, you know lauren has enough stress on her plate without having to worry about you war with the german superstar.

that's also a reason you told her not to worry about your birthday that falls in a few days because you knew she had enough to worry about, and planning your party like she does every year needs to be the least of her worries. but you caught her ordering custom balloons two days ago, and you knew you shouldn't attempt to stop her. once lauren has her mind set on something, it's hard to change it.

reluctantly you nod, and a slow smile begins pulling at your lips. your wrap your arms around your small blonde friend, resting your cheek on the top of her head. "of course. i'll be good."

even though leon is the problem, your brain reminds you rudely. you ignore it though, because that's the last thing you should say to her right now.

you feel lauren relax in your arms, but not completely which makes you a bit anxious and feel even more guilty. "thank you." she pulls away, grabbing at your hands and pulling you both off the bar.

the tender slides her drink on the bar top, which connor had already paid for (praise that nhl money), and lauren downs the entire thing instantly. "let's go dance—this is my jam!"

"usher is your jam?" you laugh curiously, letting her bring you out into the heart of the dance floor.

she nods like it's obvious. "oh yeah," lauren's sarcasm is clear, "scream is actually going to be my first dance song."

you cackle your usual loud laugh, falling into lauren's arms as you both dance along to the upbeat bass. "you're such loser!"

"I know!" she smiles, spinning around so fast that her hair smacks your face. "but you love me!"

hours later, after connor has ordered you an uber and sent you home, him and lauren slide into their own. he can tell something is weighing on his fiancés mind by the silence lingering between them, gnawing on the skin of her thumb which she only does when she's anxious.

"hey," connor starts softly, "what's wrong, babe?"

his question is the final nail in the coffin, and immediately lauren is whining, falling against his shoulder dramatically. "what are we going to do?"

"what?" he questions, wildly confused. connor slips his fingers through lauren's straight hair, twisting the strands around his index finger to create little ringlets.

she huffs. "about leon and y/n."

connor's hand stills in her hair. "what about them?"

"connor, seriously?" lauren stresses, sitting back up straight as she turns to look at her fiancé like he just suggested they should call off the wedding. "they hate each other."

"they don't actually." connor laughs, pulling her back into his side. lauren goes easily, but her shoulders are still tense.

"they do." she whines again, "and i'm scared it's going to ruin our wedding. I know y/n, she'd never do anything to hurt me on purpose, but leon brings out this side of her and she just looses control." lauren's bottom lip wobbles as she finishes, and connor spots it immediately.

"hey, it's okay." he whispers, kissing her head. "why don't we like...stuff them in a room and make them sort out there differences. leave them for an hour or two and let them figure it out." connor laughs like it's funny, because for the most part his suggestion was a joke.

but lauren freezes, blinking at connor as she registers the idea. slowly, her lips turn up in a smirk. "actually, that's a great idea."

—

"hey!" lauren's cheery voice automatically makes you suspicious. this close to the wedding and a more than chipper tone is the recipe for disaster. she continues, her voice grainy through your phones speaker. "can you do me a huuuuggggee favour?"

there it is. you laugh gently, sitting up from your previously slouched position on your rather uncomfortable love seat, pushing the fraying knit blanket off your legs. "what's up?"

you can hear her smile through the phone.  "okay so i'm totally running late at my hair appointment, and I have the wedding chef coming over in 20 for some menu items for the rehearsal dinner, but i'm not going to be there."

your brow quirks curiously. "okay? what do you need from me?"

"I need you to just be there and make sure he gets settled," lauren says, "I'd ask connor but he's on the other side of town. i'll be there as fast as I can. If you could do this for me you'd be the best bridesmaid ever."

"alright," you chime easily, getting of the leather cushions underneath you. "i'll head over now."

"perfect," she says, sounding suspiciously smug. "you know the code! I can't thank you enough, this will be great."

your brows pull tightly and create a dimple in the middle of your forehead. before you can ask her why she's acting so weird, lauren rushes a goodbye and the line goes dead. you blink in surprise, chalking up her behaviour to pre-wedding jitters.

you toe one some flimsy sandals before grabbing your keys and sunglasses, making your way down to the lobby of your apartment building.

the air is warm, and smells like summer. you drive with the windows down for the entire ride to lauren and connor's condo, the air whipping through your hair and warming your skin.

once you arrive at her place, lenny greats you excitedly, tiny yips leaving his wiggling body as he licks your exposed skin—no doubt getting a salty taste of your fake tan. "hey buddy," you greet just as happily, baby voice in full affect, "I missed you my boy."

your phone pings with a text from lauren, 'I've got some menu samples in my beside table. can you grab them once you're there."

you respond quickly and then put your belongings on the crispy clean kitchen island—lenny at your feet as you move. he almost trips you twice, but he's so oblivious and happy with his tongue half way out his mouth, that you don't even care.

you quickly make your way down to her bedroom, pushing open the door and padding inside the carpeted room. you stifle through her beside table, but the only thing you find is a tangled pair of headphones, random hair ties and way too many sleeping masks.

you frown, but figured lauren just misspoke. you round the end of the bed and to connor's nightstand. like you expected, connor's nightstand is freakishly organized. everything has its own compartment—even the condoms for fucks sake.

behind you, lenny's ears perk up and just as quickly he springs out the room, leaving you alone and more than anything, confused. where are the damn menu samples? you scan the room quickly, hands on your hips as you try and think of where your best friend would stick them. the sound of socked feet approaching have you spinning to face the door. lenny bounds back in first, and then leon appears.

"what are you doing here?" he asks, face nothing but taken back.

you cross your arms, "what are you doing here?"

"I asked you first."

"you're so annoying, oh my god," you groan dramatically, and it makes lenny bark before he's running back out the room. soon enough, you think, you'll be following him. you continue, "i'm helping lauren. she needs me to get some menu samples and then wait for the chef."

leon chuckles like he's in on some joke you've been left out of, his hands tucked causally into the front pockets of his jeans. you grimace at the sight because it's way to hot out to have your legs fully covered. "well I'm here to do the exact same thing. except connor asked me."

you scoff. "lauren said he's on the other side of town and can't be here. that's why she sent me."

"funny," leon scoffs a laugh, "because connor said the same thing about lauren—hence why i'm here."

you drops your arms to your sides ludicrously, looking at leon with the upmost displeasure on your face. "okay, well clearly someone fucked up—you, most likely," you pause and leon rolls

his eyes. "but let's just find these menus so that we can both leave. I don't want to be in a confined space with you for any longer than necessary."

"awh, you're so sweet." leon says, voice dropping with venom and sarcasm. he walks further into the room, movements casual as he brushes straight past you, his bare bicep bumping your shoulder. "you can't find the menu's?"

"no," you stress, following him as he makes his way to connor's beside table. "and I already checked in there."

leon checks anyways and that has you rolling your eyes. "okay, well you're awful at looking for things, so double checking is necessary."

"double checking is necessary," you mock, voice all high pitched an annoying.

he sends you a look over his broad shoulder, "are you done?"

you don't answer, turning on your heels and walking over to the built in book cases that line the entire wall. the shelves they're packed, mostly with aesthetic looking pieces that are so shiny and white they make your head hurt. you begin poking through the collection of books, searching for the menu samples—huffing quietly to yourself anytime you remember that leon is also in the room.

he makes his way over to the book shelves as well, opting to look through the case on the opposite side of the open door. he is still too close for your liking, but you're not going to start that argument. you can't see him past the door, and you can only hear him mutter curse words to himself as his search is unsuccessful.

"why don't you just text lauren and ask her?"

you scoff, "why don't you just text connor?"

"my phones in the car."

"and mines in the kitchen."

"are you seriously that lazy that you can’t go down the hall and get your phone?" he asks incredulously, looking at you over the edge of the door, book shelf long forgotten.

you laugh. "of course not! I just don't feel the need when we can just look ourselves."

leon goes to take a step towards you, because he knows that you’re not looking properly through the books on that side, and he bumps the door, sending it to shut with a dull thud.

your breath hitches as the code system stares back at you. "you better know the code for that."

"why would I know the code?" his eyes find yours, looking at you like you've just suggested world war 3.

you try to open the door, but much to you dismay it's locked. you're locked in a room with leon draisaitl. "no," you whine, jiggling the handle more aggressively in hopes it decides to magically unlock. obviously, it doesn't.

"jesus," he huffs, "relax."

"oh, i'm sorry!" you look at him wildly, "i'm just a little bit upset about being trapped in a room with the spawn of satan—my apologies for trying to get out."

"spawn of satan?" he repeats, words laced with what you're pretty sure is amusement. it makes your blood boil. "don't call yourself that, y/n."

"you must have a death wish."

"oh, I must."

you squint pointedly, lips twitching in a frown. "whatever." you mumble dismissively, turning heel and making your way back to the perfectly made bed in the middle of the room.

leon watches as you sit down on the corner of the mattress, bringing your feet up and resting your arches on the frame of the bed. you're not wearing socks, and your toenails are painted navy blue. he notes that you must've worn some sort of flip flop.

you catch his eyes and scowl. "what?"

"should you really be sitting on their bed? rubbing your feet all over a frame that probably costs more than your monthly salary."

"would you prefer I do jumping jacks?" you question even though you're not wanting an answer. "hate to break it to you draisaitl, but this isn't the first time i've been in this room. or on this bed."

leon snickers, walking towards you. "right, yes I forgot that lauren is cursed with spending time with you."

you roll your eyes and don't say anything.

he continues. "they'll be here soon."

"not soon enough."

this time it's leon who doesn't respond to your condescending comment, but instead slumping down in the sherpa oversized chair in the corner of the room. he picks up one of the table books, some kind of chanel picture one, and begins flipping through the pages.

everytime he flips the page, much louder than necessary, you sigh in exasperation—which only eggs him on.

5 minutes later you hear two sets of feet padding down the hall, and your eyes widen, shooting off the bed so fast that you almost trip over your own feet.

"y/n?" the muffled voice of lauren calls curiously on the other side of the bedroom door. "leon?"

"we're in here." you say, jiggling the handle again for good measure.

"how'd this happen?" connor is the one asking, his voice laced with what can only be described as amusement.

leon joins you at the door. "the door shut obviously."

"no," you correct quickly, "leon's clumsy, big body knocked into it. trapping us." you stress wildly, eyeing the man in question with displeasure.

his brows raise in faux excitement. "you think i'm big?"

your eyes roll again—you won’t be surprised if they get stuck on the next round. you turn your attention back to the closed door, "guys, what's the code so we can get out."

neither lauren or connor answer. your brows pull, arms crossing roughly across your flowing summer top. you can hear their hushed whispers through the door, which only raises your and leon's suspicion.

finally, lauren says, "actually, I think you guys should stay in there."

leon blinks hard. "what?"

"yeah, sorry repeat that, I don't think I heard you right. because it sounded like you want us to be stuck in here together." you add, body feeling hot and itchy as the situation comes to light. or maybe it's just because leon's standing close enough that is cologne is all you can smell—practically choking you at this point.

connor's sighs, "you guys need to work it out."

your eyes flutter in disbelief, and you take a step closer to the door like it's going to change something. "okay, how about we do that somewhere else?"

leon hums in agreement which makes you scowl.

"no." lauren huffs, her voice determined. and you know, like usual, once she has her mind set, she's not going to change it. "in our room. with no escape."

after their conversation in the uber a few days ago, lauren and connor decided that yes, they were actually going to get you and leon together and force you to reconcile. it was actually connor who said they should separately tell you that they needed help with the chef and the menu samples, and then while you were distracted trying to find them—which were actually in the kitchen, not the bedroom—they would shut you in the apartment.

so when they showed up, ready to shut the front door that's unlock didn't work if it was locked from the outside, they were surprised to find neither of you in sight. thanks to their coded bedroom, you'd been already trapped.

to which they say, tomato tamoto.

"this is ridiculous." leon huffs in annoyance, reaching out to tug on the brass door handle. the action annoys you, even though you were close to doing the same.

lauren laughs like it's a joke. "no what's ridiculous is ruining a wedding because you two can't stop lunging for each others necks." her voice is firm, definitive as she continues, "so you have an hour and by then you better be friends. or friendly. whatever."

"you can't serious." leon's laughing is laced with disbelief, not even sparing you a glance as he stares down the wood paneling of the bedroom door.

"deadly." she says, "see you guys in an hour. we're gunna run some errands." her voice slowly begins to fade, walking away and leaving you.

"I thought that’s what you were just doing," you call out.

"we lied."

soon enough you and leon are enveloped in the silence, and once lenny's little nails click down the hall, you are left completely alone.

you exhale a scoff, turning away and practically stomp back to the bed. leon watches you move with an unreadable expression, but you’re too busy throwing yourself down onto the bed to notice.

the blankets puffs around you. its own of those feathered ones that poke you once it starts getting wear and tear, and that makes you more annoyed that it should. but you chalk that up to already being baffled by being trapped in your best friends bedroom.

leon's voice breaks through the quiet room, "well now what?"

you sigh, sliding up onto your elbows to send him an unimpressed look. "don't you know, leon? this is the part where we get out the tea set and play!" the faux smile on your face quickly drops as you finish, and that makes leon rolls his eyes with agitation.

"you're ridiculous."

you don't say anything and send him one more exaggerated grin. you flop back against the mattress. it's actually a heavenly bed besides the blanket, which thankfully hasn't poked you yet.

the first 30 minutes is nothing but silent. the only sounds coming from the air conditioning unit humming lowly through the vents and the blanket shuffling under your body as you squirm. you can't help it, the silence is eating you alive.

"can you stop moving so much?"

you make a show of moving even more as you sit up on the bed, shuffling down to the edge and letting your legs dangle over the end. "i'm a bit restless, you know being trapped in a room with nothing but you and your loud breathing."

leon's brows furrow. "I don't breathe loud."

"you do," you confirm, "it's fucking annoying."

"ah," he chimes, "like your sporadic limbs."

"that's a big word, leon. have you been studying the dictionary like the bore you are?"

he breathes a scoff, "you wish I was a bore, y/n. that way you wouldn't be so obsessed with me."

"obsessed with you," you repeat, laughing, "you are so full of yourself!"

leon stands up, and your face falls, watching him through hooded lids as his jaw ticks, eyes pointed in your direction. just when you think he's going to walk closer to you, he turns, looking through the bookshelves like he hasn't done that already.

you swallow roughly, staring the his back as he moves—slowly—reading the spines of designer books and hockey novels. his tight t-shirt is doing him all the favours, wrapping around his body in a perfect fit to display the muscles he's worked hard on. sometimes, you forget leon is an athlete rather than just your friends friend, and you’re always crudely reminded by his bulging biceps or his abs in the summertime as he lounges by the pool—seeing him like that is a rude awakening.

thinking about leon's abs, dripping with water while he lounges poolside has you feeling a bit funny, and you blink. hard. pulling yourself out of your own head. oddly enough, your mind trickles to lauren and the many times she's referred to abs as washboards.

you sigh gently. getting into a verbal ring with her finances best friend is the last thing she needs to be dealing with right now. a rush of guilt washes over you, and as not only her bridesmaid but her closest friend, you know you need to abide her wishes and figure your shit out.

"leon." you say his name firmly.

he looks at you over his shoulder, one of his eyebrows raised in question as he waits for you to continue.

"we have to stop fighting. for lauren."

leon turns his body completely, facing you. "you think I don't know that, y/n?"

you huff. "I never said that you didn't, leon. but this is my best friend's wedding."

"and mine."

"god, do you always have something snarky to say back?" you ask, exasperated. "this is exactly what we can't be doing. at least i'm trying, leon. ugh! you drive me insane.

his eyes widen slightly, taking a subconscious step closer to you. "and you think you're just some angel?"

you shake your head, shooting off the bed until you're standing—a subconscious attempt at trying to give yourself some leverage. "I think that you're stubborn and can't accept my ideas."

"and what 'Ideas' might those be?" he asks, mockingly.

"we need to pretend to get along," you pitch, voice still laced with venom and irritation. "if we can't get over this thing between us, then we have to fake it. you have to pretend like you can at least tolerate me—that you can stand to be in the same room as me without ripping me a new one."

his expression is unreadable, jaw tight and eyes unmoving as he looks down at you. then, slowly, his gaze changes. "you want me to act like you don't drive me insane?"

your face falls slightly at his tone—a tone that has a weird feeling bubbling low in your belly. you nod.

leon purses his lips, looking away from your face to take a deep, long inhale like he's trying to clam himself. it's making you feel woozy. he looks back at you, something like frustration clouding his expression. "you want me to just pretend that you don't make me want to argue every little thing you say? like everything little thing you do frustrates me in ways I cant explain?"

your lips part, searching for words that aren't there. the way leon is looking at you, with so much tension and frustration has you faltering. you've never been speechless in his presence, and leon knows that—he sees that—and takes the opportunity to continue.

"have I finally got you to shut your mouth? or do you want me to keep going?"

your breathe hitches, a wave of heat flushing over your summer tanned skin. the way his gaze is unwavering and so intense has your blood pumping so hard that the only thing you can hear is the heavy breathing between you.

"please," slips out of your mouth before you can stop it, the plea whiny and surprising to you—desperate.

leon exhales shakily, but the sound is just as desperate as the breath that gets caught in your throat. he lunges towards you, one hand sliding through your hair and tugging while the other finds the dip of your waist, dragging you against him as he kisses you.

his lips caress yours hungrily, sucking and licking along the plump flesh almost instantly. it's hurried and messy and intoxicating. both your your panting is combined, mixing with breathy groans and clashing of tongues and teeth. it's dirty and it's sure as hell needy.

and maybe it’s because you haven’t been with a man in years, or maybe it’s simply because you’re annoyed with the situation. but you want leon.

he grunts into your mouth, fisting your hair hard enough to illicit a whine from you. your hands, which were previously stationed over his torso, running over his shirt like a mad woman, slide into leon's hair, feeling his soft locks between your fingers—painted red nails scratching against his scalp.

his hands cascade down your body, wrapping around the backs of your thighs. before you can register what's happening, leon hauls you off the ground and drops you down against the feather filled duvet.

everything is hurried between you and leon, including the continuing kiss. his hands are running all over your body—up your thighs as he hovers over you, sliding under your summer top and feeling your soft, supple skin. and you're not any better, squeezing his arms and holding his face.

there's a burning tension between you, like there always is, expect now your irritation and frustration is channeled into a kiss—a hot, messy exchange that is leaving you so turned on.

leon's lips trail over your jaw, nipping and suckling along your skin like he can't get enough of your taste. you're withering against him, gasping as his lips travel down your neck, finding your pulse point and sucks.

the beeping sound echos through the room, barley audible over your panting and low moans, but you both hear it. the door is about to open. you pull away from one another at lightning speed, leon getting off the bed completely as he swallows thickly.

you run your hand through your messy hair just as the bedroom door opens, revealing a curious looking connor and a hesitant looking lauren. they're both eyeing you, but it's connor who speaks first. "so? can we count on you guys behaving?"

you blink before looking over at leon. but he's not looking at you, only at connor as he nods once—firmly. then leon walks out of the room, brushing past his teammate and fiancé without so much as a second glance at you.

you gulp, a million emotions clawing at your flushed chest.

lauren still looks unconvinced, raising one of her perfectly plucked brows in your direction—eyeing your slight pant and hazy eyes. "everything go okay."

"yeah," you nod, the smallest scoff leaving you. "and if it didn't, we can just pretend." the word feels like venom on your tongue. there's a part of you that thinks what just happened between you and leon was all pretend. a regretful moment that was nothing more than a source to channel pent up frustration and years of anger.

it meant nothing. leon still hates you. and you...don't know what the fuck just happened.

—

like you suspected, lauren throws you a birthday party. a surprise one at that, even though you knew exactly what was going on when connor texted you and asked you for help on picking out flowers for the rehearsal dinner.

bad distraction on his part, because lauren ordered the flowers for the rehearsal dinner two weeks ago while you were beside her. you went along anyways, and even acted surprised when everyone jumped out from different areas of the mcdavid/kyle condo.

lauren squeezes you tightly, "happy birthday!"

"thanks," you hug her back just as tightly, "I told you that you didn't need to do anything like this. I would've been happy with some wine and reruns of friends."

she rolls her eyes fondly, guiding you further into the crowded home. "I know you would've been, but I certainly wouldn't have." and that's the most lauren thing she could've said, and it makes your smile grow wide.

there's a lot of people here, you note. mostly mutual friends and connor's teammates and their significant others. it's decorated beautifully, with all your favourite picky foods laid out on the island and a makeshift bar along with it.

people greet you enthusiastically, wishing you a happy birthday as you make your rounds through the party, lauren at your side—who you're pretty sure is already halfway to hammered.

mikayla nurse gives you a bear hug, which she always does, and darnell follows suit. "happy birthday!" he says, pulling back and taking his original seat on one of the barstools against the stark white island. ryan nugent hopkins and his girl do the same, all of you flowing into easy conversation.

mikayla is in the middle of talking about something funny her oldest did before her and darnell left, when your body ignites. it's an odd feeling, but one you're used to at this point. subtly, your gaze shifts down the island and that's when you see him.

leon is leaning on the counter causally, fingers running along the neck of a beer bottle as zach hyman and him talk about whatever it is they're talking about—frankly, you don't care to know what their discussing.

you haven't seen or heard from leon since your kiss 3 days ago. you weren't expecting to feel so many emotions after getting kissed by your mortal enemy, but you are. you think it probably has to do with how he just up and left afterwards, like he couldn't give a fuck about you, which in hindsight he probably doesn't. he never has, your brain reminds you.

as if he can feel your state, his eyes flicker to yours. leon's expression changes, so subtle that it's almost unnoticeable. his fingers still on the beer bottle. you look away just as quick as you looked, turning your attention back to the group in front of you—nodding along like you know what they're in the middle of talking about.

you need a shot. or 6.

and shots you have. lauren is the one who starts it, like usual, insisting that the birthday girl needed a celebratory shot of tequila. then that turned into two, and then three and before you know it you can barley feel your limbs. you're loose, and happy and very much drunk.

it makes being in the same room as leon more tolerable for the mere fact that you keep forgetting he's there. it's only when he laughs too loudly, or someone says his name in your vicinity that you find yourself searching for him. not without immediately cursing yourself for it though.

it's nearing 2 in the morning when lauren grabs on to your arm, her expression hopeful and excited. "oh my god," she slurs, "we need to go swim."

you gasp with enthusiasm. "yes! oh my god, lauren I love you so much—what a good fucking Idea."

everyone has left by now. going home to their kids and going to sleep. the thought makes you feel a little down, because the only person you're going home to is damon fucking salvatore. ah, yes the old birthday depression moment. but thankfully lauren snaps you out of it, dragging you out of the apartment and down the hall to the rooftop.

the heavy metal door clicks open, revealing the blue light of the large pool. it smells so good—like summer—and you groan. "oh my god, yes!"

neither you or lauren bother stripping, and you jump into the pool fully clothed. the water splashes therapeutically as you are submerged under the warm water. it feels amazing, and you kick your legs until you're breaking through the surface.

lauren giggles, treading her hands over the waters surface. "it feels so good."

"I know," you agree quickly, eyes fluttering in bliss.

"lauren." connor's voice is stern, but there's a hint of amusement there that he only saves for his fiancé and her drunk shenanigans. "we're not supposed to be out here at night. let's go."

you didn't even notice he followed you guys out here and you blink in surprise—you also giggle, which has connor sending you a sharp look.

lauren makes a fart noise, but lets her fiancé help her out of the pool. water drips off her clothes like a waterfall, soaking the pavement under her feet. connor ushers her back to the door, saying something that you can't quite make out before leaving you alone.

the water is sobering you up a little, but you're still tipsy enough that everything feels like silk. you dip your head back, soaking your hair and covering the tips of your ears.

you're floating, listening to the muffled sounds of the city night life below. its peaceful, and you think you could stay out here forever. your eyes are only fluttering closed for a moment, and when you open them again you see leon.

he's watching you, hands on his hips from the side of the pool—looking anything but amused. you hadn't even noticed him come out, but you also didn't notice connor so that doesn't mean anything.

too drunk to be scared by his sudden appearance, you just laugh, swimming into an upright position and facing leon. your tank top is sticking to your skin uncomfortably, and if you were sober you'd probably be having a sensory overload.

"get out of the pool" his voice is demanding and unarguable.

you lazily shread water, blinking the pool sting out of your eyes. "why would I do what you ask me to?"

leon scoffs a half hearted laugh, looking away from you momentarily. when he meets your gaze again, you’re still grinning—a little up to no good smirk that has leon gulping. "don't be annoying," he says, "get out before something happens. like connor said, you're not supposed to be in here."

"oh wow is that a threat, mr. drasitail?" you laugh.

he tongues his cheek, "you're drunk."

you toe the rough side of the pool and gently kick off, sending yourself back floating through the water. "tipsy, but sure." leon's shoulder deflate in what's surely annoyance, and he runs a hand over his face. even drunk, you know you're being difficult, but you're not going to give up that easy. "you know, you can't annoy me today. it's my birthday."

leon licks his teeth slowly. he tries to keep his eyes off you and your completely see through tank top as you glide through the water, but he can't help himself, gaze flickering back to you. "I wouldn't have to annoy you if you'd just get out of the pool."

your shoulders drop. "you're such a buzz kill," you grumble, swimming to the edge of the pool once again, right in front of leon. your hands grip the edge, and you blink up at him with wet lashes. "can you at least help me out?"

he gulps, adam's apple bobbling under his stubbled skin. "legs broken or something?" he mumbles with something unknown lacing his tone—doubt, disbelief, want—as he looks into your wet eyes.

you ignore him, raising your palm in his direction and wiggling your fingers. for a moment the action sends you off balance, and you begin slipping backwards. leon’s eyes widen, twitching is if he's going to reach out and grab you, but you catch yourself before he can.

he huffs again, gaze darting between your hand and daring eyes. “don't leave me hanging on my birthday, leon,” you say.

"it's not your birthday anymore, y/n." leon deadpans after a moment.

you pout and he sighs, closing the distance between you and taking your slick palm in his. just before he pulls you out, you use the leverage to tug his arm down towards you, sending leon off balance and into the pool next to you with a loud splash.

he breaks the surface at record speed, looking at you with what can only be described as frustration. he splutters, wiping his face of chlorine scented water droplets. "seriously?"

you bite your tongue in an attempt to mask your growing smirk, "you looked hot."

"thanks," he mumbles playfully, shoulders dripping under the water as he treads.

"don't flatter yourself." you huff, momentarily stopping your own feet from treading water to nudge his leg under the surface.

a beat passes. the sounds of rippling water and heavy breathing the only things to be heard between you.

leon breaks the tension, voice gruff. "are you going to get out now?"

you shrug, and your chin dips under the surface. "are you not going to ask me how my birthday was?" ask comes out in a slur, and it makes leon's jaw tick.

"if I do will you get out of the pool?"

"yes." you grin softly, chin submerging once again.

"okay." he hums, looking very much unimpressed. "how was your birthday?"

your grin deepens, "it was good," you say, "got everything I could've ever asked for."

"mhmm," he hums, brow raised curiously, "and what did you ask for? one of those grow your own boyfriends?"

you laugh, the sound forced and very much sarcastic. "just a dart board with your face on it, actually."

he blows out some air, very amused, "ou good one." then like a child he shakes out his hair, water sliding off his strands and spraying you.

"hey!" you shout, turning your face away from the water attack.

"relax," he chimes, "you're not going to melt."

you look back at leon, a look of amused disbelief flashing over your features as your lip tugs upwards. "maybe I will. I am a witch after all."

leon hesitates, something he rarely does. he wants to look away, your wet lashes and pink lips too intense—too tempting—but he forces himself to to hold your unknowing gaze. "you're something."

your mouth parts, "you're something." you repeat, voice all high pitched and mocking as you splash some water in his direction, the small wave hitting his chin.

he licks onto his lower lip, watching your smile grow as you wait for his next move. just when you think you're not going to get a rise out of him, leon moves. he grabs your ankle under the water, so quick that it makes you squeal, and pulls you against his chest.

the laughter that had previously been bubbling up and past your lips comes to a sharp halt, and you’re left blinking in surprise as your body intertwines with leon's. you're both completely clothed, but it feels like your stark naked. the heat between you is implausible, chest heaving and breathes mingling.

his hand grips your knee firmly before he releases—but he’s not done. leon fingers skim up your thigh, so gentle that it's ticklish. you want to squirm, but you're too scared it will end the tension filled moment. his palm runs over your hip, feeling your soaked jean shorts under his palm.

your breath catches, the sound just gentle enough to reach leon's ears. his eyes dart to your wet, plump lips and he feels himself twitch. when his eyes meet yours again, you swallow, arms slowing down in the thread.

"are you going to kiss me and then leave again like nothing happened?" you don't have time to curse your drunk tongue, because leon answers almost instantly, voice surprisingly smooth and clear, but still deep enough to have your stomach swoop.

