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cherrywriterrr · 2 days ago

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haunted

bodyguard!rafe x reader

warnings: graphic violence, blood, torture, emotional distress, language, fear, obsession, captivity, mdni 18+

seven eight nine

“you two aren’t dying.” he shrugs, like this whole thing was just a minor inconvenience. “unfortunately.”

you don’t even have the strength to react. you just blink at him, confused, trembling, your arms tightening around rafe’s body.

“your daddy came with a whole fucking army,” he goes on, eyes cutting toward you. “millions of dollars, helicopters, tactical gear. the whole damn operation. all for you and loverboy over here.”

rafe groans softly under you. he’s still alive. still here. you burst into tears.

loud, ugly sobs that rip from your throat before you can even stop them. you bury your face into rafe’s neck, holding him tighter, your voice breaking.

“god,” you cry. “i told you, rafe. i told you we were getting saved.”

he doesn’t say anything at first, just leans into you with the little strength he has left, his hand twitching slightly against your back. his blood is still warm.

you both stay like that on the floor, ruined, shaking, covered in each other’s pain, but for the first time since you woke up here…

you barely hear them storm in. it’s all a blur, armed men flooding the room, shouting in voices that don’t sound threatening anymore but safe. protective. the kind of voices that know how to kill and how to protect.

your dad is the first one you recognize.

he looks older than you remember. frantic. pale and trembling as he drops to his knees beside you, his expensive shoes sinking into the blood on the concrete.

“baby,” his voice cracks. “are you hurt? where are you hurt?”

but you’re not listening. your hands are on rafe, shaking him gently, sobbing too hard to speak right. “get him to a hospital,” you whisper, voice ragged. “dad, please, you need to get him help! he’s—he’s bleeding so much, please—”

“no,” rafe croaks, barely audible. he pushes weakly at your arms, eyes fluttering half-shut. “i’m not going anywhere.”

“yes you are,” you cry, pulling him back to you like that could anchor him in this world. “rafe, please—”

but your dad gently grabs your face and forces you to look at him. “we’re taking him, okay?” he says. “but not to a hospital.”

you stare at him like he’s lost his mind.

“i’ll pay for a doctor,” he adds, “discreet. we’ll take care of him at the house. no records, no police. no risk. we’re not losing him. i promise.”

you sob again, nodding before you even know what you’re agreeing to, and the men are already lifting rafe, carefully but quickly. he groans as they carry him, his head lolling weakly to the side.

you follow them like you’re possessed, barefoot and bruised, gripping your dad’s coat like a child.

“keep him alive,” you whisper over and over. “keep him alive. please.”

he doesn’t let go of your hand.

you sit beside the couch, your knees digging into the soft rug your mother picked out—before she left, before the campaign, before the kidnappings, before all of this.

before rafe became your entire world.

his blood is soaking into your palms, but you don’t care. your hand is wrapped tightly around his, your other clutching at the hem of his shirt as if that might stop the bleeding.

“you need to move,” the doctor says softly, crouched beside him. “i need to stitch this one.”

“no,” you breathe, tightening your grip. “i’m not letting go.”

rafe groans lowly, head rolling to the side. “s’okay,” he mumbles, half-asleep from blood loss or maybe painkillers. “let her… stay.”

you don’t think you’ve blinked once since they carried him in.

you watch everything. the needle slipping through his skin, the trembling of his jaw when he tries to be quiet for you. the way his chest rises and falls unevenly, proof that he’s still breathing.

your voice is shaking, guilt flooding every word. “i’m sorry,” you whisper, over and over, to the air, to the blood, to him. “i’m so sorry, rafe. i should’ve-i should’ve stopped them, i should’ve—”

“hey.” his hand squeezes yours, weak but sure. “you didn’t do this.”

“but you got hurt for me—”

“i’d do it again,” he rasps, his eyes fluttering open. they’re half-lidded, dazed, but they find you anyway. “don’t you get it by now? i’d get tortured a thousand fucking times if it means you walk out alive.”

you shake your head, hot tears slipping down your cheeks.

“you can’t say shit like that while you’re bleeding out on my living room couch,” you whisper brokenly. “it’s not fair. you can’t care about me more than yourself, rafe.”

he smiles, barely there. smug and stubborn and yours.

“you think i started caring about myself when i met you?”

you sniffle, and lean your forehead gently against his temple. the doctor keeps working, but you pretend the world is quiet now. just the two of you. your fingers stroking his bruised knuckles, his voice humming weakly in your ear.

“it’s you,” he murmurs, almost inaudible. “always you.”

you don’t say anything. you just squeeze his hand again, like a prayer.

you let out a breathless laugh, bitter, wet, trembling as hell.

you pull your face slightly away from his so you can look at him, his eyelids fluttering, his jaw slack with exhaustion, the dried blood trailing down his neck where the doctor hasn’t reached yet.

“it’s the painkillers talking, cameron,” you whisper shakily, trying to joke but sounding more like you’re breaking in slow motion. “you’ll get back to hating me tomorrow, i promise.”

his head turns toward you, barely, and the look he gives you cuts deeper than anything those men could’ve done.

like you’ve said the worst thing in the world.

“don’t say that,” he mutters, voice cracked. “not even as a joke. i couldn’t hate you if i tried.”

“you sure about that?” you murmur, brushing the hair off his forehead carefully, scared of hurting him more.

he opens his mouth, maybe to argue, maybe to say some messy, stubborn confession about how he’s only alive because of you. but the doctor speaks first.

“he needs to rest,” the man says gently. “he’s stable, but he’s gonna be out of it for a while. try to keep him calm. no more talking if possible.”

you nod quietly, and then look down at him, your rafe. bruised and broken, stitched together by trembling hands, bleeding and still trying to protect you with his last breath.

he’s fading fast now, eyelids heavier.

you lean in and whisper into his ear, hand brushing his temple like something sacred. “just breathe, rafe. i’ll be right here, okay? i’m not going anywhere.”

he doesn’t answer. but his grip tightens around your fingers—barely, but enough.

you press a kiss to the back of his hand.

then stay there, holding him through the night, just in case he needs to hear you breathing too.

you don’t sleep.

you sit curled up in the corner of your bed, knees hugged to your chest, watching the faint sunlight bleed through your blackout curtains. your room still smells like smoke and your wrists are bruised and raw and your lips still taste like blood even though you scrubbed your mouth raw.

you left the room before he woke up.

you waited until he finally passed out on the couch. then you peeled his hand off yours, even though he had a death grip on your fingers all night.

you waited until his breathing evened out. until he stopped mumbling your name in his sleep.

then you left.

because if you stayed…

if he looked at you with those same eyes from last night—those you’re my entire fucking world eyes—you don’t know what you would’ve done.

it didn’t mean anything. it couldn’t.

“we were gonna die,” you whisper to yourself, voice thin and cracking. “that’s the only reason.”

the way he said i’ve never hated you.

the way he bled all over your clothes and still tried to make you feel better.

the way he cradled your body even while his own was falling apart.

the almost kiss.

your hand in his.

the way he looked at your back like it broke him.

none of it was real.

people say shit when they think they’re gonna die. people get scared. people do things they don’t mean.

your throat burns. your arms ache.

and you fucking hate yourself for wishing—just for a second—that maybe he meant it.

that maybe he wasn’t scared. maybe he was honest.

but no. rafe cameron is your bodyguard. your father’s hired shadow. a man who’s been trained to protect you, keep you safe at all costs. and when you were both locked in that room, bleeding and chained, his brain switched into survival mode.

that’s all it was.

you squeeze your eyes shut and whisper, “you only said it ‘cause we were dying.”

but a small, sick part of you whispers back:

what if he didn’t?

what if it was the only time he ever told you the truth?

you try to distract yourself.

god, you really try.

you open a book. you scroll on your phone. you attempt to watch something stupid and forgettable. but every time you blink, it’s his face.

his busted lip. his blood-stained teeth. the way he smiled at you even while he was breaking. the way he held you like he’d never let go again.

you throw your phone across the bed and groan, pressing your fists into your eyes “no. nope. shut up. i hate him.”

you say it out loud like it’ll stick. like the more you say it, the more you’ll believe it.

“he’s mean,” you whisper to the empty room.

“he’s so fucking sarcastic. and smug. and—”

your mind drifts.

his face flickers behind your eyelids.

the way his eyes drop to your lips when you speak sometimes.

the way he stood between you and the barrel of a gun like it was nothing.

the way he called you baby, the way he breathed your name like it was his last word.

your breath hitches. “he looks kissable,” you mumble before you can stop yourself.

then you shake your head hard. “nope. scratch that. absolutely the fuck not.”

you sit up straighter, heart thudding like you’re about to run a marathon.

“he’s annoying,” you say firmly, trying to sound like a girl who didn’t cry into his neck hours ago.

“he’s just a hired gun who thinks he’s god’s gift to women because he can fight. he hates me. he always has.”

you think back to every snide comment, every dry laugh, every time he rolled his eyes at you like you were nothing more than a spoiled brat.

“he hates me,” you say again, quieter.

but the voice in your head doesn’t let up.

then why did he call you baby?

why did he whisper your name like a prayer?

why did he beg them to take him instead?

you press your palms to your face and scream silently. because it doesn’t matter.

whatever last night was, it’s gone.

he’s probably awake by now, pretending nothing happened. probably letting your father’s guards patch him up, back to that cold, impassive bastard who only exists to follow orders and collect a paycheck.

and you—you were just the job.

nothing more.

you pull the blanket over your head and lie down, eyes wide open, heart nowhere near calm.

you pretend the ache in your chest is just exhaustion.

you pretend you didn’t want him to kiss you.

and you definitely are not waiting for him to come find you.

rafe wakes up on the fucking couch.

his back screams. his face throbs. his ribs feel like a bunch of glass shards trying to cut their way out every time he breathes.

he blinks at the ceiling. he’s warm. not dead. not chained.

he’s home. but you’re not.

he groans quietly, pushing himself up with a wince and looking around the room.

you were here.

he remembers—your face above his, your voice shaking, your hands trembling as you pressed them to his wounds, your body in his arms.

he looks down at the bloodstained shirt sticking to his chest and wonders if it was real. if you actually meant it. if you actually wanted him that close.

he swings his legs off the couch and mutters a low “fuck” under his breath as the pain stabs back into him.

she’s gone.

his hands twitch.

of course she’s gone.

he’s such a fucking idiot.

what kind of psycho confesses in the middle of a hostage situation? what kind of dumbass says i’ve always cared about you while coughing up blood and scaring her half to death?

she probably woke up, saw his busted face, remembered how broken he really is, and got the fuck away from him.

and honestly? he can’t even blame you.

he limps his way down the hall, one hand pressed to the fresh stitches in his side, ignoring every bodyguard and housekeeper he passes. his head’s pounding too hard, heart twisting too tight.

he stops outside his room. the door next to it—your room—closed. silent.

he stares at it.

then he mutters, “fucking loser,” to himself under his breath and pushes into his room, locking the door behind him.

the sheets are still undone from when the doctor cleaned him up last night. he sinks onto the edge of the bed, letting out a bitter exhale.

he shuts his eyes.

she didn’t mean it. none of it.

she was scared. she needed comfort. you were the only one there.

she held you like that because she thought you were gonna die.

you almost kissed her because you thought you were gonna die.

he drags a hand through his hair and digs his nails into the back of his neck,

“so stupid,” he whispers.

he should’ve just kept his mouth shut. stayed quiet. stayed the bodyguard. the shadow. not the fucking wreck bleeding on her and calling her baby like she was his.

he hates her. he should hate her. she’s a spoiled, stubborn brat. always bossing him around, always testing him, always touching everyone except him, he swallows.

except when she did touch him.

when her hands were shaking and she was whispering please be alive, please breathe, like his heartbeat was the only thing keeping her sane.

his chest tightens.

he clenches his jaw and lets his head fall forward into his hands.

he hates how she says his name when she’s crying.

he hates how soft her skin felt when he held her.

he hates that she makes him feel anything at all.

but what he hates more—what he can’t fucking stand—is the fact that she’s not here now.

not even a knock. not even a word. like it never happened.

his eyes snap to the wall separating their rooms.

he stays still.

if she meant any of it, she’d come find him, right?

…right?

taglist masterlist next>>

tags: 🏷️ @rafesbabygirlx @vaelyann @qversazex @iconiccolo @scorpiosolar @devoutedlover @viqtoria @hunzzzzz @sc05 @k4yr14 @t0x1cfaerie @purplerose291 @cherryhoneybabe @kieeslove @toterry @rcwhore @blissfulbutterfliess

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mw00nie · 3 days ago

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im speaking for the people - we need more producer suguru. oh my god that was beautiful

producer geto headcanons

producer!geto x singer!reader

A/N: i'm running out of ideas, reqs are always open :P

producer!geto who always texts you good morning before your sessions. even if he’s already in the studio, even if you’re arriving fifteen minutes after him. just a simple “morning, sweetheart. tea’s on your desk.” you don’t know when he started calling you that, but it’s stuck.

producer!geto who doesn't disturb you if you fall asleep on the couch while he works. he quietly covers you with his jacket. he started keeping a fleece blanket in the studio since that occurrence.

producer!geto who builds you a custom vocal booth with little things you love: warm lighting, soft rugs, a candle with your favorite scent. “you make your best art when you feel safe,” he says simply. “so let’s build a space that feels like yours.”

producer!geto who keeps a folder on his desktop titled with your name. it’s not just vocal takes. it’s notes you’ve written, demos you never finished, little clips you thought were throwaways. he keeps everything, because none of it is ever wasted to him.

producer!geto who lets you doodle in the margins of his production notebook. It starts as little stars and lyrics, but he never tears out the pages. just keeps flipping to fresh ones and reading over what you left him like it’s treasure.

producer!geto who lets you wear his studio headphones even though they’re his favorite. they slip down your neck, oversized and a little ridiculous on you, but he just smiles and adjusts them gently, brushing his fingers against your cheek. “suits you better anyway.”

producer!geto who never lets you carry heavy gear alone. even if you insist. “that’s cute,” he murmurs, taking the mic case from your hands and brushing his knuckles against yours. “but I’ve got it.”

producer!geto who rubs your shoulders between takes, fingertips slow and careful as he works out the tension in silence. “you carry too much in here,” he says quietly, his hand pressed flat over your upper back. “let me help.”

producer!geto who fucks you like you’re a song he’s been composing in his head for years. every kiss, every thrust. a carefully constructed crescendo. he doesn’t rush. he builds you.

producer!geto who talks you through it with that smooth, low voice like he’s still in the booth coaching you. “that’s it, sweetheart.” “breathe. just like that. nice n slow” “i want to hear how good i make you feel.”

producer!geto who’s into praise more than anything. “so pretty like this.” “you’re doing so good for me.” “this body was made for my hands, wasn’t it?” Always murmured like he’s in awe of you. even when he’s buried deep and trembling with restraint.

producer!geto who eats you out like it’s part of his craft. slow. thorough. intentional. tongue deep and patient, hands gripping your thighs as he murmurs things you can’t fully make out, because he’s more focused on your whimpers than his own breath.

producer!geto who loves recording you (consensual) when you’re at your most wrecked. not for anyone else. just for him. a private loop of your voice breathy, fucked-out, whispering his name like a confession.

producer!geto who takes care of you after like it’s second nature. carries you to the couch, wipes you down with warm towels, tucks you under his jacket. Kisses your forehead and whispers, “You good?” until your breathing steadies — and then some.

producer!geto who always, always holds you after. pulls your body against his, arm slung around your waist, lips brushing the back of your shoulder. "rest, baby," he murmurs. "you gave me everything. let me take care of you now."

#jjk #geto suguru #jjk geto #jjk x reader #jjk smut #geto smut #geto x reader #jujutsu geto #jujutsu kaisen #geto headcanons #jjk suguru #suguru geto x reader #jujutsu kaisen suguru #geto #suguru

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psformybss · 2 days ago

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✧･ﾟ: WHAT HAPPENS IN NASHVILLE - FOUR:･ﾟ✧

PAIRING: college!drew x bsf!reader

SUMMARY:

It was supposed to be simple — just a weekend away. Just a favor for a friend.

But then came the red dress, the shared bed, and one night that changes everything.

Now, the lines are blurring faster than either of them expected. What started as pretend starts to feel real… and in the quiet fallout, they’re left wondering: Was Nashville a one-time mistake—or the beginning of everything?

AUTHOR'S NOTE: and finally got to the moment that will change everything between them.

WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI

masterlist | series masterlist

The drive back to the Airbnb is quiet, but it isn’t empty. The air between you and Drew hums with something fragile, something unspoken that neither of you dares break.

His hand grips the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turn white. At the red light, he glances over at you. Just once. Like he can’t help himself. You catch it out of the corner of your eye and don’t look away, even though you pretend not to notice. Your heart thuds hard against your ribs, pounding like a secret you can’t keep.

The house is dark and soft when you step inside. The low hum of leftover energy lingers, almost tangible in the air. Bennett is sprawled on the couch, head resting on the armrest, breathing even and deep. Jason is slumped in a beanbag, half-asleep, one leg twitching occasionally. Somewhere nearby, a beer bottle clinks softly as it rolls across the hardwood floor. Ava’s laughter drifts from the kitchen—still wearing her makeup, teasing Landon about something ridiculous, their voices light and warm.

Drew drops his keys in the bowl on the entry table, standing close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off him.

“We got the last wave,” he says quietly.

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Bathroom first?”

“Yeah. You go ahead.”

You slip inside and close the door gently behind you. The quiet click feels loud in the small space. You stand there for a moment, hands resting on the cold marble counter, heart still racing.

The red dress is tight against your skin, the fabric warm and wrinkled, a reminder of the night’s weight and tension. You stare at yourself in the mirror—at the way your eyes look a little bigger, a little softer—and exhale slowly.

You peel off the dress, each inch feeling like shedding a layer of everything you’ve been holding back. The tension. The anticipation. The question marks you haven’t dared voice.

You don’t bother with pajamas. Instead, you slip into a black oversized band tee—soft, worn-in cotton that falls just to the tops of your thighs. No shorts, no bra—just the gentle fabric against your still-warm skin. The memory of Drew’s eyes, sharp and lingering on you all night, sends a thrilling tingle down your spine, making your pulse quicken.

You wipe off your makeup, fingers brushing over your lips, and run your hands through your hair. Then you breathe.

When you come out, Drew is sitting on the edge of the bed, halfway through unbuttoning his shirt. His head turns toward you, and this time, it doesn’t turn away.

His eyes sweep over you—slow, deliberate. The way they linger at the hem of your shirt, tracing the bare skin of your legs—it’s like heat itself has taken form. His throat bobs nervously.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes, voice low and rough. “You’re... seriously comfortable?”

You raise an eyebrow, a teasing smirk tugging at your lips. “It’s just a T-shirt, not lingerie.”

He gives a dry laugh, shaking his head. “It’s a crime. Seriously.” He runs a hand through his hair, like he’s trying to steady himself. “Alright, my turn.”

He stands, brushing past you. His chest is bare where the shirt hangs open, fingers twitching—like he wants to reach out but holds himself back. The bathroom door closes with a sharp click.

You slide under the covers, feeling the warmth settle around your skin—not just from the room, but from everything simmering beneath the surface. The TV flickers with a dating show playing in the background—some pointless contest with no stakes.

The bathroom door opens again.

You don’t have to look. You can feel it—the shift in the air, the quiet falling over the room as Drew crosses the floor barefoot.

Still, you turn your head.

He wears nothing but black athletic shorts and the thin chain that always rests just below his collarbone. His damp hair is tousled, and his eyes lock on yours already.

