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daycourtofficial · 6 months

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Your Love is My Drug

Summary: This is very similar to Love Potion No. 9, but flipped. You get drugged while on a mission, and the side effects are… interesting. Azriel takes care of you, causing your feelings to bubble to the surface.

Warnings: smut, dirty talk, dry humping(which is super under appreciated btw). MINORS DNI

Author’s note: this is my first time writing smut, so I hope it turns out okay!

Entering into Keir’s study took your breath away. Rhys, Feyre, Cassian, and you came up to the Hewn City to look for some papers Keir might have hidden in his study, which you and Feyre are about to search as Cassian and Rhys stay with Keir.

The walls were lined with tons of vials of potions, brews, and mysterious liquids. Syringes loose with unknown poisons inside, ancient books open, every surface covered.

“Keir gives me the creeps,” you tell Feyre, shuffling through the desk, skimming all the loose papers for what you need.

“He gives everyone the creeps,” she laughs.

After several minutes of searching, Feyre finds what she needs, holding it up in the air like a trophy. “Let’s go,” she says, reaching out for you, when a guard makes his presence known behind you by jabbing a syringe into your neck and pushing down.

You push him off of you, as Feyre runs for you, grabbing your hand, and winnowing you two away.

You arrive in the townhouse, and Feyre is clearly communicating with Rhys while she tries to check you over for injury.

Her prodding questions slightly annoy you, you telling her you’re fine and you just need some water. You feel a little fuzzy, a little unsteady, but overall very happy.

Feyre returns with some water, and in the moment of her absence, your demeanor has changed drastically.

“Thank you, Feyre darling!” You giggle, toasting the water to her, “so pretty, so sweet, such a good friend.” You mutter, your hand touching her cheek. You gulp down some water and continue, “Rhysand is very lucky to have you, you have spunk kid.” You end your statement by booping her on the nose and leaning against her.

Cassian and Rhysand winnow in to see Feyre holding you up, as you giggle into her hair, “when you shapeshift, what happens to your clothes? Do they stay under your fur? Or do you have to get new clothes?”

Cassian wants to laugh, it was a fair question, but all he and Rhys knew is that someone drugged you before you all quickly escaped. After dropping Cassian off, Rhys had winnowed away again in search of Madja.

“Cassian!” You yell, forgetting about Feyre and moving to embrace Cassian. Despite your state, you had quite the grip on him now as you embrace him.

“Cassian, you’re so funny,” you pull his face down so you can look at his face, “and you have very nice teeth,” you say, opening his lips so you can see his teeth. You pull his lips up so he’s smiling, “such a nice smile.”

“What is happening,” Cassian asks through the smile you’re making him wear.

“I don’t know,” Feyre responds, coming over, “we came in and she slowly got loopier and loopier.”

“Cassian,” you look at him with such intense sadness he’s terrified of what you have to say, coming closer to his face as you drop your voice,“do your wings get cold when you’re flying up high in the sky? Especially during winter?”

Cassian can’t help the laugh that erupts from him, the seriousness of your face, the concern in your tone, and the absurdity of the question make him lose it.

“They get a little chilly,” he admits, looking down at your adorably concerned face, “but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

You look at his wings, “you could wear a scarf around them.”

Before Cassian can explain how scarves would make his street cred go down, Rhys winnows with Madja.

“Rhysie!” You say, loosening your grip around Cassian, turning to confront another victim to your ramblings, until Cassian wraps his arms around your waist, holding you in place.

“Let me go,” you say, trying to get Cassian to release you. “Let Madja look over you first, then you can attack Rhysie poo,” he replies.

Rhys gives his mate and his brother confused glances, speaking internally while Madja looks you over and you babble to Madja the whole time.

They tune back in to hear you telling Madja she’s really good at her job, and however much money Rhysand is paying her he should double it.

“Okay, Madja,” Rhys interjects, “what do you think?”

“I think,” Madja says, ending her examination, “if what you say is true, then she got incredibly lucky. I’m not sure if it’s because the potion was old or because of her body reacting to it, but this potion is nothing more than an intense drunken state. She’s very loopy, and she’ll need close watching. Her impulse control is way down, and anything that seems fun she might just do without thinking.”

As her sentence tapered off, Azriel’s shadows carried him into the room, alarm on his face. Clearly Rhys had asked him to come back at the first sign that something was wrong with you.

Azriel’s entrance caused Cassian’s arms to slacken around you, and you took off racing for him yelling, “Azzie!” Before launching into his arms and wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Oh my gods you won’t believe what happened we were looking through Keir’s stupid ugly office and it had like tens of millions of potions and Feyre found the paper we needed and then this big mean guy came in and stabbed me right in the neck like a vampire but he wasn’t a vampire he was just ugly and then when he stabbed me something went into my blood but I’m all better now it’s gone.”

Azriel stood, looking between Rhys, Feyre, and Cassian, while you clung to him like a koala. He wasn’t even holding you up, you were just clinging to him, not taking a second to breathe during your story.

“She is not all better now,” Madja told him, looking at her pointedly. “She’ll be fine eventually, but until this potion exits her system she needs to be closely monitored.”

“I feel fine watch if I wasn’t fine could I do this?” You ask, pulling your hands from Azriel’s neck. What you planned to do he had no idea, but you started to fall so he had reach out wrapping his arms around you quickly before you fell.

Whatever you were doing with your hands, he couldn’t see, but he heard Cassian ask, “what is she trying to do?”

Rhys turns to the healer, “do you have any guesses as to what potion this was?”

The old healer grins, catching Rhysand by surprise, dropping her voice conspiratorially.

“I’d be willing to bet anything that it’s a love potion. Bet anything again that you won’t be able to pry her away from your shadowsinger. Sometimes when love potions get old, things become a bit muddier between platonic and romantic love, hence her jumping between the three of you.”

The four of them turn to look at you and Azriel, the two of you engrossed in a conversation Rhys thinks is about snails, but isn’t sure.

She lowers her voice, drawing their attentions again, “Once someone is under a love potion, though, they get very upset when away from the object of their affections.”

“And you think it’s him?” Feyre asks, even though they all know it’s a stupid question.

Madja gives her a look, rolling her eyes so hard she might strain herself, “only a fool wouldn’t recognize her devotion to him, and vice versa.”

Madja starts to leave, speaking louder for you and Azriel to hear, “again, she’ll be fine, you just can’t let her out of your sight until it’s gone. She is, essentially, a drunk toddler.”

The five of you convened in Rhys’s office to give a full report of what happened. Even though Azriel wasn’t there, he was still in attendance due to 1) his desire to know what happened and 2) your insistence that he be there. You hadn’t left his arms since jumping into them, just babbling away while he carried you to Rhys’s office, and now you were curled up in his lap, your head tucked into his neck, playing with one of his siphons.

“She’s actually quite adorable like this,” Cassian mumbles. They all turned to look at you, enthralled by the siphon as Azriel makes it glow and dim. “Can we keep her like this?”

“As adorable as she may be, she can’t stay like this forever,” Rhys replies. You lean across Azriel over to Cassian, grabbing one of his siphons too.

Feyre giggles, watching you hold the two up to the light, watching how pretty the look. You grab one of Azriel’s other siphons and start juggling with them. Cassian lunges forward for his siphon, but you are surprisingly very good at juggling and keeping Cassian’s siphon away from him by planting your foot on his chest.

“Where do you keep the other ones when you don’t need them? Do you have a jewelry box for them?” You ask, not taking your eyes off them as you throw them around.

“Essentially, yes. They’re kept in special boxes.” Cassian replies, still nervous you’ll break one.

“Can anyone use your siphon? Like could Cassian use yours or vice versa?” You poke your tongue out in concentration, no idea that you’ve disrupted their discussion.

“No, siphons are picky, they pick their masters,” Azriel replies.

You catch all the siphons, ending your juggling routine with a little bow of your head.

“Anyway,” Rhys drawls, “we need to set up a schedule to watch her - considering her state I don’t want to leave her with servants. Feyre and I have a dinner to attend tonight-“

“I can watch her,” Azriel’s words cut Rhys off, “don’t worry about it.”

“Brother-“

“If I need help, I’ll ask Cassian. My shadows can help me keep an extra eye out.”

They all peered at you, having nestled back into Azriel’s chest and fallen asleep in the moment they took their eyes off of you, clutching the siphons to your chest as your chest slowly rose and fell. Rhysand looked at his brother, the two continuing their discussion telepathically.

Are you sure you can handle this alone? We don’t know how long it will last. It could be flushed out by the morning or could stay in her system for a week.

If you think I can’t handle taking care of one drugged girl then why am I your spymaster?

Because we both know she isn’t just some girl to you.

Azriel sighs mentally, causing Rhys to smirk.

Look, I’d be watching over her anyway. Do you really think I would leave her alone with Cassian in this state? She’d trick him into letting her run out the door within five minutes.

And you think you’re immune to her charms?

Azriel gives him a look, and Rhys decides to back off, changing the topic of discussion.

They had stayed in Rhys’s office for about an hour after you had nodded off, discussing what to do about Keir now that he likely knows what was stolen. A few minutes after you nodded off Rhys got you a blanket, the outfit you wore to the Hewn City not nearly enough to keep you warm. You had slept through most of the meeting, waking once to move your leg and taking the opportunity to swipe another one of Cassian’s siphons while he wasn’t looking. You had settled back onto Azriel’s chest, and he heard you whisper, “so cozy, so warm,” before nuzzling back into him and falling back asleep.

You’re not sure how long you were asleep when Azriel gently nudged you awake. He smiled at you sweetly, “come on, you need to eat and bathe before going to sleep.”

You groan, nuzzling further into his neck. “Don’t wanna, too sleepy,” trying to sound mean and intimidating so he’ll leave you be, but it just comes out adorable instead.

You hear Cassian chuckling, causing you to tighten your grip on the siphons you forgot you were holding. You peak out from Azriel’s neck, looking to Cassian, “what are you laughing at, bat boy, can’t even get your precious siphons back from a sleeping lady.”

Everyone but Cassian laughs, as he launches over to you, arms outreached to get them back. You squeal, “Az, save me,” ducking back under the blanket.

Suddenly the room is very quiet, and you peak your head out to find that Azriel has winnowed the two of you into one of his chairs in his room at the House of Wind.

“Thank you,” you say, “now you’re an accomplice in my thievery. Partners in crime, we are.”

He laughs, “we’ll hang together.”

You laugh, suddenly becoming sad, “if we hang together, will you hold my hand until the end?”

“Anytime,” he says. You take him up on this offer, and reach out to hold his hand then. You hold his left hand in both of yours, examining the entirety of his hand, before planting a soft kiss on the palm of his left then his right hand. “So pretty,” you murmur.

Azriel’s stunned into silence, but you fill the void with your voice, “I love your hands. The scars are beautiful. I think about your hands a lot - the things they’ve endured, the things they’ve done. They are still beautiful, they’re a part of you, and you are the most beautiful of all.”

You turn in his seat, grabbing his face in your left hand, tracing his face with your right. “You’re so beautiful, scars and all, demons and all.” Your eyes trace his face, as if committing this poximity to memory. “I could look at you forever and never feel restless.”

He is stunned, unsure if this is the drug making you think he’s someone else or just making things up in your mind, when he says, “you’ve been drugged, you don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I don’t know what I’m saying, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be true.”

Your words sound incredibly sobering. Azriel can’t let this conversation keep going, he needed you aware and 100% into it to have this conversation. Besides, this is a conversation he’s accepted should never happen to preserve your friendship.

“Okay, do you want to eat or bathe first?”

You laugh, your moment of lucidity over, “can I take the siphons in the bath?”

Azriel prepared a bath for you with the special soap that makes the water bubble up. He helped unzip your dress, then looked away as you got into the bath. He would have let you bathe alone, however there was a slight concern you might drown or slip when you got out.

He heard you sink into the bath that was practically overflowing with bubbles. “Can I look now?”

“You could have been looking the whole time, silly.”

Since your confession while holding his hands, you had become much flirtier than usual. When he unzipped your dress you made a dirty joke that made his cheeks flush.

“Azzy,” the nickname rolling off your tongue, a nickname he usually doesn’t care for, but coming from your lips sounds divine.

“Sweetheart?” He asks, as he turns around to look at you in the bath.

“You have something on your face,” you tell him, giggling as he comes closer. When he’s close enough you grab his shirt and pull him into the tub, water spilling over the edge of the tub, coating the floor.

He’s spluttering as his head emerges, trying to breathe from the shock of the sudden dunk. He looks at you, annoyance with just a hint of amusement covering his face.

“Well, I had asked if you’d join me, and you said no,” you giggle, scooping up some bubbles into your hands and blowing them in his face.

Azriel concedes, unsure of what you’d do if he left the tub, so he settles in across from you, his legs surrounding the sides of your legs. Your very naked legs, hidden by the bubbles. This bath was excruciating for him, knowing that the only thing covering you were bubbles that would be gone in about fifteen minutes was actual torture.

“Okay, you got me in here, now what is your plan?”

You squint, thinking. You raise your hand, signaling with your finger for him to come closer. He leans closer, and you grab some bubbles, sticking them to his face.

“Bubble beard!” You exclaim while laughing. “You look like a pirate.”

You spent the remainder of your bath trying to get him out of his clothes, telling him how weird it was he was bathing fully clothed. Having you naked in his tub was already hard enough for him, removing his clothes as well? He’d lose all restraint on keeping your advances at bay.

The whole bath you kept whining, wanting to be in his lap again, or just having more contact than his legs touching your legs. You started rubbing your hands up his calves, and he has never wanted to rip off his clothing to feel someone’s touch quite like he had in that moment.

Your touch on his legs, the way you were looking at him like he was the most incredible thing you’ve ever seen and like he was a meal, the loss of bubbles giving him a better view of your breasts through the water. It was all too much.

Azriel jolted out of the water, standing in the tub and starting to put his legs over the edge to get out. You laugh at all the water that rushes over the sides of the tub, “what’s wrong Azzie?”

That nickname, your body in the tub, his disruption causing a lot of water to leave the tub, leaving your breasts exposed for him.

He was about to leave, about to get out before he did something he regretted, when he smelled it. He could smell your arousal, so sweet and so hot he practically moans at it.

“Sit, please,” you say, grabbing his hands and pulling him down to sit back in the bath. He complies, his brain making him think of sirens luring men to their deaths in the sea.

As he sits, wings splaying over the rim of the rub, you keep your hands in his, but you stay much closer to him, practically sitting in his lap. Keeping your eyes on his, you tell him, “a bath is no place for clothes.”

He shivers, as you trace your hands up his thighs. “Sweetheart, we can’t. You’re drugged.”

“I might be drugged,” you say, unable to keep yourself away, crawling into his lap, “but I can assure you I dream of you in every way imaginable. Sexual, romantic. I want to give you the moon.”

At this point you’re straddling his waist, starting to grind against his hard cock still in his pants. The bath water sloshing in the tub at your gentle rhythms. Azriel has to grip the edges of the tub to ground himself, remind him that this is real, not a dream.

He tips his head back, about to tell you no again, when you start attacking his neck with your mouth, littering hot, needy kisses up and down the column of his throat.

The coordinated attack of your faster rhythm and your mouth on his neck might actually cause Azriel to burst right into his pants, and then you start speaking again and he’s sure he’ll come undone in this bath.

“Think about you all the time.”

Bite.

“Think about how good your cock would feel inside of me.”

Suck.

“I touch myself almost every night thinking of what you could do to me.”

Moan.

It was all so much for Az. The confinement of his cock, the feel of you on him, he let go of the edges of the tub, opting to place them on the sides of your hips, helping guide you across his clothed length.

Azriel had never seen you so in command, so confident, and it made him want to devour you.

“I’ve always wondered how well the soundproofing on the rooms is because every night I am moaning your name, hoping you’ll come and actually make me moan.”

He digs his fingers into your sides deeper, finally able to remember his voice, “believe me, sweetheart, if I heard you moaning my name I’d burst through the door and have you moaning it all night.”

His left hand reaches up, grazing over your right breast. He’s gazing at you like you’re a recently discovered piece of art that hasn’t been seen in centuries.

“Can I hear it now?” He asks, thrusting up against your wet heat.

You moan his name, and he thrusts harder. You two are going faster, your hands roaming his body, his hands roaming yours. What’s left of the water is sloshing furiously, most of the water landing on the floor.

“I think about your hands exploring every inch of me.”

Both of your moans are echoing through the bathroom, a chorus of pleasures creating an erotic symphony.

“Azriel” you moan, practically vibrating from your climax, your mind going blank except for thoughts of him, but still moving because you need him to finish too.

The way you said his name drove Azriel over the edge, the two of you finishing together, in a practically empty tub.

Chests heaving, the entire floor coated in water, the euphoria fades entirely too quickly for Azriel’s liking with the weight of what he’s just done.

He took advantage of you. You’re drugged, you have no idea what’s going on, you probably have no idea who you just dry humped into completion.

He gets out of the bath, you still curled up to his chest. He pulls his wet pants off and grabs each of you a towel. He slings his towel around his hips, and sets you down so he can sling a towel around you as well.

You accept it, nuzzling back into his chest and he feels his heart lurch knowing that once your potion wears off, you’ll never be able to look at him again.

He braids your wet hair, despite your protests, and he goes with you to pick out some pajamas from your room, under your insistence.

As he gets dressed he has his shadows check the whole house. After getting the all clear, the two of you scamper down the hall, him in gray sweatpants and you in nothing but a towel.

Your room is neat and tidy like his, but you have much more decor around the room. Stacks of books, little framed photos, snow globes even.

He can’t help himself from snooping as you find a nightgown, and he spots a box on your vanity that seems to lure him, almost calling his name.

He opens the lid to find every note the two of you have passed during boring meetings or whenever the two of you do paperwork in the library and pass notes back and forth.

He smiles, the one top from him stating “if Cassian doesn’t stop chewing his bubble gum like that I might kill him”.

You cough, startling him. “I’m ready!” You say.

He spins around, closing the box, hoping you didn’t catch him snooping. If he thought the bath was torture, your nightgown is even worse. Flimsy straps, one of which has already fallen off your shoulder, midnight black, a small bow between your breasts. It barely covers your ass, for Mother’s sake.

He was in for a long night.

After much fighting and whining and convincing, you convince Azriel to sleep in the bed with you, promising you’ll keep your hands to yourself, except to cuddle. Azriel didn’t realize just how much you would use that stipulation to be practically on top of him all night.

It surprises him a bit, how easy it is to lay in bed with you, his left wing underneath you, pulling you towards him.

He’s decided you’re going to hate him whenever the drug wears off no matter what, so he’s all in on getting as much of you as he can.

The weight of your head on his chest, your arm draped over his stomach, your slow breathing as you dream. It’s more comforting than he’d expect, and before he can stop it he’s fallen asleep.

You woke the next morning, opening your eyes only to make direct eye contact with Azriel, sitting in the chair next to his bed.

“Good morning,” he tells you, a smile crossing his face. He’s anticipating silly, loopy you who is incredibly bold. Instead he watches your eyes widen, your cheeks heating with embarrassment as the memories all come back.

At first the memories were a little embarrassing, but easily written off. The more that come back to you, the more your cheeks heat.

Jumping on him, sitting in his lap, straddling him, forcing him into your bath.

“Oh my gods,” you stammer, shuffling in the bed to sit up. “Azriel, oh my gods I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I did that.”

Azriel’s moved to sit next to you on the bed. “No, I’m sorry. I was lucid, and I took advantage of you in a vulnerable moment. I completely understand if you want nothing to do with me.”

He starts to rise to leave until you dart out a hand around his wrist, “you? Taking advantage of me? I held you down and made you cum! I assaulted you! In a bathtub!” You’re not sure why the only part of that you whispered is ‘bathtub’.

“Look Az, I was pretty lucid, I just had no reservations. No impulse control. All I ever want to do is jump your bones and you were taking care of me and being so nice I couldn’t stop myself.” You fall back on the bed, putting your hands over your face, wanting the shame of assaulting the man you’re in love with to consume you.

He reaches out, removing your hands, “you want to jump my bones all the time?”

He’s smirking. The bastard is smirking at being assaulted.

Him holding your hands means you can’t hide, and you’ve already done something unforgivable so might as well put it all out there.

You sit up straighter to look him in the eye as you say, “Okay, fine, yes, I’ve already ruined our friendship by assaulting you, fuck it I’ll completely annihilate it! I spend an ungodly amount of time thinking about you, I haven’t even considered going on a date since I met you, you have probably ruined other males for me, and I am hopelessly and desperately in love with you!”

You practically shout the last part at the stupid smirk that won’t leave his face.

“I’ve ruined other males for you?”

You roll your eyes, “yes I expect them all to be as loathsome and annoying as you are.”

His smirk is somehow still growing as he eyes you up like a predator stalking his prey, “oh none of them are as loathsome and annoying as I am, and none of them are as hopelessly and desperately in love with you as I am.”

His smirk is replaced by a beaming smile as you process his words. He releases your hands from his grasp, cupping your face with them instead.

“You’ve ruined every female out there for me. I’ve been on one date since I met you, stupid busybody Rhysand set it up, I think in hopes to get me to confront how I feel about you.”

You’re about to ask about it, but he cuts you off, “it lasted 20 minutes. She was one of the teachers at Nyx’s school, nice, but she wasn’t you.”

He laughs, the memory lingering in his eyes, “Rhys was right, unfortunately. We went out and all I could talk about was you. I told her about you, how afraid I was to say anything.”

You move forward, deciding to straddle his lap for this conversation. His hands still on your face, he continues.

“She told me if you were as nice as I said you are, you’d never let my feelings get in the way of our friendship if you didn’t feel the same way. And that if you’re as beautiful and funny and intelligent as I told her you were, someone might beat me to it. And that would hurt worse than the rejection.”

Your hands reach up to cup his face, his beautiful, beautiful face. “And how long ago was this date?”

“It was right before your mission. When I got back I was ready to declare it all to you, but Nesta told me you guys were gone. And then when you came back drugged, I figured I would take care of you and when the drug wore off I’d tell you as soon as you came to.

“But then you ambushed me in a bath tub.”

You can’t help the laugh that bursts from your lips. “Now that I know you wanted it, you really can’t blame me. You looked really hot in the bath.”