"you want me to do that?" he asks you, pushing some wet hair off your shoulder, further exposing your sun kissed, freckled skin.

you lick your bottom lip. "depends what part you're talking about."

his eyes dart back down to yours lips at the sight, watching as your tongue swipes along your lip. your faces are so close that the tips of your noses are almost brushing. you're practically panting, wrapped around leon like a koala as he threads water for the both of you.

you could be staring at each other for 20 minutes, or twenty seconds. you're unsure. time has gone completely still, slowing down like sticky molasses as you and leon exchange longing, needy stares.

your mouth opens, ready to beg him once again, but he unwraps you from his body, hands finding your hips and lifting you out of the pool. you blink, shock and confusion flashing on your face as leon sits you on the edge.

he doesn't look at you as he pulls himself out of the pool effortlessly, but you watch him. his biceps flex under his once light gray, soaked t-shirt, and if you weren't so overcome with frustration and confusion you'd be blushing.

he gets up on to his feet, "let's go, y/n." leon's tone leaves no room for argument, and he's already waking towards the heavy, metal door that leads back to the condo complex.

you scoff, getting up onto your own feet. "dick," you mumble to yourself, lips tugging down in a frown and gaze pointed as you watch leon's retreating figure.

you don't know if he hears your curse, but if he doesn't he doesn't turn around to dispute with you. you could be annoying, jump back in the pool and make him drown in his own frustration. but you don't. you're tired, shocked, angry and most of all, embarrassed.

—

"y/n!" lauren says your name happily, and tipsily, stumbling over to you through the party bus and practically falling into your lap. she smiles, thrusting a shot of some white liquor in your direction, "do this shot with me!"

you smile and that's when you notice she's got the same liquor in her shot glass—a gift from alannah hyman. it's milky white and says bride in script on the side in big, sparkly letters.

you take the shot from her, "are you trying to get me drunk before we even get there?"

she nudges it closer to your mouth, a giggle spilling past her painted lips. "well it is a wedding party! so yes."

fondly, your eyes roll which only makes lauren squawk. you send her a real smile before bringing the glass to your mouth and tipping it back, downing the shot of what you know know is vodka, in a huge gulp.

your grimace, body doing a funny little shiver as the liquor coats your throat and warms your skin. the air conditioning isn't a match for the humid july night, and you're practically dripping with sweat. actually, everyone on the bus is dripping with sweat, but most of them are already so tipsy that it doesn't matter.

when lauren told you in addition to separate bachelor and bachelorette parties she was going to throw a joint one, you were a little hesitant. I mean, you love your friend and will do anything to make her happy—so you bit your tongue—but the idea of having to spend even more time with leon has your blood curdling, especially after the whole pool indecent a few days ago.

once again, you haven't seen leon since the almost kiss in the pool, which has you feeling even more embarrassed than before. you're not sure what's been unlocked with leon, but since your actual kiss in lauren and connor's bedroom almost a week ago, there's been a funny feeling lingering in your head.

you're not sure what it is, or how it makes you feel. all you do know is that it makes you hot and nervous and angry all at once. so really, nothing has changed.

so today, you'd been feeling extremely anxious. you thought about reaching out to leon—having his number saved from many years of being in the same random group chats—but you decide against it. after all, he's clearly not interested in fixing the hostility between you, and you're not going to be some desperate, submissive girl who just backs down and lets him win. absolutely not.

when you were all piling onto the party bus, leon nowhere in sight, you couldn't help but feel a rush of excitement (and maybe a little disappointment, but you don't even admit that to yourself). when you casually asked connor about it in passing, he looked at pointedly, "he's got some shit he needs to figure out with his agent, so he's going to meet us there." 

you couldn't even hide your eye roll at that. you think the real reason he's not traveling on the party busy is because he probably just didn't want to get forced to dance on the stripper pole in the middle of the bus—he's so boring.

the bus comes to halt outside the bustling club, and everyone inside cheers. so loudly it makes your cringe a little, but you digress. lauren wraps her arm around yours, bringing you both off the bus and into the modern, sleek night club.

the music inside is instantly deafening, some kendrick lamar song that you've heard on the radio for three months straight. you're already feeling buzzed from the shot in the bus, and the one you did at connor and lauren's before your ride came.

"hey!" connor comes up behind you both, wrapping his arm around his fiancés waist as he speaks over the music. "we've got a table booked on the platform, so I'm gunna get up there."

lauren grins, placing a smacking kiss against the corner of his mouth. "okay," she shouts, "we're gunna dance."

he nods with one of those reserved-for-only-lauren grins before leaving you both, making his way through the crowd with the bachelor party.

lauren shakes your arm excitedly, "let's get a drink and then fucking dance, baby!"

you easily get lost in the feeling of the music and the warmth of the crowd. you and lauren dance together for what feels like hours, downing shots and sipping cocktails until way past the achy feeling starts in your feet. other girls from the bachelorette party join in, all of you screaming along to lyrics and dancing against one another like silly, drunk college kids.

leon walks into the club around 10, exhausted and wanting nothing more than to go home. for days he's been flustered and angry, brain scrambled with a mess of thoughts—working overtime and keeping him up at night. the meeting with his agent ended almost two hours ago, but he needed time to collect himself before joining the wedding party.

before seeing you.

connor's brother spots him first, calling his name in a sing song voice that instantly has leon peeking up, plastering on a smile as he climbs the stairs of the platform. the boys begin chatting his name like a group of seagulls, gathering the attention of many lingering bystanders in the night club—it makes leon shiver with discomfort. but thankfully, no one notices.

he's never been a fan of crowds, or attention, but being one of hockey's biggest stars quickly had him getting used to it. bars and clubs though, they will never be his thing.

someone thrusts a beer bottle in his hand, and he takes it greedily, popping off the cap before taking three large gulps. the foam coats his lips, dripping down his chin before he wipes it away.

the platform overlooks the face floor. it's secluded enough to feel private, but still open enough to not feel like you're missing out on the fun. leon finds himself looking through the crowd, beer bottle handing loosely in his grip as he searches.

it's not hard to find you, or any of the girls for that matter. you're all wearing variations of white and cream, which glows blue in the black lights scattered around the club. you're dancing against lauren, hands up in the air as you sway and sing along to some mainstream pop song leon has never heard.

you're covered in a sheer layer of sweat, making your tan skin glow. you look happy, and so tempting. as if you can feel his stare, your eyes find his. as they meet, your movements falter, and your face drops.

leon swallows roughly, pushing off the balcony and forcing himself to break eye contact. his blood feels like it's boiling, burning him from the inside out. he forces another mouthful of beer down, turning his attention back to some of connor's childhood buddies, easily sliding into their conversation.

your teeth clench as your eyes linger on the place leon was just stood, watching you with an unreadable expression. everything feels too constricting now, too warm. it feels like his eyes are still on you—even when you turn back to lauren and she starts doing a terrible rendition of the sprinkler. you can't shake him.

so when a large hand wraps around your waist, and an attractive man appears behind you, you don't stop him. he's not super tall, and his hair is so dark it's almost pure black. clean shaven, with soft hands and smelling like smoke and whiskey.

he's nothing like leon, and that makes you grin. you allow yourself to get wrapped up in the man, dancing with him like your life depends on it. his breathe is warm against your ear, "you're really sexy." his fingers dig into your arm, almost too roughly.

but you smile regardless, "you use that line on all the girls?"

"can't give away my secrets." he grins. his smile is nowhere as nice at leon's though. the man licks onto his bottom lip slowly, "wanna get out of here?"

you hum thoughtfully, looking around the crowded dance floor. when you meet mystery man's eyes, he's hopeful, and it makes you sigh regretfully. "sorry, i'm here with my friends."

"ah."

"yeah," you nod, "thanks for the dance but clearly we're not on the wavelength here. i'm gunna get back to them." you turn, but before you can disappear back into the heart of the dance floor, he grabs your arm.

leon is practically burning as he watches you dance with the short, finance looking bro from the platform. his teeth are aching from how hard he's clenching, and he's pretty sure the glass bottle is about to crack in his palm.

he's angry. he's in disbelief. he's fucking jealous. leon has never felt this level of jealousy before, and he's not even sure if that's what it actually is. it's a white hot fire stick, poking at his chest until he recoils.

you're laughing. and smiling. the guys hands low on your back and running over your hips. a few nights ago that was leon touching you there, and that only fuels his frustration. he watches the two of you talk, a hesitant look on your face that has his stomach dropping.

he stands up straighter, shoulders rigid. leon's scowling at the mystery guy, whispering in your ear as he says whatever shitty pickup line leon has no doubt the dudes used on multiple woman in this club.

then you start walking away, and relief begins to trickle in his bloodstream. unfortunately it doesn't last long, because when the guy reaches for you, grabbing you arm and tugging you back towards him, leon sees red.

you squeak at the feeling of the man's hand on your bicep, squeezing you hard enough that you can feel it in your bones.

"we can keep dancing," he tells you, firmly, "i'm not some dick who's going to act like getting rejected is a personal attack."

you tug your arm away, "i'm sorry, but i'm done dancing right now. it was nice meeting you."

the man's laugh makes you shiver unpleasantly. "you got a boyfriend or something? is that why you're acting like a-" his words are cut short as leon's fist flies, hitting him across the face in a quick, hard punch.

you gasp, a sickening crack echoing in your ears as his knuckles connects with the guys nose. he grabs it, blood seeping through his fingers and dripping onto his blue button up.

leon's not phased, flexing his fingers causally—like he didn't just punch a random guy in the face.

"oh my god," you shout, rushing forward to check on the guy and his obviously damaged face. the crowd stops all around you, whispering and pointing at the scene like it's a movie. your mouth opens, shocked, looking between the mystery guy and leon. "what the fuck!"

leon huffs, sending you a sharp glance before turning on his heels and pushing through the crowd. it feels like everyone is looking at him, judging him, and it has him feeling breathless. angrily, he shoves the doors of the nightclub open, stepping out onto the sidewalk and taking a deep breathe.

he rubs the back of his neck roughly, a curse leaving his lips. leon feels embarrassed about letting his emotions take control like that, but the anger seeing that guy grabbing you—pulling you—has his embarrassment fading away, replaced with fury.

the air feel nice, even though the july air is humid and thick, it's much better the the stuffy club. leon walks to the stone half wall that frames the greeny along the club, taking a seat on the lip with another rough sigh. he's only alone for about a minute before the club doors swing open, and you come storming out.

your eyes are wide—frantic even—searching the sidewalk until your eyes land on him. that's when your face falls, arms crossed defensively as you stare at him.

leon swallows, shrugging his shoulders. "is he hurt?" he asks, even though he already saw the answer.

"his nose is broken." you deadpan.

"good." he hums, checking his knuckles quickly. ones split, but he'll fix it later.

you laugh in disbelief, "good?"

"yeah," he confirms, eyes finding yours again. you've stepped closer in the time he was looking at his hand, and you look even angrier up close. "he shouldn't of touched you like that."

you shake your head. "I can handle myself."

leon snorts. "clearly not, y/n."

you make a scoffing noise, arms tightening further across the white dress wrapped tightly across your chest. "I was actually having a good time," you start, voice firm but tinged with something else, "but thanks to you, my night is ruined."

"I know you y/n," he deadpans, standing up from the wall, "your idea of a good time and his idea of a good time is vastly different. he was going to try something." leon walks closer to you, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides like he doesn't know what to do with them.

the tone of his voice, so frustrated, has you shocked. the audacity of leon to be upset with you after he punched a poor guy in the face is beyond you. your arms uncross, falling against your hips with a smack. "and so what?" you question, "what's it matter to you? why do you care?"

your voice has gotten louder, more venomous. it makes leon laugh roughly, looking down you with cynicism. "why do I care?" he practically shouts, reaching out and almost touching your exposed shoulder. "you're..." leon stops himself, a gentle curse leaving him. he huffs loudly, running a hand down his face in a slow but rough way.

a moment passes. cars passing and honking down the street, club music vibrating the concrete below your heels. your eyes don’t leave leon's figure, which is practically vibrating with emotion.

you swallow, voice much more quiet when you say, "I'm what?"

"ungrateful." he grunts.

your lips pull into a frown as the bridge of your nose begins to string. "screw you." with one more furious look in his direction, you turn heel, shoes clicking on the pavement as you make your way back to the nightclub's entrance.

you're so angry. it's fuelling your blood stream and stopping your feet. your arms cross again, eyes pinched as you turn back around. you're not done with him yet. "do you ever think about things before opening your mouth?"

leon looks shocked momentarily, but he recovers quickly. he shoves his hands into his jean pockets, nodding slowly. "yes."

"oh really?" you ask, "like when?"

"I thought about not answering your question just now."

"oh grow up!"

"i'm grown."

"really?" you ask wildly, "is that why you punched a guy in the face?"

"a guy who deserved it!"

"for dancing with me?"

"for touching what's not his."

that has you faltering, leon's words hitting you like a slap to the face. he knows that what he just said was possessive—uncalled for. he has no right to say that to you, you're certainly not his to claim. it's the jealously getting the best of him and wanting to make you feel how he's feeling.

and it worked. guilt tickles your skin and pales your face, looking back at leon with a straight face. you feel like you've done something wrong by dancing with that guy—like you've done him wrong. "oh, okay then," you start, voice timid and so gentle that it has leon faltering. "who's am I? please enlighten me."

he knows he can't keep going down this route with you. he'll regret it.  leon takes a slow, deep breath, shaking his head. "i'm not playing this game."

that's rich, you think, considering he's the one who starts all these stupid games you find yourself unable to untangle yourself from. you can't help but laugh with false humor, "oh but you love games!"

"y/n," leon sighs tiredly, "stop."

connor comes bustling out of the club, and much like your expression and wandering eyes from 5 minutes ago, he's looking for leon just like you had. once he spots you in a stand off, leon's jaw tight and your eyes misty, he all but stomps up to the both of, face painted and livid. "are you guys seriously fighting? on top of everything else that happened tonight. I thought you guys stopped this fucking shit " he looks at you, still frustrated, "lauren is going to be pissed, y/n."

leon steps towards his friend calmly, despite his firm tone, "it's not y/n’s fault." he says definitively, a flash of protectiveness flashing over his face.

connor blinks, confused, looking between the pair of you. his jaw is tense, tendon popping under his beard as he tries to clam himself down. seeing his best friend punch a guy in the face for seemingly no reason, which obviously made his fiancé upset, combined with walking out and catching the two of you arguing when you'd already told lauren everything was squashed between you and leon, has connor spinning.

leon continues, "we're fine."

"are we?" you question, pettily.

connor shakes his head, a breathless laugh leaving him. the tension between the two of you is undeniable, and it doesn't matter what you say—you're arguing and leon's fight has ruined the night. "leon," he starts, eyeing his friend firmly, "you need to go. both of you. drive y/n home and while you're at it, make sure this shit between you gets sorted. for good."

"okay." leon nods after a tense moment, fishing his keys from his pocket and walking down the sidewalk. he glances back at you, "let's go, y/n." he doesn't sound angry anymore, but he is still very definitive with his tone.

it has you moving, following behind him timidly, arms crossed tightly and tears fall freely down your cheeks. the damage has been done. your drunk and tired. that combined with your argument, and connor's scolding has you feeling very guilty and emotional.

leon unlocks his porsche, the beep echoing through the back parking lot of the night club. it's the car he's always had ever since you've known him, and you always mockingly call it his, 'big fancy sports call', everytime you see it. yes, it's a porsche but not a sports model—leon never corrects you though.

but you stay silent behind him, the only sound coming from you is your shoes on the ground. it has leon pausing. he attempts to glance at you quickly—sneakily—but as he catches the sight of your glistening tears under the moonlight, everything shifts.

the sight makes him swallow down the immediate rising guilt and regret that threatens to make its way out of him, halting his movements by the passenger door of his car. you sniff, eyes downcast.

it sends a pang through his heart, sighing softly as he faces you fully. "come on."

your chin trembles and you shake your head. he watches as you dig through top of your dress, pulling out your phone from where it rested beside your boob. you begin thumbing the screen, unaware of how your boob is now practically spilling out of your dress, sitting perfectly plump and bulged in a way that makes leon shift.

"i'm ordering an uber," you mumble, blinking through tears as you try to navigate the uber app.

"no," leon breathes, opening the passenger door with an echoing click. "you're not getting in an uber while you're drunk and alone."

you roll your wet eyes. "connor would let me."

"i'm not connor."

you pause, eyes flickering up to meet leon's. he gestures to the open car, a pleading look in his gaze. not in the mood to fight any more, you sniffle, turning off your cell before dragging yourself to the passenger seat.

leon's shoulders slump in relief, moving to the side so you're able to get into his car properly. once you're seated, leon shuts the door and rounds the front to the driver's side, where he lets himself in.

you keep your eyes forward as he starts the car, letting the engine roar to life as he clicks his seatbelt into place. he glances at you gingerly, "put your seatbelt on."

you sigh but do so. once he hears the dull click of the buckle, leon releases a tension filled sigh, shifting the car into drive before slowly pulling out of the parking lot and onto the road.

you really wish you could stop crying, but controlling your emotions have never been your strong suit—fighting with leon for years because he didn't smile at you one time is enough proof of that. your quiet hiccups are heard throughout the car, too tired to attempt to mask them. your arms are crossed again, like you're trying to hug yourself. your chest shakes with every breath, inhale or exhale, as your continue to cry, eyes trained out the windshield.

you won't look at him. you can't look at him. you're embarrassed and still a little angry, and you've given leon enough of your range of emotions in the past week that he's probably sick of then by now—more than he normally is.

the car slows at a red light, the rumbling of the engine coming to a quiet hum as the car completely halts. leon taps the steering wheel with two fingers, licking his teeth as he glances at you. "why are you crying, y/n?"

his words bring another round of tears to your eyes. you huff, sniffling away your running nose. "because."

"just because?" leon pushes gently, eyes flickering back to the traffic light to check its status. still red. he looks back at you, bathed in the red glow. "c'mon, help me out a little bit here."

the sincerity of his voice makes you frown. in that moment you're in desperate need of an outlet, someone or something to talk to in hopes that your tears will stop. and right now, you don't care if that person is leon, especially with the way he's looking at you—despite his deadpanned expression, there's still a softness underneath it all.

you nod, as if you're convincing yourself to confide in him. with another sob and trembling breath, you say, "lauren is going to hate me now."

the lights changes to green, and leon blinks, turning away from you and shifting the car into drive. a moment passes before he sighs softly, shaking his head, "she's not going to hate you." he says, glancing at you quickly.

"i've ruined the night." you counter, bringing your knees up to your chest to cradle yourself. your dress shifts, sliding dangerously high on your thigh, and the sight has leon internally cursing, he licks onto his bottom lip, forcing himself to look away from your soft skin.

"you didn't ruin anything," he reassures you, "I was the one who got all...angry and punched that guy. trust me, lauren will be okay. you'll be okay." leon pauses, eyes flickering away from the deserted road and over to your tear stained face. "besides, how could anyone ever hate you?"

your lips part and you shift your head to look at leon. his expression in unreadable, but he barley lets you analyze it because he's turning his attention back to the road. finally, you find your voice. "you hate me."

leon shifts gears, and he does it so smoothly that you don't even jolt in your seat. that also means you don't look away from his side profile, eyes pointed and curious as you await his response.

"I could never hate you, y/n." he swallows, adam's apple bobbing under his stubble. leon doesn't look at you yet. he can't.

"that's a lie," you mean to sound firm, but your words come out nothing short of a whisper. your brows pull tightly, confusion etched across your forehead. "because you do hate me."

that makes leon falter, glancing over to you after he shift into a different lane. "do I?"

you don't answer, mostly because you're unsure what kind of response leon is looking for. you tear your eyes away from him, looking back out through the windshield and keeping your gaze trained on the pavement as it disappears under the car.

leon sighs to himself, running a hand through his messy hair. he eyes you again, but you're still not looking at him. your face is tight, but you've stopped crying for the most part, only the occasional tear that slides over your salty tight skinned cheek. a flash of fear comes over him—what if you're too uncomfortable with what he said to cry?

leon curses. the last thing he wants to do right now is make you feel worse. his eyes trail over your body as he hits another red light. your legs are still pulled up, hands wrapped around your calves like you're cradling yourself. it makes his heart sink, but then he sees it. your nails.

the usual flame red you wear is replaced by a neutral colour, accompanied by white french. his mouth opens before his brain can catch up, "taking a break from the red?" leon's words have you blinking, looking back at him curiously. his eyes flick down to your hands, "your nails."

"oh," you hum. you hadn't even known that leon had noticed the little red nail detail you've been committed to for years. the colour you'd pick solely because leon didn't like it. thinking about it now makes you feel a bit silly, but something about leon mentioning it has you feeling fuzzy. "yeah," you clear your throat, sliding your hands between your thighs shyly, hiding them from his sight. "lauren wants us all to have french tips for the wedding."

"that's a shame," leon sighs, stepping on the gas as the light changes. "you look good in red."

"you hate the colour red." you say quietly— cautiously.

"doesn't mean I hate it on you."

a beat passes as you sit with that confession. your drunk brain has a difficult time pacing the pieces together, brows furrowed in confusion as you keep your eyes trained on leon. you breathe a laugh that sounds like a scoff. "why are you being so nice to me?" you question, "is it just because im upset?"

"not just because you're upset," he replies quickly, "i've been enough of a dick to you to last a lifetime. and I know how important lauren is to you, and how much you want to fix this thing between us before the wedding so she's happy." leon stops himself, swallowing roughly as he looks back at you. "i'm trying my best to start fixing it."

"what is this thing between us?"

his thumbs strokes the leather wrapping around the steering wheel, "whatever you want it to be."

you make a funny noise. "what kind of answer is that?"

leon can't help the way his top lip twitches, the smallest grin threatening to take over. "the right one for how drunk and upset you are."

"I don't like that answer either."

that does make him smile. "I know you don't."

silence fills the car after that. you let your legs fall back to the ground, feeling much more relaxed then when you first got in. and leon notices out of the corner of his eye, which makes his shoulders drop in relief. they ache slightly from how tense he'd been, but he can't even think of that right now.

not when you start to talk, voice curious and gentle. "how come you hit that guy?"

he sighs lowly, not taking his eyes off the road as he flicks on his signal, car turning into the parking garage of your apartment complex. you blink in surprise—leon hadn't even asked for directions once. he remembers where you live.

"when you're upset, it's makes me crazy," he starts shamelessly, hands tightening around the wheel as he recalls the scene at the nightclub less than an hour ago. "and tonight, when that asshole grabbed your arm and the tiniest flash of distress crossed your features, I didn't even think." leon looks at you quickly, meeting your intent gaze. it makes him look away just as fast. "not only was I jealous but I was so fucking angry that I just lashed out."

he pulls into an empty parking spot, which is thankfully a few steps away from the elevator. leon shifts the car into park before he looks at you again. when he sees the slow smile on your face, his stomach swoops.

before he has a chance to question why you look so...pleased, you begin to talk. "wait, you were jealous?" you ask him, eyebrow raised curiously.

leon's neck feels hot, and he forces himself to laugh, even though the sound comes across awkward. he rubs the back of his neck and looks away from you, which only makes you giggle. "okay, let's not dwell on it." he mutters.

"oh my god," you tease, "big tough leon draisaitl was jealous."

"y/n."

"this is amazing"

his eyes twinkle with amusement. "i'm trying to apologize," leon tells you, the smallest smile pulling at his lips.

"I know," you grin, "I never thought this day would come! should I get my phone out and take a video of this? post it on my story so everyone can see?"

leon rolls his eyes fondly as you laugh, head falling back against the head rest as you look at him. you obviously are just teasing him, and that has leon's heart strings tugging. "are you done?"

"with this?" you question, knowingly, "never."

the smile that follows that is different, one of those smiles that you only save for lauren and when you're talking on the phone to your family. leon almost wants to get his phone out now and snap a picture of you—because he's never seen anything more beautiful.

—

the muskoka air bnb is beautiful. so much so that it doesn't even feel real. it's decorated in white, with lots of neutral florals and greenery that line not only the main house, but the multiple guests house littering the property.

connor and lauren had flown the wedding party out yesterday, and you had been so exhausted from travel, as well as trying to not stare at leon for the duration of the flight that as soon as you arrived you passed out.

since leon drove you home from the night club a few days ago, there's been a major shift. you'd seen him a few days afterwards at a dinner hosted by lauren's parents for the wedding party and family, and obviously he attended. there was a part of you that thought he'd ignore you like he always did, but he actually smiled at you. a half grin from across the room as he held a champagne flute that made your stomach flip.

and then two days ago, the day before traveling to muskoka, leon texted you. you were in such a shock from seeing his name flash across your screen, that you almost forgot to answer him. after 30 minutes you finally responded to his message, asking if you wanted a ride to the airport tomorrow—to which your answer was thanks. that be great, leon :)

immediately you cringed at your own message. it made you feel like a school girl with a highschool crush who was trying to come across casual but was miserably failing—wait, are you a school girl with a highschool crush who was trying to come across casual but was miserably failing? just as immediate you pushed that thought away, storing it on the back burner to later dissect.

this weekend is not about you or the sudden butterflies in your stomach when you think about leon—who a week ago, you thought couldn't stand you. you're still not sure if he even likes you, despite everything. so yeah, back burner it goes.

when you woke up today, much closer to the afternoon than the morning, you'd be in for a surprise when you walked down the hallway of your designated guest house and saw leon standing in the kitchen, sipping coffee while scrolling through his phone. shirtless.

"oh!" you practically squeal, jumping around and covering your eyes with a hand. you knew that you'd be sharing the guest house with some of the wedding party, you just didn't think it would be with him.

he laughs, clicking off his phone and setting it on the island. "i'm not naked, you don't have to hide."

you peek through your fingers first and see him looking at you, palms flat against the counter as he leans into it, mug sat in the space between his hands. when you catch sight of the sweat pants—although hung dangerously low on his toned hips—you drop your hand. "you just caught me off guard." you swallow.

he grins, all syrupy and slow before pushing off the counter. leon stalks over to you, and the closer he gets the more nervous you feel. just when you think he may stop, he walks right past you, hand brushing your wrist. "lauren and connor need us ready for 1:30 for something. connor's brother and jenni are already outside." he calls back at you, stalking down the hallways.

you had to wash your face in freezing water to calm yourself down from that interaction—mostly caused by leon��s shirtless torso, but that's neither here or there. you slipped on one of your white cocktail dresses, because even though leon didn't say what was happening, you knew it was the welcome party in the garden.

leon wasn't in the kitchen or the living area when you emerged from your room, thankfully, so you had another few minutes to calm down while you made your way across the property. guests have already started to arrive by the time you sneak up beside lauren, greeting her warmly while she beams at the sight of your face.

you help her make her rounds and tidy up whatever she feels needs it while people mingle, snacking on hors d'oeuvres and sipping alcohol under the july sun. when you get a free moment, you nudge her side to get her attention, "why didn't you tell me leon was in my house?"

she frowns slightly, "he is? thought he was in the other one but I guess not." before you can get her to elaborate on that, one of the waitstaff comes over, whisking her away to deal with whatever snack debacle was occurring.

you spend a few hours mingling with everyone, sharing laughter and drinks happily. you've never been to muskoka, and you can't help but appreciate how beautiful and scenic it is. lauren and connor couldn't of picked a better spot to get married.

on instinct you hear lauren’s laugh echo through the garden, and you spot her almost instantly. your best friend has never looked more beautiful or happy since you've known her. connor stands beside her, the two of them in their own little world. he's whispering in her ear which is the reason for her laughter. you love them so much.

your eyes begin to prick with tears, and you quickly look away before they can fall. you grab a napkin hurriedly, bringing it up to your lower lash line so it soaks up your salty tears. thank god you're alone right now, because it's so embarrassing.