“Found something to watch?” he asks quietly, pulling back the comforter on his side.

“Just background noise,” you say. “It’s terrible.”

“Perfect.”

The bed dips as he slides under the covers, his presence sending a faint ripple through the mattress that reaches you. Your bodies lie side by side but not quite touching, the space between you pulsing with a tension that seems to thrum beneath your skin.

You shift, the thin sheet slipping down your hip as your bare leg brushes his, the faintest contact of skin meeting skin.

He freezes.

Your breath catches in your throat, pulse spiking as heat floods your cheeks. The simple, accidental touch is enough to light every nerve in your body. The air feels thick, charged, as if the whole room is holding its breath.

“Too hot for pants?” you murmur, your voice soft, smoky, testing him.

His eyes lock on yours, dark and unreadable, but the hitch in his breath betrays him. “Too hot for a lot of things,” he rasps, his voice low, gravelly, weighted with restraint.

A long beat passes. A moment where neither of you moves, but the air seems to hum with expectation.

Then he turns toward you, the sheet rustling as his body shifts, bringing his mouth a breath away from yours. His lips hover, so close you can almost taste him.

“You good?” he asks, his voice a whisper, rough around the edges.

You nod, your voice caught in your throat. “You?”

His jaw clenches, a flicker of something dark and raw flashing in his eyes. “Not even close.”

Your breath stutters, heart racing as though it’s trying to escape your chest. You lean in, hesitant but drawn by the pull between you, your lips brushing his—light, testing.

The touch ignites something in him.

His hand slides up the back of your neck, threading into your hair, pulling you closer with a low groan. The kiss deepens, his lips parting yours, his tongue tracing yours in a slow, hungry sweep that makes your toes curl. The sound you make—a soft gasp mixed with a needy whimper—seems to drive him over the edge.

His body presses closer, his bare skin hot against yours, the friction of his shorts against your hip drawing a shiver from you. When your leg shifts higher, brushing firmly against the hard length straining against his waistband, he lets out a low, broken curse.

“You’re trying to kill me,” he mutters, his voice ragged, lips dragging along your jaw.

You smile breathlessly against his mouth, teeth catching your bottom lip. “If I were, you’d die happy,” you whisper, daring him to lose control.

A rough laugh vibrates in his chest as he drags his hand down your back, fingers pressing into your skin, his control slipping. “You don’t even know what you’re doing to me.”

“Then show me,” you whisper, lips grazing his earlobe, sending a shiver racing through him.

That’s the last straw.

He kisses you again, harder this time, desperate, his hands roaming over your body like he’s starved for the feel of you. His fingers slip under your shirt, skimming along your ribcage, thumbs brushing the soft underside of your breasts. His mouth is hot and demanding, claiming yours with a ferocity that leaves you dizzy.

“Fuck,” he breathes against your neck, lips trailing along your pulse point, tasting your skin. “You feel so damn good.”

“Then stop thinking,” you whisper, your voice shaking with need, “and feel.”

With a low growl, he pulls your shirt over your head, baring you to his gaze. His eyes darken, breath catching as he takes you in. He bends to kiss the curve of your breast, his lips warm and wet, tongue circling the peak until you gasp, arching into him. His hands skim lower, gripping your hips, grinding against you as if he can’t get close enough.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse and urgent, lips brushing your skin with every word.

You tangle your fingers in the chain around his neck, tugging him closer, your voice breaking as you whisper, “Don’t stop.”

That’s all the permission he needs.

Your shorts are gone in a heartbeat, his following, leaving you bare against each other. His mouth finds yours again, devouring your moans as he presses you into the mattress, the heat between you a live wire. You gasp when his hand slides between your thighs, his fingers teasing you, drawing slickness from you that makes him groan into your mouth.

“Jesus, you’re so wet for me,” he murmurs against your lips, his breath hot and uneven. “I’m not going to last if you keep looking at me like that.”

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, the heady mix of anticipation and desperation swirling in your veins. “Then don’t,” you whisper. “I don’t want you to.”

With a shaky breath, he lines himself up, his hand trembling slightly as he guides himself into you. The stretch is slow, deliberate, filling you inch by inch, the heat of him making you gasp and cling to him. His forehead presses against yours, your breaths mingling as he sinks deeper, his voice breaking on your name.

“Look at me,” he says again, his voice wrecked, barely holding it together.

You do.

His thrusts are slow at first, deep and deliberate, each one sending sparks of pleasure coiling low in your belly. Your nails rake down his back, your hips arching into his, chasing the friction, the pressure, the release building with every movement.

The pace quickens, his control unraveling as your name spills from his lips, a broken prayer. You feel yourself tighten around him, your climax building fast, hot and sharp.

When you fall apart, body shuddering and breath breaking into his mouth, he groans deep and follows, his release pulsing through him in hard, shuddering waves. He holds you close, bodies locked together, arms tightening as if he could imprint you into his skin.

Afterward, you collapse into the sheets, breathless, skin damp and slick with sweat, your limbs tangled in a messy sprawl. He tucks you against his chest, his hand tracing slow, lazy circles along your spine, the weight of him grounding you as your heart slows.

“You okay?” he murmurs against your hair, his voice low and rough, but softened with something almost reverent.

You nod, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. “More than okay.”

You lie there, the world outside the bedroom fading to nothing but the quiet rise and fall of your breathing. His arms tighten around you as though he could keep you there forever.

And for once, you let yourself believe he would.

taglist: @maybankslover, @pillowprincess4him, @wuluhwuhmaster

#college!drew x bsf!reader #what happens in nashville #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x oc #drew starkey x you #drew starkey #obx #drew starkey obx #drew starkey x female reader #drew starkey smut #drew starkey fanfic #drew starkey fic #drew starkey fanfiction

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temis-de-leon · 2 days ago

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Roommate romance - 500 F.C.

Characters: Simeon x gn!reader (newly established relationship)

Main Masterlist

500 followers masterlist

Requested by: Romance Anon

CW: Human AU where MC is living with Purgatory Hall gang instead of the brothers. There's one kiss and that's it. Simeon and MC briefly discuss their relationship. Lucifer and Luke are mentioned and Solomon appears right at the end.

A/N: took me 4 months to write 500 words and then I wrote 1.5k just today 🤡

The loud bang of the main door closing echoed across the apartment, pulling you out of deep slumber and into the darkness of your room.

You were sweaty, and the bedsheets clung to your skin as you tried to sit up in search of your phone, but the battery was completely dead. There was no way of telling the hour, seeing as the blinds were also completely closed with no string of light peeking through, but you had a vague idea of who could’ve gotten out of the house so early.

Luke was the only one who would leave in the morning while everyone else was still asleep, if the subsequent silence meant that, so it couldn’t be later than 7 a.m.

Thankfully, his school was closer to the house than their college campus was, and the preteen had insisted many times on his maturity and independence, so there was no need to have anyone chaperone him. Simeon was probably fast asleep in his room at the far end of the hallway, and you hoped Solomon would be as well, but the chemist was most likely still experimenting in his room, or worse, the kitchen. Knowing him, he would only go to sleep after breakfast and not wake up until lunch.

To each their own, you thought to yourself, lying down once you were satisfied with your deductions.

However, although you were still too tired, you couldn’t fall asleep again.

Your eyes burned after days and days of pulling all-nighters and drinking enough caffeine beverages to give you a heart attack, but no matter how deep you breathed, how quiet everything was or how quickly your body sunk onto the mattress, routine had settled in several weeks prior and was insisting on you getting up to study.

Study what, anyway? You passed everything!

Sadly, though, after what was probably fifteen minutes or so, but felt like much, much more, you were still wide-awake and restless, turning and fussing under your heaviest comforter and wondering with childish pettiness if you would be fast asleep if Luke didn’t let go of the door when he left. On the other hand, feeling irritated at a kid going to school was not very nice, so you just allowed yourself to mumble some profanities as you aggressively pushed the bedsheets away; finally got up, covered your body with a blanket, and walked out of the room without bothering to open the blinds.

Perhaps the overused sofa cushions would give you the comfort you needed to rest a little more.

So, dragging your feet and trying not to trip over the blanket, you walked down the hall purely by memory and barely glanced at the countless pictures decorating the walls. Familiar, motionless eyes stared at you while you moved. Luke was in most of them, either living his normal life or celebrating milestones, but Simeon, Solomon, and you were also there, and so were the rest of your friends: colleagues from the academy and the brothers’ former family.

It was a weird little group, you had to admit, but they had welcomed you with open arms, so you couldn’t (and wouldn’t) complain.

And it wasn’t that bad anyway.

Sure, no one entering adulthood would ever expect to live with a mad scientist, a world-renowned novelist and his younger pre-teen brother, but would you have it any other way?

You ate delicious food almost every day, there was a little guy in your corner hyping you up without asking, and you had a tutor who, although a bit deranged, sure knew a lot about various aspects of life.

All in all, you had a pretty comfortable life.

And a pretty comfortable couch.

The last thing you thought before falling asleep again was that Solomon wasn’t in the kitchen.

Thank God.

But the time you woke up, the sun was high and up and the living room glowed in the early morning sunlight, specs of dust floating over your laying body and Luke’s plants opening their flowers as if also preparing for the day.

Sadly, the strident noise of falling clutter coming from the kitchen pulled you away from your stupor, momentarily stopping your heart and making you sit up like a spring. A whispered string of complains followed right after, but you couldn’t recognize the voice pass the rhythm of your heartbeat in your ears.

It was either Solomon or Simeon, obviously, but you knew perfectly well who you wanted it to be.

Taking a deep breath, and patting your chest to set it back to normal, you got up and regally wrapped up the blanket around you, just like you had done hours before. Thankfully, the wooden floor kept your feet warm in your way to the kitchen.

“What is this doing here…?” you heard the voice.

Your pulse quickened again, gait suddenly clumsy with excitement.

You peeked around the doorframe, trying not to trip over the blanket, and stared shamelessly at Simeon’s back.

He was already wearing his suit, sleeves rolled up to the elbows as he bent down over the counter to study the air fryer. It was a simple one, cheap enough for you to buy at the supermarket without second thought or remnant guilt, but the poor man was clueless around technology.

The day you found out he wrote on a typewriter because he couldn’t understand his laptop was the day you laughed so hard, you had to hide in a distant corner to calm down.

Smiling at the memory, you silently walked in his direction and threw your hand back, ready to slap his ass.

Fortunately for him, your reflection on the cabinet’s glass spoiled your plans.

Simeon stood up immediately, turning around with a know-it-all smile and both hands in his hips.

“You’re insatiable, aren’t you?” he murmured in a low tone, aware of Solomon’s presence in his room nearby.

His words sent a pleasant tingly sensation to your tummy, and you couldn’t help but smile with giddiness.

“What can I say?” you shrugged, innocently. “You were in perfect position”

Simeon chuckled at your words. Biting his bottom lip, he checked the empty hallway and slowly placed a hand in your lower back, pulling you towards him. His lips lightly brushed the corner of yours, receding and smiling with complicity for a second before closing the distance again. He embraced your body with both arms, letting you only one hand to hug him back and trapping the other under the blanket.

He tasted like tea and powdered sugar.

Thankfully, your stomach wasn’t empty enough to disrupt the moment.

Your boyfriend…? Your friend… Your roommate- kept kissing you with the same gentleness one would hold a glass sculpture with. A set of fingers curled around your nape without pressure and another traced the length of your spine, sometimes making you shudder against him and tightening the hug. An occasional hum or a stifled groan interrupted the silence on occasion, and so did a couple of car horns in the distant traffic, but there was nothing that could possibly pull you out of the moment.

Or so you thought.

Until his alarm went off.

He disappeared from your side immediately, hurriedly pulling his phone out of the pants pocket and fighting to turn the horrible sound off.

“What do I do?” he asked frantically, tapping everywhere in the screen but the button. “MC, what do I do??”

“First of all, relax” you ordered him in return, grabbing his phone directly from his hand and flawlessly turning it off. A shameful expression covered his face by the time you gave it back to him. “It’s literally just a button. In the centre of the screen. We’ve talked about this, Simeon”

“I know, I know” he chuckled, scratching his neck in embarrassment. “I promise I’ll learn how to do it… eventually”

“You better, because I’m not always going to be here to turn it off for you-”

“How so?”

The interruption brought your attention back to him, and, if not for his cheeky expression, you would’ve taken it seriously. Instead, you lightly punched his shoulder and went to grab his jacket.

“Why are you leaving so early, anyway?” you asked, changing the direction of the conversation.

Thankfully, he went with it. Talking about the implications of your unestablished relationship should be done after lunch and a fulfilling nap; not right after waking up and being kissed until near stupidity.

“Lucifer was invited to an art exhibition by one of his and Diavolo’s friends” he explained, fixing his cufflinks before slowly getting out of the kitchen, waiting for you to follow. “He thought it could interest me, so I’m going. I’m meeting him at his house and then he’ll drive us there”

“And ‘there’ is…?”

“Half an hour away, but don’t worry. I’m having lunch with him and then I’ll be home way before dinner. No chance for you to miss me” he smiled, looking at you adoringly as he walked towards the entrance door.

You followed blindly, still wearing the blanket around you and collecting the dust on the floor without care. You half expected him to give you a quick kiss before leaving, but that wasn’t what happened.

Instead, he stopped, his fist closing carefully around his keys, and turned around with a serious expression. His voice was low and soft when he talked again.

“I’m thinking about telling him about us… If that’s okay”

Your eyebrows raised in surprise, and you blinked repeatedly.

“Telling Lucifer?” you stammered, half confused and half stoked. You weren’t even sure if Simeon thought about an ‘us’, let alone telling his closest friend.

“He’s still important to me” he explained, and then rolled his eyes with a small smile. “And you’re pretty important to him”

You chuckled, making his smile grow wider.

It was true.

“Why Lucifer, though? Why not Luke?”

“Well…” he sighed, then shrugged and scratched his neck again. “I don’t want to overwhelm him. It’s the first time he’s living with people other than family and he’s just getting used to his school’s teaching system. You’re his best friend and I’m his brother; I know he’d be happy for us, but I think we should wait a little bit. I don’t want him to think our relationship will change anything”

“It won’t” you reassured him immediately, but he just smiled and moved to gently grab your arms.

“Are you completely sure about that?” he whispered.

You pursed your lips, deep in thought.

Sharing a home was one thing. Sleeping in the same room when Solomon and Luke were both out of the house was another. Starting a formal, committed relationship was completely different.

Would you still treat Luke as a friend in a few months, hopefully still dating his brother? Or would you treat him like another sibling or a role model to follow? Worst of all, if you broke up for whatever reason, would you be able to stay amicably or would you rather move out and damage the friendship you had with the pre-teen?

You couldn’t lie to yourself, let alone Luke.

“Not really” you finally confessed, looking down.

Two fingers moved towards your face, softly lifting your chin until you were looking at Simeon again. Then he cupped your cheek, and your heart felt incredibly full.

“Let us discover this for ourselves first” he pleaded, bending down to kiss you again, as lovingly as before. “Once we figure it out, we’ll tell whoever we want”

You chuckled, and instantly frowned in confusion.

“Why tell Lucifer, then?” you asked once more.

Simeon smiled, not saying anything before grabbing a ticker coat from the rack and turning to open the door.

The answer hit you like a truck.

“You bastard!” you laughed, hopefully not too loud. He laughed in return as he stepped into the hallway. “You want him to know you were the one who got me!”

I love you, he mouthed before finally closing the door.

You smiled at the door, hearing his footsteps disappeared as he walked towards the elevator.

“Damn”

You jumped, startled by the voice.

Appearing from the shadows like a cryptic, Solomon nodded at you as a greeting. He was sipping something from an incredibly ugly mug, but it was his smirk what was making you stare at him in silent, deep horror.

“I knew you guys were screwing around” he chuckled, bumping your hips with his as he walked right past you. “Asmo owns me money”

Taglist: @ilovecandys2010 @ollieoven @kingofspadesdelusion @whimsybloom @mia4gotcookiez

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choso-ish · 20 days ago

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thinking abt boyfriend!caleb...

boyfriend!caleb who fixes everything without you even needing to ask. drawer sticking? already taken care of. lamp flickering? rewired it. he doesn't tell you—he just watches as you notice it later and coyly grins into his coffee.

boyfriend!caleb who claims he's not tired after a long mission, only for you to find him half-asleep on the couch, boots still on and one arm curled around a pillow. His mouth is slack, just barely drooling onto the fabric, grumbling something unintelligible as you try to take off his shoes for him.

boyfriend!caleb who never talks about his nightmares, but you know he has them. sometimes you wake to find him already staring at the ceiling, eyes tired and fingers quietly tracing his necklace. you don't press—you just reach for his hand under the covers, and he squeezes back like that's all he needed to fall back asleep again.

boyfriend!caleb who always insists on carrying the groceries, your bags, or even your water bottle if you're out walking together. “what kind of man would I be if I let you haul this on your own?” he says, smug—but you catch him sneaking glances at your smile every time.

boyfriend!caleb who brushes your hair behind your ear while you're half-asleep just to get a better look at your face. when your eyes flutter open, he’s still staring, mischief in his voice as he mutters, “would you look at that—i’m still not dreaming. guess i’m really stuck with you after all, pips.”

boyfriend!caleb who likes it when you sit on the counter while he cooks. Not because it's helpful, but because he likes having you close, swinging your legs and stealing tastes while he pretends to scold you. “that’s for the plate, not your fingers. …okay, one more.” you’re lucky you're cute.

boyfriend!caleb who doesn't say he's jealous, but suddenly gets a lot clingier after someone else makes you laugh. an arm slung around your waist, chin hooked over your shoulder, voice low and casual as he asks, “new friend of yours?” as much as you tease, he just hums and pulls you closer. “didn't know I needed to remind you who you belong to.”

boyfriend!caleb who hates fighting with you—not because he can't argue, but because he refuses to let it wedge between you. even if he's still annoyed, he'll find you in the dark, sliding his arm around your torso, voice firm. “we’re not ending the night like this. i’m mad, you're mad, fine. but i’m not losing sleep over something we can fix. not with you.”

boyfriend!caleb who pouts when you steal his jackets, but always makes sure the next one you take smells freshly laundered and has something tucked in its pocket—a wrapped candy, a scribbled note, a folded paper star—something small. something tender. something that’s his.

boyfriend!caleb who doesn't flinch when you're angry because he wants you to feel safe expressing anything with him. he lowers his voice, softens his expression and says, “okay, hit me with it. no shields.” and he listens.

boyfriend!caleb who dreams of a small life away from the fleet, from Ever, from everything. a place where no one knows his name, where the two of you can be ordinary. even when you blow off the prospect, he’s already mapped it out in his head, blueprints and all.

boyfriend!caleb who doesn't let you see how much it kills him that he's part machine. but every time your fingers brush the metal of his arm, and you don't flinch—every time you press your lips to the cold and say, “still you”—something in him stitches back together.

boyfriend!caleb who can't stop watching you when you're distracted. reading, cooking, tying your shoes, it doesn't matter. he stares like you're the most fascinating thing in the world. and when you catch him, he just shrugs. “what? can't look at my beautiful girl?”

boyfriend!caleb who says “mine” under his breath when he kisses you. it’s not about ownership, it’s about fear. like he still can’t believe you chose him. like if he doesn’t say it out loud, the world might steal you back.

boyfriend!caleb who has contingency plans for if you go missing. not because he doesn't trust you (at least, for the most part), but because the world is dangerous. he's memorized every route of town, planted caches, and learned the faces and names of potential threats. you’ll never know how deep it goes.

boyfriend!caleb who keeps a photo of you hidden behind the inner clasp of his uniform, its surface creased and edges softened by time and touch. no one knows it's there, not even you—but when the world turns brutal, pressures high and hands bloody, he’ll press his fingers to it like a lifeline. and sometimes, when no one's looking, he unfolds it—just for a moment—and allows his eyes to soften in a way his subordinates never see. you’re his axis. his anchor. his only constant in a world of smoke and lies. he’d crawl through fire, through blood, and through everything he hates about himself just to come home to you.

