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ramonathinks · 1 year ago

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matters of the heart — Nanami K.

summary: finding out your ex-boyfriend wrote a novel detailing your relationship isn’t how you expected this week to go and to make matters worse everyone on the internet now thinks your “character” is a total bitch. you decide to pay your ex a visit, but can you do that without succumbing to your natural urges? well, no!

tags: 18+(MDNI/blank blogs) slight porn with plot, oral (f! receiving), brief nipple sucking, daddy kink, creampie, i guess nanami is a bit toxic in this lol, nanami might also be a bit ooc in here

to the moaners: has this been sitting in the draft for about 3-4 months? yes! but happy birthday month, kento 😚. artwork by @/_3aem (twt); @ryomens-vixen (this was the fic I mentioned a while back) word count: 5.6k (yuck), I don't really like this

I’m going to kill him, that was the only thing on your mind once you closed out of the novel. Normally, your weekends were spent relaxing with a fruity bubble-gum colored cocktail but today was different. Shoko called your phone at exactly 9:26 am claiming it was time she divulged some news to you. At exactly 9: 28am, she sent you an online copy of a book titled, “Matters of the Heart” and told you it was nothing but a two or three hour read and then to call once you finished.

The book had a slow start and it seemed pretty average, just any old love story. Lately, anything was getting published and it seemed that was the case here — wait, you paused your reading and sat up straight. No. Just no. Something just clicked for you which led you to completely start over from page one.

The moment you finished, at exactly 1:01 pm, you grabbed a salmon colored low cut shirt and light washed jeans, slipped on your white shoes and hurried to get into your car. You didn’t need to call her phone because you were going to talk to her face to face; this situation warranted a real conversation. It was nothing but a 17 minute drive to Shoko’s house, so when you arrived at exactly 1:18 pm, her door was already open. “They’re bashing me, Shoko. Fucking bashing! How could he do this to me?” Were the first words that flew out of your mouth, holding your phone close to her face so that she could see the reviews.

“Well, it’s not like anyone would know it’s you.” She yawned, handing you a cup of water – probably because of how crazy you looked – before she ushered you to a seat on the couch. A golden brown blanket was lazily thrown on the seat, which she hurried to move. You sat down and faced her with a look of what Shoko could only describe as pure sadness. She had seen you like this many times before, all because of one person.

“You did.” You sniffled with an eye roll, you couldn’t help but feel uncertain. Reading this book only brought back more uncomfortable feelings towards the breakup and him. You thought that you were over him and the memories that the book produced made you question everything. One question remained which is: Why?

She giggled drily. “Hey, I read all his works. Pseudonym or not. He can’t hide from me. Plus, I know you both and everything that went on. I was there too, remember?” She mumbled the last part. “Maybe this was his way of coping?”

“It’s been years… and I heard he’s announced a sequel. Shoko, a SEQUEL! It’ll be released later this year.” You spoke in a shaking watery voice while she rubbed your back in an attempt of comfort. Your mind could only think of what the reactions would be to your character in the sequel… insecurities that you never knew were there flooded your mind.

“There was enough material for a sequel? I thought he covered everything…” Shoko rubbed her chin and looked deep in thought. You just stared at her, she couldn’t be serious. “Sorry, ignore me.” She shook her head ignoring your stare.

“Do I even confront him over this? A-and how would that make me look, like I still check on him right? I’ll look crazy and bitter… which apparently I am. Oh and I’m bitchy and a ‘total cunt’ as they’re putting online.” He didn’t know just how much you changed, he missed your growth. Rubbing your eyes, you ask:“Why did you tell me about this? What made you take so long… I just don’t understand.”

“Well, at first… I didn’t think you’d care.” Moving a strand of her nut-brown hair out of her face, she continued. “Then about a month ago, I decided it was right to tell you, just in case someone else pieced it together.”

“Gojo read it then, huh?” You mentally cringed at the thought. It was the only person you could think of who’d be so crude about it. He knew how damaging the breakup was for you but not as bad as Shoko knows. Now, you’re just grateful that she told you before he did.

“Yep, so I figured that I had to tell you before he did.” She clicked her tongue. “But let’s just calm down before you make any rash decisions on how to handle this.”

“He wrote a fucking duality series about me, our relationship, our sex life and you want me to calm down? Are you listening to yourself? This is a serious matter. I am being called a bitch, a slut and more on Goodreads and multiple websites, reviews, etc. and he didn’t even have the audacity to give me a heads up. You had to call me.” You let out an unladylike snort.“Why couldn’t he stick to his mystery novels? Wasn’t he doing good at those?”

“Writer's block.” Shoko said in a singsong-like voice. “He hadn’t written a mystery book since you two broke up and then… he alerted his supporters he wanted to switch things up and then… that was that. Ladies loved it, a big hit. By the way, if you two were really fucking like that I need to se—”

“Shoko, now is not the time!” Your face felt hot all over, your mind racing. “I just can’t believe this.” You wrapped your arms around your body and squeezed, giving yourself one big squeeze. It was hard not to cry but you could feel it all in your throat.

“I’m sorry. If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think his intentions were to make you feel bad.” She hugged you to her chest, pressing a small kiss to the crown of your head. “I think he still loves you. I mean, isn’t this book proof? After all these years, he wrote about you.”

“I’m sure he moved on by now.” You whispered, your eyes growing tired already and the day had barely started. “I just need to lay down. I need to rest.” Your mind seemed to finally grow calm and your breathing steady, a small hiccup now in your throat but with a gulp of water, you were better.

“Just stay here. I don’t trust you to be alone right now.” Shoko’s voice drowned out as sleep overtook you, you could only feel her warmth as she held you and honestly it was all you needed at this moment, Shoko always made you feel safe and you couldn’t thank her more than enough for that right now as you slept.

You were a light sleeper, it was always something that Nanami pointed out about you. He always said how he felt like he couldn’t leave the room while you slept even if it was to use the bathroom afraid to wake you. He knew how important sleep was to you and he’d risk having a bladder infection if you got all 8 hours that you required. Nanami was sweet and caring like that.

You didn’t think you’d break up with him ever. He was the one for you and he always made that clear. He pampered you and even after the breakup – though you didn’t need it – he left you with a check for five thousand dollars, saying it was for his half of the lease for the next few months.

The breakup was brutal for you. You almost quit working entirely. Shoko was the only person you’d confined into and the only friend you left to check in on you especially when you didn’t want to leave the house. She brought you groceries and helped you shower until you finally were able to get up again.

Though it was hard to believe, it was Nanami who broke up with you. You thought it was a joke, a cliche little joke.

“Baby, I’m not joking.” His voice was quiet and husky, he spoke as if he was going to cry. “I just need some time to myself. I need to figure out if this is what I want. You don’t have to wait for me, you just keep on living your life and being happy. But… I think it’s time we let this go.”

You didn’t cry in front of him. You didn’t cry when he packed his things up. You certainly didn’t cry when he shut the door, leaving his key on the table because you knew he was joking. He had to be. But when you called him and his number was disconnected and you were blocked on any form of social media… that was when you broke down and cried.

It happened out of nowhere. You overanalyzed every aspect of your relationship for where you went wrong. You wrote down every conversation you could remember and dissected it word by word. You watched every video and picture you had of the two of you looking for a bit of regret or anything on his face. You read every text message, looking for malice. He said he needed time to figure out if he wanted this but he always made it clear that he did and even that he was looking forward to having kids together, you two had even gone ring shopping months ago.

You didn’t sleep and when you did, it was only for 4 hours and sometimes barely that. Your heart had an ache in it and the tears wouldn’t stop. You could only think why wasn’t I enough?

When you opened your eyes Shoko was still holding you and a small smile grew on your lips. “Thank you Shoko.” You knew if you could count on anyone, it was always going to be her. She was the one who pieced you back together and made sure that life didn’t destroy you and you couldn’t help but to be grateful.

“Of course. ‘M going to let you spend the night here, okay? Let’s get some takeout and watch your favorite movies, how’s that sound?” She knew the way to your aching heart like the back of her hand.

“It sounds amazing!” You stretched your arms out wide, leaning off of her and sitting up. “Should we start with Uptown Girls or Legally Blonde?”

It took two days before you confronted him. Shoko was adamant about not giving you his address and you were tempted to get it from her phone. But luckily, you wore her down, she was probably tired of you bringing him or his book in every conversation. So now you stood there, nerves washing over you in waves.

The mahogany colored door stared at you – mocked you – and you returned the glare before you knocked on it, hard. This was just a door and you were angry at the person behind said door, not the door itself.

It was almost like he was waiting on you because the door unlocked and opened. He even stepped aside to let you in, quiet. His straw-colored hair was parted differently and he even looked taller or broader – you couldn’t completely tell – but he looked different… seemed different. The atmosphere around him made your stomach clench and it made you mad; why did it feel like only you suffered from the breakup? Here he was – strong and tall – and you were nothing or rather the same.

“You wrote a romance erotica novel about our relationship?” It was what you practiced saying before you got out of your car – making sure your voice didn’t tremble – this time, it didn’t.

“Well, hello to you too. Even after three and a half years, you still like to get straight to the point.” He grinned, putting a hand on your back to guide you to a seat on his couch. “I must ask, what makes you think it’s about you?” He does a slight laugh and raises his brow.

“We have the same initials, almost the same name. Are you kidding me?” You retort, folding your arms across your chest. You tried to ignore the fuzzy feeling in your chest that occurred when you heard his voice after so long, hearing him and seeing that damned smile… your nose scrunched up.

“Sorry, I just didn’t know you kept up with me… with my books…” He muttered, glancing your way, a demure look in his amber eyes. “Should I be flattered?” Almost in an instant, he turned on a slight cockiness to himself, though his body language showed his nervousness – his thigh bouncing a bit and his fingers tapping on the couch handle. A light sense of relief filled your system knowing that you weren’t the only one being affected by this.

“I don’t.” You inhaled deeply. “Shoko told me about it and then, I checked it out.” Fiddling with your fingers and even picking at your nails, that was your tell all sign of nervousness and right now you were engaging in it more than ever before.

“I wanted to tell you or rather, to ask you. I know you got the voicemails I sent last year…and then you kept dodging my calls.” He tells you, you could feel his eyes on you – or more so your fingers… the nasty habit that he had finally got you to stop all those years ago rushing right back in an instant.

“Writing a book to trash me and our relationship… to make you look like some sort of… ugh, like you’re so amazing and I’m just shit. Yeah, that certainly got my attention.” If you were coming off bitchy or rude right there, you couldn’t care less especially when there were worse things that you could’ve said or even could’ve done at this moment. You really wanted to slap him.

“Is that all you got out of it?” He asks with his head low, almost as if he was admitting defeat or as if he couldn’t believe you came up with something so trivial.

“Was there anything else to get?” You counter, shifting your body towards him. Maybe it was best that you sat down and actually listened to the author and his interpretations of his work.

“How about that I love you regardless of any flaws… how about I find your stubbornness and attitude sexy and how I knew this breakup would be good for you. I was holding you back. I mean, I heard you got promoted 3 times since we broke up… I just felt like I was changing you, hindering your growth. I needed to reflect on myself and this book helped that.” He tapped his fingers against his thigh, yet another sign of his anxiousness. “Believe it or not, I still care about you. No matter what happened between us.”

“What happened? You mean when you decided to just leave? You could've told me everything you just told me and I would’ve understood better. We could’ve talked and came to a compromise. You don’t understand what you put me through after it.” You were close to tears but you straighten your posture and sniffled, it was best not to think about what happened before. “I just needed a bit of closure too, I guess that’s why I came. I just was caught off guard. You could’ve knocked on my door or something, forced me to answer… forced me to talk.”

He met your eye for the first time since you came over. “You wouldn’t have listened,” He huffs. “Didn’t I mention how stubborn you are? Plus, I meant what I said. I needed time to myself and I think we both did.”

“I guess…But Nanami, this book was too much. A letter would’ve been fine if you needed closure, don’t you think?” You see his lips quirk up a bit before he licks them, trying not to laugh it seems.

“My publisher got a hold of some of the documents where I was just going over things, writing here and there. She loved the idea… plus I’m in a contract for six books so I had to put something out soon, it had already been a year.” He told you, sitting his chin on top of his knuckles. “I honestly didn't mean to hurt you. I was writing for fun… reminiscing about us and then later down the line, I realized I was writing because I wanted you to read it, I just didn’t exactly know how to get you to since you were very adamant on avoiding me, which is understandable. But regardless, I didn’t think it’d get on the bestseller list or for the reviews to get so harsh.” He admits, reaching for your hand before his hand froze in midair and he stopped himself, choosing instead to put it behind his head.

“Is there anyway you can stop the sequel from being published then… since you got my attention after all this time?” You asked, putting your most dazzling smile on, hoping to sway him.

“I can talk to my publisher. Everything’s in print and materials are already done… but I’ll try to see if I can stop production.” His adam’s apple bobbles when he does a harsh swallow. “Are we… okay? Do you forgive me?”

The question made you pause. He always made it hard for you to not forgive him; it took one look or a smile and a small explanation and it made it easy to fall in love with him all over again, no matter what he did… it seems. But it made you ask yourself: Were you too easy? Did you really forgive him? It was thoughts like that swirling around the corners of your mind. You wanted to forgive him, he was just writing and telling a story… but it was your story, not just his. Using this for your attention when he could’ve written about anything else, he didn’t have to. Were you just ready to forgive him because you still loved him?

You hadn’t realized how deep in thought you were until you felt the couch dip and even then, your mind was still spirling.“You don’t have to…” His voice brings you out of your thoughts, his body so close to yours that it was getting hard to breathe. He still smelled the same; citrus and woodsy and it was easy to get yourself sucked back in.

“So you can write another book about my stubbornness?” You give a quiet giggle, scooting a bit away from him, seeing him frown from the corner of your eyes. You didn’t want to fall back but he made it all so simple. It was easy and you were already falling back on him and you didn’t need that… Did you?

“Baby…” Your body buzzed and hummed, turning to him with wide eyes. “I’ll do anything I can to make this right. Anything for you to forgive me… If they can’t stop publication, what can I do to make us right?” He was doing more than a gaze, he was full on staring and from how close he was it was hard to avoid.

“Nanami I–” You stopped yourself. You couldn’t really think of anything he could do but you could think of several unhealthy things you could do to ruin your progress on going over him. He had betrayed you and made you a laughing stock so why are you stuck thinking about forgiveness when you should be leaving.

“I never stopped loving you.” His fingers traced up and down your pants but his eyes stayed on yours. “I never thought about anyone but you… I never slept with anyone… it’s always been you. But, I understand what I put you through and I’ll apologize every second until you forgive me…” The blond man who you never saw shed a tear looked more than close to it. “But just please… forgive me.”

“I’m sorry, honest.” He tries again after being met with absolute silence. “Just… let me show you, okay?” His breath tickles your face for a second and when you look into his cocoa brown eyes, you feel everything you once felt again.

Memories of good times dulls out the odd feelings in the pit of your stomach – the confusion and pain – instead are replaced with joy. The trip to Malaysia where he rubbed sunscreen on your entire body and laid back to read a book and you watched as his eyes kept drifting to you while you played in the cerulean water; how you kept begging him to come in until he complied and how eventually in the early hours of the morning when you wanted another dip, he fucked you twice — once in the golden lush sand and another in the cool ocean water.

His face is in your thighs and you couldn’t help but feel better, feeling his breath fanning so close to your pants covered pussy, your body felt scorching hot. He’s grumbling, “Will you let me make it up to you? Will you let me show you how sorry I am?”

You must’ve nodded because he was already unbuttoning your pants and helping you lay back, pulling your shirt up just a bit to see your perky tits – he must’ve remembered how you never wore bras unless you felt it was necessary, which was mainly work or any important events.

He blew a bit on your hardening nipples before he took one into his mouth – playing biting them with a smug look on his face before he began licking around your areolas and kissing around the swells of your breast. He doesn’t say anything but he looks deep in thought as he kisses down your body, his fingers scraping down your sides as he works your pants and your panties all the way down. Bringing his head up for a minute, he looks in your face. “I love you.” He says it simply, heavy emotions swirling in his brown eyes.

Removing your pants and underwear completely from your body, he spreads your thighs and looks over your body – a trimmed low pretty bush sits between your thighs and it makes him smile, he always loved seeing the curled hair on your delicate lower lips. He spreads your pussy, watching the skin stretch with a deep smile on his face. You could feel yourself … the wetness leaking down under your body and it made you cringe, but the way he was staring at you made the insecurities vanish. “All this for me?” He takes a tentative lick before he slurps, clutching your hips. “I know you like to run… but I need you to stay put, got it?” It was hard for you to listen to him, your head already fuzzy and the thoughts swirling around were only about him, nothing more.

Then your body bucks up, “Wait–!” A broken moan escapes your mouth when he presses a soft wet kiss to your clit. Nanami had always been gentle and very careful whenever he ate you out; making sure his tongue was wet enough and that he wasn’t too rough. His tongue was wide enough to make your back arch, your body leaving the couch when it finally hit your clit and he gave you no time to recover before he peeled back the hood, sitting the tip of his tongue there and rapidly flicked at the bud.

Hearing the lewd squelching noises coming from the mixture of your cunt and his mouth made you close your eyes, squeezing them shut tightly. He spits before he licks it up and down your aching slit, nudging his tongue inside only slightly, much to your dismay. You’re gasping every second when more of his tongue slips in and out of your pussy; sliding a bit more each time and it makes your thighs shake. When he finally slips his entire tongue inside of you, curling it just enough that you can feel it everywhere, your legs attempt to close up around his head. “Please– ‘m so… soo–oh…” His fingers join in on the fun and in small sloppy circles he rubs your clit, pressing down on the pearl while his tongue continues flicking inside of you. The split second that you open your eyes, his are already on yours and it was that moment, that made your body tense up and for you to cum.

It happens fast, clear sticky wetness leaks out of you and Nanami still tries to get more of it on his tongue, catching anything that drips and sucking on your folds. “Always so fucking good…” He mutters, spreading you again and smearing more of your slick on his face by shaking his head between your thighs, so that he’s completely covered in you.

When he moves his head, embarrassment comes over you, looking at his wet face… even his forehead was wet and you couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyes. “Nothing to be embarrassed about, baby but… I’ll be right back, stay wet for me.”

Your heart hammers against your chest, lying there on this now wet couch. You didn’t come over here for this and yet here you are… about to get fucked and really, it was no turning back now. You’d been on dates with men after Nanami but they never lasted past the second date and you certainly hadn’t had sex in a while, but he made you come apart like it was nothing.

But then again, Nanami knew your body… so of course this was a walk in the park for him. It honestly annoyed you right now, you couldn’t even make yourself cum half the time especially these last few years and now, barely an hour here and he has you right where he wanted you… bare and practically back in love with him.

Nanami came back with a fresh face and unbuttoned pants that he was currently pulling down. You clenched around nothing, your mind thinking only of the perfect dick that was going to be coming out of those pants. You licked your lips, this would be the first dick you saw in years and it was his.

His drooling cock slapped his stomach and you swallowed, your mouth felt unreasonably dry. The length of his cock always impressed you, standing tall at seven and a half inches, he shakes with laughter which snaps you out of your daze. “Now let me look at you.” His whispers and even though he already saw you, both years ago and right now, you can’t help but feel hot all over again. He’s staring – drawing his eyes down every inch of your body – focusing on your breast before getting to the stare of the show yet again. He smirks, laying you back down, pressing his body against yours to kiss you.

Your breath was caught in your throat, his tongue still tasted of you and his hands cups your jaw. He’s gentle, his tongue moving around your mouth messily before he stops, saliva breaking apart when he does so. His fingers make a ghostly featherlight touch on your clit that makes you jump, the head of his cock at your entrance. He holds out his hand, close to your mouth. “Spit.” Gathering up some, you spit in the palm of his hand and stroke it along his length, huffing at the sensation.

He pushes in, taking his time to work himself inside of you, a strained expression on his face. Hips pulled back, he focuses more on just the tip of himself fucking you, watching your pussy stretch with just the tiniest bit of resistance. Inching himself inside, you watch his torso flex and he groans, obscene noises plop and plap around the apartment, his heavy cock pushing in and out of you, your toes curling.

“Pussy still mines, right? Didn’t give it away, did you?” You’re struggling to talk - to fucking breathe - your eyes rolling back and your jaw slacked but you babble out a soft ‘no’ which makes him finally thrust in you harder, completely bottoming out. You feel him in your belly, feeling full and embarrassingly wide with him stretching you out, his balls sitting on the crest of your ass before he moves.

He moves you a bit, your bodies flush to each other and he moves his hips in harsh circles, his pelvis so close to your clit. His hands on your calves, he pushes your legs so that they rest on his shoulders, your knees touching your ears makes you tighten up and he groans above you.

“Nanami I-” You call out, eyes closed with pleasure shaking through your core, wetness slapping between the both of you.

“Nanami? No, call me what you used to call me.” His hips slowed down, a whine escaping your lips. His cock dragging inside of your walls, pulling out slowly, awaiting your response.

“Please…don’t slow down, Ken—” before the word even left your lips, his hand slapped your cunt, leaving your legs shaking a bit and your eyes snapping open. Drops of tears run down your cheeks and you sniffle, reaching for him… you couldn’t help but feel so small in his presence.

“Say it.” Then, you knew what he meant. A name that now feels foreign in your brain and even when it leaves your mouth, it comes out in a strange rattled whimper.

“Oh, oh… daddy, ‘m sorry. Please, keep fucking me. It’s so goooood!” He’s grinning before the words leave your mouth.

“Still my good girl huh? Always so fucking good for daddy.” He licks up your neck and it makes you tremble, your tongue lolling out a bit and he moves to suckle on it. “Did you skip over all those sex scenes or did you rub this pussy out to them?” He asks, his fingers digging in the back of your thighs.

You choked out, sobbing, “I did, daddy… But I-I don’t want to remember everything.”

“You don’t remember all the words I used to describe this cunt? This pretty pussy? That changed his life… my life? That made him always crawl back? That made him so fucking hard? The pretty words I used to describe you? To describe how pretty she always looked when he fucked her? How his heart felt like it was going to explode when she looked at him too long because he loved her so damn much?” He’s groaning in your ear, thrusting into you, his depth reaching your g-spot, your pussy spasming and begging for his cum at every word he uttered.

Pumping himself inside, you could see the white creaminess that was on his cock, most likely because of you, he was constantly fucking the cream inside of you, your nails digged into his arms and he moaned at the feeling. Your stomach tightens and you move to push him away, “I’m going to c–cum!” You felt him throbbing inside of you, signaling that he was close too. “Please, cum inside of me… I can’t take it.” You couldn’t stand it any longer, it’s been years and you needed him to fill you up. He stopped for a moment, changing positions so that you’ll be sitting on his lap, grabbing your hips and forcibly bouncing you on his dick, dangerously slow.

Wetness gushes on him as his tip hits you from a new angle, seeing the outline of him in your tummy, he’s stretching you again with each nasty thrust. Each drag of his cock making you go crazy and the aching between your legs continue, your body shaking and both of you moaning loudly and over each other.

Finally, your orgasm rattled and shook your entire body, your pussy sucking him in, milking him for all he’s worth and it makes his body shake and he releases inside of you, trying to stay quiet as his body jerks up, unable to stop himself from fucking you through both of your orgasms.

It’s quiet for a while, just heavy breathing with you laying on his chest. “I love you too…” Your voice is scratchy and your face tear stained. He doesn’t say anything, his cock still pulsing inside of you.

“I know. I love you too, never stopped.”

“Did you at least read the acknowledgements or did you just dive right in?”

“I never read the acknowledgements for books, thought you would’ve remembered that.” You watch him get up, walking around the living room, looking for something. You were both still naked and the entire room smelled of sex.

“I did remember that and when you barged in my door, I already knew that you still hadn’t changed when it came to that. Here, read this part right here.” He brings you over a copy and you run your fingers around the softback cover with a small smile on your face; this silly thing had brought you both back together and right now you could give less than a fuck about those reviews.

Feeling the spine of the book, you open it and can practically smell the scent of an unopened new book. Turning the first few pages, you go to the one page acknowledgment and read it aloud: “She might not read this book. But if she does, by chance. I hope she knows that I still love her.” You wiped your eyes and smiled. “You’re an asshole, you know?”

He lets out a hearty laugh, “I know baby.” Kissing the top of your head, he gets up and grabs his phone from the kitchen counter and you follow him. “I think I have enough material to write a third book now.” He grabs his phone and starts typing, his eyebrows furrowed as if he was deep in thought. Attempting to grab his phone he chuckles and uses his height to his advantage by standing taller.

Standing on the tips of your toes you snort, “Don’t even joke about that!” But a smile takes over your face and he can’t help but smile too.

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joonsytip · 6 months ago

Text

Something About You || Woozi

Pairings: Woozi x Fem!Reader

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Smut, Lawyer!Woozi, Event Coordinator!Reader, Selective Amnesia au, Secret Relationship au

Synopsis: When your boyfriend loses all memories of you after an accident, you go through hell of a time trying to bring back the memories. But in the process of convincing him what you both had was real, it makes you question if what you both had was ever real.

Warnings: jihoon is outright blunt and asshole, mentions accident, jihoon suffers selective amnesia, reader has astraphobia, relationship is hidden and based on rebound, one fighting scene, jihoon gets beaten by umbrella, oral (f. recieving), fingering, dirty talks, rough sex.