"oh no," leon's says from a few feet away, eyeing you with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. "you're crying."

his voice cutting through the silence makes you jump slightly—when did you get so jumpy around him?—and you turn to look at him, a small bubble of laughter leaving you. you sniffle, balling up the napkin in your palm, "I know. i'm a mess."

he shakes his head, a half smirk, half frown on his face. you don't even know where to begin trying to understand what that means. leon walks closer, taking the napkin right out of you palm and throwing it in the small garbage underneath the long buffet style hors d'oeuvres table. "what's got you emotional?"

on cue lauren laughs again, and you sigh dreamily, glancing the happy couples way. "they're just so in love. this place is beautiful, lauren and connor are beautiful and i'm just...so happy for them."

leon watches you for a long moment, brows furrowed slightly as he listens to your confession. when you look back at him, there's new tears in your eyes, happy ones but laced with a longing you hadn't realized you possessed. leon's gut pangs with something all too familiar as you look up at him. he can't help but wonder if for years you'd been too worried about trying to get him to like you in some capacity that you'd been too busy to look for what you need. what you want. what you've always desired: to feel loved.

the way you're looking at him now, no trace of anger or resentment in your eyes, makes him feel comfortable—complete. it's then that he knows that yes, you'd been too focused on leon's stubbornness when it comes to you, to notice that he never hated you. not at all.

he gives you a closed mouth grin, reaching to wipe away the tear that's pooling under your lashes. "you'll get it too, y/n. love."

your lip twitches, and his eyes on you feel so intense you have to look to the ground. "think so?"

he guides your face back up. "I know so." leon swallows gently, eyes darting down to your lips just like they had in the pool many days ago. your lips part, nothing but a hitched breath coming out. he licks along his lower lip, "i'm sorry, y/n. for everything."

and you know he means it.

dinner time comes quickly, sneaking up on you. leon weighs heavy on your mind as you shove garden salad in your mouth—the conversation today, his shirtless torso, the way he notices your nails, the way he touched you in the pool, the way he kissed you. even the way he eats damn beer nuts.

you try and distract yourself with the conversation flowing all around you, stretching down the long dining table under the warm fairy lights dripping from the trees. but your mind always drift back to him. leon. leon. leon. the man who hasn't left your mind since you met him years ago, is still the man who you think about today.

it doesn't help that he's sitting diagonally from you, your eyes catching every few minutes like there’s nothing else to but to look at one another.

you need a cold shower and a long nights rest. and leon, you brain taunts you.

after desert and another hour of mindless chatting, everyone starts heading home and packing in for the night. tomorrow would be a long day of rehearsals and last minute prepping for the wedding on the following day.

you practically run back to the guest house, stealing one of two showers before any of the other house guests have a chance too. the water is relaxing, and helps ease the tornado of thoughts and unwanted questions in your mind.

whatever you want it to be.

you're glad you have a room to yourself because you don't want to put pyjamas on. you crawl under the covers completely naked, sighing as your head hits the pillow.

leon. leon. leon.

hours pass, the guest house bathed in the sound of water lapping against the stoney shore. sleep doesn't take you, leaving you tossing and turning like a child. you huff, reading the small alarm clock on the wooden beside table: 2:17 a.m.

you slip out from under the sheets and grab one of your oversized shirts, pulling it over your frame before making your way to the door. you're hoping some water and a change of atmosphere will help you feel a little sleepy. you toe down the dark hallway until you round into the kitchen.

the image of shirtless leon, leaning over the island this morning flashes through your mind. you shake your head, sighing again before going to the cupboard and grabbing a mug.

you fill it with the brita in the fridge, and then you drink it slowly, doing your best to calm your restless limbs and even more restless mind. after a few minutes you put the mug in the sink and make your way back down the hallway.

one of the bedroom doors creaks open, and you falter. even in the dim light, you'd recognize him. leon looks at you, curious, one brow raised the highest fraction taller than the other. he's shirtless again, which makes you swallow.

"hi." you mumble dumbly.

"hey."

you walk further down the hall, right by your bedroom door which before this moment, unbeknownst to you, is diagonally across from his.

you watch leon's eyes dart down to your legs, trailing up your soft skin and reaching the hem on your not so long t-shirt. his eyes linger there, and you flush. "sorry, I," you stutter, "wasn't expecting to see you. or anyone really, at this hour."

he finds your face. "don't apologize."

you nod, clearing your throat again. you've never been at a loss for words in leon's presence, besides the moment right before your kiss over a week ago, but right now you're rendered speechless.

"you okay?" he questions tenderly, assessing you.

"yeah," you say, thumbing down the hall in the direction of the kitchen. "couldn't sleep, so just had some water."

he nods once, "ah."

"are you okay?" you ask him.

leon blinks, nodding again. "yeah. just had to use the bathroom."

"ah." you repeat his earlier words, and his mouth twitches.

"yeah." he mumbles.

you breathe, "well, I should probably try and sleep. it'll be a long day tomorrow."

"yeah, me too." he say, but it doesn't sound convincing. leon eyes your legs again.

you squeeze your thighs together, a small gasp leaving your lips. the sound has leon's eyes snapping up to your face. you reach behind yourself blindly, finding the handle of the door knob. "goodnight leon."

"night." he says, turning the knob of his own door and pushing it open.

whatever you want it to be. the words taunt you as you look at leon's back, muscles pronounced and tempting. your mind is still racing with the unknown—your body on fire—and this interaction didn't help at all.

you're desperate for answers.

so before his door closes, you step forward. "leon?"

he pauses, pulling the bedroom door back open. not fully, but just enough so he can lean on the trim. "yea?"

you shutter as you inhale, fingers itching as you try and keep your hands to yourself. leon's skin is glistening. pecks and chest covered in a neat spread of hair that trails down his abs and disappears below those stupid low rise sweatpants. focus. you force yourself to look back up to his face.

whatever you want it to be.

"what would you of said the other night in the car if I was sober?" you ask him, "when I asked you what are we, you said whatever I want us to be."

leon remembers the conversation all too well. it plays on a constant loop in his head and it has since he dropped you home that night. "yeah, I did." he confirms lowly.

"so what's the real answer?" you swallow gently, "what would you of said? if I asked you right now, what would you say?"

a moment passes.

leon huffs, eyes finding the worn wood of the house as he rubs the back of neck roughly. he meets your eyes again—your curious, hopeful gaze. "I don't know." he says.

"you don't know?" you repeat slowly—hesitantly. like your testing out the sound of it on your tongue. a flash of sadness washes over your face, and leon feels awful.

he steps back into the hallway, "I don't mean it like that, I just..." he trails off, breathing deeply.

you don't give him the opportunity to finish that thought. your arms cross over your chest, a defensive stance that makes leon frown. "how come when we first met you didn't smile at me?"

the question catches him off guard. not because he didn't know the answer, but because he hadn't realized it had been in your mind. leon didn't realize that you noticed that when first time you met, he didn't smile back at you. heat flushes his chest and neck, "y/n..."

the look on his face has you stopping. he looks almost distraught, and that's not at all what you were expecting. there was a part of you that thought leon didn't even remember that first meeting. the solem look on his face suggests otherwise.

"please," you breathe, arms falling as you step closer to him. "I need to know what I did that made you so upset that you couldn't even smile. it's been years of racking my brain, desperately trying to understand what I did-"

"I couldn't smile because I was scared." leon cuts you off firmly, gaze pointed.

"scared?" you repeat curiously. "scared of what?"

"y/n." he says your name again. almost pleading with you.

you reach out, letting your nails trail over the side of his bicep. you blink up at him, "leon, please."

a beat passes.

"you had the prettiest smile i'd ever seen," leon mumbles, so quiet that you almost don't hear him. "that's what scared me. because I knew I would do anything to see it again, and from that moment I knew I had no control when it came to you." he shakes his head, a breathy laugh breaking the tense moment. leon meets your gaze, “I still don't have control around you and it scares me to this day."

your core flutters, and your heart thumps wildly. you lick your lower lip. "yeah?" you question softly.

"yeah."

leon watches as you take another step towards him, your chest pressing against his. you push up onto your painted toes, hands curling around his torso to balance yourself. he's practically panting as he watches you, nose bumping yours as he starts leaning down into your space.

"loose control, leon." you whisper sensually, nails digging into his flesh. "I want you to loose control with me."

leon kisses you hard, hands flying to your waist to keep you pressed against him. your mouths part, tongues swiping over one another as the kiss turns deeper—hotter. it's even better than the one almost two weeks ago. more intimate and more passionate.

you sigh into his mouth, hands sliding up the front of his chest and wrapping around his neck, pulling him into you even more. his fingers squeeze the fleshy part of your hips before travelling farther down, cupping the round of your ass and giving it a firm squeeze. then he drags you even further up his chest, and you can feel him hardening against your core.

"you have no idea how long i've been waiting for you," he mumbles into your mouth, grip sliding down your thighs painfully slow.

you whine as leon kisses you again, lifting you off the ground and wrapping your legs over his hips. the new position has your bare core resting just above his member, and just knowing that has your hips jerking.

leon's hands trail under your shirt, which is now almost completely exposing you, smoothing over your ass. he makes a growling noise, and in that moment you know he's discovered you're without panties. "you're gunna kill me." he mumbles, nipping your bottom lip and then soothing the sting with his tongue.

your hands run up through the back of his head, messing his hair. "leon," you pant, nipples pebbled and hard where they rest against him. "I need to feel you."

he doesn't answer you—not with words. his hands squeeze the meat of your ass again and spin you both around, slowly to not startle you, and walk you into his room. it's completely dark in there besides the single stream of moonlight through the window, leaving a barley there streak of light across the pillows.

leon blindly finds the bed, and once he feels the mess of blankets against his knees he lowers you to the mattress. he hovers over you, eyes flickering over your flushed face so intently—so tenderly. you sigh, a small smile blossoming on your kissed out lips.

it makes him follow suit, the two of just smiling at one another for what feels like the first time. slowly, one of leon's hands finds the side of your face, cupping your jaw while his thumb runs along the hallow part of your cheek soothingly. "you okay?"

your heart clenches, and you lean into the warmth of his palm. your eyes flutter as you nod, "yes. are you?"

"better than okay," he whispers, leaning in and reconnecting your lips. this kiss isn't hurried like the others. this one feels like molasses, slow and sweet and you can't get enough.

leon’s hand trails down your face, over the pulse point of your neck and down your t-shirt covered torso. he pays extra attention to your boobs, tugging and palming your nipples until you're arching into him.

when he reaches your hip bones—the edge of your shirt—he curses, pressing an open mouthed kiss to each side of your hips, and then another one right below your navel. your breath catches, watching as leon’s eyes flicker up yours—so close to where you want him.

leon smirks, kissing the inside of your thigh delicately. "what do you want from me, baby?"

the nickname makes your hips jerk, a breathless moan leaving you involuntary. leon's smirk deepens, hands sliding up your thighs and pushing them further apart, displaying your glistening bare pussy.

"I want you to touch me," you mumble desperately, hands fisting the bedding under you like your life depends on it.

"speak up baby." leon taunts, blowing air on your warmth.

you jaw goes slack as you squirm and wiggle against the mattress. "I want you," you swallow roughly, "to touch me."

he licks his bottom lip like he's in front of a five course meal, "good girl." leon mumbles before licking a firm strip up your pussy, tasting and spreading your sticky arousal. you gasp loudly, too loudly for sharing a house with other people, when he sucks on your clit.

leon hums at the sound, and it vibrates through your folds in a way that makes you shiver. his hands massage the meat of your thighs as he devours your pussy, keeping you spread open for him.

your panting, back arching off the bed as your core flutters pathetically. "i'm close." you whine, fingers threading through leon's hair and tugging his roots.

leon slurps your arousal, sucking your clit deliciously. just when you're about to teeter off the edge, he pulls away from you. his chin and lips are drenched in your juices, and when he smirks you just about melt.

"I wanna see your face when you cum," he admits shamelessly, already beginning to remove his sweatpants. his hard cock springs free, thick and red as it brushes against his stomach. as if leon couldn't get any more sexy, he's got the perfect cock as the cherry on top.

you bring your bottom lip between you teeth, watching him shamelessly. he catches your gaze, "take your shirt off."

and you do, quickly, like you can't take it off fast enough. you throw it to the floor and leon climbs back over your body, pressing tickling kisses against your neck that have you giggling and squirming.

"you're beautiful." leon hums, pressing a deep kiss to your mouth. you can taste yourself on his lips and tongue, and that makes you moan. he pulls away, forehead resting against yours, "I don't have a condom."

you shake your head, "i'm clean. I haven't been with anybody since—" since I met you.

you don't need to say it. leon knows. "me either." he kisses you again, chaste. "and i’m clean, if you’re sure?"

"yes," you tell him, "i've never been more sure of anything."

he smiles, lining his aching tip up with your sticky entrance. slowly, leon eases into your warmth. you both sigh shakily, mouth agape as leon's cock slides further and further into your pussy.

"holy fuck," he moans, "you feel so good."

you whine, wrapping your legs around his lower back, keeping him as close as possible. the feeling is electric and like nothing you've experienced before. it's years of tension, frustration, unspoken words and secret longing combined, and it feels like heaven.

leon begins rolling his hips into you, a slow pace that has your toes clenching and pussy oozing. your back arches off the bed, hands sliding up his back, nails digging into his shoulder blades as he rocks into your heat.

he curses lowly, the band in his stomach tightening as his impending orgasm nears. "your pussy feels so fucking good wrapped around my cock."

"oh my god, leon—mhpm." you mewl, walls fluttering and squeezing as he continues his now feverish pace. the bed begins to creak from the movement, a sound that surely gives away exactly what you and leon are up to. but neither of you care.

"fuck," he grunts, grabbing your leg and hiking it further up, almost holding it flush to your chest. the new angle is exactly what you needed, leon's tip kissing that spongy spot inside you repeatedly.

"i'm gunna cum." you whine, hands sliding around to his front, cascading up his chest to wrap around his neck. "don't stop." you beg desperately, jaw going slack at a particularly rough thrust.

"you like that?" leon asks, eyeing your pinched eyes and flushed face. he pushes on the back of your thigh, stretching you open even more and more. you shout, mumbling yes over and over again. "yeah?" he teases.

he thrusts into you three more times and you cum. you exhale breathily, falling back against the bed as your limbs go weak. your skin feels like it's on fire in the best possible way. leon's jaw goes slack, hips jutting into yours as he reaches his climax.

the feeling of him filling you up with his cum, pumping into into you softly with lazy thrusts has you cumming again, much softer than your first orgasm, but still powerful enough to have you whining.

your eyes flutter closed, exhaustion creeping into your bones. leon breathlessly kisses the line of your jaw, and then your cheek, then your nose and finally your lips. you smile into it, holding his face to yours tenderly.

"you okay?" he whispers, pushing some hair off your sweaty forehead.

you hum, kissing him one more time quickly. "yeah." you say, "i'm definitely tired now."

he grins fondly, dick twitching where it's still sheathed inside you. slowly, leon guides himself from your warmth, watching as his cum spills out your hole and drips onto the bedding. it’s truly a sight.

he curses, already half hard again. you giggle, and leon swears he's never heard a more precious sound. he cleans up your shared mess gently, pressing kissing against your skin every few seconds. it's so comforting and soft it has you falling asleep.

when leon finally climbs back up the bed, he pulls you against his chest, tucking your head under his chin. he pulls the blanket over your naked bodies, and kisses your forehead, so softly that you barley feel it. "go to sleep, y/n."

and you do.

—

you take a deep breath, letting the muskoka air fill your lungs completely before you let yourself exhale. the night sky is full of stars and constellations, adding to the already perfect night.

you can hear the chatter of the last half of rehearsal dinner from up the house, lauren's laughter finding your ears like it usual does. you're both cacklers, and connor often dubs you two as the cackle twins.

the dinner has been beautiful, as expected. speeches made you tear up and laugh at the same time, and the food was so delicious is made you moan.

you woke up this morning before leon, the sunshine streaming through the open curtains and caring him in golden light. seeing him so soft and tender was everything, but the unknown of everything between you still lingers in your chest.

yes, you had sex. yes, you kissed again. but what does that mean?

you left before he woke up.

the day had been so busy with you helping lauren and getting ready for rehearsals, that you didn't see leon again until the dinner. seeing him made your heart race, and skin heat. leon looked so handsome in his suit, hair styled and casual smile on his face—chatting with connor from across the table.

you thought you could handle your feelings and emotions through the duration of dinner, but that changed as connor made his toast—a stupidly perfect toast about love that made you think of leon.

you caught his eyes through it, and he sent you a sad smile. it breaks you. you're scared of the unknown, and you want him so badly. but not knowing what leon wants is torture, and frankly it’s holding you back.

so once all the toasts are done and dinner conversation is in full swing, you slip out of the house and make your way down to the waters edge. hoping to collect yourself. the sound of the water and the crickets are soothing as you look out on to the lake. you wrap your arms around yourself, taking another deep and much needed breath.

the sound of someone walking on the rocks behind you makes you spin around, white silk dress swaying around your thighs at your sudden movement.

"hey," leon says gently, hands shoved in his pant pockets. he's no longer wearing his jacket, he must've ditched it before coming out to find you.

"hey." you parrot.

he comes up next you, arm brushing yours. "you okay?"

you hum lightly, nodding once. "just taking a breather." your emotions betray your body as your lip quivers, a wave of fat tears rolling down your cheeks.

leon spots them instantly, rounding to your front to look at you properly. "hey," he starts tenderly, brushing some loose hairs away from your face, "why are you upset?"

"i'm just...emotional." you mutter pathetically, shrugging your shoulder.

leon frowns. "about the speeches?"

"yes," you say, "no. I don't know."

he clicks his tongue, tucking your hair. his touch makes you shiver. "what about it is making you upset?" leon asks, words patient and curious.

you shake your head, wiping at your tears with the back of your hand. "it's stupid," you laugh half-heartedly, "and I really should get back inside and be present! this is about lauren and connor, not me-"

"hey," leon stops you, "no. lauren and connor are fine. it's just me and you right now, okay? what's going on that head."

that's a good question. what is going on inside your head. for years you believed that leon hated you. you were certain of it. you two would always bicker and fight, couldn't be in the same room without it getting hostile. but the past few weeks something has undeniably changed.

you sigh, voice wobbly as you begin to speak. "for years, you only looked my way if you wanted to argue."

leon frowns, reaching out to cup your jaw. "that's not true." he says with determination, brows pulled so tightly that you'd be surprised if the indent between them isn't permanent.

"it is," you huff, "and sometimes I think that's still the case." a new wave of tears and doubt well in your eyes, heart thumping against your ribs wildly. "you hate me, leon."

a moment passes, leon looking down at you with an unreadable, almost sad expression. your words couldn't be farther from the truth. leon didn’t lie when he said he never hated you. it always been the opposite for him. "okay, sure," leon starts, "I hate you."

you gulp, eyes never leaving his.

leon continues, "I hate that I know your favourite necklace was gift from your grandma when you turned 18. I hate that I know you fiddle with your rings when you're nervous, and that you'll do anything for lauren and your friends, even if that means putting up with my terrible fucking attitude. I hate that I know your favourite lipgloss is bubblegum flavoured, and that your dream pet is a snake but there's also something about them that scares you. I hate that I made you hate me, because I sure as hell have never hated you."

you sniffle, shifting on your feet as his words warm your skin. you've never told leon about yourself, but yet he knew you well enough to know them. he knows you. you knows where you live, and your nail colour. he knows you cross your arms when you get defensive and that you love beer nuts.

"then why?" you ask gingerly "why did you act like you did?"

leon doesn't say anything. his jaw ticks, teeth clenched so hard that it hurts. leon's other hand comes up to your face, caressing your tear stained skin in his calloused palms. his lips part, tongue sliding along his bottom lip. "because I love you."

you blink. "what?"

"I love you like crazy," leon repeats, a breathy laugh following. "I loved you since you walked into that bar with lauren, all smiles and wearing that pretty yellow dress. sure, you scared me but you also intrigued me. when you started fighting with me, which was warranted, there was a part of me that hated it, but another part of me loved it because it was the only time you'd give me the time of day."

his thumbs smooth over your rosy cheeks as he continues, "so i'd argue with you and fight with you because I knew that would make you look at me and talk to me. and i'm so sorry. i'm sorry that I hurt you and embarrassed you and gave you all these mixed signals the past two weeks. i'm sorry that I was falling in love you more and more each day and didn't say anything until now."

"you love me?"

leon must think you're feeling skeptical about his confession, because his thumbs still on your cheeks and his face falters. "i'm not fucking with you."

"you love me." you state.

"yes," he breathes, "i've never not loved you."

"leon."

"I know. i'm sorry."

"leon...stop."

"you can hit me or smack me or drown me in this lake if that helps. i've been awful to you and then sending you mixed signals when it's the last thing I wanted to do. I got greedy with the sex and kissing but-"

"kiss me." you interrupt firmly, sliding your hands up his stomach and resting your palms flat against his pecks

"what?" leon breathes, blinking hard as your words register in his head.

"you heard me, leon," you smile, "kiss me. now."

and he does. leon kisses you with nothing besides tenderness and pure love, lips caressing and sliding along yours in a way that makes your knees feel weak. your hands slide around to his back, squeezing his muscles firmly as he continues the kiss. his tongue slides along yours, sending butterflies down your body. you pull away, both of you breathless and so in love.

"I love you too, leon." you smile, pressing another chaste kiss to his plump lips. "and I forgive you, if you can forgive me too."

he shakes his head, "there's nothing for me to forgive."

leon kisses you again, picking up right where you left off. his hands slide down your body, down to your lower back as his thumb glide over your tail bone in a soothing, gentle motion. the kiss doesn’t last nearly long enough, and you whine when he pulls away.

he grins, squeezing the flesh of your ass. "we should probably go back inside. lauren might bite my head off if I steal her best friend away any longer."

"are you sure we can't just go have a quickie first?" you ask playfully, fiddling with the hairs at the base of his neck.

he shakes his head in disbelief, a fond smile pulling at his face. "you're a freak."

"at least i'm not a freak who hates beer nuts," you tease, poking his stomach, "but forces himself to eat them."

leon wraps his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side as the two of you make your way back up to the house. "ah, but you see, I did it for the greater good."

you snort. "and what greater good was that?"

"getting the girl."

—

follow up part here

[hedwig221b]

any fics with stiles being the darling of the hale family like the whole fam just loving him and really supporting derek’s relationship with him

Hello! Found these ones, but I feel like I'm forgetting some, so if anyone has suggestions, please, leave them below (I wanna read more)

can you tell me what was ever really special about me all this time? by whiry

There's something strange about Beacon Hills. Stiles can't really put his finger on it, but the way certain classmates look at him at school and the way certain adults look at him in the grocery store has him curious. And it's not the sort of pitying looks that his mom's coworkers used to give him, but these ones are longer, more searching, like they're looking for something. Not to mention the weird noises that sometimes come from the woods when he runs, too human to be animal and too animal to be human. Plus the way the Hales have seemed to sequester themselves to the wild and give Stiles serious Cullen family vibes. But Stiles, like everyone else apparently, ignores it. Until it becomes too great to ignore and he has to investigate for himself and find out what is actually going on in Beacon Hills. +++ Or, the one where Stiles and Derek meet, hate each other, slowly get to know one another, and fall totally head over heels for each other all while avoiding curious classmates, an angry ex-girlfriend, and, oh yeah, imminent death.

here in the heart (of my sanctuary) by crazyassmurdererwall (smartalli)

Talia accelerates through the tunnel, and Derek looks up, watches the light that makes it through the bramble dance and shift over the hood of the car as they drive, fingers gripping the sides of the tank. It’s beautiful, like a gateway to another world. He’s lived in the preserve his whole life, and he didn’t know this was here. She eyes him. “You should know this man is very important to me. I take the responsibility of his care and counsel very seriously. Handing him over to you…it’s not a small thing. Please keep that in mind.”

Northern Blues by kaistrex (weishen)

When Stiles steps into the room that the Hale house has conjured for him to stay in, the first thing he sees is a window already open, letting in a pleasant breeze. The second is a door in the right-hand wall. Laura clears her throat, scratching at her nose. “That leads to Derek’s room.” Stiles’ eyebrows shoot up and a laugh bursts out before he can stop it. Now he understands how the pack knew this room probably wouldn’t belong to his dad (which, gross). He looks over his shoulder at Derek who’s glaring pointedly at everything except for Stiles with pink-tipped ears. “Presumptuous. I like it,” he says to the house, patting one of the walls and throwing a wink at Derek hovering in the doorway. _ When the Hale pack transitions to a new Alpha, Stiles is thrilled to be assigned to Beacon Hills to try out as their new Emissary. He and his dad are immediately enamoured with the idyllic little town, fitting right in with the rest of the Hales – except for Derek. The new Alpha shows no signs of welcome, but it will be hard for him to stay stubborn in the face of his family’s encouragement and a sentient house that has plans for the two of them whether Derek likes it or not.

Don't You Worry (Stiles) by Watermelon Wolves (RogueMarieL)

After Scott was bitten, Stiles told a very small lie in exchange for a very huge prize -- pack membership -- and he has spent the intervening years winning every Best Fake Boyfriend award on the books. Now, however, Scott wants to be in an actual relationship, and Stiles is losing his pack. Enter Derek.

Hung The Moon by BurnItAllClean (nrnyx)

Slowly Stiles got control of himself again. His heart calmed. His breathing evened out. The anger was gone. In its place, a bone-deep weariness settled. He couldn’t do this. He wouldn’t survive this.

Bonded to a Spark by AMatchInWater

Derek comes back to Beacon Hills after living in New York with Laura as a deputy. His mom wants to retire and has enlisted Stiles to be their emissary in training since he's such a successful spark. Derek hates all of it at first until he cracks when Stiles wakes him up in the middle of the night to fix the wards, and he starts to fall for the Omega living in his home.

sanctuary where i stand by ceserabeau

"We're happy to have you, Stiles," Laura says, and nudges Derek hard, "Aren't we?" "Of course," Derek says through gritted teeth. When he looks at Stiles, the kid has a smug grin on his face. What a little shit. AU where Stiles is sent to the Hale pack to be their emissary.

What Fresh Twilight Bullshit Is This? by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

"I am not Bella!” he insisted, shaking his fist angrily at Jackson, as if he’d been the one to suggest he was. “I am not Bella! I am, like, a Jacob, at least!” Lydia made a noise of debate from his right and he whipped around to look at her. “What?! What was that sound?!” “You’re more of a Mike,” she insisted, shrugging neatly and flipping some curls over her shoulder. “Wha—” Stiles had never been so offended in his life! “I am not! No way! I am a solid Jacob!” “Mike,” she argued. “Who’s Mike?” Scott asked. “Shut up, Scott!” Stiles insisted, pointing a finger at him but still glaring at Lydia.

Only By Entering The Wolf's Den by Spuri

Stiles gets a call for help from his old babysitter, Laura Hale, after a slew of magical sabotage to the restaurant/gastropub she runs with her brother Derek. Mysterious magical and supernatural shenanigans are Stiles' bread and butter, so who is he to deny what's basically family? Even if it does mean facing his age-old, hopeless crush on Derek again, and the fact that Derek hates him.

[masterlist link]

[prael]

Day 3: Reciprocation

Itzy Yeji x male reader smut

words: 6,714 12 Days of Praelmas Masterlist

If there's one thing you've learned dealing with the rich, the famous and the devious, it's that there's always a deal to be made.

-

"Not often that I see a girl like you in a place like this."

"Well, you're an incredibly difficult man to track down."

It's the girl who's supposed to be on the main page of your site starting tomorrow morning. You gesture for Yeji to sit by your side, and while there are more than enough empty seats around you, she prefers to stand. What is this, a fucking power move?

"Well, you could have just called my office and made yourself an appointment."

It doesn't amuse her. She simply brings her hands up to rest on her hips as she looks at you.

"Look, let's get to the point. You can't post the article." There is something rather endearing in watching how she talks to you. Her hips are cocked and her face bears a look of determination, but she lacks confidence. You're not sure she even believes herself. Maybe she's just hoping that you'll cave.

You meet her eyes and hold her gaze for a few moments, searching for a crack in her armour. It's hard to say for certain when the only lighting in this club is what little neon they have on display, but there seems to be something else hiding behind her stare. A nervous energy, perhaps. So, you correct her, "I can post the article."

"Look— I, I have money." She takes a single stride towards you, with her long slender legs of which only part of her thigh is covered by the bottom of her dress. That thing clings to them like it does every other inch of her body. One hell of a figure.

"I'm well aware."

"Okay then, how much money will it take for you to drop the article?"

"Money doesn't compare to an article like this one—you know that. Come on," you lean forward a bit. "You should be smarter than that."

"How much?!" Yeji says again. There's an edge to her voice now and a stern look in her eyes. She must feel that you're not taking her seriously—honestly, you aren't. You can't count the number of times an agency has tried to block an article by simply throwing money your way. The novelty has worn off. 

"Listen, Miss Hwang, I appreciate the effort you have gone through to manufacture a meeting with me, however, just like I told your PR team, I'm not for sale. Should you want to avoid this sort of thing, then I'd recommend being a little more discreet the next time you want to fuck around." You glance at the door leading out. The exit sign above is blinking erratically, but it serves its intended purpose nonetheless. "I'll see you in tomorrow morning's news."

"No."

"No?" You raise an eyebrow. She may be a star and she may make people go crazy in more ways than one, but if you've learned something about yourself over the years, it's that you aren't as easily swayed by beauty alone, nor impressed by fame.

Yeji remains silent, her eyes looking down to the table in front of you and your mind instantly starts conjuring up scenarios where the girl goes into a screaming fit or starts throwing a tantrum until security drags her sorry ass out the door.

Her head snaps up again. "Fine." Yeji turns sideways and steps around the small table. It becomes apparent that she plans on sitting by your side, after all. She isn't exactly looking at you as she plops herself onto the cushioned bench. "You said 'next time', right?" She begins quietly.

In spite of yourself, a smile appears on your face when you see the wheels turn inside of Yeji's head. "I don't think I understand."

"Yes, you do," Yeji replies dryly. And with the certainty now back in her voice, it appears you've misjudged her.

When you remain silent for a few moments, Yeji eventually gives in and takes a quick, inconspicuous breath before looking up again. Her face is but inches from your own. "Have sex with me tonight."

It takes effort not to burst into laughter in response to such an absurd offer, and as a result, the amusement is probably pretty damn clear in the tone of your reply. "You're cute."

