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itneverendshere · 8 months ago

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LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - TWO

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mentions of possible pregnancy, of abortion, of pregnancy risks & death. self-loathing. chapter one ┆ chapter three ┆ chapter four

You lied.

You didn’t take the tests the next day.

Or the next. You couldn’t. Every time you picked up one of the stupid boxes, your heart would drop to the pits of hell and your hands would start sweating. You’d shove it back in the drawer like it could disappear if you just ignored it hard enough.

Once you knew, you knew.

There was no more pretending as if nothing happened.

No more pretending like you didn't care that Rafe moved on like he didn’t just dump you, with no real closure and ran to the next girl he found.

Fuck, why did he have to look so happy that night? He got to be carefree, living his perfect little life with her, and you were there, sitting on the bathroom floor, too scared to even pee on a stick.

What if it was positive? Then what? The thought of seeing his name pop up on your phone after you blocked him, or worse, hearing her voice if she picked up...you’d rather die. He didn't deserve to know.

He didn't deserve anything from you anymore.

You started googling abortion clinics before you even touched the tests. You could afford it. That wasn’t even the issue.

You had more money than you knew what to do with. Your inheritance was just sitting there. You could book a flight tomorrow, pay for whatever procedure, whatever it took—fly out of state, out of the country, if you had to.

But that wasn’t the point. It has never been about the money. It was the overwhelming shame. The fear. The realization that Rafe might have left you, but he was still there, stuck in your head, in your body, in your fucking life. Even when he wasn’t.

He didn’t have to worry about any of this. He was most likely out on the boat, not even thinking about you. Not thinking about what he did to you.

And you— you were left with this. Sitting on a bathroom floor for hours a day, trying to figure out how you were supposed to make a decision that changed everything.

You started looking up clinics again, scrolling through the options, but your mind was barely even there. It was legal in North Carolina for now, but you read something about the 12-week ban they passed in June, and suddenly you were spiraling one more time, wondering how much time you even had.

Could you wait? Could you put it off like you’d been putting off the tests, like if you waited long enough, maybe the problem would just... disappear? Shit, wouldn’t that be easier?

You heard that voice in your head, the one that sounded like your mom, at least what you remembered from watching old videos.

It was depressing how life didn’t let you hold tightly to your memories sometimes. She always reminded you of the kind of person you were supposed to be. The type of girl who had her shit together. The type of girl who didn’t get herself into situations like this, in the first place.

But instead, you were the girl who lost everything—the life you were supposed to have—and somehow, you’d still found a way to screw up what was left.

You kept scrolling like you couldn’t stop.

One page led to another, and soon you weren’t just looking up clinics—you were looking up everything.

What happened during the procedure, how long it took, the side effects, the complications. You read horror stories about infections, about women who thought it was over and then bled for weeks, about people who changed their minds too late.

You even looked up what could happen if you didn’t get an abortion—what pregnancy could do to your body. And that was a whole other rabbit hole you didn’t need to go down. Your body changing, your hormones going insane. You thought about your boobs getting sore, your stomach stretching, the possibility of throwing up every morning, and it felt like your body was already betraying you. And then you read the serious stuff—gestational diabetes, preeclampsia, all these words you didn’t even know existed before that night. There was a minefield of things that could go wrong, things that would go wrong.

Complications. Risks. Dangers.

You read about women who almost died in labor. About miscarriages and stillbirths and the trauma of carrying a baby for months, only to lose it. You never even thought about that, how pregnancy wasn’t just this smooth, magical process people make it out to be. It was brutal. But you’d been the little sister, you never saw your mother go through it, or anyone for that matter.

Your younger cousin, Topper the bitching backstabber, had been born and raised in Los Angeles before he moved to Figure 8 when he was five.

You were terrified—not just of being pregnant, but of what it meant to stay pregnant. Would your body even handle it? You’d always lived off coffee and takeout half the time. An unreasonable amount of parties. Too many drinks some nights.

You weren’t exactly the picture of health. What if you weren’t strong enough? What if something went wrong, and you ended up in a hospital bed, alone, because Rafe sure as fuck wouldn’t be there. It was just you.

For a second there, you thought you might pass out.

You’d thrown your phone across the room, it hit the wall with a thud, but it didn’t help. The anxiety was still there, vibrating under your skin, making you want to scream. You glanced at the bathroom drawer again, where the pregnancy tests were hidden like some cursed thing.

Maybe you should’ve just taken one.

Rip off the bandaid.

The stupid phone rang, like was having fun pissing you off, vibrating on the floor where you’d thrown it. You stared at it for a second, debating if you should even pick it up. You didn’t feel like dealing with anyone, especially not whoever was about to ask something from you.

But it kept ringing, and of course, it was a number you recognized—Lily, one of the coordinators from your dad’s foundation. Shit. You forgot about the gala. Again. The one that was happening in two freaking days, the one you haven’t even thought about preparing for.

You swiped to answer, “Yeah?”

“Hey, I didn’t want to bother you, but we need to go over the final details for the gala,” She greeted you, sounding way too perky for how you were feeling. “I really need your input on the seating arrangements, and the auction items, and—”

It hit you just how ironic this was. You were sitting here, freaking out about being possibly pregnant, scrolling through nightmare stories about abortion and pregnancy complications, while Lily was talking about a fundraiser for children’s health. Kids. It felt like some twisted repulsive joke the universe was playing on you.

You blinked back into the conversation, realizing she still talking, and you hadn’t said a word. “Uh, yeah, sorry. I’ve been busy. Can you just handle it?” you muttered, feeling guilty but not enough to actually deal with any of it.

“I’ve already taken care of most things,” she said carefully, “but we really need your approval on the final guest list and the speech. You’re the face of the foundation, after all.”

The face of the foundation. The legacy your dad left you. It was supposed to be this huge responsibility. And it was. You’d always taken it seriously. The one thing in your life you never ruined. But this year, you hadn’t written the speech yet. Jesus, you forgot it was even happening. And the guest list? No clue.

You rubbed your forehead, “I’ll look at it later. Just send it over.”

Lily hesitated again, probably sensing that something was off, you'd always been a control freak. “Okay, I’ll email it to you. Just let me know by tomorrow, alright?”

“Yeah, sure.”

You hung up before she could add anything else, staring at the ceiling. One more thing. One more responsibility piled on top of everything else. You were drowning in all these expectations—being the good daughter to dead parents, the responsible one, the perfect kook girl who was supposed to have everything. You were supposed to be the girl who had the trust fund, the perfect life, the foundation that helped kids in need.

You earned to be her.

Your phone buzzed again, this time with an email notification. You rolled your eyes, already knowing it was from Lily. She’d sent over the guest list, and you groaned, thinking you’d skim it, give it a half-assed glance, and send it back. But as you scrolled down the names, you stopped.

Rafe Cameron.

Of course, he was going to be there. Why wouldn’t he? His family had been involved in your dad’s foundation for years. It was like you couldn’t escape him.

The fucking nerve. To your gala. Your blood boiled instantly, your fingers gripping the phone so tight you almost cracked the screen.

Fuck him.

If he thought he could just show up and rub his new life in your face, he had another thing coming. Without thinking twice, you deleted his name, erasing him like he didn’t even exist. And then, without checking another name, you sent the list back to Lily.

You didn’t give a shit if it was petty. You didn’t care if it wasn’t professional.

If Rafe wanted to play games, you’d ruin his life if you had to. He thought he could fuck you over, leave you with all this—leave you with nothing? No. You weren’t going to let him have that power.

Not over this. Not over you.

You were shaking now, but it almost felt good. Even if it was just a stupid guest list. Let him find out when he got there and there was no table for him. No seat. No fucking room.

You still sat there staring at the screen with that stupid blinking cursor. The email from Lily sat open in front of you, and somewhere buried in the list of attachments was the speech. Blank.

Your speech—the one you were supposed to read at the gala in two days. The one you hadn’t even started writing.

This was always the hardest part. Writing it. Saying it. You used to cry every time. Standing in front of all those people, talking about your dad, your family, how the foundation was this beautiful way of keeping their memory alive. It was never just a speech—it was like ripping your heart out of your chest and letting everyone see it, year after year. It never got easier.

But Rafe, used to be there with you.

Every year. He’d sit with you while you struggled through every word, telling you it was okay to take your time, reminding you that you didn’t have to do it if you didn’t want to. And when the gala came, he was always by your side, standing just off stage, waiting for you after the speech was done. You’d run into his arms, and he’d whisper that you 'did great baby', holding you until the room stopped spinning so much.

You could still hear his voice in your head sometimes, 'you’re stronger than you think'.

That’s what he always said, even when you didn’t believe it. He’d hold you, kiss your forehead, and make you feel like it was true, like you really could get through it. He was always so sure of you. But this year? He wasn’t going to be there. He’d stop believing the lies he fed you. You were angry. You were seething. You were utterly alone.

You’d been avoiding this moment—writing.

This time around, it wasn’t just about the speech. It was about the fact that when you walked out of that stage, you wouldn’t have him waiting for you.

You’d step down into nothingness, with no one to catch you.

Your fingers hovered over the screen, but they wouldn’t move. What were you even supposed to say this year? How were you supposed to stand up in front of all those people and talk about love and family and legacy when yours was shattered?

You hated looking at yourself in the mirror, feeling like you’d lost every single piece of who you used to be.

Fuck the speech. Fuck the gala. Fuck Rafe Cameron and his stupid lies, his stupid smile, his stupid promises that he never kept.

If he thought you were weak, if he thought he could break you, if he thought you were the same girl who used to cling to him like he was the only thing keeping you together—he was wrong.

You were going to do this without him.

You were going to stand up there and give that speech, no matter how much it hurt. And if it killed you, so be it. You’d still do it.

Because unlike him, you didn’t just walk away from the things that mattered. Even if it tore you apart. Even if it was killing you to keep pretending like you were fine. You weren’t fine. But you’d fake it. You’d fake it until the whole world believed it.

You’d barely hit send on the email when your phone rang again, and this time it wasn’t Lily.

It was Topper. You hadn’t talked to him since that night—the night. The party where you’d found out, where you’d seen Rafe and Sofia together for the first time. Where you realized that everyone knew.

How he’d called Rafe over, like you needed him to fix it, like he was still yours to rely on.

“What?”

“Hey…” Topper’s voice was cautious, “I, uh, I wanted to call and apologize for the other night.”

You snorted, leaning your head back against the wall. “Yeah? For what part? For calling Rafe like his little bitch or for getting in front of my car when I was trying to leave?”

“I didn’t mean to fuck things up. I was just trying to stop you from doing something stupid.”

“Like what?” you snapped. “Leaving the party? Getting out of there before I had to watch him with her for one more second? Yeah, Top, real dumb of me.”

“You almost ran me over,” Topper shot back, his voice rising just a little, like he was offended you hadn’t mentioned that part. “Kinda felt like maybe you weren’t thinking straight.”

“You jumped in front of the car you fucking idiot. What the hell did you expect me to do? Slam on the brakes and listen to whatever bullshit you and Rafe had to say? Because trust me, ’m all out of patience for either of you.”

There was a sigh on the other end, the sound of him trying to not to lose his patentience, like he was the one in the right here. Typical Topper. Always wanting to smooth things over, play peacemaker between you and Rafe, like this was just another fight you’d get over.

He never really got it.

“Look,” Your cousin started, calmer this time, “I didn’t mean to call him. I just thought—”

“You always think calling him will fix things,” you cut in, “Like he’s the answer to every problem I have. He’s not. Not anymore.”

“I get that,” He added quickly, like he was afraid you’d hang up. “But I didn’t know what else to do! You were upset, and I thought maybe—”

“Maybe what? That he could swoop in and save the day?” You let out a bitter laugh. “He’s not your golden boy, Top. He doesn’t fix anything. He ruins things.”

Topper went quiet for a second, probably trying to figure out how to respond without setting you off on an angry rant again. “I get it,” he said finally, “You’re pissed at him. You have every right to be. But I didn’t call him to hurt you, okay? I was worried about you.”

You hated how genuine he sounded, hated that he meant well. He was a nuisance half of the time, sure, but he wasn’t malicious. He never was. He just had terrible judgment.

“Next time, don’t,” you muttered, rubbing a hand over your face. “I don’t need you playing little brother and calling him when things go wrong."

“I wasn’t trying to clean anything up,” Topper explained, a little defensive now. “I just didn’t want you driving like that. You were upset.”

You rolled your eyes. “Upset doesn’t mean I need you or Rafe deciding what’s best for me. I’m not a kid.”

“You’re not,” he agreed, “But you weren’t exactly in a great headspace, so yeah, I stopped you. I wasn’t gonna let you leave like that and end up in a ditch somewhere.”

It hurt like a bitch, because deep down, you knew Topper had a point.

You were having a meltdown, and he’d stepped in, like he always did when you went off the rails. That was the problem with him—he cared, even when you didn’t want him to. He was family, the only family you had left, and he was too loyal for his own good.

“You could’ve told me,” you confessed what had been upsetting you, your voice losing some of its initial attitude. “About them. Instead of letting me walk into that party blind.”

Topper sighed again, “I should’ve,” he admitted. “I didn’t want you to find out like that. But it wasn’t my place to say anything. And I didn’t want to make things worse.”

Your hand instinctively moved to cup your stomach. You didn’t even realize you were doing it at first, but the second your fingers touched your shirt, the earlier panic welled up inside you again. If he only knew how bad things were. How bad they could get. You yanked your hand away like you’d been burned, heart hammering against your ribs most painfully. There was no way you could even begin to explain what was going on inside your head—or your body.

Not to Topper. Not to anyone. If he knew, he’d freak and you didn’t need that right now.

You clenched your jaw, pushing yourself to focus on the conversation, on Topper still yammering on about apologies and guilt You shook your head, a bitter smile tugging at your lips.

“Are you even listening?”

“Unfortunately,” You sounded apathetic even to yourself, fingers tapping against the phone, agitated. “Look, Top, I don’t have time for this right now. I’m busy.”

He sighed. “I know you’re pissed, okay? I get it. But the gala’s in, like, two days. You... you still going, right?”

“Of course I’m going,” you scowled, barely able to hide the bitterness in your voice. “I have to. It’s not like I can just dip out and pretend it’s not happening.”

Unlike some people, you thought, but you bit your tongue.

“Good, because I’ll be there too. And I—”

“Oh, joy,” you interrupted, “Another chance for you to babysit me and make sure I don’t make a scene? Can’t wait.”

“Jesus, I’m just trying to help!” Topper groaned. “I didn’t want to make things worse the other night. I—”

“Yeah. Whatever, I’ll see you at the gala.”

You hung up. You didn’t have the patience to deal with him right now.

The day of the gala came faster than you thought it would.

It was like you blinked, and suddenly, you were standing in the middle of the venue, walking through final checks with Lily, nodding along as she rattled off details you barely absorbed.

The room was all glitz and glamour, with chandeliers dripping from the ceiling, and everything draped in the foundation’s signature gold and white.

Crisp tablecloths. Flowers in perfect, elegant arrangements. Waiters in black-tie uniforms were circulating, making sure everything looked flawless. Flawless.

That word made you want to gag.

You moved through the space like a ghost, smiling at the right moments, giving half-hearted approvals when needed. You didn’t care. People were running around, asking for your opinion on this or that. You’d stayed at the venue longer than planned, making sure everything was in order, but your mind was stuck in that floating-place. You wanted to burn the whole thing down, if you were being honest.

You should’ve called your doctor. Days ago. Hell, maybe weeks ago.

Making smart choices wasn’t your thing lately, was it?

When you finally slipped into the room where they’d set up your glam team, you just wanted to sleep. The room itself was a suite off to the side of the venue, a private space meant to make you feel like royalty.

A massive mirror ran across one wall, surrounded by soft, glowing lights. A table was set up with everything—hair tools, makeup brushes, palettes, serums. Bottles of champagne sat chilled in the corner, the condensation dripping down the glass, untouched. It was the kind of place you were supposed to feel special in.

Normally you did. But this year you were numb.

The stylist worked quietly on your hair, soft curls falling into place as she tugged and pinned each section with meticulous care. The makeup artist was dabbing foundation onto your skin, blending and contouring until you didn’t even recognize yourself in the mirror. The dress hung behind you, a shimmering white gown, custom-designed by Versace for the occasion.

You looked like you were stepping into one of those perfect, glamorous lives. But on the inside, you felt like you were going to lose it at any second. You nodded along, giving tight-lipped smiles when they complimented you, and then they finally left.

The room was dead silent now, just you and your reflection. You stood in front of the mirror, staring at yourself, the perfect curls, the glowy skin, the gown waiting behind you. It all felt wrong. It felt fake. You didn’t bear a resemblance to yourself.

You looked like the version of you that the world expected—the untouchable girl. A doll.

Your rifled through your bag for your phone, but instead, your fingers brushed something else. Cold, hard.

You hadn’t even realized it was in there.

One of the pregnancy tests. You must’ve thrown it in without thinking earlier that morning when you were rushing out the door. You hadn’t even noticed it until now.

What the fuck were you doing?

You had a gala to host in less than an hour. People were going to be looking at you, waiting for you to give the speech, expecting you to hold everything together like always. And there you were, standing in a private dressing room, about to do something so monumentally stupid. Maybe it was the pressure of tonight, or maybe it was the anger you’d been shoving down for weeks, but suddenly, you didn’t care.

You were going to do it.

Without even thinking, you stormed into the bathroom. You were so fucking tired of avoiding this. Tired of pretending like everything was fine, like you were fine.

What the hell was fine about any of this? You tore open the box, hands trembling as you pulled out the test. The room was so quiet, you could hear every little sound—your breath still uneven, the rustle of your dress against the tiles, the click of the test cap as you flicked it off.

You sat down, staring at the stick in your hand. This was insane. You were insane. Who the fuck took a pregnancy test ten minutes before they’re supposed to host a charity gala?

You couldn’t get a proper breath out as you waited, heart pounding so hard it felt like it might rip your chest open. You leaned against the sink, gripping the edge. Your stomach churned, the nausea rising again, and you had to close your eyes to stop the floor from spinning.

What if it was positive? What if it wasn’t?

You stared at the test, willing the result to appear, but it didn’t. Not yet. The little window stayed blank, as if taunting you, making you feel like you were losing your mind. You knew you had to wait longer. You weren’t stupid. You’d read those instructions a million times by now, but you hated waiting.

Hated not knowing.

You couldn’t take your eyes off the stupid little piece of plastic. Just one line or two. That was all it came down to. One fucking line or two, and your entire life would either fall apart or what? Be fine?

You glanced at the mirror, catching another glimpse of yourself, and it almost startled you—your eyes were wild. Desperate. They were the eyes of someone who was just about ready to do anything to get this over with.

You tried to picture telling him again, but the idea alone made you sick. You thought of Sofia, of her perfect smile next to his, and bile rose in your throat. Your hands never stopped shaking. You wanted to run. You wanted to throw that thing in the garbage can and never stare at it again.

Your thoughts spun in circles, going nowhere, just making everything worse. The clock on your phone ticked louder and louder, and you knew—somewhere out there, everyone was getting ready. Guests were arriving. The gala would start soon, and they’d all be waiting for you. Watching you. Expecting you to be the poised, perfect version of yourself you’d spent your whole life pretending to be.

And you were in here, trying not to lose your fucking mind.

You peeked back at it. Still nothing.

No line. No answer.

It felt like you were suspended in time. You closed your eyes, gripping the sink harder, praying for it to end—something to happen, anything.

Then finally, you felt it in your chest—a heavy, sinking feeling, like the moment before a fall.

You opened your eyes.

There it was.

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3K notes · View notes

bookwyrminspiration · 2 years ago

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okay something hilarious: for some reason i genuinely CANNOT see your last response on desktop. it is proving a problem i'm gonna like. have to go look at it in my email but anyway here to add MORE to the growing pile of asks about acod in your inbox rn solely from me and say i am small bits into the memory of souls and RAISED EYEBROWS????? INTENSELY RAISED EYEBROWS????? when i said janel deserves a polycule i was partly joking but i also Wasn't. what's going on. they are such a brilliant dynamic regardless of the romantic/sexual attraction though like imagine BEING part of that group. guy who is the reincarnation of the brother of a guy who is questionably trying to destroy the universe. guy who remembers every life he's lived and was like. a king a couple of times. guy who is part demon and has four moms and also was second guy's wife once but it wasn't great and the second guy still feels guilty about that.

and guy who is a wizard who is just chilling writing people's biographies lmfao???? we love thurvishar i have so much affection for him

but on a serious janel/teraeth/kihrin note the way that as much as u trust each other you grate against each other SO MUCH sometimes and how they actively antagonize each other and yet their dynamics with each other are so fun and WHY HASN'T ANYONE EXPLAINED JORAT GENDER TO TERAETH AND ALSO WHY DOESN'T HE KNOW ABOUT IT BY NOW LIKE YOU'RE O L D AND HAVE THE PRIVILEGE OF REMEMBERING THAT. my GUY. my DUDE

I don't know anything I said ever, there's been too many of these to keep track, but hope you can find it!

but YES!! I ADORE the memory of souls group dynamic. Someday I want to write like a little diagram specifically so I can write the most fucked up shit on the kihrin/janel/teraeth side and then I can also just have thurvishar totally solitary off to the side. The three of them have some intense pining/attraction/tension going on and then Thurvishar is just also there. Being a normal rational individual. Just stuck with these three idiots. Also note: that explanation you gave of their dynamic is great, and it gets even more complicated later on. won't say how. just will say there's some additional details there too that are *chef's kiss*

The three of them are EVERYTHING to me. They're entirely devoted to each other. They say the stupidest shit when they're around each other. They have no idea what they're doing and they're constantly fucking up. They're each very capable individuals but they annoy each other so much everything becomes 300% harder. None of them are talking about their feelings and everyone's sad about it. Well. Tereath is being quite open he's just also miserable and feeling left out about it because no one else is. They're tied to each other inseparably because of decisions they made in their past lives, but they don't all remember enough to feel that impact. Teraeth does. It's not going well for him. They all come from such different cultures and they're clashing but they're trying. They're all they have to lean on right now. Maybe they enjoy that more than they want to admit.