Word Count: 11.5k

Thanks to @cherriegyuu for beta reading this ♡

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 🔞

[ SVT Masterlist ] [ SVT Flick - Fic Masterlist ]

The look Jihoon gives you is condescending. He believes that whatever you said just now is the most ridiculous thing he has ever heard.

"I know it's hard to believe but it's true that I'm your girlfriend."

You repeat, biting back the tears.

The doctor takes pity on you and attempts to make his patient understand his current medical situation quoting it in most layman terms possible.

"Mr. Lee, you have been in an accident and that has caused internal bleeding in your brain. I'm not going into details but that has caused neural damage.", he continues solemnly, "Since you can't recognize your partner, we have run some tests and it indicates that you're suffering from amnesia."

Suddenly the door barges open and enters Soonyoung, Jihoon's friend and most probably the only one on his side who knows about your relationship.

Jihoon's eyes light up as he recognizes his friend and the realization dreads upon you.

"It's selective amnesia.", the doctor explains, carefully studying your expression, "Mr. Lee has forgotten all the memories you've shared."

Soonyoung stands up, his entire demeanor masked in disbelief, "How is that possible? He recognised everyone when I showed him the pictures! How can he not remember his girlfriend?"

"We can't give you an exact explanation but it's possible that before the accident happened Mr. Lee was thinking about her. "

You fiddle your fingers, tears wetting your cheeks and chin. Taking a deep breath, you ask, "Is there a possibility he can remember me or am I erased from his mind forever?"

You choke a sob.

"There are cases where the patients have recovered their memories. It can take two days, two weeks, two years or even two decades. There's no certainty. In some cases", the doctor relents, "they never got their memories back. I'd suggest you revisit familiar places, re-watch your shared moments captured together. Anything to make him regain his lost memories."

It's been a hell of a ride since then.

Lee Jihoon, an enigmatic independent lawyer, who has zero nonsense tolerance has now a random woman constantly claiming to be his girlfriend of two years.

And somehow his close friend is backing up that claim. Something's absolutely fishy.

Jihoon glares at Soonyoung and completely ignores your presence right next to him.

"You have brought her into my office now?", Jihoon glowers in rage, his voice low, "Soonyoung explain yourself."

As the said man opens his mouth, you gesture him to stop.

You pull out your phone, opening the gallery.

"I have already seen them.", Jihoon says unimpressed, "I get that we have met through Soonyoung but these photos suggest nothing more than us being friends."

You show him a picture where he's hugging you from behind, his chin perched on your shoulder. You're smiling looking at the camera, he's smiling looking at you.

There's another one, set in his apartment, you are drawing something on his hand and he's kissing the top of your head.

Jihoon turns away from you in his revolving chair, "This doesn't prove shit. We could have done this as friends."

You sigh, "Do you think you are that kind of person who'd do this with a mere or even a close friend?"

That shuts him up for a moment.

"Why would I be lying to you, Jihoon?", Soonyoung asks, almost offended.

"You tell me. I'm also not sure why you are doing this.", Jihoon retaliates.

There's a beat of silence before Jihoon continues, rubbing his temples in frustration, "Look, I don't wanna be an ass about it but you don't have enough proof to back up that we were in a relationship."

"But--", you're getting cut off.

"No one knows about us, none of my friends or colleagues. You show me our pictures and I admit they look intimate but it doesn't solidify that we were dating. You showed me our text conversation and never in the span of two years did I write a single 'I love you'.", he shakes his head, "All of it looks circumstantial to me."

It hits you harder than you could imagine.

Another couple of months go by and you're still not giving up.

"He was on a call with me, Soonyoung, when the accident happened he was talking to me.", you admit sobbing. Soonyoung hands you the tissue box and patiently waits for you to continue.

"He had been acting antsy for the past few days and though I wanted to share his burden, I decided not to probe. I knew he'd eventually let me know. Before the accident, the last thing he said was he had something to tell me and he was on his way to my place."

He pats on your shoulder, "Jihoon will get back his memories of you, Y/N. Let's keep trying."

But you've freed Soonyoung from the burden of constantly backing you up, still being a great friend he shows up whenever he can.

You work as an event coordinator. You were acquainted with Soonyoung through a common friend, so when over two years ago you had been contacted by him to be the planner of his brother's wedding, you agreed instantly.

You are professional. In your line of work, you're well known for professionalism.

But it was discarded the moment you saw Jihoon among the crowd on the wedding day.

You had ditched professionalism then and only once, when you asked Soonyoung for his friend's contact details. When enquired, you spilled it all to Soonyoung honestly.

Lee Jihoon is a known name in the city, he's reputed to be the best. It goes back a year when your friend's aunt had gotten scammed by a loan shark losing her property. With no lawyer interested in defending her, it was only Jihoon who had fought for her.

You swore you hadn't seen anyone cooler. The aura he emitted, the impeccable ferociousness and the sincerity he showed when he represented his client had you down bad for him.

Since then you've developed a crush but it would pass by, you thought, as there's no way you'd be crossing paths with him ever unless you have something to deal with legally.

But seeing him again during Soonyoung's brother's wedding was a sucker punch to your gut.

Suddenly, the crush resurfaces, in fact it ten folds when Jihoon looked nothing but absolutely gorgeous throughout.

"Jihoon has a foul mouth, so don't expect anything good coming out of it.", Soonyoung warns as he sends you the contact details, "Don't cry, don't take it to heart, no matter what he says."

And Soonyoung was correct.

"Hi, I'm Y/N. I got your contact from Soonyoung."

When you had called Jihoon asking him if he could free some time for you as you had something to discuss, he agreed, assuming you would be needing some legal advice.

"Go on a date with me.", you say, "Please?"

The incredulous look on his face was remarkable but you had mustered all the courage within the world before sitting in front of him and discarded all the shame along with it.

"I'd be courteous since you're Soonyoung's friend but don't dare to try this act again.", Jihoon gets up, controlling himself from berating you as he walks past.

"3 dates.", you grab his wrist and he looks back at you, "That's all I want. And if you reject me after that, I won't be a bother."

Yanking his hand from your grip, he glares, "And why did you assume that I'd want to invest my time on you? You must be knowing that I'm quite busy."

"That surely makes you bitchless.", you snark back under your breath but Jihoon catches it.

He scoffs in a mix of disbelief and anger, "You--"

Clamping your hand on his mouth, you apologize quickly, "Sorry about that. And to answer your question", you grin, "Why don't you find it out yourself by going on a date with me? Tonight works for you?"

"You, for sure have a few loose screws.", Jihoon finally says, removing your hand, "Look I'm not interested and I'm busy, I work till late every night."

So Jihoon is rendered speechless when he sees you knocking on his office door late at night, to be specific at 2 AM.

"Hey, brought delicious wedding food and beer for us.", you enter and set the bag on the chair as the table was occupied, "That was one extravaganza wedding I had to arrange."

"And who said that you could be here?", Jihoon quips back, initially agitated but as the aroma of food hits his nose, reminding how he had skipped meals again and now his stomach could growl anytime, "This is rude and unethical."

"I know but I've decided to go against all ethics to woo you, Mr. Lee.", you throw him a wink which has Jihoon rolling eyes at you.

The first date was spent by eating food, chugging beer and your one sided talks.

The second one comes some days later as Jihoon agrees upon it just to make it crystal clear that he's really not interested and you should stop pestering him. He goes blunt, his words piercing you, intentionally.

Though you insist, he is adamant. So you promise to not bother him anymore and make up your mind to move on.

Surprise comes to you a month later when Jihoon asks to meet you through a text. Somehow that night ends with you tangled in his sheets and the next morning he finally agrees to date you.

"Let's keep it private for now.", Jihoon tells and before you could ask the reason, he continues, "I wanna be sure, if it works out fine, let's tell everybody."

You find it a bit skeptical but it's not impractical so you agree.

"But Soonyoung gets to know.", you declare, leaving no room for negotiations, "And my family and close friends would be knowing too."

Jihoon is your boyfriend now but something about the way let's himself around you makes you worry.

You don't expect him to act lovesick around you but he's so conserved. He barely texts you, only shows up when insisted and rarely initiates anything. There are no terms of endearment from him, no special acts.

Eight months into the relationship and you decide it's enough. You're done with his half ass slash zero commitments. So you start to act like him, zero calls, no texts and updates. You realise that you had gotten too good at the game when Jihoon knocks at your door one night.

Jihoon notices the lack of communication on your part and he doesn't let it bother him thinking you must have been busy but when it goes on for nearly a month, it strikes him that something's definitely wrong so that's how he finds himself knocking on your door.

And that night changes the dynamics between you two.

Jihoon has been getting frequent dreams nowadays. He sees you in all of them. In one, he's playing chess with you, in another you're perched on his lap humming soothing melodies to get him to nap. In some he sees your bodies tangled in the sheets.

He wakes up, his body hot, mind foggy. It's reoccurring, even pestering. He concludes that the reason behind these dreams is all the nonsense you've been feeding him daily, it's because he sees you everyday. He decides to put a stop to it.

"Something's bothering you?", you ask upon entering his cabin, "need help?"

Jihoon perks up, "And what can you help me with?"

"You might have forgotten, but we used to brainstorm a lot. You'd never go into the exact details of the case to respect privacy and we'd create hypothetical scenarios and try to come up with possible nooks and crannies."

He scoffs, "I would never take opinions from anyone. It's not my way of working, I work solely upon my hunch and instincts."

You've had a long day and aren't in a mood for banter. All you want is a warm bath and tight sleep.

So not pushing it further, you set the bags on the table and say, "I bought you food from your favourite outlet. Eat it up while it's hot and call me if you need me."

"Don't expect me to call you.", Jihoon blurts out, "When are you gonna stop doing this?"

You give him a sharp look, "Stop doing what?"

"Trying to forcefully insert yourself in my life."

You scoff, "Maybe when you stop being an asshole and try to put some effort into gaining back your memories?"

Jihoon glares at you. You glare back at him, no way you're taking shit from him today.

When his jaw ticks and eyes turn darker, you think of backing down and leaving because you know it's the look he gives when he's about to say something absolutely brutal.

"Maybe you should get a hint by now.", he says coldly, "Isn't it obvious, the reason why I remember everyone but you?"

"Jihoon, don't.", you say as soon as he opens his mouth to speak again.

"You weren't someone important in my life, Y/N. You're so insignificant that I don't even remember you."

Your throat closes up. A tear falls down your cheek and before he could continue his verbal assault, you run out of his cabin.

While doing so you bump into someone.

"I'm sorry.", you say, wiping your tears before looking up.

The woman in front of you, echoes your words and leaves. Your gaze follows her and you see her entering Jihoon's office. And rooted to the ground, through the glass window you watch an entirely different Jihoon. The frown on his face is quickly replaced by a shy smile, his body language seemingly changing to gentleness. The way he crosses the chairs to pull one out for the woman to sit, the eye contact that definitely holds a meaning.

For the first time, your head and heart come up with the same conclusion.

Later that night, Jihoon is somewhat shocked to receive a call from you.

"Who's she, Ji?", you ask from the other side, "Why were you looking at her like that?"

He straight up knows whom you are talking about and he right away knows that you're drunk.

"Where are you? Are you alone?", he asks you, already looking for his car keys.

He hears something incoherent and presses the phone tighter against his ear.

"Tell me Ji, why were you looking at her like that?", you ask again.

He halts, "Like what?"

You hum and he hears a loud thud. There's a moment of silence and Jihoon is rooted, holding his breath.

Moments later, you speak again, "Like you used to look at me. Like you like her."

"Where are you, Y/N? Can you send me your location?", he tries to coax you, "I'll come right away, we'll talk. Please tell me where you are."

Another pause and just as he's about to speak again, he hears your sobs. His heart tightens in his chest.

"D-Did I already lose you, Ji?", comes your choked voice, "Did you give up on us? Why can't you like me again?"

There is no answer to your questions.

"I love you.", you say, "I love you so much that it hurts. What do I do now? I-I think I love you way too much, much more than I thought. And I regret not telling you sooner."

Jihoon freezes, he's tongue tied, his knees almost giving up.

"And if this is the end of us, then--", the line disconnects. You've accidentally hung up.

He calls you back immediately but you don't pick up. Repeated calls, when they remain not received, he sends you a string of texts.

Already inside his car, he's about to drive away in search of you, aimlessly, when he receives a text from you.

'I'm at home.'

He let out a breath of relief, his mind pounding, his heart thumping because of your words from before.

It's been over a month since Jihoon has seen or heard from you. For a week or two it was nice, not having you breathing on his neck felt refreshing. By the end of the third week he's worrying about you, his mind is relentlessly fogged with your thoughts. Mid of fourth week and he's contemplating whether to send you a text or ask Soonyoung to do it.

It isn't relaxing anymore, it's stressful. It bothers him to all extent. He feels guilty about going overboard with his choice of words that night, he never meant to make you cry. He can't forget your drunk confessions either.

You are on a call with your mother who's nagging you to consider extending your stay when you go home for Christmas along with the equal urging of your sister and father. A lot of negotiations and you're finally agreeing to them.

"How's Jihoon? Any luck with the memories?", your sister, Eunha asks.

"Let's not talk about him.", you say after a beat, "I think, my relationship with Jihoon--", you halt, not being able to continue further, before the cracking of your voice gives it all away.

Eunha knows you better than anyone and sensing your tone, she's quick to assure you, "I've always admired your straight headedness. Whatever it is, I know you'll overcome it. And all of us are always there for you."

The doorbell rings and you frown, "Thanks Eun. I'll call you later, bye."

Checking the time and opening the door causes your frown to deepen.

Jihoon sits on the couch, an awkward tension lingering in the atmosphere. And somehow it pains you to look at him, you're avoiding eye contact, looking everywhere but him, waiting for him to initiate the conversation.

A photo on the centre table catches Jihoon's attention and he picks it up, his curious eyes scrutinizing the faces. It's the two of you, an amusement park in the backdrop, grinning ear to ear, pressed cheek against cheek, radiating love through the photo itself.

You quickly snatch the frame out of his grip, setting it down on the same centre table.

"I hate amusement parks", Jihoon mutters more to himself but loud enough for your ears to pick up, "Because they're so crowded and everyone's screaming.", he looks up at you, "I went there with you?"

You just give a simple nod, no explanation, no backstory.

I love going to amusement parks. And you don't hate them anymore.

"Why are you here?", you ask him finally.

"I'm sorry.", he blurts out, "I'm really sorry for that night."

Your brows furrow for a moment before the neutral expression returns, "You didn't have to come here to apologise, a call would have sufficed."

For the record, you just know you had called him as an aftermath of that night but you don't remember, not even a bit of things you had said and you don't plan on bringing that up either.

Jihoon notices your defensiveness and to test it he stands up to walk towards you but you're immediately backing up.

"I'm feeling under the weather so if you're done, could you leave?", you speak still avoiding his gaze, "And I know you don't want me anywhere near you, rest assured I won't be a bother."

"What do you mean?", he asks closing in, "Are you still upset at me, even after I apologized?"

You keep stepping back, "I'm not upset. I'm just not feeling well, please leave."

I think you already replaced me, Ji.

Your back hits the wall and reaching you with long strides, Jihoon is caging you between the wall and his arms.

He hovers over you, "For the past months, you've been begging for my attention, trying everything to establish our relationship, so what happened, what's with this change in demeanour?"

He leans in, your faces merely an inch apart.

"Isn't this what you wanted?", your somber gaze meets his fiery ones.

He's not sure what he wants anymore.

"I have been having dreams about you, about us.", he admits, stepping away, "And I don't think they're just infringements of my imagination."

"What did you see?", your voice comes out in a whisper.

He then proceeds to tell you about the dreams and not so surprisingly you have stories and even photos for some cases to collate with his description of dreams.

"So did we record it as well?", Jihoon asks amused as you dab your hot pink cheeks, "I wanna see it though--"

You're slapping a hand on his mouth as he blatantly teases and asks you about the wet dreams he has been seeing which wakes him up with a tent in his pants.

"Let's brainstorm.", Jihoon is setting his briefcase on the table suddenly, taking out some flaps.

You eye him in suspicion, "Did you hit your head again, you're acting strange. You're acting like my Jihoonie."

The corners of his lips twitch, trying to suppress a smile, "Maybe your Jihoonie wants to make a comeback."

"I'll be waiting with my arms wide open, I miss my boyfriend.", you admit, your tone emitting sadness, your gaze meets his and you're smiling, "Thanks Jihoon."

Maybe that night at his workplace, you read it all wrong. Maybe your mind was too tired, your heart was too hurt so they made a fuss over nothing because you know your Jihoon would never do something to hurt you, even when he can't remember you. Even though his head can't recognise you, there's a hope that his heart would still beat for you.

He grins wider, "Don't get me wrong, I just came here to test your problem solving abilities."

"You should be thanking the heavens that I didn't choose law as my career, you'd have been jobless otherwise.", you retort smugly.

Maybe running your mouth isn't the best option, especially when with Jihoon because now he's running his fourth hypothetical case with you, pinching your arm whenever your drowsy eyes are shutting close.

"Another wedding?", you hum in delight, "Ah, god bless you."

Joshua laughs, "Is it such good news to you that another of my friends is getting married?"

"Isn't it obvious? It keeps the business running.", you muse, eating the brownies he has baked for you, "This is the 4th one right? Why are all your friends getting married this year?"

Joshua ponders, "Beats me as well. How are the brownies, sweetheart? I tried a new recipe today."

"And it's my new favourite.", you say, making him grab a bite of his own baking, "Makes me wanna kiss your hands."

He unabashedly holds his hands to your face only to get a swat.

"That's not what you said you'd do, sweetheart.", he feigns offense, "Shouldn't you start commissioning me by now? I think I bring in a fair share of customers."

He's absolutely right. Joshua is people's people. Everyone knows him. You knew Soonyoung through Joshua, in fact most people know others via him.

The common link, the mutual friend that everyone talks about is actually Joshua Hong. He's the gossip monger, nothing gets past him. Not even the fact that you had gotten into a relationship.

You were an expert in keeping personal matters under the sleeves and as asked by Jihoon, only Soonyoung was made known. But two weeks under his observation and he's declaring that there's no point in hiding, that he can tell by your body language that you're dating.

You didn't deny, you knew Joshua is perceptive. Though you felt bad for hiding who you're dating, he waved it off with all smiles stating he'll get to know when the time is right.

"Correct, I should start commissioning you but for baking me the best confectioneries.", you chirp happily, "The lemon drizzle chocolate cake you made at the previous wedding, I can't stress how good it was. Only you could make chocolate and lime flavour work like magic."

"You look happy, sweetheart.", Joshua comments casually, "How's things going with Mr. Boyfriend?"

"It's complicated, Josh.", your mood sets down.

Joshua takes a look at your face and decides to drop the topic.

"What do you think of me, Josh?", you ask with a serious tone, throwing him off bound.

"You want the truth, sweetheart?", he asks softly, his hand already atop yours, rubbing your skin soothingly.

Just one please from you and Joshua is baring his heart out, "I don't know who made you doubt yourself but to me, you're my rock. I have tons of friends but you're among the ones I'd always seek solace. When I had no one, you were there to support me."

He smiles embarrassed as you catch his teary eyes. Joshua is always cheery but there are rare moments like this where you get to see his vulnerable side.

"I was almost out of business when you took me under your wing until I had accumulated enough capital and reputation to establish the standalone business.", he fondly pats your head, "You barely knew me then, just know that you saved my life back then. So I'd never accept anything apart from compliments from anyone about you."

"Joshua Hong, it's too early, don't make me cry.", you say wiping your tears.

His laugh reverberates pleasantly, "You look pretty even when crying, sweetheart."

"You mean ugly."

"I said what I meant, sweetheart."

You could never win against Joshua.

"You're going to Soonyoung's housewarming party right?"

"Only if you're going.", Joshua sighs, leaning back, stretching his arms, "Socializing can be pretty tiring, sweetheart, so I need you as my charge-up."

Soonyoung thinks, no he's sure that Jihoon has been acting differently.

"Weeks ago", Soonyoung pulls up his phone, "I even have proof, you said you weren't coming to my housewarming party. I was hurt, I still am."

Jihoon grimaces.

"You said that you won't go if Y/N's going.", he almost shoves the phone on the lawyer's face, "And now you're here just to ask if she's coming. Why does it matter so much?"

Jihoon gets a little frightened when he sees Soonyoung holding up his hand. He's gonna count points now and after each point, Jihoon knows he's gonna get earfuls.

"First of all, I'm your friend so why does it matter who's coming or not. You should be there ", one finger down.

"Second, unlike you, Y/N is a decent person who doesn't abandon her friends.--"

"When did I abandon you--"

Without batting an eye, Soonyoung continues, "Third, I don't care if you're coming or not."

Jihoon cowers when Soonyoung puts his hand down smiling, almost eerie, "Now, tell me what changed? Are you getting your memories back?"

"Well maybe? First I've been having dreams, now they've turned into flashes. It has been difficult, this whole thing since the accident. But I think I'll get those missing pieces of my memories back soon.", Jihoon smiled wistfully.

"You better be on your knees and apologize to your girlfriend when you do so.", Soonyoung says with an undertone but smiles nonetheless, "I deserve an apology as well."

"Did you just curse?", your brows crease.

When there's nothing but silence that follows, your eyes squint as you speak again, "So you're not gonna answer me?"

Jihoon frowns, "Who's Joshua and why are you taking him with you as your plus one?"

"We both didn't have a plus one so we decided to go together, that's it.", you explain, "And I know you said you wouldn't go to the party if I go so what's the problem here?"

"Can you stop please?", he pouts and you fight back the strong urge to kiss it away, "It was before, now I want to go but with you."

You grin, "Sorry, but I can't ditch Josh. There's time, find someone."

He nods, accepting defeat. He follows you from the kitchen to the dinning as you set the plates on the table.

You both have fallen into a routine, Jihoon has been acting awfully comfortable around you lately. He drops by your place anytime, he knows your passcode. When you call to remind him about having meals he makes excuses to see you.

"The lawsuit against the insurance company that I've been working on", he says sitting across from you, "The one we discussed last month, I am planning to try the method you suggested. You might be right, I think these people are collectively trying to extort money in the name of insurance from the company, all of them have huge debts piled up and they're in a closely knitted group."

"Jihoon, let me warn you, it might be the case that your client is actually the perpetrator. What would you do then? You're supposed to fight for your client, not against them. You'll lose trust, people won't come to you."

"Then let it be. Maybe I'd get less cases, but people who are wrongfully accused would have their trust in me. I won't side with those who are on the wrong side of the law."

You give him a proud smile as you both eat in a soothing silence before he leaves your apartment as it drizzles outside.

By the time Jihoon reaches his apartment, the dizzles have turned into a heavy downpour with lightning jagging across the sky. And by the time he's out of the shower he can hear the thunderstorms soaring.

His head hurts with an intensity causing his knees to buckle up. There's a flash again and despite the ache, he's searching for his car keys.

Yet another one of his numerous calls remains unreceived. With every second that ticks away, Jihoon feels his heart constricting. However, his eyes glints hope when he sees the glimpse of the familiar building, nearing it.

His nervousness causes him to mispunch the code a fair number of times. Entering, he comes across an expected sight. The surroundings are pitch black, just becoming visible when the lightning strikes.

"Y/N?", he shouts. No response. He puts on the flashlight of his cell phone and starts searching for you cautiously. He takes a deep breath, all he has to do is search across a hall, two rooms and a kitchen.

"Y/N?", he shouts again. Still no response. Just as he's about to stride towards the bedroom, from the corner of his eyes he spots a silhouette somewhere in the kitchen. He turns, focusing the flashlight, to see your weak form. You are supporting yourself by the counter with your fingers jabbed into your ears. His gaze softens.

He lunges towards you, engulfing your shaking form into a tight hug, "Shh...I'm here."

"Ji...", you voice out weakly, wrapping your hands around his waist instantly. The call of this nickname stirs something within him. He rubs your back, peppering soft kisses on your forehead. Another lightning strikes and you're shivering in his embrace.

The raindrops hitting the window panes erupts the stillness of the night. Only with the rain stopping, you find yourself calming down. And you find yourself in Jihoon's embrace.

"How did you-- Why did you come back?", you ask, pulling away but Jihoon doesn't let go of you.

He wipes your tears and observes you carefully, "Are you okay now?"

You nod, "Thanks, Jihoon."

"I felt like I needed to be with you. I don't know how but I just knew that you've astraphobia so I drove back as fast as I could."

You feel a sense of relief, "You already knew, you're just starting to get your memories back, Jihoon."

He stares at you, his eyes darting to your lips often.

You stare back at him, his eyes asking for your permission.

There's an unspoken consent and instantly, his lips are on your. Pressed against the counter, he grabs the back of your neck deepening the kiss. His thumb runs against the column of your throat, making your head go dizzy.

You gasp into the kiss when he lifts and sets you up on the counter.

"Ji..", you say breathlessly, "We probably shouldn't--"

His lips work now, trailing hot kisses down your neck and collarbone, "I want to love my girlfriend, is it so wrong?"

"Whom you don't even remember--", another kiss to shut you up. The way you moan is enough for Jihoon to almost make a mess in his pants.

"Which room?", his voice is thick with desire as he carries you now, not breaking the intense eye contact. "Tell me before I fuck you against the wall.”

One hand slides between your legs while the other supports your weight, as he lays you on the bed his fingers exploring through the fabric of your dress. “Tell me to stop.", he whispers against your neck, nipping slightly.

"Don't stop, Ji", you whine and that breaks him completely.