#l&ds #lads #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #caleb #lnds #caleb x reader #caleb x mc #love and deepspace caleb x reader #caleb x you #lnds caleb #lads x reader #lads caleb

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egglain · 6 months ago

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Choso is everyone’s favourite boy. Even your mom’s, which is saying something. Always the gentleman, he’s so in tune with your needs and emotions— he’s a sensitive soul.

In public, he’s perfect. Holds your bags when you shop, opens doors, and always has his card out before you can think to find your wallet. He’s great at grounding you, making sure you stop for food and drinks. And Choso loves to share. He doesn’t care about stares you receive as his fork flies over your plates to give you a bite of his order.

At home, he helps you with your shoes, makes sure you park yourself on the couch while he takes care of putting things away. Even though he’s still getting the hang of cooking, you never go to bed hungry— even if it means ordering in with a movie.

He really is the sweetest.

Outside the bedroom.

explicit content under the cut. 18+, mdni.

Behind closed doors, Choso is a different creature.

Depraved doesn’t even begin to cover it.

It never starts out that way, of course— no, it’s always wholesome at the beginning. Falling asleep, Choso pulls you closer to his chest as his leg wraps over your hip. It’s an innocent gesture, cuddling in as you begin to drift off.

That is, until he starts rutting up against you.

How could he not? Your smell, your body against him, your sleepy mumbles of endearment— he couldn’t help himself.

Which is how you end up with your bottoms around your ankles and his wet, pulsing cock twitching between your thighs.

He’d hump them messily, hands fondling your chest and nipples, bringing himself to the edge before stopping to kiss you.

He loved playing this game— getting himself close just to pull away, until his legs were shaking with need and his cock was so hard and heavy it hurt.

By then, of course, he’d be too far gone.

“Just the tip— please. Please, baby— just— just the tip and I’ll stop.”

Squeezing his balls and jerking his base just a little too rough, he’d babble for it. Beg. Beg until his eyes were stinging with tears, until you were reaching down to spread yourself open for him.

One nudge of his soaked, throbbing head against your too-hot hole would have him seeing stars. Toes curling and sharp teeth sinking into your shoulder, he’d paint you white between grunts and whines.

“Fuck— wasted it— needs to go inside. Need to be inside. Please.”

Which is how you end up pinned under him, Choso drilling you into the pillows as he desperately tries to fuck his cum inside.

Your hissed gasps and choked-off moans have his cock leaking like a faucet; he slips out too many times to count, but he’s nothing if not determined. He fucks into your tight little hole with unparalleled speed, the slap of his balls against your ass sure to brand your skin.

He’s never satisfied, finishing like this— as stuffed as you are.

No, he needs to see you.

So, you’re wrangled onto your back, Choso’s shaking form above you as he slides home once more. He nestles his cock as deep as he can reach, tears falling from the overstimulation. His cock feels raw, weeping and burning from the incessant pounding, but he can’t stop his hips.

Poor thing.

Nothing gets him harder than this— your lips on his cheeks, kissing away his tears and cooing as his tip stirs your insides. Your legs around his waist, your nails clawing at his back, the feeling of your chest against his— it’s all too much.

He’d cum crying, shaking as his hips stutter, fucking his cum deep inside.

He’d fall asleep like that, plugging his seed inside you, trembling in your grasp.

You’d wake up to strong hands on your thighs, tongue prodding at your insides as he cleans you up.

“Thank you— thank you—“

Muffled into your skin, you can barely make out what he says.

But of course, you already know.

He’s your sweet boy, after all.

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honey-tongued-devil · 6 months ago

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[Arcane preference] reacting to a s/o falling asleep on their lap

The reason I have to post requests like this is because, for some reason, if I post them as Tumblr requests, I can’t find them again when I search for them. Making the masterlist was a real struggle. As usual, I’m using the headcanon to promote my longfic on Arcane, Everytime It Rains.

Jayce:

It often happens when he spends the evening working instead of giving you attention.

You know he doesn’t mean it in a bad way, so you settle for climbing onto his lap, letting your limbs dangle, and resting your face against his chest.

He stays focused on studying the documents in front of him, but one hand holds your head steady to keep you from losing your balance.

He strokes your hair absentmindedly.

When he notices you’ve fallen asleep, he feels a warmth, a tender sort of affection. He doesn’t want to wake you but wishes he had something to drape over your shoulders.

After a while, it becomes his signal that he’s pushed himself too far with work.

That’s the moment when he lifts your face to kiss you before carrying you to bed.

Viktor:

The classic "working on the couch" position, where you first sit next to him to avoid disturbing him, then drape one leg over his lap, and eventually both. By the end of the evening, you’re fully curled up in his arms.

He holds your side, resting his cheek against your head while continuing to read his notes, basking in the warmth of that shared intimacy.

He asks you several times if you’re tired, and when you don’t respond, he smiles softly, realizing exhaustion has won you over.

He pulls the blanket up to cover you both, and even when you grumble in annoyance at his movements, he chuckles and just says, “Just a second”

He works for another couple of hours but never stops stroking your side or giving you small kisses on the forehead.

Ekko:

“Aw, someone’s sleepy here,” is the first thing he says when you take the overboard from his hands, and let yourself plop into his lap, already wrapped in a blanket like a cape.

He doesn’t even try to go back to what he was doing. Instead, he pulls you close, rubbing his face against yours, taking in your scent.

He loves it—maybe even more than cuddling lying down. He enjoys the weight, the shape of your body, and being able to cradle you.

Because of this, he doesn’t ask if you’d rather lie down; he stays put, ensuring your rest is protected.

It’s only when you’re fully asleep and start shifting to find a more comfortable position that he decides to carry you to bed, staying there with you afterward.

Vander:

I’ll be honest, would.

The underground city is freezing due to the lack of light that filters in, all the glass and steel radiating cold from the outside. That’s why there’s no place more comfortable than this man’s laps.

You usually do it when the bar is still closed, and only a few close friends are inside. When you know he isn’t on the defensive and you won’t slow him down.

He laughs, keeping one hand on your back to support you, and points out to anyone around him that it’s good for you to get a little rest.

If you stay asleep even after the bar opens, he’ll grab a chair and sit it beside him so he can take care of the larger tasks first and then return to you in his lap.

But if it’s the weekend, when things can easily heat up, he’ll delay opening just to get you to bed, give you a kiss, and apologize for leaving you alone.

Silco:

Can we normalize this man as a piece of furniture?

It’s not even about being tired or wanting attention, sometimes it’s just the comfort the situation itself provides.

The way the swivel chair rocks, the vinyl on the record player, the intense, greenish light pouring through the window, and enjoying his delicate fingers in your hair while the entire city stretches out beneath you.

He doesn’t ask why you do it, nor if you want to move. He assumes that if you wanted something different, you would simply ask, so he continues to give you those small attentions endlessly.

He keeps you on the side of his good eye, so he doesn’t have to turn his head to check on you, but can discreetly notice if your expression changes or if you fall asleep.

These are the moments when Sevika knows that no one is supposed to enter his office, so you can have a bit of peace.

Jinx:

She’s always busy, always active, always too loud. Sitting in her lap sometimes seems almost like a necessity to keep her still and focused on just one thing.

“Awwww, my little bug is sleepy?”

She hums while holding you in her arms, one hand still trying to get her projects done.

If too much time passes, she’ll bend her knees and push herself forward, making the swivel chair move in the direction she wants so she can stay occupied while talking to you about whatever crosses her mind.

If she feels your breathing change, that you’re falling asleep, she suddenly freezes, as if to let you rest.

She pulls you closer, caresses you, kisses your temples, and carries you to her little couch.

Vi:

If manhandling were a woman

When you sit on her lap, she treats you like you’re a cat: fine. It will end there.

Does she need to pee? No, she doesn’t anymore.

She can’t disturb you, or you might get up and leave.

But when it starts to become a constant, she’ll cover your back and simply hold you while she does what she needs to do.

If you complain, she’ll kiss you, apologizing and reassuring you that you’ll be back on the sofa soon, asking you to hang on.

She enjoys that closeness, your breath on her skin, the trust in that action.

The moment she sits back down or rests, she’ll shower you with cuddles, even if you’re asleep or pretending to be.

Caytlin:

She’s the one to ask if you want to sit in her lap, worried that she’s neglecting you.

She keeps you with her, even if you’re asleep, supporting you to make sure you don’t hurt yourself or lose your balance.

Her biggest fear is not being able to express how much she cares for you, how happy she is to have you there.

The quickest way she knows to do that is through physical contact—the reassuring, warm kind.

“How was your day?” she asks, giving you space to talk and feel seen. She doesn’t want the things she has to do to take away from you, from the two of you.

If she still feels like she’s ignoring you, she’ll ask you to sit on the couch with her to watch a movie, or maybe in bed, cuddled up, just being close.

Mel:

I recognize mommy issues when I see them, and so does she. You’ve been caught.

She welcomes you into her arms almost playfully, gently caressing your hands and arms, speaking softly with her head turned toward you.

She knows it’s the easiest way for you to ask for attention, and she simply accepts it, letting you rest either in her arms or with your head on her lap.

She talks to you about her day, her plans, her worries as if telling you a lullaby, letting you rest on her concerns, including you in her mind so that you don’t feel like a burden.

If you fall asleep, she rests her chin on your shoulder and closes her eyes as well, enjoying a few minutes of peace, trying to sync your breathing together.

Sevika:

You live on the lap of this woman.

When she adjusts her arm, when you eat something on the couch, even at the bar while she plays cards or drinks, you’re always there.

The safest place in the underground city is on the massive legs of a woman with a mechanical arm, and that’s a fact.

Her initial fear, especially in public, was that someone might associate you with her and harm you.

But over time, it’s almost become a flex -you, pretty thing, are hers,

Every now and then, she checks to see if you’re okay, if you want to go to bed, if you’re comfortable, and with her healthy hand, she caresses your cheek while doing so.

At home, she always makes sure to cover you, to keep you close.

She doesn’t even go to bed unless you ask, enjoying the feeling of your body against hers.

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heavenlybodies333 · 19 days ago

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What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas -S.R

Spencer Reid x coworker!reader | secret relationship |

You should’ve said no. You should’ve told Spencer to wait, to at least let the alcohol wear off before doing something that reckless. But you didn’t.

You said yes the second he locked the door. Yes, the second his mouth hit your neck. Yes, when he dropped to his knees like it was instinct.

Because if there was one thing stronger than your survival instinct, it was the absolutely unholy way Spencer fucking Reid ate pussy.

Your hand tangled in his curls, tugging, guiding. You could barely keep still, breath stuttering as he groaned against you, tongue flicking, sucking, circling your clit.

You were seconds from falling apart when—Click.

You both froze. The adjoining door. The fucking adjoining door. The knob rattled once. Then again. A voice behind it, "Wait—hold on—I've got it, I swear!" Emily. Damnit. Your eyes widened as Spencer looked up at you, face still buried between your legs, wide-eyed like a deer caught red-handed mid-sin.

“Shit—” you hissed, sitting up, eyes wide as the door creaked. Spencer didn’t stop. “Spence—baby, they’re coming in—”

The door creaked open just as you shoved the hotel duvet over him, nearly smothering the poor man.

“Oh my God, this room is so much nicer than mine,” Emily’s voice rang out as she stumbled in with JJ on her arm, both mid-laugh. “We’re staying in here next time.”

You were frozen, body rigid under the blanket. Spencer didn’t stop. In fact, he doubled down. His arms wrapped tighter around your thighs, pulling you lower on the mattress until your hips were just barely lifted under the thick bedding, like nothing was out of the ordinary.

You bit the inside of your cheek hard. Because Spencer had settled into a pace that could only be described as merciless. And beneath the thick duvet, he was dragging you closer with each passing second, mouth latching to your clit with soft, rhythmic sucks that had your toes curling beneath the comforter. His hands pinned your thighs open. You could feel the scrape of his curls against your inner thighs, the heat of his breath, the sheer need he was radiating like a fucking furnace. You wanted to sob. Or scream. Or—

“Hey!” Garcia’s voice chirped from behind them, bright and far too close. You blinked up as she flopped down right next to you on the bed, blissfully unaware. “Why is it so much cooler in here? This mattress is heaven.”

You whimpered. Covered it with a cough. Reid’s tongue dragged up your center with slow, deliberate pressure, and you nearly blacked out.

Reid’s grip on your thighs tightened, fingers digging into your skin. You tried to shift, to scoot up a little, give him space, but he wouldn’t let you. If anything, he pulled you closer, burying himself deeper like a smug little bastard.

“Ohhh no no no,” Garcia said, nudging your arm and snuggling down beside you. “You are not falling asleep on us yet. We are not done gossiping.”

Reid sucked your clit into his mouth and your entire body arched involuntarily.

“You okay?” JJ asked, peering at you from across the room as she settled onto the couch with Emily.

You forced yourself to sit perfectly still. You tried not to breathe. Reid licked you again, slow and deliberate, like he wanted to get caught.

“I—I’m good. I’m just—” You grabbed a pillow and smacked it right down onto your lap where he was, trying to hide the way your hips jerked as Spencer moaned directly against your clit like the smug little menace he was.

You gripped the headboard with one hand and the sheet with the other, trying not to visibly convulse as he pushed two fingers inside you and curled them just right.

You were going to die in a Las Vegas hotel. Killed by orgasm and the humiliation of having it delivered in a room full of your FBI coworkers.

When they finally stumbled out—JJ muttering something about needing fries and Garcia demanding a pool selfie—the door clicked shut behind them.

You lay there, panting, drenched in sweat and disbelief.

The duvet peeled back.

Spencer emerged with flushed cheeks, swollen lips, and those wide, innocent eyes sparkling with way too much satisfaction.

“You know,” he said, as though he hadn’t just risked both your careers, “sound actually doesn’t travel as effectively under heavy layers. It’s similar to how anechoic chambers are constructed—absorption through multiple dense surfaces. Like this comforter.”

You stared at him, blinking in shock.

He just licked his lips. “We should test that theory more often.”

a/n: gossip girl was the blueprint for this lmao

⋆•★⋆ MASTERLIST ⋆★•⋆

#dr spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you smut #criminal minds smut #doctor spencer reid #spencer reid fan fiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #divider creds: cafekitsune

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cheapshrimpysheep · 9 months ago

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Yuu Needs a Hug 1

SUMMARY: What their comforting hugs are like when you're feeling sad or under the weather? And how would they behave if you started crying in their arms?

CHARACTERS: Heartslabyul (Riddle, Ace; Deuce; Cater; Trey); Savanaclaw (Leona; Jack; Ruggie) & Octavinelle (Azul; Jade; Floyd)

TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader; Comfort; Bullet Points; In a Relationship

WORD COUNT: An average of 280 words per character.

COMMENTS: When I feel a little sad and under the weather, I often imagine these things to help me fall asleep. I thought you might like them too. 😘

Yuu Needs a Hug 2 (Scarabia / Pomefiore / Ignihyde / Diasomnia)

CONTEXT: They are already in a relationship with you.

All of Riddle’s hugs happen in private, and comfort hugs are far from the exception.

If he is in his dorm uniform, a very characteristic hug from him is using the cape to cover you like a blanket and as a sign of protection. With his left arm around you.

His most common hugs are the ones where he hugs you with one arm while continuing his duties with the other, like homework, or some dorm-related paperwork. And with the hand that hugs you, absently caressing your back or head.

If you are really feeling very under the blue, he will occasionally kiss your forehead.

He's not the type to hug you tight. His arms will generally be very relaxed and loose around you, as if resting. For someone who is always so uptight and strict, that means a lot.

If you happen to be so depressed to the point of crying, then yes, all his attention goes to you immediately and his hug tightens. One arm around your waist and the other on your head, encouraging you to cry all you need on his shoulder.

He will be extremely understanding and act calmly as he knows, and shows you, that it is a normal thing and that he knows it will pass, that you will be fine because he will always be there for you. He himself knows from experience how crying can do a person good, and you were always there for him at those times.

And when you feel better, he will wipe your tears with his handkerchief (I'm sure he carries one somewhere in his clothes) and kiss your forehead with a sweet and reassuring smile.

Ace will gladly give you all the hugs you want. But he will always tease you saying that he wants something in return for every hug. But if you're really sad, he'll say he was joking.

If you really want hugs to make you feel better you'll have to ask in private, because in public he only gives you those more relaxed and playful hugs.

He can give you hugs standing up, but the ones he likes most are the ones when you're both lying on the couch. He likes to have you on top of him with your head against his chest and both of his arms around you, or to lie on his side between you and the back of the couch with one hand supporting his head and the other arm on top of you.

His main strategy to make you feel better is to talk about things that distract you. Generally silly things to tease you or make you laugh.

If you happen to be so depressed to the point of crying, he will panic a little and try to find out if it was something he said. After that, he will stop the jokes and hug you tighter and kiss your forehead.

He will be quieter than usual until your crying stops and only then will he return to his normal self.

Deuce will be slightly awkward at first. This is most likely the first time someone has asked him for a hug as a form of comfort. And since he doesn't have much experience with hugs either, he's afraid of messing it up.

He will start by hugging you standing up. You will feel his arms feel more comfortable around you as you explain to him that there is no way he could do that wrong. There is no therapeutic technique, he just needs to act as he feels he should.

If you are on the couch you will be sitting side by side. Your head on his shoulder, one of his arms around you, and the other he always not knowing what to do with it.

It will take a long time for him to have confidence in his comforting hugs because he knows that he is not the type of person who knows how to comfort others, much less physically. But he will always try his best for you.

If you happen to be so depressed to the point of crying, he will panic a little and, if he only had one arm around you, he'll quickly put the other one around you too. And he will hug you like you are in danger.

Maybe you will calm down by trying to calm him down and you'll both end up laughing about it.

Cater is the #best hugger! And as he is a person who likes to show affection, it doesn't matter if you two are alone or in public, he will give you all the hugs you need regardless.

Get ready for him to talk in that cute little voice like someone talking to a child. Not that he sees you as one, but he likes to talk and act cute.

And that's why his comfort hugs are also very cute, like someone hugging a teddy bear. He also gives you lots of kisses on your forehead and cheeks while hugging you.

Although he speaks in a cute way, he doesn't do it in a way that seems like he's minimizing your feelings, but rather in a way that tries to show that everything will be okay, that whatever it is will pass.

He can do this whether the two of you are standing together or if you are sitting on a couch. But in this last option, he will be so close to you that the most comfortable way for you to sit together is with you on his lap.

If you happen to be so depressed to the point of crying, he won't change the way he's acting, as if knowing he was doing everything right and you crying was a good sign and an important part of you feeling better in the end.

When your crying calms down or stops, he will smile at you, wipe the tears from your cheeks with his thumbs and say phrases like "Are you feeling better?" and "Everything will be okay."

In the case of hugging you to make you feel better, Trey has no problem doing it in public if you need to. And he also reacts to your request as naturally as he would if you asked him to make you a sweet dessert.

You might even be surprised by how naturally he hugs you and the way he rubs his hands comfortingly on your back, if you didn't remember that he has younger siblings and probably has some experience comforting them.

He smiles and laughs softly the whole time, as if he finds your attitude cute.