And along those lines, rip Tereath he's really trying his best but someone please god explain to him what's going on. Janel you can't expect him to know this stuff he's not from Jorat. Sure he conquered it in a past life but conquering a nation is not the same thing as knowing anything about said nation's customs and beliefs!! why would he!! he took over!! he would be SO apologetic and nice about it if you just explained give him a chance!!

#a chorus of dragons #quil's queries #soryasongsaa #ty jenn lyons for everythingn you have ever done #memory of souls was WILD #everything was really starting to come together there #like. that's when I first solidly knew who the four hellwarriors were #the first two books I was like...literally who are the main characters who is important #but! we got there! we figured it out!#GOD i love this series so much #i've been flipping through some of the earlier books and holy FUCK #things that were so confusing make so much sense now #jenn had it laid out from PAGE ONE!#off handed confuses comments i'm now like ah yes I know what you're talking about #and I genuinely do!!#cannot explain how much I love this series

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rafesangelita · 6 months ago

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♡ gooning to your instagram page was a regular occurrence for stepbro!rafe, but getting caught? that’s something that didn’t happen everyday..

warnings: stepcest, reader is bit of a bimbo, male masturbation, rafe is super pervy and kinda icky in this lol, name calling, handjob, messy kissing, oral (f. receiving), praise, mutual pining (?), dirty talk, pussy slapping, overstimulation, unprotected sex, rafe is a loser so premature ejaculation, marking, cock warming, multiple orgasms, creampie

wc: 2.0k

“such a fucking slut, ‘posting shit like this.” rafe cursed under his breath, his phone in one hand and his cock in the other. jerking off to your slutty instagram account had become a part of his daily routine. he hated that you were so active on it, but then again, if it wasn’t for you, he wouldn’t have so many pictures and videos to keep him sane while he fantasized about fucking his bratty little stepsister. pathetically enough, rafe knew he had to keep his grimy hands off of you, and fuck, did it piss him off. to have something so close, yet so far out of his reach.

your story highlights alone was enough to hold him off for the next year, but your actual posts? he swore anyone who came across your page was in gooning heaven. he’d never admit it, but he once spent two entire hours jerking off to a video he had secretly took of you two having a ‘whoever could eat their cone the fastest’ contest, his cock raw and aching to be left alone by the time he decided to give it a rest. he was mesmerized, watching you lick and lap at the icecream, the sweet succulence dripping down your chin, and eventually your tits when you couldn’t keep it from melting.

his eyes screwed shut at the memory, the video currently playing on his phone not being any different. instead of icecream dribbling down your chin, it was whatever alcohol your best friend had just poured in your mouth, the excess liquor running down your neck and chest. you had squealed when you swallowed the burning substance, your tits bouncing as you jumped excitedly with your friends. rafe groaned at the sight. you couldn’t be that oblivious, right??? at some point you had to know what you were doing when you posted this for everyone to see?

your micro bikini top did nothing to support the weight of your tits, a nipple peeking out before you innocently tucked it back underneath the poor excuse of pink material. he clicked out of your story and immediately blew up the image of your recent post. you were on all fours, face down and ass up as your skin sparkled underneath the neon lights of the party you had went to earlier tonight. you looked like you were straight out of a playboy magazine. rafe groaned, his chest heaving as he teetered the edge of cumming all over himself.

he thought about manhandling you out of that bikini and fucking you stupid for wearing it out in the first place. he’s had to watch you whore yourself out for nearly a year already, his life becoming a living hell since the day you first moved in and introduced yourself with that stupid faux innocent look in your eyes. the mini skirts you never failed to bend down in front of him in, the tube tops that basically had your tits spilling out of them, fuck, there was so many things about you that made him horny out of his mind. “oh, shit!” rafe dropped his phone, his door opening just as his orgasm washed over him.

“what the f-fuck?!” he was trembling underneath the covers, his eyes widening as you quietly shut his door behind you. “what are you doing?” he whispered, fumbling around as his high still had his hips stuttering. you giggled, watching as his face morphed into one of full blown pleasure before he turned away from you. “i just wanted to check on you since i heard noises, that’s all..” you sat down on the edge of his bed, biting your lip as his back muscles rippled beneath his skin, your eyes moving to the phone next to him. “oh, well you couldn’t have picked a better time?” rafe scoffed.

you flipped the device over, gasping softly when you saw your instagram illuminating the screen. “hey, that’s me!” you laughed, taking his phone in your hand and holding it up to him before he lunged for the thing, taking you down with him. “rafe!” you yelped, his hand coming up to clasp over your mouth. “shut the fuck up! you’re gonna get us in trouble, dummy!” he cursed, his face just centimeters away from your own. you swallowed thickly, nodding as he slowly moved his hand down. “why am i on your phone?” you asked, noticing the way his pupils blew wide at your question.

“what?” he faltered, watching as a smile formed on your lips. “oh my god—” the realization hit you when you looked down, his bulge prominent in his boxers. “were you touching yourself?” rafe’s eyebrows knitted together as he backed away, looking at you as if you had just insinuated the most offensive thing he’s ever heard. “a-are you serious? of course not—” you trailed your hand down, cupping him through the thin material, “it’s okay if you were.. i do it too.” rafe froze, inspecting your face for any kind of hint that you were joking. you weren’t.

“what the fuck are you talking about?” he said through gritted teeth. you peered up at him innocently, batting your eyelashes at him as he made no attempt to move away from you. “i touch myself and think about you, ray. all the time.” you whispered against his lips, placing a soft kiss there before letting your head fall back against his pillows. “i know it’s wrong, but i can’t help it..” this was rafe’s wet dream coming true. “whenever you walk around shirtless i just imagine riding your abs. you’re so strong, rafe, i think about you choking me with these arms.” you ran your nails up the skin of his forearm.

holy fuck.

rafe didn’t believe he could ever be this turned on in his life. “yeah?” he let himself relax, your fingers slipping underneath the waistband of his boxers as you gripped him at the base. you felt the sticky residue from his previous orgasm in your palm, a hum leaving your lips at the revelation. “did i make you cum already?” the man above you groaned. how you sounded so sweet asking the most dirtiest question was beyond him. “fuck— yes, you did,” he nodded, his mouth parting once you started stroking him, “may i pleaseee make you cum again?” rafe nodded frantically, his hips thrusting into your palm.

taking your lips in a searing kiss, rafe didn’t hold back from slipping his tongue in your mouth, the sensation making you moan as you two practically drooled over one another. he wasn’t gentle in the slightest, his teeth nipping your bottom lip when you ran your thumb over his throbbing tip. “oh, god,” he hissed, pulling away momentarily to inspect your outfit.. or lack thereof. you laid underneath him in nothing but a sheer night top, your g-string sitting perfectly between your puffy folds. “you look so fucking hot.” rafe breathed out, cupping your tits before rolling your nipples between his fingers.

you gasped, spreading your thighs so he could lay between them. “i need to taste you, please let me,” he pressed a sloppy kiss to your chin, both of your lips glossy with spit. you moaned, whimpering a ‘yes, please!’ as he snaked down your body. when he got to eye level with your soaking cunt, he teased you by slowly moving your sorry excuse of ‘panties’ aside before spreading you open. you shuddered, taking your bottom lip between your teeth as you waited for his next move. pinning your thighs to the tops of his shoulders, rafe kissed your sensitive bud before diving in.

immediately, your back arched off of his mattress when his tongue attacked your poor clit, the back of your hand muffling your scream as your thighs clamped around his head. you were squirming, nails digging into his skin for dear life as he ate you like a man starved. “if only you knew,” rafe spoke, “i’ve been losing sleep over this pussy, ‘been wanting to do this since day fucking one.” you cried out at his words. you’ve wanted him for yourself the second he helped you with your moving boxes, that smug smirk on his face drawing you in since the very beginning.

your hips unintentionally chased his mouth, his hands pinning you down in place. “feels so good!” you whined, propping yourself up on your elbows so you could watch him. the tip of his nose was glistening with your slick, his tongue poking your entrance as lapped away at your juices. he was so good at this, you felt jealousy pooling in your tummy for any other girls who might’ve seen this sight, and felt his skilled tongue. “you taste so fucking good, this is unreal.” he marveled, sucking your clit before rolling your sensitive bundle of nerves between his lips. you gasped sharply, a scream sitting on the tip of your tongue.

rafe continued like this until you attempted to move away from him again. grabbing a pillow from your side, you smothered your face with it as he pushed you over the edge, a high like never before washing over you in waves of pure ecstasy. rafe watched you shake and thrash underneath him, his pussy drunk gaze raking down your trembling form. you moaned, sobbed, and cried until all you could do was whimper in sensitivity. “no more,” you sighed, your body jolting as rafe flicked his tongue continuously over your clit. black dots spotted your vision, your heart beating fast in your ears.

“..can’t take it, rafe!” you sobbed, tears welling in your eyes as he dismissed your cries. “yes, you can, you’re gonna have to..” just as you were going to ask him what he meant by that, he kept your legs on his shoulders as he stood up, slamming into you without warning. you couldn’t conceal the sound this time, your shriek bouncing off of the walls of rafe’s room. turning his head to see if the door was locked, he cursed under his breath when he saw it wasn’t. “you just want us to get caught, huh?” you shook your head, your nails digging into the flesh of his stomach.

rafe covered your mouth, your eyes rolling to the back of your head when you felt him pinch your clit. “just give me one more, baby, that’s all. ‘wanna feel this pussy squeezing around me when i fill you up with my cum.” you had tears running down your cheeks now. embarrassingly enough, rafe felt his climax approaching fast, his cock still aching from cumming not even twenty minutes ago. overstimulated and hysterical, you were spasming around rafe’s length in no time, every ridge of his cock bringing you to your final orgasm of the night, rafe following suit.

he leaned down, grunting praises in your ear while he painted you white inside, your thighs shaking uncontrollably against his chest. not daring to remove his hand away from your face yet, he sucked bruises into the skin of your neck, marking you as his own. you laid limp like on his bed, taking the last few of his thrusts before he stilled completely. you were a fucked out mess to say the least. gently placing your legs down, rafe stayed nestled inside of you as he pulled you against him. unintentionally, you had started tracing shapes into his skin, a sheen of sweat coating his forehead as you two kissed.

“this just made a lot of shit complicated.” he stroked your chin, your glassy eyes flickering over his face. “not really,” you started, “we’ll just be sneaky.” rafe blinked slowly, a groan rumbling from his chest as you clenched around him. “look down, i want you to see something.” you did as he said, a small whine leaving your lips as he pulled out, his cum dribbling out of with ease. “i’m the only one who can have this pussy, you understand?” you nodded, pecking his cheek before wrapping your arms around his neck. “come on, let’s get you back to your room before world war three breaks out in this house.”

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gothicada · 2 months ago

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ᴡʜᴀᴛ'ꜱ ᴄᴏᴍɪɴɢ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ ᴘᴀᴄ

first pac for this page!

content will include romance, career, finances and your future of 2025!

paid tarot readings here

THE PILES:

[PILE ONE, PILE TWO AND PILE THREE [LEFT TO RIGHT].

PILE ONE

❦ FUTURE OVERALL? ⬎

CARDS ⟶ {6 OF COINS, THE LOVERS VI, THE SUN XIX, ACE OF WANDS, STILLNESS XII and THE STAR XVII}.

♇ this pile will likely have a really good future, a lot of working, a lot of potential and attention being given, they would be a feeling of balance and gratitude, feeling happy, and even getting into relationships, or feeling more confident, better about yourself, there could be something you achieve, that you won't expect to achieve, and you could feel like your voice and needs are being heard.

♇ you could be gaining attention, intuitively i am hearing people from this pile could be manifesting new beginnings, new opportunities, and you will see them coming your way quickly, specifically since the ace of wands is in this pile. a lot could be going on for these people, but mainly good things, like partying and being around loved ones. people who chose this pile might've felt insecure about not feeling needed but those negative thoughts are likely going to go away. there's 2 sixes in the reading, and when that happens it means something favourable will be coming your way, new people in your life that have pure intentions, and having the ability to relax.

♇ im happy for this pile, because there's pure happiness here, seeing the world differently, instead of seeing the world as half empty, people who have picked this pile will start to see the world as half empty. starting new chapters with less stress and actually believing in yourself, starting over and not looking back, this spread also speaks of being more sexually expressive, trying out new things you havent thought about doing before.

♇ as this is a pile that likely going to start something new, you guys will be starting something new that you wouldnt expect. people who picked this pile will start to see something differently, and even be more happy about life, good things will be coming their way, there could be something you might sacrifice, like a habit, a person or something, but doing this would be for the greater good.

♇ whatever you would be sacrificing, would make you feel like a huge weight would be lifted ff your shoulders, maybe people who picked this pile would be letting go of a friend that was draining, but it's likely something you were supposed to be doing moments ago, and you could be stepping into something that aids you to express your creative side, whether it be drawing, singing acting or anything make-up/fashion oriented, you will be happy.

shuffled songs ⟶ [lovin you by minnie riperton, bonbon by era istrefi and ouragan by mattyeux featuring videoclub].

❦ ROMANCE OVERALL? ⬎

CARDS ⟶ {Six of Cups, THE CHARIOT VII, Eight of Swords, King of Coins, Four of Swords and Nine of Cups}.

♇ overall, the romantic life will be sweet, could be getting into a relationship with someone who makes you feel warm and protected, a bond where the two of you would be very understanding with each other, a lot of yearning going on between both sides, but the six of cups and the chariot does imply that it could be someone you've spoken to before, or someone who might remind you of the past. [the chariot is ruled by cancer/moon].

♇ some people who have picked this pile could be in long-lasting situationships, connections you can easily get yourself out of, but you're stubborn to let go because of the past and memories you made with such person. people who have picked this pile might have a negative outlook in their romantic love life, could think they're not loveable but even though this can sound cliche, this could be happening because you're actually not putting yourself out there.

♇ because the people who picked this pile actually have so much potential to be in a good relationship, but if you are someone who has the potential to get into a relationship, whoever you will get with could be really scared of losing you, they could be the type to do anything to keep you close to them, though with the lack of wands here, they're likely lowkey about it, but they'll show it through little things, like urging you to stay, be with them all the time etc.

♇ if you are someone who could be going through complications because of a relationship, i do see the likelihood of everything calming down. even though the four of swords can speak of stress, it usually changes wherever it is beside, because it is between the king of coins and the nine of cups, i see a sense of relax, if you are someone who could be getting a significant other, this person would be very calming, will know what you like, what makes you tick etc.

♇ you will be feeling comfortable, and could even be indulging in sex, self-pleasure if you remain single. what im seeing for this pile, is that no matter what happens in the end you'll be okay, because you will be emotionally fulfilled with, or without a partner, and you will feel pretty and look beautiful! if you do get with someone, it's likely someone who is successful/very attractive.

shuffled songs ⟶ [bitch by allie x, washing machine heart by mitski and oxygene by fally ipupa].

❦ OCCUPATION OVERALL? ⬎

CARDS ⟶ {JUDGEMENT XX, ARES IV, JUSTICE XI, Ten of Cups, THE FATES X and DEATH XIII}.

♇ interesting spread, people who have picked this pile would be doing really well. a big transformation happening to these people, i do think whatever you are doing you would be an inspiration to those around you, they would be learning from you, adoring you, and if this is about school, you could be doing really great. you could be finding a calling, one you didnt expect, but it'll come to you.

♇ whatever occupation you are doing will lead you to much success, you could be someone who might have a guide, or you will be the guide as i have insinuated in the last paragraph, but whatever you will be doing will bring you happiness. you wouldnt expect this, especially with death being at the end, and this doesnt mean it's a bad thing, it'll just be totally different to what you are used to now, so it might take you some time to get used to.

♇ the occupation you get yourself into will make you feel belonged, because your thoughts/ideas would be things people would take seriously. you will be able to provide for yourself, but i do warn you to handle your finances with logic and practicality, even if you will likely get good finances, do be aware with how you manage your excitement with your money.

♇ if you are someone who is struggling, there's a big chance this occupation will get you back to your feet, if you are someone who is working at a job, you would likely get a raise, something unexpected but good will happen for you, and it's something that was always supposed to happen, there are some cards here that likely scares other people, but many of the end outcomes will be good, trust me. there's 2 tens in the reading and this usually means that there can be and ending but it'll open to a new good beginning, you'll see that everything happens is for the best. there's also 2 zeros here and it speaks of countless possibilities.

♇ and i know the death card here is really scary, but it strengthens my idea of a new beginning happening for these people, something that'll make you happy and understand that you should allow life to handle itself, it'll teach these people that you shouldnt force things to go one way because it'll disrupt the process. there's also a lot of 1 numerology here and this is another beacon of a new beginning, be happy for yourself pile 1! :)

shuffled songs ⟶ [show me how by men i trust, say yes to heaven by lana del rey and save your tears by the weeknd featuring ariana grande].

PILE TWO

❦ FUTURE OVERALL? ⬎

CARDS ⟶ {Four of Wands, Five of Swords, Five of Wands, THE FATES X, Ten of Coins and Queen of Wands}.

♇ well, you are in for a ride pile two, but in the end everything will work out for you guys. there could be complications happening with the family, someone spiteful, or you being upset about something, or a relative just bringing issues that causes chaos. you could be someone who might have a bad experience with someone, but for this pile i am feeling it could be a cousin/family? someone who might get away with many things because people are used to their behaviour.

♇ not a really good spread in the beginning, but everything will be just fine, as the end does have the ten of coins and the queen of wands. but this pile can be competing for something? having to prove yourself to someone, to a bunch of people, so you can get accepted for a status/role? if this is not a conflict you already know is happening, then it is likely someone randomly expressing their anger towards something that they have bottled up for a moment, could be you.

♇ you would feel like you are continuously going through ups and downs, you don't know what the week would have in store for you because it feels like it wants to whoop you, but i think the conflict that would be happening would be conflict you might have been stalling for a long time, so it was bound to happen. some of these people who have chosen this pile might find it hard letting go of people. there are 2 fives here, and when that happens it usually means conflict and having the themes of getting rid of instability and accepting change.

♇ though when all of that shit is done and dusted, you will feel relieved and released and happy to accept that positive change that wants to make way into your life. even if the ten of wands is not here i see the likelihood of prior challenges then you receiving a glow up because of it. whether it be glow up with your personality or looks, either way you will be feeling good about yourself :).

♇ like when this is all over, you would be feeling like you are the hottest shit in town, as i said in the previous paragraph, glow up of the century. and you could find yourself speaking to a woman in your family more, perhaps they're someone who had conflict with the family and they would be telling their side of the story? its very specific, but either way, there'll be a woman in your life that'll be very important.

shuffled songs ⟶ [under your spell by snow strippers, your face by wisp and sour switchblade by elita].

❦ ROMANCE OVERALL? ⬎

CARDS ⟶ {Queen of Wands, Princess of Coins, Seven of Cups in RX, King of Cups, King of Wands and Priestess of Coins}.

♇ well, romance would definitely be something for you guys, but you would appreciate the life lessons it'll give you. i do think the people who picked this pile would likely get into a connection with somebody, something very intense and passionate with someone, and it could be someone you go to work/school with.

♇ this connection could get very obsessive, both sides would be addicted to each other, and it'll be hard to hide it. someone could be obsessed with divination and could do readings on the said party or the energy of the bond. but this can also mean someone could be looking over signs and repeating symbols.

♇ there's an indicatory of immaturity, but it could be due to the queen of wands energy. this bond could be a missed opportunity, and it could imply you could have 2 options because of the king of cups and wands. even though both parties would be obsessed with each other, someone would be thinking from their emotions less than their logic/mind. and this can be both people because there's no swords here.

♇ whoever this person is, they would likely be more rational, but the king of cups being here does imply they would be acting based on their emotions. queen and king of wands being in the same spread, the two of you would be able to match each other's energies. and the other person wouldnt be able to handle it, so they might want to do things to prove you dont have power over them, in which you do.

♇ when it comes to people they care about, they're someone who is patient and protective, and you'll see that side coming out often when you're around them more. there's 2 kings in the reading, this is someone you likely work with, and the 2 kings do symbolise the fact that either way, they would be the more mature person within the connection, and there's many court cards here, which shows much people would be involved in this mix. he said she said.

shuffled songs ⟶ [turn me on by kevin lyttle, fresh laundry by allie x and boy's a liar pt. 2 by pinkpantheress featuring ice spice].

❦ OCCUPATION OVERALL? ⬎

CARDS ⟶ {Nine of Coins, Three of Coins, Seven of Cups , King of Wands, Queen of Wands and Ten of Cups}.