His breath catches in his throat at your intense gaze and he leans down to whisper in your ear his hands trail down your sides, making you shiver. His hands push your panties down, sliding the fingers across your wet slit, “Was it lonely here without me?”

“Please Ji, need you.”

With a gentle yet firm grip, he holds your wrists above your head. “You're so adorable when you're needy like this…”, he presses his lips to your neck, trailing kisses downwards, “Such a perfect, impatient thing.”

He hooks his fingers in your thighs, pulling your legs around his waist as he settles between your thighs. He looks down at you with loving eyes, his voice dropping to a husky whisper "My love, you're killing me with these eyes.”

Your body moves on its own, trying to find friction, soft gasps coming out each time you feel his hard clothed length.

A deep chuckle escapes him, "So responsive. Is this what you wanted? To make me go wild?" He leans down, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss while one hand traces your curves, “Such a good girl.”, he whispers against your lips.

He breaks the kiss to look into your eyes, his own burning with desire, "I'm going to take you hard and fast, tonight.”

A wolfish grin spreads across his face at your eager response. In one swift motion, he tears off your clothes, leaving you bare before him. His eyes darkens with lust as he takes in the sight of you. "Damn, you're gorgeous." he growls, quickly shedding his own clothes.

He settles back between your thighs, his hardness pressing urgently against you. With a sharp inhale, he slides into your welcoming heat, filling you completely. "Fuck, you feel incredible," he groans, setting a relentless pace. His hips snapping against yours with each powerful thrust.

He leans down to roughly claim your lips, swallowing your moans as he continues his frenzied pace. His hands grip your hips tightly, fingers digging into your soft flesh as he holds you in place. "Take it, baby. Take every inch of my cock.”

“Fuck, missed you so much Ji, missed being ruined by you.”, you say in between of sobs and gasps, clenching around him.

His movements become more urgent, more possessive. He knows you're close, and it only spurs him on, "Squeeze me just like that. Milk my cock with your perfect little pussy.”

With a feral growl, he buries himself deeper inside you, grinding against your g-spot as he unleashes a torrent of thrusts. Your screams of pleasure fill the room as you reach your peak, your inner walls convulsing around his pistoning cock.

As you come down from your high, he continues to pound into you mercilessly, seeking his own release. His face contorts with pleasure as he chases his climax, his body glistening with sweat.

With one final, brutal thrust, he explodes inside you, his hot seed filling your womb as he roars his release. He collapses on top of you, his heavy breathing the only sound in the room as he tries to catch his breath. "Fuck... Are you okay?”

He nuzzles his face against your neck, his body still trembling as he asks softly, "Are you alright? Did I hurt you?"

His large hands gently roam your body, checking for any bruises or marks from his rough handling. "Answer me, please?”

A sigh of relief escapes him as he feels your gentle nod against his cheek. "Good", he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your neck. He gently nips at your lower lip, "Though I do need to lotion those lovely handprints on your hips... they're quite noticeable.”

“If I let you, it'll lead to another round.”, you say, still breathless and smiling.

“I wouldn't mind. Would you?”, he waggles his eyebrows comically, trying to elicit another giggle from you and maybe get inside you again.

Seeing the crowd, you realize that Soonyoung, if not as much as Joshua, is quite popular.

There's a very limited amount of people you can recognise and the majority you don't. You stick close to Joshua and leave his side when the flock of people keep coming and greeting him.

"There you are.", Soonyoung smiles as you hand him a gift, "How's things going?"

You understand the insinuation, giving a genuine wide grin, "A lot better, you must be knowing, he's getting his memories back bit by bit."

He pats on your shoulder, "Soon, he'll be remembering it all."

Though it's crowded but there's a touch of coziness, you like the atmosphere. Taking permission from Soonyoung, you make a quick tour of his new house. It's impressive, it's warm given the purpose, he bought this house to settle in once he gets married. His parents, including him, have been looking for a partner for him.

You conquer a table at the corner, sitting quietly and sipping on the drink that the host himself has given you.

"There you are, sweetheart.", Joshua settles beside you, taking a sip of what you were drinking.

Joshua is extremely fun and must have a person to be around, specially at the parties. He would point at random people and drop the juiciest gossip about them. What makes it more interesting is that Joshua's memory is photographic and storytelling is top notch.

You'd ask him about something that occurred four years ago he'd be spilling it all out unabashedly, doesn't even need a brush up.

'Just got here, Soonyoung told me you're in the lawn, I'll come and find you.'

A smile creeps up on your face as you read the text from Jihoon, keeping your phone aside.

Joshua demands your attention once again as he points at a woman, wearing an unmistakable neon coloured jacket.

"That's Arong", he says, "Runs her own boutique. She's a Richie rich."

You squint your eyes to figure her out and surprisingly she's someone you know. She's the same woman you had seen visiting Jihoon's office.

With your interest picked, you ask, "How do you know her?"

"We're good friends, went to the same university.", Joshua eyes glint as if he remembers something amusing, excitedly turning his head to look at you, "She's quite a character you know, she used to hangout with a guy discreetly. I think they had the same group and wanted to keep it low. She's not the kind to commit to a relationship."

You listen quietly.

His eyes turn big, emitting specks of energy as he continues, "Here's the interesting part. She knew that the guy liked her, even after that, she indulged him, went on dates, hooked up with him, all of this went on casually. But when the guy finally asks her out, she brushes him off."

Joshua laughs, "Can you believe it? She doesn't even reject him, she just brushes him off. Imagine the humiliation the guy faced.", he quotes, "By the way, it's not her first drill. From what I heard, all her words not mine, that the guy was really invested in her and wasn't willing to give up, must be a romantic kind. It's kinda blurred out on what happened but she did kinda bruise his ego."

There's something unsettling about this whole narrative. You don't know why but your chest caves in.

"So some days later, he comes back only to tell her that he's dating. Such a foul move.", he sighs, "Amidst all of this, I feel bad for the girl he is dating. I mean she's basically a rebound and probably doesn't even know. It was so wrong, he shouldn't have played it like that. How can he play with someone's feelings when he has practically gone through that himself?"

"When did this happen, Josh?", you ask in a quiet voice, "Do you know his name?"

Joshua ponders for a moment, of course he remembers, "This happened almost three years ago. If I had to be specific, hmm, I think it's around when you start dating as well.", he misses the way face pales, "I don't know his name but I have seen him once or twice while I was face timing Arong. Not sure if he's invited to this party."

'Found ya.'

Your phone buzzes with Jihoon's text and you look ahead to see him walking towards you.

"That's him!", Joshua points out at Jihoon, "He's the guy we just talked about! Oh my god, why is he coming towards us?", he turns his head again to look at you, "Do you know him?"

It all makes sense now. Jihoon's agreement to date you, to him emphasising on keeping it hidden, to his non commitmental attitude. You've been played. You should have known.

Jihoon is in front of you now and all you tell Joshua before walking out is, "Stop Jihoon from following me."

The party was on Sunday and it's Friday when you decide that you won't be taking any more work, won't work except for the scheduled ones, to give yourself a long break. It feels rewarding after spending effort tirelessly throughout the year.

You're exhausted physically, mentally and unavailable emotionally.

Ending things with Jihoon was easy because there wasn't anything to end in the first place.

You've met Arong, you've met her in the presence of Joshua, Soonyoung and Jihoon himself. This was specially to let Jihoon know what he has done, to hold him accountable for something that doesn't remember.

"I'm breaking up with you."

You aren't crying, not a single choke in your voice, eyes void of any emotion.

"Since you don't remember any of it, not even us being in some sort of relationship", your hands ball into a fist, gaze lowering, "And since none of it was ever real, I'm sure you're relieved."

"Y/N, please--"

"If you ever get your memories back, please don't make it an excuse to come see me. I don't want to see or talk to you ever again."

Jihoon grabs your hand once you turn to walk out, "I don't believe that I could do something like this. I'll get my memories back and when I do, let me--"

"No don't.", Joshua steps up, yanking your arm out of his grip, "Didn't you hear what she said?"

"And who are you to come between us?"

"Someone who's does not play with feelings."

And all of a sudden there's a scuffle. Jihoon is grabbing the collar of the shirt Joshua's wearing and the latter tackles him down on the ground.

You watch in horror, as the two grown men indulge in a fight where the rest had to step in to separate them.

"The audacity, ridiculous!", Joshua huffs as you and Arong hold him.

"Says the one who doesn't know boundaries!", comes Jihoon's retort in Soonyoung's hold.

His eyes dart back at you, holding so much vulnerability that if you hadn't known the truth, he'd be in your arms by now.

"Y/N, I don't believe that it was all an act, that I hadn't fallen in love with you. It can't be, my head might not remember but my heart has definitely not forgotten you."

You chuckle bitterly, "That's delirium, Jihoon. You're busted and now making excuses. You had something important to tell me, you were on the phone with me when the accident happened. The way you had been acting before that, I'm sure you were going to break up with me. So save it. We're done. It's over."

"To the last wedding of the year!"

You raise your glass to the toast absentmindedly, waiting for the head of catering services to finish his speech.

"We're done with the headache.", Wonwoo leans in to speak into your ear.

A slap on his arm but you're laughing nonetheless, "You shouldn't be saying that."

Rolling his eyes, Wonwoo enunciates, "They asked for the change of flower arrangement three times. You know how difficult it is to convince the suppliers at the last moment."

You give him a pat on his shoulder, "You did great as always though. Imagine being in Joshua's shoes, he had to add two tiers to the cake as a last moment request."

"He's a saint for agreeing to it, I'd never--"

"Wonu, that's our job, as long as it's not unrealistic, we'll try to fulfil it.", your tone is reprimanding.

"So we're leaving as planned on the weekend right?", he speaks over your shoulder, as you check off the items from the inventory list.

You both are now behind the barracks, wrapping things up, "Yes.", turning to look at him you thank him, "Also, sorry for crashing in the trip along with Junhee."

"Oh please, my girlfriend absolutely loves you, maybe more than me? And your house is literally on the way, so no sweat at all", Wonwoo laments, shaking his head, "Junhee has been feeling guilty about what happened. She blames herself, you met Jihoon because he was handling her aunt's case back then."

"It's not her fault. I'll talk to her, maybe she needs some lecture on how to not connect dots every time.", you frown, "And thanks. I'm glad that I got some people who are genuine even though my person wasn't."

All Wonwoo does is give you an empathetic smile.

Jihoon leaves no stones unturned.

"Doctor, I'm willing to do anything", his hands are clasped in desperation, "Please, help me get my memories back."

The doctor sighs, he's tired of seeing Jihoon's face every other day. The doctor gets the urgency but his patient is not understanding the implications.

"What do I need to do? Any brain exercising? New medicines? I'm ready to be a guinea pig for scientific research as well. Just name it, I'll do it if it brings my memories back."

His house is a mess. He's searching every corner, every shelf, every drawer but he gets nothing significant, nothing to get back his memories of you.

Soonyoung quietly watches over as Jihoon lays in slumber. He was finally able to get his friend to sleep, an attempt to free him from restlessness even if it's for limited time.

He can't bear to see his dear friend in this condition anymore and almost calls you but he doesn't because it's not his place. He only hopes for you both to be freed of despair.

The hunt goes on, Jihoon looks like a wreck, he is a wreck. Tries to hit his head again, thanks to Soonyoung's presence he's saved, tries unprescribed/unwarranted pills for memory loss and gets admitted to hospital. Vomits tons, loses appetite along with weight.

A hard slap lands across his face and Jihoon winces. Soonyoung had enough. He gives him a diary which Jihoon recognises as his own.

"I found this on top of the almirah, while you were admitted. You can search the obvious places. I haven't gone through it but it's your personal diary. Hopefully this will help."

And it certainly does. Maybe the accident had made him forget about his most important habit. He goes through it, consumes whatever he has written.

Each page hits a nerve, bringing back visions.

He now knows two things, he definitely liked Arong and found you annoying.

When Arong rejected him, he wasn't surprised. He knew Arong, he knew it was something she could pull. His heart wasn't bruised, it was his ego. He couldn't take it.

And you came into the picture, an annoying woman who likes him. Even though he's a rational lawyer, his practicality leaves him when goes by when decides to follow the classic 'to get over someone is to get under someone else'.

It was fine, he found you tolerable. But his initial plan of breaking up after dating a few months started to crumble when he found himself worrying about you, wanting to see you more and yearning for you more. He was rational after all, so he knew it was him changing. His feelings for you ran deeper than what he had for Arong.

He realised that he liked Arong but he loved you, he loves you now.

And as the realisation settles in again, into the present Jihoon, he falls apart.

You don't like the vibe, no you hate it. Your mother doesn't stop making your favourite dishes, your sister doesn't even throw banter, always agreeing with whatever you're suggesting for Christmas tree decoration and your father keeps on buying you presents discreetly which is also not so discreet.

And somehow, Seungkwan, your sister's boyfriend, is walking on eggshells whenever he's around you.

You miss the laughs, you miss the dramatics, you miss the goofiness.

"I'm not dying, y'all. This isn't the end of the world either."

Silence.

"Can we get back to normal? You all are being extraordinarily nice to me and every time you do so I think about the reason and it makes me think about him which is certainly what I don't wanna do."

You lower your gaze again, mind involuntarily going back to Jihoon, the way he fooled you within the entire span of your relationship. Your naive nature acts as a blindfold, causing you to trust people easily and you take pride in it because you are surrounded by good people who never took advantage of it but that's until Jihoon happened.

You gave him your heart, he crumpled upon it and your trust, he stomped on it.

"We're re-doing the deco of the Christmas tree, it's awful.", your sister, Eunha proclaims, "You just sit and watch."

You look at her, a smile gracing your lips and it's contagious, everyone is smiling.

And follows chaos, returns the banter and it's all over the place as the liveliness reappears. You watch it all with your lips curl up.

Christmas comes as fast and you're really excited, first because you know this year you're getting most gifts, second, like every time you won't have to leave the day after, you have a whole month to yourself, to be around your loved ones.

The house lights up in your favourite colours and you chirp around the house happily.

"So when are you going to propose?", you bump his shoulder, whispering into his ear as he prepares the batter for the cake.

Being the dramatic he is, Seungkwan gasps, glares and bumps back at you, "March, on her birthday. She'd like the ring right?"

"She'd love it, it's so beautiful. I can't wait to capture how ugly she'd look while crying.", you laugh at the thought.

"Hey! Watch it, she'll be beautiful even if she snots.", he retorts, "Our babies will be pretty."

"Oh my god, such a simp.", you fake a gag, "I'm gonna puke."

He suddenly pats your back, without looking at you and that somehow conveys that he's there for you.

As the night draws in, you excuse yourself and beeline into your room, locking the door, giving your parents and your sister and her boyfriend some time to themselves. They are bundled on the couch and the carpet in pairs sharing loving gazes and gentle touches.

As you lay on the bed, your favourite pillow starts to get stained with your tears. Your body shakes with sobs as you hide your face behind your palms.

You miss Jihoon.

You miss his voice, his laughs. You miss his silent affection, the way his gaze affirmed many unspoken words.

It's been four months since you called off things. And it hurts how easy it was for him to accept it all, the lack of contact says it all. You haven't blocked him anywhere and he hasn't tried reaching you either.

Why would he? You gifted him the only thing he wanted from you, a break up. Maybe love isn't the same for all, maybe it doesn't come in the same form.

There are repeated knocks on your door and you lay holding your breath, hoping whoever is on the other side thinks that you've fallen asleep and leaves.

The knocks don't stop, they only become frantic and you hear Eunha's distraught voice, "Y/N, you need to be out asap. Only you can stop dad please!"

What could have happened? You rush off to the bathroom to wash your face before opening the door.

You freeze watching the scene unfold.

Jihoon getting on his knees at the doorstep, bowing his head down in front of your seething father who's holding an umbrella, it's end pointed at him.

"Sir.", he calls your father calmly, bringing everyone's attention back to him.

"You must know what I have done to your daughter. I'm ready for whatever punishment you have for me."

He looks at you, as if his words are for you, "Beat me as much as you want, don't look at my face if it disgusts you but when your rage resides please hear me out. I won't leave until you listen to me. So if you want to get rid of me, you'll have to listen to me.", Jihoon gives a sad smile before grabbing the edge of the umbrella and resting it on his shoulder.

"Have you gone mad?", you scold him, "Get up."

He raises his hand to stop you from rushing towards him. He chooses to ignore your words, his gaze trained on your father.

"Are you contemplating, Sir?", he chortles, "Wasn't it bad enough, what I did to your daughter?"

You shake your head, closing your eyes. You know what Jihoon is doing, he's provoking your father and everyone else.

The rage that had subsided a bit, seems to reignite as your father tightens his grip on the object on his hand.

And you could only watch through it.

"She's the youngest of the household, we've raised her with love, pampered her to bits!"

"The last thing we want is to see her in tears that too on a day like this!"

"How dare you show your face here after breaking her heart in the worst way?"

And the words keep pouring in.

Jihoon is squeezing your arm into a tight grip, hissing in pain.

"What's your motive this time?", you ask while dabbing one of the bruises with disinfectant, particularly hard making him wince, "The Lee Jihoon, I know doesn't care about anyone except himself."

Jihoon's unwavering gaze does nothing to answer your queries and you refuse to meet his eyes.

"You can stay in my room for the night, leave by tomorrow morning, as early as possible."

Just as you get up to leave, he stands as well, blocking your path.

"I lost the insurance lawsuit case.", he says, searching for your eyes, "I ratted out my own clients."

"You came all the way here just to tell me this?"

He shakes his head down, with a small stretch of lips. When he looks up again you're shocked to see tears in his eyes.

"I got my memories back, Y/N.", his voice cracks, "All of them."

"Great.", you scoff in distaste, "I had already warned you to not make it an excuse to see me."

He kneels again, on both knees, "Would you please give me a chance to explain?"

You hate it to admit but you've never seen Jihoon this vulnerable. If anything, he's the type to carry pride and arrogance in his aura. He has never (his words) bowed to anyone and here he is doing it for the second time tonight.

"Jihoon, it doesn't matter anymore. You may not have loved me for even a moment, but I did, with all my heart. And I don't want to go through it all over again.", you say, urging him to be on his feet, "It won't change our past, but it has definitely changed the way I am going to perceive people now."

Jihoon lets out a sob and you freeze.

"I love you, Y/N.", he chokes out in words, as his sobs turn into cries, "That was what I was going to tell you on the day of the accident. I had been so ansty because I realised I was in love, I was going to come clean, I was going to confess."

"I just wanted a honesty in our relationship, you built it entirely around the other way. You didn't love me when we got together but I thought you did and this is the pressing wound, I have."

You don't let him speak further, after putting a very restless Jihoon to sleep on your bed, you ponder over a lot of things.

It's been over a month and the dynamics between you two has changed. When Jihoon begged and begged to give him a chance, to prove himself worthy of you, you denied at first. You had forgotten how persistent Jihoon could be, how convincing he can be.

"Our relationship will be on a trial basis. And there are rules.", you declare with a bored expression, "First, you can't tell anyone we're dating. Second, don't expect me to update you about anything, if I feel like you'll get to know, if not then you won't. Third, skinship is allowed only behind closed doors. You have six months and if within that I feel like you're worthy, we make it public or we part ways."

You give it a last try, to push his buttons and make him admit that he can't be bothered to do this. That he isn't the kind to work under conditions. You're sure that this is when he finally stops.

The corners of your lips twitch as you suppress your triumphant smile. By the way Jihoon stays silent, you're sure he's speechless. And it's just a matter of time he walks out, he walks away from your life.

"I agree with all of it." he says with sincerity, "For the following six months, I'll be the boyfriend, you want me to be. Mold me into anything, I'll take the shape of your like."

Your heart constricts, brain shots, stupid senses, you wanna scream. You swear you'll break him under your watch, it won't be a month and he'll be bailing out.

And Jihoon swears, he'll get you back, that this time, that he'll love you right.

It's Eunha's birthday and Seungkwan made you arrange a big event since she's gonna get proposed.

You can't stress how nervous you are even after trying your best to suit the taste of everything to be of Eunha's liking along with calming Seungkwan who's about to puke anytime because of his anxiety hitting the roofs.

And now your sister's crying, her now fiancé is crying but you're bawling. It's so beautiful, the entire scene that it makes you a bit too emotional, so you go out to breathe some fresh air and calm your nerves.

You feel a presence beside you and suddenly your head is being downed on a shoulder.

"I have kept your favourite chocolates in your purse. Have them to calm your nerves, your cycle date is approaching. I have restocked the supplies.", Jihoon says, "And made sure that no one is watching us now."

You tangle your arm with his and watch the stars in awe.

"One of your aunts kept asking me if I am single since you introduced me as your friend.", he says, leaning his head against yours.

"What did you say?"

"That I am taken and so in love."

Your heart flutters.

Jihoon has become calmer than he already was. He does everything you say, no questions asked. He waits for you inside his car every night to escort you when you're done for the day. He texts you frequently, though it's mostly monologue without any expectations of getting a reply.

He sleeps on the same bed if you ask him to, he takes the couch when you don't. There's always an ask of consent if he wants a kiss.

Nothing is out of scope, he'll bring you the moon if you want it.

"You look the prettiest tonight, you always do.", he kisses the top of your head, "Thanks for wearing the brooch, I bought you."

"Jihoon", you look up, your face perched on his shoulder blade and gazes meeting, "Why do you always look at me like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like you love me.", your hand slips into his and he encases it as if his life depends on it.

"I do love you.", comes his immediate assurance, "I may not use nicknames, not big on PDA and not be expressive on texts. But I love you and even though I was late to confess the last time I hope at some point I made you feel loved, made you see that guy who's usually not a fan of skinship initiated hugs and held hands, who hates amusement parks had planned every outing there because you like it, who doesn't like carrots either but picks them out of your plate so you don't have to feel guilty for throwing them."

Tears prick at the corner of your eyes and do his.

It's true. Now as well, Jihoon doesn't text 'I love you's, doesn't use nicknames, nor does he gushes over. He's still silent, acts of service loud enough as his love language.

Jihoon looks away, exhaling sharply, "I'm sorry, I started dating to rebound. I think I'll regret this as long as I'm alive."

"I'm on a mission and you're making it impossible to follow through."

It's snowing. Jihoon, as usual, waits for you to wrap things up. Today, he's standing in a corner, inside the venue as snow pours outside.

You are almost done with stuffs when you spot him. He smiles, eyes forming slits as you walk up to him.

His presence, you think, feels like a fresh breath in the hustle. You're just about to greet him when--

"Y/N!", you turn back to hear the yell of your name only to find one of your colleagues, Ahin, rushing towards you, "You forgot to take the inventory list."

Jihoon takes it as que to leave your side. He's about to turn but freezes when Ahin asks, "Who's he?"

As practiced, as he's been doing it for months, he's about to answer, "I'm her friend--"

"Boyfriend.", you cut him off, taking the papers from her hand, "This is Jihoon, my boyfriend."

Ahin is shocked, Jihoon goes stiff and you bite your lips to suppress your laugh. You know tomorrow's gonna be chaos at work.

As Jihoon crosses the threshold of your apartment, he's pressed against the closed door.

Your lips press on his with intensity while his hands tangle in your hair. It's a full makeout session and you're pulling him into the bedroom.

"Since when am I your boyfriend?", there's a tease in his tone as he looks up from between your legs, his chin glistening from your juices, "I thought we still have a month left?"

"Consider this as an early promotion.", you grab a fistful of his hair and push back his mouth to work on cunt, "Let's love now, Ji. Let's be together and happy."

"Let's love then.", he dives in, his tongue parting your folds and finding your clit. He circles it slowly, then sucks gently, coaxing a needy whimper from your lips.

He continues lavishing attention on your clit, his tongue alternating between rapid flicks and slow, sensual licks. One hand slides up to caress your breast, teasing your nipple gently. His other hand grips your hip, holding you steady as he pleasures you thoroughly.

"Ji, fuck!", your heads befalls on the pillows, eyes close shut.

His mouth is relentless, your pleasure his sole focus. He eats you out with abandon, his own hunger evident in the way he devours you. Your cries and whimpers only spur him on, his tongue never stopping its assault on your sensitive clit, "Fuck, you taste so good."

"Ji, can't hold back anymore", you're whimpering as the fisting on his hair tightens.

Upon hearing your breathy confession, Jihoon doubles his efforts, his tongue now moving in tight, rapid circles around your clit. He slips two fingers inside you, curling them just right to stimulate that perfect spot, "That's it, come for me. Wanna feel you fall apart on my tongue."

He can feel you tensing, your hips bucking against his face as you get closer to the edge. He growls around your sensitive flesh, the vibrations pushing you closer. He hooks his fingers deeper inside you, rubbing that spot mercilessly, "Now, Love now."

He continues to lick and suck, drawing out your orgasm until you're a quivering mess beneath him. Only then does he pull back, his chin glistening with your arousal. He climbs up your body, capturing your mouth in a deep, passionate kiss, letting you taste yourself on his lips.

He smiles against your lips feeling your fingers working on the button on his trouser.

"You'll have to leave early tomorrow morning," he says, grabbing both of your hands, "This was for you to have a sound sleep."

"But--"

"You can have me all you want tomorrow, after you return.", he is already descending down the bed to bring warm washcloth to clean you up, "Promise."

"Ji, next month, I'll be gone for a week."

Jihoon hums, as he cleans you up gently, "A destination wedding right?"

You hum sleepily, "Do you wanna join? We could extend the stay and use it as a break."

"I'll check my schedule and let you know. It's a good idea actually."

"I love you, Ji.", your drowsiness amuses Jihoon, as he watches you fall into slumber, "Wanna brainstorm cases with you for the rest of my life."