"I'm serious."

You look the girl in the eyes once more, leaning backwards. "You know how much trouble you could get into for trying something like this, right?"

Yeji's jaw clenches momentarily. "Yeah."

You gaze down along her body again. The skin on her thighs seems smooth and silky; definitely worth a closer inspection, and you would be lying if you said the knowledge of her dirty hook-ups didn't have your mind wondering about all the ways she might be willing to work her body in an attempt to sway you. You wonder if she likes it rough; likes having someone grab hold of those black locks of hers and yank her head back. Likes having a cock slammed down her throat. Your thoughts quickly go into a tailspin which has you imagining Yeji crawling towards you dressed up in nothing but skimpy lingerie, a hungry smile plastered across her face and a yearning desire to find out what sort of mess you could turn her into.

"So," you begin quietly. "I don't release an article about the K-pop star who keeps sneaking out into hotels to get herself fucked—and in exchange, I get to sleep with the K-pop star who keeps sneaking out into hotels to get herself fucked. Do I have that right?"

You see the embarrassment cross Yeji's features briefly, yet she still manages to bite out her reply with certainty: "Yes."

For some reason, even though she's been found out and forced into making such an absurd deal, she refuses to lower her gaze away from yours, almost daring you to judge her. You've seen her music videos online—goddamnit, everyone has—and she's sexy as hell. No one would deny that, and she looks stunning in that black dress of hers. It really compliments her figure. Legs go on for days, a toned physique and looking down the front of her dress as she leans into you, a pretty little pair of tits hidden somewhere in there as well.

"I've been propositioned before, you know, but usually that's to get their face on the front page, not off it." You cock your head at her. "How badly do you want this dropped, anyway?"

"What are you trying to say?"

You lean back slowly, deliberately, resting your shoulders against the seat as you feel Yeji's eyes study your every move. Despite the terrible lighting, you can tell she's biting her lip nervously. She's so close that the scent coming off her fills the air around you. It's a pleasant smell. One you wouldn't mind having all over your bed.

"I'll be blunt." Your eyes fall to her chest and you take note of how Yeji squirms under your stare. A tiny smile appears on your lips. "I'd love to fuck you. Hell, anyone in their right mind would love to fuck you. You're a very attractive girl, after all." You nod in her direction. "So, that part will happen if I agree to this deal of yours, however, there's one thing you haven't accounted for."

Yeji meets your stare. Her voice is low, yet resolute. "Which is?"

"You have no idea of whether or not I'm actually going to uphold my end of the bargain."

She pauses in silence and then moves her hand across the table, scooping up your drink and raising it to her full lips. As she knocks back the remainder, the way her slender neck stretches makes you wish you could wrap your hands around it.

The glass hits the table and Yeji licks her lips softly. The sight has you licking your own and for just a second, the both of you simply gaze at each other in silence, almost sizing each other up. Yeji finally shifts closer to you until she's right by your side. Her breasts press up against your shoulder and you feel her warmth on your arm.

One of her delicate hands lands gently in your lap and slides upwards onto your thigh where she starts to draw small circles with her fingertips. You wonder if she notices the slight hitch in your breath as she touches you. "We can go to your office. Sign a document. Legally binding. Non-disclosure. And agree to write a favourable piece about me. You can send out the request to your best columnist there and then. And then you can take me right there." Her words come out in soft whispers and her eyes dart over your face, trying to read your reaction.

Yeji is young and beautiful and she's clearly horny enough to get herself into this kind of mess. It doesn't come as too much of a surprise to you, then, when you feel a delicate fingertip trace over your crotch. "Take you?"

"On your desk. Over your desk," she elaborates shamelessly and with a hint of cheek in her voice. There's a smug expression on her face. She's enjoying herself but also relieved to be getting through to you. "However you want me."

"So, it's an exchange? A dirty deal done in the darkness?"

Yeji smirks. "I prefer to call it reciprocation."

-

Friday night in the office and it still has the passive hum of life, though not much of it. Cutting through the air is the loud clack of Yeji's high heels as she follows you silently past empty room after empty room. The interns putting in the long hours are all on the lower floors, giving you just enough discretion.

You glance back briefly at her before rounding the corner. Just like you had imagined, she seems rather timid now. Head held slightly down and glancing around the place, almost like she's embarrassed to be here with you.

Finally, you reach your private office near the far wall of the floor and wave Yeji inside. As you step up to your desk and turn, Yeji closes the door behind herself and watches you intently. The soft light in here gives you a much better opportunity to appreciate her.

"Come." You gesture her over while simultaneously logging into your PC.

It only takes a few simple clicks to bring up a basic confidentiality agreement which you proceed to edit. "As requested," you begin. "This agreement prohibits me from writing anything related to your numerous encounters with nameless men and women in various hotels throughout Seoul. Failure to abide by these terms enables you to take legal action against me and my firm to any extent deemed necessary."

She places her palms on the desk as you turn the monitor to show her. She reads it. You read here. Leaning forward has the front of her dress hang open a bit further. It's the first glance you get of her red bra underneath and the swell of her chest, just big enough for handfuls. She sees your wandering eyes, yet continues to scan the terms of the contract. It makes you curious if the idea of being looked at like some cheap slut turns her on. Maybe you should try referring to her as such. Would she object? Or encourage?

Yeji nods in approval and you click 'print'. She looks past you, watching it emerge from the machine.

"That's all we need," you say, never looking away from her. There's something mesmerising about her eyes. They're large, they're dark and they tend to draw you in. "Now I can't expose your whorish tendencies."

She looks offended momentarily. "Whorish?"

"Two months. Forty-two hotel visits were recorded. Thirty-five different partners." The chair rolls away as you push it back and stand up, towering over her frame. "Yes, you're fucking whorish, Yeji. Our research was thorough."

"I'm just having fun." She stops leaning on the desk. You both take a step in unison, beginning to round the desk while staring each other down. The moment feels tense. "There's nothing wrong with that."

"Oh, I agree completely."

Another step. Another inch towards each other.

"There's no shame in being a bit of a slut. An incredibly beautiful slut."

A third.

You're face to face. Those heels make her almost as tall as you, and you glance at Yeji's lips as the tip of her tongue suddenly darts out over them. The only sound between the two of you is your shared breathing. Yeji tilts her head back slightly and gazes into your eyes, waiting expectantly for you to act upon your desire. Waiting for you to throw her onto the desk and fuck the living shit out of her, just as she asked for.

You wait.

Her lower lip disappears beneath the bite of her teeth.

Wait.

A sudden flush rises up onto Yeji's cheeks, undoubtedly born from her frustration, but you don't miss the excitement hiding within it either. Then, Yeji takes another step forward, one which has you taking hold of her waist, pushing yourself hard up against her body.

Almost instantly, the pair of you go from hesitant to frantic, moving without a single word being spoken between either of you.

Your mouths meet in an open-mouthed kiss of heat, passion and impatience. There's a gasp coming from somewhere, a mixture of a moan as the two of you collide. It takes more willpower than expected not to shove your tongue down Yeji's throat as you feel hers slide against yours in an instant. Fingernails dig into your neck; not hard enough to leave marks, yet not soft enough to be mistaken as anything else than a woman showing what she wants. It's exactly what you wanted to do when you first saw her tonight.

She bites on your lip, sucks on it and goes straight back in. You grab hold of her tightly and shuffle her backwards towards the desk. You can barely restrain yourself. A groan rises up in the depths of your stomach when Yeji parts her legs slightly, welcoming your body in between them.

Every part of you tells you to bend her over and start hammering yourself into her, yet there's still one last detail you must attend to. You break free of Yeji's grasp and shove her roughly down onto your desk.

Her hair fans out around her head and her gaze looks darker somehow, more lustrous under this light. You follow her shape, down, over the bumps of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the curve of her hips and then to the hem of her dress, where bare thigh begins again. She shudders under the weight of your stare. Legs falling apart, invitingly.

You feel Yeji tremble under your tender touch as you run your hand up the outside of her thigh and push up the fabric of her dress. The tips of your fingers bump along the rim of her underwear before reaching her hip where you trace shapes absentmindedly. She's smooth and silky everywhere.

"What is it?" Yeji asks breathlessly when you don't move for a few moments. Your attention remains firmly locked on that final detail. The thin lace material covering her cunt.

You look her dead in the eyes and curl your fingers around it. "Just wondering how many different people have had you like this."

The red lace is pulled aside. Yeji stares at you, seemingly taken aback by your bluntness as you lean down a little further and angle her leg to the side, letting cool air hit every inch of her bare sex. And it's a lovely sight, all things considered. Neat, trimmed and glistening wet. Your hand moves across her thigh to hold her in place. "Usually I'm on top," Yeji replies, finally regaining her confidence.

"You'd rather be riding me, huh?"

"Yes." Yeji's answer comes immediately. Your cock is stiffening already at the mere thought of having her small body bouncing in your lap as she rides your length like a bitch in heat.

She runs her own hands up her slender frame, feeling up the sides of her own waist, skirting around those perky tits and letting out the smallest whimper of anticipation as she caresses the side of her neck. Her eyelashes flutter with desire. It seems the girl enjoys being admired just as much as you enjoy admiring.

"Don't worry, you'll get to ride it soon enough." Slowly, you drag your middle finger up between her folds, making sure you put enough pressure down against the sweet little bud of nerves to make her arch her back at the sensation. A deep inhale catches itself in the back of Yeji's throat when you sink your fingertip inside of her, only for it to turn into a disappointed sigh when you withdraw.

She bites her lip in embarrassment, no doubt mortified that she couldn't keep quiet at such a simple action, although that doesn't stop you from repeating the movement, applying more pressure and then sinking further into her. This time you withdraw and then taste your finger curiously. If the sweet scent wafting off her wasn't enough indication, she tastes as good as she looks.

"How are you so wet already?" you ask. "All from thinking about getting railed over my desk, hmm?" You ask teasingly, lowering your mouth down closer to her pussy and holding your breath for a moment. You can feel the warmth coming off her.

"It's exciting."

"What, fucking a stranger?"

"Yes," Yeji says bluntly. She wets her lips. "There's nothing quite like giving yourself up to someone completely random."

Your hand slides down her calf and gently pulls off her heel. As soon as it hits the ground, it's replaced with a slow and tender kiss on the inside of her ankle. The skin is just as smooth and supple as the rest of her. From here you have a much better view of how her delicate little flower pulses in longing.

Your head dips and you suck hard on Yeji's inner thigh. You delight in the surprised yelp leaving her mouth as you rake your teeth over her soft skin, pulling at it before letting go. It leaves behind a lovely purple bruise which you blow cold air over, soothing the irritated skin. It makes you smile, knowing that mark will remain for a week, to be seen by whoever she fucks next.

"Do you get excited thinking about having me join the list of cocks pounding away at you?"

Without allowing Yeji time to think, your tongue finds her clit and starts drawing shapes around it. "Yes!" You hear her hiss. Your left arm reaches under her thigh and keeps her pinned down to the table while your right does the same, only giving your tongue freedom to dance over her wet cunt.

You sample her thoroughly, getting her used to the feeling of your warm tongue running over every part of her. You apply more pressure to your work once you notice Yeji bucking her hips upwards to grind against your mouth.

"Oh shit." Yeji is panting heavily now, gasping for breath whenever you pay special attention to her clit. Her thighs quiver every so often, tensing around your head. "Don't—don't stop."

Yeji has the nicest legs you've ever laid eyes on. The way they wrap tightly around your head, squeezing the air out of you when you suck down on her swollen clit, it feels heavenly.

Suddenly, Yeji's hips thrust forward, throwing your rhythm off momentarily.

"Mmm, oh—fuck," she whimpers as you feel her body shake and quiver underneath your touch. Your pace doesn't slacken even once throughout.

"Fuck," Yeji whines louder this time. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum."

Already?

You put more pressure on her hips, keeping them pinned down as best as possible, whilst your tongue attacks her with fervent desperation, spurred on by Yeji's declaration. As the seconds pass by, Yeji becomes more vocal, though not with her words—with her actions. Her breathing picks up noticeably. Soon it becomes short and ragged. Her chest heaves. Her fingers claw into the surface below her. Her spine curves beautifully and her lips hang open wide, allowing loud cries to escape her.

She practically sings out for you as her nails scratch at your desk, looking for something to hold on to, something to ground her. Her whole body tenses up for several moments.

Then it happens.

Her mouth opens up wide yet no sound comes out, her back arches almost unnaturally and her juices coat your chin. The silence hangs in the air, heavy, palpable as her walls contract in ecstasy. Then it's finally broken with a loud snap. One of her fake nails pops off and flies across the room as she grips too hard on the edge of the desk.

Then she moans. Guttural, wanton, unrestrained, absolutely filthy. It fills the room, reverberating back to you in a delicious chorus of hedonism and pleasure. She lies there limp with her eyes shut. Her mouth open. Panting heavily. Basking in the glow.

"So easily?" you ask quietly. Yeji takes a deep breath, trying to steady her heart rate. Your hands leave her hips, caressing her trembling flesh, sliding upwards, running up her dress and over the curve of her waist until you reach her shoulders. You tug the straps down the length of her arms and lean closer, pushing the soft material down to reveal the top of her matching red lingerie. Your hand cups the back of her head. She instinctively knows to lift it.

You lower your lips down to her collarbone as you reach behind her to unzip her dress. The sensation of your kisses against her neck draws another moan out of Yeji. A quiet one this time, however. Gentle. Contended.

You kiss upwards, planting several against the underside of her jaw and the corners of her lips. "I can't stop myself," she whispers, opening her eyes just in time for you to press your lips against hers, tasting the lingering sweetness in your mouth. She smiles.

"Let's get you out of that dress," you say and she nods in agreement. "Up," you order softly and Yeji complies, lifting herself high enough for you to pull the material down her waist and over the length of her thighs. It falls to the ground in a heap at her feet. All that remains is the expensive-looking red underwear set she chose for this occasion.

The two of you exchange looks. She bites her lip. She can see the burning lust raging within your eyes. You don't care if it gives the game away.

There's an absolutely wicked smile that draws across her lips as you start to unbutton your shirt. Her voice is all sultry seduction when she says, "I've been meaning to ask you, are you always swayed so easily?"

"Honestly? Not really," you respond calmly, watching how her eyes eagerly take in your torso as you shrug off your clothing. "Maybe there is something about you that's just..." you trail off, unsure of how to end the sentence.

Yeji sits up on the edge of the desk and throws her arms around your neck, dragging you in closer so that your bodies connect. You feel her lips press against your chest in soft kisses. A finger trails over your abdomen, drawing patterns over your skin before moving downwards. "Yes?"

"Different." Your belt is quickly undone and dropped alongside her dress. Nimble fingers begin unbuttoning your trousers. You run your hands through her hair, appreciating how silky it feels running through your fingers.

Yeji has her gaze focused between your bodies, on her hands as they push your jeans down to the floor and you notice the change in her breathing the moment she wraps her hand around your cock.

She kisses her way up to your neck where her lips tickle your skin as she mumbles: "In a good way?"

Yeji presses the flat of her palm against the base of your erection, rubbing slowly. Your head tilts backwards slightly and you allow yourself a low groan. There's a warm puff of air as she giggles quietly against your neck.

"In a great way," you answer.

"Good," she purrs, suddenly tightening her grip on you and giving you several deliberate strokes. You watch intently as Yeji runs her thumb over the tip of your dick, circling it a few times before continuing with her motions. She leans closer, wrapping her legs around your body and placing her mouth by your ear. "I know what I said earlier about loving to ride a cock and all that," her voice is filled with lust. Pure, unbridled desire. "But honestly? I'd do just about anything right now to have you fuck me against this desk."

And that does it for you.

All semblance of control vanishes entirely in a heartbeat.

You drag her from her perch, only to turn her around and push her right back against the desk. Yeji bends over the edge and places both her palms flat atop it. You watch her toned legs move apart as she spreads them invitingly. Your hand reaches out to rest on her ass.

Soft. Round. Supple. Just begging to be fucked. Your dick rests comfortably between her cheeks, which are covered by the flimsiest piece of lace you've ever seen. The pair of you groan together in anticipation at the sensation of feeling each other so intimately. The anticipation of what is soon to come.

"You want me to fuck you, huh?" you ask.

Yeji turns her head to look at you, dark strands of black hair hanging before her beautiful, desperate eyes. "Please."

She waits expectantly as you move back just enough to hook your fingers into her underwear and pull them down slowly, revealing the pretty little cunt you had tasted earlier. The desk is ever so slightly too tall for her, and her long legs stretch to rest on her tiptoes.

You run your hand down between Yeji's pert cheeks, delighting in the gasp of relief leaving her mouth as you cup her heat. Your fingers slip through her slick, coating themselves with her natural arousal before one sinks inside effortlessly. You push it deep, drawing a content sigh from her lips as your digit bottoms out.

A second follows shortly after and she clenches hard around the pair of them.

"Your cock," Yeji demands. You curl your fingers inside of her, delighted by how she struggles to speak when you graze her weak spots. "Want it..."

"But this is fun," you state simply, continuing to explore every inch of her, learning which places cause the biggest reactions and relishing in her quiet hums of satisfaction every time you stimulate them. You'd be lying if you said it didn't make your cock pulse with the need to be inside her. That warm wetness wrapped snugly around your fingers would feel downright amazing around you.

Yeji wriggles her body, pressing her ass against you and whimpering as your digits push inside again. "Please... your cock." Your eyes drop from the beauty bent over in front of you and focus instead on the sight of your fingers disappearing repeatedly between those gorgeous legs. How her muscles clench and her toes curl against the carpet with each and every motion of your digits inside her. She looks ready. She feels ready.

"Well, seeing as you're asking so nicely—"

You slip your fingers out. The whine of loss from Yeji barely has time to fade as you grab hold of her ass with both hands, spread it out, line yourself up with her cunt and sink inside without hesitation. Fuck it. Why go slow?

"Oh god," Yeji moans as your hips meet. Her knuckles turn white as she claws at the surface of the desk in an effort to cope with the feeling of fullness that she's clearly experiencing right now. Her eyes widen and she bites hard into the back of her lip as her cunt stretches around you, accommodating you perfectly. She exhales deeply.

It's all worth it—the workplace compromise. This moment right here where your thick cock rests deep inside of Hwang Yeji's warm, wet cunt. Finally. And holy fucking hell—it's everything you could've ever asked for.

"I knew you'd feel so fucking good," you murmur, trailing your hands up Yeji's slender figure, feeling her back tense slightly when she lets out a small moan of agreement. Your fingers tangle into her long hair, wrap it around your fist, give a harsh tug to pull her head backwards, earning a sharp intake of air—and then you start rutting your hips into hers. Long, forceful strokes fill the air with repeated claps of skin slapping against skin.

The choked moans which tumble from Yeji's lips are music to your ears, encouraging you to keep her pinned down against your desk with a strong hand on the small of her back. Your fingertips press into her flawless skin hard enough to bruise, yet neither of you cares—not when there are far more important matters to attend to. Namely, pounding Yeji's brains out and filling her tight little pussy with ropes of hot cum.

So, you pick up your pace, quickening the tempo and making sure each thrust of your hips goes harder than the previous. Her mouth hangs open in a silent scream with each movement of your body against hers. Every slap of your hips against her ass elicits a reaction.

You're already addicted to her. Everything about Yeji makes you want to hold nothing back, and as you pull yourself out only to slam back inside her depths, you can't help but notice the absolute debauchery dripping from her words when she begs: "Harder. Fuck me harder."

And who are you to refuse her request? She looks incredible anyway, but seeing her eyes screw shut in bliss while a strand of saliva escapes past her open mouth? Nothing would convince you to let up now.

The constant clatter of objects rattling and shifting across the surface of your desk adds a nice soundtrack to the experience. So do the increasingly frequent moans spilling freely from Yeji's lips, each one higher-pitched than the last. They spur you on. Give you the incentive to chase after her pleasure.

And then you feel the telltale clamping down of her walls around you. Your cock is held tightly in her warmth, refusing to relinquish its grasp on you until you've filled her with cum. Until you've pumped your load deep inside of her wanting cunt. You know it's coming and you adjust accordingly. Forcing yourself to maintain rhythm as you pound her pussy into submission.

You yank on her hair and tug her upwards, forcing her back to crash against your torso. You bring your other hand to her chest, sliding beneath the fabric of her bra to cup at her tit. Her hands desperately search for but fail to find, purchase on the desk. She's helplessly suspended between your grasp and your cock as she cums. Helpless to do anything except take it. Take what she's given.

An indecent series of shrieks and wails erupts from somewhere deep within her chest as Yeji's body seizes up and convulses violently against yours. It sets you off. You bury yourself hilt-deep inside of her and explode. Your vision goes blurry, your toes curl, your jaw clenches shut and your teeth grind painfully together.

It takes everything within you not to collapse forwards on top of the girl you're filling to the brim, instead relying solely on the strength of your grip to stay upright as your cock jerks erratically inside of her, pulsating again and again, releasing stream after stream of creamy spunk deep into her.

As soon as the world stops spinning and the fog starts clearing from your mind, you're met with the sight of Hwang Yeji trying desperately to regain any semblance of control over her own body as well. She's slumped atop your desk, panting heavily, her body twitching occasionally.

You lean down, peppering a gentle trail of kisses down the side of her neck, stopping briefly at the space just below her ear where you whisper, "You look stunning like this."

It takes Yeji several seconds before she manages a reply. She eventually opens her eyes halfway and gives you an exhausted smile. "Like what?"

"Sweaty. Thoroughly used. Filled to the fucking brim."

Your comment draws a faint giggle from her which ends abruptly the moment you drag yourself backwards, slipping your softening cock out of her cunt along with the rush of semen that spills from her and trickles onto your desk.

"Oh god," Yeji mutters as the mess slips from between her legs. She pushes herself up from her prone position and lifts herself off your table, leaving behind a lovely sticky patch where her crotch had rested. You stumble towards your chair and plop down on it, resting your back against the cool leather whilst admiring Yeji's flushed features.

"I still haven't gotten to ride your cock yet."

"I don't know if I—"

Yeji drops to her knees in front of you and grabs the base of your shaft without a second thought, squeezing it lightly and causing it to stiffen slightly. "Well I do," she declares.

She leans closer.

You catch sight of your reflection in her dark brown eyes just before Yeji extends her tongue, running it carefully over the sensitive skin of your cock before planting a wet kiss against the tip. Then she does it again. And again. The movements become a pattern until, suddenly, you're enveloped by the heat of Yeji's mouth.

"Ah," you gasp as she takes you. So sensitive to the touch of her tongue as it swirls around you. She hums approvingly at your reaction and slides deeper, taking your semi-erect cock further into her mouth as she continues to suck you off. Her head bobs slowly up and down, gradually coaxing you back to life until she slips you out from between her lips with a pop.

"That got you hard fast enough." Yeji grins. She stands up straight, and then your jaw falls open slightly at the sight of Yeji reaching behind her back to unclasp her bra. It falls to the ground in slow motion. Delicate pale skin stretches beautifully over perky breasts topped with cute pink nipples. God damn.

Yeji straddles your lap, trapping your body underneath hers. It doesn't take much to push you inside. To have her slide down the length of your shaft once again. She sits still for a few seconds, grinding her hips subtly against yours whilst biting on her lower lip. "Fuck, this feels good." She rotates her hips in little circles. "Feel that? I'm still full of your cum."

The pace is slower now. You're content to sit back, listen to the sounds of wet, sloppy sex filling the office air, and watch how her beautiful features contort with pleasure when your cock scrapes against a weak spot. There's something incredibly arousing about having such a famous idol sitting in your lap, fucking herself silly on your dick alone. She uses it like a toy to chase after her own pleasure.

One of her hands laces itself into your hair, tugging on it harshly. You retaliate with equal ferocity by sinking your fingers into Yeji's plump ass. It earns you a wonderful hiss of approval which comes accompanied by a tight squeeze around your shaft as her free hand moves down between your bodies and furiously rubs at her clit.

It's not long before you realise that she's close, and judging by her frantic behaviour, you figure she isn't looking to make it last longer.

Yeji whimpers cutely. Her head falls backwards, exposing her perfect neck. An expanse of unblemished, untouched skin that simply demands to be marked. Claimed. Taken.

And so you lean forwards, place your mouth on the soft skin and start sucking on it, nipping at the supple flesh. You feel her tighten around you instantly.

"Oh god!" She cries out. Yeji tries to bounce in your lap but fails miserably. She's no longer in control of her body. All she can do is quiver, cry out, and gasp in ecstasy as another orgasm surges through her. It's nowhere near as powerful as the previous two. Instead, it's drawn out. Lasting longer and keeping her moaning throughout.

When it's over and done with, you release your hold on her neck. In return, her exhausted head comes to rest against your shoulder. Her hot pants hit your cheek as she lay there limply against your frame.

"Too much?" you tease and Yeji scoffs. You give her a gentle spank and ask, "That's all you've got?"

"Just catching my breath."

She puts action to word immediately and picks herself back up. There's a determination etched all over her face as she brings both arms to rest on your shoulders, locking you in place and supporting herself on top of you. The expression she wears leaves little room for misinterpretation; this one is yours.

Yeji begins riding you again. Slowly at first, letting herself grow accustomed to the sensation of being filled again. Then faster. Harder. Using your cock to fuck herself on. Taking charge once more. You happily allow her to have it. Glad to let the beautiful starlet do whatever the fuck she wants with your body. Relishing the fact that you're balls-deep inside of her and she loves every inch of you.

"I need it," Yeji whines, slamming herself down on top of you again and again, her soft ass smacking against your thighs repeatedly. Her hair billows wildly around her, sticking to her sweaty skin, flying every which way without rhyme or reason, driven mad by her insatiable desire to keep on going. She keeps saying things under her breath, nonsensical at best, unintelligible at worst.

But her efforts get results. As much as you want to prolong the moment forever, your body can only handle so much. Pleasure courses through your veins like electricity, setting alight every nerve ending within your body until finally, you feel that familiar heat rise from somewhere deep within.

Yeji must sense it because she suddenly kicks it up yet another notch, crying out incoherently as she drops down on your shaft once more, twice more—a third time sends you toppling over the edge. You grip her hips tight, digging your fingertips deep into her flesh as your cock pulses powerfully inside of her cunt, painting her walls white.

She drags it out. Uses gravity to force you as deep inside as possible, allowing every single drop to spill inside of her again. Your eyes roll into the back of your skull as you grunt loudly. Any coherent thought becomes impossible as you cum.

Once more, it takes several moments before you come back down from the clouds. When reality sets in again, Yeji is still straddled atop your lap, watching you with an amused grin stretching from ear to ear. You're left with nothing else to do except admire how her flushed cheeks accentuate her gorgeous features even further.

"I know. I know," she says while stroking your cheek. "I'm amazing."

"You're trouble," you correct breathlessly.

She rolls her eyes at your choice of words and then glances downwards. You follow her gaze just in time to see her raise herself off your spent member, allowing several thick strands of cum to dribble from her cunt and onto your leg. You both share a brief laugh at how filthy it looks before Yeji clambers off you and steps away, leaving you completely bare whilst she reaches down to retrieve her panties.

"No," you blurt out immediately. Your interjection catches her attention and she halts mid-motion, quirking an eyebrow curiously.

"No?"

"You can leave them."

She gives you a knowing look but acquiesces anyway, stepping aside and grabbing her dress instead. "Disgusting," she winks with a coy smirk.

[aliteralsemicolon]

Wait until you like me again - 18+

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

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

Spencer Reid X Fem! Reader

DISCLAIMER I do not consent to my work being used to feed/train AI and/or re-posted anywhere by anybody else This story is NSFW and contains graphic depictions. It is intended for mature audiences only, minors do not interact!  You are responsible for the content you consume. Make sure to read all necessary warnings. Please remember this is a work of fiction; if you don’t like it, don’t read. Part 2 was highly requested and I’m sorry it’s taken so long to finish.

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

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

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

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

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

To convince you that this was for the best. 

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

“You can’t love me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hon–Honestly…Hotch, I just–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Speaking of bad, is everything okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Talk?” Hotch meets Rossi’s eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please don’t.” You sob. “I’m sorry.”

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

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

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

“You don’t look surprised.” 

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

“So you’re not mad?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Except Spencer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You dramatically groan, throwing your head back. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“YOU–”

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey!” Hotch scolds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When she relays the name it clicks. 

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

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

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

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

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

You’re his exact type.

“No.” Hotch shuts down.

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” Spencer scoffs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hotch no!” Spencer tries again.

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

“Statistically–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Spencer freezes. 

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

JJ takes a moment to read his expression. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pissed was an understatement.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry.” He chuckles out of habit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If this is to clear some guilty conscience, don’t bother.” You verbally guard yourself. “I’m fine.”

It would be a lie if he said his reasoning was completely selfless. He was hardly able to keep away from you without feeling like he was drowning, but it was nothing compared to how he felt when he thought he may have lost you forever. The feeling didn’t last very long, he was able to revive you within a few seconds, but never feeling like that again would be too soon. 