♇ whoever picked this part of the pile, lucky you! you will be comfortable with what you're going to be doing, and with the nine of coins and two other court cards king and queen of wands, you can be someone who is self-employed? and your business is likely going to be buzzing, speaking with more people and marketing yourself and people being easily pulled by you and your content.

♇ if you're not someone who has a job but goes to school, there's great indicator of everything going well for you, but remember to always stay in track. you would feel a creative side of yourself come out more, and you might even collaborate with other people, but i do think the majority who have picked this pile would likely have people reach out to them to join or to get advice.

♇ i'm hearing the status "hot shit" like whatever you're doing, you're going to be popping and your reputation will get higher. if you're someone who is looking for a job, this spread heavily implies you'll get a good career. you could be taking the lead for something, and this could put stress on your shoulders but the ten of cups at the end indicates that you'll be good anyways.

♇ this is a really great spread, because i do think you would be getting so much attention, and it could be over-whelming [with the seven of cups] but it'll be something you would get used to, almost as if you were made for it. you would feel more beautiful and appreciated in your occupation and with the three of coins, this shows that other people would be speaking about your creation/what you have done to others.

♇ for this spread, it's like a wish come true, being in an industry you always saw yourself to get into and accomplishing and making a name for yourself very quickly. howbeit, with the coins in the beginning of the spread, it could insinuate some people might've been in their occupation for a brief moment, but the progress was comfortable either way. you will feel like you've made yourself proud.

shuffled songs ⟶ [when you feel lonely by mavado, the box by roddy ricch and get lucky by daft punk, pharrell williams and nile rodgers].

PILE THREE

❦ FUTURE OVERALL? ⬎

CARDS ⟶ {Ten of Cups, TEMPERANCE XIV, Princess of Coins, Ace of Swords, Nine of Swords and THE HIEROPHANT V IN REVERSE}.

♇ the future for this reading is likely very good but there'll be some hiccups but i think it'll be fine overall. you will feel balanced and you will be attempting to balance your schedules, specifically things you're going to learn. you could enter a course or learn something new you could be very serious about and you might consider it to be something that could aid you to get your life on track.

♇ and i do see the possibility of people here wanting to right their wrongs, manifestation happening and learning how to be patient. but people who picked this pile could be people who are having to learn how to handle time and being patient. majority of the people who have picked this pile could be students and they could be anxious about something but this implies that the worries you have could be easily handled.

♇ you could be gaining more information about something and i know this has been implied in the previous two paragraphs but it is very strong in this spread that a form of knowledge will be coming whether it be about education or about secrets, but i do see the possibility of it being secrets, something that might throw you off and worry. the people who pick this pile will be going through a lot mental wise and that could be one of the things you would be wanting to balance.

♇ you could end up being a subject of gossip and there could be something that just ends for you, whether it be friendship, education or a hobby. but there is potential of the spread telling you that over-thinking could lead you to self destruction. believe in yourself! you could also be planning to do something that is authentic/different to the people around you and you could be worried about how other people might see it.

♇ i do see you doing something you might not supposed to be doing, but this spread could be warning you to not do something immoral. try and always remember who you are, people who picked this pile likely has the possibility of spiraling the most and even finding it hard to remember themselves. on the other hand, this can manifest into you becoming someone you truly are and having to learn not to care how other people would perceive you.

shuffled songs ⟶ [k. by cigarettes after sex, waking up in vegas by katy perry and mysterious girl by peter andre].

❦ ROMANCE OVERALL? ⬎

CARDS ⟶ {Ten of Swords, Two of Swords, Seven of Cups, Three of Swords, Princess of Coins and Four of Cups}.

♇ wow. so, good luck to whoever chose this pile. people who picked this pile are likely the people who are the heart-breaker or they would be the person who is heart-broken. treating people with kindness is a very big theme for this reading, and i do think whoever picked this pile are likely on their last straw when it comes to their romantic love life, you guys can be people who were heart-broken in the past so you have a hard time opening up to yourself to new people.

♇ people who choose this pile likely have many options, three cards imply that, two of swords, seven of cups and the four of cups. but these people likely dont want to take a leap because fear is a huge indicator here, or people who have picked this pile will be people who do not want to get into a proper relationship yet and could be looking for a fling, whereas the other party will be upset that they're truly not opening themselves to be loved.

♇ on the other hand, this spread can be advise to not allow your delusions to come up with the most delusional outcomes. there can be someone in your life that you could want, you might put them on a pedestal, but when it comes to romantic connections the person might lack and even be speaking to other people. if you are someone who is already in a romantic connection with somebody there's a high chance of conflict happening. rude words being thrown across and cold shoulders.

♇ and i think because of how hectic things will go for people, they might turn to things that isnt about romance, like becoming a better version of themselves, studious, or someone who is more perceptive about types of people who want to return to their lives. howbeit, this spread can also be for the people who are obsessive, wanting to seek out a specific result because you WANT and YEARN for something to happen, but im sorry it is just not the case for you guys.

♇ there's a lot of dissatisfied feelings here, yearning, wanting more. doing countless tarot readings on an event or on someone. you could also be giving so much love to other people but you're not receiving the same energy back, this spread implies that you are likely giving it to the wrong people. you need to value yourself and go to spaces where you are seen and valued.

shuffled songs ⟶ [with me by dvsn, christian woman by type o negative and amber by 311].

❦ OCCUPATION OVERALL? ⬎

CARDS ⟶ {King of wands, Princess of Swords THE BIRTH 0, JUDGEMENT XXI, THE WORLD XXII and THE HERMIT IX}.

♇ when it comes to career, people who picked this pile have such great potential of starting something where you're intellect and precision will be a big tool. people who picked this pile will be taking charge and feeling more bold about the opportunities they have, there's much mental stimulation going on and this could be because you would be given a new project or you would be someone who would be opening a side business, or could think about opening one.

♇ this could also mean that if you are someone who is signing up for a job, there is likely going to be other people competing for the spot you want. yet intuitively, i am getting to 75%-95% of people who picked this pile will be getting the spot they want, and they would be able to make a space for themselves to fall back financially that'll make them comfortable.

♇ people who chose pile three will finally be following their instincts, taking a leap and a chance to believe in themselves finally. and i believe that people who take a risk have good judgement because they would finally be accepting that their life is in their hands and time is their best friend. there's much communicative energy going on, it implies that there's much marketing yourself going on.

♇ these people who picked this pile will be going through a wake up call, it could involve them finally realising what they're supposed to do with their lives. [the hermit is also in this spread and it pinpoints that there would be people who would second guess themselves]. howbeit, this reading shows that people here would finally find their calling and it would bring them much joy.

♇ on the other hand, there could be people who picked this pile who are likely people pleasers. they would be happy that they've finally found their calling, but they could have this pressure of "realising" that other people would not like their career, that people around them expect them to do something different. though, the hermit in this reading shows that this life is yours and should not be in the hand of others. plus there's 2 two's here [JUDGEMENT 20 and THE WORLD 21]. and this hints towards a partnership where both energies are balanced and both parties will be bringing out confidence within that'll aid to a positive outcome

shuffled songs ⟶ [alejandro by lady gaga, god complex by violent vira and turn it up by pinkpantheress].

paid tarot readings here

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revasserium · 8 months ago

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roronoa zoro; 21,051 words (not including epilogue), fluff and angst, ENEMIES!!! to lovers, the slowest of slow burns, canon-normal violence, on-page description of injury, excessive use of flashbacks, some banter, healing from trauma, baroque works!reader to strawhat!reader, no "y/n", emotionally constipated!zoro, hurt and comfort, angst with a happy ending; (epilogue tags will be posted separately)

summary: in which neither you nor zoro are the children you remember each other to be.

update: new chapters will be posted on @shouyuus!!!

a/n: IT'S FINALLY HERE!!! i honestly cannot believe i actually finished writing this lmfao. but anyway, this post will act as a table of contents/masterlist of sorts, and i will update links to the separate chapters as they go up. chapters will be posted every few days (but they are all done! except for the epilogue LOL). i've tagged everyone who has req-ed to be tagged in this series so far on this prologue post, but if you wish to be tagged for the upcoming chapters and you're not already on this fics specific taglist, please comment below to be added! and without further ado -- here we go!

TABLE OF CONTENTS ━

prologue: someone, somewhere

chapter one: a shadow of the past

chapter two: tell no tales

chapter three: sleep of the living, dreams of the dead

chapter four: another life

chapter five: true love's kiss

epilogue: la petite mort (nsfw)

prologue: someone, somewhere

He remembers you most as a child, in halcyon images and gold-limned flashes of his own childhood memories, the edges blurring watercolor soft, but the center (always you) carved in knife-sharp relief.

You were one of the few children that lived in Shimotsuki Village who hadn’t come from the doujou — one of the few children he knew that (at least to the best of his knowledge) had a thing called family. A mother to braid your hair, a father to chase the darkness away, a warm bed and a kitchen that always smelled of freshly made rice. And perhaps it was jealousy, or some other more complicated emotion that had been then too big to name with one single word, but he’d never gone out of his way to befriend you like the other kids from the doujou did — fascinated as they were by your soft hands and round cheeks and the bright, glittering array of homemade sweets you’d bring with you once every couple of weeks.

He’d learn later on that it was because Shimotsuki-sensei had saved your father’s life at some point in time; the story now lost to the annals of legend and withering memory, but back then, he’d only assumed it was the natural way of things. Of waking up for kata practice and then settling in for lunch, and then maybe, if it was to be a good day, you, with your basket of sweets and your blue-bell laughter.

And perhaps this is why, years later, when he meets you again in a dark, nameless village tavern, he doesn’t recognize you — not at first. Because you’d looked so different. Gone was the roundness in your cheeks, or the natural star-bright light in your eyes. Gone, too, were the bright braids that your hair had always been set in — he remembers so clearly, watching the other boys from the doujou jab their fingers into the rings of your pinned up braids, pulling down just to hear you squeak. He hadn’t said anything then, stupidly thinking him above it all, watching as you tried to jerk away, but laughing when the boys finally relented with half-hearted apologies.

You always threatened to take their sweets away; you never did, in the end.

But there, then, in that tiny tavern, you’d been thin, your hair dark as an oil spill, loose and inky as it cascades over your shoulders, your eyes lightless as the windows to an abandoned house — the hollowness made all the more visceral by the light he knew once inhabited them. The way loneliness is always more potent when coming back to it, the second time around.

He wanders up to the bar, slates you a glance before rapping his knuckles on the worn wood to catch the bartender’s attention.

“I’ll have beer and a refill of whatever the lady’s having.”

You shift slightly, shoulders hunching towards your ears.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” you say, shifting to shield your face from his gaze.

Zoro cocks his head, tossing a few Berry towards the bartender as they set down a stein of beer and a champagne flute to replace the one in front of you.

“Can’t a guy buy a girl a drink?” Zoro asks, rolling his shoulders as he reaches out for his beer. You eye him warily.

“Not for a guy that’s been tracking me for three weeks straight.”

Zoro hums, thumb poised on the hilt of his swords.

“We just happened to be going in the same direction.”

You reach out to run a forefinger along the rim of the thin champagne flute before swirling it once by the base. You watch the bubbles fizzle before leaning in to take a dainty sip.

“And they say chivalry is dead…” you murmur, almost too softly for him to hear. Zoro scoffs, allowing himself a twinge of a smirk before his mouth falls flat.

“You let me track you for three whole weeks.”

There’s no question in his words, only a harsh, accusatory certainty.

You lick your lips, leaning back in your stool, tugging your glass of champagne with you.

“Maybe I wanted the company.”

“Or maybe… you wanted me to follow you here.”

Every muscle in his body is tense, drawn taut as a tightrope, coiled tight as a spring.

You sigh, twisting a single lock of your hair around a finger, examining the ends as if looking for split hairs.

Then, quick as a flash, you’re at each other’s throats — him with a sword poised at your jugular, you with a knife pressed against his stomach.

“One move —” you warn, digging the knife slightly further into his skin. Distinctly, Zoro feels the pressure slice through his thick linen shirt, the cool kiss of the blade against his abdomen. And he’s killed enough by now to know that you’ve picked a major artery — one that would hurt, and take minutes for him bleed out. Just long enough for him to suffer, but not enough to get help.

The edge of his mouth ticks upward — not bad.

It’s then, in the infinitesimal flicker of your eyes meeting his, that he realizes who you are.

He nearly topples back, jerking away slightly with the revelation. Your eyes go wide, jolted by his sudden movement. But he’s quick enough to evade the sharp jab of your knife and a second later, you’re on either ends of the tavern, drawn blades and bared teeth.

“Y-you!” the word rips from Zoro like an unripe scab, thick and hard and still bloody underneath.

You lick your lips, eyes narrowing to slits beneath your long, lanky hair.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The hell you don’t.”

“Oi! No fighting in the bar!” the barkeep’s voice is gruff and loud, and for a second, Zoro wonders if you’ll listen. The next, the sharp clang of metal on metal stuns him backwards a few steps as you wrest your knives from between two of his katanas, snarling.

“If you’re so much of a gentleman — let’s take this outside.”

“Ladies first,” Zoro spits out as he whips both swords through the air before sheathing them. He makes a show of holding the tavern door for you as you stalk out in front of him, your hackles raised, your knives jutting out from your belt like so many pairs of sharpened claws.

“What do you want?” you ask, as soon as you’re both out of the bar and standing in the moonlit street outside, the wharf to your left, the strip of small, rundown taverns to your right.

The air twangs with the metallic smell of fish and the thick, oppressive sweetness of rotting wood.

“An explanation,” Zoro says, crossing his arms and planting his feet.

“I don’t owe you anything.”

Zoro nods, “Sure. But that doesn’t mean I don’t wanna know.”

You lick your lips, glaring at him for a second longer before turning and marching down the rickety boardwalk. A moment later, Zoro levels himself with you as you round a corner onto a small stretch of beach, pillowed against a backdrop of sharp, unrelenting rocks, the tips bleached white by the round, silver moon.

“There was a beach just like this,” you say, stepping onto the tide-soaked sand, leaning down to pick up a fragment of a broken seashell, washed ashore by an errant wave.

It takes Zoro a second to realize you’re talking about Shimotsuki village, and the tiny little beach on the other side of the dense, cedar wood.

“Yeah. A bunch of us used to play there — see who can throw rocks out the furthest.”

“You were always the best at that,” you say, your voice softer than he’d heard all night.

“Yeah, well…” Zoro shrugs, leaning down to pick up a piece of rock, weighing it in his palm a few times before whipping his arm back to snap it into the gentle, shushing waves. You both watch as the rock skids out over the water before plunking into the sea, “Guess I’ve always been kind of a show-off.”

The sound of your laughter sends summertime sparklers racing up his spine.

The quiet pools between you like spilt blood, rank and dripping.

“So. You go by Ms. Double Nines now, I heard,” Zoro says, in a flagging attempt to be casual as he turns to glance at you, both his hands resting on the hilt of his swords.

You stand next to him, your eyes focused on a point far out on the horizon, still as statue.

“What’s it to you?”

Zoro sighs, looking down. In the pale, cool moonlight, his earrings glint like baring teeth.

“What happened?”

You suck in a breath.

"Life happened,” you say, turning back towards him with a steely glint in your eyes. Zoro stiffens, his grip tightening on his swords as he sizes you up. He does the mental calculations — you’re just far enough for him to defend against an attack, but close enough where if things were to go south entirely, he’d have a hard time getting back to safety.

You grin, seemingly noticing his rough internal calculations.

“Do yourself a favor, Roronoa — and don’t ask questions you don’t wanna know the answers to,” you say, flicking out one of your blades and tossing it up into the air, only to catch it around your finger, swinging it round and round, the sharp edge of the blade nicking the air just shy of your cheekbone.

“Who said I didn’t want to know?” Zoro presses, bracing himself for a fight.

You chuckle, the sound harsh and mirthless.

“If you’d wanted to fight me properly, you wouldn’t have waited till I got you onto this stretch of deserted beach.”

“Maybe I just wanted a quiet place to kill you.”

“Or maybe…” your voice is so low Zoro almost doesn’t catch the stomach-wrenching longing in your words, “I just wanted a quiet place to die.”

The sharp shink of blades being drawn is heart-rendingly familiar, but the bone-rattling clash of metal on metal still shakes him to the roots of his teeth. Zoro grunts as he parries a blow from either side, before crossing his swords to catch your assault down the center.

You’re fast, he’ll give you that, your body smaller and quicker. You slip through the shadows with the comfort of a person who knows nothing but and he can’t help wondering at the life you’ve led that had pushed you to this point.

To having a mark on your back, a bounty on your head.

You’re a good fighter — this much, he acknowledges. But good isn’t usually good enough to best him. This much, he also knows. Yet somehow, you’re keeping up, somehow, you’re pushing him back, forcing him to retreat one step and then another. It’s not until you duck beneath one of his pin-wheeling blades and force yourself into a knife’s-breath of his space that he realizes — it isn’t that you’re good, it’s that you’re reckless.

Reckless with your own body in a way that makes him stumble back at the realization. Reckless, in the way you charge forward and thrust your body into spaces where he’d easily be able to slip a blade between your ribs — and later, when he’s wiping his swords clean of your oxidizing blood, he’d wonder why he didn’t.

Still, there’s something terrifying in the way you barely flinch when he knicks your arm, drawing a dark line of blood through your clothes, or how you jerk yourself forward when the tip of his sword catches your stomach, almost as if daring him to impale you in one fell swoop.

“You — you used to be… someone else,” he says, panting as he steadies himself against a sharp jut of moonlit rocks. Behind you, the ocean churns, dark and foaming as it throws itself onto the jagged reefs.

You lick your lips, wiping a smear of blood from your cheek. Your chest heaves with the exertion, but there’s a pale, flickering ache behind your eyes that sets Zoro’s whole body on edge.

He shivers as you grin, savage and unrecognizable as the tiny girl with mochi-round cheeks who had once upon a time offered him sweets in a hand-woven basket.

“Yeah? Well — so did you.”

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aliteralsemicolon · 10 months ago

Text

I'll wait for your love - 18+

See part 1 | See Part 2 | Part 3 of We can't be friends (wait for your love)

The only thing you’re sure of is that you don’t want things to go back to the way they were and Spencer agrees that change may be for the best.

Spencer Reid X Fem! Reader

DISCLAIMER This story is NSFW and contains graphic depictions + detailed descriptions of adult content. It is intended for mature audiences only, minors do not interact! You are responsible for the content you consume. Make sure to read all necessary warnings. Please remember this is a work of fiction; if you don’t like it, don’t read.

WARNINGS: Panic attack mentioned, slight PTSD depictions, case details (barely) mentioned, alcohol mentioned like once. Smut (not the focus at all): making out, nipple play, clitoral stimulation, praise, use of pet names (angel, pretty girl, etc). Proceed at your own risk.

Word count: 10.4K See notes at end for authors note & spoilers.

Avoiding Spencer wasn’t overly difficult on the flight back to D.C. You weren’t entirely sure how to face him after he risked his life for you, so you just pretended to be asleep the whole time. You even took a separate jeep from the tarmac to avoid a car ride back with him, and almost made a clean getaway to your car in the parking lot when Hotch stopped you.

“I’m sorry to hold you back, but I do need the Anchorage report on my desk before tomorrow morning. It can’t be put off any longer.”

He looked extremely apologetic and you understood. You’re grateful he gave you as much time as he has. That’s how you ended up stuck at work til the later hours of the evening. Besides the few workaholics, security guards and janitors roaming around the corridors, the only other person there with you is Spencer, oddly. Even Hotch has gone home. You’ve spent more time stalking the doctor work through the pile of case files on his desk than you have writing in the one on yours. Only when you're caught do you look away.

“Everything okay?” The innocent curiosity in his big eyes further reddens the hot embarrassment in your cheeks.

“Fine.” You mutter, dipping your head back down to the open page.

You’re never going to get this damn file done if you can’t get him out of your head, and him being barely three feet away from you doesn’t help. It’s very difficult for you to get your words from pen to paper. Anchorage wasn’t haunting you like it did at first. It was a traumatic event, yes, but alone isn’t the cause of this…block. Obviously the reality that you’re leaving is starting to dawn on you. Somehow your mind has linked this case with your departure and finishing this report makes it more official than your actual resignation.

Plus, as much as you definitely hate Spencer, you do did care for him. The shock of him almost getting himself killed in front of you is another thing occupying your mind. It’s barely been twenty four hours since then, it’s still fresh. You can see him stand and grab his satchel in your peripheral vision, he’s preparing to leave. There are a lot of memories attached to that brown leather bag.

Things he would carry in there for you when you forgot your own bag.

You don’t make it obvious that you’re watching him gather his things in small glances.

He bought extra hair clips for you to keep in there because you would often forget those too.

It’s over now. No point in dwelling on it. You shake your head once he’s out of sight, trying to force him out of your thoughts. Now that he’s gone you’re hoping to actually be able to get some work done.

He taught you chess with the mini chess set he keeps in there. You discovered that you actually quite liked chess and would ask to play with him all the time. It was also his ‘secret’ weapon to help you calm down.

You roll your eyes to push back the tears from the memories that refuse to stop playing. This can wait until you get home, it’s not important.

It wasn’t the chess set that helped you feel calm. Spencer could win chess against you in just a few moves, but he would deliberately stretch out the game so you could have room to breathe. The longer the game, the more time you had to spend focused on the moves and slow down your thoughts. You could open up at your own pace. He would let you feel in control.