He presses a soft kiss on your forehead, listening to your soft snores, "And all I wanna do is be the best partner to you. I love you too, dearest darl+ing."

→ Do not copy, re-post, translate, or share any of my works on other platforms! All stories are copyrighted, joonsytip.

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thebestandworstdayofjune · 10 months ago

Text

desperate people find faith

summary: your first mission ends with you in Jean's lab and a very worried Logan who's had trouble leaving your side wc: 2.0k a/n: thank you thank you so much for all of your very positive feedback on the previous fics with these two!!! I am really looking forward to writing more for them, so please feel free to send any requests for them my way, or Logan requests in general! And yes, the title is from a Taylor Swift song again. Lots of hurt/comfort in this one, talks of mushy gushy feelings, very worried Logan find the previous part here! all empath!reader fics here!

You took the cold table underneath you as a sign that something had gone wrong. You peaked one eye open before quickly squeezing it closed, the bright florescent lights too much to handle. You took a beat, trying to make sense of your surroundings.

You remembered the jet landing in what seemed like the middle of nowhere, you and Jean searching an abandoned building looking for the young mutant that Charles had promised would be there and coming up empty. The two of you had made your way back to the jet and.. shit. The kid had freaked, and you distinctly remember taking enough damage to warrant a swift retreat back to the school. You must be downstairs, in Jean’s lab. It’s probably a bad sign that the first thing you worry about how much shit Logan is going to give you for this.

You reached out with your power, too cautious of the lights (and the judgment of the rest of the team) to look with your eyes. A few people were mildly worried just across the room, but it was hard not to be distracted by the huge amounts of anger and exhaustion on your left. You debated facing him head on, being a grown up about it and fessing up to the fact that you were wrong. Thankfully, you could be immature when the situation called for it. You attempted to even out your breathing and smooth out the crease between your eyebrows, anything that could give you away.

“Sweetheart?” Logan’s voice is so much softer than you were expecting, based on the waves of pure fury currently radiating off of him.

You shush him, blinking one eye open. “I’m sleeping.” You whisper, letting your eye fall shut again.

You felt his hand gently brush over the top of your head. His voice is closer, air tickling your ear as he leans down beside you. “Been sleeping for three days, bub. Need you to wake up now.”

You turn your head to the side and are treated to Logan dropping a small kiss on your forehead. You can’t help but smile at the affection, eyes half open against the bright lights. After a few moments, they dim. Jean takes her place on the other side of the table, lab coat on and stethoscope in hand. You expected her to shoo Logan away in the name of a more thorough analysis but she doesn’t even attempt it.

Logan’s hand finds your own, gripping tight enough to be just short of uncomfortable. Jean makes quick work of taking your diagnostics, and gently informs you that besides feeling fatigued, you are just fine.

That can’t be right.

You know that you caught the brunt of the impact, it was beginning to come back to you. The young mutant had lashed out, and before you’d had the chance to get close, he’d sent a car flying towards you and Jean. She’d managed to counteract it with her own mutation, firmly shoving you out of the way. But she hadn’t been fast enough to catch the small metal spikes he’d also thrown. There was no way you should be ‘just fine’ by now.

Either Jean was in your head or the confusion was showing clearly on your face. She gave you a tight smile, eyes darting between you and the door. She took a few steps back, clearly intent of making her exit. “Jean, wait, there’s no way-”

She gave you her please stop talking smile. “I think it’s best if this comes from him,” she nodded at Logan, placing her stethoscope and clipboard on the side table. “I’ll be back in a bit to do one final check before we clear you.” She gives you another smile that didn’t meet her eyes, and then she was gone.

You began to sit up slowly, still in shock that there was little to no pain, only stiffness from being immobile for too long. “What is she talking about?” Logan huffed, supporting you with a hand on your back. “What’s going on?”

One hand made long, slow strokes up and down your spine, while the other had not loosened it’s grip on your own since you’d woken up. His eyebrows were scrunched together, the tell tale sign of his thinking face. You tried your best not to rush him, but everything about the situation was so confusing and your mind was racing. You were far too healed, and he was being far too calm for the anger that was rolling off go him, still.

“Didn’t expect me to just sit around when you came back one foot in the grave, did ya?”

“I’m sorry if me coming back banged up gave you extra work, I just don’t understand why you’re so upset with me.”

His eyes went wide, the hand on your back stilling. “I’m not mad at you, sweetheart.” The tremble in his voice almost had you convinced.

“Don’t lie to me about it,” you help up your hand, still firmly entwined with his. “I can tell.”

“I’m notmad at you, bub.” He brought the back of your hand to his lips, peppering it with kisses. “I’m mad at the little fuck who did this to you, I’m mad that they let this happen, and I’m furious with myself that I wasn’t there.”

“He’s just a kid, Logan.”

His shoulders shook with silent laughter, a stark white dancing at the edge of his emotions now. Shock. “You almost died, and your first instinct is to defend the little asshole responsible.”

You leaned forward, bumping your shoulder against his chest in warning. “I feel fine.” He nodded, taking a deep breath in through his nose while his hand not currently locked with yours resumed it’s path up and down your back. You let it go on for a few moments, appreciating the silence and the grounding effect of his touch. “Do you… wanna fill me in on why exactly that is?”

He sucked in a breath, shoulders visibly tense. “We were lucky that Hank was stopping by for a visit.” He played with your fingers, distracting himself. You tilted your head to the side, wondering why that information was important at a time like this. “When they brought you in, god there was so much blood. Jean managed to take care of a lot of it, but she didn’t know when, or uh, if you were going to wake up.” He blew out a breath, steadying himself. “You know that Hank has been asking for a long time-”

Both of your hands gripped his tightly. “Tell me you didn’t.”

Hank had been asking for ages to use some of Logan’s blood to synthesize a more advanced healing serum for the X-Men. It was rare they came back with more than bumps and bruises, but he was a worrier and felt that Logan was the key to making something truly effective. The only problem? Logan hated needles. You’d only gotten bits and pieces from him about why, but you had a hunch that when you were alive for as long as he had been, people were willing to poke and prod for some answers. He’d never admit it, but you had felt how terrified he was the last time he’d been down hard after a mission, and Jean had tried to give him an IV of fluids to speed up the regeneration. It hadn’t ended well, to say the least.

“I should’ve done it sooner. Seeing you like this, knowing I could have done something about it.” He shook his head, clearing his thoughts.

Cautiously, you fit yourself against him, arms tight around his neck and your chest flush with his own. You half expected him to reprimand you, to remind you that you should be careful, not to move too much. Instead, he held you tightly, the side of his face pressed against the top of your head. The two of you stayed like that for a good long while, reveling in the comfort of the other.

“I know you think that you only did it because,” you paused, steeling yourself. “Because it was me.” You can feel him trying to pull away, but you mold yourself to him even more tightly, knowing that if he really wanted to he could break away from you like it was nothing. “You’re wrong. You would have done this for anyone.”

“Except for-”

“Even for Scott.” You were quick to cut him off, unwilling to hear him being so harsh on himself.

You pulled back, just enough so that you were able to meet his eyes. You needed him to know that you are being earnest. “You are a good man, Logan. And before you even try to deny it or say I’m lying I know you can hear my heart beat. And I know you can tell when people are lying. And besides, I’ve never ever lied to you, have I?” He shakes his head slowly, one tear falling, and a few more after that. You reached up, brushing them away. He grabbed your hand, gently placing a kiss on your wrist, and then your palm.

“Y’scared me, sweetheart.” He murmured, voice muffled by your palm still against his lips. “Don’t ever do that again.”

You slide your hand to cup the side of his face, prompting him to meet your gaze. “You know I can’t guarantee that.” His eyes closed for a moment, and you knew he was doing his best not to shout. “I will always be careful, but I can’t stay back and leave the work to everyone else. If I can help, I’m gonna help.”

His eyes narrowed, the tiniest hint of a smirk playing at his lips. “Fine. But we’re getting you trained up and you aren’t going out there without me again for a good long while.”

You rolled your eyes, the both of you well aware there was no ill will behind it. “If you insist.”

“I absolutely do.” He pulled you back into his chest, keeping you there until Jean peaked her head in through the door.

“If you two are done being mushy, there are a few people who have been dying to see you.”

Ororo rushed into the room, playfully shoving Logan away to scoop you into her arms. She gently checked you over, ignoring the fact that you’d already had several medical professionals on the case. Scott clasped you on the shoulder, reassuring you that for a first mission, this was a success. You laughed before shooting Logan a look that begged him to let it pass. He huffed, but nodded all the same.

“Shocked we didn't have to keep him from trying to tear the kid apart, but he refused to leave the lab.” Scott nodded his head at Logan, who was continuing to shuffle closer to the table where you sat.

Well, you would be dutifully ignoring the latter half of Scott's quip, instead choosing to focus on the young mutant. “You mean he's?”

Scott smiled, nodding. “He’s settling in upstairs.”

You grinned, glad to know that it hadn’t all been for nothing. You fixed your gaze on Logan, narrowing your eyes at him. “Don’t even think about failing him out of history as some kind of weird revenge, I’ll know and I will find a way to get back at you for it.”

Your friends laughed around you, let you know that Charles has ordered in your favorite take out for dinner and started to filter out of the room. Eventually, you and Logan are left alone again, sitting side by side on the metal table.

“You still owe me an important conversation, ya know.” You bump your shoulder against his. You stay there, pressed against his side with your head leaning on his shoulders. His hand rests on your shoulder, holding you close.

“Maybe wait until you aren’t in a hospital gown, sweetheart.” You rolled your eyes, clearly aware that he was deflecting, but still content to take in his warmth and quiet support. You were safe, and you were home. Not just at school, but with him.

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ssahotchnerr · 1 year ago

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fluffy aaron request !! reader is on a date that is going so bad when she gets called in for a case so she shows up in her like fancy date outfit and confides in hotch about her horrible date then he offers to make it up to her and takes her out when they get back <3 maybe there’s some room for slight jealous!aaron in there somewhere tehe

it's a date

there's always room for jealous!aaron 🤭 cw; fem bau!reader, mutual pining, a touch of nervous and jealous!aaron, brief standard cm case info, fluff <3

You were the last one to arrive at the BAU, departing from the far side of town and evening traffic to blame.

Consequently, you pulled stares the second you arrived within the roundtable room. Your presence was anticipated, for one, the sound of your heels clacking against the hard floor, and:

A low whistle exited Morgan.

"Look at you." He tossed out, a tickled grin spread wide across his face.

Your current attire was a dress; a fancier, slightly more risqué choice compared to your typical office wardrobe. It was a light beige, your hair was down your back in loose curls, makeup more enhanced than your usual routine. Aaron had to (internally) admit, you looked stunning.

"Hot date?"

"You could say that."

Aaron felt his jaw move. Clench, actually.

"Sorry for cutting your night short." He apologized, forcing his sentence out deep from inside his chest. He turned towards the screen, concealing himself.

"On the contrary," You eased yourself into your chair, eagerly accepting a file from Emily. "Thank you for cutting my night short."

"With this one, you may want to rethink that sunshine." Penelope clicked her remote, illuminating the screen with the latest case photos. "Ain't no rest for the wicked."

The team collectively ran through it quickly; a brutal family annihilator, decreasing cooling off period, the gravity of the situation heightening and a panicked town. Wheels up in 30 to Oklahoma.

As the others trailed out, Penelope hurrying to her bat cave, Aaron slowed his pace. He prolonged securing his files into his briefcase, zipping it shut, leaving only the two of you in the room.

Coincidentally, you weren't in too much of a rush either.

"That bad?"

You huffed in response as your eyes found his. He was met with a hardened, utter annoyance, instead of your familiar warm liveliness.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"There's not much to talk about." The bottom of your files hit the surface of the table, loudly, stacking the few evenly together. "The guy sucked. Interrupted me every second he could. I don't think the restaurant he picked was up to code either. Thank goodness I got the call before our food arrived." You shuddered lightly, in theatrics but also genuineness. "I'm greatly looking forward to pretending it never happened."

There was a carefree airiness within your voice - attempting to wave it off, the simple acceptance of one night gone bad - but small dismay was amongst your words.

"I'm sorry." While Aaron meant his apology wholeheartedly, he couldn't help but feel relieved, for his own selfish reasons. "But I am glad you narrowly escaped the potential food poisoning."

That pulled a laugh from you, agreeing. "But it's fine, really. I didn't want to go anyways, don't know why I did." You shrugged as you disrupted the continual, shared eye contact. While the tail end of your sentence was spoken lowly, it wasn't long lasting, picking up some enthusiasm. "How was your night going?"

"Jack and I were just settling down to watch a movie."

"Which one?"

"Shrek."

Your head tilted exasperatedly, face pulling into jealousy. "Really? How fun." You whined gently, wishing your night could have been spent with the two of them. Your preferred choice of company.

"Well, he wasn't too happy it was cut short." Aaron admitted, a loose, downhearted chuckle escaping.

"You'll make it up to him. Perhaps a multiple movie feature when we're back? Shrek, Shrek 2, Shrek the Third... maybe order some pizza too." You suggested, reaching out to touch his arm reassuringly with a gentle smile. "No matter, he'll be thrilled."

Sourcing from your touch, lightning bolts dashed within his arm, feverishly. Aaron soon found himself simply studying your face, falling on the silent side. You were just, you. Extraordinarily kind, beautiful you.

"C'mon, Dave told me if I was late to the tarmac once more, he'd tell the pilot to leave and I'd have to take a commercial." You joked. Although, a small part of you feared he'd stick to his promise.

"Yeah, like I'd let that happen." He rolled his eyes, amusedly shaking his head.

The bullpen was quiet; most had gone home, the overheard lights had dimmed, the team long out of earshot. As the two of you neared the glass doors - Aaron leading - there was an urgency heightening in his chest, mere seconds away from bursting. As if each step forward, he was losing precious time. Any hesitations on the temptations he had felt for months dissolved. Now or never.

"What about you?" He asked, sweetly but timidly, finding a sudden interest in the floor.

"What about me?"

"Who's going to make it up to you?"

"Well," That caught you in a bit of surprise, your feet halting. Aaron turned, his eyes lifting. "That's a million dollar question right there. I don't see anyone lining up to take me on some extravagant outing, do you?" You forced out a laugh, your cheeks fairly blushing.

"Maybe," Aaron replied, his voice wavering with a touch of nervousness. It was rather endearing, seeing him so adorably flustered. "Perhaps the person you're looking for is right in front of you. Figuratively, at that."

A rather charmed expression formed on your face. Eyes brightening, lips pursing upwards, "Are you asking me out?"

"I'm trying." He confessed, his boyish expression just as light as yours. "So, tell me. How am I doing?"

"How about this," You spoke slowly, attempting to suppress the butterflies in your own stomach, hoping to maintain some composure within your answer. "Your next available night after your movie marathon with Jack, I'm completely and all yours."

All yours. He could get used to that.

"It's a date."

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #criminal minds drabble #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #hotch imagine #criminal minds x fem!reader

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halovians · 1 year ago

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cw. boothill x f!reader drabble, riding (but really he’s the one in charge), piv penetration, cyborg dick, a hint of dacryphilia perhaps, this is seriously just some major brainrot im having please help, minors dni pls and ty :)

cold metal bites into the supple flesh of your hips.

it’s a stark contrast to the heat your body radiates, icy fingertips clutching you tightly as boothill guides you along his dick, sinfully dragging against the fluttering walls of your pussy.

“ridin’ me so well, cutie. you like being used like this, huh?” sharp teeth graze the sensitive skin of your throat before he laughs, deep and condescending. “i’ll make sure you’re satisfied. can’t have you doubtin’ me again, can we?”

you’re too fucked out to even answer. boothill’s strong hands force you to bounce on his ribbed metal cock, drawing whines and mindless babbles from your lips as you slump against him. your hands pull and tug at his silky hair while you plead, “hol’on, waaait, s’too much..!”

it’s honestly your fault that you’re even in this situation. you had teased boothill about his cyborg body—“you get a dick attachment with that robo-body or what?”—and now you’re paying the price.

“too much now?” boothill sneers, sharp teeth glinting in the low lights of the room as he looks at you. his red pupils drink in your debauched expression, the way sweat beads at your temple and drips down your face.

he suddenly slows, grinding his hips up in to yours as he drags a hand up the slope of your body, leaving a trail of icy nerves in its wake. he grips your face, squishing the fat of your cheeks. silvery tears of pleasure line your lashes, something boothill smugly takes note of. when a tear trickles down your cheek, he’s immediately leaning forward to lap it up with his tongue.

“thought you said i wouldn’t be able to keep up with the real thing. you so sure about that now?”

your attempt to shake your head is stopped only by the way he grips you. he leans in, nipping at your plush lower lip before he continues.

“i do love a challenge, though.” his voice is rough, tinged with heated desire as he grinds his dick further into you. “am i proving ya wrong, sweetheart?”

“yes,” you whimper, thighs trembling as he kisses you, long and deep. boothill moves his hand back down to your waist and takes up his earlier pace, using you almost like his own personal fucktoy.

“that’s a good girl,” he drawls. “let me take care of you, yeah?”

please don't repost on other platforms. rbs and comments are super appreciated ♡ !!

#☆ oakie writes #boothill x reader #boothill smut #hsr smut #hsr x reader #star rail x reader #star rail smut #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail smut #i wrote this at work don’t expect this to be fantastic pls #he’s just heavy on my mind and won’t gtfo!!!#(me when boothill) CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG)

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pedgito · 3 months ago

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𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒 | Joel Miller x reader

part two– summary | It's a shitty situation, dependency brimming unspoken and one wrong move puts your life in danger and once again, you find yourself owing everything to Joel.

content warning | DDDNE — DUBCON, coercion, selective mutism on readers behalf, graphic depictions of violence, injury tw, attempted sa (briefly), brief mentions of pregnancy and procedures to prevent it, mean!joel, unhealthy coping mechanisms for trauma, all angst no fluff but a lot of emotion, smut (bc without it who am i), sex riding an adrenaline high after life or death situation, joel fucks you against a tree, showering together, weird domesticity, guilt-riddled joel, bed-sharing, unprotected piv, creampies, lots of progress made here i promise

author's note | part three will more than likely be out by the end of this month i promise! also thank you to everyone who's shown this story so much love, it means so much to me. this chapter is about as light as this story gets...so....sorry? <3

word count —9k

part one | part three | strangers masterlist

They argue about you like you’re not standing a few feet away.

“She needs a job,” Tommy tells him, “Rules, Joel. Everyone pulls their weight—how this works.”

“You act like I don’t know that,” Joel gripes, “but what are you expecting her to do? She don’t talk, she refuses to go anywhere without me. She sure as hell ain’t gonna be much use workin’ the stables or fixin’ fences when she’s so goddamn skittish.”

Tommy shrugs, “Patrol, then.”

Joel’s eyes narrow, “Like hell,”

Another silent standoff you were more than happy to stay out of, the nylon of your coat scratching against itself as you take a couple steps back in the fear of an impending blow up.

“Give me another option then,” Tommy argues, “You just said she won’t leave your side—”

“She ain’t ready for that,” Joel says rather defensively, your brow furrowing at his disdain over the idea, ignoring the fact you were on the run for several weeks, surviving on your own—this was different.

Admittedly, you had clung to Joel.

He was safe, comfortable, and had become a strange sense of home in an unfamiliar place.

As much as he tried to act like it didn’t affect him, he’s grown used to your presence. Though, he’s set a hard boundary with you—no touching, keep your distance, and always make yourself known. You were always quiet, eerily so, and Joel hated that.

Tommy attempts to decipher Joel, staring at his brother, “You don’t think she can do it,”

“Both,” Joel admits, both of their eyes flickering toward you briefly, expressions unreadable.

“I think she’ll surprise you,” Tommy admits.

Joel shakes his head in a lazy disbelief, not believing an ounce of what Tommy is trying to convince him of, “We’ll see—but she’s with me, no one else. Not even Ellie.”

“Figured that,” Tommy retorts, “You’re goin’ out pretty far, we haven’t hit the lodge in a couple weeks. That alright?”

Your body tenses at the mention of it, but neither of them notice. Joel’s hand curls into a fist and flexes open, a nervous tic you’ve noticed about him when he was trying to steady himself, he nods silently in response.

When you both arrive back to the Miller home, Joel begins packing his bag up, already half-stuffed and switching out a few things. He tosses you a tattered bag, old and well-loved before he’s pointing toward the basement.

“A couple pairs of clothes, extra pair of shoes, nothing that ain’t a necessity—I’ll stock your pack with the other stuff come mornin’ before we head out,”

You had a night then.

There was only one lodge near Jackson that you could remember. It was the last time you saw them.

The men in tailored gear, embroidered with a gold patch that designated their status amongst the group.

Trackers, seekers—they handled the recruiting, though often forced. They were glorified kidnappers, taking young men and women against their will if they were unfortunate enough to cross their path, but they also managed the hunting.

If someone escaped, they never came back in one piece.

Whether that was a shattered mind or a missing limb, it was never good.

The lodge was empty when you found it, just at the crest of winter when you had snuck in, fitting yourself into a sizable gap in the flooring covered by a wooden panel.

The men had been on your tail for days, tracking you through the miles of forests behind you and into the town.

Luckily, they were unsuspecting at that moment.

Your misfortune came later, but the lodge was a warning.

They were near, always near—you had no idea if they were still searching, even after a few weeks of settling in.

It was the unknown, the looming presence, that terrified you.

They had an obligation to follow demands but most of them did it for sport.

It was never anything but a game.

—

Sleep is fickle that night, scratching at the rusted metal of your bed frame until it was caked under your nails, the soft hum of electricity above as it moved through Joel’s house, his soft footsteps as he woke, gentle as he strolled barefoot, eventually trading it for heavy footfall as his boots went on—it was early dawn when the tap came to your door, feigning sleep as you hid under the sheets.

Joel gives you a few minutes, pacing beyond the threshold.

His patience reminds you of the kind you used to wish for back when everything was different, back when you were nothing but a prisoner—you were pushing it, though. Even Joel’s patience would wear thin, making your best attempt to delay the patrol before he’s opening the door with a click, the key shoved into the mechanism before the door creaks open.

“Get up,” he barks, “we’re already late and holding up the rest of ‘em,”

You moan tiredly, barely audible, shuffling under the sheets, only for them to be ripped back in an instant.

“You’ve got about five seconds,” he warns, snatching your pack off the floor as he stands over you, daring to pry your eyes open to take a peek at him, “or I’m rippin’ you out of that bed,”

He catches your eyes as they open and his brow is cocked authoritatively, making your body move despite your apprehensiveness for the entire situation and Joel eyes you skeptically, stepping around you as you move with little enthusiasm.

“If you changed your mind, I can talk to Tommy,” Joel says with a tone that makes your chest tighten with fear—both of abandonment and helplessness, “I’m sure he’ll find somethin’ for you to do here while I go and—”

You stop in your tracks at his words, coat on and shoes barely slipped over your heel as you’re approaching him with immediate worry, shaking your head furiously as you grip onto his bicep, eyes pleading.

He’s always direct with you now, making sure your eyes connect with his. He’s learned to read you through facial expression and emotion, settling with the fact you weren’t going to speak to him, whether capable or not.

“Alright,” he sighs, and you shrug slightly but not enough to break your hold, “then hurry up.”

His voice carries the weight of a thousand other mornings like this, where silence and glances fill the space between you. He’s grown comfortable, surprisingly. He didn’t like how normal your presence had become or how you seemed to settle into his life easily.

“Probably make a few stops along the way,” Joel explains, “I took myself off patrol duty for this,” he means you, this, the burden of your situation and disruption, “the lodge is far but usually out there we aren’t dealin’ with much, less infected in the cold and all.”

But not people, you think.

He sees you tense at the mention, coat shrugging over your shoulders.

Last ditch effort. Anything.

Just change his mind.

You reach for his palm as he extends it face up, examining you carefully.

You tap your pointer finger into the center of his palm before pointing it at the floor, the hand holding his wrist tugging insistently.

Stay. A finger into his palm.

Here. A finger to the floor.

You repeat it a few times until he seems to understand through the silent communication.

“Stay..stay,” he begins, deciphering your message, “we’re not—no we’re not stayin’ here.”

Your face falls, instincts turning to drastic measures as you drop his hand, invading his space in a way he’s been careful to avoid, hands curling around the side of his face and the soft brush of his beard itching your palm before you’re leaning forward to press your lips against his own, eagerly pulling him toward you.

Joel’s quick, though. He rips your hands away, fingers tightening around your bicep harshly.

“Don’t try that shit again,” he growls, “ain’t no fuckin’ choice in you stayin’ here.”

You try to yank away from him but it was pointless.

“Are you gonna listen or do I need to drag you out?”

Your jaw tightens and you slackening under his grip and while he could let you go, he doesn’t.

You stumble behind as he pulls you with him, up the stairs, around the hall and into the living room until you’re standing at the door and he’s releasing you to jab a finger in your face, flinching with every flick as it grows closer, making you go nearly cross eyed.

“You give me even the slightest amount of trouble while we’re out and I won’t hesitate to leave you behind,” Joel threatens, that sinking feeling of regret swirling in his gut the moment your expression softens.

She fucking trusts you, he reminds himself.

As slippery as that slope could be, he’s got a responsibility.

You nod shakily and the tightness of his grip pierces your soul, immediately submitting to his hold as he jerks you to face forward and reaches around to grab the knob, chest pressed against your back as you step outside.