Spencer believed in two things; statistics and facts. One fact he refused to ignore any longer is that he couldn’t live without you. He quietly opened that satchel that still clung across his torso, fishing out some pain killers and an unopened water bottle. 

“I know you probably forgot to take yours out of your bag.” He ignores your previous comment and slides the items across the table to you. 

Your gaze lingers on the items in front of you, but your hands stay folded in your lap as you piece everything together. 

“You know.” You whisper. 

“Were you going to tell me?” He gulps after a beat of silence. 

“Does it matter?” You're quick to respond.

“I wanna hear it from you.” He’s just as fast. 

You look up from the leaf of pills, he’s already surveilling you. It’s a short lived staring contest because your focus shifts behind him to Hotch, who’s observing this encounter from the kitchenette on the other end. Spencer continues waiting on you for a response but you stand up, ready to walk away. It dawns on you when you see your supervisor that technically you hadn’t officially resigned yet. The paperwork never got started because this case took priority and that was a detail you needed to sort out right away.

“Don’t go.” Spencer pleads when you take your first step.

Was it a request to sit back down or to stay with the BAU? You didn’t bother to clarify, he had no right to ask for either. 

You let out a deep, exasperated sigh as you lie curled up in your warm sheet, scowling at the floor beneath you. It seemed that the universe (your friends) had it out to delay your departure as much as possible. It’s been four days since your return from Anchorage and you’ve been stuck in your apartment since Hotch dropped you off here. He’s ordered mandatory time off for your recovery, meaning the paperwork has to wait. 

You could be using this time in a more productive manner. You could be searching for a new job. And a new place to live. You should be trying to figure out where this new place would be. You never actually thought that far ahead. In your haste to run away, you forgot to plan your next steps. You’ve convinced yourself that you can’t do any of it until the forms are filled out. 

The ‘universe�� isn’t the only thing delaying you. 

If you really wanted to, you could have everything emailed to you. You can have it done online, but there are two major problems. The first is pretty straight forward; you’re not ready to leave. You know that this is the best course of action for everybody, but your brain and your heart are at an impasse. You’ve dedicated years to this job because you love this job. Unfortunately, you love Spencer more, which means that staying is going to drive you to hate your job. 

The other reason is slightly more nuanced and you don’t want to think about it, opting to let your impasse be the reason for your lack of motivation to do anything other than bed rotting. It’s not as bad as it seems, it’s more self care than anything. Your body’s telling you it needs to rest and you’re simply obliging. Plus, it couldn’t be that serious if you still had bursts when you had to keep up appearances. You have to be okay if you’re able to force yourself to open the front door for your coworkers when they come to check on you. You really weren’t that miserable if you managed to smile and laugh for their short visits. 

And it’s not like you’re truly rotting. You showered quite often, you actually just had your second one today. You were definitely okay if you could manage to keep up with hygiene. It’s not excessive, you need to scrub the purple away. You know that’s not how it works, but you can’t stand to look at the parts of your neck where his hands were wrapped around. If you close your eyes for long enough you can still feel him squeezing until–

You’re okay.

No, you’re irritated. The incessant knocking on your front door won’t stop no matter how much you ignore it. You were relieved when evening came. It meant that normal visiting hours were over and you could rest today. If it wasn’t any of your usual visitors then it had to be stranger. The thought made you uneasy, you hesitated to answer it at all. 

You can’t live in fear all the time. 

The door eventually opens and Spencer sees you for the first time in days. He actually tried to check on you earlier, but Penelope insisted everybody stick to her roster so you don’t get overwhelmed. The circles under your eyes were almost as dark as his, you hadn’t been getting much sleep. The swelling around your throat was almost all gone, but the bruising wasn’t healing like he expected it to. 

“Spencer…what are you doing here?” Your voice is hoarse. 

“I brought take out.” He gently dangles a bag of food in front of him, his voice high, but quiet. 

You can practically smell the contents of the bag, nostalgia hitting you like a ton of bricks. It was your favourite thing to order on the days he’d come over for movie nights. Before Spencer showed you a side of him you didn’t know existed. It felt like a taunt, like he was twisting the metaphorical knife he plunged in your heart. It made you sick.

“I already ate.” You lie, mustering a dull smile on your face.

Spencer swallows and bites the inside of his cheek, not taking his eyes off you. Trying to think of the best way to call you out without causing you to shun him. 

“We can do something else until you’re hungry again.” He gives a tight lipped smile and raises his furrowed brows, like he’s pleading for you to accept his offer.

“I don’t think I’ll be hungry anytime soon.” You awkwardly laugh– well it’s close to a laugh if not for your strained vocal chords. 

“Can I come in anyway? We can put on a movie.” He’s using the voice he used to when trying to comfort you or convince you of something. Soft, low, steady. It’s a stark contrast to the voice you’ve been hearing for the last ten days. 

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

Tears threaten the composure you’re working so hard to maintain.

“Why are you really here?” You sigh, unable to stick with the pleasantries. 

“I told you.” He emphasises the bag of food in his hands again. “Take out. Maybe a movie–”

“Cut the shit.” You assert, harshly. “You can tell Penelope that you came to see me so she gets off your back, but please stop pretending like you care.”

“That’s…is that why you think I’m here?” His shoulders drop.

“Isn’t it?” You bite, your door now wide open as you lean against it for support. Your legs are aching to curl into your chest again. 

“No.” His reply is short and clear, leaving no room for misinterpretation. “I’m here because I want to be here.”

“Why? There’s nothing in it for you.” You scoff, blinking from confusion. “Unless…is this some sick game? Seeing me like this– knowing that I’m– are you trying to gloat?”

“Gloat?” He repeats in almost a whisper, the hurt in his voice evident.

“Relish, rejoice, rub it in, I don’t know. You’re the walking thesaurus.”

He can tell from your lax posture that you're amused. Your back is against your door, hands behind your back and you’re leaning forward a bit as you stare at the ground. Not caring that your words cut deep.

Is this how low you think he is?

“Why would I be enjoying this?” His hopeful smile drops entirely as he tries to understand you. 

“Call it epicaricacy.” You shrug. 

“Epicaricacy?” He mumbles in a whispered tone, like he’s trying to process what you said.

Deriving pleasure from the misfortune of others.

Your eyes roll from how slow he’s acting and you have to hold yourself back from repeating the definition out loud.

“Do you honestly think I enjoy seeing you like this?” The change in pitch stings a bit. 

“No, I don’t think you like seeing me at all.” You half smirk up at him, sadness evident in your eyes. “Which brings us back to…why are you here Doc?”

“That’s not true.” He cringes, ignoring the second part.

“Not true?” You wiggle your brows sarcastically. 

“Not true.” He reaffirms, sighing deeply. “I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.” 

“You’re sorry.” You scoff again, shaking your head.

“I know that I’ve been unreasonable–”

“Unreasonable?” The tip of your tongue rolls against the back of your teeth, bewildered at his sheer audacity. 

“A dick! I’ve been a dick.” He corrects himself, desperate to have you hear him out. 

You tighten your jaw, inhaling lightly through your nose and your brows are raised as high as they can go. 

“I was hurt. Okay? I wash lashing out, but, I–” He takes a deep breath to stop himself, wanting to get to the point. “I know that I’ve been acting otherwise but, I care about you. And when I found you back there…I just…I know what you’re going through, even if you won’t admit it. I don’t want you to go through it alone.”

Your expression softens as he speaks. Of course he knows. He knows you better than anyone. For a moment you consider allowing yourself to break down in his arms, like you would have once. It’s jarring, Spencer reverting to his former self after he saved your life. The comfort swiftly bubbles into anger. All your attempts for reconciliation were met with so much hostility before. It took you almost dying for him to care. It feels too little too late. The only thing you can think of as he stands next to you is all the ways he can further hurt you if you let him. You push off your door and stand straight, giggling bitterly. 

“Spencer, go home.” You say with the same bitterness. 

“Please–”

“Go home! I don’t want your pity!” You yell. It feels alleviating. “Do you honestly think that  anything changes just because you saved my life? Do you think it erases everything that’s happened in the past few months? Because it doesn’t! Things can’t go back to how they were simply because you feel bad that I almost died. It’s not a flip you can switch. You don’t just get to start caring!” 

You're heaving and he can only stare at the ground. He knows you’re right, except for the one crucial error in your speech. 

“I never stopped caring.” He mumbles.

This fucking idiot.

Enraged, sad, frustrated, confused; all emotions you’ve been suppressing that are now fighting to show at the same time. You take a step closer to him and he meets your eyes again. You can see that he’s holding back tears, same as you. It fuels you in a twisted way. You have an opportunity to hurt him the way he hurt you and you don’t let it go to waste.

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

You can’t stay to see the effects of his words thrown back at his face, your heart’s threatening to burst from how fast it’s racing. His jaw locks from how tense he is. He knows exactly why you said it, but it’s still hard to hear. You turn around and rush into your apartment, shutting the door on his face, leaving him standing there. You don’t make it too far inside, collapsing on the wooden floor with a choked sob. 

That didn’t make you feel as good as you thought it would. You hoped that maybe if you could make him feel at least a fraction of you’re feeling, you’d hurt less. It was more than just getting back at him for everything he’s done. You were unknowingly trying to punish him for what Archie Carter did too. It didn’t make you hurt any less, but at least you felt less alone in your hurt. 

He didn’t come back for the rest of your time off. Everybody continued to follow the roster, showing up on their days and bringing you ‘get well soon’ goodies. Penelope even invited herself over for a night's stay once. You didn’t have the heart to say no, but you found yourself counting the hours until you’d be alone again, free to wallow. The only respite you got for the next week was on Spencer’s days. You could expect to be left mostly alone, only a bag of take out accompanied by an eerily fitting quote sitting outside your door. 

You hate to admit that those were your favourite days. You had a chance to breathe and he somehow knew exactly what you needed to hear. You gave the food away in protest and the quote would go straight in the bin (once you read it). One final psych evaluation later you were cleared to come back. Not that you needed one since you didn’t plan to stay for long. It was really just a formality. By the time you returned only a few faded bruises remained, easy enough to cover with concealer. 

“You’re back! Ooh, it’s so good to see you!” Garcia was the first with a warm greeting and a tight hug. You reciprocated to the best of your ability. 

“Good to have you back, Pretty Girl.” Derek’s second, walking you through the bullpen as you make your way to Hotch’s office.

“Enjoy it while you can.” You giggle in reply. “Is Hotch in yet?”

“I see someone can’t wait to leave us.” Emily jokes, feigning a hurt look. You roll your eyes.

“Yeah, he’s expecting you.” JJ laughs, slapping Emily’s arm playfully. 

“Thanks JJ!” You smile and they all watch you disappear behind the door. 

“So it’s official? She’s really leaving?” JJ questions through a half-hearted smile. 

“I asked Rossi and he said that Hotch is gonna ask her to stay until we find a replacement.” Emily replies, still eyeing the door. 

“How did you get Rossi to admit that?” JJ turns to the raven head, questioningly, and Emily smiles coyly giving no response. 

“Am I the only one who thinks this whole thing would end once they make up? I mean come on, we all know she’s leaving because of him, right?” Morgan looks at Spencer, who’s nose deep in a file at his desk. 

“Yeah, but we can’t help if they refuse to talk to us about it.” Emily sighs, hanging her head back. 

The three dive deeper into their discussion and you’re none the wiser from inside the cream-coloured walls of Hotch’s office. As per protocol, he’s just finished informing you of what’s next and you’re kind enough to accept his request to stay until they find a replacement. You definitely said yes because you want to make the team’s transition easier, not for any self indulgent reasons such as you not being ready to leave. 

“Just return this to me once you’ve filled it out.” He instructs as he hands you a file containing your resignation forms. 

“Thanks Hotch.” You smile, grabbing the file. 

You begin heading towards the door when he stops you by your name. 

“I understand that you’re set on this decision, but I am sad to see you go.” It’s insane how many emotions this man can get across while maintaining a blank expression. “However, if you change your mind at any point, let me know.” 

“Thanks Hotch.” You playfully scoff, appreciating that even he has to try at least once. 

If one more person tries though, you might scream. It wasn’t easy, pretending that you weren’t crumbling inside. The extra pressure doesn’t make it any easier. You leave his office, closing the door behind you and approach your desk. The resignation forms are put aside for later as you still have to finish your case report from Anchorage. Part of you wanted to put it off until the last minute, the other part wanted to get it over and done with as soon as possible. 

“Coffee?” Penelope chirps, holding out a mug filled with the hot beverage. 

“Thanks Pen.” You smile up at her, taking it out of her hands. 

“No problem.” She smirks mischievously and trots off. 

A strange lady, but your strange lady.

Upon your first sip you almost choke it out. It was perfect. Exactly to your liking. Which would be a good thing, except only one person knows exactly how you like it. Back when you first joined, you learned how popular coffee was with all the employees. You felt out of place because you weren’t a massive fan of the drink and you avoided too much sugar because it made you feel sick. You soon discovered that you liked it a lot more with honey instead. It was a weird preference, but it worked for you, making it sweet without overpowering your senses like sugar did. 

You never declined a cup when offered by your colleagues, not wanting to dishearten them. It was Spencer who caught you sneaking honey into your cup when you thought no one was paying attention. He never mentioned anything to you, but the next time he returned with a cup to offer, you couldn’t help but the smile that adorned your face for the rest of the day. It was why you dedicated yourself to morning breakfast runs for him, memorising his coffee order as a silent thank you. Neither of you ever talked about it. 

You spin your seat around to find Spencer engaged in conversation with Rossi. You consider walking past him and dumping the beverage in the sink to make a point, but it was a welcome energiser for the dreadful task at hand. Plus you aren’t wasteful. You spin back around and decide to accept it just this once. 

When he’s sure you’re no longer looking he sets his sights back on you. A small smile forms across his lips when he sees you drink the coffee. He honestly expected you to throw it away. He feared that if he was the one to deliver the mug, you’d throw it on him. It was why he convinced Garcia to do it, bribing her by promising to buy a round of drinks on the next night out. 

“Kid, are you even listening?” Rossi scolds in an incredulous way. 

As the hours pass, your frustration grows. You couldn’t get yourself to write the details of the case. Your mind refused to think about it. You had hoped that taking breaks would make it easier, but everytime you returned to the page your head went blank.

“Need some help?” Spencer asks, spawning next to you.

“Christ, Reid!” You blurt, startled. “I thought I told you to stop doing that.” 

“Sorry.” He chuckles as if on cue. 

You glare at him expectantly. He doesn’t say anything, glancing between you and the unfinished case file, waiting for an answer. 

“No thanks.” You keep it short, hoping he takes the hint. 

“Let me know if you do.” He doesn’t. 

“You wouldn’t even be the last person I’d ask if I did.” You snark. 

“But you would eventually?” He stays calm, almost playful. 

Smart ass. 

You choose to ignore him, be the bigger person and all that. Even though he wasn’t antagonising you. 

“Thanks for the coffee.” It’s forceful gratitude. You weren’t feeling grateful, but you still had manners. 

“You’re welcome.” 

“Don’t make it again.” 

“I will not.” He grins and walks away to his desk. 

You act like you don’t know he’s watching you work. Looking up often to find you stuck on the same page. Even if he knew that you know, he didn’t plan to stop. What he does know is that you’d never directly let him help you. He doesn’t care. There weren’t any new cases this week, so a ton of paperwork was to be expected. It’s taunting enough to write down details of your own assault, the extra paperwork would only add more stress. You’re too busy trying to push through the mental blockade to notice the sudden influx of files on his desk and the efflux on yours. 

What you didn’t miss was how the next cup of coffee you were offered was just as perfect as the one from before. 

“I thought I told you to stop with the coffee, Reid.” You lightly slam the paper cup on Spencer’s desk. 

He leans back in his seat and chews on his lip with an entertained smirk. 

“And I did. That’s not from me.” He’s earnest with his response.

“Oh, so JJ just happens to know my coffee preferences all of a sudden?” You sarcastically retort, crossing your arms.

“No.” He crosses his fingers across his lap. “I told her how you like your coffee when she said she was going on a coffee run.”

“And why did you do that?” You play along, unenthusiastically. 

“Because you told me to stop doing it.” He states in the most casual way possible. 

This was getting you nowhere. It was naive to think he’d let you spend your last few weeks here peacefully. Scratch that– he was being peaceful. Too peaceful. A new tactic to get under your skin?

“Stop. It.” The delivery of your words is slow and emphasised. 

“Stop doing exactly what you’ve told me to?”

You bite your tongue and glare at him. His face, shoulders, arms, everything, is relaxed. You can’t even argue with him. You take a moment to consider how bad it would be if you bashed his head in with the back of your gun. Then you take another to critique how easy it is to pass the psych evals. They should really think about the consequences of using questions the BAU wrote on actual BAU agents. 

After that day you went back to ignoring him. Any time coffee was offered you’d decline altogether. If he attempted to try and talk to you, you’d respond with yes or no for the sake of professionalism. This didn’t deter Spencer though. He gave you your space but kept a close eye on you, continuing to try and ease your burdens from afar. Exactly how he used to. 

This only lasted until the next case came in. Specifically until you were back out on the field, where he perceived you to be in high amounts of danger. You tolerated it because it gave you comfort, not that you’d ever tell him. Having Spencer by your side made it easier to deal with the reality that there’s little you can do if another incident like Anchorage occurred. 

Plus focusing your energy on ignoring him kept the flashbacks away. Or it did, until the take down. You once again found yourself in danger from an unsub, only this time the situation was controlled. All guns were pointed at the killer, except for the one that was pointed at you. The plan was simple: you talk down the unsub, take him back to the station and talk him into exposing his partner. 

Everything was going according to plan, until Spencer realised that one of the cops in the room was his partner and he was about to shoot you. Nobody understood what happened before the situation calmed down. Spencer had fired the first shot towards the dirty cop and immediately tackled you to the ground, shielding you from the hail of bullets that followed after. All you remember clearly is freezing up, clinging to the man on top of you. One moment you were screaming out, trying to make sure that he was okay and the next you were back in the alley behind the bar, fighting for your life. 

You didn’t comprehend anything until the panic attack subsided but Spencer was fine. His vest caught the bullets. Both unsubs were dead. Rossi and Prentiss came to the realisation the same time as Spencer and were quick to react. And you weren’t in the alley. You were in Spencer’s arms as he led you away from the scene when it was safe. 

When you snapped out of it the medics had cleared him of any injuries. He tried to approach you during your check up, but you shoved him away, unable to even look at him. The only thing you remember clearly is Hotch sending you all back to your hotel rooms before tomorrow’s flight back. You should be asleep right now, if not from the exhaustion of today’s events alone, then from how long you spent reassuring everybody that you were okay. 

You couldn’t sleep. Not when so many thoughts were occupying your headspace. This is the second time Spencer’s saved your life, in the span of roughly a month. The first time he’s put his life in direct danger to save yours. Had it not been for his vest he would be dead. The more you linger on it, the angrier you’d become. You were also wearing a vest, you would’ve been fine. What he did was unnecessary and reckless. 

What if the bullet missed the vest? Entered through the side? What was he thinking?

You were mentally fighting the urge to barge into his room and yell at him for his stupidity, but you couldn’t bring yourself to go to him. What happens to him is not your problem anymore. You aren’t going to let your guard down just because he’s an idiot.

Spoilers: BAU! Reader, Reader almost dies, Reader and Spencer are pissing me off, bc they’re so dumb, angst, hurt no comfort, Reader gets a little revenge.

AN - Before you comment ANYTHING, there is one more part. It’ll be posted a lot sooner than this one was. Writing this made me realise how limited the English language is. There’s only so many words to use and ways to write them. If either part sounds repetitive at times, it’s not my fault!!! Casual reminder: I am not Spencer Reid. I don’t have an IQ of 187. Any facts I make him spew could very well be bull-shit and he only spews them for the purpose of the story. I also have no knowledge of how the FBI works and lack a ton of common sense. A lot of things were made up for the purpose of this story.

If you comment you garner good karma for yourself and that could lead to you meeting MGG someday (I’m not liable if this never happens), think about that... 

Thank you for reading!

[nekomaniac]

just one time ~ bokuto

characters: Bokuto x f!chubby!reader content: (nsfw!!) established relationship, face sitting, mild weight insecurity (but dw he's got you), sweet and sloppy oral f! receiving word count: 2.3k a/n: i don't write smut a lot so let me know what you think! 🖤

⊱ ─────── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─────── ⊰

"But Y/nnnn~" You'd gotten used to Bokuto's signature whiny tone whenever he wanted something, but today he was particularly unrelenting. Wide, pleading yellow eyes stared up at you as he hunched over by your side. "Come on... just one time? Just to try it! Just one time, I promise... please?" Reaching out to take your hand in his much larger one, he squeezed softly while toying with your fingers.

"Bokuto... I think you underestimate-" You start to open your mouth only to be cut off by a louder whine, Bokuto's head going in his hands.

"Pleasepleaseplease-" He chants into your hand, kissing each finger and knuckle between whiny pleas for you to succumb to his latest desire. Falling to his knees in a dramatic display, he looks up at you with the biggest puppy-dog eyes you'd ever seen.

"I am not going to sit on your face-"

"PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE!!!" Head snapping toward the ground, eyes squeezed shut, and brow furrowed, he repeats the word like a prayer as both of his hands enveloped your own.

"I don't want to hurt you!" You finally force out the truth. Bokuto immediately goes quiet, quickly pulling himself from his knees and straightening up to stare down at you with that intimidating, watchful gaze that still makes your heart race no matter how long you've been dating. Looking down at you through a furrowed brow, he crosses his arms menacingly over his broad chest.

"What, you think I can't handle it or something?" He raises an eyebrow, his petulant tone long gone and replaced by something much more daunting. Uh oh... You know that look, that prideful, challenging look that Bokuto gets whenever he feels slighted.

"It's not that I think you can't handle it. I'm just..." You mull over your words, your own brow starting to furrow. "One, I don't know that I have the core strength to hover over you like that-"

"Sit. Not hover. S-I-T, sit." He says firmly, not reading the room.

"Okay well I don't want to 'S-I-T, sit' either because I'm gonna hurt you or worse." Your mind conjures images of him struggling under the plush of your thighs, causing a deep grimace to dig into your lips. "I'm just not built like the girls that do that kind of thing, Bo... I'm too heavy for all that..." The words sting as they leave you, a sudden, uncharacteristic feeling of insecurity bubbling up. Once you finally look up to meet Bokuto's gaze, you notice the subtle scrunch of his nose and the squint of his eyes. "What?"

"So you do think I can't handle it." He grumbles, unconvinced by your reasoning. You sigh lightly, ready to do damage control. Regardless of whatever explanation you concoct, whether valid or otherwise, it's inevitable that Bokuto will take whatever you tell him and translate it into 'my girlfriend thinks I'm weak'. Taking a small step towards him, you raise your hand in a placating gesture.

"Boku-TO!" Before you can finish you feel two large hands squeezing your waist as he lifts you up easily, no struggle, no grunting, just your vantage point getting a whole lot taller. He slings you over a muscled shoulder, your body effortlessly folding in half over his hulking form.

"What do I go to the gym for if I can't lift a pretty little thing like you, huh?" The voice leaving him is sickeningly sweet and deeper than normal. "Should I cancel my membership? Stop wasting my money?" You swallow, eyes still blown wide as your mind races to formulate some kind of response. A sharp, stinging tap on your thigh prompts you to spit out an answer. "Hm?"

"Uhh... n-no..." Your voice comes out a bit softer than intended. Seconds feel like hours as the silence settles in the room. Then, just when it starts to feel unbearable, he lets out a strong, masculine laugh. Confidence oozes off Bokuto and now was no different, his moods were fickle. But God help you when he sets his mind to something.

"So then what's the problem, pretty girl?" He grins, his eyes half lidded and teasing. "You say you don't have the core strength." He turns his back to a mirror, the reflection of your form slung over his back staring back at you. Curling a bicep and flexing, he flashes a toothy grin, "Well I have the arm strength." You gasp as a warm hand reaches up, squeezing the plush of your ass briefly. Grinning to himself, he gives the thick cheek a soft love tap.

"Come on... Just one time for me. If you don't like it we'll stop, no biggie..." He shrugs nonchalantly. Before you have the chance to even think of an answer, the cocky grin starts spreading across his features. And when he hears that little exasperated sigh...

Bokuto knows he's won.

⊱ ─────── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─────── ⊰

Mentally you were already cursing yourself for letting it get this far, a scarlet blush burned across your cheeks as you spread your legs, looking down to where Bokuto's head laid on the cottony pillow case. A big, dumb smile graced his lips, oblivious to your inner turmoil.

"C'mon, baby! No more teasing~" He grins widely, so full of himself already, the cute teasing lilt that's painting his tone making the heat in your cheeks even more unbearable. You looked down at him, gripping the headboard with an iron tight grip, the wood shaking softly. He cranes his neck slightly to look at you. "You nervy?" He asks, keeping that soft, silly tone. Between his relentless playful teasing and your brain going worst-case scenario, you couldn't seem to follow through.

"Y/n" A softer expression graces his owlish features as he rubs soothing overlapping lines up your thighs. "I'm a big guy, I can take it. Come on, pretty girl..." You look down, seeing the familiar eager smile stretched across his lips. His massive hands trail continue trailing over your thighs, temptation and soothing comfort dripping off every word and motion. Sensing your continued hesitation, he offers another solution.

"Panties on for now?"

You let out another shaky sigh before squeezing your eyes shut and nodding.Without loosening your grip on the headboard, you slowly scoot further up the bed, hips getting closer and closer the tantalizing tongue that glides over his chapped lips. "Tell me if you can't breathe, Bo. Smack my leg or something." You say shakily, the impending humiliation of Bokuto realizing that this was a terrible idea already twisting in your stomach.

"Give it to me, pretty girl... Don't go shy on me now." He flashes a white row of perfect teeth in a signature carefree smile, though the thickness of his need gives his low voice a slight edge. Large, slightly roughened hands gingerly scoot your hips closer to his face.

As your knees settle on either side of his face, he reaches up and gently spreads them further apart. Watching closely for any signs of genuine discomfort, he watches as your body gradually lowers toward his eager mouth. Slowly, he leans forward enough just to press soft butterfly kisses over your clothed core, inching up towards your apex.

"Mmn~!" You gasp softly. A small noise of approval and surprise slips out, thighs attempting to squeeze together reflexively. He cups his hands against your inner thighs, keeping them spread as he presses a firmer kiss against the lace covering your clit. The thin layer of fabric doing little to shield your sensitive bud from his soft prodding. His tongue darts out, swiping quickly against the fabric before pressing flat, giving you just enough stimulation to crave more.

He licks lightly, tongue darting out to guide the thin material between his lips. The soft sucking against the fabric serves to further weaken both your knees and your resolve. Your hips dip down lower autonomously, chasing his tongue.

He toys with you, your clothed cunt diving after him as he flicks his tongue just beside your favorite spots. A short, pathetic whine falls from your lips as you feel his lips curl into a cocky smile. He chuckles softly, his face buried in your gradually dampening panties. His own hips subtly lifting off the mattress occasionally to search for some hint of phantom friction.

"You ready to give me what I want yet, pretty girl?" The teasing lilt in his voice causing a soft tremor to wrack your unsteady legs.

"J-just let me know if you need me to move." Your voice shakes with uncertainty.

"I won't." With a teasing smirk plastered on his face he snaps the waistband of your underwear, causing you to jump and let out a soft yelp. His owlish eyes now half-lidded, but no less alert. Watching for any sign of hesitation, he slowly slides them to the side.

"You wanna sit down for me? I know those legs are getting tired..." He teases lowly, but desperation stains every word out of his mouth. "Please?"

With a nervous and slightly humiliated awkward laugh, you sink down slowly. You move to cautiously settle your weight directly onto Bokuto's wide smile. As you start to relax and get comfortable he clutches onto your thighs, letting out a throaty groan. Immediately your mind floods with regret, assuming the worst. Your thighs tense reflexively on either side of his face as you start muttering quick embarrassed apologies about not meaning to hurt him.

As you try to move off him, his strong arms lock around your thighs before his hands spread over them. With a firm yank and what can only be described as a growl, it hits you that his initial noise might not have been one of discomfort.

"Bo?" You say gently, brushing through his hair, he hasn't moved since you settled onto him and knowing how eager he typically is to please it's a bit concerning seeing him so... quiet. "You okay...?"

Another muffled satisfied groan vibrates your legs, causing you to tense up. He licks a slow stripe, parting you on his tongue as he savors your sweet, saccharine arousal. His eyes flutter open halfway to look into yours, crinkling at the corners as he smiles against you. An airy hum of approval leaves your lips as he nudges his nose against your clit, grabbing your hips to grind you down on his face.

Tangling your fingers in his hair, you swirl your hips subtly, his gaze narrows for a second before his tongue delves deep into you. Skillful flicks and delicious pressure have your breath hitching and your fingers tugging lightly at his locks.

The gentle rocking of your hips has his eyes fluttering closed. He reaches up to your shoulders, grabbing anywhere to try and pull you down harder, to get more of you in his mouth. He lets out a gravelly moan, the flicks of his tongue becoming gradually more aggressive, the hunger behind the motions palpable.