It doesn’t matter if he’s near you or not, Spencer has a way of invading your headspace wherever he is. Your train of thoughts is interrupted with a light thud on your right. You covertly roll the tears away again and turn to examine the source of the noise. A mug of coffee placed on your desk by

“Spencer?” You sputter breathlessly.

“Sorry. I know you told me to stop. This is the last time I promise.”

You don’t fully comprehend what he’s going on about, not expecting him to be here at all.

“I thought you left.”

“I did– was. I was leaving, but I thought I’d make you some coffee before I go. Since you’ve been here a while.” He awkwardly explains.

You steadily direct your attention back to the mug, reeling in what was happening.

“Before you get mad, this really is just a cup of coffee from a colleague who thought it might help keep you energised if you’re planning to stay late. There’s no ulterior motive…”

He continues rambling but you’re not mentally present to hear any of it.

He made you coffee.

Even though you’ve been nothing short of an absolute bitch. Granted he was a bitch first, but the point is that he’s still thinking of your well being regardless. You can’t hide your tears from him this time. It’s the soft buzz of your name that draws you back to him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you! I’ll take the coffee–”

His panicked sentiment is cut short when you jump out of your seat and shove past him. The breakdown you’ve been avoiding hits you like a ton of bricks. You run into the nearest empty office and he runs after you, making it past the door before you can lock him out.

“Spencer p–please get out! I’m fine.” You’re pacing in the same spot, fanning away the stream falling down your cheeks, hyperventilating.

He doesn’t respond to you, instead cautiously taking your hand in his. You’re in too frenzied a state to care. He guides you to sit on the couch against the wall and you blindly go along with it, still trying to get yourself together.

You want to stop the tears, but you can’t do that until you get your breathing under control. He slowly wraps his arms around you and you slump into him, head buried in his chest. You should try to fight it, you should push him away, but you can’t. Right now, surrounded by his scent, held in his arms, you don’t want to move. It’s not something you can properly explain, but the feeling is so comforting that nothing else matters. All you know is that you’re safe and that’s enough for you to allow yourself to finally break down.

The first few sobs are loud, like there’s not enough air in the world to stabilise your lungs. They fizzle out into silent whimpers and you grasp onto the fabric of his sweater, balling it in your fist, just letting yourself feel. Spencer still hasn’t said a word. His right hand is rubbing circles on your back and his left hand is gently scratching just above the nape of your neck.

You stay like that for a while, even after you’ve stopped crying. It’s been so long since you’ve been in this little bubble with him and you don’t want it to end. You pull away when you feel the strap of his satchel across his stomach as your hand drops to his lap. He visually follows every move you make.

“You’re still wearing your bag.” You sniffle, leaning back.

“I am.” He whispers, understanding that you no longer want to be touched.

He stays in his original position; facing you, but now with one arm resting on top of the backrest and the other idly in his lap. You’ve moved so that now you're facing ahead with your back leaning against the cushions, pulling your knees into your chest. You had never found comfort in silence until the first time you experienced it with Spencer. Staying huddled, you divert your eyes towards him. There’s a distinct wet patch on his shirt. It’s less visible on his sweater-vest, but it’s there.

“Your shirt’s wet now.” It’s almost impossible to make out what you’re saying with your mouth muffled against your arm, but of course, Spencer manages anyway.

“It’ll dry.” He smiles, tone delicate.

“But– germs.” You choke a little due to your previous crying.

“It can be washed.” He’s using his comforting voice again.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

The silence resumes. Neither of you dares to move, trying to freeze this moment. It’s obvious that you didn’t grasp how badly you craved each other’s presence.

“D–do…” The initial sound grabs Spencer’s full attention again. You take a deep breath, hoping he wants to stay here as much as you do. “Do you still carry that little chess set with you?”

A small, airy chuckle comes out from him.

“Would you like to play?”

“Please.”

He creates some more space between you and begins to set up the board once he’s pulled it out of his satchel. You move to accommodate the set up, now facing him with your legs crossed on the couch and shoes abandoned on the floor. You wait for him to make the first move. After the opening moves the game doesn’t seem to get any harder and you know he’s throwing the game. You’re okay at chess, but he’s obviously a lot better.

“You’re going easy on me.” You mumble.

“Because you’re not even trying.” He replies blithely.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Like I said, you’re making it too easy.” He gently teases.

“Not that. Helping me. You hate me, remember?” You say it like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

“I don’t hate you.”

“You literally told me that you hate me.” You chuckle, numb to the hurt that sentence once brought you.

“So did you.” He counters in defence, trailing your hand as it carelessly moves your queen to her demise.

“I was angry.”

“So was I.” He spared your queen, in turn leaving his king vulnerable.

“It doesn’t matter now…” You don’t finish the rest of your sentence but Spencer still hears it.

You’re leaving soon anyway.

“It matters to me.” If he left something unsaid you choose to ignore it.

“You’re letting me win.” You whisper, feeling the urge to cry some more, but there’s no tears left.

He doesn’t make a move, bringing the game to a halt. He’s waiting for you to meet his eyes. You know what he’s going to say.

“Spencer, don't.” You beseech.

“Why?” If you looked at him instead of the board you’d see the way his eyes are pleading at you.

“There’s no point.” This time it’s your voice that cracks.

You're looking everywhere else and it makes you too aware of your surroundings. Like how the couch is lined up directly under a window that anyone could peek into.

“Leaving is not the only option.” He solicits.

He regards your discomfort and closes the blinds from where he’s sitting, pulling you back into the privacy of your bubble.

“There’s nothing that you can say to make things go back to how they were.” You bite the inside of your cheek, fiddling with a random pawn.

It’s not a proper two way conversation. You’re talking to yourself just as much as Spencer’s talking to you. You’re both trying to convince you of what you’re saying.

“Things don’t have to go back to how they were.” The squeaks in his soothing tone are starting to melt any resolve you have left.

“There’s no reason for me to stay.” You oppose, trying to make any argument stick.

“I can think of more reasons for you to stay than for you to go.”

There’s an underlying tension bubbling. Neither of you notice it over your desperate tug of war.

“I don’t think there’s anything that you can say to get me to stay.” Another baseless sentence meant more for you than for him.

“Give me one chance. One chance to convince you.” He can see your internal struggle at his request and he throws out one final plea to sway you. “For nothing more than closure.”

Closure.

You’ve spent months in turmoil over the hows and the what ifs, trying to conjure answers to questions that wouldn’t stop pestering you. You couldn’t turn him down even if you wanted to.

“Closure?” You repeat, eyes finally latching onto his.

“Closure.” He whispers back in reassurance.

“Even if you can’t convince me?” You caution, not wanting to give him false hope.

He doesn’t say anything, thinking over the scenario in his head. He simply nods and you mimic the action, blinking away the blur in your vision and dragging around chess pieces. It takes Spencer a second to figure out that you were moving them back to their default places.

“Okay new game.” You announce.

Spencer blinks in confusion, waiting for you to elaborate.

“I can ask you any question I want and you have to answer honestly. If by the end of the game I’m not convinced to stay, you back off for the remainder of my time here.” You pause for him to interject, but he doesn’t. “That means we stay away from each other, only talking when needed for work. Even then as cordially and professionally as possible. No more trying to make casual conversation or bringing me coffee or anything like that.”

“Till the end of the game?” He studies you.

“Yup.” You smack your lips together. “Til one of us checkmates the other.”

“This means you’ll actually give me a fair shot?”

“Between the two of us, I’m not the one known for cheating at games.” You jab, trying to ease the tension you could definitely feel now.

“I meant a fair shot at convincing you. As in you’ll seriously take what I have to say into account.” He discards your attempt.

“No, I know. The opportunity was just too good to pass up.”

He can tell you’re trying to hold back a laugh from the small smile on your lips. It’s as adorable to him now as it was the first time he saw it.

“Any rules before we start?” He asks, unable to hide his own smile.

“Only that we have to be honest.” You answer, immediately dropping your smile.

“Okay.” He agrees, smiling slightly wider.

“Okay.” You nod again.

When he finally makes the first move it hits you that you don’t actually know where to start. Theoretically, you know what you want to ask, but don’t know how to ask. You don’t know if you should jump straight into the questions or start with some ice breakers. Nothing is said for about four to five moves when Spencer pauses the game.

“Are you going to ask any questions or have you decided that you just want to play one last game for your closure?”

“Huh?” You snap your vision away from the board. “Oh, sorry. I was thinking.”

“Do you want to return to the game after thinking of a few questions to ask?” He raises his brow and relaxes his jaw.

“No, no, we don’t need to do that. Let’s keep playing, the questions will come to me.” You brush off his suggestion and motion for him to continue with his turn. He doesn’t.

“What?” Your voice raises and you scrunch your nose from perplexity.

“Sorry, it’s just that you’ve put us on a time limit and this is how you’re using our time?” He airs, failing to conceal his amusement.

“Well excuse me if I don’t exactly have a list of questions ready to go for you.” You narrow your eyes in annoyance.

“Why would you suggest this if you don’t have any questions?” He tries to hold back his laugh and ends up snorting as a result.

“I have questions!” You jabber, unable to maintain your annoyance. “I don’t know what– where do I even start?”

“Start with whichever one comes to you first.” He shrugs, finally making his move.

A lot of things come to mind when you think about it. The thing that screams the loudest twitches a nerve and you become instantly irate.

“Okay.” You nod, tone harsh and flat. “Let’s start with whatever the fuck possessed you on the last case. What was your thought process when you put your life in danger like that?”

He almost gets whiplash from the change in mood, his face literally reads ‘are you serious?’.

“He was going to shoot you.” He states like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“I was wearing a vest, I would’ve been fine.” You contend.

“I wasn’t willing to take that risk.”

“Risk?! You literally put yourself in danger for no reason!”

“I think it was a pretty good reason actually!”

“Spencer that was–” You stop yourself with a grumble, inhaling deeply.

“It was instinctual, okay?” He softly explains. “I saw him aim the gun at you and I just reacted.”

“Well it was a stupid reaction!” You whine.

“I’m not going to apologise for it.”

The glare you give is piercing, you bite the inside of your cheek to hold your tongue before you say something you can’t take back. Spencer throws his head back and sighs.

“But I will promise not to do it again.” He adds, not fully intending to keep it.

This was slowly turning into another argument, both of you shooting back too fast with your responses. You aren’t in the mood for another argument. So you redirect your attention to the game.

“Check.” You mumble, buying yourself time to think of another question. “Why are you here so late anyway?”

“I wanted to finish some work before tomorrow morning.” He replies, moving his king to safety.

“Yeah, what’s up with that? You could’ve done those tomorrow as well.” Your voice softens out of curiosity.

“I wanted to get them finished in case there were more tomorrow.” It’s not his best excuse. You don’t know what he means by that. He doesn’t know what he means by that. He’s lying to you.

You scoff, poking your tongue against your cheek. “Wow. You really can’t not cheat during a game, can you?”

“Right, sorry.” Spencer clears his throat after the initial confusion clears. Complete honesty, it was your only rule. “I wanted to be here.”

“For…” You egg on, purposely rolling your ‘r’s to prompt him.

“I wanted to make sure that you were okay.” He admits, looking away from you.

“Why?” You’re genuinely puzzled at the admission. “You’re the one who almost died. I mean, it was stupid and your fault, but still. If anything I should be checking up on you.”

“Check.” That’s the only response he gives you. He hopes that you don’t push further, but he knows that you will.

His lack of response only forces you to think about the possible reasons by yourself, using context clues to figure it out. You are a profiler, after all.

“Is this because of the panic attack?” You note how his jaw twitches when he swallows at the mention. “It is! You seriously chose to spend your night stuck at the office because of that?”

“What else was I supposed to do? It’s not like you would talk to me, you literally refused to even look at me!” He gripes.

“Spencer I think anyone would panic if they got tackled to the ground by a six foot man without warning. I’m fine.” You giggle.

“What happened to complete honesty?” It’s his turn to glare at you.

“I am being honest!” You protest.

“Lying by omission is not being honest.” He rolls his eyes.

“Okay Mr. know-it-all, what am I lying about?” You challenge.

“Seriously? You don’t remember?” His approach is doubtful and he just stares at your dazed expression.

“Fucking spit it out already, Spence!”

Any sarcasm he had geared up for a response dissipates at your use of his nickname. He’s heard it plenty in the last few months, but not from you. For a moment things feel like they never changed. It stings in a bittersweet kind of way.

“You sc–screamed– uh–” He clears his throat and rapidly blinks, his nose twitches in the process. “During that panic attack, you repeatedly asked me to stay with you. Y–you, uh– you said you didn’t think you could li–”

“Stop. Stop. Stop talking.” Your voice quavers and you hold your hand up, ears burning up. “I don’t wanna know.”

You don’t know why it makes your heart race the way it does, you don’t even remember it. He waits a while before speaking up again, wanting to be careful about how he goes about the topic without you shutting down.

“May I ask you a question?” He voices professionally, trying to make the conversation less personal so you don’t feel cornered.

You nod, moving your king out of check.

“Is there anybody you will talk to about Anchorage? Without pushing them away?” He keeps the game going as he speaks to provide you with a distraction.

“Woah– Anchorage? Where is that coming from?” You titter.

“I want you to remember that we promised to be honest and I won’t push if you ask me to stop, but I know for a fact that you aren’t okay.” He waits for you to stop him but you don’t, even though you know roughly what he’s going to say. “Panic attacks aside, your avoidant behaviour around the topic, inability to focus, being easily startled, you’re showing signs of PTSD.”

“Spence, c’mon. I don’t need to talk to anyone. I already passed the psych evals.” You attempt to make light of the situation with carefully chosen words so you’re not lying. It was a futile attempt, you know he’s not willing to budge when he doesn’t give you anything more than a blank stare.

“Why does this matter so much to you?” You sigh in defeat. “Whatever happened…that’s a part of the job, you know that.”

“I also know, first hand, that it takes over your life. You can’t run from it, no matter how much you try to.” His tone is soft as he speaks, yet you feel like he’s accusing you.

“I am not running! Why would you say I’m running?” You object with a high voice, shrugging your shoulders. “And it’s not taking over my life. Also, check.”

“Because that’s what you do when you don’t want to deal with something.” He states point blank.

“Woah– so– that was entirely unnecessary.” You stammer, unable to deny it.

“I’m not criticising you. I just happen to know you and I know that you have a tendency to run from your problems. And it is taking over your life.”

“You’re profiling!” You gasp.

“You know that it’s not something we can just turn off! No matter how much we pretend like we can.” He waves his hands defensively.

You can’t argue with that, your lips twisting to the side.

“You want me to be honest?” You murmur sheepishly.

“Always. Please.” He responds gently, wanting you to be as comfortable as possible.

“I don’t want to talk about it. I spend a good chunk of my day actively avoiding thinking about it, but somehow I always end up thinking about it anyway. At times it’s like I can almost feel…” You breathe in instinctively. “This is the first time in months I’ve been able to do anything without it lingering in the back of my mind. Can we please talk about it another time? I would rather talk about other things…”

Another time.

“...right now.”

You’ve implied that there will be another time to talk and he definitely caught it, even if he pretends that he hasn’t. You don’t even know if what you said is true, you got too comfortable with the familiarity of his friendship. It was something you said out of habit from back when you two actually were friends. Not even a full hour's worth of conversation with him and he’s already worming his way back in.

“Um–” You drag yourself further back on the couch, creating more physical distance.

“That’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it at all.” Spencer senses your urgency to leave the situation and jumps into damage control. “It’s your turn.”

“No, um, I should– I should go. Thanks for doing thi– helping me.” You turn away from him, aiming for your shoes and ready to bolt.

“The game’s not over.” He points out.

“Yes it is.” You declare, still in the process of putting on your shoes.

“You said til checkmate.” He huffs, shifting out of his seated position.

“I forfeit!” You throw your arms out in a shrugging manner, standing up after him.

“I can’t believe this. You’re going back on your word!” He doesn’t even raise his voice. He’s just hurt.

“What’s the point, Spencer? Closure doesn’t mean anything, I’m still leaving! You can’t magically change my mind!” You yell, getting louder with each sentence.

“I disagree. I think that you’re running again!” He blocks your way and yells back, maintaining his volume throughout.

“Maybe you should think less!” You suggest, still yelling. Sarcasm is your defence mechanism when you have no actual defence.

“You know what else I think?” He continues, emphasising the word ‘think’ every time he says it out of spite. “I think that you agreed to this thinking I won’t be able to convince you, but I am!”

“I don’t care what you–”

“I think you don’t want to finish the game that you started, because you’re afraid to ask the harder questions!”

“Stop.” You command, but it doesn’t deter him.

“I think that you’re scared to hear my answers because then it all becomes too real for you–”

“Stop!” The words almost get stuck in your throat, but you choke them out. “You’re wrong.”

“If I’m wrong then prove it. To both of us.” He sits back down and motions to the board. “Ask the real questions.”

“I don’t need to prove anything, you’re wrong.” You uphold.

“So leave.” He challenges, knowing that you won’t be able to.

If you truly believed that he’s wrong you wouldn’t feel the need to prove it, but you do and he knows that. You walk back over to the couch, head nodding from irritation, tongue poking your cheek. You kick your shoes off with a bit of force and return to your earlier position across from him.

“Your move.” He reminds you as you settle in.

You don’t reply yet, but move your rook to set him up for the next move.

“Check.” He smugly states.

“Who was she?”

You don’t move, examining him close for any change in his behaviour. He obviously didn't anticipate that question first, snapping his sights back on you.

“Sorry?”

“The woman who greeted me at your door. That night at your apartment.”

“Charlotte.” He replies, holding your gaze to show you he’s got nothing to hide. “We met at the library a week before.”

“Are you guys together?” You break away first, diverting your eyes to the chess board and trying to seem unfazed when moving your knight.

“No, God, no.” He denies immediately.

“I don’t know, she seemed pretty cosy for someone you met a week prior.” You don’t mean to sound as snide as you come across.

“No, it wasn’t like that at all.” He shakes his head.

“You sure? Because I’m pretty sure I saw her mark you up with a kiss on your cheek before disappearing.” You don’t look at him, examining a captured pawn as you wait for him to make his move.

“Mark me up?” He cognizes it instantly. “Are you…jealous?”

“What? No!” You vehemently deny, your voice rising in several pitches.

“You are!” His eyes widen.

“I am not jealous.”

His jaw slacks and he lets out an amused scoff. He doesn’t say anything, making you feel the need to fill the silence.

“I only bring it up because…I know you have a thing with…germs.” Your words falter because of your own uncertainty and you want to dissolve into the fucking floor.

Spencer tries to suppress a smile by poking his tongue out slightly. If the atmosphere was lighter he’d tease you about it, but he doesn’t want to make you take off again. Still, he feels the need to clarify the events of the night.

“I don’t know why she kissed my cheek, it was completely random.” He takes his time saying it, still fighting a smile.

You swallow nervously and purse your lips to the side in response. One question answered and you only have new ones in its place. Did she stay the night? Did she sleep on the couch or on his bed? Did he see her again?

“I drove her home right after you left.” He can almost hear your thoughts.

“Was it a date?” You softly gulp again, unsure if you even have a right to know.

“Yes.” He hesitates.

“Oh.”

“I wanted to try out casual dating for once.” He chagrins. “I honestly don’t know how you did it, it’s not even fun.”

“No it’s not.” You chuckle dryly. “So no second date, I presume?”

“Definitely not. I was just stressed the whole time.” He chuckles with you.

“Take a shot of tequila before you go next time, it helps settle the nerves.” You joke, jumping to give him advice you hope he doesn’t take. You can’t help it, it’s what you’ve always done. Even if it goes against what you desire.

“While moderate consumption of tequila can help relax the nervous system, I will not be turning to alcohol for stress relief.”

“Then blast classical music while you get ready and give yourself a pep talk out loud, it’s actually really efficient–”

“There won’t be a next time. For a really long time, if ever.” He interjects, miffed at your insistence.

“You willingly plan on committing to lifelong celibacy?” You exclaim with a puzzled look. “Why?!”

Spencer laughs at how raw your reaction is. He didn’t plan on giving out any more details but, with that prompt he decides that it’s now or never.

“I don’t think any future dates will appreciate me picturing someone else in their place the whole time.”

Oh.

Both of you lock eyes at the same time. This is not a road you’re prepared to go back down, even if that’s literally the whole point of this conversation. You’re too stunned to reply and Spencer uses this as an opportunity to be elaborate. He doesn’t want any misunderstandings this time.

“I couldn’t stop pictur–”

“Shut up.” You blurt out the sentence in almost one word.

Your heart’s racing like you’re standing on the edge of a cliff. You’re flustered, every part of your body is heated from how terrified you are.

“Y–you don’t have t–t…you don’t owe m–me an explanation.” You try to elaborate, contradicting yourself and stumbling on your words.

“I want to.” He reads that you’re apprehensive but pushes regardless.

“Please don’t.” The tears that you thought had dried out were building again.

“Why ask if you won’t let me answer?”

You don’t have anything to say to that. Did you want answers? Yes. Still, you didn’t expect how hard they’d be to hear. He whispers your name and you scramble to think of your next move, and not in chess. You’re unable to even think about the game right now. You want to bolt, but you can’t even get yourself to move. So you deflect.

“Because it doesn’t matter.”

“I disagree.” Although his tone is subdued, the pace of his wording is faster. “I think it does matter and that’s why you’re afraid to hear it.”