Your hips start grinding against his involuntarily, the memory of rubbing against him still so fresh. You’re only in a nightgown and some panties, and you can’t help that he picked gray sweatpants to sleep in.

He grabs your hips, holding you in place, “you couldn’t help yourself? I just looked so hot? You were naked and practically begging me to touch you. It’s a miracle I restrained myself as much as I did.”

You laugh, you really were laying it on thick for him. He releases his hold on you for a second, and your hips immediately start grinding again.

“Oh no, we can’t have that,” he says, and before you can question it a shadow grabs each of your hands, pulling your head back down on the pillows, holding you in place. You start to squirm, about to move your legs, when more shadows appear, holding them down.

You gasp, as Azriel leans in to your ear, whispering, “last night you got to use me for your pleasure, holding me down, now it’s my turn.”

He shifts himself, his upper body between your legs, his face very close to your wet heat. He turns back to face you, and you can feel his breath on you, causing you to moan in need.

“I haven’t even touched you and you’re already so needy.” His fingers begin tracing the inside of your leg, starting at your ankle, moving up to your knee, he slows down while he moves up your thigh, and your breathing practically stops as he approaches your panties.

Your nightgown had shifted up, giving him the perfect view of your lacy, midnight blue panties.

“Do you always wear slutty panties, or only when you know you’ll see me?” He asks, playing with the edges of them, slipping his fingers under the edge to caress your hips.

You flush, embarrassed he figured you out. “I uh wear them on days I know I’ll see you, just in case.”

He chuckles darkly, slithering back up your body, pressing his hard cock against you as he tells you, “If I had known how much effort you put in I would have taken you ages ago.” His hips begin thrusting against you, and you try to hold back moaning but he continues. “Or just how pretty you look squirming underneath me, needing more of my cock. Or how pretty you look in that shade of blue, like you’re already marked as mine.”

He pulls back for a moment, pulling off his sweatpants, but leaving on his boxer-briefs.

“I said I’d return the favor,” he says, sliding back in between your legs, “and if I recall you spent a good amount of time telling me some of the dirty thoughts you’ve had about me.”

His hips continue, still just grinding against your heat, not even inside of you. Gods, you thought, he’ll be the death of me.

“So it’s only fair I tell you all about how I fist my cock wishing I was fisting your hair, keeping your mouth on my cock instead.”

His speed picks up, his hands resting on your throat, your moans drowned out by his mouth colliding with yours.

You open your mouth to let in some air and he takes the opportunity to swipe his tongue in, asserting dominance against your own. Just as fast as he entered your mouth, he left, pulling his mouth from yours. He chuckles at the groan you make at the loss of contact.

“All of Starfall I had to keep leaving because I couldn’t stop thinking about undoing the ribbons holding your dress up. I had to relieve myself at least three separate times.”

You remember the night well enough - you had worn a rather risqué dress by your standards, one where the bodice was made entirely of one strand of ribbon. It was incredibly tedious to get on, but you looked incredible in it, and you were selfishly hoping he would notice you in it.

“Would it mean anything if I told you I picked out that dress, hoping you’d cut the ribbon?” Your words coming out choppy between pants.

Your words clearly meant something to him, because he picked up his pace, grinding against you harder. Some of his curls have fallen into his face, and you move to brush them away, only to remember being bound.

You can feel yourself getting so so close, when he speaks again.

“I’ve spent a lot more time than I’d like to admit imagining what your arousal would smell like,” he begins undoing his leathers, “and now that I know it I can’t help but want to be coated in it.”

At his words, he slips your panties aside and slips inside of you. You moan his name, because at this point he is all you know. His body, his touch, his voice. He is all consuming.

He gently thrusts a few times, stretching you out, before he gains speed, filling you with him.

“Dreamed of how you’d feel around me. I gotta say, the reality is much better than my imagination.”

You’re both on the brink, Azriel thrusting harder, deeper, faster, both of your moans filling his room. You feel him spill into you and that causes you to come completely undone.

Azriel drops onto you, both of your chests heaving against each other. Your breathy pants die down, air coming back to the two of you. Azriel’s head cradled in your neck, his shadows releasing your hands and legs.

“I hate to say it but I am thankful for the bastard who drugged you.”

You laugh as he gets up, gathering his pants to put on.

“Rhys wants an update on you,” he says, smirking, “shall I tell him you’re in perfectly capable hands?”

You laugh, “no tell him I’m in the hands of a deplorable male taking advantage of a sweet, innocent girl.”

He roars with laughter, “sweet and innocent my ass. Tell that to the bathroom floor.” You laugh in response, snuggling back down into his sheets.

You look over, watching Azriel put on the two siphons you had stolen the night before, where they previously were sitting next to Cassian’s stolen siphon. You laugh, trying to figure out how long it’ll be until Cassian comes barreling through the door for it back.

“I imagine,” Azriel begins, following your gaze to the red gem, “he has been standing outside the room all night like some pervert, waiting for the door to open so he can slip in and take it back.”

He leans over the bed, capturing your mouth in a kiss, threading his fingers through your hair. You sit up on your knees, pressing into him as you kiss him back, putting everything into the kiss.

“I shouldn’t be too long, I’ll tell him you’re still under the influence and maybe I can get us a few more days of uninterrupted bliss.”

#acotar fanfiction #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #azriel fluff #azriel smut #smut #acotar smut #batboy smut

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elia-the-bibliophile · 1 month

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Sad, Beautiful, Tragic [Part 2] (Max Verstappen x Female Reader)

Genre: Angst to Fluff Word count: 4,8k

Part 1

Taglist: @dr4g0ngirl @openthenyoor01 @iambored24601 @bakutos-babyowl @lovelylunas-world @xoscar03 @runs-with-sciss0rs @leah-preller @amberpanda99

The atmosphere crackled with anticipation as reporters, armed with cameras and notepads, crowded into the media briefing room. Christian Horner, stood at a podium, flanked by members of his team. Behind him, a large screen displayed images of Max Verstappen in action, a reminder of the racer's nonappearance.

Christian Horner's voice cut through the murmurs, commanding attention. "Good morning, everyone. Thank you for gathering at such short notice. As you're aware, there has been an unforeseen development during the Qatar Grand Prix involving our driver, Max Verstappen. We will be taking questions now.”

The room erupted with a cacophony of raised hands and shouted questions, each journalist vying for a chance to glean insight into the mysterious disappearance.

A reporter near the front row seized the opportunity. "Mr. Horner, can you offer any clarity on Max Verstappen's abrupt departure from the Grand Prix?"

Christian Horner's gaze remained steady as he replied, "Max is currently tending to a personal matter that demands his immediate attention. As a team, we stand united in support of him and ask for your understanding during this challenging time."

Another reporter, leaning forward eagerly, interjected, "Is there an estimate on when we can expect Max to return to the track?"

"We are closely monitoring the situation," Christian Horner responded, his tone measured. "Once Max has resolved his personal affairs, we anticipate his swift return. However, I'm unable to provide a definitive timeline at this juncture."

A third reporter, his brow furrowed with concern, pressed, "How is the team coping in Max's absence?"

"Our team is nothing short of exceptional," Christian Horner affirmed, a glimmer of pride in his eyes. "While Max is an integral part of our success, we possess the resilience and talent to persevere. Each member of Red Bull Racing is committed to supporting Max during this period and ensuring his seamless return to the track."

With the last question lingering in the air, Christian Horner nodded, signaling the conclusion of the briefing. The reporters, though laden with unanswered queries, began to disperse, their pens scribbling furiously as they mulled over the scant details provided.

__________________________________________

Outside, the asphalt shimmered under the Qatari sun as reporters swarmed around Checo. His Red Bull Racing cap shaded his eyes, but his grin was unmistakable, radiating warmth despite the probing questions.

Surrounded by a sea of eager journalists, Checo leaned casually against a nearby railing, his demeanor relaxed and approachable.

“Checo, can you provide any insight into Max Verstappen's sudden departure from the Grand Prix?” A reporter inquired, raising her mic in his direction.

Checo's chuckle was infectious as he adjusted his cap, "Ah, you know Max, always one for the dramatic exits. Probably off chasing down some kebabs while we were still on the track!"

Laughter rippled through the crowd as Checo's playful remark broke the tension.

“Checo if I may, How is the team coping with Max's absence?” Another reporter voiced.

Checo's expression turned more earnest as he replied, "Of course, we miss having Max on the track with us, but we're all behind him, whatever he's dealing with. As for me, well, I'm just trying to keep up with his disappearing acts!"

His jovial tone resonated with the reporters, eliciting chuckles and nods of agreement.

“Just one more question, Checo. Do you have a message for Max?”

Checo's grin softened, a touch of sincerity underlying his humor. "Just a simple message: hurry back, Max. We've got some racing to do!"

With a final wave to the reporters, Checo strolled leisurely back towards the Red Bull Racing garage, leaving behind a trail of laughter and goodwill amidst the uncertainty.

__________________________________________

Checo was finally looking forward to some peace and quiet after dealing with all the heat and bad press, but instead his gaze settled on Kelly Piquet, who stood with arms crossed, her expression tight with frustration.

Kelly's eyes narrowed as she caught sight of Checo approaching, her defensive stance unmistakable. “Why did no one bother to keep me on the loop about Max's disappearance? I had to find out from the media like everyone else!”

Checo's jaw clenched momentarily, but he maintained his composed demeanor as he stopped a few paces away from her. “Look, Kelly, I'm not here to argue. But maybe it's time to consider giving Max some space.”

Kelly's frustration bubbled over, her voice rising in agitation. “Space? Please. If anyone knows what Max needs, it's me. I've been there for him more times than I can count.”

Checo sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “You've been relentless in your pursuit of creating gossip about Max. Always trailing him, staging paparazzi shots—what do you expect him to do? You’re trying to insert yourself where you don't belong.”

His words seem to trigger Kelly even more. Making her stance stiffened, her defenses rising. “And what's wrong with that? I care about Max. I know him better than anyone, certainly better than that... that nobody.”

Checo can feel his patience wore thin, his tone edged with exasperation. “Look Kelly, this isn't about who knows Max better. It's about respecting his boundaries and his decisions. Right now, he's trying to salvage his relationship with Y/N, and the last thing he needs is you intervening.”

Kelly's lips curled into a scornful smirk, her confidence unshakeable, a defiant tilt to her chin. “Please. Y/N is nothing compared to me. If Max can't see that, then maybe he doesn't deserve someone like me.”

Checo sighed, shaking his head in disbelief. “You are fucking delusional.”

With another frustrated exhale, Checo turned away, leaving Kelly to stew in her unwavering conviction, her belief in her own superiority.

He can clearly sees that for Kelly it’s about the optics. Not because she genuinely cares for Max. She just wants to have the World’s Champion as her arm candy.

__________________________________________

The streets of Jamestown buzzed with life as Y/N navigated her way through the charming neighborhood. As she rounded the corner, the scent of freshly baked bread wafted through the air, drawing her towards a cozy bakery nestled amidst a row of charming storefronts. The sign above the door read "Village Hearth Bakery” and a warm glow emanated from within.

Stepping inside, Y/N was greeted by the comforting aroma of butter and sugar, mingling with the soft hum of conversation. Behind the counter stood a friendly face, adorned in a flour-dusted apron, busy attending to a tray of delectable pastries. The baker looked up from her work, her eyes crinkling in a smile. “Well, good morning to you, dear! What can I get for you today?

Y/N's gaze swept over the array of treats on display, her mouth watering at the sight. “Hmm, I think I'll have one of those danish pastry, please. They smell absolutely divine.

The baker's laughter rang out melodiously as she selected a freshly baked ones from the display case. “Excellent choice! Coming right up.”

As the baker wrapped up her order, she looks back up at her. “You're new around here, aren't you?”

Y/N nodded, a hint of hesitation in her voice. “Yes.. I just moved here recently. Still getting adjusted to everything.”

The baker's smile softened with understanding. “Well, you've come to the right place. This place is like a second home to many in this town. My name's Hilda, by the way.”

Y/N returned the smile, feeling a sense of warmth and belonging wash over her. “It's nice to meet you, Hilda. I'm Y/N.”

As Hilda handed over the pastries, a sense of gratitude filled Y/N's heart. In this bustling little bakery, amidst the aroma of freshly baked goods and the friendly chatter of the locals, she felt a glimmer of hope for the future.

As she stepped back out into the sunlight, Y/N couldn't help but feel grateful for the newfound sense of peace and anonymity that Rhode Island offered her. Here, she could embrace a simpler life, free from the scrutiny and drama that had plagued her in Monaco.

Maybe that life really isn’t for her.

__________________________________________

Max Verstappen stepped off the plane, the weight of the world seemingly lifted from his shoulders as he breathed in the crisp air. The airport faded into the background as he took in the serene surroundings, the tranquil beauty of the coastal town unfolding before him.

The gentle breeze carried the faint scent of saltwater, a soothing reminder of the nearby ocean. Max couldn't help but feel a sense of calm wash over him, a stark contrast to the frantic pace of life on the racing circuit.

As he made his way, Max's thoughts drifted to Y/N, the woman he had traveled halfway across the world to find. He couldn't shake the feeling of regret that gnawed at him, knowing that he had let her slip through his fingers.

But as he took in the picturesque scenery, Max began to understand why Y/N had chosen this place. The quiet beauty of the town, the sense of peace that permeated the air—it was the perfect escape from the chaos of their former lives.

His steps faltered as a wave of doubt washed over him, his mind swirling with conflicting emotions. Was he being selfish? Was he imposing his own desires onto Y/N without considering the pressure she had endured? He couldn't shake the nagging feeling that by pursuing Y/N, he might be dragging her back into a world of peer pressure and stress, a world she had sought refuge from.

But Max couldn't deny the undeniable connection they had shared, the bond that had transcended the chaos of their respective lives. Was it selfish to want that back? To want Y/N by his side, despite the challenges they might face? Or was it simply the desperate yearning of a heart unwilling to let go of what it held most dear?

With a heavy sigh, Max continued on his path, the weight of his decisions bearing down on him with each passing moment. He knew that he had to tread carefully, to approach Y/N with humility, to respect her right to choose.

All he is sure of right now is that he will regret it forever if he didn’t try to win her back.

__________________________________________

The soft glow of the hotel room's lamp cast a warm hue across the elegant furnishings as Max settled into his seat, his mind swirling with thoughts of Y/N. He glanced at his phone, the screen illuminating his determined expression as he scrolled through his contacts, landing on Lando Norris's name.

With a deep breath, he pressed the call button, his heart pounding in his chest as he waited for Lando to pick up. After a few rings, Lando's voice crackled through the line, sounding surprised.

"Max? What's up, mate? I didn't expect to hear from you."

Max's voice was urgent, a hint of frustration seeping through. "Lando, I need your help. I... I need to find Y/N."

There was a moment of silence on the other end, broken only by the distant sounds of the city outside. "Y/N? What happened?" Lando's tone was laced with concern.

Max ran a hand through his hair, his frustration mounting. "We... we had a fight, and she left. I don't know where she is, and I need to find her."

Lando let out a whistle. "Damn, mate. I had no idea. Horner doesn't exactly share details about your whereabouts with us during the press conferences."

Max's eye twitched. "I don't care about that right now, Lando. I just need to find her. Please, do you have any idea where she might be? I know that she often talks to you.”

Lando's voice softened. "I'm sorry, Max. I wish I could help. Have you tried reaching out to her friends?"

“Yeah I did, but no one would say anything. Not that I blame them." He said.

Lando's voice was reassuring. "Okay, don't worry. We'll figure this out. I'll make some calls, see if I can track down any leads. Just hang in there, mate."

Max let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, grateful for Lando's support. "Thanks, Lando. I appreciate it. I owe you one.”

As the call with Lando ended, Max's heart sank further. He stared at his phone, the screen lighting up with a cascade of notifications.

Among them, a message from Kelly stood out like a sore thumb, her words dripping with annoyance and impatience. With a sigh, Max reluctantly opened the message, his anger mounting as he read Kelly's demanding inquiry about his recent behavior.

"Why are you ghosting everyone, Max? This isn't like you at all. You need to explain yourself ASAP."

Max's jaw clenched at the tone of entitlement in Kelly's message, her words grating on his nerves like sandpaper. He resisted the urge to fire back a scathing reply, knowing it would only escalate the situation further.

Instead, with a resigned shake of his head, Max deleted the message without a second thought. He didn't have the time or patience to entertain Kelly's demands, not when he had more pressing matters at hand.

Max continued to scroll through his notifications, ignoring the flurry of messages and calls from well-meaning friends and curious acquaintances alike.

With fists balled at his sides, Max stormed over to the balcony, his footsteps echoing in the silence of the night. He swung open the glass door with a forceful shove, the cool air hitting him like a slap in the face.

Max reached into his pocket and retrieved a pack of cigarettes, the box a comforting presence in his palm. Flicking open the lighter, Max brought the flame to the tip of the cigarette and took a long, deep drag, letting the smoke fill his lungs and momentarily soothe the storm raging within him. He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, the tendrils of smoke swirling around him like a protective cloak.

In that moment of solitude, Max found a fleeting sense of peace. The anger and frustration still simmered beneath the surface, but for now, he allowed himself a brief respite from the relentless demands of the world outside.

Leaning against the balcony railing, Max stared out into the sea. Never before he ever thought of how beautiful it is. He took another drag.

__________________________________________

As the first light of dawn filtered through the curtains, Max stirred from a fitful sleep, his head pounding with the remnants of a restless night. The faint smell of cigarettes hung in the air, mingling with the stale aroma of cheap beer that clung to his clothes and skin.

Groaning softly, Max dragged himself out of bed, his limbs heavy with exhaustion as he stumbled towards the bathroom. The harsh glare of the morning sun seeped through the cracks in the blinds, stabbing at his bleary eyes like shards of glass.

Turning on the faucet, Max splashed cold water onto his face, the icy shock jolting him awake as he scrubbed away the remnants of last night's despair. But no amount of water could wash away the lingering sense of unease that gnawed at his insides.

With a sigh, Max dragged himself back into the bedroom. He had never felt this awful before, both physically and emotionally drained from the turmoil of his own making.

Max's heart pace with anticipation as he checked his phone, hoping for a glimmer of hope in the form of a message from Lando.

Max opened the message, his eyes scanning the screen for any sign of a breakthrough. And there it was—an address. Lando had come through for him, managing to wrangle the information out of Alex Albon, who had heard it from his girlfriend Lily.

“Alex was pretty adamant about not messing this up again. He says he’ll slash your tires if you do.”

He couldn't afford to screw this up anyway, not when he had been given a lifeline. He sent him a quick text back.

“Got it, he can definitely do that. Say my thanks.”

__________________________________________

Y/N flowed through her morning yoga, as she faced the expanse of the sea stretching out before her. The warmth of the sun kissed her skin, infusing her with a sense of tranquility that enveloped her like a comforting embrace.

As she moved through her Sun Salutations, a stray kitten caught her eye as it wandered along the sandy shore below. A pang of longing tugged at her heartstrings, reminding her yet again of Jimmy and Sassy.

Lost in reverie, Y/N was just about to complete her final pose when the unexpected sound of the doorbell ringing shattered the moment. Frowning slightly, she paused mid-stretch, her brow raising in confusion.

It was an odd occurrence; she hadn't been expecting any visitors. Though she had befriended her neighbors, it hadn't extended to impromptu visits, at least not yet.

Resigned, Y/N rose to her feet, the wooden planks of her patio cool beneath her bare feet as she made her way towards the front door.

With a deep breath, Y/N steadied herself and pulled open the door, her gaze falling upon the unexpected visitor who stood before her, shrouded in the morning light.

Max stood on the threshold, a bouquet of peonies clutched tightly in his trembling hands. His eyes were still puffy and the faint scent of cigarettes lingered on his fingertips, a stark contrast to the fragrant blooms he held.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still as Y/N stood frozen in the doorway, her heart pounding in her chest as she processed the sight before her. The air crackled with tension, hanging heavy between them like a thick fog.

As their eyes met, Max's mouth fell open, his attempts to find words lost in the sea of emotions that roiled within him. He had rehearsed countless apologies in his mind, but now, faced with the reality of the moment, his tongue felt heavy and sluggish, incapable of forming coherent sentences.

Y/N's gaze bore into him, a mixture of surprise, confusion, and perhaps a hint of longing flickering in the depths of her eyes. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words emerged, the awkward silence stretching between them.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Max found his voice, though it emerged as little more than a hoarse whisper. "Y/N," he began, his voice thick with emotion. "I... I'm so sorry. I know I messed up, and I don't expect you to forgive me right away. But please, just hear me out."

His words hung in the air. As he stood, vulnerable and exposed, Max prayed silently to whoever’s listening for this to go right.

Y/N shifted on her feet, her body tensing as she balanced an invisible weight of emotions. A sarcastic chuckle escaped her lips as she took in Max's disheveled appearance, the sight of him clutching the bouquet of peonies contrasting sharply with the tiredness etched into his features.

"You look awful," she remarked dryly, unable to suppress the hint of amusement in her voice. But beneath the sarcasm, there was a flicker of concern as she noticed him shivering, dressed only in a thin cotton t-shirt despite the chill in the air.

Without another word, Y/N stepped aside, her heart softening at the sight of Max. She welcomed him into the warmth of her home, a pang of fear gripping her as she worried he might catch a flu from his inadequate attire.

As Max hesitantly crossed the threshold, Y/N couldn't help but notice the faint scent of cigarettes still clinging to him. With a furrowed brow, she couldn't resist asking, "Have you been smoking?"

Max's cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he nodded sheepishly, his gaze dropping to the floor. "Yeah," he admitted quietly, the weight of his confession heavy on his shoulders. "It... it helps with the stress, I guess."

Y/N's expression softened at his admission, her heart aching with empathy. With a gentle hand on his arm, she offered a small smile, her voice soft with understanding. "Well, you're here now. Might as well come in.”

"Would you like some coffee or tea? I saw you shivering out there so don’t bother saying no.” she asked gently, her eyes soft with concern.

Max's lips quirked into a grateful smile at the offer. "A cup of black coffee would be nice, if it isn't too much trouble," he replied.

As Y/N busied herself in the kitchen, Max took in the surroundings of her home. His gaze swept over the framed pictures adorning the walls, his heart swelling at the sight of familiar faces and cherished memories.