"Nggh!" A strangled cry leaves your lips, your thighs squeezing desperately on either side of his face. Strong arms curl into your inner thighs, wrenching them with such force that you topple forward. Slamming your hands against the headboard, you catch yourself just as the soft skin of your tummy bumps against his forehead.

You try to sit back up but his hands are quicker, locking you into this new position as his tongue lashes wildly inside you. Whether strictly calculated or operating entirely on instinct, his mind-numbing ministrations were bringing you closer and closer to satisfying the growing craving deep in your core.

Reaching one hand down to tangle in his hair, you grind desperately at his face. A soft whine of his name leaves your lips, breathy and high as your head turns toward the ceiling.

"D-don't fucking stop~!" Your voice sits at a delicious point between whimpering and growling, causing him to let out a low snarl of his own. The vibration sending electricity racing up your lower half as you press harder against him, anything but him and his perfect mouth fading to nothing around you.

He doubles his efforts over, the intense slurping hitting your ears. His entire head moves as he licks you over, all of his focus and energy taken up by the dizzying thought of you falling apart on his tongue. The heat between your thighs slowly spreads, becoming more and more all-consuming.

"Bokuto~!" You choke out, sweat beading at your forehead. His hands squish into your thighs, dimpling the skin as he digs into you. Tongue lathing over your clit in smooth quick circles, he draws you closer to your climax. He pushes you back up into a sitting position before smacking your thigh lightly, drawing your eyes down to his.

All it takes is a particularly harsh suck to send you tumbling over the edge. You tremble, collapsing against your hands as they grip onto the headboard. He holds you steady, lapping at your release as he works you through it. Tingles erupt through your lower half, the world around you going mute as you desperately cling onto the headboard, the sheets, fuck, anything to ground you.

His tongue gets lazier, breathing out his own soft happy sigh as he slows his once unrelenting exploration. Soft noises of contentment dribble out of your mouth as you come down from your high, panting heavily. You roll over next to Bokuto, laying face up with your arms out.

He sits up on his elbows, and you feel your breath get stolen again right as you're catching it. Bokuto looks up to the ceiling, taking in a deep breath as if rejuvenated. You watch fondly as a proud smile graces his features, his lashes kissing his cheeks as he cranes his neck upwards. He glances over at you, giving you a lopsided grin, the lower half of his face still glistening with remnants of you.

"Told you I could handle it."

NEKOMANIAC © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, MODIFY, OR TRANSLATE

[logaenhowlett]

COME BACK BABY PLEASE - L.H.

Summary: When it comes to you, Logan would do anything - even break his own heart.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Female Reader

Warnings: Mature themes (masturbation) 18+ only, Angst (with happy ending), Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual pining (but Logan's a stubborn fool), Empath!Reader

A/N: For @lubdubology's and @yxtkiwiyxt's Loveuary Challenge (great idea btw)! The prompt was DoFP!Logan + We Belong Together by Mariah Carey. Also, I hit 500 followers last week and I'm floored, honestly. Thank you so much for all the love and support! Now, back to this gorgeous man.

MASTERLIST

Logan fucks himself into his fist.

Because there you are, latched onto his mind like some parasite.

Iron, harsh and metallic in taste, blooms on his tongue as his jaw locks. A piss-poor attempt to crush the memories of sun-kissed smiles, of tangled fingers - of your love.

It's like holding water in a sieve, you slip through his defenses, elusive and inevitable. He loathes himself truly for possessing such a traitorous heart.

And still, beneath all that armour, it's you he reaches for.

But he doesn't touch you. Can't touch you. Not when you're living and breathing again just beyond his door, as if he hadn't felt your body go limp between his arms, his trembling pleas silenced by a last kiss, an "I love you" murmured against cold lips.

As if you hadn't died.

Jean notices first. Though she'd sworn off trespassing on anyone's mind, least of all his, it's hard not to. His thoughts are loud, but his agony screams louder. It seems even the kids whisper amongst themselves in the hallways - Professor Logan, their beloved hero, now a man adrift.

Everything becomes awfully clear as Charles explains - the reality a lightning strike so blinding it jolts the room. The time travelling, the ever-present fear of failure, the responsibility he'd shouldered in solitude–

You're an idiot.

Jean's voice rings in his head, unwelcome yet painfully true. His eyes lift, her subtle nod drawing his attention to you. And he'd rather flay himself alive, unsheathe his claws into his own chest, than brave the unwavering love written in your tear-filled gaze.

Just talk to her. You're only hurting yourselves–

Stay outta this, Red.

She's right, he knows it. But knowing and doing are two different beasts entirely. Because now, you're here, and here is a minefield. One mistake, one single moment of weakness, and the nightmare could swallow him whole once again.

Stupidly, Logan avoids you.

Mornings are the most torturous. He remembers chasing your lips as you slipped from his embrace only to be drawn back. The sheets would pool around your waist, barely clinging to your frame as you stretched lazily.

Utterly captivated, he'd watch as you moved about, gathering your things, playfully dodging his kisses between buttons and zippers. "If you keep distracting me, I'll never make it to class on time," you'd laugh, followed by his teasing: "That's the fuckin' point, darlin'."

That's how it used to be.

Now, he paces his room, attuned to the creak of your floorboards, the rustle of your clothes, the unmistakable hitch in your footsteps as you perhaps hesitate by his door.

Maybe today, he thinks. Maybe today, you'll storm inside, fists pounding against the walls around his heart, demand answers and finally scream at him for the coward he is.

Much like yesterday, all the days and weeks before, you never do. And that, Logan realises, is the cruellest curse of all.

It's suffocating; a prison of his own making, brick after brick cemented by fear, bars forged in the white-hot fires of regret. Every cell, every corridor, every inch serves a reflection of his self-destruction. And the key? Lost, or perhaps never truly deserved in the first place.

If nothing else, shame doesn't choke him as harshly in here; dull in the way it gnaws at him. Logan closes his eyes, conjuring you between his legs as he's sprawled on his back, one hand gripping his cock, the other fisted in the sheets.

Within minutes, everything blurs. Like shattered glass, fragments of your lives crash and collide. His vision whites out for a heartbeat, then slowly returns, leaving him limp and spent in the darkness.

And then, nothing.

Just a shuddering sigh tinged with disgust. Wet smears on his palm. A small, pathetic offering to some patron saint of loneliness.

You don't remember the last kiss.

Was it in the kitchen, his fingers on your nape, the counter waking all sorts of purples and blues across your back? Maybe on his motorcycle, the engine dying as he dismounted, leather and gasoline twisting in the air? Or perhaps something else entirely?

A silken thread spun from longing unwinds, stretching and stretching through the fog of time; it frays, it thins, it threatens to snap, leaving behind a faint echo.

When was the last time Logan kissed you?

Rain lashes against the windowpanes, moonlight spilling across the floor in flimsy slants. A hollow reminder of his absence, the dent on your mattress glares back rudely. The weight of his bones, the warmth of his skin, his fading presence - reduced to nothing but a shallow impression on the foam.

You remember other moments, though. Lazy days, the kind where he'd rise first, propping himself on an elbow, hair spiking in twenty-odd directions. Sometimes he'd be content with just admiring you, simply ghosting knuckles across your cheek. And sometimes, those fingers would slip lower and lower while he'd mumble all sorts of filth into the valley between your breasts, chasing your sweet dreams away.

Then, there were times when you'd return from missions, bruised and hacked to pieces, but very much alive. And in no more than three strides, his arms would curl around your waist, all fierce and protective. Home had never felt so precious - so real - as it did in those moments.

So, when was the last time Logan kissed you? And did it even matter anymore, when he's so determined to erase you from his life?

As luck would have it, sleep plays the spiteful mistress tonight, taunting glimpses of oblivion only to snatch them away. Across the hallway, Logan's room offers no comfort either, creaking bedsprings, muffled thuds, a growl - more animal than human - rips through the noise.

He's at it again.

Another restless night, grief rolling off him in thick, asphyxiating waves. It bleeds through the walls, and you know, instinctively, he's reliving everything. You need to help him.

What if you only make it worse? What if your touch only deepens the wounds?

Fuck it.

Six steps separate him from you. Six steps you consider crossing every day. Six steps that might as well be infinite. But now, six steps are simply six steps. Trembling, you gently push his door inward.

Clothes litter the floor, cigar boxes lay scattered amongst the clutter on the nightstand, and a trail of empty Jim Beams leads to the rumpled figure on the bed. If your presence startles him, he betrays nothing - his stillness a deliberate barrier, his back a silent rejection of your intrusion.

"Logan?"

No answer comes, just the ragged, uneven rhythm of his breathing. Carefully, you navigate around discarded boots, jeans - and who knows what else - until your knees bump the edge of his mattress.

Tension crackles in the air, and thrumming beneath is a raging current of heartache, a frequency you know all too well. Nights like this have been a constant ever since you've known him.

The first time had knocked you sideways. He'd been much younger then, more vulnerable. More trusting too, in your abilities, in the connection you'd found in each other. Through long, dark hours, through tremors and tears, you'd absorbed the worst of it, steady hands bearing the brunt of his suffering.

"You're shaking..." Hesitantly, as if approaching a frightened deer, your fingertips brush his shoulder. Then, with a slow, reluctant creak of his neck, he turns. Dark circles obscure red-rimmed eyes, haunted and hollow as they find you. He looks broken. More broken than you've ever seen before. "Oh, Logan," you breathe.

He stares, unblinking and effectively mute as if you've materialised from the very air he'd been choking on for weeks. Confusion flickers across his features, quickly shrouded by something grim, something guarded.

"You shouldn't be here," he finally croaks, dismissive in ways that are suspiciously akin to fear. With me. That's what he's really saying.

"I know you're hurting," you whisper, fighting tears that streak down your cheeks anyway. "Let me help you. Let me take your pain away."

A scoff, sharp and unfamiliar, cuts your words. And for a moment, the man before you becomes unrecognisable - a stranger wearing his skin. "Go away, sweet–" Logan snarls, the near-spoken endearment on the verge of escape before his jaws snap shut. He looks away, almost ashamed, scowling at some unseen point across the room. "Just... go."

"I can't."

"Don't make this worse."

"Worse for who, Logan?" you challenge, bitter like he's never heard. But you've had enough. Enough with the walls, the shields, the self-inflicted exile. "Because this– it's killing you. And it's killing me too." Gently, your hand grazes his own, and when he doesn't flinch, you try once again. "Please."

Hope, a fragile little thing, flutters behind the hazel you've long adored. Logan doesn't resist as you settle beside him, instead falling into a much-needed embrace. Warmth seeps into his chilled body, stress ebbing, hard edges softening. He buries his face into your neck, inhaling deeply for the peace he so desperately craves.

From the dark vines of his nightmares, shadowy figures extend scorching hands, poking the edges of his consciousness. And like always, your powers banish them completely, drawing visions of happier times in their absence. Memories, perfectly curated, lovingly held.

His arms tighten around you, pulling you flush against his chest. Like melted wax, Logan molds himself to your touch. For a long time, you simply exist together, soaking in this closeness, this feeling of home. Two puzzle pieces have never fit so well.

"I don't need your help," he mutters into your shoulder, soft and unsure, as if he doesn't believe his own words.

A small, watery chuckle lures his gaze to yours, you offer a kind smile, damp lashes pillowing the affection in your eyes. "I know," you whisper, running a gentle hand through his dark tresses, lingering a little longer by those grey streaks you adore. "But you're letting me anyway." The corners of his mouth twitch in response.

He doesn't speak again, and neither do you. Words feel superfluous, inadequate as the night carries on. Eventually, sleep begins to claim you both, inviting dreams of a tomorrow painted in the colours of a rekindled love.

Dawn arrives, like clockwork, creeping its invasive presence through the curtains. Disoriented, your fingers brush the space beside you, encountering only the cold, vacant sheets.

It's not a surprise, not really.

Old habits, especially Logan's, die hard.

Tires scream against asphalt, and Logan's pissed. The engine growls angrily, replicating the simmering tension rattling his very skeleton. His grip remains unyielding on the wheel, knuckles bone-white, veins protruding.

"That was reckless, and you know it." His tone is clipped, barely controlling the razor-sharp irritation he's unbothered to hide. Darkening roads ahead borrow his attention, as if the blurred lines are the only thing maintaining his composure.

The mission had been a success, technically. But the phantom impact of the debris nearly crushing you still has his adrenaline jacked.

"I'd do it all over again, and you know it," you snap back, daring in the face of his obvious fury.

"For fuck's sake!" Logan bangs his fist against the steering wheel, the horn blaring for a brief second. "Don't you have any concern for your life?" He doesn't understand your blatant disregard for safety. It's that goddamn martyr complex of yours, always prioritising everyone else. Even if you did manage to save innocent civilians from the collapsing building.

"Don't act like you care!" The venom in your words stings more than he'd ever admit. How can you say that? To him, of all people. "Pull over."

"What?" He shoots you a glance in disbelief, a little afraid even. The request is so absurd, so completely out of left field, he wonders, momentarily, if his mind's playing tricks.

"Pull. Over." You enunciate with a chilling calmness, and somehow that terrifies him more than any outburst. Denial flares in his throat, a knee-jerk reaction waiting for a trigger, but his breath catches, strangled by the sudden movement of your hand curling around the door handle.

The threat is extremely evident. And he just knows you'd do it. Logan slams on the breaks, the car swerves violently before coming to a harsh stop. "What the hell's your problem?"

"My problem is you, Logan. You and your self-sacrificing bullshit! I'm done," you croak. It's not about the mission, he realises with a nauseating lurch in his stomach. It's about everything.

You’re done?

He stares, dumbfounded, frozen to the core until you're unbuckling your seatbelt. "What're you doing?" Desperate, but he doesn't care.

"Walking."

"No the fuck you're not. Safe house's another four miles."

"Good." Cold air rushes in once you exit the car and slowly increase the distance from where Logan sits, alone and upset.

He drove the four miles to the safe house at a snail's pace, fighting the instinct to veer off course and find you. Beg you for forgiveness.

The house was dark and empty when he arrived. With the flickering hope that perhaps you'd reached before him, Logan checked every room. Twice.

Three hours. Three agonising hours since you'd disappeared along an off-beaten path aside the main road. Three hours of replaying the argument, the accusation in your eyes, the finality in your words.

"Goddammit. God-fucking-dammit."

Possibilities, each more gut-wrenching than the last, churn in his mind. You could be hurt. Lost. Captured. Or worse - a thought so unthinkable he tries to shy away.

What if this was it? What if his relentless pushing had finally worn you down, despite the twisted, fucked up part of him that wanted you to fight?

Logan sinks onto the couch, its springs groaning under the weight of his misery. He examines his hands, rough and calloused, capable of inflicting severe damage, yet completely useless in holding onto the one thing he truly cares about.

Suddenly, the steady hiss of running water startles him. Then, it registers. Running water. Like a moth to a flame, he reaches the bathroom in record time, hesitating for a beat before sliding the door open. As the steam clears, Logan stiffens at the scene.

Perched on the edge of the tub, one leg submerged in the water, the other stretched out before you, you stay facing away from him. Wet strands of your hair cling to your neck and shoulders, the damp t-shirt you'd been wearing beneath your suit revealing a faint outline of your bra straps.

A small pouch, one you always carry with emergency supplies, sits open on the floor, its contents spilling out: bandages, antibacterial wipes, sutures - and blood. A thin, crimson line trails down your calf, turning the water a faint, unsettling shade of pink.

"You're bleeding," he says lamely, attempting to quell the guilt - and bile - rising up his throat.

Weary eyes meet his own, but there's something else there. Defiance? Resignation? He can't quite decipher it. "Popped a few stitches," you reply, detached, matter-of-fact. "I'm not the best medic." That's very much known to him, yet your wry shot at humour falls undeniably flat.

Logan kneels beside the tub, fixed on the uneven, inflamed wound you're tending to. It screams of pain and neglect. His neglect. "Let me," he whispers softly. "Please."

And to your credit, you don't oppose his efforts. No winces, no protests, no sounds; he doesn't know what to make of that, instead, working in a meticulous fashion, throwing every stitch with deliberate care.

The minutes tick by, slow and heavy. And after what feels like an eternity, the last stitch is in place, a small knot securing everything together. Sitting back on his heels, Logan doesn't withdraw his touch from your thigh, inspecting his handiwork with a saddened gaze.

"I miss our old life."

Your voice, quiet and laced with an unapologetic yearning, torches the silence, and with it, the remnants of his weakening defenses.

"I'm sorry," he says, tearfully. "For pushing you away. For being an asshole. For letting you... die. I'm sorry for everything."

There's a long pause. Logan contemplates granting you space, giving you the distance he'd so readily forced all along. But then, your hand finds the curve of his cheek, halting his retreat.

"It's not your fault. None of it. I know you did everything you could," you murmur, thumbing away a stray tear. Relief warms his heart, a feeling he recognises as wholly genuine. And it comes solely from you, untouched by your powers. "I don't need to say this, but I will, for you." With a deep breath, you dispel the demons and monsters plaguing his soul in four simple words: "I forgive you, baby."

The iron band around his chest loosens its grip, and Logan takes his first breath all over again. Still mindful of your injury, he gathers you into his arms with a force that nearly throws you off balance.

"I'm right here," you continue, muffled against his shoulder. "I’m alive because of you. So, I'm asking you to come back. Come back to me, Logan."

Tentatively, he tilts his head down, capturing your lips with a reverence so implicitly him. Not even the sweetest nectar could compare to the taste of your love. For it is, quite simply, everything.

[eddieandbird]

Home to you—

Eddie comes home drunk to you.

A/N: missed you guys so much! sorry for dipping in and out so often, but i’ve been really into bridgerton lately and i’ve been only wanting to talk about that. howerver i did conjure up this h*rny little story for eddie, so i hope yall enjoy! -Bird

tags/warnings: 2.7k words | f!reader | boyfriend!eddie | drunk sex | consent checks | f*ngering | pinv | praise kink + nicknames

—

You heard keys jingle at your front door just a few feet outside the bedroom. Your boyfriend was finally home

“Guess who’s back,” Eddie teasingly whispered, trying not to wake you if you were already asleep.

“Is it Eddie?” You deeply inhaled and stretched your arms, your voice was low and sleepy.

Eddie fell into bed with you, his whole weight causing to shake it. You gave a delirious laugh, still waking up.

“You guessed right, sweetheart,” He said before wrapping his arms around you, pulling you in from behind.

“You’re such a smart girl,” Eddie cooed in your ear before running his hands on your stomach and along the waistband of your panties.

“Someone sounds like they had a good time at Gareth’s birthday party,”

Eddie smiled, burying his face in your hair and laughing a bit at the comment.

“I did,” Eddie pulled you closer and nuzzled into your neck, softly kissing as he spoke. “But I’m glad to have my girl back in bed with me.”

You hummed before you pulled up his hand to kiss his palm.

“Mm. Happy you’re home too baby. I don’t know if I’m totally thrilled that you’re hammered, but-“

“Relax, I got a ride home,” Eddie mumbled. His small kisses along your neck was driving you wild.

“Okay, good. At least you made some responsible choices,” You joked.

“I am responsible,” Eddie grinned, his breath warm against your skin.

As you two spoke, Eddie's hand began to trail lower and lower down your stomach. He stopped once he reached your thighs before he gently gripped the soft flesh.

"I can't believe you weren't out with me,” Eddie muttered against your neck.

“I couldn’t help but think about you all night” He whispered.

The tone of his voice sounded sweet in your ear despite his alcohol-fueled state.

“Is that right?” You giggled. “What were you thinking about?” Your voice was quiet but lustful.

Eddie’s fingers slowly teased the lace on your skin, lightly tracing the outline of your thong. His touch was already turning you into mush. Your heat radiated through the thong you wore, the more his fingers trailed around it, Eddie smirked, enjoying the way it made you shiver.

“I was thinking about-” he began as he pulled your body closer to him until you could feel the heat of his breath along your ear.

“The way you sound when I’m on top of you. The way your skin tastes when I kiss every part of you,” He growled.

You let out a soft moan as he repeatedly kissed along your jaw, catching a couple kisses on your lips in the process of turning back to him.

“You sure you’re up for this, baby? It sounded like you stumbled into the room. You might be too drunk,” You said with slight concern, but you also knew what he wanted and you were not in the mood to turn him down.

Eddie laughed a bit. “I’m not too drunk, baby. I've missed you,” he slurred.

He could feel himself getting worked up just being next to you. You could feel him pressing up against your backside.

“You feel that,” he whispered, his voice thick with lust.

Your breathing hitched as you felt his length through the denim of his jeans. He pressed it right against the curve of your ass.

“Of course I feel it,” you scoffed, jokingly.

“That’s all for you,” Eddie started to grind himself against you, his hips slowly rolling into you. “Want you so bad,” He started to breathe heavily against you.

The way he slurred his words would typically annoy you, but they were so endearing when he was whispering dirty nothings into your ear.

“You gonna be a good girl for me? You gonna give me what I want?” He huffed as he worked at you.

“Mhm. Whatever you want, baby,” You said with desire.

Eddie gently rolled you onto your back so he could hover over you.

“That’s what I like to hear,” he whispered, taking a quick second to admire your body. “So gorgeous,” he added as he started to run his hands up and down your thighs.

“You going to be a good girl then? Give me.. a show,” he teased.

“What else do you wanna see?” Your eyes twinkled at him as you pushed one strap off your shoulder.

Your perspective lit flames on your skin. You saw nothing but his big, dark eyes surrounded in his black curls falling down towards you. Eddie watched hungrily as you bared more of your skin for him to look at. His eyes were hazy as he stared back at yours.

Your soft, but quickened breaths filled the air as took the hem of your tank top and lifted it over your head, putting your chest on display for him.

“My pretty, pretty girl,” Eddie groaned, starting to run one of his hands up your legs. He started to run one of his hands up your leg. He could feel the heat of your skin through the silk of your panties as he placed his thumb over it

“Eddie,” You gasped as you felt him tracing around your clit.

“Such a sweet girl,” His finger continued to rub over you, feeling the way your skin got hotter as he applied more pressure. “Missed me that badly?” He whispered before pressing his thumb harder against the spot of wetness. He could feel himself growing harder just listening to the sounds you made. His eyes flicked from your face, to your chest and your shaking legs as he slowly pressed his thumb harder. He could feel how worked up you were, but he still wanted you to hold on and wait for it.

“You’re so needy,” he muttered in your ear with a smirk while rubbing his thumb in small circles over your sensitive bundle of nerves. His dark eyes continued to drink in the sight of you.

“Isn’t that what you wanted when you came in?” You smiled wide, your eyelids heavy as you bucked your hips up into his touch. The fabric now heavily soaked now as he rolled over your aching center. Eddie groaned in response to watching you writhe under him, his eyes still taking in the sight of you while holding you firmly in place with one of his broad hands.

“Maybe a little,” Eddie admitted with a lustful grin. “You want more don’t you?” He teased before leaning down to place open mouthed kisses on your neck, his hot tongue running along your skin.

You shuddered against him, trying your hardest to let him lead you. His pace was torturous but it’s just how you liked it.

“Mhm… I need it,” You nodded and smiled wickedly, your voice stuttering.

“That’s what I like to hear,” Eddie groaned.

He let his thumb go, the absence of the touch making you feel even more strung out.

His hands gripped your underwear and started to pull them down painfully slowly as his dark eyes watched you.

“You’re so goddamn pretty,” he exhaled shakily.

You felt his warm breath surround your legs and your aching center as he dragged the silk underwear down your legs. Your eyes were wide with anticipation as he pawed at your legs.

You couldn’t help but squirm under his touch, desperately wanting more friction between you two. He sat up and spread your legs apart, giving him a full view of you in the moonlight.

“So eager for me,” he teased, the corner of his lip tugging up in a smirk as he ran his hand up your thigh and towards your heat. “Tell me that’s all for me,” He muttered.

“It’s all for you, babe. I’m all yours,” You whispered back, your hips involuntarily lifting as you felt his fingers dragging upwards toward your core. Your hands were placed down at your sides, clawing at your bedsheets.

“That’s my girl,” he groaned as he teased with a smirk before finally running his thumb down between your slit.

He felt the heat and the wetness against his skin, your reaction making him groan louder than he intended to.

“So wet for me,” Eddie muttered before leaning down and placing gentle kisses on your inner thighs. His eyes flicking between watching your face twisted in pleasure

“All yours, Eddie,” You mused.

Your breaths would rise and fall with his touches. The further his touch was from your sensitive button, the softer the moans, only growing with intensity as he got closer. You can feel yourself growing impatient, but you knew to claim the prize, you had to play his game.

You curiously put a hand on his, seeing if he’d let you control the pace of things.

Eddie couldn’t help but laugh as your hand covered his, and let you push his fingers towards where you wanted them with a lazy grin.

“So impatient, baby,” he teased, watching the hand under his, move with it as he reached the spot you desperately wanted him to touch.

You looked up at him, trying to keep your eyes open as you led his hand to rub in just the way you liked. You could tell he wanted to stare back at you, but all he was looking at was how inviting your pussy was, now spilling out love onto the sheets. Watching you make yourself feel good by guiding his touch had him mesmerized.

“My pretty girl. So desperate to be touched,” he breathed, his smirk turning into a mischievous grin as his fingers started to move a bit quicker, rubbing your sensitive bundle of nerves in tight circles.

“You’re so hot like this,” he let out a deep growl as he watched you and continued to work on undoing you while his other hand grabbed at your hip to keep you still.

“Look at you, making such a mess,” Eddie groaned in your ear, his pace increasing slightly, desperate to see you fall apart.

“You see how much I need you?” Your words were ladened with desire between small gasps.

You knew you were getting close to a peak. You gripped around his wrist, making him hold his pace as you were reaching climax.

“I see it, baby,” Eddie mimicked your tone, his gaze never leaving you as he watched you get closer and closer to the edge.

He could see how close you were, the way your body was tensing and you were desperately biting down on your lip.

His pace stayed steady as he watched you, his heart racing from the thought of pleasing you.

“Let go for me, pretty girl,” he muttered, groaning just thinking about it.

“Shit!” You hissed.

With one great thrust of your hips you climaxed against his rough fingers. The once quiet room now echoed back your moan as you came, riding out on his fingers as you went back down.

You laid there in front of him, slightly limp and completely helpless. You giggled briefly before catching your breath.

“Thank you, baby,” You took his hand in yours and kissed his knuckles, looking up at him in adoration.

“Of course, baby,” he cooed, his dark eyes looking down at you.

He moved on top of you, his hands going down to the denim on his hips as he started to unbutton them. “You ready for more?”

“Do you even need to ask?” You laughed some more, your eyes following him as he took off his clothes.

Your breath hitched to see just how hard he was, practically springing out as he shoved off his boxers.

“Oh god, I need you,” You whispered almost inaudibly.

He couldn’t keep the grin off his face as he heard you.

“Say that again,” Eddie muttered, his voice quiet as he hovered above you, his body pressed into yours.

His eyes searched yours as he settled in between your thighs, placing one hand by your head as the other started to trace down your body. “Tell me what you need, baby.”

“I need you inside me,” You shivered, feeling his hands run over your curves.

The heat between both of your legs couldn’t be ignored. You could feel him twitch against your soft entrance, just waiting for him to slip it in. Eddie groaned and closed his eyes as he listened to you, already breathless from the anticipation. His hips buckled against you a bit and he shuddered as he felt the heat between your legs against the tip of him.

“Don’t need to tell me twice,” he groaned before kissing you again.

You moaned back into his mouth, your nails digging into his back as you felt him enter you. He went at an achingly slow pace, but the sensations were too good to complain. His strokes would go all the way out before pumping fast and deep inside you. It drove you mad.

“It-You… You feel good,” You struggled to even comment.

Your eyes were rolling back into your head with each thrust. Eddie grinned at the small compliments, his eyes staying locked on yours as he continued to thrust into you. He watched as your eyes grew heavy and you almost lost your words.

“Can’t even talk anymore, baby?” Eddie’s eyes clenched shut for a moment as your legs surrounded his waist. He groaned at the words that came out of your mouth but he had no intentions on stopping.

He leaned down to kiss you again, the kiss was sloppy and wet as his pace began to quicken. His hand grabbed your thigh, keeping it against him as he picked up the pace.

“You’re such a good girl, taking it all for me,” Eddie said frantically between grunts. His quickened pace only meant one thing. He was going to finish soon.

“Where do you want me to come?” He asked in a trembling breath.

“Where do you want to come? I want you to have what you want,” You said before kissing his forehead, a small moment of affection during the rough, heightened experience. It was as if he could feel himself growing closer with each word and breath that came out of your mouth.

“Inside you,” He declared in a grunt. “I wanna fill you,” The words left his lips before he could even think it through, but the sight of you beneath him, breathless and all

“Go ahead, baby. You can do it,” You said with lustful encouragement.