A swirling wind greets you, whistling its own kind of warning as Joel drags you through the brittle, dried grass. Your boots crunch against the frosty ground, doing your best to keep pace with him, breath puffing out in frantic clouds. Cold air bites your skin and the crunch of your boots, now on gravel, fills the silence between you. It’s tense.

You follow him to the stable as he releases his grip on you, to the weapon compound, close at his side as he steers the horse to the front gate, looking rather apologetic to his brother who seems to sense the situation between you and Joel and quickly averts the watchful eyes of others with his voice, calling off the list of locations and names like a roll call.

“Get on,” he orders, softer now but still edged and you oblige, feeling a hovering touch of his hand over your thigh as you climb onto the horse and lean back, making room for him to climb on.

Joel’s arms snake behind him to wrap yours around his jacket before he grabs the reins and clicks his tongue. The horse hesitates, feeling your combined weight, then lurches forward. You cling to the saddle as Joel steadies you with a firm grip, holding you close as Jackson fades from view.

The solace you’ve come to appreciate slipping through your fingers, even if temporary, made the pit in your stomach grow rapidly.

The landscape stretches out in muted colors. Bare trees reach like fingers, tendrils to the gray sky and frost clings to their branches. Joel’s silence feels like a wall between you, and you bite your lip to fight the chill that’s creeping into your bones, shrugging the hood of your coat over your head as you bury your face in between his shoulder blades, eyes peeking over.

It’s a strange kind of comfort for Joel the way you settle into him, close and warm.

As much as he tried to keep his distance, there was always a loophole.

“You gonna explain what that was back there?” Joel asks, knowing his questioning is pointless, the roar of the wind and the bumpy ride making it nearly impossible for any type of silent communication, “I don’t want you doin’ that anymore, thinkin’ you need to act that way to…I don’t know—do whatever you’re wanting to do,”

The landscape rolls by like a somber, black and white film strip; broken fences and abandoned cars sprouting from the ground, dead infected and rotting animals, houses abandoned. It wasn’t as normal now, living in a lively place with such a dichotomy only a ride away, reminding you just how temporary your life was in this world.

“Were you scared to leave Jackson?” he asks curiously, trying to decipher what he could.

You hesitate, unsure how to answer. It was a yes and no question—safe was anywhere with Joel, but you were still weary. You don’t answer immediately, so Joel assumed that wasn’t the problem.

“Is it the weather? Don’t like the snow?” you shake your head almost immediately, uncaring for the elements, finding that dying from frostbite or heatstroke were both equally miserable.

“The lodge?” he asks after a long, drawn out silence—the ride was still long, more difficult as the snow began to pick up, falling in thick sheets, “Is there somethin’ out here you ain’t told us?”

You shift slightly, the leather of Joel’s jacket creaking beneath your cheek. The question hangs heavy, like the snow. It’s too much to explain, the knot of reasons tangled inside you. You press your face into his back again, wishing you could dissolve into him and stay there. You feel his sigh before you hear it, learning the way his body works through touch and sound. It’s not disappointment—it’s understanding.

But, that frightens you too.

Joel makes a few short stops along the way, simple checks on smaller lookouts that don't even require you to get off the horse, keeping watch as he was in and out within a couple of minutes, eyes always on you no matter where he moved.

You can sense the way his anger lingers in his face and the stiffness of his shoulders but his instinct to protect is stronger, shoving the sturdy emotion aside to traverse through the heavy storm until, hours later, the lodge comes into view, your heart hammering in your chest.

Your fingers tighten around the lapels of his jacket and he looks down, watching the way you strangle the fabric under your grip, shifting slightly on the saddle as he slows to a stop just inside the lodge before Joel helps you off the horse and ties him, leaving you for a moment that feels nothing short of a century, frozen in your spot as you hold your bag close to your chest.

“At some point you gotta start talkin’,” his voice startles you as it comes from the shadows, jacket stripped as he kneeled down at the fire pit near the center of the room, working quickly to warm the place up, “it ain’t about inconvenience either, it could get you killed.”

You move silently and sit nearby, eyes downturned and lips pulled tight.

It’s impossible to explain, the way your throat constricts at any attempt to speak, like a knee jerk reaction as you anticipate the strike of a hand or foot, a lash at your back or the hot prick of a cigarette into your skin.

You still felt it occasionally, the phantom pain.

Your bottom lip trembles as they part, desperately wanting to make the attempt but knowing your body won’t let you out of self-preservation. Joel doesn’t see the struggle, but he can see your fingers fidgeting, restlessness laying in wait.

“Did you bring your paper and pen with you?” Joel asks, sounding fatherly in a way that hints of a life lived and lost, “You can’t just ask the way you did this morning for no reason, I want answers,”

You nod obediently, riffling through your bag for the items.

Joel waits until they're in your hand and the fire crackles to life before he asks his first question.

“Is it the lodge? Is that why you wanted to stay in Jackson?” he asks, watching you scribble down a swift answer.

Yes. But, more.

He leans forward on his knees and into your space to read the scribbled note, sighing tiredly.

It isn’t what he wanted, obvious in the roll of his eyes.

“Explain,” He says tensely, “Stop bein’ so damn cryptic, I don’t like that shit,”

They followed me here. I hid.

Joel’s face contorts in confusion.

“They followed you that far?”

It was their job. Bad men, all of them. They enjoy it. I hid and they didn’t find me. That time. I was worried they might find me again. They didn’t that time.

Joel examines the concentration on your phase as you write out the words, taking the notebook as you gently shove it into his palm, large fingers wrapping around the notepad.

“Who is they?” Joel asks, “You keep writin’ they,” his fingernail scratches over the word, leaving an indent in the paper, “We’re tight about patrols out here, we woulda saw ‘em. You sure it wasn’t someone else? Maybe just some random raider? They stroll through from time to time lookin’ for shelter.”

No. Not random. They wore emblems, gold and threaded to look like an anchor. There are men we serve, higher-ups. Then ones that follow a code, like an army. The men after me were hunters. Trackers. Do you understand? Not for animals.

“Sick fucks,” Joel says mostly to himself as he reads over your writing,

Don’t leave me. Please. I will do anything.

His earlier words echo in your head, seeming to cross his own mind at the same time.

You shove the notepad at him hastily, hands trembling slightly,

“Don’t get worked up," Joel says, voice a little gruff, "I’m not leavin’.”

Safe. He writes it out underneath your own words.

Thick. Heavy.

He nods.

Suddenly, as Joel feels around in his pocket as he stands, he comes across an object Tommy had handed him before he left, careful as he approaches you and reaches for your hand, pressing the solid weight of the object into it.

It was your knife, cleaned up and sharpened to a dangerous point.

Joel makes a noise of warning, fingers tight around your wrist.

“This ain’t yours to keep,” Joel explains, “jus’ while we’re out here, in case you come across an animal or something, it comes right back to me when we leave, understood?”

Begrudgingly, you nod.

“Put it away,” he instructed, watching as you closed the knife and stuffed it into your pocket.

You couldn’t explain it, but the frustration in him still simmered, unsure if it was because of you or not. Joel was a sorrowful man, carrying enough guilt for a thousand men—it could be that he was just having a day, desperate for a moment to himself.

It comes a while later after you’ve both settled in and the place was filled with warmth, “Keep watch, don’t wander—I’ll sleep for a couple hours then take over, got it?”

You nod quickly, perched on the wide, open window as you watch the snowfall.

Something about it was oddly therapeutic, looking over to watch the scowl on Joel’s face soften as he fell into a deep slumber, leaning half reclined against a wall with his jacket balled up by his head to double as a pillow.

Hours pass without incident, thankfully. Joel said two, but it was already four and he was still sleeping, snoring now as he’s slumped down into a more horizontal position, growing slightly restless as the storm had calmed and the sun was shining overhead, desperate for a few moments of fresh air now that you were here, feeling comfortable enough in the quiet and with Joel’s presence that you could step out for a moment and breathe, putting on your shoes and coat quickly as you slipped out the back door of the lodge and watched a pair of birds on a branch as they hopped beside each other, chirping quietly.

You can’t remember the last time you’ve felt this calm or relaxed, glancing over at Joel sheepishly despite his obliviousness.

You inhale deeply, letting the crisp, post-storm air fill your lungs.

The lodge is silent behind you, save for the faint sound of Joel’s snoring. The fresh air feels like a relief, a moment of stillness that you hadn’t realized you needed. That you deserved.

Your eyes follow the pair of birds a moment longer, chirping softly to each other.

It’s peaceful—almost too peaceful.

A small prickle of unease creeps up your spine, but you shake it off.

It’s just quiet.

Nothing’s wrong.

Then—

You feel your throat swell.

The snap of a twig.

You freeze. The birds flutter away, startled. Your breath catches.

You don’t have time to turn before an arm locks around your chest, a rough hand clamping over your mouth. You couldn’t scream even if you wanted to.

“Oh, easy, ea-sy,” the stranger coos with a sickening softness, “don’t wanna wake him up, do ya?”

The faceless attacker holds you tight, something sharp and jagged at your back as he guides you backwards, further away from Joel.

Your pulse pounds in your ears as you struggle, but he’s strong.

He reeks of sweat and damp clothes, his grip unyielding.

"You people think you’re so damn careful… but you’re just easy pickings if you ain’t watchin’,” he sounds so smug and amused, greedy as he dragged you further and further away, feet stumbling out beneath you as you fell into the snow against him, a grunt shooting from his chest but ultimately it was followed by a spine-chilling chuckle, a hand slipping underneath the material of your shirt and over your abdomen, “been camped out here all day watchin’ you both, thought you were a dime, though–couldn’t pass up the opportunity,”

You twist sharply, managing to get free, clawing at his arm as you shove it away. He grunts in irritation but grabs at your ankle, yanking you back down as you fall to your ass, silently groaning at the pain.

"Feisty," he mutters. "I like it. Ain’t much fun otherwise."

You’ve fought for your life plenty of times and this was no different.

It shouldn’t surprise you that misfortune met you at every turn, allowing yourself to fall into a false confidence only to be disappointed once more as the man looms over you, a shadow of menace. You kick wildly, connecting with his shin. A low snarl escapes him.

“Little bitch,” he hisses, shaking his leg as if to brush off the sting.

But, it gives you a moment to scramble backward on your hands and heels, snow biting at your palms as you shoved your hand into your pocket to find your knife, watching as he stalked toward you in a pure rage, opening your mouth in a scream you know will never come, but then he’s tripping, scrambling to catch his bearings over you.

The tip of the blade slices through his guts like butter, feeling the bile rise in your throat at the sensation and the warm spread of blood over your hand, desperately trying to force his weight off of you, but his hands finds your face, thumbs reaching for your eyes in any attempt to injure you but then there’s a shot ringing out, startling the both of you.

Simultaneously, the man jerks violently, his hands going slack around your face as he falls with a gurgling choke. Blood flows down his neck and onto you, drenching your clothes in a way that makes you want to crawl out of your skin.

You scramble to your knees, backing away without looking toward the gunman as you panic, wiping the blood from your skin and into the snow, desperate to rid yourself of the thick fluid before Joel’s invading your space, fingers tightening into your coat to yank you upright as he shoves you back against a tree, blinded with pure rage.

He had saved you. He was angry, sure. But, he saved your life. Again.

“Are you fucking stupid, girl?!” he asks, his tone tight and harsh, met with a meek nod.

“Wrong answer,” He snaps, “I said two hours, then you wake me. I said not to wander and you did—so answer me again, are you—fucking stu—”

He doesn’t register that sting of your teeth in his bottom lip until your hand curls around the back of his neck, tongue spearing into his mouth as his mouth parts in surprise, your fingers tangling into his hair as you pull him into the kiss.

Thank you, it breathes.

His grip slackens for the briefest moment before turning to steel again, fingers knotted in your clothes, twisting and pulling you closer. The violence of him feels like a lifeline, like something sure and solid in this brutal world. He’s safe.

Safe.

He shoves you harder against the tree, rough bark biting through your coat as his teeth gnash against yours, tangled breaths turning to steam in the cold.

Your head spins, heart shuddering up into your throat, and you lose yourself in the way he feels, like fury itself. His hand moves from your clothes to splay over your belly, warm and forceful where the knife was just seconds before on your attacker who lay lifeless on the snowy ground.

You can’t stop thinking.

The coppery taste of blood lingers everywhere: on your clothes, on the dead man, on Joel’s mouth now. The snow around you is red-stained as his hands roam over you, your own hands mirroring his unspoken neediness as you tear into the belt of his jeans, feeling him undo your own in tandem, unable to look one another directly in the eye at that moment, desperate for connection by other means.

He shouldn’t be allowing this, but the urge to consume your gratitude is stronger.

His thumb fumbles with the button of your jeans, and you’re practically writhing to get them off, burning up despite the chill. You sigh internally as he manages to get them free, yanking them far enough down your thighs before he’s turning you against the tree.

The world fades around you; it’s just him, just you, each breath mingling as he frees himself from his pants. You feel his heat press against you, insistent, frenzied, somehow apologetic as it fits between your thighs.

You feel his fingers fit between your legs and spread between your folds like instinct but you’re shaking your head, hand clawing at back of his neck as you arch your ass into him, a silent plea for him to just fuck you instead, needy as you bring his mouth to yours with a distinct hunger, swallowing up his ragged breaths as he rubs his thumb and pointer finger over the head of his cock and through your slick before he’s stretching you open with little grace, mouth open in a silent gasp as your free hand grabs at his hip.

“Fuck,” he breathes into your mouth, words dissolving into a groan as he sets an unrelenting pace. The tree bark is rough against your skin, but you don’t care, the rawness of it only adds to the frenzy growing between you. Hastily undressed and filthy, the kiss-smudged blood across his face smearing into yours.

He’s practically holding you up like this, his grip slipping over your hips as his mouth finds your neck, biting down just enough to bruise or draw blood of your own, not entirely sure.

His thrusts breath raw desperation, nails clawing at bare skin as he hisses into your neck.

There’s nothing soft about it, no measured rhythm, just a brutal need for each other.

Joel is acutely aware of the way your body is responding to him, silent sobs racking your chest as you pull him impossibly closer, “I gotcha,” he says, “I feel you, you’re gonna give it to me, aren’t ya? S’right there, I feel it,”

And he wants it more than he was comfortable admitting to himself, the satisfaction of filling the insatiable need you had craved from him.

His hand snakes over your mouth, smothering sounds that would never surface, but the gesture is heady, biting at the skin of his palm until you knew it would sting.

Desperation blurs into pleasure, and you feel it shuddering through you like an electric current and the world comes rushing in again all at once: the cold air nipping at sweat-slick skin, branches clawing at your chest like a bitter, jealous lover. It’s hard to tell, the way you both are clawing at this for dear life, but you think this is maybe as close as the two of you have ever been, filthy and frantic and burning up together as you come, feeling Joel pull out in enough time to spill into his fist, low and drawn-out grunts that had you cunt pulsing, resting dissociatively against the tree.

It was the most human you’ve felt in years.

“Get inside,” Joel says suddenly, pulling you back to reality—surprisingly, his voice is calmer.

And for once, you don’t argue.

–

Joel watches you change, trading the bloodied clothes for fresh ones and wiping you down in between, a silent but intimate gesture that neither of you outwardly address, eyes scanning his face carefully as he taps at your chin so he can wipe underneath your neck.

And you don’t speak about it.

Joel doesn’t even acknowledge it.

He takes care of the body, stays on watch despite your quiet persistence to help

But, as your hand trembles at your side as you approach him beside the fire pit, his fingers thread into your own, a heavy weight holding you down until it stops shaking. You can feel the small tremor on his own, harbored for different reasons. But, it calms him too.

You felt like there was finally equal ground to stand on.

–

When you arrive back in Jackson a couple days later, Joel relays information about the raider with some omissions, only suggesting that there be more frequent checks, but as you and Joel settle into a routine, things become almost…too easy.

He’s always expectant of your knife the moment you approach the gates, handing it over without problem, but just as easily sliding it into your own as you settle into your patrol spot for whatever rotation you both ended up on, still increasingly weary around others that weren’t Joel, you find a similar protection with Tommy, though not entirely comparable.

Tommy only took you out so far as to teach you how to shoot and clear out infected that were a safe enough distance they couldn’t do any real harm, only swarms passing through.

Joel still hasn’t initiated any touch with you since that day, but his actions are increasingly more intimate despite his body language around you—though, that doesn’t mean he stops you.

Maybe it was how he justified his own righteousness, that he was absolving himself of the guilt that he had knowingly allowed you to attach yourself to him, almost selfishly.

With Ellie’s growing independence becoming more and more obvious, Joel leans toward your odd connection and the ease it brings to his routine.

You’re shivering over a cup of coffee one morning despite your layers and blanket wrapped around your shoulders, the chill making your bones ache.

“You can sleep up here, you know,” Joel tells you, “the couch is comfortable, s’close to the fire, too.”

You shrug nonchalantly, sipping softly at the strong brew.

“Sleep up here,” he tries again, a command, your hesitation curling around the steaming cup as your eyes connect, nodding hesitantly.

His mug scuffs the counter as his fingers curl around the ceramic, his hip settling into the edge as he leans into the surface and you meet him with an honest gaze.

“Are you only agreeing because I’m tellin’ you to?”

Sheepishly, you nod.

Joel doesn’t harp on it, though. It was a small battle won, less worry of you catching frostbite or a cold down in the basement, your presence more apparent as you move into the neutral living space, there when he wakes and when he retires for the night, quiet and somber.

Then, there was an instance with the shower that became routine.

Your skin caked with dirt and re-opened cuts crusted with days old blood, a particularly rough run-in with a group of infected that Joel had dealt with mostly, you trailing close behind and taking out the few stragglers.

Joel always opted for privacy anymore—save the moment at the lodge when you had shed your blood stained clothes and Joel had to make sure none of it was your own, but your body was exhausted as was your mind, losing your footing as you stumbled into the sink and made a soft noise that Joel’s never heard before.

He’s never heard anything from you, really.

Only your breathing, heavier in moments of anxiety or despair, but soft as you slept.

You were hunched over the tub and half-dressed, your head pounding as the blood rushed there, eyes squeezing shut as you bit at the inside of your cheek and Joel’s presence is there, but far, hovering near the door as he just needed eyes on you to confirm you weren’t hurt.

As the door closes and you’re pushing back to your feet, you yank it back with a similar strength and Joel watches your hand reach for him, curling in the fabric of his shirt as you silently plead for him to come closer.

Help me, your eyes plead.

Quietly, you guide the shirt over his head and his mind finally catches up, reaching behind you as he turns the water on until the bathroom was smothered with steam, his eyes wondering anywhere but you as you both stepped in naked under the stream, guided by Joel to turn away as he washed you in silence, careful and methodical, leaning into his touch as his fingers curl around the back of your neck to wash your hair.

It happens once or twice again, based around the frequency of patrols and whenever the house was empty and though Joel is hesitant to your touch, eventually he gives in, eyes usually closed as you face him, hands tugging through his dirtied hair and over his chest, a low rumble as your fingers curl a little too low, grazing over the curve of his ass before his fingers catch your wrist and his eyes pry open, shaking his head.

Eventually, his resolve fades.

He tries, but your persistence is steadfast, growing needful to his proximity in every facet of your life and the kisses are shy at first, gentle presses to his shoulder or arm, occasionally over his chest or neck, his hands hovering but never touching without necessity.

He doesn’t like to talk, either. But, he became familiar with the scar on your lower abdomen, just above your pelvis and thick, the skin clearly marred but not like the others on your body.

You always guide his hand away out of discomfort, unsure how to explain without using words.

Though, given what you’ve told him and the behaviors you’ve exhibited, Joel can make a guess.

He blurts it out one night as you shower until the water grows cold.

“They take something from you?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

You nod slightly, hands curving over his shoulders to dig into the muscle and knead, his eyes downturned and dark, intimidating as always.

The doctors performed a salpingectomy on many, including you, unsafe and at risk of death given the environment and lack of understanding, there was no telling what kind of damage they had done, but the most important part was that reproduction was null, some sick and twisted belief to keep women obedient and available.

You don’t remember much, but it was years ago.

Your face heats as you mimic a pregnant belly, ignoring how his hand guides over your breast with the soapy rag as you lock eyes with him, shaking your head.

His face twitches emotionlessly, nostrils flaring, “I’m sorry,” and he means it.

Joel remembers the harsh accusation he’d thrown at you, assuming your motives without understanding or knowing, but this—it gives him perspective.

–

A few hours later, you wake from a night terror.

It was dark, pitch black and quiet, but you couldn’t move.

Your mouth opens to scream but nothing comes out, thrashing against invisible bindings until you come to, Joel’s hands locked around your shoulders to keep you still, shaking you back to reality.

“Hey, hey,” his voice is an instant drug that soothes, eyes ripping open and searching frantically until they land on his face, “breathe, kid—you’re here, not there,”

Joel knew—of course he did.

He stays until you calm, pushing up on your hands to sit up and reaching for his arm as he stands, repeating the same gesture in his palm that he’s come to understand, crystal clear.

Stay, you gesture.

“Okay,” he agrees quietly, but you’re pulling him closer, fingers curling against his sides and Joel shakes his head, giving you some resistance, “nono—ain’t enough room for that, alright?”

Your grip tightens, begging.

Joel exhales through his nose in defeat, his hands twitching slightly where they still hold you.

He doesn’t even need to ask, your footsteps following closely behind his own as he turns, padding back toward his room down the hall, slipping into his bed and under the sheets without a word, the weight of him next to you enough to settle your anxiety.

The second time you crawl into his bed, it’s after another nightmare.

He doesn’t say anything—just lets out a tired sigh and shifts over, leaving space for you. You don’t touch him, not at first. Just tuck yourself into the blankets, facing away, the tension in your body easing just enough for sleep to take hold.

Then, it happens again. And again.

Every night, the same thing.

You slip in, quiet as ever, and Joel tells himself it’s fine. That he can keep his distance.

But, you always end up entangled by the time you wake.

Your cheek pressed into his chest. His arm curled protectively around your waist.

His breath in your hair.

Him, around you.

Joel knows he should stop this.

He should tell you to stay in your own damn bed.

That it ain't right.

That he can’t be what you need him to be.

One night, he’s not asleep when you slip into his bed.

He feels the mattress dip, the hesitant pause before you settle in beside him, close but not touching. Joel keeps his eyes shut, breath steady, pretending he doesn’t notice.

But, then your fingers ghost over his wrist, then around his waist, your knee shifting between his thighs as you curl into him and nuzzle against his neck, lips pressing into his pulse point.

He stiffens. Feels you hesitate, then try again, pressing a kiss into the sensitive skin of his neck.

"Kid," he mutters, voice low, warning.

He can feel the neediness in your touch, eyes flicking up shyly to look at him as he bows his head to look down at you.

"You do everything I tell you to," he murmurs, and he’s right—voice rough with sleep. "If I told you to go back to your own bed, would you listen?"

Silence.

Then, your fingers tighten slightly where they’re wrapped around him. A slow shake of your head to answer his question and a sigh from him that follows, it shakes the room.

It’s defeat.

Your lips brush against his jaw first, tentative, testing. When he doesn’t stop you, you press again, slower this time. Then lower, over the rough stubble of his throat.

Joel lets out a slow, shuddering breath. His hand finds your waist, fingers curling tight before forcing himself to loosen his grip.

His fingers twitch against your waist, the calloused pads pressing firm into the soft give of your skin. His breath is heavy, slow, controlled—because he has to be.

“Shouldn’t be doin’ this,” he says, but it’s weak, “can’t be.”

A hollow protest.

You don’t say anything, just tilt your head, lips tracing along his pulse, feeling it thrum beneath your mouth, slow and steady. He’s always so calm, a constant beat that never skipped or faltered.

He exhales sharply, his grip tightening. “Christ,” he breathes, head tipping forward until his forehead brushes against yours. “You don’t listen worth a damn, do you?”

You shake your head again, more deliberate this time.

His eyes flick to yours, dark and searching, like he’s looking for something—one last excuse to push you away.

But there’s nothing—he’s guilty for the need of this too.

And then you’re pulling him down, lips pressing against his, soft but insistent, and any last restraint he had left crumbles in an instant.

Joel groans against your mouth, deep and wrecked, his hands still hesitant to touch, only allowing it as you initiate, dragging his hand to your waist and down, under your thigh until he’s hiking your leg over his hip.

His lips part, teeth grazing your bottom lip before he kisses you again, harder, deeper, like he needs this just as much as you do. Like he’s just as desperate for it.

He is.

Joel pulls you closer, his hands gripping at your waist. His lips are slow at first, searching, but when you whimper against his mouth, something inside him snaps. It’s a sound he hasn’t heard, the first he’s ever heard, surprising yourself as the sound slips out, throat immediately collapsing on itself in fear, awaiting the hands that wrap tight around your throat and suffocate.

Instead, his hand fists in the fabric of your shorts, curling around your hip as your core drags over his groin, his quickly hardening cock pressing against the inside of your thigh.

"You don’t even think twice, do you?" he rasps against your lips, his breath warm and unsteady. "Just do whatever the hell I tell you without arguing?”

You nod, fingers threading into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan. You nod, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. With your muteness, it meant Joel’s eyes had to be on you, constantly waiting and searching for communication.

It made you feel special, the way he was attentive to you at all times.

Your thumb drags over his lip as you pause for a moment, letting the weight of his words sink in.

His eyes darken, something unreadable flickers across his face, and his hands still for a moment too, resting heavy on the bare skin of your leg.