He’s right but you can’t bring yourself to agree. This is only going to over-complicate an already complicated situation.

“It’s not enough.” Your voice cracks.

“How can it be if you won’t even give it a fair shot?”

“Fair?”

It comes out louder than you intended. His words trigger resentment within you and you snap.

“Nothing about any of this is fair! I mean, fucking hell, Spencer, four years. That’s how long we’ve been friends. I mean I’ve shared shit that I thought I would be taking to the fucking grave with you! You were my best friend for four fucking years and all it took was like, five seconds?”

You sob, softer than when you were first crying, but the frustration is clear. He reaches out to touch your hand, but you push his hand away.

“No!” You choke, sobbing harder when you try to compile your thoughts. “Five seconds to destroy all of it! It makes me wonder if everything we shared, our friendship, was it ever even that strong?”

Your anger simmers to sadness, as evident with how your yelling fades into whispering in the last sentence.

“I can’t even tell you when exactly those five seconds were. I mean, I know…but…I don’t. Where did it go wrong, Spence?”

“I don’t know.” Is all he can say after a beat of silence.

He knows exactly where it went wrong.

“Yeah, me neither!” You sniffle, immediately wiping a single tear that manages to escape. “So again, it doesn’t matter.”

“When you took it back.”

“What?”

“That’s where everything changed for me. You showed up at my apartment drunk, after your date with Nathan. Your exact words were ‘I mean as an amazing friend’.” His voice strains like he’s forcing himself to speak.

Your gaze falls, eyes darting everywhere as you try to jog your memory beyond the one sentence you remember.

“I don’t understand.” You croak.

“You know, if I wasn’t who I am, maybe you could love me the way I love you.” He chuckles bitterly, fighting back tears of his own. “That was– that was, uh, what you said before you took it back.”

“Spence, please…” You whine without sound, tilting your head back and chewing on your lip as a final attempt to stay composed.

“No, you wanted to know where it went wrong.” He laughs falsely to downplay his tears. “You can say it doesn’t matter all you want, but the fact is, it does matter. It matters to me and I won’t let you run from it anymore.”

You can’t look at him. Not with tears free falling down your face. You cup your hands together in your lap, pressing your fingers and nails together.

“You told me that I couldn’t love you.” You struggle to sound your words.

“I’m an idiot.” Another chuckle, but he sounds defeated. “When you said that, all I could think about was how badly I wanted to say that I do love you.”

You tearfully laugh at this admission.

“I only took it back because of what you said. I panicked. I thought I’d ruined things…which I guess, I still did.” Another laugh from you.

Spencer responds with the same regretful sound.

The irony spurs another fit of giggles amongst you, this one slightly longer and infinitely more rueful than the last. You look anywhere but at each other until it grows quieter.

“If you loved me, why the fuck would you tell me that I couldn’t love you?” You sound just as, if not more, defeated than him.

“Love.” Spencer corrects without missing a beat.

Your brows twitch up and your heart jumps.

“I was so hung up on every single part of your sentence that I didn’t know what to say first.” He proceeds to answer you without leaving much room to process what he said. “I wanted to tell you that I do love you. I love you as you are. Not as somebody else.”

“But you didn’t say any of that.” You ignore all his admissions, not fully comprehending.

“Like I said, I’m an idiot. I was in so much disbelief and that was the first thing that came out of my mouth.” He sullenly huffs.

You don’t reply, sniffling with your head down.

“For like a second, I had everything I wanted. Then you took it back and it was like my whole world had been ripped out from under me. In those five seconds, you’d given me a taste of what I’d spent four years convincing myself I couldn’t have and I just– I couldn’t go back after that.” He adds after a stillness.

After a short while, your focus shifts from your hands to the board in front of you. The game’s been long forgotten. You’re immersed in the conversation, in spite of how strenuous it is.

“I understand why you were distant, even mean, at first.” You snivel. “But after a while you just became downright cruel.”

Spencer doesn’t shy away from your gaze when you do look at him. His skin is as drenched from crying as yours is.

“I mean ‘I don’t want to see your face’? I know that I don’t really have a leg to stand on anymore, but, what the fuck Spencer?”

He doesn’t cringe any less with every reminder. He’s truly regretted the words since they left his mouth.

“I wanted to hurt you.” He reveals. “I thought you were being deliberately cruel and I wanted you to feel exactly how I was feeling.”

“Deliberately?”

He nods, hanging his head.

“I thought that you knew how I felt and were just trying to be funny or something.”

“Well I didn’t. I wasn’t.” You cut him off with a constricted voice.

“Even if you did, it’s not an excuse.” His eyes are glistening from the outpour of tears, but he still lifts his sights back to you. “I’m sorry.”

You don’t know how to acknowledge his apology at all. You’re not even angry anymore, all you feel is sorrow and regret for the way everything happened. An entire friendship down the drain due to an unfortunate set of circumstances.

“This is so fucked up.” You say with another mordant laugh. “All of this could have been avoided if we just talked about it.”

It stung less when you had somebody to blame for it. Your vision blurs and you make no effort to clear it, letting yourself cry openly.

“We’re talking about it now?” It’s almost a squeak, the way it’s spoken.

“Yeah, but,” your shoulders slump, defeatedly, and you have to pause to control your sob, “what good does it do now? I’ve already lost the best thing that’s ever happened to me in the most pathetic way possible.”

“I’m right here.” He counters in such a small voice that it gives your goosebumps.

“Spencer, too many things have been said…”

“When you first joined the team, I instantly knew I liked you.”

He chews on his lip and darts his eyes around while he contemplates if he wants to continue.

“I thought it was because of your kind nature. You were so sweet to everybody.” He decides he does, but his voice shakes throughout. “You have this gift…you make people feel so good about themselves. Whenever you spoke to me, I felt like the most important person in the world. It was impossible not to like you.”

You want to pretend like you don’t know where he’s going with this. You want to stop him, but your voice is stuck in your throat.

“It wasn’t until you bought me coffee for the first time that I realised just how much I liked you.” He chuckles again, as he reminisces in the memory. “You didn’t even get my order right until the fourth time, but it was still my favourite cup of the day.”

“You make me sound like a saint.” You finally choke out, attempting to play down the confession so it doesn’t crush your heart. “The only reason I even started bringing you coffee is because you learned how I like my coffee first.”

“Not a saint, an angel. I’ve fallen so deeply in love with you that there are times where it genuinely feels like I’m in the presence of an angel.”

It’s stated with such sincerity that it knocks the wind out of your pipes. Your eyes are widened and you’re biting your tongue with your mouth closed, staring at him with your chin tucked. He seems so confident, even with the glistening from previous tears in his eyes.

“I wanted to be in your life in any way you would have me. Even when it meant that I had to accept you with other people. And it was bearable, until…” His reminiscence only ends at the memory of the night that changed everything. “Like I said, I couldn’t go back.”

The last part fades into another whisper, only then do you find the courage to speak up.

“Exactly.” You stick to your denial. “It can’t go back to how it was before.”

Your heart is so sure of what it wants, but your head is blinded by fear. You’re at a crossroads, except one path, the path that leads to everything you long for, is clouded with a fog of uncertainty. The other path is so painfully clear, you can practically see what’s on the other side. A fresh start, where the risk of fucking up further doesn’t exist. What you don’t see is Spencer.

“Good. I don’t want it to go back to how it was.”

Spencer’s waiting for you to enter the fog. He’s going to be there holding your hand every step of the way.

“I’ve already handed in my resignation.”

“That matters less than everything you’ve claimed doesn’t matter.” He leans in, intensifying his eye contact.

“I’m pretty sure Hotch is really close to confirming my replacement.” You comment half-heartedly.

You’re trying anything to dissuade both him and yourself from acknowledging the obvious, but he doesn’t plan on letting you avoid it.

“I love you.” He whispers softly.

“Spencer…” You begin when he takes hold of your hands and whatever you had to say disappears from your tongue.

“I love you. With every atom that makes up my body.” He repeats himself with further elaboration to instil it in your mind.

“I’m scared.” You whisper back with a sob, finally accepting it.

“Why?” His voice can’t be any softer, but it still cracks a little.

“Because, you can’t guarantee that it’s going to end well.” You allow your vulnerability to peek through. “And that’s going to hurt more. I’d rather leave now than fall deeper.”

Although you didn’t say it back, it’s an indirect admission that you love him too. And it’s enough for him to fight harder.

“I know that my credibility isn’t the greatest,” he coaxes a small, sad scoff out of you, “but I truly believe that this, us, we’ll work. Because I know that I’m going to do everything I can to make this work.”

He feels bolder when you don’t pull away from his touch, folding your fingers into your palms and cupping over them. You observe the sight as it unfolds in lieu of a verbal response.

“I’ve spent four years judging any man that comes into your life, wishing I was in their place, swearing I would treat you better than all of them.”

Spencer feels the need to fill in the silence and he lets honesty guide his confession. He leans in further as if he’s indulging his deepest secret.

“Four years wasted wondering what could be, cursing out those idiots, but taking no action to make it happen. And that makes me the biggest idiot out of all of them.”

When he speaks like this, with his big, imploring eyes and prayerful tone, it melts your heart to a point where it almost hurts. The more he talks, the more you begin to lean in, opening yourself up to him.

“It took losing you to realise how badly I fucked up and for that I will never forgive myself. I know that I have no right to ask you to waste any more time on me…”

There’s no more resistance against the pull you both physically feel to each other.

“...but I’m begging you for a chance to do today what I should have done way before yesterday.”

Your faces grow closer by the second, you can feel each other's breaths against skin.

“And I’m going to spend every tomorrow proving what I said today.”

The likelihood of him changing your mind with one conversation wasn’t very high, both you and Spencer knew this when you got into it. You’re not entirely surprised when he somehow manages to overcome those odds too. You take the step to close the gap and lightly press your lips to his.

It starts off soft, there’s no lust, no ulterior motive behind it. It’s a simple confirmation that you’re both present and this is real. Spencer doesn’t shy away from the kiss, not that you’d call this a kiss. It feels more intimate, more unguarded.

Spencer pulls you onto his lap as he shifts and leans back against the backrest to allow more room for you. You wrap your arms around him and the kiss deepens. In the midst of you straddling him, he slides the entire chess board off the couch and the pieces scatter on the floor. It’s only when you feel that the kiss can’t bring you any closer to him does the lust emerge. It fuels a desire to prove that you both whole-heartedly belong to each other.

There’s no pinpointing when the switch happens. All you know is that the feeling of his lips against yours is no longer enough. You cup his jaw in your hands, swiping your tongue on his lower lip and it causes his grip on your waist to tighten. He parts his lips for you and it starts what you can only call a dance with your tongues.

Your breathing grows hotter, your hips subconsciously grind against him. There’s a prominent bulge that brushes against your heat and you whine into his mouth. Spencer grunts your name in response and then abruptly pulls away.

“Wait, wait, wait, slow down.” He breathlessly whispers against your lips.

“What?” You whisper back with concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He gazes into your eyes, afraid that you might regret this later.

“I’ve never been more sure, actually.” You’re confident at first but the look in his eyes makes you pull back further. “Unless…you’re not sure?”

“No, don’t misunderstand me. I want you.” His tone rises just above the previous whisper with his clarification. “It’s just that the last thing I want to do is take advantage of you when our emotions are running high.”

“Four years, Spencer.” You lean in again, just brushing your lips against his. “The only reason you should be making me wait is if you’re not sure.”

He shuts that idea down by crashing his lips on yours. The kiss is so hungry, so desperate, it’s everything both of you have longed for and denied yourselves everytime you’ve been in each other's presence. It doesn’t take long for hands to start to roam. He traces the curve from your waist to your hips, stopping just at the hem of your shirt, tugging it like he’s asking for permission.

You rush to undo your buttons and he meets you halfway, starting at the bottom. His fingers brush against yours as you two reach the final button and you pull the fabric off yourself. You do the same with his shirt, lips remaining locked, except for the small gasps of air you take in between. It requires a bit more manoeuvring with him, but you’re both soon shirtless.

His mouth travels to your jaw and you shut your eyes from pleasure as he continues down to your neck. The stubble on his chin tickles your skin. You cup it, gently pushing him away with a giggle.

“Forget to pack a razor in your bag, Dr. Reid?” Your voice is teasing, more playful than seductive.

He chuckles, airily, hiding his groan. He knows you’re being sarcastic, but the use of his title, with your voice in this context, catches him off guard. You moan as you feel his growing bulge against your heat when his arms tighten around your waist, pulling you into his kiss. You swiftly undo the clasp of your bra, but before you can take it off, Spencer grabs you from just below the hips and lifts you up off him, gently laying you down on the seat of the couch.

There’s no room for hesitation as his lips find your neck again and he nips at the skin. Every suckle earns him short gasps and the grip in his hair tightens as he travels lower. He stops just above your breast, pulling himself up to sit on his knees. You stare up at him with a heated gaze, the nail of your thumb resting between your teeth with your lips parted to make up for the loss of his lips.

He reaches for your bra strap and begins pulling slowly, searching your eyes for any signs of you withdrawing consent. All he sees is how beautifully they sparkle when you give him a light nod. It’s been too long since he’s seen the stars that you hold in your eyes, stars he accustomed himself to before he even got to properly know you.

Gazing into his eyes, you’ve never felt more sure, more safe. You trust him implicitly and you’ve never wanted anything more. His constant need to make sure you're comfortable sends shivers down to your core. He slides the garment off you and Spencer’s beyond grateful that he’s already on his knees, knowing that if he was standing he’d fall to them because of the sight below him.

His eyes don’t falter once, he’s trying to permanently etch this moment into his brain. He hovers his fingers above your body, thumb brushing against your hardened nipple and you softly whine. He looks awestruck, almost like he doesn’t believe what’s happening. You can’t help but wonder if he thinks your boobs look weird.

“Beautiful.” The words fall out of his mouth in a whisper, as if on cue. He’s really just thinking out loud.

Before you can respond he lowers down and plants a small peck to your sensitive nub before taking it into his mouth. You gasp again, head lolling back in pleasure. One of your hands goes for his hair, while the other clings to his hand that’s already holding yours. He switches between sucking, pulling and squeezing; rolling it between his tongue and uses his teeth to squeeze ever so slightly.

“S–spencer.” A strangled moan falls from your lips.

You tug his hair, whining and moaning as your hips roll against the strain in his pants. When your motions become continuous, he lets out his own strained groan and is forced to release your nipple with a small ‘pop’.

“Angel, I really need you to stop doing that.” He murmurs in your ear with a gentle, gravelly tone.

As soon as the nickname reaches your ears your hips involuntarily buck up again, making his hips automatically push down against yours. His cock presses against your core and you both moan, his head falling against your shoulder.

“Spence, more.” You quietly whine in against his ear. “I need more.”

“More?” He echoes back, turning his head so that your lips brush past each other when speaking.

“Mhm.” You nod weakly as he brushes a strand of hair out of your face and weakly connects his lips with yours.

Even when he’s got you vulnerable and at your most compromised, he’s still as gentle as ever. You don’t feel him undo your pants or sneak his hand in them, but you definitely feel him press the pads of his fingers against your clothed clit. Air escapes through your nose in a huff of surprise and you hum in his mouth, hips jolting at his touch. He can feel your slickness through your underwear.

“Oh, my pretty girl.” He sighs, breaking the kiss and directing his whispers in your ear again. “All wet for me?”

“Please..” Even with your broken whimper you beg him for more.

“Like this?” His deft fingers swipe your panties to the side, fingers landing directly on the clit this time.

They feel cold at first. The contrast against your heated body makes you squirm and you groan in a soft, high pitch.

“What are you feeling right now?” He pries a verbal response from you, circling your bud lightly. “Tell me.”

“Good.” You sigh, eyes shut as you try to savour the pleasure.

“Good?” His voice is still soft against your ear.

“Mhm.” You nod, one arm draping against his shoulder and the other hand running along his scruffy jaw. “So good.”

“And this?” He adds pressure to his movements. “Does this feel good?”

Your hips buck again and he feels rewarded when you moan. There’s no doubt that the sound of your voice is his favourite. He especially loves it when it’s directed at him. Whether that be in the form of a laugh or your sweet moans. It makes him somewhat dizzy. His lips attach to the skin just under your jaw in an attempt to coax more.

It’s very effective. Fingers working your bundle of nerves, circling and flicking while changing the pressure, and mouth kissing and sucking near your pulse. It makes your back arch, hand gripping his shoulder so you don’t float away. He’s careful not to leave any purple traces of him on your neck, mindful of you being bombarded with questions from your colleagues.

“I love how reactive you are, Angel. You sound divine– fuck.” He can’t help the grunt that escapes him. “You are divine.”

His touch alone is enough to make you feel electric, but the sweet nothings he’s whispering in your ear will be what send you over the edge. It’s a foreign feeling, being reminded that he values you for more than just your body. Just under an hour ago you had incredibly high walls built around you and none of them are left standing as you exposed under him.

Spencer’s not the first man to touch you, but he is the first that loves you. It’s something you’re not at all used to and it feels as overwhelming as it does good. It transcends the want, no, the need for the man on top of you beyond lust or love. You plan to show him just how strong that need is tonight.

The carpeted floor is littered with your clothes, carelessly thrown around and tiny chess pieces scattered around the abandoned chess board. Spencer’s comfortably lying on the couch, facing the ceiling and you’re lying directly on top of him with your face buried in his neck.

You run your fingers back and forth along his jaw, scratching his beard in slow streaks. He’s enveloped you in his arms, one around your lower back and the other playing with your hair. It doesn’t feel as peaceful as it seems, both of you are afraid of being the first to speak. You know you can’t stay like this forever and you decide to bite the bullet.

“Spencer?”

You only get silence from his end. You know he’s awake because his motions in your hair don’t stop. You push yourself up to face him, trying to study his face. The sudden movement brings him back from wherever he was zoned out to.

“Hm?” His features jump.

Does he regret it?

“What’s wrong?” Your voice shakes from worry. “You have this look on your face.”

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m just thinking.”

“About…?”

“How bad we are at communicating.” He chuckles. “It’s concerning when you think about how all we ever do is talk.”

Hearing this makes you snort and you fall into him again. It sends both of you into a short fit of laughter.

“Oh that’s promising for the success of this relationship.” You giggle, sarcasm evident.

Hearing relationship makes Spencer inhale sharply.

“So you’re staying?”

“Well obviously, Dingbat.” You scoff playfully at the question and shift upright, straddling him. “But we really do need to get better at the communication thing for this to work.”

Spencer mounts his weight on his hands by either side of him and pushes himself up to you, stealing a deep kiss.

“Yes, we absolutely do.” He whispers, breaking away for only a second.

The kisses fizzle in you a plethora of smaller kisses.

“Spencer, I’m– serious.” You voice in between, loosely draping your arms on his shoulders.

“I am too.” He says in a hushed tone as he pulls away.

“I want to take it– this,” you motion between the two of you with your finger, “us, slow. Not four years slow, but, like, by a couple of months at the very least.”

“Okay.” He agrees, his eyes scouring your face with complete adoration. It’s not ideal, but he understands where you’re coming from.

“That means that we start again. Romantically. We have to talk about a lot of things first.”

He shifts his body out from under you, resting his back properly against the couch and pulls you back into his lap in one swift motion. Both of his hands graze from your shoulder to your wrist.

“How about…you come over this weekend,” He suggests, wrapping his arms around your waist for a hug, “we’ll do snacks, a movie, maybe an actual game of chess.”

“That sounds like a date.” You wrap your arms around his neck to return the gesture and lean your forehead against his.

“It’s not a date. Not yet, anyways.” He whispers. “I’m asking you to come over this weekend so we can talk about things properly, because frankly, I don’t think either of us is in the right headspace for it right now.”

“Should I be offended at that?” You giggle, not entirely sure what he’s alluding to.

“No!” He snorts with a high tone. “Dopamine aside, our Norepinephrine and Serotonin levels are too high right now for us to have a proper conversation about this.”

“I’m not saying that you’re wrong, because you’re not, but I also think you’re just using science to try and confuse me, so that I agree to wherever this speech is heading.”

“It’s times like this where your attentiveness puts me at a disadvantage, because this tactic has a hundred percent success rate on everybody else.” He grins and you chuckle, both leaning in for another kiss.

“Can we hold off on starting over? Just for tonight.” He reluctantly voices, not wanting to push any boundaries.

You draw back and raise your eyebrows with your eyes widened.

“Spence, I have waited for years for this. You’re insane if you think I’m giving that up without relishing in it for at least a night. We’re not starting over until we’re both officially back on the clock.”

“Okay.” He heaves from relief, leaning in for another kiss, but quickly withdraws with a new question. “Don’t you think the team’s going to be suspicious when we’re not fighting tomorrow?”

“Forget them, what am I gonna say to Hotch when I ask to withdraw my resignation?” You huff out a tiny groan. “He’s gonna hate me for all this paperwork.”

Paperwork reminds you why you’re here to begin with. You audibly gasp, jumping off Spencer and scrambling to put your clothes back on.

“Fuck! Spencer, get dressed!”

Spencer doesn’t share your panic, but adheres to your demand. You mutter a continuous line of obscenities as you throw on your clothes and when you don’t seem to be getting calmer, he intervenes.

“Hey, hey, hey!” He coos as he steps towards you, still undressed on the upper-half. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong is that we’ve been here for hours!” You shriek, now fully dressed.