Your legs wrapped around him tighter as he was rutting against you. Your hand brought his head down to you and brushed away his messy curls. Once you saw his neck you started to suck at the sensitive area right below his jaw. He shuddered at the touch of your lips on his sensitive skin, breathing in deeply as you sucked.

“Fuck,” he moaned, his head tilting back as his breathing became heavier. His body was tensing up, desperate to come undone, but he waited just a moment longer. “You going to come too?” He said, breathless.

“Uh huh,” You mimicked his volume, as you tugged lightly at his hair. He pinned you down pretty well, but there was still space for you to roll your hips up into him and so you did it, knowing it’d be the end of him. Eddie couldn’t keep himself together any longer as he felt your hips roll up into him.

His breath hitched and caught in the back of his throat as his pace slowed, his body tensing up just a little bit more.

Then, after one more roll of your hips, he finally caved. He buried his head against you as you both came, groaning loudly as his hips gave a few sharp thrusts, riding his way through it.

He tried to catch his breath as he laid on top of you, taking a few moments before he pulled away to look at you while panting slightly.

“You okay, pretty girl?” He asked, affectionately running his hand along your jaw.

“Oh everything is perfect,” You exhaled happily.

Eddie let a goofy smile take over his face, and laid down next to you, pulling you into his side as he settled in next to you. Soon you were off back to sleep.

[hgfictionwriter]

Revelations: Part Five

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Summary: Tensions and emotion have been building for weeks and weeks. You're still trying to reconcile what your relationship - and your future - was, and what it is now. Everything comes to a head.

Warnings: Angst. Mention of masturbation and sex. Language.

A/N: Rest of the series can be found here.

"How's my beautiful girl? I can't wait to see how gorgeous you'll look."

You sighed inwardly as you read Jessie's text as you and your friends waited. You were wedding dress shopping today and this was your first booking of the day.

Jessie's text sparked a smile, however it was brief as your eye was drawn to the prior messages from the other day.

------

"Hey, I know it's [y/friend's] birthday dinner on Friday and the reservation is at 6:00. Do you know if we're all starting right away or do you think there'll be drinks first and then dinner later?"

"I'm not sure. Why?"

"Well, it's just that Zoie starts swimming Friday and her class starts at 5:30. I'm just trying to sort out how I might be able to do both."

"Babe?"

"I don't have to go to her class. It's totally fine. There'll be others."

"It's fine Jess. Just show up when you can."

"No, it's okay. They probably won't even do much day one. I'll go to the next one."

"Jess. Go to Zoie's class. She'd want you there."

"You sure? It's not too, too far from where you guys are meeting. So I shouldn't be overly late. I'll bring [y/friend] a bottle of her favourite wine."

"All good. We'll be happy to see you whenever you get there."

-------

You sighed again as you finished rereading. Your thumb hovered over the keyboard and you found it difficult to muster up the energy to respond. You did though.

"You know you're not supposed to see the wedding dress until the actually wedding, right? lol"

You name was called and your head snapped up and a polite smile crossed your face as you stood. You tucked your phone away and your friends ushered you along after the consultant.

"It says here you have a December wedding," the consultant remarked as she turned to you with a warm smile while you walked.

"Oh, yeah," you answered tepidly, somehow caught off guard by the comment.

"Winter weddings are nice! And we don't get quite as many of those," she commented lightly as she continued to lead you and your friends to the room at the back.

"Oh. My fiancée is a footballer, so we scheduled it during her off season."

"Very nice," she said. "Now, what kind of a style were you thinking for your dress?" She asked as you reached your destination and she turned to you with clasped hands awaiting your response.

Your mind went eerily blank. You'd envisioned a dress, or at least a couple, several times before. You'd pictured Jessie standing at the end of the aisle, tears in her eyes as she watched you walk down the aisle. You'd pictured how tenderly she'd hold your hands as you said your vows. You'd pictured her slipping the band on your finger. The kiss.

But right now you just felt tired and you mind slowly churned as it tried to conjure up a vision.

You blushed in embarrassment. "Um, I don't really know. Whatever looks good, I guess," you said with a laugh you hoped didn't sound too forced.

Your friends immediately jumped in with ideas and for that were you thankful.

Soon you were offered option after option after option. One dress held up after another, each awaiting your approval or disapproval, everyone watching you closely. You could feel your nerves starting to fray as this whole exercise began to overwhelm you.

Eventually, to put a stop to the carousel of dresses, you picked the one that actually stayed in your mind throughout the barrage of options. Everyone chattered excitedly as the dress was retrieved and the consultant opened the lush curtains to the fitting room.

You stepped in and she began to prepare some things for you. Subconsciously you retrieved your phone, looking for some kind of distraction and reprieve from the way your heart was beating loud in your chest.

You opened Instagram mindlessly and the first story on your feed was one Sara posted.

You hadn't wanted to add her. But she extended an invite, and, well, Jessie had her now too, so you might as well be in than out.

You vaguely noted the consultant talking to you over her shoulder, but you were more focused on the clip of Jessie and Zoie kicking a soccer ball back and forth at the park, laughing and running together. The caption, "She wants to be just like her mama" sent a searing pain through your chest.

"Okay, you're all set."

"Hm?" You asked blankly as you looked up from your phone to the woman. Your eyes darted between her and the dress and you plastered a smile on your face. "Oh, great. Thank you."

"Don't worry much about fit right now. It's probably going to feel bulky and not quite right, but that's all stuff we tailor and sort out as part of the alterations. Now, do you want to call one of your friends in to help with the dress?"

"Oh, yeah," you said as you shook your head out with another practiced smile while you tried to stay present.

Your friend helped you step into the dress and you even managed to have a laugh during the whole process as she zipped you up. A soft smile was still on your face as she turned you towards the full-length mirrors. She rested her hands on your shoulders as she took you in, a smile of awe on her face.

You looked at your reflection as you stood there in what could be your wedding dress. You were smiling in the mirror, a smile of yours that had become second nature the past few months and one that you were oh so sick of. This image before you - you smiling in this gorgeous gown, a vision of you at the alter - it felt distant and foreign. You didn't recognize this person.

"You look stunning. What do you think?" Your friend asked. You smiled further.

"I like it," you lied.

As she unzipped you later, you purposefully made a request that drew her away and left you to stand there quietly in front of the mirror alone as you held up the dress with one hand.

This should've been a joyous moment. Instead, you felt like you were mourning a future that never came to be.

That image of Jessie laughing and running around with Zoie - knowing that it was Sara watching on, not you - flashed through your mind.

There were two parallel worlds happening. Jessie your fiancée. Jessie, doting parent to a daughter that wasn't yours, dedicated co-parent and partner to someone who wasn't you.

You stared at yourself for a few moments before your eyes began to sting and your lip trembled. You immediately turned away and took a deep, shuddering breath.

You had a choice to make. Or rather, whether you liked it or not, it felt like the choice had been made for you.

---------

You heard Jessie's key slide into the lock and the bolt turn before the door opened. Her voice carried down the hall as you heard her taking off her shoes, bags rustling in hand.

"Hey, you didn't get back to me, so I just picked up some stuff for stir fry. Is that okay?"

You didn't reply.

Instead, you remained seated at the kitchen table, shoulders slack and body listless as you stared vacantly at the shining diamond ring you'd set in the middle of the table. This ring that she'd bought and given to you with love, with promise, intent and dreams.

You absently rubbed your ring finger that now felt naked. In the grand scheme of things, the ring hadn't been on your finger for all that long, but you felt something akin to phantom sensations despite it.

"Oh, there you are. Are you-"

Jessie's words died off as did her steps as she came to a stop a couple of feet from you. You didn't have to look up to know her eyes were fixed on the ring as well.

You room was heavy with silence before you finally forced yourself to look up at her. You could feel tears forming behind your eyes already. Her gaze shifted from the ring to you and you immediately noticed the shimmering of her eyes.

She visibly swallowed and when she spoke her voice trembled just so despite the faint smile she tried to force. "Hey, what's going on?"

You inhaled as you shifted in your seat to face her. You went to speak, but your throat constricted with impending emotion and your lip began to quiver as tears threatened to fall.

"I'm sorry," you managed to say as you looked up at her. She dropped your gaze, eyes shifting to the floor and you noted how her hands balled tightly into fists as she tried to control her emotions. Her eyes remained transfixed on the floor and you repeated yourself, your voice wavering this time. "I'm sorry, Jess."

She didn't say anything right away and you were about to speak when a tear fell from her, catching the light from the room before it hit the ground.

She looked up at you, eyes brimming with tears and looking so crestfallen. Her cheeks were flushed red; you reflected idly on how there was a time when you'd have inspired that in her as a blush, now here you were breaking her heart.

Your shoulders shook as your own tears began to overtake you. You sniffled and began to speak, feeling the need to explain and to fill this aching silence.

"It's not that I don't love you. I love you more than I've ever loved anyone. You're everything I could ever want," your voice rose in pitch as your vocal cords strained. "But I just feel like every day - at one point or another - my heart is getting broken over and over again. I thought I'd be able to fix things. To just get over things. But I haven't. And I'm just starting to feel numb. I-I just don't know what to do anymore."

Jessie's breathing hitched as she began to muster a response, but you forged on feeling like if you didn't say everything you needed to now, you'd just fall back into her arms and that's where you'd stay.

"You have a new life. A new family-" You saw her ready to interject and you cut her off "-it's true, Jess. I know I'm your family, too. But so is Zoie. And Sara. I know you try to dismiss your connection with her, but you are tied to her forever. And I know you don't want to give her precedence over me, but reality is, she's the mother of your child and always will be. You need to put Zoie first, and by proxy, at times Sara - and I can't fault you for that. Your duty and your dedication to your loved ones is one of the many things about you I fell in love with," you forced a laugh as tears fell. You looked at her sadly.

"You gained a family. And I feel like I lost one. It's no one's fault. Maybe that's what makes it so hard." You took a shaky breath. "I think I would've handled this better if I'd come in knowing you had this. But for it to come up the way it has...it's turned everything upside down for me and I just don't know how to right it. I wish I did," you said remorsefully as you dropped her gaze and blinked through more tears. Your hands shook as you wrung them before looking up at her.

"I just don’t feel like I fit anymore. I’ve been trying. I want nothing more than a future with you, but it just doesn’t feel right anymore.”

Jessie had been crying quietly as she listened to you speak. Her face was red, her cheeks tear-stained as her chest hitched now and then with unsteady breaths.

Surprise flooded your system and she knelt in front of you. Here she was, on bended knee, taking your hands in hers, sorrow in her eyes and such a contrast from when she knelt before you in much the same way many months before, except that time with unhindered hope and love as she asked you to be hers forever.

“Please don’t do this. I know it’s hard right now. But we can find a way. It’ll get better. And easier. I promise," Jessie beseeched as she looked up at you from her position on the floor.

You didn't know what to say. There wasn't really anything to say. So you just smiled apologetically, hoping she could see how much this was breaking your heart as well.

Jessie searched your eyes and you saw her expression fall furthermore as she cried anew. She clutched your hands as quiet sobs began to take her.

“I’m so sorry. For everything. I never wanted this to happen," she said through her cries. It tore you apart seeing her like this, but in some bizarre way it actually affirmed your decision. You squeezed her hands, caressing the back of them tenderly with your thumbs.

“I know, baby. But I guess this is just how life is. Things can be unexpected. And they don’t always go the way you planned. And this is exactly why this won’t work. You shouldn’t have to feel sorry. You shouldn’t have to apologize. You have a gorgeous, sweet little girl. And there’s nothing wrong with that. At all. She deserves all of you and you shouldn't have to choose. And I know I'm the one who's been forcing you to."

You paused, trying to gather your composure, but your voice was still taut as you spoke.

"I'm sorry I'm so selfish. But I also know I'd never forgive myself if Zoie got even the slightest sense that any of this...strife, or difficulty, was because of her. She doesn't deserve that and it's certainly not her fault."

Jessie looked ready to protest. You forged on.

"I truly wish the best for you and for Zoie. And even Sara," you added with a watery laugh before you sniffled. "I know it hasn't been easy navigating things, Jess. I know how hard you tried. And it meant so much that you tried." You let out a brief sob. "Thank you for loving me." Jessie's face collapsed in tears as you said that and she reached up to cup your cheek. You couldn't resist leaning into her touch, but you had to finish what you had to say.

"I stopped wishing that I had gotten to you first. Then you'd be mine, and we could have our old life, or God, that it would be our child we're raising. But even that didn't feel good, because then Zoie wouldn't exist. And that's not right. She's added so much light and love to your life, to your family's - and despite the complications, mine too. I just can't embrace everything the way you have. I can't let go of what I wanted."

You took a shaky breath.

"To be honest - I just don't like who I am right now. How I've been feeling. What I'm bringing to our relationship. So," your features screwed up as you tried to put on a brave face, "it's time for me to go."

Jessie shook her head with a pained expression.

"No, you don't have to. Babe, please," she pleaded as more tears fell, "we can figure this out. I know you feel like you don't fit anymore, but you really do. What can I do to help you see that?" You let her question hang and she stared at you expectantly. She tried to smile, but it flickered with the heartache she was feeling. "We belong together. We love each other."

She said it with such finality it almost convinced you that it was enough.

You looked at her with the first real smile in what felt like so long. You were crying through it, but it was real.

"You deserve so much happiness," you said.

Jessie searched your eyes as she absorbed your words. A sob escaped her and she looked down. A moment passed and she leant her head down and kissed your hand, her lips lingering on your skin for several seconds before she pulled back.

She swallowed visibly as she brought her other hand to yours now as well, clasping yours in both of hers. Her eyes were still trained down as she nodded once. A beat passed and she looked up at you, brown eyes glistening and mournful, but somehow still full of love. She nodded once more as she gave you as brave a smile as she could, no matter how heartbroken she was.

"You deserve all the happiness in the world, too," she whispered, voice breaking.

She rose up higher onto her knees and you both met in a soft, tight embrace. Cries wracked your body and hers as you clung onto one another. You inhaled her scent, eyes closing as you willed yourself to remember it; to remember the feel of her hair, the sound and feel of her breath, the feel of her body against yours - you engrained it all.

---------

Sometimes, when a relationship ends, you don't know how the other person will be. Someone who you felt you knew so well can become a stranger overnight. But, that wasn't the case with Jessie.

She was gracious and loving despite the breakup. So much so that sometimes you had to remind her - as painful as it was - that you didn't belong to each other anymore.

"Hey, I'll be home late night. Midfielders are doing some extra technical work this afternoon. I'll text you when I'm done though. I could bring you home dinner or something though?" She'd asked hopefully one time as you both readied for the day.

"That's sweet of you to offer, but it's okay. And it's considerate, but you don't need to keep me apprised of your day. You don't owe me that," you gently reminded her. She gave you a tight, pained smile as she nodded her acceptance.

"Right," she said with a weak laugh. "Well. I guess I'll see you later, then. Um. Have a good day."

The few weeks until you could take possession of a new apartment had been awkward and delicate. You offered to move in with a friend in the interim, but Jessie had convinced you not to. Well, she wasn't wrong that living out of a suitcase for that long would be unnecessarily annoying, and there was certainly no point in moving all of your things twice. So, you'd stayed, with Jessie insisting on relegating herself to an air mattress in the living room. You'd argued with her, but she'd dug her heels in.

The days went by slowly, and at the same time, your move in date grew steadily closer and the pit in your stomach grew just the same. You'd had cold feet several times, but knew it was just some misguided part of you looking for the easy path and short-term pay-off.

It was hard to not have doubts when - despite everything - you and Jessie still got along so well. While it was undeniably hard to be in the same room as her and not be with her, it was still easy in a way. When you allowed yourself, you could chat about your days, even laugh.

What caused the most confusion was probably the fact that you didn't know how to be Jessie's friend. Even when you and her had been just friends at the beginning - a lifetime ago now - there was always something underlying. You had chemistry from the get-go and it was near impossible to deny.

And now, after everything, how could you possibly pretend to just be friends. How could you pretend you weren't in love with her? How could you pretend that this woman sitting a couple feet from you on the couch didn't preoccupy your every thought and could make or break you with her words.

Hell, that not only did she own your heart and mind, but your body, too. That as you laid there lonely in this bed you used to share, that your hand strayed as memories flooded your senses. Of all those nights, mornings, stolen moments, where she made love to you so passionately and desperately. The feeling so intimate and tender, like you were the only person on this earth with her and you the only one who could give her what she needed while she was the only one who could make you whole.

And with the way she looked at you - sometimes unabashed, sometimes fleeting - how could you pretend that she didn't feel the same way?

During moments of weakness, it seemed a silly thing to fight. In a world as dark and lonely as this one could be, why would you leave someone you loved and who loved you back?

But when Jessie spent nights coordinating things with Sara and then went out with her and Zoie on others, you remembered.

The day came when you took possession of your new apartment. You'd initially resisted her offer to help you move, but your resolve weakened and failed.

She'd worn a bright smile all day as she cheerfully tackled every task. You knew her well though; she was trying far too hard.

She helped you arrange furniture, move boxes around, check all the fixtures in the new place, the list went on. Even after you'd dismissed your friends, she'd insisted on sticking around and began helping you unpack.

Her eager assistance carried on into the night. Each time she finished one task, she readily started on another and good-naturedly dismissed your offers to let her stop.

As she chatted fast and constant throughout the night, hitting any and every topic she could, you saw this woman before you - the woman you well and truly loved - making every excuse to not leave. And truthfully, you were happy to delay the inevitable goodbye.

So for now, you both knew what she was doing, but neither of you vocalized it.

You eventually checked your phone. 12:30 am.

"Okay, so I was thinking of unpacking your books over here for now. I saw this really nice bookcase online the other day - I can get it for you over the weekend if you like. I think it could go really well over here. And-"

"Jess."

Her movements stilled and the room grew silent and heavy. She slowly turned to face you and you could see her thinly veiled trepidation.

You offered her a regretful smile as you fought back emotions and grief that began to bubble up inside of you.

"You should go...," you said gently.

She held your gaze for several moments, seemingly teetering on the edge of whether to protest or not. She nodded sadly and forced a smile that faltered as her eyes began to fill with tears.

She forced a laugh as she closed the space between you.

"It's a nice place. Could use some colour, but I know you'll take care of that," she said as she scratched nervously at the back of her neck and gave another weak laugh.

"Thanks for all of your help. Truly," you said.

Her eyes brimmed with tears and her mouth quivered faintly. "Anytime," she said, voice thick with emotion.

She stared at you a moment longer before exhaling, puffing out her cheeks before trying to choke back tears. "I know we're not together. But," she paused, debating her words, "I really do love you. I know you can't make any promises, but, if you're open to it I want you in my life." A quiet sob veiled as a laugh escaped her. "I don't know what my life looks like without you."

"I love you, too, Jessie," you said. You couldn't lie about that.

She embraced you and you held each other tightly in a lingering, tearful hug. Neither of you wanted to be the first to let go.

You eventually conceded and gingerly, regretfully, extracted yourself from her arms. Her fingers lingered as long as she could let them before you stepped back.

You gave her a watery smile.

"Take care of yourself, Jessie."

The statement seemed to wound her, but she covered it up with a tight smile.

"You too."

As you stood before her, a brief recollection came to you of a time long past; your first date. Even then, you knew with absolutely certainty you were going to see her again. As soon as possible if you could help it.

For the first time since the beginning, you didn't know if or when you'd see her again.

You gave her another quick hug, yet again committing her and everything about her to memory.

"I'll see you," you said softly as you hugged her. "And we'll talk soon. Good night, Jess."

Her cheek brushed against yours as she slowly pulled back. Her eyes shone with fresh tears. She opened her mouth to speak, but closed it, offering you a renewed smile instead.

"Good night, Y/N."

----

A/N: I did say that things would get a lot rougher before they got better. Let me know your thoughts.

Tag requests: @marvelwomen-simp @valuyhh

[hyewka]

i need jealous possessive subby gyu😭😭 like omg need him so toxic, needy, and clingy🙂‍↕️

warnings: a bit toxic, clingy and needy sub but whats new :P

irrationally jealous!beomgyu that cant even stand you going out with friends without blowing up your phone, trying to put a balm on his growing anxiety by asking whos there with you. then when you respond and he recognizes male names, he gets even more antsy. give it time before he texts you again, his fingers flying across the screen as he types out a message.

ohhh ok. are you having fun? :)

then again.

still really wish you were here with me insteadddd its so boring without you

he chews on his bottom lip, the seconds ticking by with agonizing slowness. god, just respond, he thinks, fingers twitching as he waits. then he succumbs to sending another text.

come home soon okay? miss you :3

then another, and another…and another.

after sending a few more texts, minutes go by with no response, and so he flops down onto his bed, his thoughts spiraling as he stares at the ceiling, trying to convince himself that he’s just overreacting. but the more he thinks about it, the worse it gets. why aren’t you replying?

beomgyu isn't possessive, he isn't, really...right? so why can't he seem to get rid of the reckless idea that just popped up in his head?

instead, like a magnet he reaches for his phone again, this time switching to the camera. when he sets it to video mode, all thats on his mind is getting your attention. thats it, nothing more. just your attention.

you're out with your friends at a bar, it was meant to be a girls night but you guys bumped into old college friends so it turned into something way bigger than intended. you've been trying to enjoy yourself, not seem too absorbed in your phone but when you can feel the vibrations of your phone buzzing every three minutes in your back pocket, its practically impossible to ignore. you know who it is.

any other person would've shut their phone down or at the least put it on dnd, but here you were, locking yourself in a bathroom stall after excusing yourself, pulling out your phone only to be met with the most obvious strings of messages from one singular contact name: beomgyu.

the first one after you passively replied was innocent enough, but then you see skim past the next ones:

how long are you gonna be out?

is it loud there? can you even see this? I miss you, baby

the last one really sticks out:

are you ignoring me?

you frown, but before you could finish typing out a text, a video pops up from him. you pause. you hesitate for just a second before tapping play, and instantly, you realize exactly why the thumbnail was so blurry.

the video’s a little shaky at first but eventually it steadies enough for you to realize hes on your shared bed—his hair's all messed up, sticking out in random directions, and his lips are parted as he breathes heavily. you can barely make out the details because of how grainy the video is, but you can still hear him. your brows furrow deeper…this can’t be…what you think it is, right?

and like hes heard your thoughts, he lets out this quiet moan, the camera dipping a bit, like he almost forgot he was holding it, revealing exactly what you conjured up in your head; a clear view of his hand buried under the waistband of his shorts, half-hard— leaving absolutely no room for imagination.

“i've been thinking about you all night, baby. couldn't help it... had to touch myself, thinking about you..." he trails off. you can see his fingers moving under the fabric, slow and lazy, dragging it out like he’s savoring every fucking second.

when his hand clearly starts to move a little faster, his eyes fluttering shut as he loses himself in the feeling. "wish you were here, wish it was your hand instead. fuck, it's not enough..."

his lips part again, and you can hear the faintest whimper escape him, the sound making you bite the inside of your cheeks. and it’s so quiet, so breathy, that you bring the phone closer to your ear without thinking, embarrassingly desperate to hear more. it’s enough to make you press your thighs together, trying to ease the ache building there.

but you can't seem to tear your eyes away for long as he shifts slightly, his hips arching up a little more, his movements becoming more erratic. and when you hear him whisper your name—over and over, like he's pleading, like he's praying-your throat goes dry, and your hands start to tremble.

“look at me, baby, look how fucking hard you make me. this is all your fault,” you hear his panting get louder in the background, matching the pace hes palming at his cock.

then he lets out this cute, frustrated whine, almost a little whimper, when the camera slips again.

he messes with his phone a bit, like he's trying to figure out if you can see everything all while he keeps working himself, the slick sounds of him jerking off growing more erratic by the second.. then, you catch the way his shirt rides up and thats what does it for you.

if this is what he wanted to achieve then he did it because you really, really want to get home to him as fast as you can just to pull that shirt up the rest of the way and trace the lines of his stomach with your fingers, to feel that little pink gem that pierces his belly button against your palm.

you wet your lips nervously, shaking your leg, hunched over your phone— he was so effortlessly pretty. his muscles are just barely visible and the subtle lines of his abs tense then relaxing with each shaky breath he takes in.

"you just had to go out tonight, didn’t you?" his voice is suddenly low and husky, a sulky edge to it that makes you narrow your eyes. is that what this is about?

“left me here all alone, like i don’t even matter, like you don’t care how bad i need you.” he huffs, a frustrated little sound that’s almost drowned out by the rustling of the sheets as he squirms on the bed, trying—and failing—to keep the camera from shaking. “wish you were here, going fucking crazy without you—ngh-”

you hear a swallow, and its like hes trying to keep his moans in check—you chew harder on your bottom lip. a part of you is worried that he genuinely believes that he doesnt matter to you, but the other part of you, the hornier one, is completely consumed in the shitty, low quality video to even care.

“please, just come home to me, please… i need you so bad—m’yours, all y-yours..” you notice his words are starting to become slurred, and your thighs rub together almost unconsciously in realization, trying to relieve some of the pressure building up inside you. you know hes playing on you weakness, and hes got you where he wants you.

god, i’m so fucked, you think, but you can’t stop.

firstly, it wasn’t fair, what he was asking of you—you’ve been using up all your time with him and the second you do something for you, he acts up? and you’re also a little frustrated at the fact that hes not letting you see his pretty dick in full—hes very clearly pushing you to the edge, holding back, waiting for something—for you. you think as if hes imagining your voice telling him what to do, instructing him to keep it at hold.

because how else is he not cumming already?

you know you should stop, should put the phone down, but you just can’t. you’re too hooked, too caught up in how fucking pretty he looked, how desperately he was begging for you. he knew exactly how to get to you.

“please, baby, please,” he whined, his voice getting high-pitched, his hips thrusting up into his fist. “need to cum so bad… fuck, i-"

in a panic, you click your phone shut, the screen going dark in an instant when you recognize the sound of the bathroom door creak open.

“hey, you okay in there?” the voice is familiar, and relief washes over you when you realize it’s one of your friends. at least it’s not a stranger.

“yeah!” you blurt out, probably a little too loud. you cringe at the sound of your own voice, trying to sound more casual. “i’m fine! just… just need a minute!”

you try to keep your breathing steady, praying she doesn’t push any further.

“okay, just checking!” she finally responds. you let out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding.

you listen carefully as her footsteps retreat, the door creaking open and closing behind her as she leaves. you quickly open your phone back up, your fingers still shaking as you pulled up your messages. you tell yourself you won’t watch the rest—you need to have some control, especially when your underwear is already embarrassingly wet.

what are you doing?

…is all you could muster up as a text.

you barely have to wait. the three little dots appear almost immediately.

miss you so much... just wanted your attention : (

before you can even think of a response, another message pops up— one that has your brain go blank again.

did it make you miss me?

note: dont know if this was exactly what you were looking for but ive been meaning to write a scene like this for soo long and i feel like toxic needy gyu works just perfect for this haha anywayyy send some more sub txt stuff i live for it

[dufferpuffer]

Can you talk a little about Remus’ intelligence? Recently I’ve felt it’s been severely downplayed in fandom as a response to fanon depicting Sirius as “the dumb one” and Remus as “the smart one” in a wolfstar context. While obviously Sirius is extremely intelligent that doesn’t mean Remus has to be dumb in contrast? I also think they just have different types of intelligence, and I strongly believe that basing their intellect off of their achievements in school is limiting (also people don’t take into account that Remus was sick every month for at least 3 days, even if he was matched perfectly in intelligence with Sirius he’d still be doing worse in school). What’s your take on this my balanced remus lover friend?

I don't think Remus is a 'genius', like James and Sirius might be. But he's a bloody capable wizard - hard-earned, not talent.

The one flashback we get of him as a kid, we see him focusing hard on his OWL's, despite an upcoming Full Moon. He has his own methods for revision - when he asks Sirius if he would help him study, Sirius can't fathom why he should bother. Sirius doesn't need to revise or study - but Remus is good at it.

You're damn right that doesn't mean he is stupid compared to Sirius. There's nothing stupid about forming methods to help himself learn. Sirius and James are natural talents - Remus is a nerd.

By adulthood his work ethic has paid off: He has effortless confidence in his charms and conjuring - doing most of it without incantation. He's kind of a badass: He conjured fire and a non-corporeal Patronus without incantation - while exhausted and in the presence of a dementor. He could duel Lucius Malfoy, battled death eaters in the astronomy tower, dueled while flying and supporting an injured man on his broom - and disarmed multiple people in a row with enough accuracy to catch their wands. (tbf they were children)

Remus is a natural at teaching. First day on the job: he handles a room full of kids like he's been at it for years, even those with difficulties who need extra care and encouragement. He is patient with Harry learning to cast a Patronus, explaining things clearly to him - changing his explanation as Harry's needs change. This shows a deep understanding of both the material he is teaching... and what it is like to learn. Knowing how to struggle, how to adapt, how to learn, the validity of different perspectives - that's good wisdom.