Among them, he spotted several photos of them together. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of their intertwined hands and shared smiles. But it was the pictures of Jimmy and Sassy, their beloved cats, that truly touched his heart. Their playful antics captured perfectly.

As Y/N returned with a steaming mug of black coffee, Max's gaze lingered on the pictures, his heart heavy with longing. But amidst the pain, there was a glimmer of hope, a silent promise to do whatever it took to rebuild what they had lost.

Taking the coffee with a grateful nod, Max settled into a chair, the warmth of the mug seeping into his cold hands.

Max took a tentative sip of the coffee, steeling himself for the onslaught of anger and resentment he had anticipated from Y/N.

He glanced up, his brow furrowing in confusion, as Y/N just gazed softly at him. "I was half expecting you to start screaming and cursing me out the moment we stepped inside," he admitted, his voice filled with disbelief.

Y/N's laughter filled the air, a sound that washed over him like a soothing balm. "Well, that's certainly what would have happened if you had shown up a week earlier," she confessed, her tone light despite the weight of their situation. "But I've had some time to settle, to process my own emotions."

Max's eyes widened in surprise at her unexpected response, a sense of relief flooding through him. He had braced himself for the worst, prepared to face the full force of her wrath. But her calm demeanor and genuine laughter caught him off guard, melting away the tension that had gripped him since their reunion.

“You on the other hand certainly know how to cause a scene," she remarked, referring to his sudden departure from the Qatar Grand Prix.

Max's smile faltered at her words, a bitter edge creeping into his tone as he responded. "Yeah, I guess I do," he admitted bitterly, his gaze darkening with frustration. "But you know what's ironic? Only a few people genuinely care about my wellbeing. The rest are just worried about the money they would lose."

The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, the truth of his statement casting a shadow over their conversation. Max knew all too well the cutthroat nature of the racing world, where loyalty and friendship often took a backseat to financial interests and hidden agendas.

Y/N's expression softened with empathy as she reached out to squeeze his hand in silent support. She may not have fully understood the intricacies of Max's world, but she could sense the burden he carried, the weight of expectations and obligations pressing down on him from all sides.

With a sigh, Max shook his head, the frustration and disillusionment evident in his weary expression. "But none of that matters now," he continued. "All I want is to make things right with you."

Max felt the dam holding back his tears finally begin to crack. A lone tear escaped his eye, tracing a silent path down his cheek. With a choked sob, Max's resolve crumbled, his shoulders shaking with the force of his pent-up anger and desperation. He buried his face in his hands, the weight of his regrets and self-recrimination bearing down on him.

"I'm sorry," he whispered hoarsely. "I'm so, so sorry for everything. For all the words that have ever come out of my mouth, for not controlling my anger better, for expecting you to make all the sacrifices for me."

Stripped bare of the bravado and arrogance that had once defined him. Max's heart felt like it was being torn apart, his chest constricted with the weight of his remorse.

Y/N's heart ached, her own eyes brimming with tears as she reached out to comfort him. She enveloped him in a warm embrace, holding him close as he trembled with the force of his emotions.

"It's okay, Max," she whispered soothingly, her hand stroking his back. "I am sorry too, we both made mistakes. We were both unfair to each other." She planted a soft kiss to his head. “I am sorry for not trying harder to be at your races.”

As Max clung to her, his words tumbling out in a torrent of desperation and pleading, he begged repeatedly for Y/N to come back to him, to come home.

"I'll do anything, Y/N," he pleaded, his voice almost unrecognizable. "I'll stop racing if that's what it takes. I'll give it all up. Just please, don’t leave again."

Y/N's eyes widened in shock at his declaration. She gently cupped his face in her hands. "Darling, no," she whispered. "I would never ask that of you. Racing is your passion, your purpose—it's like taking away half of you."

"I want you to be happy, Max," she continued softly. "And if that means racing, then I'll support you every step of the way. But we need to find a way to make this work together."

Max buried his face in her shoulder again, clinging to her as if she’s going to run away if he doesn’t.

"Thank you, schatje," he voice slightly muffled. "I don't know what I would do without you. I promise I won’t act like an idiot again.”

As Y/N's lips met his, Max's initial surprise gave way to a rush of warmth and longing. It wasn't just a kiss; it was as if someone gave him oxygen after he breathed in smoke. He clung to her, his hands trembling as they sought her warmth, her touch, anything to erase the distance that had grown between them.

Feeling her this close to him, Max couldn't help but respond, his own hands moving to trace the curves of her body, memorizing every contour as if afraid she might disappear again. With each caress, he could feel the tension of their troubles melting away, replaced by a sense of longing and connection that he had sorely missed. He buried his face in her hair, breathing in her scent as if trying to imprint it on his soul. "Y/N," he whispered hoarsely, his voice thick with emotion. "Gods, I missed you so much."

His words were more than a confession; they were a plea, a desperate cry for forgiveness and understanding. Max knew he had made mistakes, said things he regretted in the heat of the moment. It wasn't just the physical presence of Y/N that he had missed, but the feeling of being truly understood, of having someone by his side who knew him in a way that no one else did.

__________________________________________

Max dialed Lando’s number the next day. After a few rings, he picked up. "Hey, Max, how's the search for Y/N going?" he inquired, the sounds of activity audible in the background. "As per requested, I’m in your apartment right now, checking on your kids."

Max let out a sigh of relief before replying, "Thanks, Lan. Everything's under control now. Y/N and I are going to head back to Monaco in a few days."

Y/N, who was standing beside Max, motioned for him to put the phone on speaker. "I want to talk to the cats," she insisted.

As Max activated the speaker, Y/N's voice filled the room, echoing off the walls. "Hey, Jimmy! Hey, Sassy!" she cooed, her tone gentle yet eager.

The cats, as if recognizing her voice, perked up and began meowing excitedly, their tails swishing back and forth in anticipation. They pawed at Lando’s phone, their curiosity piqued by the familiar sound.

Lando's voice crackled with panic through the phone. "Uh, Max, the cats are going feral!" he exclaimed, the urgency in his tone evident.

Max chuckled softly, reassured by the commotion in the background. "Don't worry, Lando. They're just excited to hear their mum’s voice again," he explained, a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

Max watched Y/N's animated expression as she continues talking to the cats. "Why do you look like you missed them more than me?" he quipped, his tone teasing yet there is a hint of accusation.

Y/N paused, her gaze meeting Max's, before shrugging nonchalantly. "Maybe I do," she admitted with a mischievous smile, her voice laced with playful defiance.

Max couldn't help but laugh out loud. "Fair enough," he conceded, a grin spreading across his face.

451 notes · View notes

rucow · 3 months

Text

some placements im soft for<3

♐ sagittarius sun: my everlasting obsession. the most magnetic people ive ever met. they're insanely beautiful and enigmatic, they fascinate me. i have no sag placements myself, so idk why im so in love with this sign, but to me they're ethereal and regal in a way. they give me a heartthrob. i adore their facial features and their personality, i love their blunt honesty. these people are majestic and special to me. also very silly.

♏ scorpio mercury: this placement could tell me to jump off a bridge and i probably would. their words and tone can have full control over other people, they have so much power in their voice! even if they speak very quietly, the impact of their words is immense. singers and performers with this placement are impeccable at delivering the most raw emotion to their audience. every time they speak, i feel like i can see and feel their soul. which makes sense, because their mercury is conjunct my moon. i feel compelled to listen to these people. they put me under a spell anytime they speak (or sing). also, i love it when they go detective mode trying to solve a ~mystery~

🌠 mercury-neptune conjunctions: ethereal, mesmerising, haunting. i noticed that a lot of singers i listen to have this placement, and you can really feel it. ive always had dreams (and nightmares) about songs written and sung by people with this placement, they're absolutely haunting in such an addictive way. they're out of this world. beautifully poetic people.

♎ libra moon: some of the sweetest people ive ever met. they're so soft and sensitive, even if they don't seem like it. somewhat of a role model to me, i looked up to them so much only to find out im a libra moon myself in sidereal astrology. i have an urge to protect these people and reassure them that their feelings are valid. they have the most beautiful smiles.

♊ gemini moon: maybe it's because my own moon is in the 3rd house, but i find these people very relatable. the amount of hate and misunderstanding ive seen them receive is plain cruel. i think these are some of the most genuine people, and i appreciate it when they speak their mind. silly factor off the charts

♑ capricorn placements (any): i haven't gotten to know you too well yet, but you're always like a breath of fresh air. im intrigued by you! i feel i have so much to learn from you.

♏ scorpio sun: the kindest most understanding people ive ever met. sure, there's been a few bad apples here and there, but so many scorpios ive met have helped me heal, even if indirectly. they've had a huge huge impact on me and im always thankful for that.

♐ sagittarius mars: i adore these people's energy. my mars is in aries but at the 9° degree (a sagittarius degree), and i feel like being around these people is so fun. very very playful people with an outstanding positive energy, they are silliness personified and i love that about them.

♒ aquarius venus: i didn't care much for this placement at first, seeing as it's my own, but looking through works written by aquarius venus artists has hit something deep inside of me. there's something sad about your heart being in this saturnian, fixed sign. it's like a prison. you fully commit to people once you think you've found "the one", and break-ups can be brutal for you. you don't show it on the outside, but your suffering shows in your art, and im sorry i didn't see it sooner. your understanding of the world is very real and fascinating, and you're such a devoted friend. ive grown to understand and appreciate this placement a lot more than i did before.

though i only talk about a few specific placements here, every sign is special in their own way. ily all, take care of yourselves 💖

#astro observations #astrology observations #sagittarius sun #scorpio mercury #mercury conjunct neptune #neptune conjunct mercury #sagittarius mars #gemini moon #aquarius venus #libra moon #scorpio sun

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whitemancumslut · 23 days

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Look What You Made Me Do (H.S) Pt.1

SUMMARY: A guy flirts with you, and as a result, Harry kills him.

CONTENT WARNING: dark!harry, manipulation, sex, manhandling, sub/dom dynamic, hints of m*rder, mentions of wounds/blood, daddy kink

AUTHORS NOTE: Someone requested a dark!harry who gaslights, kills, and manipulates so i scrambled this up. I will def be writing him more seriously after this one 😂

WORD COUNT: 1-2k

It all started when she pleaded with her big doe eyes pearling up at him, her small voice filled with desperation and smallness. The vastness of the huge empty house seemed to swallow her up in his absence, leaving her feeling like a tiny speck in a sea of silence.

"Daddy, can I go with you? Please," she implored, her eyes wide with hope. She craved to be in his presence, for the reassurance of his company in the cold, echoing rooms of their home.

But his response was harsh and dismissive, his words cutting through her like a knife. "No," he said brusquely, his tone leaving no room for argument. The frown that creased her brow deepened.

She continued. “Please, I'll be good. I promise," she pleaded, watching him pack the duffel bags, not worrying about all the things he’s shoving inside as she was once told that it was none of her business.

His job was a mystery to her, shrouded in secrecy and danger. Every night, Harry would return home with evidence of a violent encounter - bruises on his knuckles, blood splattered on his clothes, and his hair in disarray.

Despite her growing fear and concern, she was forbidden from asking questions. Harry insisted that his actions were for her protection, and that she was not meant to witness the darker side of his work. The unspoken understanding between them only added to the air of mystery and tension that surrounded Harry's enigmatic profession.

Harry sighed, dropping what was in his hands to turn to his girl. "Baby," He said softly, grabbing her face in his hands, his eyes filled with concern. "Is there a reason you don't want to stay here? You're always happy to wait for me when I get back." His words were laced with genuine curiosity as he searched her eyes for any hint of what might be bothering her. Harry couldn't bear to see her unhappy and he would go to hell and back to put that smile on her face.

Her eyes began to get glossy as she looked up at him, her bottom lip quivering. "I-I just want to be with you. It's so boring here. Please daddy. Just once, can I go?," she begged, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll be good.”

Harry looks down at her as he towered over her in their height difference. “Daddy has very important business, you know that.” He said. “Don’t you, princess?” His hand coming in contact with her head. Rubbing over her hair and then rubbing over her cheek.

She nodded, “Yes, sir.” Her voice sounded smaller than before and very much defeated as she looked down at her freshly done nails Harry paid for.

Harry sighed, knowing he couldn't resist her sad, pleading eyes. Placing a small kiss to her upper lip. "Get dressed," he finally relented, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Her face lit up with joy as she jumped up from her seat, a sense of excitement coursing through her veins. "Yes!" she wrapped her arms around his neck, placing a wet glossy kiss on his cheek.

His hands moved stealthily down to her backside, fingers gripping her butt with a firm squeeze. His voice remained stern as he instructed her to get dressed quickly. "I'm leaving in ten minutes," he stated firmly. Despite his serious tone, she couldn't help but smile at him.

"Okay Daddy," she giggled.

She started to make her way towards their bedroom upstairs, but before she could take another step, Harry grabbed her by the forearm, pulling her back with a roughness that sent a shiver down her spine.

"But you listen to me," he said sternly, his grip tightening on her arm. She looked up at him, the smile is no longer on her face as she locks intimidating eye contact with him. "I want you on your best behavior tonight. I need you to stay by my side at all times. Do you understand?" He searches for some sort of understanding and submissive in her eyes and as always, he does.

She nodded, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and excitement. But Harry wasn't satisfied with just a nod. He cupped her jaw in his hand, his fingers pressing against her skin with a force that made her gasp.

"Words," he demanded, his voice low and commanding. "Use them."

"Y-yes, daddy," she stammered, her words barely audible as she struggled to meet his intense gaze. The power he held over her was intoxicating, and she knew that tonight would be a night she would never forget.

He let go of her face and she made her way up to the bedroom they shared. Harry shook his head as he finished closing his duffel bag and swinging it over his torso.

The only thing she knew about Harry's job was that it always led them to a club. As soon as she walked in she was met with loud music and people grinding against one another. As they walked through the entrance, she could feel his grip on her hand tighten, causing a slight discomfort that only grew as they made their way through the crowded dance floor.

As she walked, she just remembered the two rules Harry gave her:

1. Stay by Harry’s side.

2. Don’t speak to anybody.

But Harry didn’t stay by her side. He was pulled away from her when one of his men came and pulled him for a conversation. The area was so congested, he lost track of her.

As his men spoke to him, a man approached his girl. It was another man who worked for him, she recognized him but couldn’t put a name to his face. Harry tended to tell this man off a lot. He would always cut him off and treat him as if his words and suggestions to their work didn’t matter.

“Hello, sweetheart.” The two words caused her to spin and see a man who’s awfully taller than her. “I’m Jared. I work for Styles. I believe we’ve met before,” He held out his hand, awaiting hers.

Afraid to be rude, she took his hand and shook it, praying it’ll be over soon. "Hi," she said softly, voice sweet as honey. The instructions in the car were clear - she wasn't supposed to speak to anyone and was supposed to stick to Harry’s side. However, the absence of Harry, who was meant to be by her side at all times, made her question the rules she was meant to follow.

She removed his hand from his grip and smiled kindly. He assumed that her being alone was a perfect opportunity to get her away from him. “Where’s Styles? Rarely get you alone…” His lips curled up as his eyes scanned her skin that was out leaving little to the imagination. Before she could answer—

“This is very pretty,” He said, his voice is as if he’s trying to lure her. His rough calloused hands came up and touched the strap of her dress.

“Thank you!” She said smiling. In a way, Harry always made it seem as if the men who worked for him were evil and cruel and not at all kind. But a compliment like this made her feel the opposite. “I just got it this weekend!”

And that’s when Harry flicked his head in her direction to see the interaction. It was like a light switch in his head. Eyes squinting to make sure he saw what he saw correctly.

“How did Styles’ get so lucky?” his hand came to her bare shoulder and before he could move closer—

"Hey, what's going on?" Harry interrupted before she could even begin to explain the situation. His tone was sharp, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Is there a reason you're here and not over there?" With a sudden burst of aggression, Harry shoved him forcefully, causing him to stumble and collide with the barstools lined up behind him.

The sound of the impact caused a loud screeching sound, drawing the attention of everyone nearby. It was clear that Harry's actions were motivated by more than just curiosity - there was a sense of menace in his demeanor that sent a chill down everyone's spine.

Jared’s tough guy act tried to go strong but anyone could understand looking at the glint in Harry’s eyes it was no use.

Harry grabbed him by the collar as she tried to get his attention. “We were just talking—“

“You fucking touch her? Hmm?” Harry’s fist came in contact with the guys face once again causing the girl behind him to drop the grip on his arm. Harry stood over the man that worked for him and kicked him as he grew satisfied with the blood pouring from his face. “He’s going to den.” He ordered the two men who he was previously speaking to.

He doesn’t look at the men, instead he grabs his girls hand with the opposite hand that wasn’t bruised. He pulled her along with him, ignoring anything she was saying.

The girl behind him shook her head as her hands shook. “Daddy—.” She continued to look back at the man being taken away. “No. Why’d you do that?”

Her voice was like a cry and he ignored every word until they got into the car. The car ride was silent as all she can think about was what Harry did.

When they arrived to the house, Harry walked to the front door and let her walk in. He didn’t even step foot in the door.

“You stay here,” He said. Before she could argue— he was out the door with a slam.

But nothing could have prepared her for when he got back.

When he returned, he called out her name. “Baby?” Harry called out. She sat on the edge of the bed, and her feet dangled as she’s been home alone for a hour. When she heard his footsteps come closer and closer, she lifted her head up awaiting his enterance.

“Hey, baby.” He greeted her softly and came into the room and the first thing she realized was his shirt.

The silence was loud and the stains on his shirt were screaming at her. He comes closer and places a kiss on her forehead as if she’s a clueless dog.

She watched as he walked across their bedroom and through his coat to the floor, sighing heavily.

The silence killed her.

“Daddy?”

He hummed, “Hmm?”

“What did you do to Jared?”

“What do you mean?”

“Where did you have the guys take him?”

“Somewhere.”

“Somewhere?” She questioned, standing up. “Just somewhere? Did you hurt him? He was just being nice—!”

“No!” Harry's voice boomed with anger, his eyes flashing with intensity, causing her to jump. The way his head flicked towards her startled her more. "Jared was a bad guy, baby. Far from nice. And if you couldn't see it from talking to him face to face, then that's a problem.” He scolded walking towards her with each step causing her to back up one, “I could tell from across the room that he was trying to get you. So, I had to take care of him. Look at this," he gestured to the bloodstains on his shirt, "that's Jared's blood. He wanted to get you all to himself." She flinched as he barked his words out at her. Harry's words were harsh and filled with a protective rage as he explained the violent altercation that had just taken place.

“So you know what I did?” He said, voice deep and cruel. Eyes peering deep into hers. His tone was chilling, a coldness that sent shivers down her spine as he spoke. His eyes, dark and intense, seemed to bore into her soul as he revealed his dark secret.

Tears welled up in her eyes, a mix of fear and sorrow clouding her vision. She couldn't believe what she was hearing, couldn't fathom the depths of his cruelty.

And then he said it, those three words that echoed in the silence of the room. "I killed him." The words hung in the air, heavy and ominous, as the weight of his confession settled between them. Harry's nonchalant demeanor only added to the horror of his admission, as if taking a life was nothing more than a casual event in his twisted world.

The truth of his actions hit her like a freight train, a realization that shook her to the core. Harry killed a man for flirting with her. She had known there was darkness within him, but this revelation was beyond anything she could have imagined. Her mind raced with questions, with the need to understand how he could have done such a thing.

As she looked into his eyes, she saw no remorse, no guilt. Only a cold emptiness that chilled her to the bone. And in that moment, she knew that she was in the presence of a monster.

“I know the man Jared is,” He said. “He preys on younger drunk girls and shoves them in his car and takes them to his place. You know how many times we’ve caught him for that? Going after you was him trying to get back at me for lashing at him in the poker room.”

As she slowly backed away from him, her heart pounding in her chest, she couldn't find the words to express the shock and disbelief that filled her. "Why—Why would—Why would you kill him?" she finally managed to whisper, her voice barely above a breath. The room felt heavy with the weight of his confession, as if there were another presence in the house, one that she couldn't see but could feel with every fiber of her being.

His eyes bore into hers, filled with a mix of determination and desperation. "I did it for you. I did it because of you," he explained, his voice low and raw with emotion. He took a step closer, his breath warm against her skin, sending shivers down her spine. "I couldn't stand to see him lay a finger on you. It drove me crazy. The mere thought of another man touching you, it makes me fucking sick. Do you understand that?," he confessed, his words heavy with the weight of his love and possessiveness.

With those words, a sense of understanding came over her but it still flooded her brain of the thought of Harry killing a man. She couldn't imagine herself with anyone else, couldn't fathom another man treating her the way Harry did. Touching her the way Harry did. No one else could make her feel the way he did, with his fierce protectiveness and unwavering devotion.

In her eyes, she saw a love so deep and consuming that it both terrified and exhilarated her. Everything he did excited her but he was always such a mysterious man with a mysterious life behind the big doors of their home.

His thumb brushed the falling tear off her cheek. “The lengths I would go to protect you know no bounds, baby. Don't mistake my actions for those of a dangerous man; I am just protecting you. You have to understand, I am not the villain. Jared is, not me." With a sense of urgency and desperation, he gently shook her cheeks as he spoke, trying to make her see the truth in his words.

He let go of her head, and his hands fell to his sides. Her eyes following his—still trying to find exactly what emotions are filled in his.

“I did it for you. I killed a man that worked for me because he fucking laid a finger on you. Do you know how crazy you make me, darling? The things I’d do for you? Oh, baby I’d stop the Earth from spinning.” He grabbed her face again, but this time she didn’t back away— she melted into his touch. Looking into his eyes she saw something. It was a look of reassurance and once again she saw the man she loved. “I did it because I love you, baby, okay?”

Tears continued to fall down her face but she nodded as he spoke. “Do you understand that?” He shakes her head in his hands, wiping the tears as they fell.

She nods again, “I— I understand sir.”

“I will always protect to you. You understand?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Harry’s lips pressed to her as he wrapped his arms around her body.

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry. I should have never lashed out on you like that and I should have never left you alone. I just really hate when any other guys staring at what’s mine.” He spoke to her softly as she shakes her head. “I promise I will never let another man get that close to you again.”

“Any man who lays a finger on you will be damned when I get my hands on them”

a/n i wrote this on the train because when i saw the request i ran to it😀 here’s a quick run thru of what i want this series to be. this is so fucking insane oh my gosh and unserious. i want more of dark!possessive harry who can’t take a man saying a word to you.