He can do this standing up or, if you are sitting on a couch, sitting next to you. But only if you are alone will he let you sit on his lap.

The relaxed way he comforts you is almost parental, it must be that older brother side of him.

If you happen to be so depressed to the point of crying, he may become a little more serious, but he will always act calmly and comes across as having everything under control. One of his hands will also come from your back to the back of your head.

Once your crying calms down or even stops, he will wipe your tears either with a handkerchief he has or with his own blazer or shirt. He will smile at you, showing that everything is fine and ask if you would like one of his sweets to make you feel better.

Leona cares so much about being seen hugging you publicly that the botanical garden became your spot to take naps together as unbothered as a lion in the middle of savannah. He always wants you to be his pillow, whether it's your thighs or your chest. BUT showing genuine affection is only in private.

He had already noticed that you were sadder than usual, but you were the one who had to ask him for a hug, he was too proud to offer you one non-ironically.

He will open his arms and smile smugly, but he won't be the one to initiate the hug. If you want it, you have to take it.

But as soon as you do, he'll wrap you in a surprisingly affectionate hug. If you're lying down like when he takes a nap with you, his hands will encourage you to come closer and lay your head on his chest. You've just discovered the only way you can reverse your usual roles.

If you happen to be so depressed to the point of crying, he will remain calm and surprise you again. He'll start giving you soft kisses on your face and forehead, the equivalent of when felines lick each other's ears as a show of affection.

His tranquility can be contagious, especially because the calm beat of his heart is a reassuring sound.

Only when he is sure that your crying has stopped and you are better will he speak again: *sigh* “You just give me work, herbivore. I just hope you at least thank me in some way.”

Jack only hugs you in private! And if he ever does it in public, it's because he somehow forgot that you were in public and will quickly break the hug.

He is the complete opposite in private, after all he can be like a puppy: extremely affectionate if he feels comfortable with you. So it was always very common for you to cuddle on the couch.

His comforting hug ends up not being much different from usual, perhaps just less enthusiastic and more delicate. He likes having you in his arms, but he likes having his face close to yours more.

If you're sitting, he won't have any problem letting you sit on his lap and lay your head on his shoulder. He won't take his arms from around you, nor stop kissing your forehead and cheeks softly and affectionately. All his attention is on you, and his main purpose at that moment is to dedicate himself to you.

If you happen to be so depressed to the point of crying, he will hug you tighter and the small and calm kisses will turn into love attacks on your face. Do you know when service dogs jump at their owner when they are having a panic attack, for example? It's something like that he's doing, without fully realizing it. Ok, maybe just not as intensely as service dogs do, but with a lot of affection.

This gesture will most likely make you laugh and start telling him you're okay so he can calm down. Which will make you calm yourself down as a result.

Ruggie doesn't really care if you're in public or not, he'll hug you regardless. And there's the bonus that when he hugs you in public, it's like marking territory and warning others.

He loves being cute and affectionate with you because he loves you being cute and affectionate with him back. He often does for you what he knows you would do for him. And a comforting hug is no different.

He will always tease with you a little at the beginning. "Aww, you want one of my special hugs? That’s so cute. But remember they are expensive, okay? You have to reward me later as a thanks.” He says this in a good mood that tries to put you at ease.

He will open his arms for you to hug him first and he will hold you in his embrace. He will be smiling playfully the whole time because he thinks it's funny how you can be so cute. And he will kiss your forehead with that same smile.

If you happen to be so depressed to the point of crying, his smile will fade. It was too serious for him to treat you with humor. He will tighten the hug and start saying sweet, soothing things in your ear like: "hey, don't worry. I'm sure everything will be fine."

When your crying calms down or even stops, he will smile at you again and say that it all made him hungry. What if you two went to eat something? Maybe, just maybe, he'll share some of his food with you if it's something you really like. But DO NOT get used to it!

ONLY when you are alone, in the VIP Room, Azul likes it when you sit on his lap while he does the Mostro Lounge’s paperwork. It's a healthy balance between the stress of business and the pleasure of having you in his arms.

The only two exceptions to the rule that he doesn't like others seeing you two like this are Jade and Floyd. Why? Because he likes to brag to them about having you all to himself. ("By all means, cry about it.")

He will hug you like he always does when you two are in the VIP Room. One arm around your waist, surprisingly firm, and the other on the papers. His attention is divided between reading and signing the contracts and turning to give you sweet kisses on your face and/or, if you allow it, on your neck.

If he feels you hugging him in a more clingy way than usual, he will comment in a soft voice: “You know, if I could be in my merman form, I'd let my tentacles do the paperwork and give you all the attention of my arms. The inconvenience of having two legs. No offense of course.” If this can get even a little giggle out of you, he'll be very happy.

If you happen to be so depressed to the point of crying, his right hand will immediately let go of the pen and join his left in hugging you. He hugs you so tight it's like you're trapped in his loving embrace. He is worried about you, but he does everything he can to not show himself too worried.

“Just never forget that if there is anything I can do, you can ask. Anything. I will solve any problem for you... just for you...”

When your crying calms down or even stops, he will wipe your tears with a handkerchief and give you a pack of tissues. And when you're better, he'll give you one of his most tender kisses on your cheek.

Jade doesn't like to draw attention, he prefers to observe others than to be observed. That's why his hugs are private, especially those comfort ones that you are asking for.

“You know you can open up to me whenever you need to, but keep doing it only when we're alone, okay? You never know who might be watching you looking for a weakne- I mean, a sensitive moment to use against you, my love.”

He's not much of a hugger in general, so all of his hugs end up being special. And since you're alone, he has no problem having you sit on his lap if you want.

His arms and hands are premeditatedly affectionate and attentive to you, as if he knew exactly how you liked to be hugged at that specific moment and he fulfilled these requirements to the letter. If there's one thing he knows how to do in a frighteningly perfect way, it's how to study and please others. And you are his biggest study interest.

Whatever you wanted him to do, he will know and do it. The way you want him to hug you, whether you want kisses or not, and how you want them.

If you happen to be so depressed to the point of crying, you will feel him, in a way, disappointed. With you or with himself, you don't know. “What is the mater? Did I not predict your desires correctly? It seems like I still have a lot to learn about you. How exciting.” He will kiss your forehead and let you cry on his shoulder.

He'll probably compare your crying to Azul's, making fun of him in that passive-aggressive way he does, and end up making you laugh.

When your crying calms down or even stops, he'll help clean your face and suggest that you two go to the Mostro Lounge, where he can prepare your favorite dish to make you feel better if you want. For free? Hmm... he can think about it.

Floyd can be VERY clingy. He loves to hug you, especially in public. Whether he’s in a good mood or not. Which means that, as he hugs you a lot, he also has many different types of hugs.

The vast majority of his hugs are to satisfy him, but they end up satisfying you too. Don't worry, he never squeezed you. He jokes that he will do it, but never actually does.

No matter what mood he's in, he never refuses to give you a comforting hug. For 3 main reasons: 1st an Octavinelle student never refuses someone's request for help. 2nd He thinks you're so absolutely cute asking him for a hug! It even makes him smile if he's in a bad mood. And 3rd You always give him the hugs he needs, it's only fair (even in terms of a deal) that he does the same for you.

He'll hug you, but he'll do what he wants in the meantime. Playing with your hair, resting his head on yours, swinging his legs if you are sitting down. And if you are, he will make you sit on his lap, it’s easier and more comfortable to hug you like this. He will probably also say silly things to pass the time or try to make you laugh.

If you happen to be so depressed to the point of crying, he will immediately shut up and if he was swinging his legs he will immediately stop too. He will straighten up, even if your head is resting on his chest. “You'll wash my clothes if you get them dirty, right Koebi-chan~?” He says this while stroking your head.

Even though he likes to provoke others, he has a perfect sense of limits, he just tends to ignore them most of the time. But it's different with you and that situation too.

When your crying stops, he will make you look at him, as if to check that the crying has stopped. If he confirms it, he will smile at you: "Is it over yet? YAY~! Can we make something fun now?”

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

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lowrisemiller · 1 month ago

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ʜᴏᴡ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴊᴏᴇʟ ʀᴇᴀᴄᴛꜱ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʟᴀᴄᴇ ᴘᴀɴᴛɪᴇꜱ ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

| 3.6k words | masterlist | kissing, groping, oral f receiving, fingering, multiple orgasms, unprotected piv smut (every joel deserves it raw I don't make the rules), no prep (its okay tho), teasing, joel is a menace, he rips the panties, rough sex, joel is a MUNCH

pre-outbreak joel!

The house is quiet when you slip through the door. Lights dimmed, a warm amber glow spilling from under the hallway as you kick your shoes off. Rain taps gently at the windows. It smells like cedar and laundry, like him.

You walk past the kitchen, past the folded throw blanket on the arm of the couch—his reading glasses tucked into the cushion crease. A soft smile pulls at your lips.

Joel’s home.

Bedroom door cracked just enough to show the light flickering from the nightstand lamp. He’s lying in bed, shirtless, one arm behind his head, book forgotten on his chest. His eyes track you the second you appear.

“Hey, darlin’.” His voice is low, gravel warm with sleep.

“Hey.” You rest against the doorframe. “Didn’t think you’d wait up.”

“Wasn’t sure when you’d get home.” He stretches, slow and unhurried, the covers dipping low over his hips. “Didn’t wanna fall asleep without ya.”

Your stomach flutters. Stupid soft man.

You pad toward the dresser, undoing the buttons of your blouse one by one. His eyes follow. You feel it like heat on your skin. You fold your top neatly and set it down, slipping out of your jeans next.

Then—finally—he sees them.

New lace panties, soft lavender and sheer, with little bows on the sides. Not even remotely practical. Delicate and meant for his eyes only.

Joel’s whole body stills.

You turn toward the closet to grab a shirt, voice light. “I was gonna save ‘em for later.”

A low sound rumbles from his chest.

“The hell were you thinkin’,” he mutters, “walkin’ around in those, talkin’ about later.”

You glance over your shoulder just as he tosses the covers back. The book lands somewhere on the floor. He sits on the edge of the bed, legs spread, his gaze molten.

“C’mere.”

There’s no command in it—just the kind of drawl that makes your knees weak.

You walk toward him, heart fluttering. He reaches for you slow, calloused hands trailing up your thighs until his thumbs hook in the lace. His fingers trace the tiny bows like he’s reading Braille.

“Pretty little thing like you,” he murmurs. “Wastin’ somethin’ this sweet on later.”

“I was gonna change,” you breathe. “Figured you were tired.”

“Tired don’t mean dead.”

You laugh—and gasp when he pulls you gently into his lap, straddling one thigh. His hands cradle your hips, his mouth ghosting kisses along your belly, your ribs, just beneath the edge of your bra.

His voice is a low rasp against your skin. “This for me?”

You nod. His thumb tugs at one bow.

“Say it.”

“It’s for you.”

He hums like that’s his favorite sound in the world. Then he’s kissing your inner thigh, the lace dampening beneath the heat of his mouth. You shift, hands in his hair, gasping when he eases you down onto the bed, tugging the panties aside—not off—because he wants you ruined in them.

You’re breathless under him, spine arching as Joel drags his mouth up your thigh. One of his hands presses to your stomach, holding you steady like he knows you’re about to come apart.

“Such a goddamn tease,” he murmurs, voice warm and rough as his lips skim over the thin strip of lace. “Comin’ in here lookin’ like a dream.”

Your hips lift instinctively when his tongue flicks just where you need it. The panties are barely in his way—just pushed to the side—and it’s somehow worse that he leaves them on, like he’s savoring the sight of you still dressed for him.

You whimper, fingers digging into the sheets.

Joel groans low in his throat, clearly pleased. “That’s it, baby. Don’t hold back.”

His mouth is unrelenting—slow circles of his tongue, the soft scrape of his beard making your thighs tremble. He’s not in a rush. He’s never in a rush when it comes to this. Joel’s the kind of man who learns your body like a song, and he plays every note until you’re strung out and shaking.

You reach down, tugging gently at his curls, hips starting to buck against his mouth, and that’s when he grips your thigh harder, anchoring you to the bed.

“Easy, now,” he murmurs between licks. “I got you.”

Then he flattens his tongue, presses in deep—and you feel it everywhere. Heat floods your belly. Your breath catches.

“Joel—”

“Yeah,” he rasps, voice hoarse, mouth glistening. “Say my name just like that.”

He keeps going until you’re gasping, legs trembling around his shoulders, and when he finally lets up—when he kisses your thigh and pulls back, breath warm on your skin—you think it’s over.

But Joel’s not done.

He leans over you, pushing your legs apart, still tangled in lace. His cock presses hot and thick against your thigh, and you can feel how hard he is, feel the way he trembles just a little as he lines himself up.

“Think I’m gonna take you just like this,” he murmurs, voice thick with heat. “Pretty little panties still on.”

You moan at that, eyes fluttering shut as he presses inside—slow, deep, filling you completely. Your back arches, arms curling around his shoulders as he buries himself to the hilt.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “So goddamn tight. You feel that, baby?”

You nod, too wrecked to answer. The lace rubs against your hips as he starts to move, the slow, grinding thrusts more intimate than anything. You’re gasping into his neck, clutching at him as he rolls his hips—deep and steady, dragging every second out.

“I ain’t goin’ anywhere,” he murmurs into your skin. “You take your time. I’ll be right here.”

Your second climax builds slower, warmer—coaxed out of you with patient hands and thick, steady strokes. Joel kisses your jaw, your cheek, your temple as you fall apart under him again, and then he finally lets go, groaning your name as he finishes, hips jerking once, twice.

He stays inside you for a moment, forehead pressed to yours, chest heaving.

Then a quiet chuckle.

“Guess I owe you a thank you for those panties.”

You laugh, breathless. “Told you they were for later.”

Joel grins as he brushes your hair back from your face, still inside you, still tangled up in lace.

“Darlin’,” he says, “it is later.”

smuggler joel!

The door slams shut behind you.

Joel’s already pushing you back into the shadows of the storage room—his mouth crashing over yours, rough and frantic. His hands are everywhere, gripping your hips, shoving your coat off your shoulders, the scratch of his stubble dragging over your cheek.

You gasp into the kiss. “Joel—someone could—”

“Don’t care.”

You barely make it three feet into the room before he’s spinning you toward the wall. The concrete is cold through your shirt. His hand plants beside your head, the other slips beneath your waistband.

“You wearin’ what I think you’re wearin’?” he mutters against your neck.

You nod, breath hitching. “Yeah. The ones from the market—those lace—”

Joel groans. “Fuckin’ hell.”

Then you feel it—the sound, the rip, his hand fisting the waistband and tearing straight through the fabric like it offended him.

“Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you in these,” he growls. “Had to see for myself.”

Your cheek is against the wall, hips angled back as he shoves your pants down, baring you to the cool air and his calloused touch. The lace slips to the floor in tatters. You don’t even get a second to protest.

Joel’s already unzipping.

The room smells like gunpowder and sweat, dust rising from the floor as his boots shift behind you. He grips your hips—big hands rough and dirty from patrol, fingers biting into your skin like he needs to prove something.

“Wanted to fuck you so bad back there,” he mutters. “Watchin’ you walk ahead of me, swayin’ your hips like that. Knew you were wearin’ these.”

You moan when you feel him, hard and hot, thick against your thigh. He doesn’t ease in slow. There’s no time for slow. He grits out your name and pushes inside in one long thrust that punches the air from your lungs.

“Joel—!”

He groans against your shoulder. “So fuckin’ tight.”

You brace your hands against the wall, trying to catch your breath. He doesn’t give it to you. His pace is fast, brutal—desperate. Like he’s been holding it in for weeks. Maybe he has.

You cry out when his hand slips under your shirt, up your chest, palming your breast through your bra.

“Always so fuckin’ soft,” he pants, rutting into you. “Mine, yeah?”

“Yes,” you breathe. “Joel, yes—”

He grunts at that, slamming into you harder, his grip on your hip bruising. The slap of skin echoes in the room, filthy and fast, and your legs are shaking already, barely holding you up.

Then his hand moves down, between your thighs, two fingers slipping through the slickness he’s already made.

“C’mon, baby,” he growls, voice hot at your ear. “Wanna feel you come.”

You whimper, fingers clawing at the wall. “I’m close—fuck, Joel—”

“Yeah, you are. Let go for me. Right fuckin’ now.”

You cry out when it hits—tight, white-hot pleasure bursting behind your eyes. He fucks you through it, still muttering curses under his breath, hips stuttering as he follows you over the edge with a groan that sounds like it’s been buried in his chest for weeks.

You both collapse against the wall, breathing hard. Your panties are in shreds. Your legs are trembling.

Joel presses a kiss to the back of your neck. “That was overdue.”

You laugh—weak and hoarse. “Think you broke my pelvis.”

He grins against your skin. “Was tryin’ to.”

boston qz joel!

The knock at his door is sharp and fast. Urgent. Joel opens it with his pistol half drawn, but it’s just you—soaked from the rain, blood on your cheek, breath shallow like you ran the whole way here.

“They raided my place,” you pant. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

Joel doesn’t say anything. Just steps aside and lets you in.

Your pack drops to the floor with a wet thud. You toe off your boots. His place is cramped and spare—brick walls, broken heater, one chair, one cot.

No guest bed.

You eye the cot. Joel follows your gaze.

“You can have it,” he says.

You shake your head. “You’re too big for the chair.”

“I’ve slept on worse.”

You lift your brows. “Joel.”

He sighs, jaw ticking.

“We’ll share, then,” you say before he can argue. “Just for tonight.”

He doesn’t answer. Just nods, turns away, and grabs you a shirt. You change in the bathroom—wipe off the blood, clean up as best you can. When you step back out, he’s already in bed, turned to face the wall.

You slip under the blanket.

For a while, there’s just silence. Rain tapping against the window. Joel breathing steady. Your shoulders stiffen every time the bed shifts beneath him, every time your legs accidentally brush.

“You okay?” he mutters.

You glance over. He’s still facing the wall, but you can see the line of his jaw, the tight set of his shoulders.

“Yeah,” you say. “Just cold.”

Joel’s quiet for a moment. Then his arm slides back, palm open.

You scoot closer.

He pulls you against him—big and solid and warm. Your back to his chest, his arm slung around your waist, fingertips resting low on your stomach. Neither of you breathes for a second.

“This alright?” he asks, voice low.

You nod. “Yeah. It’s…good.”

It stays that way for a while. His body heat seeps into yours. His breathing calms you.

Then his hand shifts.

Lower.

You freeze.

He doesn’t move again—but his fingers are brushing the waistband of your panties now. You feel his breath stutter behind you.

“You knew you were gonna end up in my bed tonight,” he mutters. “Didn’t you?”

You squirm. “I didn’t know they’d raid my place.”

“But you still wore these,” he murmurs, slipping his hand down further, cupping you through the lace. “Sweet little thing. Always actin’ innocent.”

Your breath catches. His fingers rub slow circles, the fabric dampening under his touch.

“You want me to stop?” he asks, lips brushing your neck.

“No.”

“Good.”

He shifts behind you—hips pressing into yours, thick and hard through his boxers. He hooks your knee over his thigh, opening you up to him. His hand slips beneath the lace, fingers slick and rough and just barely enough.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “So wet already. Bet you been thinkin’ about this for weeks.”

You moan, rocking your hips back into his.

Joel groans, deep and low. “Don’t do that unless you want me to lose what little fuckin’ control I got.”

“Then lose it.”

You feel him tense—then shove his boxers down just enough to press against your entrance. Still behind you. Still slow. His hand lifts your leg higher, his other arm tight around your chest.

Then he pushes in.