“That ain’t always a good thing,” he tell you, but he’s already leaning back in, following the push into his shoulder as you raise your leg over his abdomen to straddle him, pressing him into the mattress as you grind down into him.

Somehow you know he’ll follow, that he won’t resist.

He’s guilty, too—doesn’t ever think twice when it comes to you. That’s what eats at him the most—how easily you give in to each other. How willingly.

Your hands skim down his chest, nails scratching lightly over the thick hair there, down to his stomach, lower—until he catches your wrist, shaking his head.

"Slow down," he murmurs, voice strained, rough around the edges as your hips moving at a leisurely pace, glancing down to admire the thickness of his shaft as the fabric hugged around him, leaving no part of him to imagination, the thick trail of hair that disappeared beyond his waistband, "You don't gotta—"

You shake your head, mouth hung open in silence as your eyes fall shut.

A groan rumbles low in his chest as he lets go of you, hands falling to his side as lets you use him, slowly realizing what this moment was for you.

A reclamation of your own pleasure and autonomy, using his body for release that did nothing to benefit him outside of the wonder that bloomed into his features as you move more frantic, fabric bunching up higher at your hips as you chase your high, working toward the crest of your orgasm that you just couldn’t reach, face scrunching up in annoyance as you start to hit as his chest with soft blows, seemingly frustrated.

Joel knows what you need, skin against skin, flush connection.

You look up at him with a pout that pleads, screaming out.

And this time, he doesn’t stop you as you shift, a fury of limbs as you remove your shorts with impatience, tossing them to the floor as you tug at his sweats, his cock bobbing heavy and free, just far enough down his thighs that you can see how his balls tighten at your touch, taking a moment to admire him this way, his face contorted into something unreadable as your thumb slides over his slit, leaking with precum and his tip a blushed red.

Joel lets out a strangled breath, his head tilting back against the pillow as your fingers wrap around him, slow and deliberate, dragging over the length of him with just enough pressure to make his stomach tense.

He breathes slowly, his hands twitching at his sides, like he’s resisting the urge to touch you.

To guide you. Teach you.

But he won’t—he lets you take what you need, lets you move at your own pace.

You shift upwards, lining yourself up with him, the heat of your slick cunt teasing against his length, dragging up and down as you shudder at the feeling, the head of his cock sliding against your clit, the shlick of your bodies as they move against each other.

His jaw clenches, muscles taut as he watches.

Your fingers curl against his skin, nails pressing into him as you take all of him, inch by inch.

He finds himself waiting for a sound, silently begging for it, curious if you would sound as wrecked as he did, grunting when you’re seated fully, the burn mixing with pleasure so intense it makes your head fall forward.

Joel’s breath stutters. His hands find your waist with your guidance, squeezing tight, like this was your attempt in trying to get him to ground himself too. He doesn’t move, doesn’t thrust up into you—just lets you adjust, lets you take him however you want.

“Fuck,” he grunts, voice wrecked. “You feel that?” You nod, biting your lip, rolling your hips experimentally. A pleasurable ache growing in your gut. He groans, low and guttural, his fingers digging into your flesh. “That’s it,” he breathes. “Take what you need.”

And you do.

You start slow, your hands braced against his chest, feeling the taut muscle beneath your palms as you roll your hips, testing, searching for something you’re not sure of. The stretch is deep, almost too much, but it’s what you want—what you need.

Joel’s hands grip your waist, like he’s holding himself back, like if he lets go, he’ll take over.

But he doesn’t. He just watches, dark eyes hooded, jaw tight as you find your rhythm.

He exhales through gritted teeth, watching the way you move, the way your body trembles every time you take him deeper, your breasts shifting under your shirt as you bounce, finding himself speaking before the words filter, like his pleasure has a mind of its own.

"You always listen so well, don’t you?"

Your breath hitches at the praise, the smallest whimper slipping from your lips, and Joel's fingers tighten on your hips, not guiding you, but steadying you, anchoring you to him. You’ve never made sounds like this before, not even by accident.

With him, the fear of retaliation has begun to ease. Each noise that slips isn’t met with anger or rage, but astonishment, eyes widening in wonder.

“You like that?” he asks, voice rough, like it’s been dragged down a gravel road, "Doin’ what you’re told?"

You nod frantically, grinding down harder, desperate for more.

For him, you think. Only for him.

Give me safety. I’ll give you everything.

He curses under his breath, his restraint fraying at the edges. "Fuck—look at you," he groans, his fingers digging into your flesh now, a warning, his own control slipping. "Takin’ me so fuckin’ good."

A shudder runs through you at his words, your walls fluttering around him, making him hiss.

"Keep goin'," he murmurs, lifting up slightly as he settles on an elbow, the thumb of his free hand stroking your skin, the tension in his body betraying how much effort it takes to stay still, “I feel ya, how bad you need it,”

Your fingers reach for him, prying his grip from your waist and guiding his hands up, over your body, pressing them against your breasts, your stomach, anywhere you can, until he gets it—until he stops holding back. He rises to meet you, arms wrapping around your waist similar to how you had cornered him on the couch in the basement, but the implication is different.

A deep, guttural groan escapes him, and then his hands are moving on their own, sliding down to grip your ass, to spread you wider as he thrusts up into you, slow but deep, pushing a broken moan from your throat.

"Yeah?" he rasps in surprise, voice strained. "Is that what you wanted?"

You nod helplessly, nails scraping over his chest as you try to keep up with his pace, but Joel doesn’t let you. He takes over now, fucking up into you with long, deliberate strokes, each one dragging a whimper from your lips.

More sounds, he needed more sounds.

"You gotta tell me," he pleads, his grip almost bruising now. "I need to hear it."

You open your mouth, but all that comes out is a breathy gasp, your head falling forward against his shoulder, and Joel growls, wrapping the arm around your back tight to keep you pressed against him.

"Say it," he demands, voice thick with need as he looks up at you, "Tell me what you need. I know you can—you’re doin’ so good," It was such a stark contrast, the praise.

Your lips part, voice shaky, barely above a whisper and broken, your voice foreign to your ears as it leaves your mouth

"You."

Joel freezes beneath you, stilling for half a second, something unreadable flickering across his face before it’s gone, replaced with something darker, something deeper.

He wants to fucking ruin you and build you back up watching as the tears form in your eyes, knowing what the action meant, the energy and bravery it took, he doesn’t push it aside.

His chest rises sharply against yours, breath stalling like he’s not sure he heard right. His fingers twitch against your skin, gripping tighter, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.

You feel the weight of it, the shift in the air.

His pulse hammers against your palm where you press against his throat, his body locked beneath you like the words had cut him deeper than any knife ever could.

Your voice.

You’ve never spoken before.

Not to him. Not to anyone.

And now, with your body wrapped around him, shaking, desperate, it’s him you ask for.

Him you need.

His name is on the tip of your tongue, but you don’t say it.

You just press closer, urging him with slow rolls of your hips, hoping he understands, hoping he doesn’t make you say it again—because you don’t think you can.

And then, Joel moves.

Slowly. Carefully.

His hands roam, sweeping over your back, your waist, fingertips ghosting over the curve of your ribs like he’s memorizing you, feeling you breathe. His touch is softer now, reverent, as if the moment itself has changed, evolved into something neither of you expected.

You nod to an unasked question, pressing your lips against his cheek, his jaw, anywhere you can reach, trying to coax him back, trying to keep the moment from slipping away.

His hips snap up, slow but deep, dragging a soft, broken moan from your throat that makes his grip tighten. A noise barely audible.

"That’s it," he breathes, his voice thick with something you can’t explain. His hands guide you now, steady but unrelenting, moving you with him, driving deeper, harder, every roll of your hips pulling another sound from your lips, another shudder from your body.

He drinks in every noise, every gasp, every trembling sigh like it’s the most precious thing in the world. Collecting them all and committing them to memory.

"Keep talkin’ to me," he mutters, voice ragged, desperate. "Let me hear you."

But, you can’t.

The pleasure is too much, coiling tight, pulling you under, and all you can do is cling to him, gasping against his throat as your body starts to shake through your orgasm. The energy it takes to speak, the courage bleeding you dry. You’d lost your voice again.

Joel feels it—your unraveling, your breaking, the way your walls flutter around him—and it undoes him completely. Your hands cradle your face, tilting his head back so you can see him, his dark eyes burning into yours as he thrusts up hard as he spills inside of you, not entirely thinking as he does it.

"That’s it, baby," he praises, “Keep squeezin’ me, I’m right here,”

And for a long moment, neither of you move.

The only sound is his ragged breaths, the pounding of your heart.

His lips brush your collarbone, his breath warm against your skin.

"You," he murmurs to you, soft, like it means something to him too.

Maybe it does, you weren’t sure.

–

He reaches you this way, through connection and touch.

Sex or something similar, the intensity of the moment clouding your thoughts and relaxing your worry, and his too.

It was a give and take with each other, distracting Joel from his constant stream of troubling thoughts and worries, still never approaching you—it was always under your guidance.

Maybe it’s selfish. Maybe it’s wrong. But every time your hands find him, every time you press yourself into his space, silently asking for comfort, for connection, he gives in.

The moment you touch him, the constant, gnawing dread in his mind quiets.

Just for a little while. And selfishly, he needs it.

Your fingers trail up his chest, light, uncertain, tracing the scars like a map. Joel watches, his breath slow and steady, his muscles tense beneath your touch—but he doesn’t stop you.

He never does.

You cornered him in the kitchen this particular night, his hands curled over the edge of the sink with his head hung, chest heaving like he had just woken up from his own nightmare, sneaking out of bed but not quite enough that you wouldn’t notice.

When you press your lips against his skin, soft and searching, he exhales like he’s been holding it in for too long.

Like you were the answer.

"You sure?" he asks, his voice rough, low, but there’s no demand in it.

No expectation.

Only restraint.

He’s not sure how much longer he can hold back, between the constant time spent together and the nights spent inside of you, allowing your greediness to take hold.

He pushed his own aside, stuffed until it was boiling over.

You nod, and that’s all it takes.

His hands find your waist, pulling you against him, guiding you the way you he needs, the way he knows you need too, his grip firm, like he’s holding something fragile—something breakable.

That's what this was, after all.

A delicate balance. A silent understanding.

You give each other this, and in return, he gives you himself, as do you—fully, completely, no barriers, no walls.

When he moves it is slow and deliberate, when his mouth finds your throat and his fingers grip your neck, guiding you against and up on the counter, fingers spreading underneath your top before it’s torn over your head, it was all the same. His palms curve around your neck, pulling you toward him as his lips capture yours in a surprisingly tender kiss, lips parting immediately as his tongue licks along your own, mirroring his touch as you spread your legs to make room for him.

You don’t need anything else but this.

Only this.

Only him.

Only you.

But, there’s that gnawing in Joel’s chest that makes him out to be the monster he knows he can be, taking advantage of your trauma and pushing your limits, using you like you’ve been used before.

He’s no better, he thinks.

If anything, he’s worse.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #pedro pascal #joel miller smut #tlou fic #the last of us #the last of us fic #joel miller fanfic #my writing #fic: strangers

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nineteenninety-six · 1 month ago

Note

Maybe Robby's daughter is dating someone from Er? I imagine Robby being a jealous father. It's all a funny situation, haha.

Pairings: Frank Langdon x Reader, Michael Robinavitch x daughter!reader

AN: It's short, I apologise.

Your giggles are muffled against Frank’s lips as he tries his hardest to make the most out of the five minutes you had together.

Your relationship was a secret one, kept between only the two of you, mostly out of Frank’s fear of your father’s reaction and despite your attempts to assure him that your father will be relatively fine with it, Frank feared his mentor's reaction. So aside from dates that were held far from the hospital and the chance of bumping into one of his colleagues being decreased, you had these little chance moments.

You had initially only come to the hospital to drop some things off for your father but he was busy with a patient- but Frank was free and so he dragged you into a supply closet and pulled you into a kiss.

“We’re gonna get caught” You murmur through kisses.

Frank pulled away enough so that you could see him roll his eyes, “It’s been almost a year and we haven’t got caught, that’s not going to change now”

“That’s because we’ve never been kissing in the supply closet at the hospital” You remind him, “Quite literally anyone can walk in here.”

“And who’s gonna tell?” Frank shrugs, “The only person currently here who might be Dana and all I have to do is beg a little and she won't say anything.”

You stare at him for a moment before conceding with a nod, “Okay…you’re right”

“Of course I am” Frank winks at you before his hands cup your face and pull you into another kiss.

You lose track of time while you’re in the closet with Frank but it couldn’t have been longer than five minutes when the door is open, spilling white artificial light on both of them.

“Frank? Why are you-what the hell?!” Your father freezes in his steps, eyes wide as he catches you.

As you and Frank stare wide eyed at your father, he hurriedly closes the door behind him, trapping all three of you in the cramped supply closet.

“Robby…” Frank attempts to speak and explain but a heavy glare from your dad makes him retreat into his shell.

“Dad…” This time you attempt to speak, hoping that your dad would be softer with you and he is but it just means that his glare is less angry.

“What the hell did I just walk into?” Your dad crosses his arms as he looks at you and Frank for answers, “Does anyone want to answer?”

You and Frank exchange looks before you step forward figuring it would be better if you spoke since your dad was always soft with you.

“Frank and I…we’ve been seeing each other for a while now-“

“How long is ‘a while’?” Your dad interrupts.

You hesitate before you answer “…A year”

You’re pretty sure your dads eyebrows disappear into his hairline after he hears your answer.

“This has been going on for a year and what…you didn’t think it was important to tell me?”

“I was worried about your reaction” You admit, “Frank is your senior resident and I know it would complicate things.”

“Why do you think it’ll complicate things?”

You roll your eyes at your dad playing dumb, “Oh come on. You get weird with every guy I date. You act cold and standoffish and if you do that to Frank then it just doesn’t affect us! It affects everyone at the hospital if you get mean with him.”

“I can be professional” Your dad defends himself.

“Sure but let’s not act as if you wouldn’t make it awkward”

Your dad doesn’t even attempt to look ashamed as he shrugs.

“I do really love your daughter, Dr Robby” Frank speaks up as he steps forward, “And I apologise for uh-keeping it a secret.”

Your father stares at him silently for a moment before he turns back to you, "You chose Langdon, out of everyone?"

Frank makes an offended noise behind you at your fathers words.

"Would you prefer I dated Jack?" You ask, knowing your father's close relationship with Dr Abbot.

A frown forms on your fathers face at your words, realising that you were right.

"Can I speak to Frank alone?"

At those words, Frank's hand darts out and wraps around your arm, squeezing it in panic as he stares at you with wide eyes, silently begging you not to leave him alone with your father.

"Sure" You chirp with a smile.

It takes a few tugs to free yourself from Frank's hold and the last thing you see before you close the supply closet door behind you as you leave is Frank's panicked and wide gaze as it flickered between you and your dad.

#frank langdon x reader #michael robinavitch x reader #daughter reader #daughter!reader #the pitt #the pitt x reader #dr robby #dr robinavitch #frank langdon #michael robinavitch

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witherby · 5 months ago

Note

HI HI. SAME ANON :33anon here!!!

omg???? jfc christ? that was so good im shaking my cup for more 😭 i think the fact my ask is being used as a power shower is silly... i love it keep up the good work!

(side note ive done metamorphosis may i be 🎆anon.... i will be yapping at you on a later date o7)

Welcome to the club 🎆 I am smooching ur cheek

Hahaha...wouldn't it be so silly....if I used your ask again.....to post the second part hahahaha.....isn't that the silliest idea hahahaha.........

The Littlest Wayne: Uncertain Home

(Part 2 of 2)

Masterlist is Here!

"Let me make sure I've got this straight."

Everyone stiffens in their seats. When Batman says things like that, it means he is very, very close to yelling. Batman never yells unless his patience has reached its limit, his emotional threshold has bubbled over, or he hasn't slept in over six consecutive days. Given his usual activities, it could very well be a combination of the three, and the current situation is not helping.

"You —" he points a gauntleted finger at Manhunter, "— realized my child was showing signs of developing their powers six weeks ago, and told no one."

He turns to Superman and Diana next, talking through clenched teeth.

"And then you two, today, realized the same thing, indirectly told them they would no longer have a place in my home, and then they vanished under your cape."

He places his hands on the meeting table. Inhales. Exhales.

"No one attempted to reach out and express their concerns to me, the father, in either incident."

He slams his fists on the table. The wood splinters under the impact. Everyone flinches with it.

"AND NOW MY CHILD IS MISSING! DID I FORGET ANYTHING? DID I LEAVE ANYTHING OUT!?"

The silence afterwards is deafening. Bruce yanks his cowl off and slams it to the floor, running his hands through his hair.

"The Watchtower is under lockdown until further notice. We do not leave until either I find my kid, or I figure out how to track them down."

"Batman," the Flash chimes in, "I feel for you. This is a bad situation, but we can't all stay here; I have to —"

Bruce rounds the table and crowds Barry into his seat with near-inhuman speed. His eyes are wide and wild and his teeth are bared.

"We do not leave until I find them."

The lights briefly turn red and an automated voice comes over the intercom, alerting them that lockdown protocols have initiated. The heroes watch as blast shields cover the windows and the Zeta tubes deactivate, effectively blocking their only ways out.

Green Lantern re-enters the room from the observation deck with a determined expression.

"Checked the monitors and surrounding galaxy. Skies are clear, and earth-side we should be fine for at least a couple hours, so I went ahead and triggered the protocol."

"Hal!" Barry protests. "C'mon, I'm gonna be late to work again! It's not as easy for some of us to maintain our civilian covers, you know!"

"Well, then it sounds like we gotta find our missing Mouse fast."

Bruce presses a button on his gauntlet and pulls a small ball out of it, rolling it to the center of the table. A hologram screen pops up and shows a picture of you sitting in Tim's lap and enthusiastically looking at something on his computer with him. To the right of the image, a wall of text begins to appear, detailing observations made about your growth, health, and development of your powers.

"You already knew," Diana mutters, like the words have been punched out of her. Clark holds his head in his hands.

"Why didn't you tell us then, huh?" Oliver frowns. "Didn't think we could benefit from that information?"

"My child, my discretion," Bruce hisses. That shuts Ollie right back up. "This is everything I've been able to passively observe about their ability. They can latch onto any shadows in their immediate vicinity, up to a range of approximately one hundred feet, and until now has only used them for pathfinding, like solving puzzles or looking for small objects. What just happened today with Superman's cape is the first discovered instance of them being able to traverse into darkness itself."

"That's why the Watchtower is locked down," J'onn realizes. "If they can only travel so far with the shadows, chances are high that they're still in here."

"Yes."

"How do we pull them out if we find them?" Arthur speaks up, arms crossed. "Last I checked, no one else has shadow powers."

"Do what you can without risking injury to them or yourselves. If you can talk them out, that will be the ideal tactic. Any more questions?" Bruce waits a few seconds for anyone to speak up, then dismisses the holo-screen and rises to his full height. "Then everyone fan out, cast some shadows, and get to work."

Arthur is having no luck. He checks the furniture that was already casting shadows, like tables and beds and appliances, to no avail. Calling to you and feeling around those dark spaces isn't gonna get him anywhere.

Clark and Diana had picked up his cape and hunkered down under the fabric, gingerly asking you to please come out, Uncle Clark and Auntie Di are very sorry they implied what they did, they never meant to scare you, please please please come back.

Barry is zipping around the whole tower, checking high spaces and low, calling for you with a mixture of urgency and concern.

Ollie uses his body to cast a shadow under the fluorescent lighting and Dinah crouches in the space of it, patting the ground gently and urging you to appear. She insists everyone is worried and looking for you because they want you to be safe.

Bruce is frantic. He's visually very composed, but Hal can see the tremble in his hands as he slowly and methodically checks every single shadow he can find or create for signs of you.

"Bruce," Hal mutters, watching him check his cape for the fifteenth time in just as many minutes. "Bruce, sit down and breathe for a bit."

"Don't mention breathing," Bruce snaps. "This is unprecedented. I'm working with zero useful information and three of my teammates contributed to this situation in the first place. Can they just exist in darkness forever, or is there a limit before they get spit back out? Can they even get back out? Is there oxygen wherever they are? Are they safe or in any kind of distress? If you don't have answers to these questions or haven't found them yet, I don't want you talking to me."

He turns to check his cape again and almost runs right into J'onn.

"There was a shadow moving in the training room," he noted. "When I approached to investigate, it melted away. I found it important to tell you that Flittermouse seems to be active and uninjured judging by the ease in which that shadow moved."

The Manhunter leaves them again, phasing through the walls to continue searching for you. Bruce pulls his gloves off and rubs his face, sighing.

"Hal."

"I forgive you," comes the immediate reply. Hal places a hand on Bruce's back and offers him a thin smile. "You're a dad who's scared for your four-year-old kid. I think you're entitled to a little bit of bitchiness."

Bruce hums.

"Just a little bit, though. Like fifteen percent more bitch than your baseline. Which is to say, if you talk to me like that again I'm going to make a giant cartoon hammer and beat you to death with it."

Both men hear you giggle. Their heads whip around in the direction of the sound, and find a small, child-shaped shadow moulded into the corner. It's a strange thing, to look at a shadow with no source. It would be frightening if it wasn't you.

"Mouse?" Bruce immediately calls, stepping towards you. The giggling stops and the shadow shrinks. He crouches down, palms extended. "No no no! Don't go, don't go anywhere, please. Can I talk to you?"

You don't respond. Bruce isn't entirely sure if you can, in your current form. You haven't run away yet, however, so he inches just a bit closer.

"I'm...there's...." He stops and starts, searching for the best words to use. "Mouse, there was a misunderstanding. No one is making you leave. I'm not going to give you up or send you away, I promise."

"...m e t a h u m a n..." you mutter. Both Bruce and Hal shiver. It sounds like darkness itself whispering directly into their ears, faint and echoing and all-encompassing.

"Yes, that's what people with skills like yours are called," he confirms.

Your shadow doesn't move for a while. Bruce shuffles closer, palms extended, and is about to ask you to come out, but then your entire form wobbles and starts shrinking even more.

"...n o m e t a s i n G o t h a m..." you say, and the sadness in your voice is so potent Hal has to brace himself against the wall.

"No!" Bruce says, pressing his palm against the wall just a second too late. You dissolve and disappear. "That's not — ffffffuck."

He presses his forehead to the wall and closes his eyes, taking slow, deep breaths to avoid screaming. It takes a while.

"They're not going to talk to me," he eventually says. "They're scared of me, of that damned rule I —"

He cuts himself off and rubs a hand down his face.

"You have to do it."

"Me? Specifically?" Hal asks.

"You're their favorite uncle." Bruce pushes himself off the floor and rests his hand on Hal's forearm. "They adore you. They ask when you're going to visit Gotham again all the time. If anybody's gonna get them to understand that they're not in any trouble or danger of losing their family because of something I did, it's gonna be you."

"Whoa. No pressure," Hal says. He knows it's true though — you absolutely adore Hal, and the feeling is mutual. You feel almost like his own kid. He's just as scared as Bruce is about your current situation. "Okay...alright, I got this. Listen, tell the others that Mouse probably isn't gonna come out for 'em. Go hang out in the meeting room and gimme an hour alone. I'll bring them back."

Bruce nods, but he seems hesitant to leave the part of the hall where they spotted your shadow. Hal gives him a small nudge and he eventually turns away, his boots clocking softly against the floor.

Hal inhales slowly, holds it, then exhales for a count of ten.

He's got this.

He does not have this. Hal walked into an empty corridor and flicked all the lights off, choosing to sit in the darkness and try calling out to you for almost thirty minutes. There's been no luck.

He sighs and uses his ring to construct a small bear, illuminating the immediate space around him in green, and makes it walk around.

"Y'know you used to love playing with my constructs," he murmurs. "We had this game I made up, where you would chase after whatever toy I made as fast as you could and try to catch it. I let you win a lot."

He makes a construct of you as a much smaller infant, not yet able to walk, crawling eagerly after the bear.

"You'd grab the little toy and hug it tight, and then come show me you got it. And I'd scoop you up and give you a cookie before we did it all again. We had to really tone down the cookie part because you got sick one time. Bruce made me sleep on the floor for a week. Not even one of the million couches in the manor. The floor. It was the worst."

He hears the surrounding darkness around him giggle. Hal leans against the wall and heaves a large, relieved sigh.

"Hey, kid," he says softly. "S'good to hear you."

You don't respond. He tries not to feel discouraged, instead seizing the opportunity presented.

"I'm not gonna ask you to come out, but if you don't mind...I'm kinda lonely. D'you think we could play that game again?"

Hal vanishes the constructs and makes a new one — a small, stuffed bat toy. He makes it flap its little wings and flop in circles.

"Think you can catch it? This one's a bit feisty."

Nothing happens for a few seconds. Hal feels himself growing nervous, and he's about to abandon the idea and suggest something else, but then the bat just vanishes. The construct is sucked up into the shadows, like darkness itself came up and hugged it into the void. A knot in his chest comes undone.

"That," he says, "was awesome. Okay, here's another one. Even feistier than the last."

This goes on for a while. Hal makes something for you to chase, you emerge from the dark just long enough to pull it in with you, and the process is rinse and repeat. Eventually, though, you come out of the shadows more and more, staying out of it longer and longer to chase around the conjured toys, until you're just tossing them into the shadows with gleeful little cheers.

"Got it!" You cry, jumping up to reach another one, this time shaped like an owl. You're panting from exertion and grinning widely at Hal, just standing and hugging it to your chest. "I win?"