#harry styles smut #harry styles #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles x y/n #dom!harry #dom harry styles #dom!harry x sub!reader #harry styles imagines #domrry #harry styles au #harry styles writing #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot

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youronlydarlin · 4 months

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warning: kinda sad ANGST, Simon losses you :( , ooc kinda?? But he's soft for you only, trust me bro

This was kinda inspired by that one part in the comics where our poor, Si holds his mums skull, n he jus'... Kinda nuzzles into it. I dunno it just bought on some sad feeling, mkay...

Simon who slightly raises the cup of tea he's drinking each time he has one, just to let you know he's relaxing. Or trying his best too, at least. Doesn't know what he'll do if he worried you from beyond the grave. Sometimes he looks at all the belongings you left behind. Saying how they probably miss you, but not nearly as much as he does.

Unlike some, Simon uses your things. He doesn't want the house to go through the pain of loosing you too. So he drinks from your mug, and sits on your chair. Reads your favorite books, but never takes out the book marks in case you want to continue reading them. He also completes your bucket list for you, and even though he's the one doing them he always whispers 'good job, to the wind, hoping they'll carry the messenge to you.

Simon who speaks to your framed pictures. He remembers each, and every memory behind them. "Bet your happy... Now it'll always be my turn to grab the 'bloody groceries.." he jests. He hopes that one made you laugh. Knowing you, you would've. It's a mystery how you always laughed at his lame jokes. Though your laugh's always been better than the awful punchlines.

Simon who passes by that cafe you bugged him to go with you to, and he feels his throat go dry. He never got to take you there because of a sudden call from Price, telling him about an urgent, albeit sudden, mission. He definitely regrets not taking you out on dates more often. There's so many shops opening that he knows you would've loved to see.

Simon who's heart breaks at how quickly the world turns without you. Everything's moving so quickly, leaving him behind like it's already moved on, and he hates it. He hates how there's less clothes to fold now. Food is served, but only for one. The taste of it is flavorless, and dry. It's times like these, that he wishes he should have took the time and learn your recipes.

But what's worse, is that your side of the bed is cold. And it'll remain that way forever. At times he'll reach for you absentmindedly. Nightmares about war traded for dreams about you, but during those dreamless nights where sleep doesn't visit he'll stroke your pillow the same way he'd do to keep your hair out of your face, and pull the covers over the empty space you once occupied. He wonders if it's cold where you are right now. But just know that he's always willing to warm you up if ever you come back.

Simon who...

Stands at the doorway. Bag slinged over his shoulder, full of everything he needs and more for deployment. He knows he can't leave without properly saying goodbye, so he fishes out his wallet, and digs out a picture of you. He holds it up to his face, and it's funny. How you're not even staring at the camera when the photo was taken. No, you were staring at him. This one's always been his favorite. So he clears his throat, and wishes you don't hear the slight shake in his tone.

"..By now you would've told me to be careful.. And I will, by the way. But, m' sorry for all the times I didn't...'

....

" I have to go now. Don't need them gettin' on my ass for 'being late.. so.."

....

"..You just rest now, ok, love? There's nothing else for you to worry about' anymore. I love you, always. Wish me, and the boys luck, yeah?.."

He gives a light kiss to your photo, and it's as if you're with him when he steps outside the door..

a/n: This was a challenge to write, and I don't know what to feel about the results. I'm just polishing my english, I guess. M'not good at writing angst, you can probably tell, also my grammar feels off on this one, again. English isn't my first language, sorry. So please correct me on any mistakes I've made! But putting all that aside, I hope you like this more than I do! And, always remember that you are loved, and cared for! Have an amazing day, my darlings!

Yours, truly,

–dolly

#cod x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #cod imagine #cod x reader angst #ghost x reader angst #Ouchy my feelings #call of duty x reader #x gn reader #x female reader #x male reader

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deebris · 3 days

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The Mysterious Visitor II

Batfamily x batsis (platonic!)

Synopsis: The unknown child evokes conflicting feelings in Bruce Wayne, who once again finds himself needing to deal with Talia's life problems. The girl only wanted the simple desire to see her brother again, unaware of the danger she had put herself into on her journey.

Warnings: The reader is 13 years old and is Damian's twin sister; the tone of the story is somewhat sad; Bruce is intimidating; Hugo Strange mentioned; this will have a third, and hopefully final, part.

Word count: 2.8k

Note: I feel like maybe I could have developed a more emotional scene between Bruce and the reader, I also want to delve deeper into her thought process, but I hope to make up for that in the next part. I like it when you guys tell me what you want to happen next, it gives me ideas. Please, go ahead and do that. That was my first time making a tag list, so I apologize if I didn't do it correctly.

Part I

Alfred could finally check the exact time now that he was standing in front of Bruce's room, admiring for a few seconds the clock in the corridor's decoration, which showed 4:17 am. He prepared to knock on the door, but suddenly a thought crossed his mind: would it be more rational to wake Damian instead of his father? Throughout his life, he had faced unusual situations thanks to the Wayne family; hardly anything would shake him now. His concern, however, was not for himself, but for Bruce.

Talia was a persistent shadow in Bruce's past, still haunting him, and although he had tried to convince the butler many times that the only link he had with her now was because of their son, Alfred still doubted it. Their relationship had been complicated in many ways, either because of her ambiguous nature or Ra’s al Ghul's insistence on trying to persuade Bruce to join the League of Assassins, making Alfred fear that Bruce's morals might deviate because of this passion at the time.

Alfred raised his fist to knock three times and waited patiently as was his custom, but it seemed that was not enough to wake his master. He knew the door was open and knew he was allowed to enter without knocking, so just this once he used the liberty the young man had given him over the years; because in the end, Bruce Wayne was just that, a young man, and would always be seen that way by him.

Inside the room, he turned on the light, and the intense glare made him close his eyes to avoid the sting of the brightness. Approaching the bed, he sighed at the sight of Zolpidem pills left on the nightstand. This had been the only way Bruce found to stop spending sleepless nights, reluctantly since he was too stubborn and preferred to patrol in the darkness. Waking him would be a difficult task.

"Master Bruce," he called, waiting for a response, but got nothing. Alfred felt sorry for waking him, seeing how he finally seemed to be resting. "Master Bruce," he called again, this time nudging his shoulder. The pills must have been wearing off because he started to stir on the mattress.

"What’s going on, Alfred?" Bruce asked in a hoarse voice while rubbing his eyes to relieve the discomfort from the lamp. He sat up in bed, leaning his back against the headboard, blinking several times to see the butler in the corner. One of the room's curtains was open, and he saw the snow falling outside with the dark sky, showing that it was still night. "Is it Hugo Strange? Has he shown up somewhere?"

"Unfortunately, or fortunately, no, sir." Alfred paused, then licked his lips, preparing to continue and finally revealing, "There's a young lady downstairs who claims to be Master Damian’s sister." Direct, as always.

"Sister of Damian?" Bruce repeated the information, still not fully comprehending its meaning. He needed some time, just standing there absorbing the words. It seemed to be taking an eternity, but Alfred wouldn't interrupt the moment of clarity he was having.

He squinted, pushed the covers aside, and picked up the shirt he found nearby. Buttoning it up and getting out of bed, he continued, "When did this happen?"

"Just now, sir."

"Did Damian bring her here?" The question had a bitter tone but never crossed the line of respect that was drawn between them, and Alfred knew he should prepare for his interrogation. Bruce saw the alarm clock and, like the butler a few minutes ago, checked the time. "He never mentioned anything like this."

"Nor to me." Alfred suddenly extended a coat for him to take. Bruce held the fabric between his fingers, confused. "This coat is hers. There’s a map of Gotham City and a letter inside. I recommend you take a look at the addressee."

Pulling the papers from the right pocket, Bruce noticed a map folded into many smaller parts and a letter witch was still sealed, though the corners were noticeably crumpled and marked by small fingers. Carefully analyzing the cursive handwriting, he read. "I had no idea Damian still had contact with his mother. Much less that Talia had a daughter," he said, still drowsy, staring at the name 'Talia Head,' to whom the letter was addressed and recognizing his son’s elegant handwriting. Apparently, she still used the alias surname.

"It's not surprising considering you only discovered your son after so many years." The statement could have easily been interpreted as irony, but it was acidic. "She didn’t seem sure Damian lived here; I suppose she found out because of this letter."

"You left her alone downstairs?" he ignored the previous comment.

"I left her in Master Dick's care."

Bruce stared at him for long seconds and hurried out of the room. Halfway down the stairs, he could already see some glimpses of Dick's hair over the back of the sofa, talking to someone, or rather, laughing with someone.

"Dick?" The voice quickly caught his attention, turning his face to see his father approaching. When Bruce stood in front of the fireplace, he could finally look at the child beside the boy. Dick began to say something, but Bruce couldn’t hear.

He stared at the girl, analyzing everything about her, from the way she intertwined her fingers nervously to her deer-like eyes. Her iris were shining, as if she had cried, and her swollen and bruised lips were quite noticeable. She had definitely been outside not long ago, shaking and rubbing her hands together constantly to warm herself up. She seemed too sweet, but Bruce knows that appearances can be deceiving.

His gaze passed over the pendants hanging from her bracelet, a simple detail that caught him off guard. Two crossed swords and a demonic head, he understood well what they meant; they were some of the symbols of the League of Assassins, the third was a simple "T" surrounded by a moon. He shouldn’t have been surprised, Talia was a possessive woman and he knew that the "T" was her way of marking property.

"Her name is Y/n," he heard Dick say after a long time.

You noticed how this man's eyes went dark while he watched you and couldn’t help but shrink back on the sofa. It was impossible to hold his gaze, and you began to feel ashamed of being stared at for so long.

"Y/n, this is Bruce Wayne."

"What do you want?" That came out ruder than he intended, but his aversion to the League of Assassins stirred a certain anger. The idea that this could all be a trap crossed his mind. You might be young and exude innocence, but you must have enough understanding to participate in their malicious plans.

"I just wanted to see my brother," you said with sadness in your voice, questioning yourself if this whole situation was worth it. Bruce knew the best way to confirm if this was all true would be by his son’s word, but the signs were so explicit that it might not even be necessary.

You don’t look anything like her, at least at first glance, but you wore her favorite colors and clothes so perfectly matched that no girl your age could choose yet, exactly to Talia's taste and with the appropriate youthful touch for your age. The pendants, the cut of your hair, literally everything had her touch. It was impossible for anyone to convince him otherwise.

"Go get Damian." He said, and Dick understood that the message was for him. Bruce needed to make sure you were telling the truth, or at least needed to make sure you weren’t dangerous. This could still be a League scheme or some plot by your mother.

"Can I see him?" Your voice was the loudest you had spoken that night. The excitement was clear, and it was so much that irrationally you stood up to follow Dick, but a calloused hand suddenly wrapped around your torso and stopped you, making your back hit a slightly prominent belly. You looked up and saw the old man again, his expression was not happy, and you realized it was directed at Mr. Wayne, who had an arm extended towards you but that never managed to touch you.

Like his face, his arm was tense, with visible veins and contracted tendons. You didn't know what his intentions were, but by the way the old man grabbed you to prevent him from laying hands on you, maybe he wasn't as good as he or Dick. It was a very scary sight., making you feel that this man could be dangerous. Trusting the old man, you turned to hug him, hiding as much as possible. Mr. Wayne’s aura was dark, very unfriendly, but you still saw how he recoiled with his face displaying a certain sense of regret.

Dick noticed Alfred's sudden movement behind him before he could leave the room. He glanced at their faces and for a moment considered whether it would be appropriate to turn back and mention the conversation he had with you to the butler in secret, but then his eyebrows furrowed thinking of Damian. Maybe he should confront the little demon first.

"Don’t do anything stupid, Bruce." Dick thought.

Frantically he knocked on the boy’s door. One, two, three, four times until he lost count. At no point did he hear any noise inside, so he began to turn the doorknob, only to find it was locked.

"Of course he’d lock it, that brat..."

"What are you doing?" Suddenly Tim's bedroom door behind him opened abruptly, making a sliver of light from inside illuminate the opposite wall. He was obviously irritated at being woken up but still had that tone of seriousness he carried most of the time.

"Where's his room key?" Dick completely ignored his brother's attitude.

"Forget it. I heard him sneak out to patrol again." Tim's voice sounded tired.

"And you let him?!" Dick snapped but reminded himself to contain it, remembering that Jason was sleeping in one of the rooms in that wing and that you three downstairs might hear the commotion. "Why didn’t you stop him?"

"And what good would it do? That boy is too stubborn." Tim tried to defend himself. "Besides, I have his location right here. He’ll be fine." He opened the door a bit more to show one of his computer monitors tracking the trajectory and heart signals of a green dot on the streets of Gotham City.

Dick looked both ways down the hallway before pushing Tim back into his room and closing the door.

"Hey, what's this? Why are you acting so weird?" Tim was startled by Dick's unusual behavior, feeling anxious as he watched him go to the computer to check Damian's exact location, observing the dot on the screen moving. Dick pressed a button, likely an emergency notification to get Damian to return home. Then he turned to Tim, gripping his shoulders and looking at him with intense seriousness.

"Tim, what I'm about to tell you might be a lot to take in, and I need you to try to understand as much as possible." Dick pointed a finger in his face, waiting for confirmation.

"You're scaring me like this. What the hell happened?"

"No questions and no interruptions! Understood?" Dick's tone was authoritative, stepping back only when he saw Tim nodding affirmatively.

"Why the hell is everyone awake downstairs? Did someone die or something?" Jason barged into Tim's room without ceremony, trying to make a joke, but when he saw the ghostly expressions on their faces, he quickly shut the door again, this time with him inside the room. "My God," he exclaimed in shock. "Can I join in on your little secret?" he asked ironically.

"Did you see the girl?" Dick asked Jason nervously, with a certain expectation.

"Yeah. I saw a girl with Bruce and Alfred. But they didn't see me, since I went back upstairs. The mood down there is pretty tense." Jason threw himself on the bed, making the mattress bounce and Tim frown in displeasure. "I think Alfred is going to give him a lecture afterwards."

"She's Bruce's daughter."

Jason propped himself up on his elbows, and Tim had to sit in the computer chair. His mouth formed a perfect 'O' as he struggled to believe Dick's words.

"With who this time?" Jason seemed to be reacting better than Tim to the news, even letting out a light laugh. It was a typical, caustic Jason response.

"That's not all." Dick ignored his comment. "She said she's Damian's twin."

Tim let out a short whistle, processing the idea like a complex calculation. "Tell this story from the beginning, Dick. Why did she show up now?" He finally managed to rejoin the conversation. It took a while for the shock to pass, but now he had his usual rational demeanor.

Dick rubbed his hands over his face, trying to recount the night and organize the information. "Apparently, she doesn't even know Bruce is her father. And he doesn't know about it either."

"Damian also never mentioned having a sister."

"Damn. Hiding one kid for a decade is something, but two?" Jason stared at the floor as if it were the most interesting thing in the world, a strange sensation taking over the room. But seeing the melancholic expression on Dick's face, his curiosity grew even more. "What else do you know, huh Dick?" He questioned him, sensing there was something much deeper behind this, and his brother just gave him an enigmatic look.

"She said she came here to see Damian. That she found out where he was because of a letter he wrote to Talia..." Dick suddenly froze, pulling a little box from his pocket as if it were a dangerous bomb. "While we were talking, she said a man had helped her get here. He gave her a map and asked her to deliver a present to Bruce, but she gave it to me to deliver." He handed the beige little box to the two, but it was Tim who took it.

Whatever it was, it was very well wrapped.

"Is it right to open it?" Tim asked. "I mean, it's for Bruce, isn't it?"

"I already opened it." Dick said bluntly. "I thought it might be a trap, I was careful."

"Give it here." Jason took the small box from Tim's hands. It was the same size as an engagement ring box, perfect for carrying in a pocket. He pulled the lid off and took out a card, freezing when he read it.

"What does it say?" Tim was curious, taking the card from his hands and reading it out loud:

'I sent your daughter home as a demonstration of my benevolence. Merry Christmas, Batman. Signed, H.S.’

"Holy shit," Jason exclaimed, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "That bastard figured out Batman's identity."

"Even worse: he knew about her before we did." Tim added reflectively, his voice barely a whisper. "That means he knows much more than just Batman's identity. He might know other things, including our identities. He probably suspects we are also vigilantes."

"I want to hear the whole story properly." Jason's intensely serious voice broke the silence that had settled in the room, determined to fully understand the appearance of this girl and how she got involved with Hugo Strange.

Dick took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts before speaking. "Alright, here it is. Minutes ago, Alfred and I woke up because a girl showed up at the manor claiming to be Damian's sister. She told me that she had a map of Gotham and a letter addressed to Talia from Damian. Alfred brought Bruce to her, and then I went upstairs to call Damian, but I discovered that he's out on patrol. And now we're here."

Tim interrupted, "Wait, so Damian's been in contact with Talia and didn't tell us?"

"That's what it seems like," Dick confirmed, rubbing his temples. "The girl didn't even know Bruce was her father. She mentioned that a man helped her get here and gave her a map along with a present for Bruce."

Jason leaned forward even more. "And this man was Hugo Strange."

"Not xactly, he could have sent someone else." Dick nodded. "The present was that card. Strange knows about her and about Bruce being Batman. He sent her here as some twisted gift."

Tim, processing the information, asked, "Did she say anything about why Strange would do this? What does he gain from sending her here?"

"She didn't seem to know much about Strange's intentions," Dick replied. "She just wanted to see Damian. But it’s clear that Strange knows a lot more than he's letting on. He must have some larger plan in mind."

Jason clenched his fists, his anger palpable. "So, this girl is just a pawn in his game. We need to figure out what his endgame is."

"Agreed," Dick said. "But first, we need to make sure she's safe and find out everything she knows. We also need to talk to Damian and see what tell us about all this."

Tim nodded, adding, "And we have to stay vigilant. If Strange knows this much, we can't underestimate him. He could have more moves planned."

Jason stood up, his determination evident. "We need to get to the bottom of this before anyone gets hurt."

"But what about Talia? Did she just let her daughter go out there, be deceived by a stranger, and then simply come here?" Tim pointed out. "And you, Dick? Are you going to tell Bruce?"

Suddenly, the sound of someone tapping on the window glass was heard. The three brothers turned their heads to see Damian, clad in his Robin attire, asking to come in. "Open up already, you idiots."

Tag list:

@lafrone @sylum @mileskisser @belowbreadcrumbs @riddle-me-im-sirius

@rafa-the-beautiful @shehrazadekey @fairuzwhat @bedeater @arianapjs

@idonthaveanameforthisacc @azulawayne @nciolisa @lovelywritersgarden

@spideybv28 @faimmm @formula-space @cherry-peach-flavored

🍒

@nebuluma

Credits for the divider: @cafekitsune

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grippingbeskar · 1 year

Text

old partners, new plans

— joel miller x fem!reader

—warnings: explicit content minors dni (oral m receiving, mxf) swearing, very minor dom!joel but it’s like not an established thing

—a/n: back at it!!! hope you guys enjoy! i love writing for joel sm. he so sexy <3

“That was not the deal.” You growl, squaring your shoulders.

“Deals change.” Is all the reply you get, Joel still leaning against the frame of your door. You can hardly see him there, the dark of night shrouding him in something akin to mystery— at least, he would be mysterious if you hadn’t already seen every inch of him.

“You know that’s not fair, Joel. I’ve waited ages for this opening, and I’m fucked without the pills to trade.” You take a step towards him and lower your voice, knowing people have been hung in the centre of town for even thinking about leaving, let alone having an entire plan like you did. Or had. “I need to get to them.”

“You don’t even know they’re out there.” You bite back a laugh, turning away from him. You hear the click of the door behind you, and Joel sounds louder as he finally steps into your house. “This is a bad idea— always has been. You got no proof, no solid plan… you’re fucked with or without the pills.”

“Oh, because you’re so sure Tommy’s still alive? That plan is so well thought out— huh?”

“That’s different.”

“No, it’s not! My family is out there, and they’re waiting for me. I know they are. I’ve had this plan for months— months, Joel! You know what this means, and you choose now of all times to hold out on me?!” You shout now, head under his chin staring up at him.

“I’m not holdin’ out, there’s nothin’ I can do about it. My guy ain’t getting back for a week, and I can’t just pull strings I don’t have.” Your heart plummets. The look in his face seems genuine— broken, sad… but it doesn’t make you any less angry. “I can’t help you.”

“But you were fine taking my batteries and tools. And my route to the outside for the last six months. All that you were happy to take me up on, but now it’s time to pay and you’re suddenly empty? I don’t buy it, Joel.” You say his name harshly, with none of the need and honey-like sweetness you remember from those few months of bliss before you told him you were getting out. Before he iced you out completely. “I can’t believe you’re doing this. As what— some kind of pay back?”

“You know that’s not—“

“Why? Because I’m not sleeping with you anymore? That’s fucking low, even for you. And you are the one that stopped that, not me, so don’t blame your blue balls on me just cause you can’t deal with the inevitable.” You suck in a quick breath, wishing you could take the words back.

Oh, he’s fucking angry now. Before he was letting you rant, letting you yell at him because he knew he was in the wrong but something about your comment made him flip.

Neither of you had mentioned what happened. How that night, when you told him you were leaving, he just got up and left your bed, never coming back. Sure, you were blunt and maybe a little harsh when you told him you were going, but he didn’t even look at you for a week. Only when you went to him to ask for the last piece of your escape plan, he managed to look at you, but even then he was short and harsh like you had been. Like you’d done something to him personally— left him cold and alone in a giant bed, words you never got to say still stuck in your throat. How he never gave you a chance to finish, to explain, to ask him to come with you. Find both of your families.

It was the first time you’d really spoken at all since then— conversations that used to be never ending and comforting turning to surface level communication, only speaking when necessary. Sure, you were shouting at each other right now but at least you were talking. Anything was better than silence.

“Don’t you ever fucking say that to me. Don’t you dare tell me I had anything to do with you leavin’. You did this to yourself— to us.” He didn’t yell, but you sort of wish he had, because the low, growling tone of his voice was somehow ten times worse. “You were the one who wanted to leave. I never—“

“You don’t have to remind me.” You don’t let him finish the thought, instead cutting him off and diverting your eyes to the fists at his side, straining with fury. His knuckles were bruised, either from work or a side gig he didn’t tell you about. He never told you about anything anymore.