You gasp, clutching the blanket. He’s thick, stretching you deep, your lace panties still hooked around one thigh. It’s filthy and hot and exactly what you’ve both been aching for.

“You feel that?” he grits. “Takin’ me so fuckin’ good.”

Your head tips back against his shoulder. He thrusts into you, slow and rough, the bed creaking under your bodies. You cling to his forearm, lost in the rhythm, lost in the heat curling low in your belly.

When he feels you getting close, Joel’s hand slides back down.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs. “Come for me. Right here in my bed.”

You break apart with a soft cry, your legs trembling, hips shaking. Joel follows with a growl, hips jerking once, twice before he buries himself deep and stills.

You both lie there, breathless.

The rain has stopped.

He brushes hair from your face. “You sleepin’ here from now on.”

You smile, turning in his arms to press your lips to his jaw. “Yeah. I know.”

jackson joel!

“You leave ‘em on purpose?”

Joel’s voice cuts through the quiet of his house, low and thick with that rough Southern drag that curls right down your spine.

The front door’s locked. The snow’s started to fall again outside.

His fingers hold the delicate black lace between two fingers, swaying slightly like a warning—or a promise. Ellie had waved them at him earlier in the week, grinning like the devil, told him she almost tossed them in the fire before realizing they weren’t hers.

You’d turned scarlet.

Now they’re dangling from his hand, that slow smirk playing on his face.

“Well?” he asks, stepping closer.

The fireplace crackles behind you. His house smells like cinnamon and pine and something he picked up from the bakery this morning. You’d promised to make him a pie tonight. Apple. Just the way he likes it.

But Joel’s only hungry for one thing right now.

You lean back against the kitchen counter, heart thudding.

“Maybe,” you murmur.

His brow lifts. “Maybe?”

“I wanted you to find ‘em. Just… not Ellie.”

Joel chuckles under his breath, shaking his head. “You’re trouble.”

He tosses the panties onto the table like a challenge, then closes the distance until his hips press yours into the counter, one hand bracing beside your head. His other hand coasts under your sweater, slow and warm and possessive.

“You walkin’ around town,” he mutters, “bakin’ pies, smiling like that—like you ain’t got your panties layin around.”

You squirm, breath hitching.

He leans in, lips ghosting over yours, not quite kissing yet.

“She said they were in my hiking boots, darlin’,” he adds, a little gruff. “Was that supposed to be some kind of message?”

You smile, innocent as sin. “Did you get it?”

Joel’s eyes flash.

The kiss is immediate—hot and deep, all tongue and teeth and quiet groans in the warmth of the kitchen. His hands explore like he’s been waiting weeks, sliding down to grip your hips, then lower, pulling you flush.

“Turn around,” he growls against your mouth.

You hesitate, but something in his tone makes your knees go soft. You turn, palms flat on the counter, back to him. He kisses the back of your neck, slow and reverent, while his hands travel under your skirt, pushing it up until the cool air hits your thighs.

He reaches for the lace again—those damn panties—and slides them slowly up your legs, back where they belong. His hands pause at your hips, fingers slipping under the elastic.

“Leave ‘em on,” you whisper.

He hums, satisfied. “You like makin’ me wait.”

You don’t answer—not when he pushes the lace to the side and drags his fingers through you, slow, methodical, feeling how ready you are.

Joel doesn’t rush. He keeps one hand on your hip and the other between your thighs, teasing you until you’re gasping softly, forehead pressed to your arm on the counter.

Then he pulls away, just long enough to undo his jeans.

You feel the blunt pressure of him against you, his hand guiding himself where you need him most.

He slides in slowly, a hiss through his teeth.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “Always so good for me.”

You arch back into him, and his hands grip your hips hard as he starts to move. The rhythm is slow at first, deep and thorough, each thrust hitting just right with the lace still clinging to your thighs. The sounds of the fire crackling, your soft whimpers, and his low curses fill the room like a song only the two of you know.

“Thinkin’ about this all damn week,” he murmurs. “My kitchen. You in those little panties. Bent over like this.”

“Joel—”

He shushes you with a hand sliding up your front, under your sweater and bra, fingers finding your breast.

“Don’t you worry, baby,” he rasps, voice like gravel and honey. “Gonna give you every damn inch.”

And he does—again and again—until you’re unraveling in his arms, legs shaking, mouth open in a silent cry. He follows fast, hips stuttering against your backside, forehead pressed to your shoulder, breath hot and shaky.

When it’s over, he wraps his arms around you from behind and holds you there against the counter, both of you breathless, tangled in lace and heat and quiet laughter.

You tilt your head back against him. “So... still mad about the boot?”

Joel chuckles, nuzzling into your neck.

“Only ‘cause now I gotta start checkin’ all my shoes.”

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luvrrszn · 1 month ago

Text

nasty old dog

SIMON "GHOST" RILEY x FEM!READER

summary silent, broody...how can you resist your mysterious older neighbour?

warnings fluff-ish, age gap (early 20s, late 30s), nsfw (smut), bad brain-rotted writing

a/n heh......send requests pls

masterlist

the first time you meet him, he’s standing at your front door in full tactical gear.

not just a vest or boots—everything. black from head to toe, a skull-print balaclava covering most of his face. there’s a duffel slung over one shoulder, and your parcel in his hand.

you freeze.

he doesn’t say anything at first—just stares at you. and then, quietly, almost too quiet to hear:

“this came to mine.”

you take the box slowly, fingers brushing the gloves he hasn’t taken off. your eyes flick to his—dark, heavy-lidded, with a hint of tiredness that makes something twist in your chest.

“…thanks,” you manage, trying not to sound nervous.

he nods once and turns without another word. just disappears into the apartment across the hall like this is normal. like he’s normal.

you close the door and stand there for a long moment.

“…what the hell.”

—

you tell yourself not to be weird about it. but every time you see him—taking out the trash, coming back from a run, carrying enough groceries for a family of five—you get more and more curious.

there’s something about him. the way he’s always alone. how he never quite makes eye contact. how your cat likes to sit by the front door, ears perked, tail twitching, every time his boots echo down the hallway—like she knows exactly when he’s coming home.

he’s strange. broody. definitely hiding something.

so of course you bake cookies.

and occasionally leave them on his doorstep.

because you're a nice neighbour!

because you’re nosy. and maybe a little reckless.

and because god help you, your mysterious neighbour is hot.

—

at first, it's subtle. a soft nod when you pass by each other in the hallways, and even an occasional gruff "mornin'" from the man.

simon doesn’t exactly do small talk—but he starts remembering your name, starts holding the lobby door open a little longer when your arms are full of groceries. he even helps you carry them once. gruff, silent, but his hand wraps fully around the handle of your tote bag like it weighs nothing.

there’s a moment, that day. where your fingers brush his. and he flinches—not from you, but from himself. like he wasn’t expecting how warm you’d feel. how soft your hands were, untouched by the horrors of the world.

then it’s a sticky note.

you find it one night, stuck on your fridge in all caps, scrawled with a heavy hand:

“FIXED YOUR SINK. STOP USING THE DUCT TAPE.”

you don’t even know how he got in—must’ve used the spare key you gave your building’s maintenance guy. you leave a tupperware of cookies on his doorstep the next day. he doesn’t say anything, but a week later, your broken curtain rod is magically fixed too, and your empty tupperware sits on your kitchen counter.

and somehow, this becomes your thing.

he drops by after missions—always late at night, always quiet. you never ask questions. he never offers answers. but he shows up with oil stains on his shirt and shadows under his eyes, and you let him in, let him rest. you even start cooking bigger portions, just so he'll have some home-cooked food to eat when he drops by at night. you don't ask questions, you don't say anything. you just give him some food as he tugs off his skull balaclava.

sometimes he falls asleep on your couch, jaw slack, brow still furrowed like he’s expecting a fight even in sleep. other times, he just… sits with you. watches whatever’s on the tv without a word. you talk. he listens. and every now and then, when you say something funny or dumb or weird, the corner of his mouth twitches. barely noticeable. but it’s there.

eventually you get comfortable with him. you curl up against him during movie nights, head resting on his chest. his arm rests on the back of the sofa behind you. his hand doesn't wrap around your shoulder. he makes sure there's some sort of distance between him and the little young thing sitting beside him.

you learn he likes his tea strong. that he only takes sugar when he’s had a rough day. that he reads, sometimes, when he can’t sleep. that he has a soft spot for your cat, even if he pretends to ignore her—pretends not to notice when she curls up beside his boots. (you even catch him smiling at her once, but you pretend not to notice)

you start to learn the rhythm of him. the little ways he says “i care” without ever saying it at all.

eventually, you stop pretending he’s just your neighbour.

but he doesn’t.

he keeps his distance, even as he inches closer. never lets himself touch you for too long. never stays the night, no matter how late it gets. you catch the way he looks at you sometimes—like he wants something he doesn’t think he should want.

he’s careful. too careful. because you’re bright and soft and still figuring things out. and he’s lived a thousand lives in the dark, each one heavier than the last.

and maybe that’s why it nearly breaks something in you when one night, after a silence stretched too long, he just says it.

quietly. like he’s scared he’ll ruin it.

“i sleep better here.”

you don’t say anything. just reach for his hand and squeeze. and this time, he doesn’t pull away.

—

and one day, he comes back more broken than usual.

you can see it in the set of his shoulders, the way he lingers in the doorway like he’s debating whether or not he should’ve even come. his jaw is tight. his knuckles are bruised. and when he finally steps inside, he doesn't say a word—just drops his gear by the door, like always, and sinks onto your couch like gravity's finally gotten the best of him.

you sit beside him, quiet. you let the silence stretch.

until you finally ask, “si, are you okay?”

he doesn’t answer right away. just stares ahead, breathing deep, like your soft little apartment is the only thing keeping him tethered.

“had to do lotsa' things i didn’t wanna' do,” he mutters eventually. voice low. rough. “a lot more than usual.”

your hand finds his and you squeeze. your grip is gentle. grounding. “you’re home now.”

he turns to look at you then. and there’s something in his eyes that makes your breath catch—something sharp, haunted. but under it… there’s hunger too. not just for you, but for the comfort you bring. for the peace he only finds in your presence.

and maybe that’s what makes you brave.

maybe that’s why you shift closer, crawl gently into his lap, hands bracing on his broad shoulders. you feel the way his body tenses beneath you, the way he swallows hard when your fingers ghost along the back of his neck.

“let me take care of you,” you whisper.

“sweetheart…” he warns, already shaking his head.

you start grinding down on him a little, just to test the waters. but his hands come to your waist. but they don’t push. they just hold. “you don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“i do,” you murmur, leaning in so your lips ghost along his jawline. “i know exactly what i want. i want you, si."

his breath stutters. you press a kiss just below his ear. his grip around you tightens into somewhat of a hug.

“don’t do this,” he says, but his voice is wrecked. you notice the slightest tremble in his hands and voice. barely noticeable to anyone else, but you can feel it.

“why not?” you whisper. “i know you want me too.”

“you’re young.” he finally says it. the thing that’s been sitting heavy between you both.

“you’ve got your whole damn life ahead of you. you shouldn’t be wasting it on some old bastard who drags death with him wherever he goes.”

“i’m not wasting anything,” you whisper, pulling back. you look into his eyes and your hands come up to hold each side of his head. “i’m choosing you, you old dog. doesn’t that count for something?”

and it’s like that finally breaks him.

because the next thing you know, his mouth is on yours—desperate, almost angry, like he’s been trying to hold himself back for months and he just can’t anymore. his hands grip your hips tight, dragging you closer, like he’s trying to memorize the feel of you in his lap.

and when he kisses you again, it’s not hesitant. it’s hungry.

his lips are hot, almost feverish against yours, and you can feel the desperation in every movement. his hands are everywhere—palming your hips, sliding beneath your shirt to feel the warm curve of your waist, holding you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

and you? you just melt for him.

you thread your fingers through his short crop of hair, tugging gently, and he groans low in his throat. you whisper his name, over and over, like a prayer, like something sacred. and it's music to his ears.

“fuck,” he breathes against your mouth, “you don’t know what you do to me, sweet girl.”

but you do.

you feel it in the way he grinds up into you, slow and controlled, like he’s still trying to restrain himself even now. like he doesn’t want to hurt you. like he wants to worship you.

you pull back just enough to look at him—his eyes are dark, pupils blown, lashes fluttering as he blinks up at you with something close to reverence.

“i want all of you, si,” you whisper. “please.”

his jaw clenches, like he’s fighting every instinct to be good, to be safe, to keep distance. but you see the moment he gives in. the moment he realises you’re not afraid of him. you want him. all of him.

he stands with you in his arms, effortless, and carries you to your bedroom. he lays you out so gently you nearly cry. and when he finally takes off your clothes, it's like unwrapping something precious—his touch is rough in places, but careful where it matters.

“you’re so fuckin’ soft,” he murmurs, dragging his mouth along your collarbone, “so goddamn perfect.”

your fingers fumble with the hem of his shirt, and he helps you pull it over his head. you take a moment, just looking at him—all scars and strength and something broken that only you ever get to see.

“you’re beautiful,” you say, and his breath hitches.

he kisses you like you’re the only thing that’s ever made him feel alive. like the war stops when your mouth is on his.

and when he finally slides into you, it's slow. unbearably slow. you feel every inch of him, the stretch, the fullness, the way his breath stutters when you moan his name. but he fits perfectly. like he's the puzzle piece you've been searching for. like this was meant to be.

one hand toys with your nipple while the other rubs soft circles on your clit.

he’s whispering things between gritted teeth—“that’s it, sweetheart,” “so good f'me,” “i’ve got you”—his voice like gravel and honey in your ear.

and when he finally loses the last bit of restraint, it’s devastating—his rhythm picking up, hips snapping into yours, his forehead pressed to yours as he groans your name like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

"f-fuck si—oh yeah right there—oh!" your moans are almost pornographic, only spurring simon on as he picks up his pace. faster, deeper, and soon you feel the familiar warmth in your belly as your stomach coils.

you fall apart beneath him, trembling, gasping, held together only by his arms around you and the heat of his breath against your cheek. your walls tighten around him, squeezing him. and soon he follows with a low, broken sound and your name on his lips like a plea.

he spills deep inside you, your walls milking him for all that he is.

and then it’s quiet.

his body curled around yours, still catching his breath as he pulls out of you. your fingers tracing lazy circles along his chest. his thumb brushing soft over your waist like he can’t stop touching you, like he doesn’t want to.

you feel his lips press into your hair as he mutters, barely audible:

“don’t know what i ever did to deserve you.”

#📓—lexwrites #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost #ghost x reader #ghost fluff #ghost angst #ghost smut #simon riley fluff #simon riley angst #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley fluff #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost riley angst #heh idk what this was #i need an older man plsss #did not proofread please lmk if something's off

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urmum-lovesme · 2 months ago

Text

Bunny (P11)

Rafe Cameron x Maybank!Reader

summary: Struggling to keep her and JJ’s home afloat, Y/N turns to the only option that guarantees fast cash- stripping at a club on the Cut. But when Rafe Cameron catches her in the act, he sees the perfect opportunity to tighten his grip around her life.

a/n: ohhh emmm geeeee guys. 🤭 (dats it)

warnings: soft!Rafe cause I'm pretty attached to him rn, lowkey scared rafe?? BAHAH, kind of like ptsd but not really ig, trauma? post abortion symptoms.

(P1) (P2) (P3) (P4) (P5) (P6) (P7) (P8) (P9) (P10) (P11) (P12) (P13)

The room was dark, the hum of the hotel air conditioner the only sound cutting through the silence. The TV had long since gone black, the streets outside were quiet and the world felt hushed and still. Y/N stirred beneath the sheets, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks. She hadn’t meant to wake up, but the sound of him tossing and turning across the room- again- had stirred her from the edge of sleep. She cracked one eye open, her face scrunching at the low light from the distant street lamp peeking through the curtains. A groggy breath slipped from her lips as she pushed up a little on her elbow, rubbing her eyes. She mumbled, her voice thick with sleep.

“…Rafe?”

There was a pause.

Then a quiet, “Yeah?”

“What are you doing?”

She asked, her tone slurred with exhaustion. She blinked slowly, eyes not quite open all the way. She could hear him shuffling again, the sheets rustling against the material of the couch.

“Can’t sleep,” he replied into the darkness of the room, “my back hurts.”

She sighed softly, she couldn't say she was completely surprised. That stupid hotel couch was way too small for someone like him- tall, broad-shouldered. No way he’d ever be comfortable on it. She could feel her eyes falling shut again but she tried to push back the urge to sleep as she murmured, her head already falling back against the pillow.

“...Come over here then”

A silence stretched across the room after the words passed her lips and Rafe sat up, brow furrowed in confusion.

“What?”

“Come sleep here”

She repeated, softer now, barely lifting her head, one hand fumbling to pull back the covers on the empty side of the bed as an opening for him. He hesitated as he started, his voice caught somewhere between surprise and caution.

“I don’t think that’s—”

“Just shut up and get in the bed, Rafe.”

She interrupted, voice even more slurred now as she tugged the blanket open fully. He blinked in the dark, stunned for a beat. Then he pushed himself up, rubbing a hand over his jaw before quietly walking around the bed. Her figure was already snuggled deep into the pillow again, one arm loosely curled near her face. She looked half-asleep already, her breathing soft and even. He slipped under the covers carefully, lying on his back and letting out a quiet sigh as the mattress dipped beneath his weight and god, it felt better already.

“This okay?”

He asked after a moment, voice low, referring to the space- or lack of it- between them. A hum answered him. Barely audible, but it was there. A gentle little noise of sleepy contentment into the pillow she was nuzzled into. Rafe let his head fall back against the pillow, one arm folded behind it as he stared at the dark ceiling. His chest still rose and fell a little quicker than it should’ve. He was about to say something- some nervous offer to move if she wanted more space- when he felt her hand. It slid across the sheets and settled on his chest. Light. Barely there. But it made him freeze. She mumbled, her palm resting over his heartbeat.

“Sleep”

He swallowed thickly, his eyes finding her face in the dark. Her lashes fluttered once more, but her breathing was slowing again. She was already halfway back to sleep. So he didn’t say anything else, he didn’t move. Just turned his head to the side and watched her for a moment longer, then he closed his eyes.

And for the first time that night, sleep came easy.

The morning crept in slow and quiet. No loud city noises, still just the low hum of the air conditioning still rattling in the corner, making the room just a little too cold. Pale light filtered through the thin hotel curtains, casting a soft, diffused glow across the room dust particles floating. Rafe stirred first. His brow twitched, and his lashes lifted, blinking against the muted light. It took him a moment, just a breath or two, to come to, his mind still thick with sleep. But then he felt it- the weight against his chest.

Warm.

Soft.

Steady.

He glanced down slowly.

Y/N was curled up against him, her face buried into the side of his chest, her arm tucked between their bodies. His own arm was looped around her waist, holding her close like it had settled there all on its own in the middle of the night. His palm rested on the small of her back, fingers curved into the fabric of her shirt. She was pressed against him like she belonged there, like she had always belonged there.

She looked peaceful.

More peaceful than he’d ever seen her. Her lashes rested like delicate little fans against her cheeks, her lips parted just slightly, the soft dip of her cupid’s bow catching the light. He followed the slope of her nose, the arch of her brow, every detail etched in his memory now so he’d never forget it again.

He didn’t move, didn’t dare break the tranquillity.

His throat worked around something thick and warm he couldn’t quite name, something blooming deeply in his chest. She stirred gently in her sleep, and he immediately, lifted his arm from around her- giving her space. She moved, still in a sleep-hazed daze, she rolled away, her body turning to face the window. The blanket shifted with her, pulling across her tatted shoulder as she settled again, her breathing slow and even. Rafe let out a quiet breath. Pressed his hand to his chest for a second.