You push past Spencer and grab his shirt, deciding that he was too slow on his own. He lets you dress him as he probes further.

“That’s okay. No one’s going to notice this late.”

“No– Spence–” You sigh, throwing your head back. “In less than four hours, Hotch is going to walk into his office expecting the Anchorage report on his desk. I’ve barely been able to get half of it done in weeks, how am I going to finish it in four hours?”

You shake your head and begin working on his buttons. He grabs your wrists, urging you to look at him.

“You’ll have it done in less than one. I’ll help you!” His voice is light, airy, soft and accompanied with a chuckle.

“Spencer, you’ve already been here later than you need to be. It’s okay–”

“Let me help you.” He resorts to pleading, releasing your wrists and cupping your face.

You don’t have it in you to argue, his eyes staring back at you with sincerity. He wants to help. There’s no point in pushing him away, because as scared as you are about being too vulnerable with your trauma from that case, you trust him wholeheartedly. You know he won’t push for more than what you choose to share right now.

“Okay.” You nod and smile into the kiss he leans in for after the confirmation.

“Okay. Now, you go and start some coffee.” he instructs softly with a wide grin, waving to the scattered chess ensemble. “ I’m going to clean up here and join you.”

“I love you!” You lean for another kiss and hushedly exclaim as you break away, receding towards the door.

It’s Spencer’s turn to lose his breath. He’s affirmed his love for you countless times tonight and this is the first time you’ve verbally reciprocated it. He knows that it won’t be the last time either. That, to him, makes him the luckiest man in the world. He stops you from going any further by your arm and gently yanks you in his direction, crashing his lips with yours.

“I love you too.” He whispers after the kiss, letting you go.

Heat rises in your face again and you struggle to hide a huge dopey smile, one that Spencer has too. You’re floating on cloud nine, finally out of the blurry hurricane you’ve endured for months. There’s still a lot of things that you need to work out, but the thought of them doesn’t make you feel dread like it once did.

"One word frees us of all the weight and pain in life. That word is Love." - Socrates

Spoilers: Yapperoni (so much dialog in this chapter), BAU! Reader, enemies (kinda) to lovers, hurt, comfort, love confessions (they might be a little too sappy, idk, I was sleep deprived), the praise made me giddy at some point, smut but I edge you by not writing out everything, happy ending.

AN - I have a little tiny fear that people (me) will nawt (I don’t) fuck with this monstrosity, but out of all my drafts, this felt like the most natural course of action. I thought it would be really fun to go from friends to enemies to lovers. Now, literally nobody talk to me about writing fics after this. Uni’s started, so I’ll be very inconsistent for a bit. Casual reminder: I am not Spencer Reid. I don’t have an IQ of 187. Any facts I make him spew could very well be bull-shit and he only spews them for the purpose of the story. I also have no knowledge of how the FBI works and lack a ton of common sense. A lot of things were made up for the purpose of this story.

A comment today keeps semicolon away (from showing up to your house and eating all your snacks).

Thank you for reading!

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nebulablakemurphy · 2 months ago

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The Star-Crossed Lovers Of District 12 (Part 1)

Prologue

Summary: Y/N returns to district 13 with the rebel who claims to be her husband. All hell breaks loose. SoTR Spoilers!

Haymitch Abernathy x Wife!Reader

Y/N wakes to the lights of the hovercraft, she’s upright, resting against something soft. Fingers card her hair, muttering against her ear, though she can’t make out the words. Her head throbs, she needs her medicine. She can’t get her medicine, because they took her. The rebels.

She pushes against the gentle hands that restrain her. He’ll kill her…unless…

“It’s alright.” The man clears his throat, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m your husband. You remember me telling you that, don’t you?” He’s still attempting to assess the damage.

“I remember you telling me that, but you could tell me anything, you’re a rebel.”

“And who are you?” He challenges.

“Well, I’m the victor of the sixtieth hunger games.” Y/N says, “I’ve lived in the Capitol ever since, designing clothing and-” oh no. There’s a hole there. A detail missing. The doctors warned her not to lose herself searching for it, brings on the headaches tenfold.

The man grabs her skull, turning her head from one side to the other. Tugging at her ears as he peers down the canal toward her eardrum.

“What the hell are you doing? Stop!” Y/N pushes away from him.

His eyes are stern, mouth set in a scowl as he pulls her back into his lap, on the floor of the hovercraft. “Is there something in your ear?”

“I don’t think so,” Y/N shakes her head. “Even if there was, I’m sure all the yanking shook it loose.” She massages the tender shell of her ear.

“Sorry,” he grimaces. “So uh, how long had you been down there? In the tribute center?”

“Since the Quarter Quell, I think.” The rebels blew up the arena and took a bunch of tributes, to do God knows what to.

The man nods, “that’s actually impossible.”

“Why?”

“You weren’t in the Quarter Quell.”

“I’m the only living victor from district twelve, of course I was.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he huffs a laugh, “you’re one of four, angel. You didn’t go to the Quarter Quell because Katniss took your place.”

“Katniss?” Who’s Katniss and, “why would she do that?”

“Because you were-”

“Was I sick?” Y/N looks to him with renewed interest. This must be it. The hole, the gap between what she remembers and the memories she lost in the explosion caused by the rebels.

The man opens and closes his mouth, gaping at her.

It is not uncommon for our minds to try and fill in the blanks. We see this often in patients with head trauma.

“Please, I need to know.”

“That’s enough for now, we’re landing.” A second rebel reveals himself. Dressed in all black like his counterpart.

“Boggs, do you think you could keep an eye on her? I have to go tell-”

“You can’t just leave me,” Y/N protests. “I mean, you’re my husband. Alleged, but still. Don’t leave me to the wolves.”

The man exhales, “think of all the trouble I went to, to get you here. You really think I’m gonna leave you somewhere it isn’t safe?”

Her eyes search his, who are you?

“My name is Haymitch, down here, they refer to me as Soldier Abernathy. They’ll probably call you the same until we get this sorted. If you need me, have someone from your med team page me.”

Haymitch. The name feels familiar to her, as though she called for him often, in another life. Y/N blinks at him, “down where?” The hovercraft jostles, taking its place on the landing pad.

“Welcome back to district thirteen.”

The underground lights are disorienting at first, Y/N steps off the hovercraft, hoping to get her bearings. She has about ten seconds before her vision is clouded by a tuft of dark brown hair.

“Y/N.”

There’s a girl in her arms, nearly as tall as her, not her sister, Madge. Or anyone she would recognize at a glance. Y/N brushes the wayward locks from her face.

“I thought you were dead.” The girl says, tightening her hold.

Is it you? Y/N wonders, do you fill the holes?

“Katniss,” Haymitch interrupts, putting some distance between them. “She isn’t herself.”

“What do you mean?” The girl, Katniss, holds Y/N at arms length to examine her.

“She doesn’t remember who you are.”

Y/N is equally devastated at the look on her face. “You’re the rebel girl, the mockingjay.” Katniss! “The boy used to scream for you.”

“Peeta?” Her voice breaks over his name. “Is Peeta here?”

“We had one medic on standby, they’re working on him now. Making sure he’s stable to transfer down to the hospital.”

“I need to see him,” Katniss insists, breaking away from Y/N and Haymitch to rush up the loading ramp.

Something collides with Y/N’s back, again with the hugging. For a bunch of blood thirsty lunatics, they sure don’t seem to be in any rush to take her out.

“Mom!”

“Mom?” Y/N grips the little hand around her waist. There is another just beneath it, belonging to a younger child.

“Mommy.” A second voice says.

“I’m mom?” Y/N mouths to Haymitch, who stares back at her in horror. This must be who he’d needed to warn about her…condition.

Finally the man nods. Hoping beyond hope that the woman before him won’t shuck them off.

Y/N pats at the arms, slowly turning to face them. “And you’re dad.” Her laughter verges on hysteria. The boy is his, through and through.

Haymitch comes around to the opposite side, standing with a hand on each child’s shoulder. “Alright you two, mom needs to get check out by the doctors.”

“Are you ok, mommy?” The little girl, wearing her face, asks.

Did they make you from my DNA? Grow you in a lab? “Yes I’m…ok.” Y/N lies. “I just have a headache.”

Haymitch’s tiny clone releases her first. “Come on, Arista. Let’s go find, Aunt Madge.”

Madge? “You have my sister here?”

“Where else would they have me?” Madge smiles, rounding the corner with an infant in her arms.

“You had a baby?”

“What?” Madge peers down at the child in question, “no. She’s yours.”

Y/N’s knees buckle, “oh no.” Her vision spotty, tunneling into darkness, “mommy’s gonna pass out now.” Grown in a lab or not, she doesn’t want to crush these children.

————————————————————————-

She startles awake to the familiar beep of bedside monitors. Am I home? Back in the Capitol? What happened to the rebels? What happened to- “Haymitch?”

“I’m here,” his chair screeches against the floor as he springs to his feet, rushing to her side. “I’m right here.” Haymitch’s hands are carding her hair again, staring down at her with the softest look in his eyes.

Oh, you poor man. “I’m sorry, I still don’t remember anything.”

Haymitch shakes his head, “that’s ok.”

“No I-“

“If nothing else, you know that I’m not gonna kill you now.” Haymitch hushes her, “it’s important to build a foundation of trust.”

“Is that what we’re doing?” Y/N wonders.

“That’s what I’d like to do.”

“Ok, well…ok.” If he’s not going to kill me, this may be my best chance at freedom.

“And I want to say thank you for what you did yesterday, with the kids.” Haymitch clears his throat, “that must’ve been a lot for you.”

“I’ve been out for a day?”

A slight bob of his head confirms it. “They were able to run most of their tests.”

“Where do they think I am? The clones.”

“Our children?” Haymitch chuckles, “they think you’re having tests run.”

“Good.”

“We had them the old fashioned way, just so you know. No cloning or laboratory needed.”

Y/N nods.

“Aren’t you gonna bite my head off and call me a lying rebel?”

Y/N sucks in a breath, “I am incredibly attracted to you, Mr. Rebel. And of all the things you’ve told me in the past twenty-four hours, I find that the most believable.”

“Good thing you didn’t lose your sense of humor.” Haymitch retorts, “that’d be a deal breaker.”

“You said um-” damn you, stop looking at me like that. “They ran tests?”

“Yeah, I asked the doctor to come back once you woke up to discuss the results. I’ll go see if I can flag down one of the nurses.”

“Thank you, Haymitch.” Y/N tries to relax into the pillows, but her head is pounding something awful.

When the door opens again, it is Haymitch who asks, “can you give her something for the pain?”

“Of course,” the doctor smiles, filling a syringe and injecting it into Y/N’s IV port.

Relief is near instant, allowing her to focus as the team of doctors and nurses fill the room.

“Upon reviewing your scans, there is clear swelling along the anterior lining of the brain. Indicative of a severe head injury.”

“Will it heal?”

“In time, yes.”

“Given the extent of the injury and the progress she’s already made… we have reason to believe that Y/N may have spent a month or more in a medically induced coma; attempting to speed up her recovery.”

“Why?”

Johanna stumbles into the room, crossing both arms over her chest. “Because she did it to herself.”

“What?” Haymitch blanches.

“Snow wanted to use her to get to you but,” Johanna lets out a low whistle, “she bashed her pretty head against the table, until it was lights out. Best he could do after that was subliminal messages and of course tossing in a few of your propos. God, that stupid voice would play on a loop all day and night.”

‘My name is Y/N Undersee. I’m the only living victor from district twelve. I live in the Capitol, designing clothing, I am very happy here. The rebels are after me. The rebels destroy everything that is good. The rebels are coming to kill me.’

“I’d probably believe you were there to kill me too,” Johanna admits.

Part 2

#haymitch abernathy fanfic #haymitch abernathy x reader #haymitch abernathy #haymitch x reader #haymitch abernathy x y/n #haymitch abernathy x you #haymitch fanfic #haymitch x y/n #thg haymitch

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capricorn-0mnikorn · 10 months ago

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I have ~Thoughts~ on the Harry Potter Phenomenon that was

(Courtesy of memories prompted by this Tumblr Poll)

Back when I was a senior in college (back in the mid-to-late 1980s), I actually wrote a fantasy novel for kids aged ~8 - ~11 (in a self-designed course for a single credit, under the guidance of my Literature advisor), inspired by a series of dreams and recurring characters that showed up in them.

My advisor encouraged me to try and get it published. And so, I arranged with teachers from my old school to have a class of 30 or so 10 year-olds beta read it, and give me feedback for revisions. The kids also encouraged me to try and publish it.

So I did.

Now, back then, there was no "Self Publishing." The closest thing was "Vanity Publishing," where you would pay 100% of the publishing cost of your book, which would be printed in hard copy, for the benefit of having 500 -1,000 books shipped to your personal address, which you were then responsible for storing and selling out of the trunk of your car in a parking lot, somewhere. And if word got out that you were trying to claim credit for being a "published author" because of a Vanity Press book, actual publishers wouldn't touch you with a 40-foot pole.

If you wanted to get published, you had to buy that year's copy of Writer's Market: a listing of magazine and book publishers, and agents, with a brief description of what material they published, and what they wouldn't touch.

Guess what genre no agent or publisher was interested in handling?

That's right, Gentle Readers: Fantasy for children aged 8 - 11. I would have happily sent out a dozen queries for each story I wrote, if there were publishers and agents willing to look at them. But for three to four years of trying, in directories of two-columns of tiny print, and several [hundred]* pages long, I'd be lucky to find two or three outlets even willing to look at fantasy for kids.

The general consensus, across the publishing business, was that fantasy was a dead and obsolete genre. If it was for kids old enough to read chapter books and novels, it must also be firmly grounded in realism and actual history, because everyone knows the only people buying books for kids that age were teachers, who wanted stories with practical applications in the classroom.

***

After 3 - 4 years of trying, while I was in grad school, I finally got a rejection from the one agent who agreed to read my novel. A few days later, I received news that my mother had died from the breast cancer she'd been fighting, and my heart just went out of the project altogether.

A few years later, the first Harry Potter book was published. And it became a worldwide phenomenon. And it was the kids, themselves, who were driving the sales.

See, I think the real reason the books were such a success, even though they were never really very well written, was because they were in a genre the audience was hungry for -- a genre they'd been denied access to for all of their young lives.

Someone who is starving will think even moldy bread is delicious.

*Gosh, what a word to leave out via typo; the Writers Market rivaled the Manhattan Yellow Pages in length.

#autobiographical post #publishing in decades past #death mention tw #harry potter mention #fantasy for kids #I disliked it before it was problematic #edited: typo corrected

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ilium-ilia · 4 months ago

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calyptra thalictri

simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader | "single mom" au | masterlist

metamorphosis

tw: medical talk, pregnancy, abortion mention, non-con, smut, piv, oral, breeding kink, somno, sedatives

You wonder if Mary of Nazareth felt like this when she was told she would have God’s son. When Gabriel came down to the heavens to give such sour news, was she as scared as you are now, trembling, hardly able to stand on your own two feet? Did she feel as violated as you do?

Three pairs of parallel lines haunt you from the bin in the bathroom. They stare at you each time you enter to wash your hands or pathetically pray that there is blood to soak your underwear. You were certain the first time was a fluke. A false positive so cruelly given to you simply to see if you would keel over from the heart palpitations it plagues you with. So you take a second one, hopes high but mind reeling. It only rubs salt in the wound.

By the third test, you sob. Crumbled on the floor, clutching your knees to your chest as if you were a school girl sniffling in the stalls again. Alone—terrifyingly alone and without guidance.

You spend your night wallowing in bed, unable to sleep. Trembling fingers plug search after search into your online browser, looking for an explanation to your miracle pregnancy. You’re faced with the idea of miscarriages, of ovarian cysts, or possible cancer. Psychosomatic disorders, memory loss after violent sexual assault.

The pink flesh in your brain splits. Cleaved clean in half, you’re presented with two terrible realizations—that something terrible happened to you—something that your mind purged in order to protect yourself—or you are simply crazy. You are lying to yourself to save face. So you don’t have to admit that you made a stupid choice, and are now suffering the consequences.

In the morning, you call your gynecologist. The soonest she can get you in is in five weeks.

Though you try hard not to, you cry on the phone to the receptionist. You babble about how you don’t know what to do, that you need help, that you can’t wait that long. Taking pity on you, she tells you that she’ll add you to the waiting list, and that you’ll be seen as soon as possible when there’s an opening.

It takes them four weeks to call you to tell you that there’s been a cancellation. Four excruciating long weeks. Each time your friends invite you out to drink, they stare at you with narrowed eyes when you decline with restless hands. Countless nights are spent sleepless, or with Ghost pinning your body beneath his, allowing you no rest in the day or night. You think about abortion. You think about raising a child on your own. You think about wasting away in a cancer center with no one to hold your hand.

Dropping everything, you rush to the clinic with sweaty palms and greet the receptionist with a smile that screams please do not congratulate me. She gives you two pages of paperwork to fill out, but your hands shake too bad for your writing to be legible.

It takes them twenty minutes to take you back to the exam room. The clinical assistant asks you questions, but each syllable sounds fuzzy on your eardrums. What are you here for today? When was your last period? Are you taking any medications? What makes you think you’re pregnant? She takes your blood pressure and notes that it’s a little high, and leaves the room to let you sit in silence.

Another fifteen minutes pass before the clinical assistant returns and says your doctor wants to do an ultrasound. She leads you down the hallway and into a darkened room with an exam table and a woman sitting in front of a machine that whirs enough heat to make the room suffocating. She looks up at you from over her glasses, hands you a gown, then leaves you to undress. When the technician returns, she wastes no time getting to work.

Her small talk makes your teeth ache. Maw grinding teeth into brittle dust, you answer her questions with short, sharp responses. You are not here to receive the joyous news of a child, or the prospect of becoming a mother—you are simply here to get answers. To look at your options. You grit your teeth throughout the entire scan as the sonographer presses the wand deep into your pelvis. Her eyes look dully at the monitor before her as she taps away at her keyboard; she reveals nothing. No pity for a tumor, nor excitement over a foetus.

When the scans are done, she lets you clean up before leaving you to sit back in the exam room. The walls are adorned with paintings depicting motherhood and children. Each stroke feels like a punch to the gut as you sit with your hands in your lap. This room is a cell, and you are on death row. The weight of it crunches your shoulders until you’re bent forward—broken. Your trial was held without you present—fate decided long ago.

Your doctor enters the room with a simple knock. Several papers and sonograms sit in her hands as she takes a seat in the rolling stool next to you. She asks how you are, and though you say you’re fine, you can’t rip your eyes away from the items in her grasp.

“You’re pregnant.”

There it is. The killing blow. The lethal injection. You’ve been strung up, noose tight around your throat, and you swing in the breeze to be laughed and gawked at. All the blood in your face drains elsewhere, leaving you dizzy and lightheaded. You place a hand on the counter next to you to steady yourself.

“You’re about nine weeks along, judging by the scan,” she continues. She finally relinquishes them; sets them next to you so you can view the proof for yourself. There it is, floating inside of you; a clump of cells slowly morphing into something that will soon walk and talk. “Everything looks healthy, and there’s nothing to be concerned with at this time-”

“This can’t be possible.” Your voice fractures. It slices your throat from the inside out as your fingers extend to touch the terribly tangible proof before you. “I-I can’t be… I haven’t…”

Taking pity on you, her face melts into something softer—something understanding. “There are many options we can look at. We’ll help you through this.”

As soon as you get home, you toss the sonograms and every pamphlet your doctor gave you onto the kitchen counter and out of your sight. Cupboards fly open as you fix yourself a cup of tea through the blur of tears pooling in your vision. You have been crying nonstop for the last four weeks that you’re impressed you have anything left to give.

Your nighttime tea doesn’t taste as good this evening. It scalds your tongue, powdery and bitter, but you chug the whole thing despite the burn. You slam your mug down in the sink and promise yourself that you’ll clean it in the morning after you’ve glued yourself back together. You do not want to think—you do not want to suffer through this right now. Over countless years of failed medications and meditations, this has been the only thing that allows you to sleep through the night.

Well, as long as Ghost doesn’t visit you.

And he does—he always does.

A quarter past ten rolls around, and Simon is unlocking the door to your apartment with the same clandestine care he always does. The key slides into the lock as silent as a moth's wings on the wind, and then opens up with a creak in greeting. He stands in the doorway for a moment, toes inching close to the threshold that bars him from you, and listens. Everything is stilly. Not a single sound reverberates along the walls.

He finds you in the same place he always does—curled up in bed. Your duvet is tucked under your chin as you keep your arms pressed to your torso as if hugging yourself. Avoiding the creaky spaces in the floor, he creeps to the side of the bed before bending down and rubbing the pads of his fingers over the apples of your cheeks. Each inch of your face is silky on his roughened skin; it’s a sensation he wishes he could capture in a bottle and pour out from time to time so he can savor you.

Despite his touch, you do not stir.

Leaning forward, Simon presses a kiss against your mouth through the fabric of his mask before getting to work.

Tonight, he decides to let you stay on your side when he fucks you. The mattress dips beneath his knees as he straddles you, thick thighs caging yours. After working your bottoms down your legs, he presses one of your knees towards your stomach. You are nothing more than a ragdoll beneath his touch. Every whim he has, you obey—as if you ever had a choice.