“I got no pills. I’ll dump ‘em in the old spot when they come in. Try not to get yourself killed ‘til then.” He turns to leave, and you feel your stomach flip. This will be the last time you see him if he comes through. The last time you spoke.

“Okay, I’m sorry.” He laughs bitterly, shaking his head. “Hey— I didn’t meant that, alright? You really want to leave it like this?”

“You’re going. Probably gonna die out there. What’s the point in talking about it?” You want to yell, want to fight him on it but he wouldn’t even listen— “You’re signin’ your death sentence outside of these walls alone. Don’t blame me for not giving you the push.”

“Joel, just wait a second.” His hand stills as it moved to grab the door. “I don’t… I don’t want to leave you like this. I never wanted to leave you. If you just let me—“

“You made that bed weeks ago.” He stares ahead, never letting you finish and still not turning around to look at you. Your heart freezes at the thought of him walking out that door. You want to leave— but you never wanted to do it alone. Even after weeks of silence and rough edges, you’d take any time with him over… well, anything.

“Let me unmake it. Just… please don’t walk out on me, Joel.” You take a few tentative steps, gauging the progress you’ve made. His spine straightens when your fingers dance up his back, gentle and slow. You catch the bottom of his shirt and slip under, feeling the warmth of his skin under your palm and the way he sighs— as if your touch relieves him. “I hated how I went about… things. I never meant to have it turn out like this. Us ignoring each other.”

“Well, that’s what happened.” His head turns ninety degrees, eyes looking over his shoulder as you walk your fingers higher. His shoulder blades, always full of tension, relax under your hand, and you trail your other hand up to find the other, watching his eyes flutter closed as you dig your palms into the muscle there.

“I know. It was unfair of me to spring it on you that night, and I shouldn’t of said the things I did. I’m sorry.” He doesn’t say anything, but he sighs again as you continue to manipulate his muscle. You wish he’d take his shirt off so you could do it properly, but this would do for now. “But you never let me finish— that day.”

“I heard…fuck. I heard what I needed to hear.” His head drops down, chin to his chest as you step up on your toes and massage him in slow, steady circles. You hadn’t touched him in so long, you were nearly burning with just this intimacy alone, but you had to bide your time. Coax him in slowly, like a scared lone wolf— tempt him closer with paced, quiet movements until you could get your chance.

“Let me fix it. Fix this.” You say softly, your heart slamming against your chest.

“You’re still leaving. Can’t fix that.” His voice strains, and you run your hands lower to dig into the muscle of his back.

“Yeah.” He sighs again at your answer. “And you still hate me for it.”

“Yeah.” He copies you, and you try to ignore how much the simple word affects you.

“But we still have right now.”

“What’s the— shit, that’s good.” He shuffles back into your touch. “What the point?”

“Cause I can make you feel so much better than this. Don’t you remember?” You are nearly begging, but if memory serves you right, a few ‘pleases’ seem to make him do just about anything. “This is just my hands, but my mouth… my—“

“Yeah. Yeah, I fucking remember. Think about it every night.” You run your hands up again, but this time take his shirt with you and bring it up over his head. He moves, finally, grabbing the collar and shucking it off his shoulders, letting the fabric pool at his feet in front of the door.

“Let me make it up to you. Please, Joel.” He groans when you press harder, feeling how his muscles have gone nearly placid under your touch now. “Even if it’s just tonight. If you still hate me, you can leave and not look back, but I… I can’t stand this thing we have going on. The quiet. I can’t do it. Please.”

He turns around, towering over you as a mass of unkept, wild curls and a burning need in his eyes. It makes you smile, that look in his eye— because it’s been so long since he’s looked at you with anything other than hatred. Now, he needs you. Needs what only you can give him, and even if this could be the last night of it, you couldn’t help but think it would last forever with how heavy his gaze was.

“You wanna make it up to me?” He’s tilting his head in question, watching your hands move up and down his torso in teasing strokes.

“Please, Joel.” You see it splinter, his final plank of resolve shredding and dispersing on your floor under the weight of your words. Your voice nearly cracks with desperation— you need it as badly as he does.

“Get on your knees.” You blink at him, your fingers trailing down his toned chest before nodding and obeying his command readily. Joel was always a giver— always spending hours on you and you alone, and he fucking loved it— but tonight you had all but begged him to take. Lose a little bit of that control he clings so tightly to, watch the tension loose from his shoulders as he forgets about everything but you.

You trail your lips along his lower stomach as you sink to your knees, eyes never leaving his— ones that have practically turned onyx black as he watches your path, chest rising and falling rapidly. He moves his leg before you hit the ground, and it’s not until your bare knees settle into something a little softer than hard wood floor that you realise he’s kicked his shirt under you.

Even when he acted the part of hating you— he never stopped thinking of you.

Your fingers shake as they fumble with his belt, Joel making no move to help you as you struggle with the loops. When you finally break it free, Joel’s hand reaches down and threads your hair through his fingers. His thumb trails the highest point of your cheekbone, and your eyes flutter as you involuntarily nuzzle into his touch. It’s comforting and warm, and the intimacy of him knowing how you like to be touched even on your face has your cheeks burning. You think you catch him smile at you, and then your focus snaps back to the sight right at your eye-line when you pull his boxers and jeans down in one go.

“Missed your cock, Joel. Fuck.” You are nearly mesmerised at him in front of you, words spilling out as he stands in front of you completely naked while you remain fully clothed. He groans, head rolling back as you wrap your hand around his base.

“I bet you did. Can remember how loud you used to be— I fucking loved that.” Even if the compliment is purely physical, compared to how little you’ve gotten from him it boosts your ego through the roof. You can’t wait any longer, wrapping your lips around the tip of his straining cock. “That’s it, darlin’.”

You don’t tease him, but you do start slow. Despite how much you want to suffocate on him, have him fuck out any of that hate he’s still holding so he can’t think of anything but your mouth, you know he likes it to start slow. It’s like he’s denying himself, even here, that he doesn’t deserve the instant gratification. Like he wants to suffer through it first— a little bit of pain to accompany the overwhelming pleasure that follows.

“Fuck, you’re good. Just like that.” He praises, his hand sneaking back to the nape of your neck. Not pushing, but instead gathering your hair and using his fist as a make shift ponytail. “Missed your mouth.”

“Mm?” You make a muffled noise, hoping to God he keeps telling you how much he missed any part of you. Like he dragged through the last few weeks as poorly as you did. You were already fizzling in your stomach, your thighs clenching together with every swirl of your tongue around the head of his cock.

“Thought about you every day. Every— fuck. Nothin’ gets me off like you. Ha-ah, shit.” You take him to the back of your throat, gagging a little but loving every choked sound sound that stutters out of Joel’s mouth. “Had to fuck my fist thinkin’ about your pretty little face. Fuckin’ hated myself for it.”

You speed up, wanting nothing more than for him to yank you upwards and bend you over the counter, but you’ll take what you can get. The salty taste of him mixes on your tongue, and it’s always so messy giving him head, but he goes feral for it. He’s watching you now, the words punched out of his chest as you move your hand to match your mouth, and you know the tears in your eyes and strands of hair across your face just send him wild.

He says your name how you remember, with all the sweet and drawn out inflections his accent gives it. You take him deeper, indulging a low and dormant urge to please him clawing it’s way to the front of your brain. He groans again, the hand at the back of your head pressing just slightly— a sign he’s losing that last bit of self control.

“Fuck— stop, baby. Stop.” He splutters out, and you draw yourself back slowly. He keeps his hand in your hair, looking down at you possessively. His chest is moving rapidly, trying to catch his breath from where you had him so close. Your eyebrows furrow, confused as to why he didn’t let you do the one thing you really wanted to right now. Make him feel good.

“What’s wrong?” You say softly, and he hauls you upward, barely giving you time to find your footing before he surges forward and kisses you.

It nearly knocks you off your feet, the hunger behind it making you stumble a few steps to where you know the bed is. He wastes no time, tasting himself on your tongue and taking you with him down onto the mattress. He pulls your shirt off first, kissing his way down to where your hips are still covered by sweat pants.

It’s here he takes his time, watching you writhe with impatience as he slowly draws the fabric down. He kisses your hipbones as they are revealed, the gentle touches making your head spin. He was meant to hate you— meant to be fucking you hard and fast just one more time to get it out of his system, so that you felt like what you two had could end on some kind of high. You owed him that much.

But this? The way his hands were so soft and gentle— practically caressing along your sides and over your thighs. The care behind his movements, the way he looked at you… it wasn’t how you used to fuck. This wasn’t hard and dirty, not scratching an itch or quenching a thirst— this had something more behind it. You knew it, and by the way he smiled over you, he did too.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” He whispers against your skin, the rough hair on his cheeks tingling the softness of your inner thighs. He says it quietly, like you weren’t supposed to hear it, but you do, and your body floods with heat.

“Joel.” You whimper, your underwear dragging down your legs before he crawls back up your body. “Joel, I’m sorry.”

“I know, baby. Just focus on me, okay?” You feel him against you, the head of his cock dragging up and down causing your hips to twitch every time. “You always get so wet from doing that, don’t you?”

“Just from you. It’s just you, Joel.” You whimper, and his face crumbles in front of you. He bends to kiss you again, the air in your lungs sucked out leaving you breathless. He’s handling you with such care— like he still does. Care.

When he pushes into you, you both sigh, Joel dropping onto his forearms caging you under him. He tucks his head into the crook of your neck— teeth dragging along your collar bone with each slow thrust.

“You always feel so good. Can’t live without this, baby.” He’s almost whining, grinding into you with so much strength you hear the bed creak with each move. He’s reaching every nerve you have, crackling each one with a searing pleasure that’s only ever associated with him.

“N-neither. Please— please, Joel.” You beg for something, anything he’d give you, and his head moves to press his forehead to yours. His hips stutter, eyes half lidded but focused on you.

“Don’t leave. I’ll… god, so good. Don’t go.” He fucks you a little harder, like he’s trying to prove a point. Trying to convince you— but he doesn’t have to.

“Come with me.” You whisper, hands threading into his hair. You tug hard, making him groan.

“Baby.” He says lowly, voice grating and strained. Every thrust of his hips hurtles you closer to release, one of his hands snaking down your body to circle your clit. You can’t talk anymore, the only noises you can make are loud moans followed by choked out versions of his name. “Fuck— fuck, I can’t last. I can’t..”

You squeeze your eyes shut, pleasure rolling over you from your fingertips to your toes, the weight of Joel’s body keeping you firmly secured on the mattress. It’s like the heavy press of his warm skin multiplies the feeling, nails digging into the flesh of his back.

Your orgasm sneaks up on you, and it only takes a few more strokes of Joel’s cock and he’s cumming with you, both of you clinging to each other as you try to draw out the others high. Even when you’re supposed to be fighting, each of you are doing anything and everything for each other.

Joel still feels warm above you, keeping himself inside as long as he can stand before he pulls out slowly. You whimper from the loss, but he shuts you up with a deep, desperate kiss. It’s lazy and meaningful— teeth and tongues clashing from how hard he’s pressing on top of you.

Both of you are sweaty and out of breath, but neither can find the strength to pull your mouths away from each other. You know once you do, it was meant to be over— but it couldn’t be. There wasn’t going to be a version of this story where you missed out on the only good, real thing you’ve had in a long time just because you didn’t have the guts to repeat yourself. You pull back from his mouth as hard as it is, and he groans a little in frustration of having to chase you.

“Joel…” Your hands find their way up to his face, holding him so close that your noses bump together. “I meant it. Come with me.”

“Darlin’, I gotta… Tommy needs me to find him. I…” He looks you up and down again, eyes catching on the little hickeys he’s left over your chest and neck, and you think he might be considering the possibility of leaving everything behind and just following you despite it.

But you’d never ask him to. You had this thought out— and if he’d just listened to you the first time, he would already know.

“I know. We can find him. The pills— I’m trading it for a full tank of gas for a car I repaired. It’s just outside the safe zone.” He shifts up, thighs still straddling over your waist. “We can find him, find my family.”

“You fixed a… of course you did. Fixed a fucking car right under their nose.” He shakes his head, laughing before leaning down and smothering you in a suffocating kiss. He’s still smiling when he pulls away, tucking your body into his chest. “Jesus. You’re unbelievable.”

“I would of told you.” You say, not having the nerve to look up at him. “That night— I tried to tell you. We have people that need us, but I need you, too.”

“Mm.” He says, burying his face into your hair. You can feel the smile in the way he hums, his hands grabbing at your sides and holding you closer. “Need you, too.”

“What was that?” You try to turn and look up at him, a teasing smirk on your face but he doesn’t let you. “The Joel Miller— needs me?”

“Need your car.” He grumbles and you laugh harder, your legs tangling together in a comforting knot of limbs. “When do we leave?”

“When you get the pills.” He hums again.

“Tomorrow. I’ll get ‘em tomorrow.”

“Oh, you fucking asshole. You were getting them the whole time, weren’t you?” He still refuses to let you move, strong arms keeping your bodies together. He doesn’t say anything, just laughs and nods before his breathing starts to slow.

You wanted to turn and see his face when he said that— that he needed you. But as you feel him go limp behind you, you figure you’ll get enough time to stare at his face when you drive across the state to get Tommy, and whatever comes after that. You might not know what comes next, but whatever it is, you feel a hell of a lot better knowing it’ll be with him.

#joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #tlou joel #joel miller x y/n #tlou #tlou joel miller

3K notes · View notes

just-aake · 2 months

Text

Boundless Devotion - Part XV (Final)

Pairing: princess!Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: MedievalAU. Natasha is the eldest princess of the Romanov Kingdom. As the time of her coronation approaches, she is suddenly forced to make a decision – either find herself a partner or her parents will choose one for her.

Warnings: light angst, hurt/comfort, fluff

Words: 8179

It’s difficult to know how much time has passed when you’re trapped within your own mind.

One moment, you’re glaring at the one who you once believed was your father, wishing for his downfall.

The next, you’re falling into the eyes of the one who holds your heart, all while gripping a dagger aimed at hers.

The lost time spent drifting between reality and darkness always leaves you with a sense of helplessness, especially when you later awaken to discover the actions you took during that time, actions that still haunt you.

Your current condition feels similar to that feeling of being trapped, except, unfortunately, this experience is far more agonizing.

With each passing moment, every part of you aches, both mentally and physically.

The sensation only seems to intensify, worsening to where it feels as though your entire body is engulfed in flames, burning from the inside out. Even the simple act of breathing becomes a challenge, let alone attempting to move.

At times, the overwhelming agony drains you to the point where your weary mind is tempted to just surrender to the dark void at the edge of your consciousness, promising relief.

But then a voice breaks through amidst all of the pain, calling your name in desperate pleading.

Though your tired mind struggles to place the voice in the moment, it feels familiar.

There's something about it that warms your heart, making you forget about the pain even if only for a fleeting moment.

The devastation in their tone is the reason you find the sudden need within you to push through the agony, if only to help alleviate the sadness in their voice.

And so, that's what you decide to do.

You endure, and you stay.

Gradually, it starts getting better. The pain lessens along with fewer waves of feverish sensations coursing through your body.

Eventually, you hear other voices too, all familiar and all concerned for you. And as your mind slowly recovers from the fog of pain, it begins to piece those voices with their respective owners.

Wanda and Pietro

Yelena and Kate

Carol

Even Queen Melina

Ironically, the one voice you hear the most, always a constant source of comfort and peace at your side, is the one that proves the most challenging to place.

Frustrated at the mystery of this person, you eventually gather enough strength one day to will your mind to wake up, determined to finally discover their identity.

Slowly, your eyes open, and after a few blinks, your vision clears.

The first thing you realize is that you’re not in your room, but the surroundings look familiar. With a dull ache on your stomach, you opt to turn your head instead to survey the rest of the area.

As your gaze falls upon the sleeping figure by the window, illuminated by the afternoon sun casting a warm glow on her red hair, memories flood back, and you finally recall the owner of that elusive voice.

Natasha

With her eyes closed, the princess sits in her window seat facing you, her head resting on her hand against her bent knee.

The realization that she must have fallen asleep, likely exhausted from watching over you, causes a sad bittersweet feeling to form in your heart.

Glancing around once more, you take in Natasha’s bedroom, a place you haven’t visited in a while since before everything that had happened last year.

Despite subtle changes in details, everything remains mostly unchanged. Her swords and armor hang securely on the wall, and her shelves are lined with books and personal items that she treasured through the years.

On her desk, a small stack of papers awaits her attention, likely documents of the kingdom needing review, and adjacent to them sits a tray of obviously untouched food.

You frown at the sight, aware of Natasha’s tendency to neglect meals whenever she’s stressed or too busy.

Returning your gaze to her, you notice the dark circles under her eyes, deepening your frown and concern.

Intending to call out to her and urge her to rest in her bed, you open your mouth, but your parched throat betrays you, plunging you into a painful fit of coughing instead.

Natasha’s eyes snap open instantly, her body tensing in alertness as she searches the room, before locking onto you in realization.

She swiftly rises from the window seat and approaches the edges of the bed where you lie, her hand reaching out to comfort you but then she stops in hesitation just before she touches you.

As you regain your breath, you notice her hand clench with nervous energy before slowly withdrawing to her side.

Summoning your strength, you reach out and grasp her hand firmly, not letting her go far, as you intertwine your fingers and rest them atop the bed.

You nod toward the bed, silently urging her to stay by your side.

Natasha's tense posture relaxes at your gesture, and a faint, relieved smile forms on her lips as she takes a seat at the edge of the bed. She reaches for the cup on the nightstand, bringing it to your lips and helping you take a sip, soothing your parched throat.

In a whisper so soft as if afraid to break the moment with you, Natasha asks, "How are you feeling?"

“Sore,” you respond honestly, your voice still strained.

A flash of regret flickers across Natasha’s face as she looks towards your injury. Not wanting her to spiral into guilt over what happened, you tug on her clasped hand to bring her attention back to you.

“Can you help me sit up?” you ask, determination in your tone as you release her hand and prepare to push yourself upright.

“You really shouldn’t be moving right now,” Natasha cautions, her hands hovering tentatively in concern.

“I know, but I want to,” you insist.

The thought of continuing to lie helplessly on your back, a sight that likely tormented Natasha during your time of unconsciousness, doesn’t sit well with you.

You want to reassure her that you’re feeling better than your previously weakened state.

Natasha hesitates, torn between honoring your request or prioritizing your well-being. However, she comes to a decision when she sees the determined look on your face.

“You’re so stubborn,” she remarks with a gentle shake of her head, a hint of fondness in her voice, as her hands move to support you carefully in sitting up against the headboard.

“Takes one to know one,” you tease lightly, offering a small smile as you lean back, taking a moment to catch your breath.

A comfortable silence settles between you as you stare up at the ceiling, lost in thought.

Memories flood back, and you distinctly recall Natasha’s anguished face above you before darkness consumed your vision.

Your smile drops slightly at the memory, and with a tired sigh, you turn to meet her patient gaze, breaking the silence.

“How long was I out for?” you ask softly.

“Three days,” Natasha responds gently.

Processing the information, disappointment washes over you as you realize what was supposed to have taken place yesterday.

“Your coronation…I missed it,” you say sadly.

Natasha chuckles softly, shaking her head in disbelief at your priority.

“No, you didn’t,” she reassures. “I’m not the queen yet.”

At your confused expression, Natasha continues her explanation.

“I postponed it. And before you say I didn’t have to, you know that there was no way I would have gone through with it without having you there.”

“Besides,” Natasha adds with a playful smirk. “Staying by your side is always better than any kind of event, even if it’s my coronation.”

Her comment lightens the somber atmosphere, drawing a small laugh from you, which makes her grin in turn.

The action causes a dull ache to appear at your side, and unconsciously, your hand moves to brush against the bandages covering where the blade had pierced you, reminding you of your ordeal.

“So what happened after…” you trail off, unable to voice the memory.

Natasha's gaze shifts sadly to your wounded area as she begins to explain.

"Yelena arrived with the physician shortly after. They tended to Pietro and you," she recounts. "Meanwhile, Kate stayed at her manor to apprehend the attackers and helped Wanda to recover."

Concern flickers in your eyes, prompting Natasha to offer a reassuring grin.

"Don't worry, Wanda's fine. She just tired herself out when she took down Rumlow and his followers.”

At your puzzled expression, Natasha moves her hand pointedly, mirroring the similar action of Wanda’s whenever she uses her powers.

“Oh,” you say, at a loss for words in realization.

Natasha chuckles at your expression, raising her brows at you.

“You did say she had a special way with people.”

Sighing worriedly, you explain your reasoning for keeping Wanda’s abilities a secret.

“You know how some people are towards magic, Natasha.”

“Well, considering she saved our lives, I’ll make sure no one messes with her, though I’m sure she can protect herself just fine.”

You let out a small breath of relief at her reassurance before inquiring further, “What about everyone else?”

Natasha tilts her head in thought as she continues to recount the events afterward.

“Clint was able to warn my dad, Steve, and Carol in time to capture the ones under control here in the castle. And as for the ones that went after my mom…”

She lets out an exasperated sigh before continuing, “...let’s just say that they shouldn’t have attacked her in her lab when she was in the middle of mixing certain chemicals and powders.”

You chuckle lightly at the thought, knowing about Queen Melina’s tendency to cause explosions in her lab during her experiments.

However, the mention of explosions brings a grim reminder of another figure Natasha hasn't mentioned yet.

“And Dreykov?” you ask cautiously. “Did he escape?”

Natasha's hand clench into a fist at his name, her expression clouding with silent fury.

"No, he's currently in prison, awaiting trial. Along with the rest of the traitors," she responds, shaking her head with resolve.

Taking your hand in a reassuring grip, she adds, "But you don't need to worry about him. I won't let him hurt you ever again."

Natasha lifts your hand to her lips, pressing a gentle kiss against your skin.

“I promise.”

You offer her a grateful smile, relieved at the information.

However, a sense of resignation settles in as you prepare to bring up the next topic.

“I guess all that’s left is to decide what to do about me,” you say with a heavy sigh.

Natasha tightens her grip on your hand as she urges gently, "Just concentrate on getting better.”

You chuckle lightly before your expression turns somber as you clarify.