His heart was racing and he shook his head gently, as if to clear it, and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Running a hand over his face, he stood, stretching out the kink in his neck. No matter how soft the mattress or where he was, he hadn’t slept like that in years, like his body finally let go of every guard it had ever held. He padded quietly toward the bathroom, sparing one last glance over his shoulder at her sleeping form. They needed to catch the ferry in two hours.

And he didn’t trust himself to lay back down beside her.

Rafe was already dressed, shoes on, bag zipped halfway, the bare skin of his chest still a little damp from the quick shower he’d taken to shake off the strange restlessness from waking up with her in his arms. The room was slightly brighter now, pale light leaking through the curtains, the light catching dust particles in the air. He looked at the clock, they had less than forty-five minutes. “Y/N,” he called out, dragging his shirt over his head as he turned back toward the bed.

“C’mon, you gotta get up. We’ve gotta get going.”

No movement.

She didn’t even stir and he blinked in confusion. That was…odd. On the morning they'd got here, she was up before the sun. First one in the shower, already dressed and ready to go down before he even rubbed the sleep from his eyes. But now she was buried under the sheets, curled on her side, her face tucked into the pillow like the world outside the bed didn’t exist. A faint crease pulled between his brows as he glanced around- and then his eyes landed on her bag near the corner of the room. Just beside it, something white stuck out from underneath a hoodie tossed aside. He moved closer and notices it was a leaflet. He crouched, picking it up.

"After Your Abortion: What to Expect."

His heart knocked hard against his ribs. Right. His eyes skimmed the printed bullet points, each one sinking in a little deeper than the last:

Light to heavy bleeding

Cramping

Nausea

Fatigue

That’d explain why she was still out cold. Why she hadn’t moved a muscle since he’d woken up. She wasn’t just tired- she was probably hurting, still recovering. He set the leaflet back down exactly how he’d found it and crossed back toward the bed. His steps were slow now, careful and she was still facing away from him, her breathing soft and steady. He crouched down at her side, arms resting lightly on his knees. His voice dropped low, gentle. “Maybank,” he said, nudging her shoulder lightly with the back of his hand.

“You gotta get up, yeah?”

She hummed in response, face still half-buried in the pillow, her voice muffled and sleepy. He sighed through his nose, fingers reaching out without thinking, brushing up and down her arm in a slow, comforting rhythm. “Y/N,” he tried again, softer now.

“C’mon. Wake up baby.”

The word just… slipped out and the moment it left his mouth, his whole body stilled.

Baby?

His hand dropped from her arm, and he pulled back like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. His chest tightened as his mind scrambled for footing- he didn’t mean to say that or maybe he did...? He didn’t even know anymore. But then her voice, hazy and warm, cracked through the fog in his head.

“M’tired”

She mumbled, not even questioning the slip. Just too far gone in the exhaustion, her body stretched out a little more as she yawned and stretched, her limbs slow and heavy with sleep. “I know you are,” he said, voice rough as he cleared his throat.

“But we’re gonna miss the ferry.”

She made a soft sound, halfway between annoyance and reluctant agreement, then sluggishly pushed herself up from the bed and shuffled toward the bathroom without looking at him. The door clicked shut behind her and Rafe stood there, unmoving.

Staring at the door.

He dragged his hands down his face, drawing in a sharp breath through his nose as he grabbed his t-shirt pulling it on in disjointedly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The ferry rocked gently beneath them, the soft groan of metal and water lulling the world into a rhythm that felt… at peace, for once. Y/N sat outside again, perched on a weather-worn bench near the same table they had taken on the way there, the sea stretching endlessly in front of them. The breeze swept her hair gently back, warm and salty, brushing against her cheeks like fingers smoothing down her skin. For the first time in a long while, she felt light. Not exactly happy, not exactly sad—just still.

Her eyes fluttered shut as she tilted her face toward the sun, soaking in the warmth, the breeze, the faint call of distant seagulls. It didn’t fix everything, but it made breathing a little easier. Footsteps approached, slow and steady on the deck, and she opened her eyes just as Rafe came into view—tall, quiet, familiar now in a way that startled her. He held out a paper cup toward her.

“Got you that tea you like”

He said casually, the sleeve still wrapped around it from the vendor inside the ferry. Her eyes blinked down at it, then back at him. She spoke, voice soft with surprise.

“Oh. Um—thank you"

A small, grateful smile pulled at her lips as she took it from his hand. She didn’t even know he’d noticed she liked this kind. He offered a small smile of his own in return- quiet and a little lopsided- and then sat beside her, shoulders brushing. Neither of them moved away this time though. It didn’t feel tense anymore.

In fact, it felt kind of comforting.

Rafe glanced out at the water, then up toward the sky. “It’s a nice day,” he said, voice low and casual.

She nodded, blowing gently into her cup. “Yeah it is”

He hesitated for a second, “You going to the country club today?”

“No,” she said, hands playing with the sleeve around the cup “I… I took a few days off. Told my manager I was sick. Sofia’s covering for me.” He nodded, lips pressed together like he was thinking about something else entirely. And then, after a beat, he cleared his throat.

“So… are you gonna go back to the club?”

She didn’t answer right away. There was a pause- thin and quiet- where she could feel him watching her from the corner of his eye. “I mean…” she started, her voice a little unsure of what to say to him.

“Yeah... yeah I am.”

He looked over, just slightly, licking his lips before pressing them into a thin line. His voice was softer when he asked,

“When are you going?”

“Why?”

Her brows drew together, eyes narrowing faintly as she glanced over him. “No reason,” he said with a quick shrug, eyes darting back out to the water.

“Just… curious.”

She held his gaze for a second longer, trying to figure it out. The look in his eye wasn’t leering or expectant, but she still didn’t get it. Her mind did the easiest thing- assumed the worst- and a scoff slipped out.

“If you’re waiting for me to get naked and put on a show—”

“-that’s not why I’m asking”

He cut in, eyes snapping back to hers, jaw ticking. His voice wasn’t loud, but it was sharp. She blinked, caught off guard by how quick the bite was in his tone, a little taken aback by his sudden defensiveness. “Oh.” Her voice was smaller now.

“Well… then, yeah. I think I’ll go tonight.”

He nodded once, slowly and the silence settled again between them- not uncomfortable, but weighty in its own way- and neither of them said anything else for a while. The ferry groaned softly as it docked, metal clanking and chains clattering into place. The sky was just beginning to shift into early gold, that hazy pre-dawn light spilling faintly over the sleepy port. The place was near-empty, quiet and still in the way only 6 a.m. could manage. Their footsteps echoed as they made their way down the steel stairs, the sound of soles against metal echoing.

They stopped at the end of the port, just before the parking lot split into two directions, they both slowed to a stop. Her car was parked on the far left- and his was on the opposite side. She adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder, fingers gripping at the material like it might anchor her. She looked up at him, eyes catching in the hush of morning, and that’s when it hit her—harder than she expected... she didn’t want to leave.

Didn’t want to watch him walk away.

Didn’t want whatever they’d been in that hotel room to end. Rafe gave her a soft smile, barely there but real. His voice was quiet when he said,

“See you ‘round, Bunny.”

The nickname made her smile, even as her heart twisted a little. He turned, heading toward his car, that familiar saunter in his step, but before he got more than a few strides away she called out,

“Rafe. Wait—I…”

He paused, turning back to face her, brows lifted slightly in curiosity. She looked up at him after taking those few steps after him, lips parted, something vulnerable flickering in her gaze.

“Thank you,”

She said softly and he gave a slight shake of his head, brushing it off like he always did.

“Don’t. It’s nothing.”

But before he could say more, she was stepping closer. Up on her tiptoes, her hand brushing lightly against his arm for balance, she leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. Just the lightest whisper of a touch- but it stopped him cold. She’d let him see her body onstage practically bare. He’d kissed her neck in the dark, his hands roaming her body. But this? This felt different.

Intimate

When she pulled back, her eyes held his for a second longer, and then she gave him a soft, almost shy smile.

“See you ‘round, Cameron.”

Then she turned, walking toward her car, her heart pounding in her chest, echoing in her ears, but she didn’t look back. Rafe stood completely still, his bag in hand, the early morning breeze brushing against his jacket. The spot on his cheek where she kissed him burned warm. Lingering. He watched her until the door of her car closed behind her.

And only then did he breathe.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun had dipped fully below the horizon by the time Y/N turned off the main road and into the familiar cracked parking lot of the club. The neon sign buzzed faintly in the distance, casting its sickly pink glow against the darkening sky. She exhaled slowly, fingers tightening around the steering wheel as her headlights lit up the building she knew far too well. The same one she’d walked into a hundred times before- confident, steady, unbothered.

But tonight?

Tonight, her palms were clammy against the wheel, and her heart was thudding just a little too loud. She rolled into her usual parking spot near the back, out of sight from the main entrance like always. The car idled in place, engine humming beneath her. Her hands hovered over the keys- but she didn’t twist them.

Couldn’t.

Because the last time she was here, things went... sideways. The kind of sideways that still woke her up in the middle of the night. The kind that made her fingers tremble now, just thinking about stepping inside. Her eyes flicked toward the entrance, where a few regulars were hanging around, smoking. She swallowed hard and shifted the car into reverse. The tires crunched softly over gravel as she backed out of her usual spot and drove forward instead, pulling into a spot much closer to the entrance. The headlights swept across the front doors before she finally threw it into park and killed the engine.

Still, she didn’t move, not for a full ten seconds.

Then, slowly, she pushed the door open and stepped out, the cool night air brushing against her bare legs. Her shoes hit the ground with a soft thud, and she gave herself one small moment, a breath of stillness, before she pushed the club doors open with both hands and stepped back inside. The music inside the club was already pulsing low through the walls- soft thuds of bass that seemed to vibrate right under her skin. As Y/N walked deeper into the dim, haze-filled space, the familiar scent of sweet perfume and cologne wrapped around her like muscle memory. Her shoess tapped lightly against the worn floors as she made her way toward the dressing rooms, weaving through the narrow back hallway, then she heard it.

"Y/N!"

She blinked, turning just in time to see Tommy stepping out from the side office, his brow lifting and his grin stretching wide as soon as he saw her. That signature silver chain glinted against his dark shirt, and his arms opened a little like he was about to greet an old friend.

“Where the hell you been?”

His voice wasn’t sharp- not accusing- just warm and familiar. She smiled, a little sheepishly, shifting the strap of her bag on her shoulder. “Had some medical stuff,” she said, tone light but honest.

“Had to take care of it.”

“Shit. You okay now?”

Tommy’s face softened immediately, the grin dropping into something more concerned. “Yeah,” she nodded.

“It’s sorted.”

“Good,” he said, his voice sounding almost relieved. “That’s good. It’s been pretty damn quiet without you around here. Missed my favorite dancer.”

He flashed her that crooked, charming grin that had probably saved him from getting smacked more times than he deserved and she rolled her eyes, laughing as she passed him, her steps picking up again. She teased over her shoulder.

“Missed this shithole too”

“Oi!” Tommy called after her, mock offended, “watch it smart mouth- I'm still your boss”

Her laughter echoed softly as she pushed through the door into the dressing room, the familiar smell of setting spray and fruity flavoured vape hitting her all at once. The lights over the vanities buzzed softly, casting a warm glow over the few girls already inside. A couple heads turned as the door clicked shut behind her.

"Hey!"

“Missed you, girl.”

“Where you been hiding?”

Y/N smiled softly, offering a few waves as she moved to her usual spot in the corner and responding to the girls who seemed curious of her absence, setting her bag down with a small exhale. She unzipped it and started pulling her things out. Clothes, makeup, hair ties—and finally, her heels. She hesitated before slipping them on, the familiar weight of them feeling foreign now, like her feet had forgotten how to carry herself in them. She flexed her toes, adjusting the straps. Weird. But not unwelcome. The door behind her swung open.

Click. Click. Click.

The sound of heels halted and then-

“Well, I fuckin’ neva.”

Y/N’s head snapped up, already grinning before she even saw who it was. Bambi. There she stood in the doorway, hand on her hip, lips pursed, an eyebrow high enough to kiss her hairline.

“Hey Omi”

Y/N said softly dragging out her nickname for the girl, smile slipping wider. Naomi stalked forward, shaking a finger in her face.

“Don’t 'hey Omi' me you little bitch.”

The girl scolded mocking Y/N's voice and Y/N burst into a laugh, covering her mouth to try and muffle it, but Naomi wasn’t having it looking the girl dead in the eyes. “Don’t you dare laugh at me,” Naomi warned, pointing now, her heels clacking with every step she took toward her.

“Three weeks! No text. No call. No FaceTime. No signs of life- you made me feel like a desperate ex Y/N!”

“I’m sorry!”

Y/N managed, laughter still in her voice. Naomi crossed her arms, eyes narrowed as she looked the girl up and down kissing her teeth.

“Yeah, well, sorry ain’t gonna cut it this time.”

She was right in front of her now, scowling, but Y/N could see through it- the softness behind the irritation, the way her friend’s jaw clenched not out of anger, but worry. She knew Naomi. This was just how she showed she cared. “I’m sorry I didn’t text, or call, or show up here...” Y/N said, her voice more sincere now.

“I was just… I had some medical problems I had to deal with okay?.”

“Medical problems?”

The girl raised a brow skeptically, arms folding tighter across her chest and Y/N nodded. “Yeah.” A beat passed between them and then Naomi scoffed and rolled her eyes.

“So what- your boy toy gave you chlamydia or something?”

“NAOMI! Ew, no!”

Naomi broke first, bursting into laughter, and Y/N followed a second later, the tension melting into something warm and familiar and she couldn't help but think about how much she’d missed this.

“I’ve missed you,”

Naomi said, shaking her head with a grin as though she'd read Y/N's mind. Y/N smiled in return nodding her head in agreement.

“Missed you too.” she said and then playfully added, “So… am I forgiven?” Naomi looked her up and down with narrowed eyes, chin tilting like she was really thinking it over. Then she huffed, loud and dramatic.

“Ugh. Fine. Come give mama some sugar.”

Y/N stepped into her arms and wrapped her up in a hug, her arms around the girl like she didn’t want to let go. It was a sweet little reunion, one she didn’t even know how much she needed until now.

The rest of the night hummed with that familiar low thrum of music, muffled bass and the sticky-sweet scent of spilled drinks and perfume lingering in the air. It’s like slipping into an old version of herself- heels clicking across the floor, lips glossed, hair set just right. Bunny walked out like she never left, and the regulars?

They notice.

They smiled wider and would reach for her hand to. tip bigger. It was subtle at first, but the message is clear: They missed her. And the way their eyes light up when she leans in, when she twirls just right over the night- she knows how to make them look, how to make them stay. However her eyes keep drifting back to that one booth. The one in the far corner with the leather booth and small stage. The booth Rafe and Barry always occupied like clockwork—always lounging back like they owned the damn place- was empty tonight.

And it feels wrong.

She keeps looking, expecting him to materialise out of the haze and lights. But it stays vacant. And even though she knows it’s better that way—less complicated, less intense- …she misses him.

She misses him?

The night blurs forward in glitter and low voices and clinking glasses. And she manages. She smiles. She dances and flirts. She pockets her tips and slips back into the rhythm like she never left but still— that booth stays empty. No matter how many bills she tucks into her garter, no matter how many grins are tossed her way—

She keeps thinking about him.

At the end of the night she says her goodbye, placing her earnings into her duffle bag and making her way to the exit- not before earning a pat to the ass from Naomi. Yet Y/N pauses at the door, her hand on the handle, but she doesn’t push it open right away. She looks out through the door, the parking lot is dimly lit, the flickering overhead lights casting long shadows across the asphalt.

Her heart is already racing.

Same time.

Same place.

Same heavy quiet.

And even though she’s told herself over and over again that it was a one-time thing- the memory is there, a phantom pressing on her lungs. Her fingers tighten around her bag strap. She closes her eyes for a beat, then pushes the door open. The air outside is cooler than she remembers. It brushes against her bare arms, raising goosebumps, and carries the faintest trace of smoke and saltwater. For a moment, she just stands there. Her eyes scan the lot, out of instinct more than anything else.

Empty mostly.

Until—

A shape.

Someone leaning against the hood of her car, arms folded, head dipped. Her body goes cold before her brain can catch up, heart climbing up her throat. But then her eyes adjust.

And it’s him.

He’s got one foot propped against her bumper, the toe of his shoe tapping absently against the metal. The glow from the streetlight hits the sharp edge of his jaw and the curve of his mouth, lit up like something from a movie.

“Rafe?”

She calls, her voice soft but sharp at the edges, like it might crack. He lifts his head slowly, eyes finding hers across the empty lot.

“Bunny”

He says in that low, drawling way- like he’s been expecting her. Her feet start moving, cautious but steady, shoes tapping lightly against the pavement as she asks confused.

“What’re you doing here?”

Rafe gives her a lazy shrug, like it’s nothing. Like he hasn’t been standing out here for a while- like the tips of his fingers hadn't started to get cold.

“Was just passing by...”

She raises an eyebrow, unconvinced. A smirk tugs at her lips despite herself, “Right. And you just so happened to spot my car and sit yourself down by it?”

His eyes roll at her tone, but there’s no bite behind it. It’s playful,“Well- actually- I told Tommy to let me know when you clocked out.”

That makes her stop, right there on the pavement. Her expression shifts- brows pulling slightly together, head tilting like she’s not sure she heard him right, he asked Tommy when she clocked out?

“You what?”

Rafe shifts his weight, looking momentarily uncertain. His gaze flickers to the side towards the entrance of the club and then back to her.

“I just… wanted to make sure you got to your car safe”

He says, voice quiet. Honest. There’s no swagger in his tone, no teasing smirk. Just something genuine. And somehow, it hits harder than anything else he’s ever said to her, causing her to fall silent. Just standing there, staring at him. Because this means he remembers- everything she'd said to him. She hadn’t thought he would... The last time she left this place alone, she hadn’t made it to her car and now here he was, waiting for her, she swallows hard. She speaks softly, eyes fixed on his

“You didn’t have to do that”

“I know,” he replies, “but I wanted to.”

And something about the way he says it- like it’s not even a question in his mind- makes her chest tighten. The space between them is quiet again. But it’s a different kind of quiet, safer. She exhales, the tension slowly bleeding from her shoulders.

“Thanks”

Y/N murmurs, and this time she means it. She pops open the back door of her car and tosses her duffel onto the seat with a dull thud. Her shoulders rise and fall with a small exhale, her fingers brushing stray hair off her face as she glances over at Rafe still leaned against the hood.

“You, uh… you heading back home or…?”

She asks, voice soft, trying to sound casual even though there’s a weird flutter in her chest. He pushes off the hood slightly, shifting his stance. “Yeah,” he says with a nod. “I probably will.” There’s a quiet beat. Just the soft buzz of a streetlamp overhead and the distant hum of a late-night highway somewhere in the dark.

“I didn’t see you in the club...” she adds, eyes flicking up to meet his. “-or Barry.” She adds on quickly and Rafe nods once, hands in his pockets now as he faces her.

“Yeah, we’re working with a new supplier. Need to check his stock before we start pushing anything in the area.”

“Right.”

She nods slowly but her voice sounds distant, distracted. It’s not like she wants him dealing- but still... her eyes had searched that booth all night without her meaning to. It was empty, and she hated that she missed his presence there. Rafe glances past her toward the duffel bag slumped in the back seat, then looks back down at her.

“Good night?”