His greatest strength is his Social Intelligence. Witty, astute, cunning, sly, persuasive… Sirius isn't socially inept but he is so honest and blunt he can come across as kicking the door down - rather than Remus' picking the lock and making it seem like a natural innocent behaviour. Does that make sense...? It was the entirety of his role in PoA: A murderer on the loose after Harry's blood - and yet through all the mysterious absences, sketchy evasiveness, superficial closeness with Harry, slightly slap-dash teaching methods and blatant distrust from Snape (who had been proven trustworthy - Harry just thought he was an arse)… Remus Lupin manages to charm his students, getting to know them without any of them knowing anything about him. He has Harry hanging off his every word, despite obvious apprehension to engage with him about his parents or needs. He effortlessly keeps Harry's trust even when he blatantly, skillfully lies in-front of him - and TO him! For his own gain!!! The scene of the Marauders Map is a brazen display of how quickly he can manipulate his way out of a complex situation. Even when he is with a murderer and they all know he will turn into a werewolf soon - he commands emotional focus. Ron is injured, a Murderer is present, they are supposed to be investigating a rat with haste... yet most of the time they are discussing HIM and why HE is 'not so scary, please don't hate me' in a long-winded fashion.

Only Snape seems immune. So he bullies him to shut him up. Without SEEMING like a bully. The kids think he is great, the way he can control the uncontrollable - Snape and Peeves.

Remus slips in and everyone is so taken with him they never notice the lock being picked. Their perception of him is on a tight leash. A magician’s sleight of hand and a silver tongue. Lockheart WISHES he could do this.

Remus is practical and practiced. He has the grit of someone who has fought for his life with both his wand and his tongue. He has lived a life of misdirection, gaslighting and manipulation - always subtle, always present. He reads others better than himself and moves through society with quiet ease, slipping in unnoticed and slipping out just as easily. No wonder he works as a spy.

He’s a top-class wizard - held back only by circumstance. Balancing his core needs, his interests and his health with no support network and poverty…? yeesh. In another life he may have been able to focus his efforts on a passion, rather than on topics that aid his survival in a harsh world.

As he is, though: he’s a formidable duelist and skilled charmer (magically and socially) - a survivalist, both in the wild and within society. An outcast who never seems like one. A wolf in sheep's clothing.

That's my take, as 'balanced remus lover friend' :^) Thanks - I needed to sit down and yap about Remus for a bit, had a shitty month

[madwomansapologist]

Please share your headcanon about gale's kinks!!!!

gale's kinks/turn ons

Navigation | More Wizard of Waterdeep | AO3

synopsis: A deep dive into what the smart wizard man think it's hot. Yes, the brain rot is that serious.

warnings: i'm sick so if this isn't good i will blame the pills. testing a new format. this is about sex, don't interact if you're a minor. remember: if you kink shame me i will get horny just to spite you.

PRAISE KINK

That's a man willing to write poetry about your body, mind and soul. His tongue has only two purposes on life, and both of them involve making you see stars. If his mouth isn't in use, he will be praising you.

And when Gale feels so good he can't even speak, isn't that a praise on itself?

But that we all know. His reaction to receiving praise is what makes me want to bite my fingers off.

Gale Dekarios knows his value as a wizard, but not as a man. His ambition isn't a consequence of his desire to pursue more, but to be more. To deserve love, he must prove his worth. As we all know, it often doesn't end in a good way.

I don't think Mystra ever wasted her precious time to assure Gale of the contrary. And when she did, it wasn't about Gale Dekarious: it was about Gale of Waterdeep, her chosen. How his control of the weave was impressive, how he could conjure any sort of images, how his illusions could fool everyone.

So when he receives praise for any other part of his life that isn't his academic pursues, a part of his brain burns. Be as intricate as his poetry or as lascive as one can be, Gale can feel his knees getting weak. Weaker.

FOOD PLAY

Not only Gale loves to cook and bake, but he loves the whole idea of being responsible for making someone stronger and healthier. Hunger is a hurtful thing, that he knows, and he don't want anyone else to deal with it.

It comes hand to hand with his praise kink. When you eat something good, you don't need to use words: your whole body shows it. He would apreciate the compliments, nonetheless.

To spoon feed you would be such a turn on. It's so intimate, such a show of trust and care, nothing but human. The way your mouth opened for the spoon, how your tongue licked it clean. Can you blame him?

After helping you eat, it would be his turn to end his hunger. You don't mind being his plate, do you? Gale promises to lick you clean. You always taste so sweet for him, what's a bit of honey to add to that?

OLFACTOPHILIA

Your scent can turn him into a fucking mess. There is something so human about it. So natural and real about it. Is just you.

After a fight, when you are covered in sweat and blood, he can't help himself. To be around you can make him drool. You fresh from your shower, smelling just as you and not as any perfume. When you spend the day laying around and is too lazy to get clean.

The amount of times his cheeks burned red because he breathed in when you walked past and a companion noticed can't be numbered.

Gale prefers to undress you rather you doing it yourself. That means he will be able to breath deep against your undies before getting them off of you.

Wanna get him as hard as a rock in mere seconds? Give him a underwear you used for a long time. Just threw it at his face and go on with your day. He will be quick to follow.

Gale loves how he can still smell you on his upper lip after going down on you. If you squirt, he will cum on his trousers. I don't make the rules.

FACE-SITTING/FACE FUCKING

Again: his mouth has only two uses. Is almost therapeutic for him. Just get on top of him, use his mouth however you want. The place in between your legs seen perfect for him to die on.

Gale Dekarios is a service top looking for a pillow princess/prince. I VOLUNTEER!

FINGERS IN MOUTH

You know that feeling of not knowing what to do next? Where to put your hands, what to do with your mouth? Since he prefers to be the one doing things, this can be a problem. A problem that can be easily solved by your pretty fingers.

It can hit even harder if he's in the process of casting something and you stop him by just putting your fingers into his mouth. Gale won't even know hot to react. Actually, he might suck them.

Ok, he might have a oral obsession. What are you, Freud?

BONDAGE

Hand to hand with that sort of anxiety about what he must do next. Make sure Gale stays put in place and use him. Remember guys, your service tops also deserve to be fucked around a bit.

Magic restrains or ropes, and make sure to do some beautiful knots. He could break free from them, but Gale won't desobey. Not after you spend so long getting him ready for you.

shadowheart turn ons/kinks

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

BALDUR’S GATE 3 TAGLIST: @citrusbunnies

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

[radioactiverats]

Mentor Starscream x seeker!reader (4/?)

Purposely getting yourself kidnapped by the Autobots so you can persuade Ratchet to teach you some first aid, as you're worried that Megatron's escalating violence against Starscream will one day leave him with injuries you don't know how to fix.

There's more Ratchet in the middle (because I love him as well. I want to hold both of them in my hands with gentol totche.)

Mashup of timelines as usual, but I def realized that when I imagine Starscream he's visually the G1 or IDW design, and when I imagine Ratchet it's TFP. I love MTMTE Ratchet but I'm not quite caught up yet haha.

Since you and Starscream were now sharing a berth, it was inevitable that he would find out about the nightmares. Every time you jerked awake, you would take great pains to quietly settle back into berth even if recharge eluded you. The reason was simple - you didn't want to bother Starscream with it. He gets very little recharge as is, and probably sees things every solar cycle that are ten times worse that what you're faced with.

Starscream doesn't comment, if he knows - another bot might have rushed to console you, but his brand of comfort was to apparently grant you the dignity of being vulnerable in private, especially since you were more or less chassis to chassis with each other in berth.

However, he finally can't hold back when you begin zoning out during training. "Earth to cadet, as the fleshlings say," Starscream snapped, waving a servo in front of your faceplate. You jerk awake, optics cycling before they zero in woozily on Starscream's faceplate. Pinched with irritation, but was that... concern?

You lightly smack your helm in hopes it'll get your processor back to optimum function. No such luck, but it was worth a try. "Sorry, sir."

He narrows his optics at you, taking in the exhausted slump of your frame. For a long moment, no one says anything.

Then, Starscream abruptly turns heel, his back to you. "Dismissed."

But - but you've been here for barely a joor, and - "Sir, please, it won't happen again-"

"And waste my time and yours?" Starscream says bluntly. You flinch, but he just presses on.

"You're in no condition to absorb the information I am giving you, which, if I may add, is exceedingly valuable to your success as a seeker. Recharge properly, and perhaps your processor will be able to comprehend simple instructions such as 'stay awake'." He sniffs, but glances over his shoulder at you - and his optics are gentler.

"We will try our luck again then."

Your first response is to sag with relief even as you watch him stride away, because he wasn't giving up on you. Your second response, however, is that of pure consternation.

The nightmares have gotten worse.

Ever since you had to personally patch Starscream up as he bled out on the floor of his habsuite, the nightmares have gotten so much worse. There are momentary flashes of hate in your processor for Megatron, but they are quickly tamped down by fear. Even your mind is not a safe place, after all, with Soundwave here.

The memory of Starscream, broken and battered at your feet, replays over and over. In some of your nightmares, he is exactly as you found him - gouges in his frame, ripped wires, leaking energon. But just as you thought you'd gotten used to the memory (he's not like that anymore. He's alive and well. He's not like that anymore.), your processor decided to play tricks of the worst kind on you. Offering all kinds of ways Starscream could be hurt, in full technicolour detail, optics shuttered and frame unnaturally still. Worst of all, you could only watch as your processor conjured injuries beyond your rudimentary expertise, that Starscream could very well succumb to because you didn't know how to save him.

That night, the image in your processor is so bad that you bolt upright with coolant already leaking from your optics. You swipe roughly at your faceplates as the memory continues to remain fresh in your mind, fighting to get your trembling frame under control.

You turn to look at the bot next to you, if only to reassure yourself that he's okay, assuming he would be in recharge - but to your surprise, a pair of glowing red optics meet your frantic gaze.

"Sir," You manage to garble out, through the layers of static distorting your vocalizer. "I'm sorry for waking you."

Starscream says nothing. His optics flick to the coolant that drips from your faceplate even as you try to assure him that you're fine, and suddenly, he opens his arms to you in wordless invitation.

"I- sir?"

It's not the first time you would have recharged in his arms. But... this? You hesitate, unsure whether this is too much to ask. Evidently, you've hesitated for too long, because Starscream wraps a servo around your wrist and pulls you gently but insistently to him.

"I'm here," He murmurs gruffly, in low, musical Vosian. And it makes coolant spring to your optics all over again, because ever since Megatron had taken charge, he'd quickly ensured that all his soldiers spoke only standard Cybertronian - a quick and brutal 'show' had made sure of that. You slip into recharge with the gentle lilt of Vosian in your audials, and for once, no more nightmares plague you. You're even more surprised to awaken not to an empty berth, but still pressed up against Starscream's warm chassis.

"Oh, good," Starscream had rasped, vocalizer not quite activated after recharge. "You're awake. There are some things I must see to, so I trust you will stay out of trouble in my absence."

You barely had time to even nod before he was gone. Checking your internal chronometer, you whistle quietly. Was it that late already? Had... had Starscream stayed on purpose, so you wouldn't panic upon seeing an empty berth?

You feel more recharged than you have in many solar cycles. However, your newfound energy and the warmth thrumming through your spark for your commander has only strengthened your determination to do something. Starscream might have kept the nightmares at bay last night, but you knew it wasn't sustainable. The only way you can bring some semblance of peace to yourself and him is if you can become confident in your abilities to repair him without external help.

Which is, admittedly, a lot easier said than done.

You knew you were about to do something really, really stupid.

The Decepticons had traded tales about an Autobot medic named Ratchet, before. The way they spoke of him with begrudging respect was enough for you to believe that Ratchet could work literal miracles, and that was precisely what you needed right now. But how could you possibly approach him?

You've heard enough about the Autobots, observed enough about them to know where they differed from the Decepticons. One major difference was that even when they took prisoners, they were not cruel. What if...?

You're too deep into this to give up. There's too much at stake here - despite the risk, if Ratchet was willing to hear you out, you might one day have a fighting chance to save Starscream's spark from flickering out. Which is how you found yourself trekking along the side of a dusty, abandoned road along some dry, sandy plain, not making any effort to hide yourself as you hoped for an Autobot to come across you.

But at the same time, what if they didn't let you go after taking you prisoner?

Before you can continue to second guess yourself, the roar of a well-oiled motor engine sounds behind you, and you almost laugh at how obvious you're being. A seeker, walking? The Autobot scout, Bumblebee, skids to a stop behind you, and you hear the smooth clicking and whirring of his transformation.

"Looking for trouble?"

Not particularly, You think, turning round to face him, but as Bumblebee falters, you realize you've spoken out loud.

This is the first time you've come face to face with the scout. You're about the same age, and for a moment, you both regard the other with open curiosity, like bots being introduced for the first time by a mutual acquaintance. In another timeline, you wonder if you could have been friends.

Bumblebee squints, looking unsure whether or not to drop his fighting stance. You make no move to engage, and simply stand there, servos dangling limply by your sides. This idea is really, really stupid.

"Defecting?"

You reset your vocalizer. "Not exactly."

"Still enemies, then," Bumblebee says, and he doesn't bother to hide the note of disappointment in his voice. Enemies. He doesn't even know you. You wonder if the divide between you runs too deep, even if only in name for you. Is there nothing more to you beyond faction name?

The bubbling hope of confessing to Bumblebee your real intentions abruptly withers. Why, indeed, would he help you if he knew you wanted to help the SIC of the Decepticons? Still, you hated to say it, but it seemed that Bumblebee had the privilege of naivety for a few more stellar cycles at least, under Optimus' kind guidance. Within the Decepticon ranks, you'd quickly learned that some bots simply didn't deal in kindness. You supposed it was back to the original plan, then.

"I've been out here for a while," You say, pretending to stagger a few steps. You are in the middle of a scorching hot desert plain, after all. Casting your hook, you hope to Primus that Bumblebee buys the act, because even to you, it looks phony as hell.

"I think I'm lost." Bumblebee, who was originally looking suspiciously at you, widens his optics as his little antennae twitch upwards in shock. Line.

You stagger even closer, pressing a servo to your helm. "Bumblebee-" You close your eyes and pray to Primus that the Autobots are actually nice. You really haven't thought any further beyond getting yourself captured. Maybe you wouldn't even get the chance to talk to Ratchet. But you're too far into your little one-man show to back out now. You crash to the ground, and with your optics offlined, hear Bumblebee's yelp of shock, the scuff of dry earth beneath his pedes as he races over to you. And sinker.

"Oh, Primus," Bumblebee mutters. "Why couldn't it just have been a fight? I can do that."

You're honestly hating this war more and more. Bumblebee felt so much like a little brother - you're torn between fighting to keep the laughter from bubbling up, and the need to scold him for letting his guard down so easily. What if it was a genuine trap you'd set for him? He'd rushed to your side with no regard for his own safety. Then again, this was exactly what you'd been banking on - you count your lucky stars that it was indeed Bumblebee you'd run into and not anyone else.

"Ratchet," You hear Bumblebee say into his comm. "There's a 'con here, but not in good shape." Just to really drive it home, you groan weakly from where you're collapsed in a heap on the ground. It must have worked, because Bumblebee's voice pitches upwards in slightly panicked urgency. "Yeah, yeah, I'll bring them through. Thanks, Ratchet."

Huh. You really hadn't expected it to be that easy. The tales you'd heard of the Autobot medic were from when you used to sleep in the barracks with the lower-ranking Decepticons. This varied from his rough bedside manner, his surprising ability to fight ("He had green, glowing optics," One Decepticon said with a shudder), his past as the 'Party Ambulance' (what.) to his relative fame amongst older bots as a highly respected neurosurgeon before the war broke out. Most strikingly, he'd apparently patched up Autobots and Decepticons alike on the battlefield.

"It's some medic code he has," Snorted the Decepticon next to you. "Stupid, if you ask me. Why fix up the bots who are out to get you?"

"Lay off the medic," Another bot admonished sharply. "You might not like it, but quite a few of us owe our sparks to him."

A couple of low, murmured agreements resounded around the room. There was undeniably a begrudging respect for him all around, and a fair number of the bots clearly didn't want to be the ones to take him out, if it ever came to that.

You were thinking about Ratchet even when the lights went out. Even though you'd never met him personally, admiration swirled in your spark for the bot with such a strong moral code that he would never falter in his actions. You'd always dreaded having to choose a side. Being with Starscream meant that you'd 'chosen' the Decepticons, sure - but it was Starscream you were loyal to, not Megatron. You'd resigned yourself to eventually signing your spark away to the cause, because you couldn't think of any other way to survive there. But perhaps, you think, you could be like Ratchet.

And now - as Bumblebee carried you through the swirling groundbridge, your spark thrummed at the possibility of imminently meeting him for real.

As soon as the roar of the portal closed behind you, your audials prick up as a low, gruff voice speaks.

"Are you hurt?"

"Not a dent," Bumblebee says. "Not sure about this one, though."

"Just the one?"

"Yup."

"Huh," The other voice says. "I'll tell Optimus to keep an eye on that area. Never know if the Decepticons are planning something."

You feel Bumblebee shrug, even with you gathered in his arms. One of these days, you really have to tell him off for being too trusting. Enemy or not, he seemed like a decent bot and you didn't want trust to be the thing that destroyed him.

A deep sigh. "Put them in the med bay and go refuel first."

"Sure thing," Bumblebee chirped, and you felt the cold metal of a medical berth against your wings. A few nanokliks passed, and you continue to remain still, pretending to be unconscious. Should you...? Ratchet, however, beat you to it. "Alright," He groused, as soon as you heard the door to his med bay slide shut. "Get up. I know you're not actually unconscious."

Your eyes shoot open. "How-?"

The bot in front of you looks unimpressed. "I'm a medic."

"Right," You mutter sheepishly. Sitting up on the medical berth, you take in the sight of Ratchet for the first time. Red and white, built and stocky. Rounded helm, pointed chevrons. You finally work your way to his faceplate. Glowing blue optics stare exasperatedly back at you.

"Sorry," You mumble, and Ratchet sighs again. He seems to do that a lot. Then again, he seems very tired. You don't blame him.

"If you're done," He grumbles, "I'd like to know why you got yourself kidnapped on purpose." There's an air of mistrust in his optics now, a tenseness to his frame that you don't like. In a way though, you're grateful that he's cutting right to the chase.

"I wanted an audience with you," You begin, haltingly. Ratchet's optics narrow slightly, but he doesn't say anything and just waits for you to continue. "I heard that you fixed up both Autobots and Decepticons before, because you have a code. And I know you're an Autobot - " You glance at the polished insignia on his chassis, "- but I'm kind of... like that, too."

Speech was never your strong suit, and you were glad Starscream often did the talking for you. His silver tongue had surely gotten the both of you out of a few tight spaces before, but you never dared to ask about the details. Fortunately, a sharp in-vent tells you that Ratchet has understood what you were clumsily trying to get across. He crosses his arms over his bulky chassis, optics roving carefully over your faceplate as he assesses the situation.

"So," He asks carefully, "What's your code based on?"

Ah. He'd seemed receptive so far, potentially persuaded to your own one-man cause, but here was the detail that might make him eject you bodily from his med bay.

"Starscream."

You watch as a range of emotions flit across Ratchet's faceplate. Eventually, it settles on confused and mildly horrified. "Starscream? Are you sure?"

"Yes," You say, feeling oddly defensive. Ratchet seems to pick up on this, and he unfolds his arms with an even deeper sigh. "A seeker," He mutters, optics flicking over your form as if really just seeing you for the first time. "How old are you?"

You tell him.

Ratchet pinches the bridge of his helm, between his optics, a bone-deep weariness emanating from his frame. "I'm assuming you're one of Starscream's students, then," He says.

"The last one," You add quietly. The Quintessons launched an attack on the Vosian Air Academy, and I was the only one who survived."

"...Ah."

Another hum, and this time, his optics are appraising, as if something had clicked into place. You, a youngling like Bumblebee, would not be sitting before him with your paint in near pristine condition, had someone not taken you under their wing. Literally and metaphorically.

"So what is it you want from me?"

"Can you teach me some first aid?" You blurt. Ratchet's brows furrow.

"I could," He says, confusion evident in his voice. "But what for? Don't the the Decepticons have a medic?"

"Well, yes," You hedge, "But, you know. Starscream."

That part he understands - it was no secret that the Decepticons had a brutal system of hierarchy that relied on shows of power. It made sense that Starscream wouldn't want to be seen in a vulnerable state. But there's still something he's missing.

"As far as I know," Ratchet presses carefully, "Starscream has not sustained any major injuries at the hands of the Autobots in recent stellar cycles."

You probably shouldn't be revealing so much information about the inner workings of the Decepticons, but as your hate for Megatron simmers into exhaustion, you slump on Ratchet's medical berth and decide to tell him anyway.

"Megatron... punishes him. A lot."

Ratchet seems slightly taken aback by that. Anyone with functioning optics could tell that the Decepticons were kept in line by fear, and it was no secret that violence ran rampant within the ranks - but to hear it so plainly that even their SIC was no exception? And to have you, trembling before him, desperate to help him, clearly knowing that rudimentary first aid was not enough for whatever injuries Megatron had inflicted - it must be worse than Ratchet had ever thought.

He checks his internal chronometer - you've been here for about a joor. Soon, someone is going to come looking for you, and neither faction is looking particularly appealing right now.

"We don't have much time. Hurry up and get over here."

Your helm shoots up as Ratchet pivots crisply away from you, suddenly all business. You leap off the medical berth, following him to a large table where he thunks down a heavy med kit. This Ratchet, intense, precise, laying a series of tools in front of you with deft servos, is undoubtedly the war medic that had earned every inch of respect he got. Now you understand why the Deceptions were so begrudgingly impressed by him.

Ratchet hesitates for a nanoklik before pulling out some even more complicated looking tools. Is this really happening? At your wide, awestruck optics, Ratchet huffs, a light flush of energon on his faceplate at your bursting admiration. "Alright already. Stop staring at me and pay attention."

Two joors pass before you hear the sounds of a commotion outside. Ratchet's audials flick agitatedly before he glances at you. "You'd better go," He murmurs, low and urgent.

Go? Just like that? Ratchet must have seen you freeze up in disbelief, because he snarls and springs into action for both of you, ushering you out of medbay and towards the groundbridge.

"I'm sure you know how to get back," He says, quick and curt, typing in a set of coordinates. The groundbridge shimmers to life. "Go," He orders, in a voice that brooks no argument. I'll handle this."

You give him one last, lingering glance before you step through the glowing green portal. Ratchet's staring at you too, something hovering unspoken in his optics. "Kid," He finally calls, as the sound of the commotion approaches. "No matter where this war takes you, be true to yourself."

You give him a jerky nod, overwhelmed but endlessly grateful.

With that, the groundbridge warps out of existence behind you, leaving behind a cacophony of Autobot shouts and abruptly plunging you back into the silent, sandy plain where you first met Bumblebee.

For a nanoklik, you feel so very alone.

But leaving Starscream was out of the question. Amidst all the uncertainty in the war, this is the one thing you're sure of. You leap into the air, transforming into your alt mode. If you were lucky, Starscream would still be on duty and you could sneak back before anyone had realized you were gone. You spiral through the air, picking up speed as night begins to fall. The flames of your thrusters illuminate the purple dusk as you add another burst of speed, your form now a screaming blur in the sky.

But before you can reach your destination, your destination reaches you first. Your only warning is a streak that blitzes into your field of vision before something huge and heavy tackles you out of the sky.

The impact completely knocks your systems offline for a nanoklik. Unable to even scream, you struggle to force your systems to reboot, gain back control of your frame as you hurtle towards the ground - but strangely enough, you quickly realize that you're not freefalling wildly through the air. Battling against the screaming winds at your back, you force your optics open to see none other than a furious Starscream, his servos gripping your arms with deathly force as he drives you downwards.

"Where the Pit were you?" He hisses, over the shrill whistling of air in your audials. "I've just spent the last few joors hunting every corner of this slagging dirtball for your sorry aft!"

As you plummet downwards, you struggle to make sense of his words. He was looking for you?

"What if Megatron got to you first?" He snarls, denta bared. "I told you to stay put! Do you treat my words like slag?"

You didn't think he'd catch you sneaking out, but you never imagined he'd be this angry. Both of you rocket through the clouds, the green environment of Earth swirling into your field of vision. Was this it? Had Starscream finally decided you were more trouble than you were worth? You wouldn't blame him. Shuttering your optics, you brace yourself for impact. His servos, where he's touching your frame, are warm. That's how you'd remember him, before you go out. Stolen moments of warmth with him. After all he'd done for you.

But over the screaming wind in your audials, your don't hear so much as feel his engines screech as he pulls up at the last minute. The warmth of his servos abruptly leave you, and your optics fly open as you are dropped a few meters above a patch of open grass and promptly eat ground. As you push yourself up with a groan, not so much sore but still ablaze with adrenaline, the realization suddenly hits. What Starscream did... Was not unlike how carriers and sires dealt with unruly seeker sparklings when they refused to leave the air. You shake your helm in disbelief, spitting out another mouthful of earth soil. Starscream... had quite literally grounded you. Huh.

You roll over to the sight of him seething above you, his ruby optics alight with rage, intake twisted in a snarl.

"Imagine," He hisses, looming over you, "When I learned you were being held captive by the Autobots - have you no sense of self-preservation in that scrap-filled processor of yours? Have I taught you absolutely nothing?"

His wings shudder with barely concealed anger as he begins to pace. "And of all the bots, it had to be that pit-slagged femme who blocked my way!"

Arcee? You're not too familiar with the Autobots, but you remember Starscream had literally shrieked himself into stasis after a particular battle with the Autobots over an energon mine, where a certain pink femme had foiled his plans at the very last nanoklik.

Wait. Arcee had blocked his way? You stare blankly at him as it sinks in that the commotion you heard earlier... was in fact Starscream singlehandedly blasting his way through the Autobot base to save you.

"Oh," You say.

"Oh?" Starscream screeches, wings twitching furiously. "Oh? That's all you have to say for yourself?"

You still can't bring yourself to speak as you gaze up at him. And slowly, a smile splits your faceplate. You can't help it. You smile big and bright up at your commander. "What?" He demands shrilly. "What is it?" He does falter, rage dropping momentarily from his faceplate and muting into confusion when you start to laugh. Relief, adrenaline, admiration, all at once.

"It was worth it." You gasp, through your fit on the ground. All this was worth it for Starscream, who'd against all better judgement risked his own helm to come looking for you, because he was worried. You'd carefully filed away every detail of Ratchet's instruction this afternoon. With the knowledge he'd bestowed upon you and extra bandages in your subspace, the gamble had paid off, because the chances of you preserving Starscream's spark had skyrocketed if the worst came to pass.

Starscream just stares at you, a hysterically giggling heap on the ground. "It was worth it!" You shriek, because Starscream is the one who found you and for now, you are safe.

You finally come back to yourself after a few cycles of wheezing almost soundlessly in your relief. You're sure there's coolant smeared over your faceplates and you look like a mess, but you don't give a frag - not when your stupid plan actually came to something. "Sir," You sigh to Starscream, who's still frozen above you, optics tracking your faceplate as you finally simmer down. "I'm going to have the best recharge of anybody today."

Unexpectedly, this douses Starscream's anger. He studies you carefully for a nanoklik. You take this rare moment to shamelessly drink in his handsome features - the sharp, defined ridges of his cheeks, the brightness of his optics, and the disapprovingly flattened line of his intake (okay, but still). Did he think that the nightmares, the war had finally broken your processor? It had happened to a few of the Decepticons. That would explain the flicker of worry in his optics - but he seems to find what he's looking for in your faceplate, so he simply sighs, all of a sudden looking more tired than you've seen him. He extends a servo to you.

"Get up."

You gingerly put your servo in his much larger one, feel his fingers close around yours as he pulls you up with much more gentleness than you're sure you deserve.

"I won't ask," Starscream begins. His optics flash. "But I will find out sooner or later."

You nod, trying for serious, but you must still have vestiges of a smile on your faceplate. Starscream stares at you and plants his hands on his hips.

"And don't think this will go unpunished. You think sneaking out is funny? Not when I'm through with you. You'll have done so many circuits of the 16-point roll that your wings will have dropped off by then. Sneaking off? Primus help you if it happens again. You think I'm coming to drag your sorry aft back home? Hah!"

I mean. He would come for you, but you wisely keep this to yourself as he gesticulates wildly to prove his point, even if both of you know it's more for show than anything.

Finally, he finishes his tirade with a huff. "It's dark," He says shortly, and glances at you. In the dark, his optics cast a soft glow on your faceplate.

"Eugh. Primus, wipe that stuff off your faceplate or it'll stain." Two large servos come down either side of your helm, and you can't help but flinch as Starscream swipes his thumbs over your cheeks to clean the coolant off. Still admonishing you, but his voice is forgiving and wraps around you like a warm blanket. "Stop squirming."

Finally, your faceplate relatively un-smudged, Starscream breaks apart from you. You try to soak in this moment as long as possible, wishing it could always be like this. Just the two of you, under a sky full of stars. This planet's view of the solar system could really be beautiful. You glance back to find Starscream looking at you, also looking reluctant to leave. However, he has to play the bad guy. He always does.

"Come on," He says, but it's gentle. "Let's go."

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