"No, I mean about me being the Stark princess."

An awkward silence descends in the air, both of you acutely aware of the weight of the decision looming over you.

As much as you dislike it, the reality of your identity remains, and you need to officially address its involvement in your future eventually.

“What do you want to do?” Natasha finally asks, breaking the silence.

You contemplate your options and remember your conversation with Bucky, finding that your feelings about your decision remain unchanged even now.

"Honestly, Natasha, I want to just leave it in the past," you admit. "Everything's relatively peaceful between the kingdoms at the moment. What's the point in bringing up troubling revelations from mistakes in the past?"

“Are you sure?” Natasha questions in concern before pointing out. “You’re essentially rejecting your title as a princess.”

You nod, giving her a content smile.

"I've never needed it in my life before,” you say as you tilt your head at her in question, a hint of warmth in your voice as you ask, “Besides, I already have a princess in my life, don't I?”

Natasha returns your gaze with an affectionate smile before intertwining your hands together.

"Yeah, I'm yours," she affirms softly.

Gradually, you feel more strength returning to your body as you remain awake, nodding confidently as you adjust your position carefully.

"I think I'm feeling better enough to go back to my manor this evening," you observe, suggesting, "If you could have the twins come and help me, then you can finally get a proper night's sleep in your own bed tonight."

Before you can sit up any further, Natasha’s hand moves to your shoulder, gently holding you in place, her expression filled with disbelief.

Glancing at her hand, you give her a questioning look, causing Natasha to shake her head exasperatedly.

"If you think you're going to leave this bed anytime soon, especially after being stabbed for my sake, you need to think again," Natasha says firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Meeting her gaze, you both engage in a standoff, locked in a silent challenge. After a moment, Natasha raises her brow at you.

“If the situation was reversed, would you let me move?” she asks pointedly.

You open your mouth to reply before deflating in resignation, knowing you would do the same as her if you were in her position.

“Fine,” you concede, though a small pout forms on your lips, before adding, “But I should still return your bed to you and move into one of the guest rooms.”

Natasha tilts her head in thought as she traces a pattern on the blanket on your lap before commenting.

"Is that really necessary? It's not like we haven't slept in the same bed before," she reasons, her tone light.

Then, with a teasing smirk, she adds, "Unless this is your way of avoiding me after I confessed that I love you."

You pause, taken aback by her casual declaration, and you feel your cheeks heating up as you finally process her words.

When you see the victorious smirk on her face, you roll your eyes and shake your head, giving her a chatising look.

“You’re unbelievable,” you mutter, frustration evident in your tone, though there's a hint of fondness.

“I believe you’ve always called me charming,” Natasha retorts, her smirk widening.

Frustrated, your hands grip the collar of her tunic tightly, pulling her closer to you.

"Natasha Alianovna Romanov," you begin, your voice tinged with both exasperation and affection.

She smirks, amusement dancing in her eyes as she catches herself with her hands against the bed on each side of you, encasing you between her arms.

Gazing at you with a teasing expression, she prompts, "Yes?"

With a small smile, you finally gather the courage to voice the words you've been longing to tell her.

"I'm in love with you," you confess softly, your heart pounding in your chest.

"That's good..." Natasha replies, her voice tender as she leans in closer, "...cause I'm deeply in love with you too."

Her words brush against your lips softly, and without hesitation, you tug her closer, closing the tiny distance between the two of you.

The kiss feels both new and familiar, a perfect blend of passion and tenderness, as you lose yourself in the moment, savoring the warmth of her lips against yours.

Natasha is the one who pulls back first, resting her forehead against yours and letting out a happy sigh.

"You have no idea how many times I've wanted to do that," she admits, her voice filled with sincere longing.

Unconsciously, you lightly bite your lip to keep the warmth and feeling of her there for a little longer, before noticing Natasha's gaze drifting down to the subtle movement.

You recall the countless times you've witnessed that look of desire in her eyes, prompting a small chuckle to escape your lips as you pull her in closer.

"I think I do," you tease, brushing lightly against her lips. "You're not exactly subtle, princess."

Natasha lets out a tiny huff, her lips curving into a playful smile before she leans in for another kiss and then another, each one gentle and delicate, never leaving your lips for more than a second, as she steals your breath away and makes you melt against her.

Your hand, still lingering on her collar, instinctively seeks more contact, slipping beneath the thin layer of her clothing to clutch at her bare shoulder.

The warmth of her skin beneath your touch only intensifies the longing between you as you try to pull her closer.

As you go to deepen the kiss, the moment is suddenly shattered by an unexpected interruption.

“Oh my—Nat! Let her breathe! She just woke up!”

Startled, you pull back from Natasha, breaking the kiss, as your gaze shifts to the doorway where Yelena and Kate stand.

Natasha groans in frustration, her head falling against your shoulder.

Kate quickly steps in to cover Yelena's mouth, offering you an apologetic expression.

"Sorry! We just wanted to check on you two. We didn't mean to interrupt," she explains, as Yelena’s objection is muffled behind her hand.

Still pressed against your neck, Natasha responds in an annoyed tone, "Then leave."

Yelena rolls her eyes at her sister's bluntness, pulling Kate's hand away to respond, "Alright, alright, we get it."

With a warm smile directed at you, Yelena adds, "It's good to see you awake, Y/n."

"Yeah, we're glad that you're okay," Kate chimes in, relief evident in her eyes.

You offer them both a grateful nod. "Thank you two for coming."

“I guess we’ll visit you later then,” Yelena remarks, moving to take Kate's arm and guide her away from the door.

As Kate closes the door behind them, you catch snippets of their conversation.

"Should we really, though?" Kate's voice holds a hint of hesitation. "I don't want to interrupt them again while they're...you know."

Yelena hums thoughtfully before responding, "I mean it's a good thing we did this time, or else Y/n would have probably pulled out her stitches trying to undress Natasha."

Your face flushes with embarrassment as you instinctively cover it with your hands, feeling a wave of mortification wash over you.

Natasha chuckles lightly, adjusting her tunic as she shoots you a playful smirk, a teasing glint dancing in her eyes.

“Don’t even start,” you warn, noticing her mischievous expression.

Natasha holds up her hands innocently, adopting a nonchalant tone as she suggests, "I was just going to say we should have the physician come and check your condition."

She then adds with a teasing edge, "After all, you may have overexerted yourself from being so eager to kiss me."

You huff in disbelief, raising a skeptical eyebrow at her.

"I'm the eager one?" you ask, a hint of amusement in your tone.

Natasha nods with mock seriousness.

"If you say so."

Rolling your eyes, you playfully swat at her shoulder, then turn away with a small pout.

"In all seriousness, though, let me go get the physician," Natasha says, amusement evident in her voice at your behavior.

As she turns to leave, you call out to her.

"Wait, Natasha.”

She turns back to face you, curiosity in her eyes.

Leaning forward, you catch her off guard with a surprise kiss before pulling away.

"...okay, now you can go," you whisper against her lips.

Natasha's eyes fluttered closed at the unexpected contact, her tongue lightly tracing where your lips touched hers. When she finally opens her eyes again, they seem impossibly darker, filled with a mixture of desire and love that makes your breath catch.

“That’s unfair,” she breathes out, her voice husky with desire. “…doing that just as I’m about to leave.”

You pull away slightly, only for her to follow, not allowing the distance between you two to grow. A sly, knowing grin spreads across your face as you tease her.

"I just wanted to see who between us is actually the one who's more eager."

"I'm your princess, yet you're teasing me like this," Natasha says playfully, feigning disbelief.

"And you still love me anyway," you point out, a fond smile playing on your lips.

Natasha's eyes soften, and she closes the distance between you once more, whispering her next words against your lips.

“Yeah, I do.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Upon hearing that you were awake, Wanda and Pietro arrived quickly just as the physician was assessing your condition.

Soon after, a request from her mother to speak with Natasha in private causes her to leave the twins in charge of watching over you at your insistence.

Now, Natasha stands in her private study, a deep frown creasing her forehead as she examines the letters that her mother had handed to her.

“What is this?” Natasha asks, her voice steady but laced with a subtle hint of anger as she reads the contents of some of the letters.

Melina lets out a heavy sigh, rubbing her temples as if trying to ward off an impending headache, knowing that her daughter won't take the news well.

“Many of the heads of the other noble houses in the kingdom are asking for Lord Dreykov’s release,” she reveals grimly.

“He tried to kill me,” Natasha states incredulously. “And yet they’re still defending him.”

“I warned you that Lord Dreykov is influential among the other nobles. You need strong evidence if you want people to turn their back on him,” her mother reminds her.

She then places a stack of documents on the desk, and Natasha quickly realizes that these are the results of Steve’s investigation.

Her mother continues her lecture, as Natasha skims the contents.

“The staff from the Bishop manor provided witness accounts of Lord Rumlow and the others' betrayal, but there were no witnesses at Dreykov’s manor besides you and Y/n.”

“What about his guards?” Natasha suggests.

Melina shakes her head grimly. “Found dead in their cells by unknown means.”

“What about Barnes?” Natasha points out the presence of the old captain.

Melina gives her a look of disbelief, raising an eyebrow.

“The other nobles are not going to believe the words of a known criminal.”

Frustration and disbelief cloud Natasha's expression as she processes the information. She searches for another angle, another way to bring Dreykov to justice.

“If we can’t prove attempted murder against me, then what about the fact that he almost killed Y/n?”

Melina grimaces, her reluctance evident in her expression as she braces herself to deliver the answer Natasha doesn't want to hear.

“What is it?” Natasha presses, her tone betraying a hint of impatience.

Melina taps the stack of letters pointedly before explaining, “Many argue that Dreykov’s actions against Y/n are akin to a father disciplining their child and is not a crime, especially considering she survived. They believe it's a family matter that should be resolved within the respective house and not involve any others.”

Natasha's frown deepens as she hears this, her hand tightening around the letters.

“I told you handling the relationships between the nobles of the court is delicate work,” Melina reminds her gently.

“Yeah, I’m starting to see what you mean,” Natasha concedes, her expression resigned in anger at the twisted parts of the kingdom.

Melina offers a comforting gesture, placing a hand on Natasha's shoulder and giving her a proud look.

“Don’t worry, Natasha. Lord Dreykov can still be forced to face trial if you want. And I’m confident that you can convince the others to be on your side. In this matter and the future.”

Her mother’s encouragement does little to ease Natasha’s mind of the difficult task ahead for her once she becomes the queen.

Despite the troubling news, Natasha still thanks her mother for the warning before taking her leave.

Returning to your side, Natasha finds you resting once again, exhaustion evident in your features. She watches you with a tender and affectionate gaze, remembering her promise to protect you from any further harm.

If there's one thing Natasha is certain of for the future, it's her unwavering commitment to fulfilling her vow to protect you.

With that resolve in mind, she later finds herself standing at the entrance of the most secure cell in prison, her arms crossed as she fixes a steely glare on the person seated in the shadows.

"Well?" Dreykov's voice cuts through the stillness of the chamber. “Is that girl dead yet?”

Natasha's jaw clenches at his callous words, refusing to be baited by his cruelty.

A click of his tongue signals his understanding before he speaks again, his tone laced with a hint of mockery.

“No, you wouldn’t let that happen. So, then, are you here to finish what you started?”

Dreykov's eyes finally meet hers, his form emerging from the darkness as he tilts his head, his injuries still evident in the flickering light.

His face bears the remnants of bruises, one eye swollen shut—a testament to the beating Natasha had inflicted upon him when she first learned of the severity and uncertainty of your condition from the physician.

Unconsciously, Natasha's hands clench into fists, the memory of her rage surfacing as she recalls the moment she unleashed her fury upon him, her knuckles bruising and bleeding until Yelena intervened to pull her away.

Dreykov catches her movement, a knowing glint in his eyes as a smirk tug at the corners of his lips.

“I see, so you’re mad because you can’t kill me,” he says confidently, accurately guessing her current predicament. “Tell me, how many of the other nobles have interceded for my release?”

Natasha grits her teeth in irritation at the extent of Dreykov's influence over the court and the fact he already knows that some nobles would rally to his defense.

“They’ll abandon you once they realize what sort of person you truly are,” she retorts, her tone firm.

Dreykov chuckles in amusement, unfazed by her words.

“Feeling pressured already?” he taunts. “It’s just going to get worse from here on. After all, I’m not the only one in this kingdom who wants a war.”

“And you already know that I would never let that happen,” Natasha counters, her voice tinged with resolve. “That’s the whole reason why you didn’t want me as the queen in the first place.”

Dreykov eyes her critically, considering her words before a smirk dances across his lips.

“Perhaps I was wrong about you. You have potential. You just need the right…” he waves his hand dramatically. “…motivation.”

Rolling her eyes at his attempt at manipulation, Natasha turns to leave.

However, before she can reach the exit, Dreykov's voice calls out to her, stopping her in her tracks.

“Do you know what causes war the most, Your Highness? More than greed or vengeance?”

Natasha turns back to glare at him, irritated by his continued insinuations.

At her silence, he answers his own question.

“Love,” he spits out the word in disgust. “Such a foolish emotion, but you’d be surprised at how much destruction it can cause.”

He raises his brow at her, gesturing pointedly. “And it seems you have plenty for that pathetic girl.”

Natasha slams her fist against the bars, anger erupting, as she glares daggers at him.

“You better hope you don’t get to leave this cell, Dreykov. Because if I ever see you free…” she pauses, her voice lowering to a dangerous tone. “…I’ll kill you myself.”

Despite her threat, a pleased smile forms on Dreykov’s face, as if her words confirmed something for him, infuriating her further.

Turning swiftly to the door, Natasha indicates to the guards to let her out, but Dreykov's voice interrupts her again.

“I do have one more question for you.”

The door opens for her to leave as he continues.

“If that girl ever ends up in the way of you and your so-called peace, would you still choose to avoid war then…or would you fight for her?”

Natasha clenches her hand, finding herself unable to respond, her mind consumed by the weight of his words.

With a determined look, she decides not to entertain his question further, swiftly leaving the cell and slamming the door shut behind her.

“I look forward to seeing what your choice would be when that time comes, Your Majesty,” Dreykov's voice echoes tauntingly down the corridor as Natasha makes her way back to you.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The unsettling exchange with Dreykov from that night a week ago still lingers in her mind as Natasha sits at her desk, lost in thought.

She ponders his cryptic words, bothered by his confidence that trouble was coming, and especially at the implication of having you in the middle of it all.

Her main concern is for your safety, prompting her to consider every possible scenario where you might be at risk.

After all, she had come dangerously close to losing you during the recent conflict, a thought that sends a shiver down her spine every time.

Leaning back in her chair, Natasha’s gaze falls on the small opened box resting on her desk, illuminated by the soft moonlight filtering through the window.

The red gemstone embedded in the golden band glimmers with a silent promise, one that she hasn’t dared to ask you yet.

Pushing aside the unsettling thoughts of Dreykov's words, Natasha closes the lid of the box with a gentle sigh, tucking it away in the drawer for safekeeping.

One day, she promises.

When she can guarantee your safety and ensure that she can provide you with a peaceful future, she’ll give it to you then.

A knock at her door draws her attention, and Natasha looks up to see you poking your head inside, a playful smile dancing on your lips.

"Don’t tell me you’re hiding already?" you tease, your voice laced with amusement.

Natasha's lips curve into a fond smile at the sight of you, her worries momentarily pushed aside by your presence.

Chuckling softly, she shakes her head before asking, “Did my mother send you?”

“She wanted me to make sure you wouldn’t be late,” you reply, walking over to her with cautious steps, mindful of your injury.

Leaning back against her desk, you give her a pointed look.

“After all, it’s your last ball as the princess before you become the queen tomorrow.”

Natasha smiles gently at the reminder before glancing down at the area of your dress where she knows the bandages are hiding underneath. Her expression softens with concern as she meets your eyes.

“How are you feeling?” she asks.

“Better,” you assure her. “I’ve been able to move around by myself without any help.”

Standing up, Natasha intertwines her fingers with yours, drawing you closer as she gazes at you.

“You look beautiful,” she compliments softly, her eyes reflecting genuine admiration.

“So do you,” you respond, your hand reaching up to gently brush against her cheek, slowly losing yourself in her gaze.

Then as if remembering your original goal, you clear your throat and nod towards the door.

“We should go. Your mother’s expecting us,” you remind her.

At your suggestion, Natasha moves closer to you, enclosing you between the desk and her body.

“I’m sure we can spare a couple of minutes, can’t we?” she asks, her voice lowering suggestively, caressing the air as she leans in.

Raising a brow skeptically, you tilt your head slightly, your lips barely grazing hers as you ask, “Only a couple of minutes?”

The moment your lips touch hers, Natasha's eyes darken with desire, her breath catching in her throat.

Absentmindedly humming in agreement, she whispers, “…yeah, just a couple…” before closing the distance between you.

Arriving at the ball later than expected, you and Natasha are greeted by her mother at the entrance, who gives you both a reprimanding yet knowing look.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, offering her a genuinely apologetic expression. “We lost track of time talking.”

Melina raises her hand in a stopping gesture at your explanation.

“No, don’t apologize, Y/n. I’m sure I can guess what happened,” she says, shooting a pointed glare at her daughter before turning her attention back to you.

“Would you mind giving us a moment alone?”

You nod in understanding, softly excusing yourself.

Natasha brings the back of your hand up for a gentle kiss goodbye before releasing it, and you turn to leave the two women to their private conversation.

“Hold on, Y/n,” Melina calls out to you before you can go too far.

Stepping up to you, Melina carefully examines you before adjusting the strap of your dress on your shoulder slightly.

“Do try to direct Natasha to a less visible area the next time you two decide to ‘talk’,” she advises with a raised brow.

A flush spreads across your face in realization, and you quickly place your hand atop the area she adjusted, before giving a reprimanding look to Natasha, who looks away, barely concealing the satisfied grin playing on her lips.

You offer a quick, polite thanks before swiftly making your exit, eager to leave the embarrassing situation behind.

Turning back to her daughter, Melina meets her gaze with a raised brow.

“I guess it’s safe to say that your relationship with Y/n is still going well?”

Natasha smiles softly at her observation, her eyes still following you as you go to join the others.

“Yeah, it is,” she replies honestly.

“That’s good,” Melina comments, handing her a cup before taking a sip of her own. “It’s important to show the other nobles how good the two of you are together so that they can have more confidence in the future with you as the ruler.”

Natasha nods in understanding, taking a sip of her drink in preparation for another lecture from her mother.

“Even if your relationship started as a ruse in the beginning,” her mother adds nonchalantly.

Natasha chokes on her drink in surprise at her mother’s words, coughing lightly as she gives her an incredulous look.

Melina raises a brow at her in challenge, daring her to deny her claim.

Looking away, Natasha glances over to where you are, oblivious to you and her arrangement being revealed at the moment.

As if feeling her eyes on you, you glance up, meeting her eyes and giving her a soft smile. She returns it before returning her focus to her mother.

Knowing there’s no point in trying to convince her mother otherwise, Natasha asks instead, “When did you figure it out?”

“Oh, I’ve had my suspicions since the beginning,” her mother reveals, swirling the contents of her cup in thought as she recalls how the events all started.

“That morning, Y/n mentioned in passing about her meeting with Lady Maria as a potential partner, so I knew I had to do something to make you act.”

Natasha's brows furrow as she pieces together her mother's words with her own memories. She was right to think it was odd that her mother would suddenly take an interest in her love life, especially with such a ridiculous ultimatum given in such a short time.

“Wait, let me get this straight,” Natasha interjects, holding up her hand as she processes the information. “You're saying the only reason you pressured me to find someone was because you found out about Y/n’s date with Lady Maria?”

Melina nods before offering Natasha a sympathetic pat on her back.

“Let’s be honest, Natasha, you can be quite oblivious when it comes to your feelings for Y/n. I only pushed you to pay more attention to your love life because I didn’t want you to miss your chance with her.”

“No, you said that if I didn’t find someone, you were going to choose someone for me,” Natasha reminds her mother, her tone tinged with frustration.

Melina waves her hand dismissively.

“I was confident that you would come up with something before it ever got to that point, and you did. This charade that the two of you concocted worked out much better in the end, wouldn’t you agree?”

Natasha gapes at her mother, blinking in disbelief. She pinches her brows, feeling a headache forming at her mother’s antics.

“Please, go meddle with someone else's love life,” Natasha pleads, her patience wearing thin.

“Don’t be so dramatic, Natasha,” she says, chuckling, before pressing on, undeterred by her daughter's exasperation. “Now, tell me, have you thought of a plan on how to propose to Y/n yet?”

Meanwhile, after leaving Natasha with her mother, you join the pair at one side of the ballroom. Stepping in front of the twins with a warm smile, you admire their new formal clothing that you had arranged for them to attend the event.

“Well, don’t you two look beautiful and dashing?” you compliment, ruffling Pietro’s hair playfully. He swats at your hand lightly with a pout, then tugs at the collar of his shirt.

“I think you and Wanda are just trying to choke me in this,” he comments.

A red mist envelopes his topmost button and undoes it, granting him some relief.

“Better?” Wanda asks, returning her hand to cross her arms at her brother’s exaggerated behavior.

“Yes, I can actually breathe now,” Pietro responds with a teasing smirk, nudging his sister in thanks.

At the corner of your eye, you notice some nobles nearby shooting disapproving glares at your group, their attention mostly focused on Wanda, and then they begin to speak to each other, their voices intentionally loud.

“So disgraceful that they allow such people in here.”

“Did you see her eyes? They say it’s red like a demon.”

Pietro scowls at their words, moving protectively in front of his sister, but you stop him before he could confront them.

Then placing a comforting hand on Wanda’s shoulder, you check up on her. She gives you a reassuring smile, truly unbothered by their harsh words.

You’re glad to see her adjusting okay to the fact that her powers are now known by others in the kingdom.

Still, you will not stand idly and let them talk about people you care about like that. The twins may not be in a position to say anything, but you can always defend and protect them.

Before you can confront the rude nobles, however, they are suddenly pushed off balance, stumbling to the ground, as the pair of canines rush through their legs towards you.

Their respective owners follow swiftly after them, with the younger princess giving the people a glare and challenging look, causing them to avert their gaze in embarrassment, looking elsewhere.

Yelena turns to your group with a satisfied grin.