He asks and Y/N huffs a breath that’s sort of a laugh and sort of not. “Uh- yeah I guess” she says, a small shrug of her shoulder. “It was good. Could’ve been better though.” Her eyes meet his as she says it and they both know what she means.

It would’ve been better… if he’d been there.

She turns, opens the driver’s side door, and slides into the seat. Her legs are still hanging out, feet planted on the ground, like she’s not quite ready to go just yet. Rafe shifts closer, resting one hand lightly on the roof above her and his gaze drops down to her. “You alright?” he asks, his voice low, edged with concern.

“How’re you feeling?”

She blinks up at him and offers a tired smile, “I’m okay. Just tired. Think I’m gonna head back.”

Rafe nods slowly,“right- yeah sure.” He takes his hand off of the top of her car and folds his arms over his chest. She watches his hand retreat and slips the key into the ignition twisting it.

Nothing.

Her brows furrow as she twists it again. But still nothing. The engine doesn’t even try to turn over, the car just sits there in silence. A frown settles on her lips. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she mutters under her breath, frustration curling in her chest. She tries once more- this time with a little more force, like that’ll make a difference- but the car stays quiet, cold and dead. Her shoulders sink, and she lets out a tired groan, her forehead coming down to rest against the steering wheel. Outside, Rafe’s still watching, expression unreadable, but he straightens up a little.

“You want me to take a look?”

He offers, voice calm. She exhales slowly and looks over at him through her lashes, nodding with a tired smile.

“um… yeah, I’d appreciate that.”

Rafe props the hood of her car up, the metal creaking slightly in the quiet of the night. Y/N stays where she is, head leaning back against the seats head rest now, the faint throb of exhaustion crawling up her spine. She watches him through the open window as he fiddles with something under the hood- focused, frowning, the glow from the parking lot light casting a sharp edge to his jaw. A minute passes, then two and she shifts slightly, calling out,

“Uh… so what is it?”

Rafe straightens up, wiping his hands along his jeans as he leans over to look at her through the open door saying, “Battery’s dead... or dying. It’s not charging properly- so it’s not gonna start tonight.”

“Fucking hell”

She lets out a groan, dragging her hands down her face with a muttered, before leaning back again with a soft thud into the headrest. Her eyes flutter shut for a second. She’s not sure if it’s from frustration or the heaviness behind her eyes, but when she opens them again, Rafe is standing by the door now, wiping his palms on his pants, giving her that look- half amused, half sympathetic. “You know,” he says, voice lighter than she expects,

“I could give you a ride... If you want?”

Y/N blinks up at him, then glances past him- eyes landing on the black Range Rover parked just a few feet away. It gleams beneath the streetlight like something too expensive for a parking lot this grimy then she flicks her gaze back to him.

“I was gonna stop to get food,” she mumbles, almost like she’s testing the waters. “And I know it’s kind of late, so you probably won’t wan—”

“-It’s fine”

He cuts in easily with that low, calm tone of his., “I’ll drive you it's not a big deal.” He pauses, tipping his head slightly.

“What do you want?”

She squints at him and his generous offer before a tired grin starts twitching at the corners of her lips,

“Benny’s?”

“…What?”

His brows furrow, confused, “The hell is Benny’s?”

“You know,” she says, sitting up a little straighter, “the little burger drive-thru place near the bridge? It’s cheap but milkshakes are like the best on the whole island”

“Is this a Pogue thing?”

Her eyes narrow instantly before she rolls them taking her keys out of the ignition and pushing herself out of her seat, the door shutting behind her.

“You know what? I think I’ll just walk.”

He lets out a laugh, low and quiet, shaking his head at her attitude, “Alright, alright, relax,” he mutters, and he's already moving, beating her to the backseat and pulling out her duffel bag which he slings over his shoulder like it’s weightless, casually shutting her car door and locking it behind him.

“C’mon- no need to be so sensitive, bunny.”

He teases, walking toward his car like there’s no room for argument. He glances back over his shoulder when she doesn’t move still standing by her car.

“You coming or what?”

Y/N sighs, biting her lower lip to hide the smile tugging at it, before looking her car and shoving the car keys into her pocket starting towards him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She leaned forward slightly, peering into the small window at the drive-thru, “Can I get a double cheese with fries and a vanilla milkshake, please?” she asked, her voice a mix of hunger and exhaustion from the long night. She looked over at Rafe, eyebrows raised.

“What’re you having?”

He muttered something under his breath and she squinted her eyes clearly not understanding which prompted him to speak again,“I ain’t having anything.”

“Rafe,” she said, her voice a little sharper now. “No, you have to have something.”

“Fine.”

He rolled his eyes, exhaling loudly. Then, speaking to the older man at the window, who was waiting for them patiently, he ordered, “I’ll have the same, but with a Coke instead of the milkshake.” The man nodded, punching in the order before giving them the total. Y/N reached for her own bag, opening it up. Rafe watched her with a furrowed brow, watching her rummage around inside pulling out a small brown paper bag.

“What’re you doing?”

“I’m paying”

She stated in a matter of factly tone, her fingers brushing over some of the crumpled bills in the paper bag. Rafe scoffed, shooting her a look before speaking out.

“Don’t be stupid, Maybank.”

Before she could protest Rafe grabbed his wallet from his pocket, pulling out a card and tapping it against the machine, paying without even thinking twice. “Thanks,” he muttered to the man who passed him the receipt, Y/N sat still in her seat now, bills still in her hands as she spoke up,

"I can't believe you jus-"

“Don’t argue with me and put the money away Y/N.”

She opened her mouth but it closed as she defeatedly put the money back into the bag which returned to the duffle in her lap. Meanwhile, the older man in the window was now handing the bags with their food to Rafe who handed them over to her and she took the, from him, the delicious smell of fast food hitting her senses immediately. Her stomach growled in appreciation at the thought of a greasy double cheeseburger and crispy fries.

"Thank you"

She said quietly, meeting his eyes for a brief moment, her voice soft. Rafe just nodded, the corners of his lips twitching slightly as he started the car and pulled out of the lot, the tires humming on the asphalt. Y/N couldn’t help but sip from her milkshake, the cold, creamy sweetness comforting as they drove in silence for a while. She looked around, still processing the quiet after the busy night at the club. Then, she finally spoke up, breaking the stillness.

“Where are we going?”

She asked, glancing over at him. Rafe looked over at her with a small grin, a hint of satisfaction in his eyes at the small mystery.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out, you're a smart girl.”

She wanted to reach over and smack his arm at his idiotic comment, however she couldn't stop the smile from creeping on her face, so instead she turned her head away from him so he wouldn't see it. The sound of the car engine hummed steadily beneath them, and the familiar scenery started to pass by. The soft glow of the streetlights and the cool breeze through the window. And then she saw it, the familiar, empty beach parking lot. The one that always seemed to be the spot where their paths converged, no matter what. Rafe pulled into the a parking space with ease, the sound of the car’s engine winding down as he parked with a view of the distant sand and waves crashing softly under the moonlight. He switched the car off, looking over at her with a raised eyebrow at her expectantly.

“So, are you eating both bags or what?”

Y/N couldn’t help but grin, her lips curling into a playful smile. “Oh, shut up,” she said, shoving one of the bags toward him.

“It’s all yours Cameron.”

He let out an amused hum, taking the bag from her with a roll of his eyes. The soft, easy banter felt natural between them, and for a moment, it was just the two of them and the calm sounds of the ocean, nothing more. His fingers moved wrapping his burger as he leaned back in his seat, the salt air mixing with the smell of food.

“You’re lucky I’m a nice guy.”

“Yeah, the nicest”

She just shook her head, taking a long sip of her milkshake again. The soft glow of the dashboard illuminated the quiet beach around them, and as they ate, the sound of the waves and the occasional crunch of fries was all that filled the space. Y/N glanced over at Rafe, watching him chew thoughtfully as he finished his bite, and then took a slow sip of his drink. “So...” she started, breaking the silence, her voice casual but with a hint of curiosity.

“What do you think?"

Rafe paused for a second, chewing his food slowly before swallowing. He looked over at her, a slight smirk curling at the corners of his mouth. “Hmm,” he hummed thoughtfully, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

“Not too bad for a Pogue-owned place.”

Y/N's eyes narrowed playfully at him, and without missing a beat, she shoved his shoulder with her own, making him sway slightly in his seat, “Hey! Watch it Maybank- you’re lucky this food’s good or I’d kick you out and make you walk home.”

She popped another fry into her mouth, her eyes twinkling with amusement as she raised her hands in mock surrender. Rafe chuckled softly, his gaze flicking over to her, the smirk still playing on his lips. Y/N clearly not holding back the smile tugging at her lips teased, “Yeah, yeah.” She leaning back in her seat as she turned to look at him saying,

“you know, for a guy who's the 'Kook King' you sure do like Pogue stuff.”

Rafe’s amusement deepened, his eyes flicking over to the beach for a second before meeting hers again. But then his gaze lingered on her, his playful edge now replaced with something softer, more intense. He wiped his mouth, setting his food down, and casually leaned back in his seat, “Yeah,” he said, his voice a little quieter now,

“s’not the only Pogue thing I like...”

Y/N felt the air shift at his words, something unspoken hanging between them. She looked over at him, her heart skipping a beat before she quickly turned her attention back to her burger, taking a slow final bite to avoid the pull of his stare. She reached for her milkshake taking the lid off and tilting the cup to catch the last bit of the cool, sweet drink. She let it hit her mouth, savouring the flavour as a small drop dribbled down the side of her lip. She didn’t even notice it at first, but the coolness of the drink against her lips felt sharp, and she instinctively reached for a napkin.

But before she could wipe it away, she felt the warmth of his hand beside her. Rafe’s thumb gently brushed across her skin, wiping the drop away. The touch was light, but it lingered longer than it should have, and her breath caught in her throat as she followed the motion of his hand. Her eyes tracked his thumb as he slowly pulled it back to his mouth, his gaze never leaving her face as he licked the sticky sweetness from his skin.

The action slow and deliberate.

Y/N’s lips parted slightly, caught off guard by the intimacy of the gesture. The words she might’ve said caught in her throat, and she couldn’t help but feel the weight of the moment now press in on her. The warmth of his gaze felt different now, charged in a way she wasn’t sure she was ready for- but couldn't quite escape, couldn’t quite help herself from. As Rafe's gaze remained on her, intense and unyielding, her tongue unconsciously came out, sweeping across her lower lip. The movement was small, but it didn’t miss him. Her eyes flickered toward his lips, and she felt a heat rise in her chest. Her breath caught for a moment, her body language shifting, drawn in despite herself. Rafe noticed, of course. His gaze darkened, lips pressing together as if fighting back some kind of tension. He felt the subtle shift in her, the way her body language had changed, he could see it in the way she couldn’t pull her gaze from him, how her breath seemed to slow just the tiniest bit. A flicker of something passed between them, and without a word, he shifted closer, leaning toward her slightly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Y/N…”

He murmured, his voice low and rough, tinged with something raw. She whispered, her voice catching in the air between them, the word a soft invitation.

“Rafe...”

She didn't even realise she had said it until the word left her lips. Quiet. Almost like a plea, or maybe just amplified by the weight of everything they hadn’t said yet to each other. They were inches apart now, so close that Y/N could feel the heat radiating from his body. The air between them was thick with tension, the quiet hum of the car’s heating was the only sound filling the space. Her eyes flickered between his lips and his eyes, the words hanging heavy in the silence.

"We shouldn't"

She whispered, barely audible, her voice thick with uncertainty, her heart pounded in her chest, pulse racing. Rafe’s gaze dropped to her lips for a moment before he spoke, his voice low and hushed, like the slightest noise could break the fragile thread of the moment between them.

"Then we won't"

He replied, his breath warm against her skin, close enough to feel the words vibrate through her chest. She didn’t move, didn’t pull away, and the words hung between them like a delicate dance neither was ready to disrupt. Their proximity felt charged, every second stretched thin, hanging in the air like something that could either fall apart or ignite into something they hadn't fully prepared for. Neither wanted to break it- this moment so fragile, so full of something neither could quite name. The tension between them hung heavy in the air, neither of them daring to make the first move, both waiting for the other to break, until quietest wiper left Y/N's lips,

“Please”

And Rafe couldn’t hold back anymore.

He shifted just the slightest bit closer, his breath mingling with hers, and then he leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in the softest of touches.

It was like a spark that ignited fire, a flame that had been waiting to burst into something more for months now. Y/N’s breath hitched as the sensation of his lips on hers sent a wave of warmth flooding through her. Her fingers, almost instinctively, went to the back of his head, threading through his hair, pulling him closer. Her other hand found the fabric of his shirt, gripping it between her fingers, feeling the heat of his body through the material.

Rafe’s hand found her jaw, his thumb brushing gently over her skin as he cradled her face, keeping her close, not wanting to pull away. He deepened the kiss, just a little, coaxing her to follow, to melt into him the way he’d been yearning for. Her lips parted ever so slightly and he didn’t hesitate, the kiss growing more urgent, more heated, as though their bodies were finally catching up to what had been blooming between.

Their lips clashed against each other a little messier now , a little more desperate- the kind of desperation that only comes after months of restraint, of pretending nothing was simmering beneath the surface when they both new that was a lie. Y/N shifted breathlessly closer, nearly climbing into his lap as their mouths moved in sync, lips tugging, parting, meeting again with growing intensity. Rafe’s hand moved from her jaw to the back of her neck, holding her steady, holding her close, while her fingers curled tighter in his shirt like she didn’t want to let go.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

Her phone vibrated insistently from the cupholder, a harsh reminder of the world outside of their little moment. She hesitated, lips still brushing his, her brows pulling together slightly as she started to pull away, glancing toward the source of the sound. But Rafe didn’t let her get far. His hand found her jaw again, gentle but firm, pulling her back toward him. His forehead rested against hers nose bumping into hers, his breath warm as he whispered, low and quiet,

“Leave it.”

His eyes searched hers, full of heat and something much deeper than simple desire, and in that second- nothing else mattered. She looked back down at the still-buzzing phone, her body torn for a brief moment. And then, just as quickly, she looked back up at him and leaned in, pressing her mouth to his again.

Like choosing him wasn’t even a question.

taglist: @xoxosblogsblog @moonywhisp3rs @i-love-gvf @my-name-is-baby@ltristessedureratoujours @stoned-writer @mariamadison6-blog@rafesgurl@rafecameronswhoore @lovelytoomusic @mysticbby2009 @vanessa-rafesgirl@silkenthusiasts @partygirl14 @amterasuu @xoxo-ada @icaqttt@ivysprophecy @mauvesmax @larema121 @ggraycelynn @emeloyy @pluviophilis@slut-4-gojo @willowpains @wtfisastiles @rafecqmeronslove @pleasstory@lolasangelz @beau-dabomb @psychocitylights @constantsadness @rhianthebest@emmiesummers @sfotiegiuls @ggraycelynn @larema121 @emeloyy @pluviophilis@urgoldens @insominagirlss @urfavoritebrunette007 @mauvesmax @miniiminie@kythefangirl25 @niyalovests @scream4mami @aizawawify @prettybabyyyy@barbiefan14 @keennerdslover @rafeysslut @rafeysworldim19@jennieonline@hannieskzzz@sugak00kie03@gabrielaperez11@simonejacpbsen@bambigirl10@prettycoochieee

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blackeyen2kisses · 4 months ago

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pathetic bf!seunghyun (headcannons)

summary: bf!seunghyun who is incredibly down bad for his girlfriend.

an: hello! this is my first fic on this account, im so excited to share it with you. i hope you enjoy <3 (ALSO, please ignore any spelling/grammar errors i didn’t proofread.)

bf!seunghyun who: didn’t care for love/relationships until he met you.

bf!seunghyun who: swears carless whisper by george micheal played in his head when he laid eyes on you for the first time.

bf!seunghyun who: likes to spend his down time making you playlists and/or writing you songs/raps. he likes to communicate through music.

bf!seunghyun who: calls you sweet girl and thinks it fits perfectly. you are his sweet girl. he thinks youre the sweetest, most angelic being hes ever met.

bf!seunghyun who: will agree to just about anything for your sake (“yeah i dont know, i just dont really feel like going out today” he mummered to jiyong, burying himself further into the fluffy cloud that was his bed, dead set on spending his night curled in bed. until you walked into the room. “seunghyun, lets go out tonight, i need to get out of this house.” seunghyun shot out of bed, unraveling himself from the covers and intertwined your hands, “yeah, sweet girl, lets go.” suddenly alive and full of energy. unaware of jiyong snickering behind him.

bf!seunghyun who: genuinely believes he cant go more than an hour without having his hands on you in someway. wether that be his hand in yours, his arm wrapped around your waist, his fingers curled in your hair, or his fingers inside, yes inside the waist of your jeans, resting against the warmth of your skin.

bf!seunghyun who: when you two sleep has to either be little spoon or lay on top of you (while you scratch his back.)

bf!seunghyun who: is only comfortable with you touching him

bf!seunghyun who: literally calls/texts you every chance he gets. in between recordings, while in the bath, while getting his hair done. he’ll text you every thought that crosses his mind. (itll be three in the morning and youll get a text from him like, “i just realized, nothing is ON fire. fire is on THINGS.”)

bf!seunghyun who: does things for you he knows you can do yourself, such as, brushing and drying your hair after a shower, carrying you from place to place in your shared apartment, brushing your teeth, grabbing things that are just out of reach, tieing your shoes, no matter how much you insist you’re perfectly cable. he cant help it; youre his angel.

bf!seunghyun who: genuinely tears up when you get mad at him (you immediately feel horrible and give in.)

bf!seunghyun who: loves to lay his head in your lap while you run your fingers through his hair (he falls asleep immediately.)

bf!seunghyun who: hangs onto every word you say. he’ll remember something you vaguely told him months later. (“hey, sweet girl, i got you one of those sun…sunny…sonny..angels…whatever you call them,” he said when he came home from the store, placing the sonny angel box on your lap, then, planting gentle kisses onto the corners of your lips, your nose, your temple, your eyelids. you smile, wondering how the hell he knew you wanted one. you giggle, placing your hand on his cheek and rubbing your thumb across his soft skin as he leans into your touch, “how’d you know i wanted one?” he looked at you as though the answer was obvious, “you mentioned it when you saw a tiktok video in..may” may was 8 months ago?)

bf!seunghyun who: apologizes by getting on his knees, putting his head in your lap, and kissing your hands profusely. muttering over and over how sorry he is and how he’ll do better.

bf!seunghyun who: follows you around everywhere like a little cat. always hovering over your shoulder. if you guys are sitting on the couch and you get up to get a glass of water, trust, he’ll get up and go with you with a content smile on his face. he has attachment issues.

bf!seunghyun who: when your making out and you pull away, looks at you, breathing all hard, like he physically needs more.

bf!seunghyun who: when he has to travel for work will send you a poem a day. (“hey, sweet girl, you will never be unloved by me. you are too well tangled in my soul; hello, my sweet girl, my heart is so full of you i can hardly call it my own. love you always.”)

bf!seunghyun who: is completely obsessed with you.

#t.o.p x reader #choi seunghyun #choi seunghyun x reader #bigbang #choi seunghyun imagine #thanos #squid game #bigbang imagine

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izadi234 · 4 months ago

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Forget me not

-Warning: Contain yandere themes, neglected! gn!reader, mention of low self-esteem, the writer's first language isn't English.

Yan! Batfamily x gn!

Chapters

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6 (You're here)

Chapter 7

Chapter 6

Meanwhile Duke and you spent the afternoon playing at an arcade and while you were playing, Duke checked the family group. Dick had sent a message calling for a meeting but he ignored it and decided to focus on spending time with you.