"You win again," Hal agrees, expression painfully fond. He adores you wholeheartedly. "C'mere and get a victory hug, kid. Don't have any cookies on me, but we'll do a raincheck on that."

You go to him easily, practically collapsing in his lap, and rest your head against his chest while you idly pet the glowing owl toy. The area is bathed in dim green, enough to see each other without strain but still casting more than enough shadows for you to hide in again if you wanted.

"Fantastic job," Hal murmurs, kissing the top of your head. You nuzzle into his chest even more, hiding your face. "We definitely have to do that again some time. Don't you think?"

You start to nod, but the motion is jerky. You hesitate, then shrug, hugging the toy tighter.

"Oh, Mousey," he says, running his fingers through your hair. "You didn't think your powers would make Uncle Hal stop wanting to play with you, did ya?"

You slowly nod again, curling in on yourself.

"Well, that's just plain wrong. I love you, honey. Everybody loves you, y'know? You're smart, and adorable, and soooo much fun to be around," Hal insists, giving you a quick squeeze. Your mouth twitches like you're trying not to smile. "And it's gonna be way more fun now that you have cool shadow powers! Hide and seek might get a little challenging, but we'll make it work."

"...and Daddy?" You mutter. "Will he...want to play, too?"

"I know Daddy would love to play any game you wanted," Hal swore. "Daddy loves you more than anything in the whole wide world. And you know what else?"

"What?" You ask, lifting your head. You look at him with wide eyes and furrowed brows, hanging onto his every word.

"Sometimes Daddy makes mistakes. Like creating dumb rules he shoulda broke years ago."

You look away, snuggling further into Hal.

"What if...Daddy don't wanna break the rule?" You whisper.

Hal curls around you almost protectively, kissing your head again.

"Then he's a big, smelly dummy, and I'll take care of you instead," he promises. "You can live at my house, and I'll still bring you to the Watchtower to hang out with everyone and play games, and maybe, if you're extra good, I'll take you on vacation in outer space. I'll show you things you've never seen, like planets with four moons, and people as tall as skyscrapers, and space food that turns your hair all different colors. It'll explode your tiny head!"

"Nooo!" You giggle, grinning. "I don't want a exploded head!"

"Hmm...you drive a hard bargain kid," Hal says. "Okay, I won't give you explodey-head food. But only because you said so."

He lets you get your laughter out, then gently pats your back to regain your attention.

"I know you're very scared," he says, "but I promise this doesn't change the fact that you are so, so incredibly loved. I bet if you gave the others a chance, they'd be more than willing to prove it. Especially your dad."

You tighten your grip on the owl in your arms, bottom lip wobbling for a moment.

"Could you give him a chance, Mouse?" Hal asks. "If you don't want to, that's fine. We can work an arrangement out and always try again a different day. But I know he would be really, really excited to see you again."

You stare at Hal, face tight in contemplation. He waits patiently, continuing to rub small circles in your back.

His patience is rewarded when you bury your face in his chest again, nodding.

"Want daddy," you whisper. Hal settles you more securely in his arms and immediately rises to his feet, relishing the burst of satisfaction and relief in his chest.

He takes you back into the meeting room. Bruce immediately stands up from the table when he spots you curled up in Hal's embrace, hands twitching like he wants to hold you himself.

He moves with all the carefulness of someone approaching a wild animal. His face is uncharacteristically open, broadcasting his worry for you and relief that you're unharmed.

"Hi, sweet pea," Bruce mutters, silk-soft, and that's all it takes to make you start sobbing and reach for him. Your father doesn't hesitate, sweeping you up and giving assurance after assurance that you are just as treasured and loved as you've always been, that he is so happy to be your dad, that you belong in Gotham and that will never change no matter what.

The lockdown gets lifted from the Watchtower. Several heroes, after conveying their relief and gratitude over your safety, take their leave. Diana and Clark stay behind to apologize profusely, both to you and Bruce, for implying that you would ever be unwelcome in your own home just for being different. It's easy for you to forgive them, but Bruce is grinding his jaw a bit, so they excuse themselves for the night and take their leave.

"Well." Hal claps his hands together and yawns. "I'm ready for a drink and a bed. What do we say we hit the road, huh? C'mon, B, let's get Flittermouse back home. I've hit my daily quota for adventure."

Bruce nods, walking with you back to the Zeta tubes. You've already nodded off in his arms, drained from your stressful day.

"Thank you, Hal," he says, preparing to warp home. "Come by after the kids are in bed. Let me repay you properly."

"Y'know, normally I'd be all over that," Hal smirks, "but I'm seriously beat. Can I cash my reward in tomorrow?"

Bruce gives him a small smile. "Whenever you want. Come by anyway, if you like. We don't have to do anything."

"Yeah, okay. I'll see you later, then." Hal crosses his arms and relaxes against the corridor wall, smiling down at your dozing form. "You take care. Both of you."

Bruce thanks him again, disappearing in a flash of light. When Hal drops by later that evening, he finds his boyfriend asleep with you in his arms, clinging to his shirt and drooling on his chest as you coast peacefully in Dreamland.

Before joining the cuddle pile, he finds that sitting on the nightstand, written in a combination of pen and crayon, is a contract holding both yours and Bruce's signatures:

The rule against Metahumans in Gotham is hereby null and void forever and ever.

Signed by: Daddy & Mousey

#batfam x reader #littlest wayne au #long post #batlantern #🎆#Uncle Hal is your favorite and that's forever uncontested

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neunnnnnnn · 26 days ago

Text

Meeting a homeless shifter

I was at a local park the other day, having a solo date when a man approached me, I was cautious at first and was gathering my stuff because I didn't want to deal with any negativity that day but he ended up stopping me and telling me that he means no harm and ofc I wasn't going to believe him, but I did have this feeling that he wasn't violent?

Anyway I put my stuff down and he sits across from me and I offer him a burger that I had bought and he refuses it so I'm like "huh? How comes" then he goes on to explain to me that he's vegan........ And I'm like HELL NAUR😭 this has to be satire, so I point blank tell him not to piss me off because I was not in the mood. Then he goes on to explain to me that he's actually not lying, so I ask him how comes?! Cause like...... I didn't want to be rude but cmonnnn😭

He laughs telling me that he was vegan before he was homeless and has maintained it even after. I also tell him that I have been interested in turning vegan for sometime and I had been meditating, which made him light up and he excitingly tells me that he also meditates and does OBE, so I'm like.... OH is he lying or is he actually saying the truth, so I ask him some questions and he indeed does know A LOT about it.

I gather up the courage to ask him about shifting because👀.... Most people that are spiritual don't believe in it. And he says HE KNOWS ABOUT IT! So I'm like there is no way, he knows about it and he's homeless right?😭. Anyway he goes to explain that he's shifted before but he mostly astral projects, so that's where my question comes in....... how are you homeless and you can shift and do obe? He laughs saying that he can understand my confusion and that he has thought about leaving countless of times.

He looked sad for a sec and explains that he's kind off attached to this reality, which confuses me more so I ask him if it's because he's comfortable with his situation and he just shakes his head. So I'm now confused and I ask him what is it that would make him want to continue living like this when he literally has the power to change it.

I could see how ashamed he looked but he opened up explaining that he used to be abusive to his ex wife and was locked up for it and during his time in prison he was literally tormented with guilt and had "attempts" and that's how he actually shifted for the first time. He said after he "attempted" he woke up in another reality where he was a woman and he explained how everything felt extremely real and he even used his 5 senses to make sure it wasn't a lucid dream. After he got out he got the news that his wife passed away which destroyed him completely. So I ask why can't he shift to a reality where you know everything is okay. But he shakes his head saying that he wants to live out this life the way it is and that he doesn't want to run away from the problems that he caused. Atp I'm quiet because I genuinely have nothing to say but it did make me think of me of how I haven't permashifted because I am low-key attached to this reality and I feel like I want to "achieve" something before I actually go. I also shared my experiences with him and he tells me how lucky I am that I discovered it at such a young age and gives me some life advices that I weirdly have always wanted to hear from the people in my life.

It was honestly enlightening talking to him and I felt some kind of relief afterwards, I offered to buy him lunch but he refused saying that he's okay. I also showed him my blog😂 and he smiled saying that he liked it and thanked me for giving him the chance for us to talk.

There are some stuff that we also talked about but I can't remember them 😭

And I am grateful that I did stay to talk to him.

#shiftblr #shifting community #reality shifting #shifting antis dni #astral projection #loa community

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cosmoszyn · 3 months ago

Text

love, again | zayne.

synopsis: fate brings you into an unconventional way of reuniting with the man you used to love in your medical school—in your workplace during the freezing winter night, propelling you to be the most vulnerable you have ever been since losing him.

content: doctor zayne x senior doctor/pediatrician! reader, hurt/comfort, light angst, eventual romance, reunions

word count: 6,295

author's note: first time writing a piece after five years of slump...

cross posted in my ao3

“It’s a surprise seeing you here.”

Those are the first words that Zayne heard in the long, dead of the night. He swallowed thickly, mustering a soft, half-hearted smile, making eye-contact with those familiar eyes.

“I could say the same to you,” he replies following a soft nod to your presence, blinking at the bright overhead lights of the hospital’s reception.

You drink in the sight of your former junior, after years of being apart. Zayne seems to have grown a couple inches taller from the last time you saw him, his ebony hair still styled the same from his medical school days, albeit a bit more sharper now. He is clad in his usual dark coat over his similar toned sweater. He still wears the same deadpanned expression on his face, and yet you notice the reflection behind his glasses; you could see the uncertainty in his eyes.

You decide to shrug it off. “What brings you here, Dr. Zayne?” You ask. And the honorific before his name makes Zayne almost feel his heart break into two, realizing how formal the interaction is.

He opens his mouth to answer, but before he could, a meek voice greeting you formally cuts him off, “Good evening to you too Dr. Zayne,” the nurse slightly bows down to him before turning to you again, “Dr., as per our director’s directives, Dr. Zayne was the one who performed the surgery for our patient in room 325.”

You blink owlishly at the nurse to which she just stares at you curiously at your reaction, “Is that so?” The nurse nodded and you could feel the pace of your heartbeat quickening, both in nervousness and embarrassment. “I see,” you reply, wanting to clutch your chest in an attempt to calm yourself down.

Instead, you turn back your attention to the man you once adored, giving him a warm smile, “I didn’t expect that Akso Hospital would bring the Dr. Zayne to assist us here at Chansia Hospital,” you say, placing both your hands on the pockets of your lab coat.

Zayne lets out a soft exhale as a reply that sounded more like an attempt to chuckle, “Of course. How can I possibly ignore the situation here?”

“Still as tenacious as ever, I see,” you reply. “Nevertheless,” you continue, tucking a hair behind your ear, “We are very grateful that Akso Hospital aided us in this case.”

He merely nods in agreement, boring his eyes into yours. The intensity of his stare almost makes you feel small and embarrassed, especially with the nurse still around as the audience to witness the reunion of two almost lovers. You clear your throat, darting your eyes to the nurse and to Zayne, “How did the surgery go? I presume it was difficult?”

“Not necessarily,” Zayne replies, “This kind of surgery is quite common now.” His answer brings a brief smile to your face, “Well I am glad that Dr. Zayne was the one who performed the surgery to one of our younger patients, then. It brings me at ease.”

Your words bring a whirlwind of emotions that Zayne thought he had buried under his restless nights of overtime and paperwork. He can’t find the right response to say at your compliment, his words stuck in his throat as he basks in your presence. The bright overhead lights of the hospital highlighting the deepening bags under your eyes, your weary smile bringing fine lines, and the shadows from your glasses slotting on your nose bridge. And yet, he feels the familiar skip in his chest, the same one he had first felt when he met you in the halls of his university.

You shy under Zayne’s intense stare, instead turning to the nurse, “How is the patient doing now? He’s Dr. Lewis’s patient, right?” You ask. The nurse nods, “The patient is recuperating well in his room, Dr. His vital signs have been stable ever since and his guardians have been keeping an eye for his recovery. Dr. Lewis notes that he may be discharged after a couple more days.”

“I see. That’s perfect,” you reply. You muster a half-hearted smile to Zayne, one that doesn’t reach your eyes. Zayne notices. “Well, as I’ve said, it brings me comfort that Dr. Zayne could assist us in these trying times in Chansia Hospital,” you continue.

The nurse then takes a step forward, her arm outstretched to the hospital entrance with her head slightly bowing, “Dr. Lewis would like to extend his deepest gratitude to you too, Dr. Zayne. He brought me here to assist you to your exit,” she says.

Zayne shakes his head, “There is no need for you to assist me. Kindly tell Dr. Lewis that I too am thankful for the opportunity to visit Chansia Hospital again,” he replied monotonously. The nurse picks up the signal to place her arm back to her sides.

In his words, the nurse then nods, excusing herself from the conversation before turning her heel away to return to the nurse’s station. On the other hand, you hesitate. Taking note of how earnest Zayne looks in your stead, as if he wants to say something. And yet, his lips remained sealed.

“It was short-lived but I hope you enjoyed your stay here at Chansia Hospital,” you say, humor lacing your tone as if you’re just hosting a visitor at a hotel. “It was nice seeing you again, Dr. Zayne,” you muse him a brief smile and after another second in silence, you take the signal to give him one last nod, and turn around.

As your heels click through the tiled floors, Zayne could feel you physically slip away from his fingers one more time. And before he could even think about what to say for you to stay, his mouth runs faster than his brain or legs.

“Wait,” his voice echoes throughout the halls and he slightly cringes at the reverberation. The sound of your heels clicking pauses. He clears his throat and calls for your honorific and name. You turn your head back, peeking him over your shoulder. “Is something the matter, Dr. Zayne?” You ask.

He shakes his head, “I would like to accompany you for the rest of the evening. If it’s not much of a hassle.”

You turn your heel around in hesitation, cocking your head to the side in confusion, and for the first time in the evening, you almost laugh, “Dr. Zayne, surely you don’t think I’m a masochist for continuing to work at,” you spare a glance at your wristwatch, “almost 12 midnight?”

He blinks at you owlishly, slightly surprised that you weren’t working further. “I suppose not when I still see you making rounds at,” he glances at his wristwatch, “almost 12 midnight.”

You shake your head in amusement, a soft giggle falling from your lips and your hand covering your mouth in an effort to stifle them, “Still the same as ever with your humor, Dr. Zayne,” you exhaled, “Regardless, your company will surely bring me comfort as I gather my things at my office.”

Your laughter felt like heaven to Zayne. It was the same one that he first heard at the halls of his university as you deliver your experience being an intern at the Akso Hospital in your senior year of medical school while he was still in the starting line.

“Come,” you urge, nodding your head to the side, signalling him to follow you. You two continue to walk through the silent halls of the hospital, your heels clicking through the tiles followed by Zayne’s footsteps padding behind you.

You pause at a familiar door, turning its knob. Behind you, Zayne admires the contrast of the dull, sterile halls with the colorful stickers plastered on your white door, making your office seem more inviting than the other ones.

As you enter your office, you flip the switch on and turn to your desk, gathering the clipboard and the tablet on your table. Zayne follows suit, his eyes darting across, observing every nook and cranny. The rainbows, a smiling sun on the corner of the room, and the random animals and flowers painted on the walls almost bring a soft smile to his face. He takes note of the colorful toys littered on one corner atop of the vivid play mat and the glow in the dark star and moon stickers plastered on the ceiling of your office.

“I assume this isn’t the usual office you would expect from a doctor, yes?” You ask, feeling his gaze all over the room. He nods, “Although this is to be expected from a renowned pediatrician, the rather… brilliant colors still take me aback,” he replies, eliciting a chuckle from you. You place your clipboard and tablet into their respective drawers before locking them shut, as you gather your bag from your seat, you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, “Well now I am quite curious as to how your office looks,” you say. You remove your lab gown and replace it with a fuzzy coat and a scarf around your neck.

“It’s quite dull compared to yours,” he replies, rather quickly. You hum, “Is that so? Well I’d like to be the judge of that.”

You walk past him and he trails after you as you both exit the office, your fingers flickering the light switch off and shutting the door behind you. “Once I need a cardiac check up, I’ll make sure to visit Dr. Zayne then,” you say, glancing at him who is walking beside you, expecting him to have a small smile on his lips at your joke. Instead, you see him frown.

“That doesn’t seem to be a funny joke,” he replies. You furrow your brows at him but the faint smile still lingers on your lips, “Oh come on, you know a cardiac check-up doesn’t necessarily mean something negative,” you reply, nudging his arm with your elbow. The short contact could almost bring you to your knees like a teenager touching her crush for the first time. Zayne shakes his head disapprovingly, “You know you can visit my office without any agenda behind it.”

You almost halt at your steps when his words fall to your ears. Suddenly, everything came hitting you all at once.

The man standing before you is no longer the boy you first met in your university, when you’re almost graduating from medicine school. He is no longer the feeble adolescent boy who had difficulties making acquaintances so he sought refuge in you and your senior friends. He is no longer the man who comes to your apartment right after your residency has ended for the day, with worksheets and food in hand to ask assistance from you. Though you were quite sure back then that he didn’t need the assistance when he could quickly answer your questions, he just wanted to be in your presence.

Zayne has grown. He’s now a renowned doctor with his very own office and colleagues, who respect and admire him deeply. His shoulders broader than you remembered, the shadows of his muscles taut against the fabric of his clothes are evident and his stature more confident and intimidating now, his steps more sharp and certain, carrying the weight of countless lives he has saved throughout the years–as well as lives he failed to prolong.

You continue to stare at him, both in awe and surprise, realization sinking deep that everything has changed between you two. Zayne glances at you through his peripheral vision for the lack of your response, almost making you jump. You clear your throat awkwardly, “Is that so? Well I’d say I’m quite grateful that Dr. Zayne is welcoming me to his office.”

As you reach the reception of the hospital, you wave goodbye at the receptionist with a cheerful smile. The receptionist returns the same grin, wishing you a safe walk home and to see you tomorrow again. You nod at him in response before following Zayne who was standing a couple feet ahead of you, his head slightly turned to the side, waiting for you to catch up to him.

Stepping into the chill of the evening, you hold your arm closer to your chest and burrowing your nose close to your scarf, almost shivering, “Nights in Chansia City never get easier in the winter,” you comment, white smoke exiting your lips. You look both sides, taking the lead in returning home.

“Do you usually just walk home in the evening?” Zayne asks, trailing beside you, noting how the receptionist mentioned how you travel home by foot. You hum in agreement, “My apartment is not too far here. And I like to spend a few minutes in silence at the nearby park before I head home.”

Zayne merely nods at your response, his eyes focusing on the street ahead.

“How about you?” You ask, tilting your head at him, earning a glance from him. “Where do you stay here?”

He purses his lips before mentioning the hotel name.

“Oh, that’s a bit near where I live. Just a couple of blocks away. Do you just walk when you go to the hospital?”

He shakes his head at your query, “The hospital provides me a shuttle service in the morning. In the evening I just flag a cab.”

“I see…” You trail off, “Would you like me to assist you in flagging a cab? Though it would be difficult now considering the time–”

“There’s no need,” he cuts you off. “I rather enjoy your company.”

Those simple words elicit a shot of heat striking your cheeks, urging you to look away from him and focus on the white smoke exiting your lips. You could see Zayne smiling from the corner of your eyes, as if your reaction brings him joy.

“Besides, walking has plenty of benefits for your health. For one, it improves your cardiovascular fitness and your muscle endurance, and strengthens your bones and muscles. It also helps you manage your weight,” he continued, earning a laugh from you.

“You do realize I know those things too, right? We went to the same medical school, after all,” you reply.

“I just thought you forgot,” Zayne says with a deadpan expression on his face, but you were certain you saw his lips curl up in amusement for a split second.

“Hey! I don’t forget things that easily, you know!” You protest.

“Is that so?” Zayne hums, “Last time I checked, a certain someone forgot it was her finals if it wasn’t for me to remind her.”

“Unfair! That was years ago, Dr. Zayne! And I just got out of my training that day too,” you laugh.

Right. Years ago.

As you two reach the park nearby, you find an empty bench and plop down into it, the collection of ice in the seat seeping through your coat. Zayne follows suit, succumbing to his feelings and sitting beside you at the bench. You freeze at the slight brush of his coat against yours and the engulfing warmth that he radiates, but you shrug it off once again.

The thick clouds drifting across the moon give you two company in the frosty evening. And while Zayne’s hands remain warm inside the pockets of his coat, your fingers are trembling in your pockets. In nervousness or by the bite of the cold, you’re unsure.

It’s been years since the last time you two sat together in silence. From the usual scraping of pen against paper and the turning of pages from the books, it turned into eerie silence. Silence brought by lingering regrets and loneliness between you two. Silence from the falling out between two almost lovers. The drunken glow of the streetlights accompany the solitary moon as it watches you two attempt to catch up from the sorrowful past you two have run away from. The cold coffee you had ingested an hour ago now shoots up to your bloodstream, sending alerts to your brain that everything in this situation warrants a good long rest after. And yet, despite the heavy dose of caffeine in your system, you were sure that one vulnerable question from Zayne, you could crash into his arms and sob.

“How’s Greyson?” You ask, avoiding the tense silence to linger any further before it could escalate into mourning from the past that could’ve been. “He is doing well,” Zayne curtly replies, as if he was uninterested in talking about his male colleague to the woman he’s only loved throughout the years.

“I remember your silly disagreements with him. It would take your seniors to break you two apart from the debate and make you realize that you two were wrong,” you continue, huffing a laugh from the memory.

Zayne remains silent.

Clearly, he wasn’t buying your reminiscence of nostalgia to fill the night. Nevertheless, you couldn’t bring yourself to talk about the painful memory that transpired between the two of you.

“Do you always work overtime?” Zayne asks, breaking his streak of tranquility.

“Hm… These days I do. But I usually don’t. I’m just working on a research with Dr. Lewis recently. We plan to contribute and present it to our university in the upcoming alumni symposium for graduating students,” you reply.

“I see.”

“Mmhmm.”

Silence emerges between you two again, as if the universe was forcing the two of you to reconcile and face the troubled past together. Whether the universe was bringing you two together to write the closure to forever exit the chapter in your life or a new volume of your book, you’re quite uncertain.

“Have you…” Zayne starts and you continue to stare at your fingers fiddling atop of your lap, not daring to even spare him a glimpse. He inhales, “Have you been seeing anyone since our…” He does not dare continue finishing the sentence, afraid that once he does, vulnerability would engulf you two until you were sure you could collapse from it.

You, however, were taken aback by the sudden question, your eyes shooting up to him while his face remained stoic and focused on the flickering lamp post ahead of you, “Oh heavens no!” You quickly deny, “I am far too busy to start seeing other people. You know how it can be, Dr. Zayne.” You muster a nervous chuckle, a hand running to the back of your head, smiling at him sheepishly.

You could see Zayne’s adam’s apple bob up and down at his throat, “You can drop the honorifics,” he whispers. You blink up at him, “Pardon?”

He exhales, his mouth still hangs from the frost coiling in the winter air, “I hope that you drop the honorifics by now. We are no longer at the hospital and you are my senior. It would make no sense for you to continue calling me by my title.”

Especially when we had something together. He almost says.

“Oh,” you only say, dropping your gaze to your lap. “Okay, Zayne,” you humor him, the name falling from your tongue tastes foreign–like an old popsicle flavor from your childhood resurfacing from nostalgia.

“Okay,” he replies.

You purse your lips together, tilting your head upwards to appreciate the silhouette of the trees merging with the inky black sky. An exhale escapes your lips, white smoke exiting from it as your eyes trail carefully to each branch that intersects with one another. Unbeknownst to you, the man sitting beside you was also engrossed in watching–but instead of the same view across you two, he’s fixated in memorizing your features.

Studying every freckle, blemish, and mole on your face. Despite your features maturing, he takes note of how you still retain that youthful glow he remembers years ago from when he would just immerse himself in your presence in your apartment. He engraves in his brain the image of you beside him, as if he was enchanted by having you again, even if you’re at his arm’s length.

“How long have you been at Chansia Hospital?” He suddenly asks, not tearing away from your features.

You stay still in your seat, busy admiring the night sky, “After my first year of residency, I got an opportunity to continue it at Chansia Hospital. I’ve been here since then,” you answer.

“I see,” he replies. “How have you been faring throughout your stay?” He asked.

You hum and shrug, “The workplace is good, there’s little to no drama and office politics. And I really enjoy caring for the kids there, the hospital has exemplary facilities for the pediatric ward, which I absolutely appreciate. But we still lack the human resource for capable doctors, especially surgeons, which is probably why they requested assistance from Akso Hospital.”

There was a pause between you two. “Perhaps I could ask for a transfer at your hospital, then,” Zayne replies blankly, as if a sudden change in his career is nothing.

You giggle at his words, burrowing yourself into your scarf and a hand hovering your mouth, “I’m sure there is no way Akso Hospital would let go of you, Zayne.”

“Why not?” Zayne murmurs and you swear you heard the pout in his tone.

You snicker and the words tumble out of your mouth before you could even think, “Well if I was your boss, I just know for sure I wouldn’t let go of my most capable and brilliant surgeon.”

“Then don’t,” he counters rather quickly.

You turn your head to him, surprised at both your words from just a second ago, “Pardon?”

He adjusts in his seat, directing his body to your side and you could see the eagerness glimmering in his eyes, “Don’t let me go,” he says in a hushed tone. You barely heard it, if you weren’t mere inches from each other, you could mistake his voice for the howling of the wind. But you picked it up. And his eyes are round, shining the most genuine gaze you have ever seen from him. You could tell from his stare alone that his words carry the weight of a thousand suns.