Pussy now bare and on display, he rubs a warm palm over your rump before working his thumb over your slit. There is no arousal to aid the entering of his fingers, but he presses forward anyway, collecting any stray slick before rubbing it over your cunt. Once he retrieves his cock from his trousers, he does the same to himself before lining his head up with your entrance.

His eyes flutter shut the moment he sinks into you. Lips parting, he grunts the moment he bottoms out, then rolls his hips as his cockhead kisses the slick surface of your cervix. Even in your sleep, you pulse around him. Faint, fluttering little kicks as if to draw him in—as if to confirm how much you truly want him. When he pulls out, he watches the way your pussy clings to him, how he comes out glistening even in the dim lighting of your bedroom.

He never drags this out for long, though he wishes he could. Putting work over pleasure, he begins to rut into you with meaningful thrusts as he keeps ahold of your hips. If he had more time—if you weren’t swimming in sedatives—he would start you off on your back. Legs held to the side, he’d bury his face in your cunt before letting anything prod at your pussy. He’d draw out every whimper he could, and leave you a writhing mess before even letting you set eyes on his cock.

He would wait until you begged for him, then he’d force you to keep eye contact as he makes you take every inch. Eyes widening, back arching, he would refuse to hold himself back. After all, he’d have to give you what you begged for. Nails scratching, cock pumping, sweat dripping, teeth digging, jaw clenching, mouth parting—reverently, he’d take you and he wouldn’t stop.

And he won’t stop.

Not until you give him what he needs.

When Simon comes, his forehead crashes against your shoulder as the muscles in his taut core begin to shudder. He ensures that he stays sheathed deep inside of you so that nothing goes to waste; that he has the highest chance of success. Once he’s softened inside of you, he pulls out, returns your bottoms to their rightful place, then leaves you tucked into bed without so much as a kiss goodbye.

Sighing, he rubs at his face through his mask as he wanders back to the exit, body too warm beneath his jumper and jeans to be comfortable. His skin itches. Mites tingle and burrow into his skin with each step he takes. The air feels different in your flat than it usually does—thick with some lachrymose cordolium that whispers from the baseboards.

He doesn’t understand why that is until something on the counter reflects the dim glow of the stove light into his eye. Detouring into the kitchen, he approaches your counter where he finds a plethora of pamphlets, discharge papers, and sonograms haphazardly bunched into a pile.

Snatching one of the sonograms, Simon quickly raises it to the light and then freezes. There it is. A tiny, muddled creature in the mix of amniotic fluid. Beneath his mask, he grins as he beholds the very first image of his child—the baby he’s so desperately been wanting from you. Something swells inside of him. Pride; ardor. These last countless months have finally given him the fruit he’d sown long ago.

Enraptured by the picture, Simon almost doesn’t notice one of the pamphlets on the counter as he turns to leave. Still, he catches the title out of the corner of his eye: Abortion - Your Options and Right to Choose.

His throat constricts. Whatever mirth he held on the tip of his tongue vanishes the moment he sees that. Indignation broils deep in his stomach at the thought of you ever considering doing such a thing to him—to his child. Deciding to choose for you, Simon carefully places the sonogram in the pocket of his jumper before snatching the pamphlet off the counter and marching off through the door.

Once he’s locked it behind him, he begins to shred the paper to pieces before tossing it in the recycling bin on the corner of the street, leaving it far out of reach.

#ilium writing #sr ilia #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #calyptra thalictri

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the-oblivious-writer · 5 months ago

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A Loving Distraction

Wednesday Addams x Reader

One-shot

Summary: Wednesday attempts what’s meant to be a study session, but being the distraction you are, you had other plans in mind.

Warning(s): kissing, established relationship, and no pronouns

Notes: dedicated to @101rizzlrr - ask and I shall deliver

You stare at your phone, thumb hovering over the text you're about to send to Wednesday. The message reads: "Meet me in the library? Promise to actually study this time."

The memory of your last "study session" brings a smile to your face. You'd spent more time debating the merits of different torture methods throughout history than actually reviewing for finals. Not that you minded - Wednesday's passionate defense of the rack over the iron maiden had been oddly endearing.

Your phone buzzes with her reply: "Bold of you to imply I was the distraction last time. But fine. West wing, third floor. Don't be late."

Twenty minutes later, you're climbing the worn stone steps of Nevermore Academy's library. The afternoon light filters through the Gothic windows, casting long shadows across the floor. You spot Wednesday at her usual table, surrounded by a fortress of leather-bound books. She's wearing her signature black dress, white collar crisp and perfect despite the late hour.

"You're four minutes late," she says without looking up from her notes.

"I brought a peace offering." You place a steaming cup of black coffee - no sugar, no cream - next to her elbow. "And I was delayed by Principal Weems giving her weekly lecture about proper uniform length to some poor first year."

"Excuses." But she takes the coffee, and you catch the slight softening around her eyes that passes for a smile in Wednesday's world. "I assume you're here because you're still struggling with Advanced Poisons?"

You slide into the chair across from her, pulling out your own textbook. "Some of us didn't grow up taste-testing deadly nightshade."

"Your loss. Mother always said it builds character." She reaches for your notebook, scanning your latest attempts at categorizing toxic fungi. "Your classification system is almost painfully wrong. Look at this - you've put death caps under 'slow-acting.' They can kill within 48 hours."

"Not everyone shares your enthusiasm for mortality rates," you tease, leaning closer to see where she's marking corrections in precise red ink. Her hair smells faintly of rain and graveyard dirt - a scent you've come to associate with comfort, oddly enough.

"Clearly. Which is why you need my help." She pauses, dark eyes flickering to yours. "Though I suppose there are worse ways to spend an afternoon than ensuring you don't accidentally poison yourself with basic mushroom identification."

"Aw, you do care."

"Don't be ridiculous." But her knee bumps yours under the table, and stays there.

The next hour passes in a comfortable rhythm of studying and bickering. Wednesday corrects your work with cutting efficiency, while you try to distract her by suggesting increasingly outlandish uses for non-lethal poisons. ("Think about it - just enough to make the entire school board mildly nauseated during budget meetings.")

"Focus," she chides, but there's amusement lurking in her voice. "Unless you want to explain to your parents why you failed this semester."

"They'd understand. I'd just tell them I was distracted by my brilliant, beautiful girlfriend who happens to be a walking encyclopedia of death."

"Flattery will get you nowhere." She turns a page with deliberate precision. "And that's not even close to my most impressive quality."

You lean forward, resting your chin on your hand. "Oh? Do tell."

"I can name at least fifteen ways to incapacitate someone with items found in this library alone." Her eyes meet yours, challenging. "Would you like a demonstration?"

"Tempting, but I think the librarian is still mad about last time." You reach across the table, fingers brushing her wrist. "Besides, I can think of better uses for our time."

Wednesday arches an eyebrow. "Can you now?"

The tension shifts, electric and familiar. You stand slowly, walking around the table until you're beside her chair. She turns to face you, expression unreadable but for the slight catch in her breath when you lean down.

"Much better uses," you murmur, and then you're kissing her. Her lips are cool against yours, tasting of coffee and secrets. One of her hands finds its way to your collar, pulling you closer with that controlled intensity that is so uniquely Wednesday.

You break apart at the sound of footsteps approaching, though you don't go far. Wednesday's normally pale cheeks have the faintest hint of color, and you can't help feeling a bit smug about that.

"That was…" she starts.

"Distracting?" you offer with a grin.

"Entirely inappropriate for a study session." But she's fighting a smile now, the real kind that makes her look almost human. "We have an exam tomorrow."

"True." You brush a strand of dark hair from her face. "But I'd argue that was an excellent practical demonstration of biological responses to stimuli."

Wednesday rolls her eyes, but she's definitely smiling now. "Your scientific method needs work."

"Then I suppose we'll need more practice." You gesture to the towering shelves around you. "We have the whole library."

"You're impossible." She stands, gathering her books with precise movements. "Come on."

"Where are we going?"

"To find somewhere more private for your… research." She gives you a look that makes your heart skip. "Unless you'd rather stay here and actually study?"

You grab your bag, already following her toward the stacks. "Lead the way."

-----------

A/N: nice little one-shot before I post more angst

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams x gn!reader #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams x you #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #wednesday addams

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g1rld1ary · 2 months ago

Text

let things go - ex!james potter x reader (kind of)

wc: 4455

summary: cleaning out your apartment so your boyfriend can move in, you come across a box of mementos and discover you're maybe not as over your ex as you thought | angst, swearing, problematic boyfriend (not james), lots of flashbacks, modern!magic!AU

me: this is maybe the angstiest fic i've ever written and i'm sorry that present james isnt in it, but i do have ideas for where his story could go, so if people like this i'm open to writing a second part! based off the song let things go from ordinary days!!

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

You stared around your apartment, hands on your hips as you mentally prepared to make it your bitch. With Britney Spears’ Circus album playing and garbage bags at your disposal, you were sure you were ready.

You wondered how you could’ve ever considered the place not big enough for all your belongings, grimacing as you imagined the bomb-site it would soon become. But that’s why you were cleaning, right? For the greater good, because you deserve to live in a place not cluttered by trinkets and things stuffed in places they don’t belong. Or maybe because you’re boyfriend had decided he was moving in. Who could say, really?

You flung open a closet door, unimpressed at the mass of clothes seemingly defying physics to stay off the floor. My life has to be more than the sum of this… stuff you thought to yourself, turning your back on that. The closet was scaring you too much to start, you should pick something easier. You looked up at the bookshelf, teeming with novels you’d long since loved, and told yourself to grow up. Today was the day you started cleaning things out. Today was the day you’d start letting things go.

Hours later, you’d made a start and not much else. You stood in the centre of your bedroom, your whole entire history strewn across the floor. Fetched from a box deep in the back of your closet, a treasure trove of trinkets lay in front of you as you decided what you had to get rid of. Years-old planners, dog-eared postcards. Why was I even keeping these? You asked yourself, laughing at the ridiculous thought of you even holding onto frivolous mementos all these years.

But then you shot yourself in the foot. You almost saw it from an outside perspective, bending down, fingers dusting lightly over the various souvenirs until they curled around the planner, decorated with stickers and photos taped to the front. You recognised it immediately, the planner you had for seventh year.

Your stomach dropped as the memories smacked you in the face and you were on the floor before you knew it, furiously thumbing through the pages.

september 1st - first day of seventh year!

september 27th - hogsmeade date with james <3

october 5th - study with james 4pm

october 31st - halloween! common room party 8pm: make sure james’ costume is ready!!!!

november 23rd - sirius’ birthday party 8:30pm

december 25th - christmas at the potters! make sure gifts are here for effy and monty

january 1 - new years day!! to do: kiss jamie <3

february 14th - valentines day! date with james 7pm

april 9th - easter lunch with the potters

may 29th - graduate from hogwarts!! to do: start life with jamie

A year full of James; one of six knowing him in Hogwarts, one of four that you dated. Every other day had something involving James — help him with his essay, going to Hogsmeade with him, kiss him silly (god bless teenage hormones and being in love, why were you writing that in your academic planner?). Every new page and task brought back memory after memory of James and his dumb smile and your stupid dates and the whole relationship you thought would never end.

You snapped back into your real life, forcibly ignoring the water collecting at your lash line. You were fine, everything was fine. Your eyes strayed to a postcard, paper edges fraying and wearing thin from the amount of time you’d obviously spent re-reading and admiring it.

The design on the postcard was cute and kitschy, a vintage style beach picture with a sun lounger and palm tree. You remembered it instantly, receiving it in the post over the summer between your sixth and seventh year. You flipped it over with trembling hands, the familiar chicken scratch scrawl bringing a small smile to your face.

Hey lovie,

I am in Nice! We got in late last night and I’ve been exploring all day — remind me to show you the photos when I get back because it’s so beautiful here. We should come back here together next year.

Anyway, I’ve been walking around town and this older man asked if I fancied a shag — fancy that! I said no, thank you, I’m actually married, just to see how it felt (very good). I can’t wait to marry you when we’re older, gorgeous.

Mum and Dad are absolutely thrilled to be by the beach — I think they’ll be prunes by the time we get back to England! Will send you photos to laugh at in the next letter.

I love you!

James Potter (your future husband)

You sat for a minute, the postcard crumpling slightly from the tension between your fingers. Then, in a flash, you slammed the postcard down on the floor, staring up at the ceiling to stop yourself from crying.

You stashed the belongings back in the box, unwilling to look at them anymore but unable to throw them away. You just couldn’t get rid of all those memories. Still, you needed to clear out some room for Adam’s things, so you tentatively labelled the box ‘maybe’ to pretend you were considering getting rid of it all.

You exhaled emphatically, convincing yourself to think it over and throw it all out at the end of the day. Just after you did the rest of the room.

Things only got worse from there. You’d never thought of yourself as a hoarder of the past, but as soon as you were looking around your flat, you discovered decorative or sentimental items displayed on every surface, hidden in every drawer and cupboard. Birthday cards from years gone by, plastic souvenirs from monuments you’d travelled to, a pamphlet on Van Gogh from when your friend group went to France and wandered around the d’Orsay making fun of the paintings.

You shook your head, physically manifesting the negative thoughts leaving your head. You needed to clean all this shit out! You should’ve done it years ago.

But then you picked up a framed photo — the one that always seemed to fall face down whenever your boyfriend came around. It was your graduation photo, all your friends crammed in like sardines to fit in the shot. You were pressed into James’ side, his strong athlete’s arm wrapped snugly around you. Nothing else about the picture indicated you were a couple, which was how you rationalised keeping it up, but holding it now, you could feel all the memories rushing back to you like it had happened yesterday. The soft breeze, the smell of daisies from the grounds, your friends' beams, the feeling of James’ hands around you.

You could feel the sensation like it was current, but it all seemed like lifetimes ago. You’d seen James maybe once since your breakup, purely by accident, and it was like ripping your heart out all over again, like you were freshly eighteen and experiencing the first heartbreak of your life.

And to be honest, you could hardly remember the last time you’d even seen the rest of your friends. There was no picking sides, no ferocity or anger, but somewhere along the way, they’d faded from your life, much to your regret. Now, you spent most of your time with Adam. And Adam’s friends. Which was great.

Suddenly, you realised how much your life had changed. How much you’d changed. Adam didn’t even know you were a witch, for God’s sake!

Suddenly, the pictures weren’t just pictures, and souvenirs weren’t just hunks of plastic; they were proof that this life was yours — even if you hadn’t been living it for years. And you couldn’t let that go, you couldn’t dispose of the identity you’d just realised you’d lost. So back the trinkets went, returned to surfaces and shelves in pride of place. Small reminders that you were still who you always had been, even if you didn’t feel like it.

How did it happen? You’d torn up your apartment just to decide you couldn’t get rid of anything, painstakingly returning everything to its place.

Fuck! Adam. Adam still needed to move in —well, he still wanted to move in. So you still needed to find some room for his things. But surely he’d be fine? You could get creative, maybe move some of your mementos from out of the closet and into one of the cabinets in the hallway where Adam would never look, so you didn’t have to get rid of any of it. Or maybe some of your things could be stuffed into the spelled secret crevice where you kept your wand stashed whenever he came around.

You glanced at the clock on the wall. Adam would be over in fifteen minutes. Everything needed to go back in its place before he arrived, or all hell would break loose.

It was a known fact to you that Adam was jealous of James, even now. You’d met whilst the two of you were still dating, and Adam had, both before and after, always made comments about how you weren’t right for each other. It had irked you a bit whilst you and James were together, but then again, he was right, so… The point was, if Adam knew you were keeping all of these mementos that involved James, he’d flip.

Half an hour later, Adam arrived.

“Hey, Babe,” He unlocked the door with the key you’d given him free access to a few weeks ago, “Turn that shit off, it’s trashy.” He followed the statement with a kiss, which confused your senses. You nonetheless got up to switch off the music, changing it to an album you knew you could both enjoy, something he’d introduced you to.

“So did you clean out some of your stuff?” He fell onto the couch next to you, reaching to turn on the television. You watched him reach for the remote, sighing as you turned off the music.

“Uh, kind of,” You hesitated, searching for the right words, “I moved some things around. I’ll still have to do some work on it, but I’m sure we’ll have space!”

“Babe,” He groaned, putting an arm around the back of the couch, sitting just disconnected from your skin. “I’m moving in in a few weeks, we’ve gotta get this stuff ready. I know you’re a ‘feeler’, but it’s just stuff, you have to make compromises for me.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” You shifted in your seat, eyes glued to the television screen where Adam was clicking through programs, “It’s all just got sentimental value to me. It’s hard to get rid of any of it. But I’ll try, I promise.”

“What about I just do it? I’m sure I can put a bunch of papers and plastic snow globes in the bin.”

“No!” You said, too fast. “It’s okay, I’ll have another try and be stricter with myself. It’s just the first time I’ve looked at any of this stuff in a while. Memories, you know?”

“I get it, Babe, but we have new memories now. And we’ll make more. You don’t need a shitty hunk of plastic from eight years ago.” You made a noise of agreement, not wanting to get into any more detail about what the ‘hunks of plastic’ really were.

After the talks of moving in and cleaning out moved on, your night really was nice. Adam helped you cook some dinner, and you turned on a film he’d been talking about for a few weeks, but something still felt wrong.

You could tell Adam expected to stay over, a fair assumption, and was being touchy enough that you knew what he wanted. To your own dismay, your body was rejecting his advances, knee twitching when he laid his hand on it, subconsciously leaning away when he cuddled in or nuzzled into your neck. You didn’t want to, but everything felt wrong in the moment.

“Hey, um, I think I’m getting my period or something, my stomach feels really weird. Do you mind if we call it here?” It was a cheap shot, you knew, but also not necessarily a lie — your stomach was feeling queasy.

Adam looked at you for a minute, and you weren’t sure if his knitted brows were for concern, confusion or judgment. Probably all three.

“Sure, I guess. Do you need, like, a hot water bottle or something?”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll take a painkiller and see if it gets worse. Thanks, though.”

You accompanied him to the door, apologising again softly as he pulled on his shoes.

“It’s fine, I’ll see you soon. Love you,” He said, crossing the boundary outside of your flat. You hummed in agreement, leaning up to press a kiss on his lips.

“Bye,” You murmured, shutting the door softly as he took off. You leant against the door, a sigh escaping you.

You suddenly felt like you were in a video game, anything from your life before Adam illuminating in a glow, calling your attention to them. You stumbled through the apartment, buzzing from photo to souvenir to memento in a haze of memories.

It all came to a head in your bedroom, a box half full of things that didn’t fit in other places still sitting in the middle of the room. You sank to your knees, unable to stop yourself from immersing yourself in the years of memories you were unlocking.

You felt like you were waking up from a dream, a whole reality fading in and out of existence, the pathways of your life splintering as you looked back on where they all diverged. At what point did you make the decision that put you on this specific path? Was it worth it?

You picked up a folded paper flower from out of the box, being taken back to the day you received it.

It was the winter of fourth year, just after the Christmas holidays. The grounds of Hogwarts were covered in a blanket of crisp snow, something that most students found beautiful and calming, but you thought it was isolating, suffocating.

“What’s up, grump?” James approached your spot in the bay window of the library, staring vacantly out at the pristine white grounds. You looked up in surprise, a small smile gracing your lips.

“Just putting off my charms essay, waiting for spring to come,” You sighed. This wasn’t a new problem; all of your friends were well aware of your aversion to winter, but it didn’t mean it ever got better.

“Right,” James laughed quietly, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, “Well, I, uh, made this to help you feel better?” It came out as way more of a question than he obviously intended, causing a rosy blush on his cheeks as he revealed a paper folded flower from behind his back.

“Potter? What is this?” You asked in delight, reaching out with delicate fingers to cradle the flower in your hands.

“My mum taught me how to make them over the holidays. I thought it’d make you happy over the winter ‘cause they won’t die.” You beamed, looking up at James with bright eyes.

“That is so cute! Thank you, James.” You went to turn back to the window, thinking the conversation was over, when James cleared his throat awkwardly.

“This might be weird or whatever, so, like, don’t even worry, but would you maybe want to go to Hogsmeade with me next time?”

“Aren’t we all going together in a few weeks?” You asked casually, not fully catching on to what James meant.

“Um, yeah, but I meant just the two of us? Like a date?” James was looking anywhere but at you, a stark difference from his usual cocky, borderline obnoxious demeanour.

“Oh!” You broke out into a wide smile, nodding before you could even get the words out, “Yeah, I’d really like that!”

“Cool,” James replied, sporting his own dorky grin. “Awesome. Amazing! Can’t wait.”

“Yeah,” You agreed, a little awkward but excited nonetheless.

“Yeah.” You and James stared at each other for a moment, unsure of where to go from there. “I’ll see you at dinner then!” He waved quickly, practically leaving a trail of smoke behind him.

You watched him go, a smile still lingering on your lips. James Potter just asked you out on a date! Fancy that!

You and James had dated for the second half of fourth year, fifth through seventh year, and made it eight months after you graduated. That was a significant period of your life, pretty much all of your adolescent memories were inseparably associated with James. You put down the flower, carefully preserving it amongst the other items.

You felt a bit like a madwoman, throwing your things across the floor, jumping from memory to memory like you were a starving man coming across food for the first time.

Even the clip in your hair was a gift from him, coincidentally, the same night you met Adam for the first time.

“Here, lovie, got you a clip so you don’t have to have it in your eyes while you’re dancing.” James approached you from behind, offering you the claw clip before wrapping his arms around your middle, smoothly joining in the group’s conversation.