“Don’t mind them, Wanda. They’re always judging everyone,” she says.

Kate nods in agreement, adding, “Yeah, intolerant people like them are not worth your time. There’s plenty of people in the kingdom who already know you’re amazing.”

Pietro chuckles and places his hand atop his sister’s head teasingly, remarking, “Careful with the compliments now, we wouldn’t want her getting a big head.”

Wanda rolls her eyes in response, shoving his arm off and commenting pointedly, “Your head is already big enough for the both of us.”

As the four of them continue their playful conversations, your eyes spot a familiar face hovering in the shadows at the edge of the ballroom.

Excusing yourself, you make your way over to the lone captain.

“Not one for parties?” you ask as you step up next to Bucky.

He sighs and shakes his head as he observes the surrounding guests joyfully engaged in celebration.

“It’s been a while since I attended events like these, but then again, I’ve never enjoyed them before anyway,” he admits.

Curious about something that you’ve been wondering about him, you finally ask.

“Why did you decide to come to this kingdom? You know, after hiding away for so long.”

A silence follows, and just as you think he’s going to leave your question unanswered, he finally responds, nodding toward the distance.

“To visit a friend.”

You follow Bucky’s gaze and realize he’s looking at Steve, who’s currently in conversation with Clint and Maria.

As if feeling your eyes, Steve glances up toward your direction, giving you two a welcoming smile and waving his hand in invitation.

A small smile forms on Bucky’s face, surprising you, and you find yourself asking curiously, “Then why not just stay? Enjoy life without constantly looking over your shoulder for danger and having to run away.”

He chuckles ruefully, giving you a look of disbelief.

“I’m the most wanted criminal of the Stark Kingdom. Nowhere is safe for me or for those who help me.”

“Well, at least consider the option,” you say, nudging him gently and giving him a pointed look. “Because you do have more than one friend here.”

He examines you carefully before giving you a silent, noncommittal nod, and you understand that this will be the most you’ll get from him.

“Y/n!”

At the call of your name, you turn to see Carol coming towards you. As you turn back around to excuse yourself, you're not surprised to find Bucky has sneaked away.

Carol stops in front of you, the happy smile fading slightly into a serious expression as she examines you critically.

"How are you feeling?" she asks with genuine concern.

The familiarity in her question makes you laugh lightly as you shake your head.

“You and Natasha. Why do you two keep asking me that?”

Carol raises an amused brow at you.

"It's because we both care about you, Y/n," she answers softly before tilting her head in thought.

"Maybe the fact we both like the same things is why we're always competing with each other," she muses aloud before extending her hand in invitation.

"Speaking of, would you like to join me for one dance before Natasha decides to keep you all to herself?"

You give her a playful warning look, raising your brow at her.

"No extravagant twirling, lifts, or dips?" you ask, knowing her tendencies.

Carol nods in reassurance, answering firmly, "I promise."

As she leads you in a slow dance, keeping an easy pace to avoid tiring you, you seize the moment to ask her something.

“Are you leaving after the coronation tomorrow?”

Carol nods in confirmation.

“That’s the plan,” she responds. “I want to do as much exploring as I can before my own coronation.”

A tiny, sad smile forms on your face at Carol's words. You've honestly missed her since she started her travels. Poking her pointedly, you give her a serious expression.

"Still, you should come visit more often," you tell her.

Her eyes soften, and she gives you a small nod.

“For you, I will,” she says, a hint of affection slipping into her tone. "If you ever need anything, Y/n, just let me know, and I’ll have my ship practically fly back to you."

Her eyes glance at something behind you before she shrugs, adding with a sigh, “And I guess the same applies to Natasha if she ever needs my help again.”

“How generous,” Natasha remarks dryly, her voice tinged with sarcasm, as she comes to a stop beside you.

Carol gives you a small bow in thanks, her expression teasing as she remarks, “Looks like my time’s up.”

“Natasha,” she greets, giving her an acknowledging nod.

Natasha returns the sentiment, her demeanor cool as she replies, “Carol.”

Carol gives you one last smile, before pressing a chaste kiss on your hand goodbye and whispering sincerely, “Be happy, Y/n.”

As she leaves, you glance at Natasha and notice the small displeased pout on her face.

Unable to resist teasing her, you nudge her gently, remarking, “Jealousy looks cute on you.”

Natasha huffs in disbelief at your statement before offering her hand to you.

“May I have a dance?”

As Natasha leads you in a slow dance, you can’t help but feel nostalgic, leaning your head against her shoulder.

“This feels familiar, doesn’t it?” you ask softly.

Natasha hums in agreement and nods against you, responding, “Last time we danced like this, we decided to be a couple.”

You chuckle at the memory, reminiscing about how clueless you were back then, never imagining how things would turn out for the two of you.

The soft music creates a serene atmosphere, cocooning you and Natasha in your own world, away from everyone else.

Recalling the details of your original agreement, you meet Natasha’s eyes, a mischievous glint dancing in your gaze.

“You know, according to our deal, our fake relationship is supposed to end after your coronation tomorrow,” you point out.

Natasha raises an intrigued eyebrow, curious about your intentions.

“So, what should we do about that then?” she asks, her tone playful.

You tilt your head, pretending to ponder before flashing her a teasing smirk.

“Didn’t we agree that if anything were to happen between us, it would be the princess who confessed her feelings first?”

Understanding dawns on Natasha’s face, and she grins in agreement, a fond smile playing on her lips.

“Y/n,” she begins softly, her gaze filled with affection. “From the moment I met you, I knew you were amazing…then I learned that you were really stubborn.”

You roll your eyes at her teasing, but Natasha just chuckles before continuing.

“But you're also kind and smart. And truly the strongest person I know.”

She leans in closer, her breath mingling with yours.

“My heart and my life have always been yours, Y/n.”

You feel warmth spreading through your chest at her confession, and you can’t help but cup her face gently with your hands.

“You’re my best friend,” Natasha continues, her voice barely above a whisper as she covers your hand with hers. “But I would be honored if you are willing to have me as more than that.”

Your heart swells with love, and you nod happily as you respond.

"I want that too, Natasha," you whisper sincerely. “I want to continue to stay by your side and be yours too. Always.”

With those words of promise, Natasha closes the distance between you, her lips meeting yours in a tender kiss.

The sound of cheers and applause surrounds you, but you pay no mind, lost in the moment with Natasha.

You don’t know what the future holds, but you’re not afraid. As long as you’re together, you know you can overcome anything that comes your way.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Epilogue

In another kingdom, far away, inside one of the workshops of the castle, the king’s assistant waits patiently by the doorway for a pause in the king’s pastime of tinkering.

“What’s the matter, Jarvis?” Tony Stark asks without looking up from his careful concentration.

“A letter arrived for you, sir.”

“Is it about the next shipment of parts?”

“No, sir, this came from a nobleman in the Romanov Kingdom.”

“Oh…you can just toss it in the fire then.”

There’s an awkward silence as his assistant makes no move to do as he asked, causing Tony to glance up in question.

The assistant hesitates before explaining.

“Counselor Potts strongly advised us not to do that anymore, under the warning of severe punishment should she find out. Also, the messenger stressed that the contents pertain to an urgent matter.”

Tony stops and furrows his brow. After the war and the deaths of his whole family, he preferred to keep contact between the kingdoms to a minimum. Just because there’s a peace treaty between them doesn’t mean he has to like or care about anyone there.

On the other hand, facing the wrath of his most trusted advisor for ignoring this letter is not something he wants to deal with in the foreseeable future.

“Just leave it on the table then,” he sighs with a roll of his eyes.

If anything, it’s probably more news about the coronation of their upcoming queen. He’s already sent his decline to attend the event and a decent enough congratulations present that Pepper picked out.

He doesn’t understand why they can’t just keep the indifferent relationship between the two kingdoms as is instead trying to make them into something closer.

Shaking his head as Jarvis closes the door behind him, Tony attempts to return to his flow of concentration, picking up his tools as he continues to tinker with the parts in front of him.

Unfortunately, as time passes, his eyes keep glancing at the letter sitting in the corner, something about it gives him some sort of unnerving feeling.

Slumping with a resigned sigh that he can’t keep his focus anymore, he places his tools down again and swipes at the letter, sitting at the edge of the table.

Opening it, he skims the contents quickly before his posture suddenly straightens with tension, his expression turning serious.

The door of the workshop slams open, and Tony strides out purposefully, calling to his assistant.

“Jarvis!”

They are at his side in an instant, following him and listening for the next orders.

“Tell Vision to prepare the carriages and let Pepper know I’ll be away a bit for some business.”

“Yes, sir. May I ask where you will be traveling to?”

“The Romanov Kingdom,” Tony answers, glancing at the letter in his hand before tightening his fist, crumpling the paper slightly.

“Looks like it’s time to pay this new queen a visit after all.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Series Masterlist : Boundless Devotion

a/n: Thank you to everyone for reading all the way to the end of this series! (especially this long chapter) It's been a journey, and I'm happy that many of you enjoyed it and showed up for every update (all of your comments and reactions are so sweet and fun to read and honestly helped to keep me motivated).

This is the final part of the series, but it's not the end yet. There will be a sequel for Boundless Devotion, and it's called Everlasting Devotion (title mention in prequel Fateful Encounter 🤗).

I’m still in the middle of working on it, so the first chapter is not going to be released right away since I also want to finish some other one shots that I‘ve been working on and maybe take a little break.

That being said, for those currently in the taglist for Boundless Devotion and anyone else who's interested, if you also want to be added in the taglist for when the sequel starts, please let me know. (I prefer to ask again just in case instead of just assuming and forcing you along on another series that you didn't sign up for)

Again, thank you to all of you for reading!

Taglist: @lightwhoranoutoflight, @taliiiaasteria, @romanoffprentiss, @canvascoloredin, @silentwolfsstuff, @blacklightsposts, @arcturusseer, @presser24, @dvrkhcld, @jujuu23, @screechcat, @vivs46, @cd-4848, @youneversawmehereooooooo, @pancakefan7529, @confusedspaceotter, @natbelovasblog, @izzy-b09, @iamheartless, @mrsrushman, @fxckmiup, @natty-taffy, @2silverchain, @traveler-at-heart, @autorasexy, @natsxwife, @mviswidow, @slut4johansson, @automaticdinosaurtaco, @jono723, @mousetheorist, @tofu9162, @natsbiggestfan1, @iheartjohansson, @nothanksbye07, @midastouch013, @dvrkhcld, @red1culous

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff fanfic #black widow x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff

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rafecameronsslxt · 1 year

Text

Pretty

Rafe Cameron x Virgin! Reader

Synopsis: A sweet girl falling for a man like Rafe Cameron leads to nefarious gazes as you and Rafe walk out sweaty and red lipstick covered on his neck.

Warnings: Thigh riding, slight corruption?, Angst at the end.

A/N: Making a part two because why not? Also, the request fan fictions will be out tomorrow.

An hour before your parent's event, your brother was nowhere to be seen. It was the most significant advancement for their company to expand and aggrandize. More or less, Rose asked you to find Rafe, and knowing he was with your brother, you ran in your ruby-red Christian Louboutins if running was concluded to waddling in the Country Club, all eyes, failing to look at their girlfriends and to you instead. Most girls give you dirty looks, their eyes falling on your body. Having everyone stare at you was never intentional, but you also never noticed.

There they sat in casual clothes, talking with each other. “Nathan, our parents need us to be there. Where is your suit?” You knitted your brows together. “We’re living precariously,” Nathan said with a lively tone as Rafe snorted, receiving amused looks from both of them. You sigh at the childish behavior. You shift on your heels, becoming uncomfortable in the sun's warmth, illuminating the highlighter and Chanel red lipstick. You bite your lower lip, looking at Rafe, who has barely said a word to you as usual.

Anytime you were around, he’d get quiet, unwilling to look at you. “We’ll go.” Rafe glanced at Nathan, who stood up, leaving you behind to catch up. You were practically just the younger sister in every situation because, as people said, you were entirely sweet and innocent though it was true.

You couldn’t help but let your eyes wander to the man before you, watching his tanned arms flex almost too perfectly in the grey and black shirt, showing off every vein in his forearm while he adjusted his grey backward hat. You saw Rafe every day. Whether it was at your house or his or during your morning jog, he was always in your line of sight.

You once asked your parents what they thought about the Cameron boy, and they worded their sentence, carefully trying not to bash him as your parents were good friends of Rose and Ward Cameron, but to say the least, they are not fond of him and wished your brother wouldn’t hang around with such bad influence as Rafe Cameron, so why would you want a man like him? A man who would only break your pure heart.

We arrived at the house, but you had to get going quickly. You couldn’t help but feel deep sadness as you walked out the door. Did Rafe hate you? You called Kiara to pick you up, hoping she would advise you. You barely had any boy experience, and it shames you because you’re nineteen and dated only one guy just for him to drop you for another girl, but he quickly got put in his place by your brother and Rafe…

“Doesn’t even GLANCE AT YOU! You’re drop-dead gorgeous. Who couldn’t like you? But, wait, who is he?” Kiara’s jaw dropped, and she gestured her hands all over.

You smile at Kie’s reaction but tauten as you’ve been edging around Rafe’s name. Kiara would freak out if she knew it was Rafe, you fancy. “I don’t- remember his name.” You rub your neck nervously, stuttering over words. “What?” Her lip arches in confusion as she parks her car, and we get out. You avoid the comment. “Ok… Since you don’t want to reveal the mystery man, I must find my parents.” She pulls you in for a short-lived hug and disappears into the crowd, leaving you alone.

You go to the front, lifting the red floral summer dress in hopes you won't fall as your parents start their speech, causing everyone to go quiet. They talk about how grateful and happy they are to make it where they are, but a fragrance envelops you, cedar and Caledonian sandalwood, and to your knowledge of cologne, it's from Chanel, and the scent entices you to turn your head only to be met by a pristine Rafe. His towering body glances down at you, feeling flustered. You avert your eyes back at your overjoyed parents.

Once they announce who they're partnering with, the mass breaks out into a cheer, and you clap, smiling, proud of your parents, and everyone begins to split into groups again. Your bones feel strained, and butterflies appear in your stomach, only for you to stumble backwards, landing in Rafe’s arms, then moving to hold your waist. “I’m so sorry- I’ve been really uncoordinated today.” You give him a thin smile, but the smile fades, deterring you from thinking optimistically about his reaction and the atmosphere surrounding you and Rafe. It wasn’t anger or enmity, but it felt tense and something else you couldn’t place as he leaned down to your ear, his breath light. “I’m going to ruin you, pretty girl.” Your body stiffens as he places a feathery kiss on your red lips, yet a bright red stain marks his. Rafe smirks at your cherry face, but his blue eyes are a dark sea, and his jaw sharpens.

Rather than leaving, he intertwines his hand with yours, taking you to an extensive vacant room crammed with spare decorations and chairs. You don’t realize you're holding your breath until Rafe brings you onto his thigh. Your heart is palpitating, and butterflies have become aching for him. The room is cold, making you shudder. Rafe’s gaze is piercing as you try to get comfortable, but wiggling around on his thigh is futile and instead stirs a quiet moan from you.

You feel embarrassed. “You know how pretty you look like this? You know how long I’ve wanted you?” His low voice mumbles into your lips, and he places his large hands on your waist, pulling you farther up his thigh. You relax into his soothing touch, but the nervousness doesn’t leave. You’ve never had sex or have done this before; Rafe guides your hips back and forth, creating friction between his thigh and your clothed clit. You whimper against his lips as you start to move into the rhythm of his hands.

You feel selfish for letting him do all the work, so you bring your hand to his tangible erection and start palming him through his dress pants. His size makes your eyes widen, Rafe was a big guy, but his length was impressive. “Fuck- you don’t have to do that, pretty girl,” Rafe grunts out while your movements against his thigh become swifter. “I want to.” You moan into the sickening sweet yet dirty kiss as he slips his tongue into your mouth, greedily accepting it. You gasp, pressing your body harder into his thigh but keeping your languid pace on his cock. Your legs feel weaker as pressure builds up in your stomach, and the throbbing initiates burning in your lower abdomen. “Rafe-” You wrap an arm around his neck, and your face is hidden in the nape, mouth open and pressing your plump lips to his Adam's apple. His hands grip your waist indefinitely to leave a red imprint.

“My good, pretty girl. Only for me, hmm?” He rasps out through grunts. You nod; words would be incomprehensible in the condition you are in. Edging release until the pure gravelly voice of Rafe pushes you over the boundary, officially connecting yourself with the Cameron man in more ways than you ever thought would happen. You are spasming around nothing; adrenaline is still coursing through the white splotches as you pant. Despite Rafe not receiving much, he has a dazed look in his eye, and you lay your forehead on his. But you see hesitation cover his relaxed complexion.

What are we? The question is a broken record in your head. You didn’t want a hookup with Rafe. You trust he won’t take advantage of you, but you hold him to higher standards. Rafe would never do that to you. Yet, Rafe must see your wheels turning because he reassures you. “I like you, pretty girl.” His thumb hovers over your lips, outlining them until you recognize the red lipstick gleaming on his neck, lips, and cheeks. Your jaw drops. Your widened eyes look to Rafe’s calmed ones. You put your hand under his jaw, lift his head, and take a picture of all the marks to show him, to which he shrugs. “Your lipstick is smeared too, pretty girl. There’s no bathroom, so we’ll just have to go out.” You wobbly stand up from his thigh and timidly raise a brow at the noticeable strain in his black dress pants.

He stands up, unzipping his pants. “Rafe-” He doesn’t answer. Instead, he brings down a hand and starts rearranging, tucking his hard-on under the waistband of his boxers. “Let’s go, pretty girl,” Rafe says carelessly, slinging his arm around your shoulder, not wasting time on your answer or pleas.

It’d be an understatement to say all eyes were on you. Everyone criticizes you with sharp eyes, and you decide you are lucky you aren’t under eighteen because your parent's face drops, livid at the sight of Rafe’s neck and your puffy lips. Kiara is stunned, and your protective brother begins to walk you out, with Rafe following. “I can take her home, man.” Nathan is coldly stern as Rafe leans down to kiss you softly and wave him off. You take off the ruby-red pumps, placing them on the floor of Nathan’s truck.

“Why Rafe? Rafe Cameron, of all people, you had to get involved with him. What changed in the last hours to have you walking out like that!? Do you realize how pissed Mom will be? Jesus, did you guys seriously have sex? You berated me for barely making it, but you could barely stay and got my friend's dick wet instead.”

“We didn’t have sex! You can sleep with fifty girls, but I get with Rafe, which becomes a problem. What the fuck, Nate!” You’re not one to scream, but the circumstances quickly overwhelm you. A disgusted look holds on your face, not at Nathan but yourself. You throw your hands into the air, pinching the bridge of your nose, tears threatening to fall because of how embarrassed you’ve become of the situation, not weighing the consequences or reactions.

The orange sky had slipped away to a dark starry night, and few cars were on the road. The rest of the drive had been eerily silent until Nathan pulled into the driveway, and we finally reached the front door.

“Rafe is not a good guy. We know this. You. Know. This. But if you like him as your brother and friend, I support you, and I’m sorry for being a dick.” You can’t explain how much you love your brother for comforting you and being open to your relationship with Rafe. Nate tightly wraps his arms around your waist as if he is losing a piece of you, but he is open-minded to the new chapter that will begin in your life, with or without the people around you.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron smut #rafe fanfiction #rafe outer banks #obx smut #rafe cameron imagine #obx angst #obx rafe cameron

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mistydeyes · 8 months

Text

miss americana: ghost edition

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series summary: The 141 has varying thoughts about Americans which range from finding them wildly entertaining to thinking they’re the worst people on earth. However you challenge their perspectives when you meet them. Something about you makes them feel a little more patriotic ;)

read gaz's edition here!

summary: Living in the UK has been quite a transition for you and there's a few things Simon doesn't mind pointing out (or making fun of you for)

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x American!reader

warnings: swearing

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the way you make tea is CRIMINAL to him.

“What are you doing?” Simon asked, startling you and causing you to lightly tip over your mug of lukewarm water. “Jesus, Simon,” you gasped, “I’m making some tea.” He did a double take as he examined the mug in your hand and the partially opened microwave.“You have the microwave open?” “Yeah to heat the water,” you responded as if he was asking a rudimentary question. At that moment, Simon could’ve had a heart attack. He quickly went over to you and dumped the water into a stovetop kettle. You crossed your arms over your chest, wondering what had gotten into your boyfriend. To your curiosity, you watched as he heated it until the kettle whistled. He poured it gently into your mug and placed a tea bag in it. “Here,” he said as he handed it to you, “that’s how you make tea.” “I don’t see the difference,” you mumbled before gingerly sipping on your tea and giving him a quick kiss.

He entertains the amazement you have when you see something that you swore was only distinctly “American.”

“You have hot dogs here?” you practically shouted seeing a stand with your favorite mystery meat. He looked at you bewildered as you stopped to stare at the stand. It was autumn and the leaves colorful leaves lay perfectly around the stand. "It's beautiful," you whispered as the sunset illuminated the bright red hotdog meat on the plastic sign. "It's a hot dog stand." Simon replied flatly, "You make it seem like it's the second coming or something." You shot a look back at him as your stomach slightly grumbled. Before you could say anything, Simon pulled you along with your hand firmly placed in his. "We're having dinner at Price's," he reminded as you pouted at his brisk pace. "But Simon," you began to plead before he cut you off. "It's the same thing you get back into America," he informed and you nodded at the commonality of the stand, "probably a little better though."

When you’re in public, he’ll be sure to let you know if you’re talking too loud.

"AND THEN" you practically yelled as you walked around the grocer's. Simon gave a death glare to the stares that met your loud mouth. "Mind just lowering your voice a little, love?" he asked politely as he continued to push the cart down the aisles. "Sorry," you sheepishly replied, "just used to everyone being deaf back at home." You sighed, missing the loud, noisy streets of your hometown and the boisterous laughter and comments from your friends. You just naturally spoke in a louder tone to compensate for it. "It's alright," he comforted, "people here can barely speak over a whisper." You shared a laugh as you continued your conversation without care. You could feel your homesickness temporarily wash away in the moment. It also helped that Simon met any judgmental eyes with a look of absolute menace.

You initially thought him not smiling was only a characteristic distinct to him but you soon caught on to the British way of melancholy or blank stares.