And you know deep in your soul that Zayne would do everything in his lifetime to bring you home.

Bring you to him.

And you feel the guilt creeping up your throat.

You swallow and shake your head, breaking away from his trance.

You were sure you could crumble from the sorrow and regret seeping in your bones. After years of burrowing all of these unfamiliar feelings and vulnerability, everything started to surface in his mere presence.

“I’m sorry,” you begin. Zayne looks at you curiously, “For what exactly?” He asks.

And you’re undecided what to apologize from. For using his title? Not really. For seeing him accidentally in the hospital hallway? It’s not really your fault fate brought you two together in the most unconventional way possible. For agreeing to walk with you home? Perhaps. For saying that if you were his employer, you wouldn’t let him go? Could be, but not quite.

But none of those things quite possibly slot perfectly with the puzzle you want to complete.

“If only…” You start, breaking the silence, “If only life was kinder and easier to us years ago,” your voice breaks, “I just want to let you know that I wouldn’t have… Slipped you through my fingers.”

It was like your subconscious was talking for you.

Zayne darts his gaze from the lamppost who finally dimmed its light to his hands resting atop of his lap. You gulp, “Everyday I–...” You let out a shaky breath, “I wish you well. Especially in your studies,” you say, a soft smile in your features as you hold back the tears that are threatening to fall.

Even after all these years, Zayne doesn’t understand.

“I don’t seem to understand,” he verbalizes, glancing at you who has your arms wrapped around your body, protecting yourself from the cold. “How can you drop it so easily?” He asks.

How can you drop us so easily?

You pause in your ministrations, before letting out a shaky laugh, “You were an exceptional student, Zayne. You were going to be a fantastic doctor after you graduate, we all expected that. I mean, we all knew that. It was evident. And I–...” You trail off, “I was older. I was graduating med school when you were only at the starting line. I can’t take that away from you, you know that. You have your whole university years ahead of you and I don’t want to take that experience away from you,” you rambled, wishing you could shut up.

You purse your lips together and Zayne opens his mouth to protest but you continue, “I cannot be selfish, Zayne. I couldn’t bring myself to. I didn’t want to impose to you the regrets I’ve had in my years at med school.”

Zayne remembers.

One night at your apartment, lying supine side by side in your twin-sized mattress seemingly squeezed into the tight space, a book long forgotten on top of Zayne’s chest while his fingertips gently brushes against your knuckles beside him, while the soft hum of the AC accompanying the two lost souls in the midst of a warm summer night. You were talking about your failed romantic relationship in your years of medicine school, spending the latter years over a boy who couldn’t provide you with the security and comfort that you longed for. You ranted over how he failed as a partner, not leading enough in the relationship, and how you had to play several roles to make up for his lack of initiative.

You expected Zayne to be indifferent. Or perhaps angry. Maybe even frustrated at your ramblings. But you didn’t take into account how the weight in your bed shifted and he peers into your space, turning your chin to his direction with his thumb and forefinger and cradling your face. He didn’t say a word. And neither did you. You merely stay frozen in your position while he grazes his fingertips over your cheeks as if to say “It’s okay. I’m here now.”

Zayne remembers that night all too well.

“But you did not impose your regrets on me,” he replies confusedly. “I’ve had more regrets with the fact that we didn’t try rather than trying at all.”

He was right. You knew he was right. You could taste the bitterness and remorse from your tongue still lingering after years of trying to forget it all. You release a pitiful laugh, unsure what to even say at this point. How the conversation turned 180 degrees, you were floored.

And as you prepare the mental strength to leave, to finally burrow into the comforts of your home where your plushies would not judge you for sobbing into the sheets for the same man you have cried over for years, Zayne gently hovers his hand over yours that were resting on the small space between you two, and he speaks up, “Don’t you regret the years we wasted being apart?”

You dart your gaze from his hand laying on top of yours and slowly turn to his hazel green orbs. You could feel the tears welling up in your eyes as you muster up a tight-lipped smile at him, and you shake your head. “Not one bit,” you say.

Zayne was sure he felt his heart slowly shatter upon hearing your words. He retrieves his hand from yours and he slowly averts his gaze to his shoes, feeling the scrape of ice and concrete beneath the soles of his feet. You cringe at the lost of his touch.

“If it meant that it would bring you to today, the peak of your career and a successful name for yourself, I don’t regret it. Not one bit,” you continue, albeit shaky.

He swallows thickly, “I see.”

You nod, looking elsewhere than to gaze upon his genuine expression of dejection in his face. “Despite loving you with everything I have, I knew I couldn’t get in the way of your dreams,” you say. You inhale a deep breath, mustering up the courage to bring your hand on top of his cold ones, clasping around it tightly. He looks up at you, with a plastered smile on your face, “And whether or not things would’ve worked out, it doesn’t matter because I chose this decision to be in the future where you were successful. And I was correct, Zayne. I’d like to believe what I chose for us was right.”

You gulp, “I wanted to have a future where you were successful and thriving. I wanted to live in the future where I would see your name on news articles because of your expertise. And I suppose you could call me a coward for deciding to end our relationship for your sake but I had to. Because I loved you. So much so that I couldn’t afford to witness you lose. I…” You inhale a shaky breath, squeezing your eyes shut and your hand against his, “I love you.”

I love you so much to this day, that it physically hurts. You almost say. But you hold back. And you pull your hand away from him, settling it into your lap once again, where it belongs.

The begging in your voice as you explain your decision cuts through Zayne’s willful idea that you would come back and live through the years of what could have been.

Seconds ticked into minutes of silence and you could immediately feel the regret seeping into your bones as you admit the fears and the sacrifice you had to make for his future, unknowingly shutting out all of Zayne’s attempts to return back into your arms. And one thing is for sure, you could just never wrap your head around the concept that Zayne wanted to keep you in his life the moment he laid eyes on you and never let you go.

Zayne abruptly stands up and you turn your head to the side, not wanting to witness him walk away from your life. You clench your jaw, your hand clawing through your jeans in frustration as you inhale the icy air around you. You want to take all your words back, you want to break down all the walls for him and just embrace him and sob into his chest. You want to reach out to him, grab his wrist and ask him to stay. You want to ask him to come home to you. Anything that involves him back in your life you were sure you would be content.

You do nothing.

Zayne shoves his hands down his coat pockets as he lets out a shaky exhale, white smoke emitting from his actions. One heartbeat. Two.

You gulp, preparing yourself for waking up tomorrow with swollen eyes and zero energy, already imagining a life without him.

Zayne sighs, “You’re still stubborn as ever.”

You furrow your brows together, the insult distracting you from the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. “Excuse me?” You say, turning your head to look at him who still had his back turned to you.

You could’ve sworn you heard him laugh breathily. You click your tongue. “Is there a point to this, Zayne?” You ask, unsure where he is headed with his comment. You shake your head, “Or are we just here for the feeling of what we did and reminisce?”

Zayne takes a step to your side and faces you, earning a confused look from you. He gives you a soft smile and kneels in front of you, sending you into a frenzied state.

“Z-Zayne?! What the hell are you doing?! It’s cold!” You exclaim, placing your hand on each of his arms. “Stand up!”

He stays frozen in place, taking your hands into his, clasping both of it together. You watch him in confusion as he continues to cradle your hand into his, before he laces his fingers into yours, watching in awe at how his hand perfectly slots into yours, and before you know it, his lips hover into your fingers, pressing featherlight kisses into it.

You could feel the heat creep up your skin, the urge to pull your hand away strengthening.

But you don’t.

He pulls away from your hands and his lips turn into a small smile as he gazes into your eyes. “I did it already, didn’t I?” He murmurs.

You pause for a second, furrowing your brows together in confusion, before you ask, “Did what?”

“All the things you wanted me to become,” he replies curtly.

The creases between your eyebrows deepens.

“I accepted losing you, regardless of how I… dislike it so much. And you still express the same things you said years ago, of how you did not want to get in my way and desire me to be successful in my field. I have done it already, haven't I?” He asks, peering close to your forlorn expression.

You stay silent.

He huffs a laugh, “I may be just doing my job but you acknowledge that I’m successful in my field, did you not?”

“I don–”

“Only yes or no will suffice as an answer, my love,” he cuts you off. The nickname sends your brain into a frenzy, confused whether the man in front of you is truly your junior from your med school. “Well?” Zayne urges, tilting his head closer to you. You straighten your back, clearing your throat, “I believe I have acknowledged you are successful, so yes,” you reply rather formally, to which elicits a laughter from the man in front of you.

“With those factors into consideration, did you really think that I would let you go again?”

“Excuse me?”

He stands up to his full height, pulling you along with him albeit dazed from his actions. You feel like you could stagger and fall with how you could feel his heat and how close you are with him again after years of no contact. If it weren’t for him holding you up, you could’ve sworn you would’ve fallen to your knees.

“Before my travel here, I already asked Akso Hospital to take a week off for my vacation here with the girl I love at Chansia City,” he says rather straightforwardly. You blink owlishly at his words, confused at the turn of events, “I am sorry, Zayne but can you clarify to me what the hell is happening exactly?” You demand.

“Hm? I am simply taking back what’s mine,” he says candidly. He removes his hands from yours, placing one on top of your waist and the other cradling your face. “I would be a fool if I’d let you get your way again.”

You frown at his words, ignoring the way your body feverishly reacts to his touch, “What does that even mean?”

“If you think you can just push me away again, then you are mistaken. I have waited patiently for years for us. For you. While I still don’t understand why you pushed me away years ago, it doesn't matter anymore. I would rather have you in my proximity again than wait for you to stop being stubborn,” he answers, a soft smile gracing his face. He raises a brow at you playfully, “Because a certain someone would rather have the world stop spinning than admit that she is stubborn.”

“Hey!” You protest, ready to complain but the words die in your throat when he suddenly lunges forward until his breath fans your cheeks, the cold air grazing your rose-tinted skin. He presses you closer to his body, his hand gripping your waist firmly and the other one still caressing your skin. “Tell me you want me to come back,” he whispers, almost desperately. “I’d do anything to keep you in my life again. I no longer want to keep you at an arm’s length anymore,” he continues, his hazel green eyes boring into yours, as if he was trying to stare into your soul.

“Zayne…” You murmur, darting your gaze from his lips to his eyes.

“Just say it, darling,” he mutters, “You don’t have to do anything. We have all the time in the world to figure it all out together,” he assured.

You swallow thickly, the tears that were threatening to spill from your eyes finally break, and you are confused whether they were tears of despair, grief, or happiness. Perhaps it was all three altogether. Because finally, for once in your life, you are going to jump into uncharted territory and not think about anything anymore.

“Zayne,” you begin and he looks at you expectantly. You inhale a deep breath, glancing at his lips again before darting back to his eyes. The breeze of the winter air skimming through your bodies, the moon’s muted glow casting over the dispersing clouds, and the lamppost from across you two finally lighting up again, giving you brighter access to his features. And suddenly, it feels like everything around you disappears, as if you two are the only ones in the universe, holding each other so carefully. “Please stay here.”

He inches closer to your face, a smile gracing his lips, “Of course.”

And for the first time in years, he wraps his arms around you, his hands that were once cradling your face, now holding onto the back of your head and the other embracing your entire body and engulfing you in his heat, every fear in your body to wash and melt away.

And for once in your life, you are no longer sobbing into the sheets, lingering of sorrow and regret–but rather into the arms of the man who found you again, despite your attempts to rewrite history.

author's note: comments, reblogs, and likes are very much appreciated :") also didn't take into account the timeline that much! so if the ages are a bit wonky, ignore LOL

song inspirations: nike by frank ocean, stay here by surl, coming home by honne feat. niki, 18 by One Direction, maybe you are the reason by the japanese house

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reidmotif · 10 months ago

Text

Relax, I've Got You

Summary: Reader isn't the best at handling stress, and her roommate Spencer, notices. Luckily, he has quite a few salacious ideas on how he could make her feel better.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warning: friends-with-benefits situation, oral (f!recieving), fingering (f!recieving), mentions of anxiety/symptoms of anxiety.

Word Count: 2.7 k

Masterlist

You were never good at handling stress.

You were well aware of this facet of your psyche– the way tensity would often wind around your limbs, snaking into the very depths of your bones until you were entirely drained and devoid of peace, a shell of the person you were accustomed to being.

You had dealt with this complication on your own for the most part. You’d come home after a long day, and attempt to find yourself again through chamomile tea, lavender mists, and a warm blanket.

Of course, there were days where even these measures could not suffice in curing your weariness.

That’s where Spencer Reid came in.

He’d only been your roommate at first. With the economy going as it was, it was simply more practical to find one, rather than renting alone. He’d responded to an ad you’d put up, and you accepted. The process was easy, honestly. You had no qualms about sharing your living space with another person, and even found the arrangement enjoyable at times. Spencer was well-mannered, never missed rent, and wasn’t even at home most of the time. When he was, he was quiet. Sweet.

Through time, you found yourself becoming friends with the man. The conversation was light and easy, and in a rare turn of events, you started to open up to him. Even more surprisingly, he returned the favor, adding to the understanding that was fast growing between the two of you. It seemed only natural, since both of you were made naturally vulnerable by the circumstances of your situation. You’d come to your apartment, drop the mask of the day, and see that Spencer was already there, becoming an extension of the solace you found at home. Soon enough, the comfort of your couch was simply synonymous to him as well.

It didn’t take long for Spencer to notice the anxieties that would plague you when a deadline came about, or when you simply fixated on an issue for too long. The way your bedroom light wouldn’t shut until 4 AM, or how you’d pace in the kitchen, so wired that your body denied you the rest you so desperately needed. He noticed the dark circles, the occasional irritability (followed by an apology, of course), the headaches, everything. Which is why he thought nothing of it to suggest some remedies for your troubles over breakfast one day.

“Caffeine can actually increase stress, if you weren’t aware.” He says, eyeing your second cup of coffee that morning. “There’s actually a large amount of data that indicates you should limit caffeine intake, especially if you’re already anxious.”

You narrow your eyes, furrowing your brows slightly. “Says who?” You retort, not quite ready to give up your chosen beverage.

“The NIH, Penn State, the AMA-”

“Okay, okay. Sorry. I got it.” You interrupt, knowing you’d started a losing battle the moment you’d questioned him. “I’ll try to cut down on it.”

He grins, satisfied with how the interaction had played out. You, on the other hand, started to drift farther away from your current setting. You swallow, putting down your coffee cup before rubbing your eyes, a soft sigh escaping you.

“Something wrong?” Spencer asks, cautiously, his voice soft.

You tsk, shaking your head and shrugging a bit at your own dilemma. “It's just.. I’m already so tired. I’m exhausted and the day’s barely begun.” You pause, unable to articulate just how fatigued you were. “It’s like I can already feel the mid-afternoon headache I’m going to get later, and it hasn’t even started yet.” You hate the way you sound, longing for the day you could fully relax for even a fraction of a second.

“You’d probably be a lot less tired if you slept a little more.” Spencer suggests, and you shoot him a death glare.

“Don’t you think I know that?” You snap. “I’m trying. It’s not that easy. It’s just-” You groan, stopping yourself as the quick realization dawns on you that you’ve misdirected your frustrations. There’s a wave of shame rising up almost immediately, heating your cheeks up in regret.

“I’m sorry, Spencer. Sorry. That’s unfair of me. I know you’re just looking out for me.” You murmur, taking a deep breath to calm your senses.

“Hey, don’t worry.” He says, his voice low and compassionate. “I get it. I know you’ve got a lot on your plate right now.”

You nod, closing your eyes as you continue to breathe. He continues to speak, his voice remaining warmhearted.

“There are actually quite a few ways to alleviate stress. Some experts recommend meditation, exercise and yoga. I wouldn’t mind doing those with you, if you were interested.” He offers, as he continues to ramble, lost in his own explanation in the hopes of being of service to you. “Some experts even name sex as a useful stress reliever, due to the endorphins and oxytocin released after completion.”

You give a fruitless laugh. “Jesus, I wish. I don’t have the time to try and find someone willing to do that for me.”

Spencer goes quiet, and you finally open your eyes. You’re met with his stare, trained on your form, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“What?” You ask, upon returning his gaze.

He clears his throat, shaking his head, as if he was ridding himself of a passing thought. “Nothing. Sorry. I’m sorry. I hope you do find something that works for you though. I hate seeing you like this.”

You soften at his concern. “Thanks, Spencer.” You say, the affection in your voice unmistakable. “Maybe I’ll end up taking on.. Yoga? That seems doable, right?”

He smiles. “Yoga. Right.”

The days pass on, until you find yourself in a similar scenario you’ve been in one too many times. You’re pacing the kitchen, a small clock reading that it was currently 2 AM. You couldn’t even really decipher the source of tonight’s anxiety– all you know is you feel it, and you feel it deeply.

That’s when a voice breaks through the darkness, halting your movements altogether.

“Hey, are you alright?” Spencer’s soft, slightly deeper voice.

“Oh, yeah.” You call out, despite the growing tightness in your chest. “I’m fine. You can go back to sleep. Sorry for waking you.”

He shakes his head, scratching his head as he makes his way towards you. “It’s nothing.” He reassures. “I needed to pee anyway. What’s going on with you?” He inquires, gently.

You rub at your chest, biting your lip. “The usual.”

“Work?” He asks, softly.

You purse your lips. “I’m not even sure at this point. Just really anxious.”

His expression softens. A beat of silence passes between the two of you.

“I’m- um. I’m willing to help.” He stammers out, suddenly seeming much more nervous than he was a moment ago.

You give a dejected smile. “That’s sweet, Spencer, but I dunno. I think I have to deal with this on my own.”

“No, I mean. I can help. I’m willing to help. To do that for you. I’m your friend. I want to help.” He restates, his voice a little urgent.

“Willing to do what?” You ask, wholly confused with where he was going with this.

He takes a breath. “Sex. Or, an orgasm, at least. You said no one you knew would be willing to help you like that. I am. If you want.” He blurts out.

You stand there, momentarily shocked into silence. You’re suddenly able to recall the conversation you’d had, just a few days prior, and realize what he was trying to say. Here you were, in your kitchen, with your friend- your roommate, and he was selflessly offering himself to you. For sex. For de-stressing sex. He sounded so earnest, despite the obvious lewdness of his offer, and the juxtaposition made your head spin.

“I..” You start, your voice caught in your throat.

“You don’t have to feel compelled to say yes. I’m just offering. I want to help you.” He interjects, his voice still carrying that unselfishness you’d known from the very beginning.

“I.. no. I mean, yes. I want to say yes.” You find yourself admitting after a moment. “But.. are you sure? It’s.. I mean, it’s sex, Spencer.” You whisper.

“I’m aware.” He says, matching your softer tone. “I’m okay with that. Are you?”

You take a breath. Looking up at him, you take in his slightly tousled hair illuminated by the soft moonlight that drifted in through your apartment windows. His white sleep shirt was crumpled, and even in the darkness that enveloped you, you could decipher the kindness in his eyes, his mere presence bringing a shade of ease into you as you spoke to him.

“Yes.” You murmur out, the words flowing out with no hesitation. “I’m okay with that.”

“Can I kiss you?” He says, gently, and your nod of affirmation is almost immediate.

He steps closer and cups your cheek, before pressing his lips against yours gently. It’s a sweeter kiss, something that, despite never saying out loud, you would have expected from him. His mouth moves languidly against yours, before pulling away, slightly out of breath.

“Kissing actually helps to reduce cortisol.” He murmurs. “It indirectly lowers stress as a result. Is it working?”

And true to his words, you realized that the tightness in your chest had faded somewhat, no longer blaring with the intensity you had just felt a few minutes prior. An entirely new feeling settled within you- an ache, a need for this man and what he brought to you.

“Yeah. It’s working.” You mumble out.

As if he could read your mind, Spencer gently takes your hand. “Let’s move to the couch, yeah?” He murmurs, already leading you to his spot of preference.

He gently guides you to sit on the couch, quickly finding your lips once again to exchange some soft kisses along the way. His hands drift up and down your back, fingertips light and tender. His every touch speaks to something more, to an unspoken dedication that you’d never felt before until this moment.

To something that maybe extended beyond the original purpose of your rendezvous. “Is this alright?” He asks, his tone hushed and reverent.

You nod, almost in a trance. He was so gentle, so reassuring. He was exactly what you needed.

His lips find yours again and you respond eagerly, letting your hands tangle into the mess of brown hair that sat atop his head. He let out a small groan as your fingers slightly tugged on the strands, sending a thrill through you.

He starts to trail the kisses down your neck, seeking out more sensitive spots that could bring you into a further state of rest and repose. Everything about you spurred him on, it seemed. He paid attention to every noise, every movement– his ultimate goal seeming to hinge on your pleasure throughout this.

Of course, you respond accordingly to the dedication, a soft gasp or whimper escaping you when he would mouth at the perfect spot, which would only cause him to increase his actions tenfold, leading to even more response on your end.

The perfect feedback loop driving you to pliancy and ecstasy all at once.

His lips begin to drift down, and you realize he’s settling in between your legs now, hands on the waistband of your sleep clothes, urging you to lie down completely, which you do.

“Gonna take these off now.” He whispers, looking up at you between your legs.

“Please.” You respond, waiting with bated breath.

He manages to pull down the last barrier between you two, before being met with the mess he’d created. His lips parted as his fingers trailed lightly over your wet slit, your arousal evident on his finger as he marveled on the effect he could have on you.

“Jesus, you’re beautiful.” He whispers, as if his eyes are set upon something precious, something worthy of worship. And in a way, isn’t that exactly what he’d set out to do the moment he’d placed his face between your thighs?

He loops his arms around your thighs, before slowly allowing his tongue to dart out, delicately, tracing the wetness of your pussy. A moan slips out of you, low and needy, and that’s all the confirmation he needs before he’s diving in, devouring your cunt like a man starved.

“Spencer.” You gasp out. You say his name like prayer, like he is god-given, because in this moment, he is.

His tongue traces your clit in circles, before directly placing his lips over the swollen bud, applying some light suction. The tenderness in the action, the way his eyes flit upto yours, watching your gaze for the utmost reassurance that he was doing right by you, only hurdle you closer and closer to your pleasurable end.

It’s almost as if you’re floating, your back arching as his face stubbornly stays buried in your cunt, lapping at your wetness insistently. He wants your release just as bad as you do, and it’s clear he’ll do anything for the sweetness that comes with you falling apart in his arms.

“Oh god.” You moan out- how is it possible to feel so airy, and yet so present all at once? To feel every movement of Spencer’s warm, wet tongue lavishing your clit, and still be somewhere else entirely- a new height of pleasure you had sorely needed all along.

One of his hands leaves the iron-grip it had your thighs in, letting his fingers drift towards your entrance. He slips the digits in, slowly pumping into you, only adding to the overwhelming rapture you found yourself in. Your eyes shoot open, and you find yourself writhing against him.

“Spencer- oh god. Please, please.” You babble out, legs starting to tense with the beginnings of your orgasm.

He only pulls away enough to murmur softly. “That’s it.” His fingers continue their steady pace into you, his grip on your thigh keeping you planted to the mattress. “I got you, love. Come for me.”

With nothing else to say, he resumes eating you out, and the combination of his fingers and mouth finally barrels you towards your orgasm, shuddering as it rips through you, as your every sense is clouded- with this, with him.

It’s only until you’ve ridden out the entirety of your orgasm that he pulls away. Sitting upright, he leans forward to caress your jaw, taking in the rapid rise and fall of your chest, the flushed appearance your face had taken on in the throes of gratification.

“Feeling better?” He asks, softly.

“Entirely.” You whisper back, almost in awe. Not only at how well it worked, but how adoringly he stared at you, it being enough to stop your heart in your chest. Did he always look like this? How did you never notice?

“Can I return the favor?” You implore, already beginning to get up, but Spencer pushes you back down lightly, shaking his head.

“You’re tired.” He says, as if his word was fact, despite these being your feelings that were being spoken about. “Right now, the oxytocin coursing through your body is priming you perfectly for sleep, and God knows you need it.” He chuckles out.

You realize that he’s right, and for the first time, you feel the fatigue that comes naturally with sleep, as opposed to the restless nights you’d been dealing with. You still feel disappointed though, feeling a sting of rejection as you’re unable to touch him back. Still, your tiredness is undeniable, and so you nod.

He gets up, finding a blanket to lay on top of you, before kneeling beside your face. He looks at you with subtle veneration, before letting his lips brush against your forehead.

“I’ll take you up on your offer tomorrow, though, if that’s alright.” He murmurs. “When you’re rested.”

Your smile is immediate. “Deal.” You whisper out.

He looks at you for another beat, before letting his knuckles brush against your cheek, slowly retreating to his bedroom, as to let you get the rest you so desperately needed.

You close your eyes, amazed by the tranquility that came with Spencer. How simple intimacy came with him, as if that’s how it should’ve been all along.

You know you’ll ponder on this fact in greater detail later on, but for now, you relished in serenity of the afterglow.

“Spencer Reid.” You think. “What divine comfort you are.”

HOOOLY SHIT. how long has it been since i uploaded? a long time? i think. hahahaha. in between traveling, [redacted life updates], and even more, i just wasn't very inspired to write. i hope this speaks to some of you, and i hope it was enjoyable to read. as usual, any likes, comments, reblogs are so so so deeply appreciated. feedback as well! thank you so so so much for reading regardless, i am eternally grateful for any and all support <3 (oh also haha. this was written for @imagining-in-the-margins friends with benefits challenge! check it out.)

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