“Is that where you went?” You asked with a happy gasp, reaching around James to quickly put your hair up. You’d been complaining for the last hour since your group had started dancing as opposed to sitting and chatting, your outfit not quite prepared for the occasion.

“Prongs is so pussy-whipped he went to a chemist for a clip on a night out,” Sirius barked out a laugh to Remus, who just rolled his eyes with a smile.

“Forgive me for loving my beautiful girlfriend?” James asked with a spoonful of sass, placing a kiss on your cheek.

An hour later, you were dancing with the girls, carefree as you threw your arms around in the air. Lily nudged you at one point, gesturing just beyond where the boys were crowding near the bar to where another man was watching you. It wasn’t necessarily intimidating or threatening, but you were unused to attention after being so associated with your relationship for so many years. You accidentally made eye contact with him, sparing him a half smile, unsure of what the proper protocol was.

You’d long forgotten about the man once a Kesha song came on, getting lost in the music with your friends.

About an hour later, you were slowly making your way up to the bar for another drink when the man returned, approaching you with a charming smile.

“Hi, I’m Adam. You’re stunning,” He said, taking you aback with his directness.

“Oh, uh, hi. Nice to meet you,” You introduced yourself, strangely reserved.

“Are you here by yourself?” Adam asked, subtly shuffling closer. You leant back, shaking your head.

“No, I’m here with some friends. And that’s my boyfriend over there.” You pointed James out as he laughed at something Marlene said.

“That guy? No way.” Adam shook his head confidently, laughing in a way that had you a little confused. What was funny about that? When you voiced that thought, he tried to soften his statement, backpedalling a little in a way that amused you. “Sorry, it’s just… You are way out of his league. I mean that guy? He looks like every typical high school film jock who has muscles for brains. Like, does he have independent thought skills?” He said it like a joke, but you weren’t sure it was funny.

“James is really smart, actually. Always got top grades in school,” You replied, voice soft but determined.

“Oh, you guys went to school together? High school sweethearts?” Adam had totally changed his tune, maybe because he could see that you didn’t think insulting your boyfriend was entertaining. Still, you nodded brightly, choosing to believe the best in him.

“Yeah, we’ve been dating since I was fourteen! We’re going on four years.” You glowed with pride, eyes straying over to James, who was starting to notice where you were.

“So you’re fresh out of school, huh?” You nodded slowly, suddenly aware that he could be decades older than you. Well, maybe you were being a little dramatic.

“How old are you?” Adam was twenty-four, as he told you, which did surprise you slightly, though you tried not to let it show. In the real world, that’s not crazy, right? Maybe you were still adjusting to being out of Hogwarts.

“Hi, lovely, who are you talking to?” James approached you both, his hand snaking around your waist.

“This is Adam. We were just chatting.”

“Hey, mate.” They exchanged identical greetings, a strange tension growing.

“Your girlfriend’s just been raving about how great you are, mate. You’re a very lucky man.”

“I know,” James said, jaw tensing in a way that was equal parts concerning and sexy.

“Well, it was nice meeting you!” You chirped, pulling away to end the conversation now that James was beside you.

“Yeah, you too, honey. I hope we meet again soon.” You nodded after a slight pause, waving politely as James led you back to your comfort zone and your friends.

“Well, who knew little miss wifed-up still had it?” Remus laughed, giving you an impressed nod.

“Hey, I thought we all knew I was gorgeous,” You joked, tossing your hair dramatically, “But seriously, if I have it, I do not want it.”

It wasn’t until later that you’d met Adam again and struck up a friendship which eventually evolved into a relationship, beginning to bond right before the start of the demise of your and James’ relationship.

God, you felt like your world was beginning to crash down around you, memories you’d had locked away for years resurfacing the second you laid eyes on a corresponding memento.

Everything was too suffocating; you needed to get out. Stumbling around your room, you pulled on some outside clothes, lacing up your shoes as you hopped down the entryway.

Walking down the street, you immediately felt a bit calmer, the crisp air sending shocks through your system and bringing you back down to earth.

With a little more sense in your head, the reality of your feelings began to set in. Regardless of how satisfied you were with your current life, which was something you were simultaneously beginning to reconsider, you missed your old life. In particular, you missed your friends.

Though James was obviously a massive part of your life and dominated most of the souvenirs you’d held onto, you’d had the same friendship group for six years of school. They rounded out every memory, filled the time between classes at school, and helped shape you into who you’d become as you grew into adulthood.

And somehow, somewhere along the way, you’d lost contact with them. Obviously, you hadn’t caught up with James since the breakup (with the exception of the single most awkward interaction of your life) because you were so heartbroken and shattered, but you’d tried not to let it impact your friendships.

Sirius was the first to go, of course, just because he was so close to James, and the other boys followed not too long after, torn between the rift. The girls held on for a bit longer, and you would tentatively say you were still friends today, but the intervals between your catch-ups got longer and longer each time. No bitterness, at least on your part, but you were all busy leading different lives.

Suddenly, it clicked how long it really had been since you’d seen your friends, and how it had steadily declined ever since Adam. Maybe it was just because you were already emotionally distraught, but doubts began to creep in about Adam. The way he’d behaved even before your breakup, his refusal to hang out with your friends after, and insisting you hang out with his friends all the time despite them not really liking you. It felt like something was beginning to add up, but you weren’t sure how to finish the equation.

With shaking hands, you fished your phone out of your pocket, searching through your contacts for a number you hadn’t called in far too long.

“Hello?” The voice on the other side asked, gentle confusion evident.

“Lily?” You asked, voice wavering as relief washed over you at the familiarity.

“Are you okay? Is something wrong?” Lily asked immediately, the intricacies of your speech pattern coming back to her in an instant.

“Are you free to talk for a bit?”

“Um, yeah, of course! Remus is with me right now. Do you want to be on speaker? Or I can go into a different room.” You said it was fine, the desire to hear his voice overpowering in your heart.

“Hi, dove. Been a while,” He said softly, and you could see the expression he was making despite it being a voice call.

“Yeah, sorry,” You choked out, tears beginning to spill again. Without further ado, you began to spill everything. All of the conflicting thoughts and feelings that had stirred within you in the span of a single day. You told them about Adam rushing you to let him move in before you were maybe ready (you’d never said that out loud before), finding the box of memories you’d forgotten had even existed, and the deep, deep longing for the past you’d felt ever since.

When you were finally finished you’d cried out all the water left in your body, but you felt monumentally lighter, even if it was just because Lily and Remus at least knew how much you loved and missed them.

As you began to trail off, worries less prominent, your friends sat in silence on the other side of the line.

“Do you think I’m broken?” You asked, voice ragged from your monologue and the accompanying tears.

“I think,” Lily said, “You need to come over tonight.”

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luminiamore · 1 year ago

Text

EX WHO?

ex husband eren yeager x black fem reader

warnings: reader may have gotten pregnant again (she definitely did), ur daughters name is raqi

pt. 2

moodboard

masterlist

“Sweetheart, please let me put your shoes on so I can bring you to your daddy.” You try to tell your gorgeous four-year-old for the fifth time in one minute.

“No, mama! Daddy says he’s coming here because he misses you.”

You observe as she escapes your grasp again after kicking her tiny feet in different directions. You groan both inside and out loud because you have to repeat, “No, he’s not Raqi.” Mommy needs the house to herself tonight-”

“Uhuh, and Uncle Connie is coming too! He’s taking me to, um-Nick- um-” You watch as she looks at you, waiting for you to help her finish her sentence.

You stifle a giggle at her pout, “Nickelodeon?”

“Yeah!! It’s in Spain, mama!”

You heave a sigh once more. It’s not uncommon for Connie to take your daughter on expensive trips such as this. He probably indulged your daughter more than you did. Not more than Eren, though. Even though Eren didn’t live with you, he made sure to come by and see his baby girl every day, even if it was just for five minutes. Each time he came, he would have a new gift in his hand.

Connie gave your daughter gifts like trips, taking her around the world, and first-class only reserved for the princess. As she ages, she definitely won’t be impressed by someone’s son taking her to Miami.

However, Eren spoiled his girl with jewelry, bags, the newest edition of Hello Kitty plushies, and anything else. To be honest, you need to begin the process of finding her a larger room.

You’re not so sure your daughter is lying. It’s unlikely that she would lie about something like this. Your frustration has changed from being directed toward her to your ex-husband for not informing you. This was actually one of the reasons why you guys split up. He would always make plans and decisions regarding your daughter without letting you know first.

Although he didn’t make any bad decisions or put her in danger, it’s upsetting to know that you rarely had any say in what your daughter did, except for the things she wore.

You remember vividly handing him the divorce papers and standing in front of him in shock as he laughed right in your face with mumbles of, ‘Must be crazy’ and ‘Never in a million years.’

And so the divorce was never finalized because he refused to sign the papers, but you and he were through as far as you were concerned. He had no problem letting you run around thinking that, though. It goes without saying that he never took off his wedding ring. Yours has been on for so long that it’s like muscle memory to slip it on every time you go out.

To this day, his Instagram page is filled with pictures of you and only you. Shit, both of your parents still invite you guys over for dinner, and Eren never told them what you presented him with. You absolutely didn’t have the guts to tell them unless he signed those papers.

You didn’t have the guts to prevent your daughter from having a good time and living out her childhood, a chance you, unfortunately, weren’t blessed with.

“Okay, baby. Well, you still have to put your shoes on if you wanna go with Uncle Connie, okay?”

That seemed to do it. Your daughter headed to her bed and began bouncing up and down with joy before finally settling down and waiting for you to put them on.

Just as you were finishing, you heard the doorbell ring. You rise to your feet and fix your silk robe and matching silk bonnet. Kissing your daughter’s head and lifting her up in your arms, you walk barefoot on the cold tile floors of your penthouse— that Eren pays for.

It’s no surprise when you open the door and find the men of the hour. They were matching. Your ex-spouse appears in all his splendor, sporting a gray beanie that conceals his natural hair, a black hoodie, and black sweatpants that match. Connie’s attire was the opposite: a black beanie covering his buzz cut, a grey hoodie, and grey sweatpants that matched.

“Daddy!”

“Baby!”

Your daughter is quick to jump onto her father, and Eren easily catches her. It’s almost impossible to deny how similar they look. It’s as if she left you out of the gene pool altogether. All his facial features were present in her, including his curls, eyes, and face. Her skin color was the only thing you could vouch for.

Eren catches your eyes, and you look away quickly. His stare always gives you an intimidating feeling. You disregard his glance and turn to Connie with a smile, kissing him on his cheek and leading him inside, “Hey, Con.”

He reciprocates the gesture, albeit with a friendly tone. He was aware of how possessive his best friend can be towards you, and he didn’t want to be a part of that today. After playing with your daughter’s flushed cheek, you turn around and leave Eren outside, letting him invite himself in. Your hostility causes him to furrow his brows.

“What, I don’t get a kiss too?”

While still ignoring him, you direct your buzz-cut friend to your child’s room. “There should be a bag already packed with her things in her closet. I know how much you guys love these trips.”

Connie grins and nods. Your daughter demands that Eren put her down and runs after him, yelling that she wants to show him her new plushies. Now, there were only you and Eren in your living room, alone. Great.

It was impossible for you to function when it was just you and him. Eren’s presence always made you nervous and hot. No matter who was present, he always made his attraction to you known. Your daughter thought you were still together for that reason. Eren Yeager was an elusive figure. He was a force to be reckoned with. The feelings you have for him are still harboring, even though you tried to push them away.

They persist, and it doesn’t seem like you made any effort to remove them. You have been separated for a few months now, but you have never attempted to move on. Whenever your friends asked why you never went on a date, you would always answer that you’re ‘just not ready.’ You never actually moved on from him.

Your friends knew it was bullshit, but you would never admit it. You wouldn’t admit to missing him, missing him holding you, sleeping with you, fucking you. You went from getting your fat cunt stuffed every day to only cumming once a week due to a vibrator going high speeds on your clit. Eren knew you weren’t stupid enough to give his pussy away. You knew you weren’t stupid enough to give his pussy away.

Eren, of course, would never move on from you, either. He genuinely doesn’t believe that you two are separated, as you’re still together in his mind. You will be his forever.

He slowly stalks towards you, watching you intently focus on the wall. You probably hoped he would disappear if you didn’t pay him any mind. He knew how your mind worked.

“M’still waiting on my kiss, mama.” He raises your chin towards him when he reaches you, and his green eyes don’t skip over the little bra you had on beneath your lace robe.

“Eren, move.” You glare at him, but it really isn’t doing much but making him hard.

“Wassup with you?”

“You! You are ‘wassup’ with me.” You whisper so as not to alert Connie and your daughter in the next room. You try to match his tone, lowering yours in pitch.

“What did I do, baby?” His deep voice speaking to you like this always makes you squirm, but you suppress it to express your anger at him.

“Don’t call me that. How many times do I have to tell you to let me know when you make plans to take our daughter somewhere.” You grit your teeth.

He simply gives a sly smile, “Are you really upset about that?”

Once again, he pretends it’s not significant. You’re not even asking for much. Is it really a death sentence for him to inform you of where your daughter might be going? Why do you always end up being the last one to learn? You believe it’s not difficult to give you a week’s notice. You won’t have to be worried about looking silly when your daughter tells you. You don’t think it’s fair to you at all.

“I trust Connie, and I trust you with our daughter, but I just want to know where she’s going. Preferably before she goes! That’s all I ask for, Eren. You can’t keep doing-”

“Are you mad at daddy, mommy?”

You freeze.

Your daughter rested on Connie’s back as he held her mini Disney Princess suitcase. She was gazing at you with a pout, and you didn’t want to be the one to put that expression on her face. You’re about to respond when Eren suddenly opens his mouth, condescending tone and all,

“Yeah, mama. Are you mad at me?”

You try and force a smile for the sake of your daughter, even though every part of you wants to wring your ex-husband’s neck.

“No, baby. Are you ready to leave with Uncle Connie now?” As if it were never there, the frown is replaced by a fit of giggles, a bright smile, and a frantic nod of her head.

Connie gives your daughter a small rub on her head, “We should head out now. The flight’s in two hours, and we don’t wanna get stuck in traffic.”

You hurriedly nod and lead them both to the front door. Your daughter is smothered with kisses after you hug her and whisper a sweet ‘I love you.’ Eren presents your daughter with a mini Chanel box just before Connie puts Raqi in the child’s seat in the backseat of his Scat. You manage to make out his little whisper to her, ‘Don’t open it until tomorrow. Daddy loves you.’

Together, you love them, and you have no regrets about giving this man a child. It’s something you could never regret. Marrying him wasn’t a regret for you either; truly, he treated you like a princess. It’s just that you want him to dedicate more time to you.

Eren spent a lot of time outside before having your baby, whether it was with his friends or his job. He was always dedicated to providing you with everything you needed, but you never asked for any of those tangible things. The only thing you wanted was your husband. It took you some time to communicate your feelings to him, but eventually you did.

As a person who was understanding, he listened. For approximately a week, before he did the same shit again. You were worn out and reached a point where you couldn’t keep going any further. Although Eren wouldn’t give you the divorce you wanted, he was accommodating and allowed you to move out of his home. Provided that he will get the apartment and pay your rent. ‘Safety measures,’ he calls them.

Even now, Eren still acts as though you’re married, and you still pretend that it’s bothering you. You’re snapped out of your thoughts when you hear your door slam shut, with Eren still inside your house.

“You really mad at me, mama?”

You merely sigh, “Eren, why are you still here?”

With his hands on either side of you, he stands in front of you while your body presses flush against the front door. You feel a slight tingle, aware that you’re inhaling the same air as this man. You give a quick glance at his pink lips and hope you look away swiftly enough so he doesn’t notice. He does.

His lips curl, and his voice becomes low and breathless when he speaks again, “Answer me, baby.”

You sense that Eren is talking about more than today for some reason. He’s talking about everything that led up to it, including his absence and negligence. He’s asking if you’re still upset about the way he influenced you to want to divorce him.

A tear that you didn’t even realize was forming slips down your face. Eren doesn’t miss a beat when wiping it away with his thumb and delicately kissing your cheek as well.

You whisper shakily, “I don’t want to be. B-But you make it so hard, Ren.”

Ren. You called him Ren. He fails to recall the last time he heard the nickname you gave him flutter past your pretty lips. He derives pleasure from it and longs to listen to it again.

“I know, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, mama. You have to believe me. I never want to see you cry, baby. And I’m so sorry for making you feel like this.”

You attempt to move away, but he grasps your hands tightly, causing you to remain still. He understands your struggle, but you don’t trust him. And you’re trying to run away from him again. Eren has apologized before, but he wants you to acknowledge his apologies this time.

He kisses your cheek again, “I’m not working as much anymore, and I even cut back on dealing. I’m sorry I didn’t get it before. I know you just wanted me to spend more time with you, and I swear I’ll make it happen. Just take me back, please.”

Another kiss, this time on your neck, “I miss you so much, mama.”

Your breathing is intensifying, and your hold on him is gradually diminishing. “Ren, please. I- I can’t.”

“Let me make it up to you, hm? Show you how much I missed you. Let me, mama.”

You’re so weak, you scold yourself. So, so weak. He shouldn’t be able to get you like this easily. It shouldn’t be this easy for him to slip off your robe, letting it fall on the cold floor. You should have more resistance. You should make him work for it.

But how can you?

How can you resist when he’s on his knees, letting his tongue push in and out of your wet hole, unashamedly moaning as you twitch and buck your hips into his mouth. He’s entirely too nasty and too careless when he laps up everything your addictive pussy is pouring into his awaiting mouth.

You’re shaking, your body shivering so much you have goosebumps everywhere. He just doesn’t let up. Each time you try and push away from his pleasurable onslaught, it’s just,

“Quiet, mama. Daddy can’t make it up to you if you’re running from him.”

Your eyes are starting to hurt so much from the way you’re rolling them back into your skull. You’re heaving, squealing when he suckles harshly on your poor clit. Not even your vibrator made you feel this good.

“G-Gonna cum- Ah! Oh fuck, Rennie!”

You hear the slurping sounds as he eats you, and he never once removes himself from your cunt as he whispers, “Not my name, mama.”

God, you can feel the vibrations, can feel his long tongue covering every crevice inside of you. You grip his head, his beanie barely hanging onto him with how much you both are moving. You wail when he inserts two fingers in at once after he slips his tongue out of you, a precious and weak “Daddy- shit!” released into the air.

He hums against you, against your wet mound, and for some reason, that’s what pushes you over the edge. Your stomach clenches, and your entire being feels like it’s being set alight when you cum on his big fingers. Eren swears he’s fallen in love all over again. It’s been months since he’s tasted you, tasted your sweet cream. He’s missed it. God, he missed you.

As soon as he senses you’re too weak to stand on your own, he rises to his feet and immediately lifts you up by your legs. His lips are brushing against yours now, still wet from your essence.

“You never gave me that kiss. C’mon, baby, kiss me.”

And you do, moaning when you immediately taste yourself. Your breath caught in his mouth as he pushed your legs back against the wall, and he didn’t hesitate to swallow your sounds, sucking your tongue and biting your blushed lips.

Time slows when Eren finally pulls his sweats down and nudges his fat cock in you. He’s holding you so gently like you’ll break in any moment, and honestly, you feel like you will. It’s been so long, so long since you had something this big stretching you out. You can’t help but whimper out pretty cries of ‘Daddy!’ or ‘Rennie!’ against his panting mouth.

You’re so stuffed. So full that you can’t think of anything but how good he feels, how good this intense euphoria streaming through your body feels.

Eren is the same. He’s fisted his cock red to thoughts of having you like this once more. You were the only one who could ever make him feel like a wimp whenever he fucked you. Your pussy just feels so perfect, squeezing around him so tight, like you want him to put another baby in you. Actually, that doesn’t sound like a bad idea.

He gives you slow, deep strokes that make you keen. The sound of his voice is groggy and slurred as he grunts against your throat, “God, you feel so good. Please, baby, forgive me. Say you’ll take me back. Say it. Say it.”

Through your haze, you still manage to have a few brain cells still working, barely. You’re trying to speak out, but every time his hips press flush against your own, it’s like your breath gets caught in your throat. Still, you stutter out,

“C-Can’t- Hah! Oh, right there!”

“You know I’ll never leave you alone. I can’t, mama. Rather die before I ever let you go. I’ll get on my knees again if I have to, baby.” He sounds so pretty, begging for your forgiveness like this. You don’t know how long you can hold out. You’re not sure you even can.

“You’re c-crazy.” You utter, completely breathless, when he hits your g-spot.

Eren’s response is immediate when he reaches down to rub your clit in tight circles, “For you. Crazy for you.”

Whining, your squirt splashes all over his hoodie, and your body is twitching because it won’t stop. Your supposed ex-spouse groans as he spills his seed past your splashing pussy lips, right into your womb, while whispering unsteadily, ‘I love you so much.’ Shakenly, you pull his face toward yours and kiss him, drool pouring out of both your lips. It’s almost as if you’re trying to devour each other.

When you reluctantly pull away from his lips, he speaks once again, “Please, I need you. Just want you in my arms again, mama.”

You sigh, and honestly too exhausted to argue against him, you answer,

“If you start going back to your old habits, Eren-”

“I won’t. Swear on my life- on our daughter.”

You hum, fingers now combing through his loose curls. You gasp against his lips, feeling him shift inside you, “I love you too, Ren. Always did.”

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