Alfred's plan must have already started

After playing for a while you both decided to go to dinner at Duke's favorite restaurant so you could talk in a more relaxed way. These moments with you made Duke feel like he was a little kid again, forgetting about school, his parents' tragedy and even that he was a vigilante. Once you got to the restaurant and sat at your table, you talked a little about some series and video games that you both liked until Duke asked something that he had never dared to ask before.

"Can I ask you a question, (Name)?"

"Sure!" you nodded

"Why are you studying journalism?" the younger one asked

Duke was not stupid, he was also a detective like the rest of the family, he knew that your career decision had been made because of the death of your parents, but he wanted to know about your life before the mansion.

And so maybe he'll know how to make your next stay more comfortable

"Well umm..." you said a little thoughtfully but still smiling

"I don't think I've told you about my mom and... and my dad, right? Before I went to live at Wayne Manor" you specified

Duke just shook his head as he waited for you to continue talking.

"Well, I chose my career because of them"

"And why?" Duke asked a little more insistently "And Bruce wasn't your father?"

"I mean, if Bruce is my father biologically speaking but..." you sighed and looked at him with a sad smile

"I think it won't hurt to tell you. I trust you" you took his hand in yours and squeezed gently making Duke smile at you

"Before living in Wayne Manor, I lived with my mom and another man, his name was (F/N) (father's name) and he met my mother when she had found out that she was pregnant with me. They met by chance, my mother was a great scientist and he was a journalist and the day they met, he came to interview Bruce for a new project they were doing. He was lost in the big building of Wayne Enterprices and that's where he found mom. She kindly helped him and from what he once told me he was immediately smitten by her. They started dating and ended up falling in love but before that my mom found out that she was pregnant with me and it was clearly not (F/N)'s, but when she told him about her pregnancy and who I was child of, he didn't care and he was with her throughout her pregnancy. Mom quit Wayne Enterprises and moved in with my father. Then I was born and everything was perfect until... one day it wasn't anymore..." you started to tell him, but at the end of your story you had a more somber face

"I..." Duke wanted to talk but he didn't know what to say "And... what happened next?"

You hesitated to talk but he was Duke, he was YOUR brother, of course you could trust him

"Dad was covering an event in downtown Gotham when there was an explosion near the place. I remember it like it was yesterday" you smiled sadly "I was always excited to see him on television and that day was no exception. My mother and I were in the TV room, she was sitting on the couch while laughing at my excitement and I was sitting on the floor in front of the TV. And it was when he was announcing the capture of the Joker in a building when an explosion happened causing the signal to cut out. My mother immediately took me away from the TV and we both went to my room where she tried to calm me down, making sure he was okay but I knew she was scared too. Hours later I fell asleep but I woke up to my mom crying and that was when I knew dad hadn't made it. The funeral was the next day and even though she tried to look strong I knew she was just as bad or worse off than me. Months later, my mom started getting sick, I thought it was because of her low mood but she soon had to be admitted to the hospital. She was diagnosed with terminal cancer and had at most a few months left, in the meantime I stayed with a neighbor, she was an old lady but I saw her as a grandmother. She took me to see my mom every day and one of those days I heard them talking about my real father. Mom tried to convince my nanny to adopt me when she was gone but my nanny refused, she said I would live a better life with my biological father. Weeks later she died too and immediately child services contacted Bruce and well you know the rest"

You looked at Duke still with a small smile

"Does anyone else know all this?" Duke asked after a few seconds of silence

"Nope" you shook your head "Well, Alfred but in a very general way, just what child services told him when he picked me up from that place"

"And yes, I chose to study journalism because of my father. He inspired me a lot when I was little and to this day my dad and mom do it. So, have you finished that project you told me about the other day?"

"Let me walk you home" you said to Duke as you walked through the almost dark streets of Gotham

"Oh no, really! I don't want to cause you any trouble" Duke said a little embarrassed

"Of course not Duke!" you put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed him a little "You're my brother, I'm not going to leave you alone in these dangerous streets"

"I'm a vigilante" he reminded you

"And?" you hugged him

"You're always going to be my little brother"

"You're embarrassing me!" the boy exclaimed as he tried to separate himself from the hug although to be honest, he would never reject a hug from you

"Oh no, they just grow up and they don't even want a hug from their sibling anymore" you said dramatically making both of them laugh

"But seriously, I'll give you a ride to Wayne Manor" you said

"Do you have a car?!" He asked surprised

"No... but a motorcycle, I left it in a parking lot near here. Let's go."

They walked until they reached a parking lot where you had your motorcycle at the back. You handed him your helmet so he could put it on.

"What about you?" Duke asked when he noticed that you only had one helmet

"Don't worry, I'm more worried about you" you said as you got on your motorcycle, followed by him

"Ready?" you turned to look at him

"Ready!" he nodded

"Okay, hold on!" you said before starting the motorcycle

The more Jason looked through the box, the more he felt like he knew you. You liked taking pictures, that was a fact and on the last pages of the album you had some notes next to the photo, describing the situation of the photo.

"Jason?" a voice called from the door of the living room, it was Dick

Realizing that Jason hadn't heard him, the acrobat approached and touched his shoulder making Jason jump a little because he wasn't expecting it.

"What do you want, Dickhead?" he asked irritated

"I was..." Dick interrupted his words when he saw that his brother had several things around him

"What is that?" Jason turned to look at your things again, his expression less hard.

"They're (Name)'s"

"And who gave them to you?" Dick asked as he sat next to him

"Alfred"

"Alfred? Why would he have (Name)'s things?" Dick asked as he grabbed a small purple blanket

"It's some stuff that they probably threw away over time or forgot to take" Jason said as he looked back at the photo album Dick noticed Jason's gaze that was resting on the book and decided to take it but before he could do so Jason grabbed Dick's wrist preventing him from doing so which caused the older man to look at him strangely.

"Jason..?" His voice brought him back to reality.

"Yeah I'm sorry" he let go of his wrist

"It's a photo album. It's (Name)'s" Jason let Dick take the album and he started to flip through it in silence while Jason looked at other things in the box.

"Who is this man?" Dick asked referring to your father

"I have no idea" Jason admitted

"Maybe Babs can recognize him" he said to continue looking at the photos

"Wait... Do you have photos with them?!" Dick exclaimed in surprise

"Yeah..." Jason smiled proudly

"And why don't I have a picture with them?!" Dick said dramatically "I'm their older brother!"

"But I'm their favorite brother" Jason stressed

That couldn't be possible! Dick was EVERYONE'S favorite brother! How could Jason be YOURS?!

"You damn...!" Dick was going to throw himself at Jason if it wasn't for a presence behind them

"What the hell is going on?" asked Bruce who looked at them confused

"And who is all this from?"

"It's from (Name)" said his sons at the same time

"Have you found anything?" asked Jason to Bruce

"No" sighed Bruce as he sat on the couch

"The day of their departure they turned off the cameras for several hours and cleaned their room excellently well"

Jason sighed a little desperate.

"Well... We haven't found anything either but, Jason found this" Dick gave Bruce the album

"Maybe it won't help in finding them but maybe it will help... get to know them better" Dick spat out those last words as if he was ashamed of not knowing his brother/sister for 15 years Bruce started looking at the album like his two sons had done before

"And this man?" he asked when he saw your father of course he remembered your mother, she was very beautiful but equally intelligent.

Yes, it was a very serious loss in his company when she left but this man, he had already seen him before but... where?

"We don't know" Jason said

"I'm going to tell Tim, Stephanie and Barbara to identify him" Bruce said taking the photo of your first birthday. You looked so happy despite being only one year old and what a beautiful smile, it was just like your mother's but... he had never seen him up close

"And what are the others doing?" Jason asked, snapping him out of his thoughts

"Tim, Stephanie, and Barbara are in the Batcave looking through the cameras, and if they have social media, Damian and Cass are still in their room looking for a clue, although to be honest, I'm starting to doubt it," Bruce sighed again

"And Duke?" Jason asked

"Duke..?" Bruce's eyes suddenly opened as he remembered the newest member of the Wayne Family

"He didn't answer or see the messages I sent to the group either," Dick said as he checked his cell phone

"That's it! Duke!" Bruce exclaimed with a smile on his face, causing Dick and Jason to look at each other in confusion

"Okay...?”

“In the morning Duke had told me that he was going out with (Name) so he should know where they are" he explained to them

"Duke and (Name) get along?" Jason asked surprised and a little jealous

"That's right, Master Jason" said Alfred who was standing at the entrance of the room

"Young Master Duke and Master (Name) have maintained a friendly relationship since he arrived at the mansion" explained the older name

"Ha!" laughed Dick while patting him on the back "It seems that you are no longer his favorite"

That made Jason feel a pressure in his chest.

He had to be YOUR FAVORITE again

"Alfred could you give this to Tim, Steph and Barbara, please?" Bruce gave Alfred the photo of your first birthday "Have them identify the man in the picture"

"Of course, Master Bruce" nodded the butler and then left

"So what? Are we going to wait for Duke to arrive?" Jason asked a little gruffly, still angry

"I think we shouldn't wait for him to arrive, Master Jason," Alfred commented as he looked out the window

"Why do you say that?" Dick asked as the three men stood up

"Because he is already here.”

"Well bro, this is where I'm at" you said as you stood on your motorcycle in front of the large doors that gave access to the great Wayne mansion

"Are you sure you don't want to go in and say hello to Alfred?" Duke asked as he took off his helmet and gave it to you

"No thanks. I love Alfred but I wouldn't go in that place again for the life of me" you said as you covered the license plates of your motorcycle with your jacket now that Duke got off. You were a little paranoid like your father but could you be blamed? This place gave you the creeps.

"Okay then I think this is where we say goodbye" Duke said a little sad and you could notice it. You chuckled and hugged him without getting off your motorcycle.

"It's not a final goodbye, besides you have my number" you smiled at him

"I know, but the fact that you don't even live here now is very strange to me. I really miss you"

"And I miss you, little brother" you hugged him one last time

"Text me when you get home" he said once you put on your helmet

"Sure" you nodded as you started your bike

"See you later Duke! I love you"

"I love you too, (Name)" that was the last thing you said to each other before you left for your house

Duke sighed as he watched you leave, not looking back. He walked towards the entrance where the doors opened upon recognition and then walked a flight further until he reached the double doors of the large mansion.

Before he could knock on the door Alfred opened it and greeted him with his usual neutral tone of voice and a small smile which indicated to him that everything was going according to his plan.

"Good evening, young master" Alfred let him in

"Good evening Alfred"

"Master Bruce is waiting for you in the living room with young masters Dick and Jason" Alfred told him as Duke hung his jacket on the coat rack in the entrance

"And why are you looking for me?"

"To ask you about (Name)”

"You were looking for me Bruce?" asked Duke as he peeked through the door to the living room to see the three men sitting in the living room

"That's right Duke" nodded Bruce as he motioned for the younger man to sit

"Okay" he nodded as he took a seat next to Dick "What happened?"

"I need you to tell me everything you know about (Name)" Bruce told him

"And for what?" Duke acted confused

Bruce sighed. No matter how many times he repeated it, it always embarrassed him.

"I want to apologize to them"

"We ALL want to apologize to them" Dick corrected knowing that Bruce was not the only one to blame for this situation

"I have not been a good father to them, I didn't even try and now I see the consequences. My firstborn is away from this family because of me. I should have been more aware of them but I thought that since they weren't a vigilante, they would need less of my attention and now I see how wrong I was" he explained to Duke and then looked him in the eyes

"But you have been able to make a connection with them, and now I need all the information I can get from them so I can find them and tell them all that and more"

Duke sighed but inside he felt satisfaction seeing Bruce in that state, for all the harm he had caused his sibling.

A little punishment never hurt anyone, right?

But if he wanted you to come home then he had to help them, besides he still didn't know where you lived.

"Okay, but I don't have much information," Duke told him.

"We'll judge that," Jason said now, looking at him with a somewhat hard look.

Had he already discovered that he was now (Name)'s favorite?

That only filled him with more satisfaction.

"Okay," he nodded.

Before Bruce could say anything else, Tim arrived in the room, interrupting their conversation.

"Bruce, we've already identified the man."

They all went down to the Batcave and down there were Barbara and Stephanie talking and in the background, on the screen, they saw several pictures and information.

"What did you find?" asked Bruce as everyone approached the Batcomputer

"Well, the man in the picture with (Name) and their mother is (F/N) (L/N)" Barbara began to say "He studied journalism at Gotham University and he was married for 2 years to (M/N) (L/N) and gave his last name to (Name)"

"He died in an explosion caused by the Joker when (Name) was 4 years old, the same age they were when they came to the mansion" finished explaining Steph

Bruce already knew where he knew that man from. He had interviewed him several years ago. He was a very intelligent man and clever with words at that time which bothered him a little. From that interview onwards, the only one allowed to interview him was Clark or Lois, no one else could interview him.

But maybe if he had allowed (F/N) to keep interviewing him, maybe he would have known about his child's existence much sooner and maybe he wouldn't have made so many mistakes with you.

Just MAYBE…

"But isn't (Name) your child?" Dick asked Bruce confused

"Yes, they are" Duke said and everyone turned to look at him so he could continue talking

"They told me, today in fact. They told me about their life before the mansion. They told me that their mother met their father- I mean, (F/N) one day when he came to interview you Bruce" the young man turned to look at them

"And that in fact they're studying journalism like him because they were always inspired by what he did. They have a great memory" he said at the end with a tone of pride knowing that his brother/sister had many gifts even if they didn't realize it

"And how do you know all that?" Damian asked

"I spent the day with them today and they told me about it" Duke said as if it was no big deal

"You... You talk to them?" Tim asked as if he was trying to understand

"Yeah. They helped me a lot when I moved here" he explained

"You said he was studying journalism?" Bruce interrupted

"Yes" Duke nodded

"So if we don't know where he lives we can find out where he studies. Barbara, look up the records of Gotham University on all the journalism students" Bruce asked

"I'm already on it" Barbara nodded and then started typing on the batcomputer

"So... you two are close?" Tim asked Duke surprisingly

"I'd like to think so" Duke laughed a little nervously

"And what do you normally do with them?" With that question everyone started to pay attention even if they didn't look at him

"Well... It depends..." he said "Now that they don't live here anymore we go out to eat and to the arcade and even to the park. We mostly talk but before they left we spent a lot of time in the library, that place was their favorite of the whole mansion because it's more illuminated there. We used to read or they would tell me about some book and even gossip about their friends. From time to time, when you were busy they would train with me or we would also play video games. They are very good with technology and science"

"Did they train with you? Are they also vigilantes like us?" Damian asked for the first time curious about you

"No they are not vigilantes like us" that calmed Bruce down "But they are good at self-defense. They know how to fight"

"But how? I never taught them" Bruce asked

"They are your children Bruce, they are just as good at analysis and observation" then he walked to another monitor and looked for something on the computer. It was a video of both of you training.

In the video you had a sly smile that no one else besides Duke and Alfred had seen on you. While you were dressed in sportswear and some bandages on your knuckles. Duke was just like you, both looking defiant but not intimidating.

"Ready to lose?" Duke told you

"You wish" you smiled with a sly smile

Then you both started to fight, Duke being the first to throw the first blow which you managed to dodge. You both fought for a long time, neither of you giving up easily. After several minutes you both ended up on the ground tired and sweaty.

"Tie?" You suggested, stretching your fist out towards him

"Tie" he nodded, bumping his fist into yours

"You're getting better" you congratulated him

"It's not that bad" Duke said, a little embarrassed with the compliment you gave him

"Of course it is" you patted him on the back "You're getting better pretty fast, I know you'll be able to face Grayson and Todd soon, and maybe one day you'll even be able to match or be better than Bruce"

"Thanks, (Name)" Duke smiled at you

"Don't mention it" you smiled back and stood up

"Shall we take a break?" you offered him a hand to get him up

"Sure" Duke took your hand and stood up

And that was the end of the video Duke was showing them.

"Yeah, they're good training partners," Duke said with a smile.

"I found something," Barbara said, cutting off the tense moment.

Everyone focused on the screen Barbara was working on, looking at a picture of you on the screen and next to it your college information.

"(Name) (L/N), third semester journalism student at Gotham University," Barbara read.

"(L/N)?" Bruce asked.

"Yeah, apparently when they turned 18 they changed their last name," Barbara nodded.

He didn't know anything about you, but he was sure of one thing and that was that he had given you his last name.

You weren't a (L/N)

You were a WAYNE

But don't worry, that would soon be fixed.

"But that's not the important thing," Jason said. "Where do they live?"

"They live in an apartment complex near the university" Barbara said

"Send me the address alone" Bruce ordered

"Bruce! / Father! / B!" everyone started to complain but Bruce silenced them with a look

"Don't even start" he warned them "I'm more than sure that if any of you have this information, they will immediately go looking for you but, we must avoid howling at them because they will most likely be furious with all of us"

Everyone looked at the ground at his words, all of them feeling a little bad.

"So let's wait a bit to face them. Now, everyone goes to rest, it's been a tiring day"

Reluctantly, everyone went to rest while the only ones left downstairs were Bruce and Barbara.

"Don't give them the information. It's an order" Bruce told Barbara

"Understood" she nodded

"Okay, now go rest" he said so the girl could go rest too

Then he turned to look at the big screen where your picture was.

You looked so much like your mother and seeing it from that point of view, he was happy, he already had enough with having Damian, who was already very similar to him. He couldn't wait to meet you again after 15 years.

Well as they say, better late than never, right?

Helloooo!

How are you all? I hope everyone liked this chapter! I'll try to post more frecuently. Anyway if you liked this chapter I will invite you leave a heart, reblog or interact in any other way as leaving asks or comments as I would love to heart your opinions and any sugestiones you may have for the story or even theories.

Thank you for reading! See you in the next one!

PD: I have put everyone that has told me to add them in the TAG LIST so please check it out to see If I have make a mistake or something hahahaha.

-Izadi <3

TAG LIST

@eyeless-kun @profounddestinyrebel @holyfishbailiffpeanut @toast-on-dandelioms @dhanyasri @kiarst @phoenixgurl030 @wpdarlingpan @glitterisname @sackofsadstuff @riddle-me-im-sirius @sirenetheblogger @bat1212 @bluelock4life @revysplacexxx @skz-goose @mistfire1999 @vanessa-boo @tatsuri-zomushiki @kore-of-the-underworld @milliu @lee-bits @ch1@ch1cky-093 @leiiasurez @bluemidnightmelodies @lilyalone @plsfckmedxddy @lovebug-apple @jisnothere @akanegotlost @stormz369 @sugarpiehoe @mddbsf @shhhhhhhhhhtellnobody @i-adorehannah @darktrashpoetry @fantasyhopperhea @d3sperate-enuf @expctron @horror-lover-69 @caffeinatedhearts12 @niggrroo @v3llev3t3 @cynniee @imhere2dosomething @verypersonadazzel @asillysimp @type-ink @wisefuncherryblossom @haruskrd @angelicbear @zoeyburton @twismare @bad4amficideas @casspen-starlight @gwyneveire @ferchu0406 @erinhan08 @yoopsity @aki-anikk @24-7aroundtheclockanxious @ferntv @hunter-hears-all @gwyneveire @yuyuzi-ling @shirp-collector-of-fixations @welpthisisboring @jellyedkazoo @mellowcloudland @rainwaterxx @lunaetiicsaystuff @ryuushou @butratherbutrather @tiredhealer5 @nemesis-writer @jjsmeowthie @a4g3lstarfire @chibikochannumberone @hayley1234 @thestarry-nightfox @kittzu @sillyheartmoonnyx

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