"Why does everyone look so sad here?" you whispered to him as you sat on the tube. After a casual dinner, you looked around to see the other passengers silently looking at their phones or out the window. "It's like everyone has a perpetual frown on their face," you continued as you looked up at him. "Just the way people are," he replied in an attempt to answer your question, "you all are so smiley in the US." You looked at him shocked and put a dramatic hand to your heart. "Not my fault we're just so friendly," you mumbled as he pulled you back into his side. You continued to sit in silence as the train car screeched along the tracks and the train car began to empty. With a handful of stops left, you felt the need to continue the conversation. "You know, I thought it was just you, but I guess it's just a UK thing," you joked before returning to look back at your phone. As you sat there in silence, Simon couldn't help but love the little things you said that always kept him wondering.

Simon will never understand the beauty that is a bacon, egg, and cheese on an everything bagel from a New York bodega after a night of drinking.

"Good morning," Simon smiled, slightly more chipper than usual. You looked back at him as he tussled his messy bedhead. You had gone out for a rare night of drinking with his team and it was clear that someone was feeling a little hungover at the moment. "What are you making?" he asked as he poured you both a cold glass of water. You smiled as you turned around with your masterpiece on a plate. "I made something special," you giddily answered as you pushed it towards him, "this is a New York specialty." As he placed the sandwich in his mouth, you continued. "Here we have expertly prepared strips of bacon, two eggs, and sliced, American cheese of the finest quality. Everything has been cooked to optimal temperature to burst in your mouth and it all lies on a bed of a perfectly toasted, everything bagel," you presented as you smelt the delicacy of your creation in the air. "It's a sandwich," he replied as he swallowed and you rolled your eyes. "It's not just any sandwich, Simon," you corrected, "it is essential to the morning after drinking." He nodded unimpressed as he continued to munch on his breakfast sandwich. "If you don't want it though, I can always take it," you began to say but you were met with his hands snatching it off the plate. "Mhmm that's what I thought big man."

Despite always correcting you, he smiles a bit at your little phrases and terms.

On a slow morning, you walked over to the couch and wrapped your arms around his shoulders. "Got any plans today?” you asked and he let out a small grunt in response. “I’m thinking we go to the movies,” you suggested. “You mean the cinema?” he cheekily asked and you rolled your eyes. “Whatever, let’s get dressed.” When you arrived, you walked with Simon and saw the growing line to enter the theater. “C’mon babe, let’s wait in line,” you said, walking towards the back and you failed to see his shit-eating grin. “It’s the queue,” he joked, clear sarcasm in his voice and you groaned at his antics.

Finally, the last straw was when you exited the movie and you wanted to relax at home with a good glass of wine. You put up with the teller, sweets, loo, and chips but you drew the line when it came to the next term. Simon’s arm was slung on your shoulder as you discussed the film when you remembered the lack of alcohol at home. “Si, can we stop at the liquor store?” you asked, innocently and you could see a signature smirk flash across his face. “You mean the off-license?” he replied and you lost it. “Oh shut up or I won’t have my parents ship those Costco jeans you love so much!” you replied and his snarky comments silenced. You knew how much he loved those bargain pants that were surprisingly sturdy. He nodded in response before placing a kiss on your angry forehead. “You’re a shithead,” you exclaimed and before he could interject with another term, you put up your hand to silence him, “not another word, London boy.” God, how Simon wanted to correct you and say he was from Manchester.

#task force 141 x reader #task force 141 #cod x reader #call of duty modern warfare #izzie is drawing #cod mwii #modern warfare 2 #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #call of duty #mw2 imagine #madebyizzie #mw2 #izzie is writing

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azullumi · 2 months

Text

“lyra” ; dazai osamu

summary — the many times you felt loved by him and the one where a confession happened.

pairing — dazai osamu (w/ gender-neutral reader)

tags — fluff (kind of), utilization of the friends to lovers trope, slightly proofread, 2.1k words ; one-shot

tagging — @toorurs

note — i literally haven’t written for him for years now and i swear i lost my mind and pulled my hair,, i could have done this better !?

Dazai is unpredictable.

In more ways than one, he is erratic, able to conceal his intentions beneath that long trench coat of his, tucked in the loose parts of his bandages, hidden somewhere only he can see. He is the definition of an enigma, he is more than a puzzle, not just a paradox that continues to exist despite death being the only companion and comforting thing to him—a man of mystery that is better left unknown.

“My, you always look as ethereal and beautiful as a lotus blossom.” The dark-haired man says as he holds your hand in his, his finger delicately tracing the lines of your palm, and his eyes looked softer than usual, his gaze holding something that lies between the line of affection and seduction. Sparkles and flowers seem to bloom behind him, the background of the cafe fading and turning into a plain pink one with hearts that float around his figure.

(Flirty.)

He’s fluent in the language of amorous words laced with playfulness accompanied with gentle touches and slow caresses on your skin. He doesn’t hesitate in getting close, invading your space and going over the line, and maybe he’ll show that he is into you but only a fool would think of his words as genuine affection meant for you and only you.

“My eternal light to the darkness, would you be willing to—” However, he’s unable to finish his sentence as you take your hand back from him, offering him a smile instead as you subtly set a distance between the both of you—as if you were telling him to never cross the line, to stay at an arms’ distance.

“Good morning, Dazai. What brings you here to the cafe?”

Fortunately, you weren’t a fool.

“Ah, rejection again, I see.” The pink background that blooms behind me seemingly shifts into a dark one as the man’s expression contorts into a mix of sadness and disappointment, all displayed in an overly dramatic way; his form is slumped, faux tears brimming in the corners of his eyes, and his lips are in a pout. The sound of a short (mirth) laughter is heard from you—you’ve gotten used to this sight of him, of his dramatic expressions, and flirty approaches just to ask you something ridiculous.

“I’m here for you.” He says.

(And persistent.)

You have witnessed evidence of his persistence expressed in his words and actions every time he’s free from any of his work and he comes to the cafe you work at (his definition of free is escaping from his responsibilities and choosing to slack off). He’ll always take the opportunity to hold your hand, whisper such affectionate words only one would say to their lover, and he’ll kiss your skin so gently as if it was made from glass.

That was what happened in the first meeting between you and him—first day on your work in this cafe and just as you were serving the order of this loud group that the owner is acquainted with, you caught the eye of the man covered in bandages and dressed in a somewhat messy yet orderly way. Then you know how it went and from then on, Dazai doesn’t let the chance to bother you slip from his grasp.

But you don’t fall for it, never would you. You’re not supposed to and you’re not going to. He has said such similar things to other people who he deems beautiful or attractive, he has touched others and tainted them with his caresses the same way he did with yours, his lips have felt the softness of others’ skin, not only yours. You’d be stupid enough to think that there’s something more lingering in the depths of his voice, something different that tugs at his tone and threatens it to break.

The two of you are just friends, maybe even less than that.

“Where’s Kunikida?” You ask him, eyes roaming around to look for a single strand of golden but there was nothing. You failed to notice the falter in the expression of the man before you, tension seeping into his features for a moment before it eases at the mention of another man’s name. You continue, “Are you slac—” only to be interrupted by the sound of the door chime ringing followed by a set of heavy footfalls.

A loud shout of Dazai’s name is heard, echoing off the brick-patterned walls of the place, as Kunikida enters. There was a furious look on his face, nose fuming as he spotted the one he was looking for and as soon as he did, Kunikida smacked the back of Dazai’s head. There goes it, you know how this would unfold, how everything would happen—you’re used to it, having already seen this scene enough times to tell how it would end: Kunikida will scold Dazai, calls him with a new nickname (it’s President of Wasted Bandages this time), drags him outside but before that, he’ll apologize on behalf of his co-worker’s behavior, and you’ll wave at them as they leave.

“Why do you always come to ruin good moments, Kunikida? Do you not wish to see me happy?”

“Happy?! Maybe if you stop slacking off, you'll be happy.”

You could hear their distant argument and you heave out a sigh when they disappear from your sight, the smile fading from your lips as the loneliness looms over your figure. Silence rests heavily on your shoulders and you ignore the ache in your chest.

The cafe is located on the first floor where the detective agency is and you work alongside a waitress and a kind owner. Members of the agency are often seen frequenting the place, thus you’ve become familiar with their faces, memorized their names, and even learned some things about themselves. Honestly, it’s all simple for you; you have a nice and peaceful job (ignoring the chaos around you and the occasional disturbance from Dazai), and you’re being paid well. What else could you ever wish for? It was all serene for you.

Not this time though.

It seems like luck has run out for you seeing that you’re bound on the ground right at this moment, becoming a hostage to a small criminal group. Everything that happened prior feels like a blur, you remember men suddenly entering the cafe with guns and threatening everyone, you remember them hurting the owner, and you remember being taken away. They want to use you as bait, a guarantee for the detective agency so that they will bite and get lured into the criminals’ trap, or whatever they were telling you earlier. You weren’t listening—maybe you were but their words just passed from one ear to another—, hands curled into a fist as it trembled, the cold floor felt like spikes stabbing into your skin, and as the rope dug into your skin.

Afraid? Perhaps you were. It’s not everyday you get a gun pointed at you and a man threatening your life. Is this how you’re going to die?

You try to distract and ease yourself by thinking of other things, your mind drifting to somewhere else instead of staying at where you are—the cat that you occasionally see across the street, the passing cars you’ll see outside the window, the music playing from the vinyl in the cafe, the ringing of the chime as the door opens, and the dark-haired man and eyes that reflect the earth. Dazai with his never-ending tab, with his continuous ridiculous offers, his dramatic expressions, his stupid whims, the way he would always annoy you as if it was a daily requirement, his messy bangs that frames his face, his words that poke and probe at your being, and his—

You are snapped out of your thoughts, a familiar voice calling your name, coming into the stream of your senses, and pulling you out of the daze that you are in.

“Dazai?” Something is drowning in the pools of his eyes, lurking in the depths, and the way he looks at you is different. The usual calm in his expression is disturbed by a mixture of emotions—like rain droplets on a surface of still water—, anger, worry, care merging into the gentle lines of his features. Your hands that were once bound were free, though your wrists are left with marks from the rope bindings and you could still feel the way it burns on your skin.

“What happened? Why are you here? Are you hurt? Did you come alone? How did you find me?” Many questions came pouring out of your mouth but your voice trembles as you speak, tone unstable as the words fall and shatter on the ground. Dazai only lets you, your form crumbling and he holds your pieces in his hand, and he assures you: “Everything is alright.”

He continues, taking off his coat to wrap it around your form, “Were you scared?” And you meekly nod, knowing that your voice will only betray you. Dazai doesn’t say anything and only pulls you close to him, embracing you in his arms (“I’m sorry I took so long.”). There was the scent of his perfume accompanied with a trace of gunpowder when you buried your face on his chest—you feel a sense of relief, comfort and warmth that makes its way through your thoughts and the feeling of suffocation slowly leaves you.

He draws small circles on your back as he tries to soothe you, “You’re safe now.” He whispers as he kisses the top of your head, his lips lingering for a few seconds as he inhales the smell of your hair. (You’ve never had him this close before, this soft, this warm. It feels like the man you have known him as before were all fabrications from your illusive mind and the one before you is a different person.)

He brings your hand towards his lips and he presses a kiss on your pulse, right where the marks of your wrists are, ever so gently, ever so sweetly, “Nobody will hurt you ever again.”

You descend down the flight of stairs leading to a basement—a bar tucked away and hidden in plain sight. You’ve only known of it all thanks to a certain blabbermouth, he said it’s his favorite place to go. When you arrive, the interior shifts to a dimly-lit one with warm lights illuminating the whole place in contrast to the dark and foggy street outside. There’s the sound of jazz softly playing in the background, setting the tranquil ambience the whole bar carries.

And there he is, the man of the hour, basking underneath the golden glow. Sitting on the stool by the end of the counter, he has a glass of whiskey settled in front of him.

“I didn’t expect for you to actually come.” Dazai speaks, his voice molding into the gentleness of the song playing.

“I was curious. Though I didn’t know you'd be here at the same time.”

“Come sit.” He pats the spot beside him and you follow. You order something to drink as you sit and a glass is served in front of you after a few minutes. Silence crept up to the both of you as you didn’t say anything—and you wish you could read his mind at this moment, to know the thoughts that plagues his mind—and the stillness was an unbearable kind;

You begin, “Do you always come here?”

Dazai takes a sip from his glass before he answers, “Just often.”

“I see.” And before the silence could last even longer, you spoke once more: “You haven’t been coming to the cafe lately.”

“Why? Did you miss me? Are you finally going to take up my—“

“No.” He muttered a small “aw” at your firm rejection. “You still have an unpaid tab.” And he groans at that while you chuckle, finding amusement in the way his expression crumpled.

The sound of your laughter dies down after a few moments, trailing off to a gentle mutter of an: “Thank you.”

“For?” He asks, even if he already knows what you’re talking about.

“For back then.” For giving you his coat as he noticed you shivering, for assuring you that everything is okay and you’re not going to be harmed anymore, for blocking your sight of the men’s bodies that laid like lifeless corpses on the ground, for protecting you.

It has been weeks since it occurred but you could still feel the warmth of his body against yours and maybe his scent will linger no matter how much you try to wash it, and maybe you’ll have to forever carry the thought, the wishful thinking that maybe there’s something more. And maybe it’s the alcohol making him light-headed but three words are whispered to the air that settles in the space between you and him.

“I like you.”

#— STARCROSSED 2024 !!#bsd x reader #bsd dazai #bsd #bsd x you #bsd x gender neutral reader #dazai x reader #dazai osamu #bungou stray dogs dazai #dazai x you #bsd dazai x reader #bsd dazai osamu #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs #bungou sd #dazai fluff #dazai imagines #azul.writes

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gomugomuno56 · 2 months

Text

I love you.

CW: angst, angst, angst/no comfort. I'm so sorry.

Trafalgar Law x fem!reader

He's so mysterious.

She's so damn outgoing.

He should trust more.

She'll get herself caught.

He smiled at me!

She's so dumb sometimes, it's almost funny.

I think I like him?!

I wish she'd tone it down a little.

I like talking to him.

I want to be left alone.

He's always busy.

I can't stand how chatty she is.

Will he ever like me back?

Will she ever leave me alone?

I hope he isn't seeing someone else.

I need to get my mind off of things.

Why isn't he back yet?

The bar sure is fun.

He was out drinking with...?

Felt good to have some alone time.

I think I have no chance.

Why has she been so quiet lately? Not bad tho.

I hate this.

Did something happen?

I hate myself.

At least there's some peace, I guess?

It hurts me.

Why do i kind of miss her presence?

I don't know how much longer I can do this.

I wish she'd come and talk to me again.

I think i need distractions.

She talks to others, just not me.

Bepo came to watch over me at the bar.

She went out alone?

I love drinking, even if it's occasionally.

She's drunk out of her mind.

Everything is so fuzzy.

She won't let me touch her.

I don't want him near me.

Why did that hurt?

I've been doing what I love, I think I'm healing.

I don't like this feeling.

I think I don't wanna be a pirate anymore.

I want to fix it.

Baking is fun, I want my own bakery.

I should talk to her.

I should talk to him.

She wants to leave.

Why'd he look angry?

I can't hold her back, can I?

The crew was sad, but happy too.

I can't watch her leave.

He didn't come to say goodbye.

I love you.

#one piece x reader #one peice #law x reader #one piece headcanons #one piece x you #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar law #law x you #law x y/n #angst #no comfort #i'm sorry

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radiant-reid · 1 year

Text

In The Dark

Summary: After a few months without contact, Reader assumes Spencer has ghosted her and she's shocked when he has the nerve to turn up.

based on the request: would you write something about spencer going to prison and being in a relationship for a few months, so the team doesn't know about her and no one tells her about him, so she thinks he just ghosted her and is really sad :( but someway she finds out?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader (Angst)

Content Warning: prison arch and mention of Spencer's SA and drugging

Word Count: 4.0k

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Spencer Reid is a great boyfriend. For someone with such little experience, he's mastered date planning, check-in phone calls, and romantic words. It's not a surprise when he's good at everything he tries, but it's impressive and incredibly appreciated by his girlfriend, Y/n.

He gets back into DC late from a case, something about an UnSub murdering people he sees as a threat to his soon-to-be ex-husband in the hopes of rekindling their relationship. It was sad and tragic but nothing exceedingly troubling. After more than a decade on the job, Spencer had seen just how powerful a motivator jealousy could be.

Adding to his stress, Y/n knew he was still struggling with looking after his mom, not as much as before, but it was still stressful. So she was a little surprised when Spencer called, wondering if she was free that night to go out. She tries to keep her calendar flexible when working around Spencer's unpredictable schedule, and she quickly agrees to spend some time with him before he gets whisked away on his next case.

Spencer's never late, but he knows to knock on the door no sooner than five minutes early to avoid Y/n worrying about not being ready if he arrives early.

Every time he sees her, especially after he's not seen her for a while, Spencer can't believe how he got so lucky to be with someone so beautiful.

"Hi." He says softly, trying to remember to function despite being totally blown away by her. "You look gorgeous."

Y/n gives him a little twirl in the new red dress she knew would be perfect for a date night. "Thank you. I missed you." She replies, not letting him get past the entryway of her apartment before wrapping him in a tight hug.

"I missed you too," Spencer says, resting his head on hers. He didn't know what it was like to miss someone until he met her, to think about someone fondly and wish you could see them. That was a first Spencer had never experienced before her. He still hates the longing to see her, but he loves that he has someone to miss.

There's not a feeling like being in Spencer's arms. It's safe and warm, and she loved it from their first hug.

When she pulls back, Y/n smiles up at him. "Also, you look very handsome." She tells him before leaning in to kiss him softly.

Spencer always grins like an idiot about having someone to kiss casually. There's no other feeling like it.

"Should we go?" She asks, her tone just slightly teasing at the spaced-out look on Spencer's face.

He snaps back into it. "R-right, uh, yes, yeah, let's go." His actions are more decisive than his words, and he steps aside to let her into the corridor before him.

"So, where are we off to?" Y/n asks curiously on the way to the elevator, hand-in-hand with Spencer.

With the hand not holding hers, he reaches into his suit jacket pocket and produces two ticket stubs. "The theatre."

Her eyes light up with delight as she takes the tickets to confirm they're real. "How did you- these were sold out?" She's as puzzled as she is excited.

"I know people," Spencer says mysteriously, making her giggle and playfully nudge his arm.

"Thank you." She says, voice overflowing with gratitude. She had mentioned how much she wanted to go, but she couldn't find tickets, and somehow, Spencer found some. Things like that make him the best boyfriend.

He proves he's better than other boyfriends by opening her door when they get to the car, and even drives, although he doesn't like it.

They arrive at the Kennedy Centre with enough time to get food and drinks before the show, and Y/n's even more impressed by his feat of getting tickets when she realizes just what good seats they are.

Despite being shy to touch her at the start of their relationship, Spencer has quickly warmed up, and his hands don't leave her the whole night, holding hers or resting on her thigh or his arm wrapping around her shoulder.

After the show, they walk down the street to a restaurant for dinner when Spencer offhandedly mentions an idea. "We should go to the real thing." He says dreamily.

"Like, in Paris?" Y/n replies with a frown. It's a very forward proposal to get from a boyfriend of two and a half months, who she's only been out with on seven dates and never slept in the same bed as.

Spencer quickly shakes his head when he realizes the implication of what he's just said. Of course, it's in his future plan to take her to the City of Love- even to see the entire world if she wants that. But telling her so soon would be coming on too strong, potentially scaring her off, and he does not want to do that.

He chuckles awkwardly, clearing his throat. "No, uh, I just meant to New York to see it on Broadway."

Technically, it's only a three-hour train ride, which isn't a huge commitment, but the show would end late, so they'd probably have to spend the night in the city together..., and she should stop fantasizing so much about something he's only suggesting.

She settles on a more laid-back answer. "Yeah, we should. I'd really like that."

Spencer makes a promise to himself right there as they walk down a street of DC on the way to dinner. He'll take her to New York City and then Paris one day.

He only gets the confidence to speak the latter thought that night. They're lying in bed together after Spencer once again has proved he's good at things he says he doesn't have much practice at.

"We're going to go to Paris." He vows, holding out his pinky to lock with hers.

Y/n frowns. "Right now? I'm too comfortable here." It's so cozy under her covers, and she feels safe beside him, resting on his bare chest for the first time.

He shakes his head, messier curls dancing on his forehead. "No, I mean just at some point in the future. You know, eventually." He explains before waggling his pinky finger. "Now, promise me."

She snorts with laughter but locks her pinky around his. "I guess we're going to Paris together."

He's about to add something, but his phone ringing on the side table stops him. Spencer can guess who it is, but he knows that she doesn't know he has a BAU-specific ringtone and that that wasn't it. He avoids showing her the screen, taking advantage of her focus on her fingers drawing patterns on his skin.

Y/n notices how he stiffens once he reads the message. "Do you have to go?" She asks softly, purposefully making herself not sound upset. She's not, but sleeping alone won't be as easy as it was about to be when she assumed he was staying the night over.

"I'm sorry." Spencer quickly apologizes, but not for needing to go, just for lying.

She shakes her head quickly, leaning up to kiss him softly. "Don't be." She assures him before moving off him so he can get out of bed and leave. Spencer slips out of the covers, collecting his clothes from the floor and awkwardly- but adorably- clumsily redressing. "Where are you off to?"

"Houston."

Brownsville, then Matamoros, Mexico.

He hates himself for lying to her. He hates himself for lying to the team too. He hates himself in general recently. Lies always snowball. He's only lied by omission to her before, simply saying he was out of town when she asked rather than admitting he was in another country.

When he's finished redressing, he stands awkwardly by her doorframe. He wants to kiss her goodbye but doesn't think he's worthy of affection.

Like he knew she would, Y/n ushers him over. "You have to kiss me before you go." She reminds him with an innocent giggle.

"Right, sorry." Spencer apologizes, making his way across the room to her and resting his hand on the mattress to lean over and capture her lips in a soft kiss.

She pulls back with a smile. "Be safe."

He nods. What he's doing, although technically not illegal, is definitely not safe. For a moment, he thinks about telling Y/n. It would be easy to blurt out what he's actually going to do, but he's not about to dump all of his problems on his new girlfriend. She's too precious and innocent to be involved in his mess.

"I will." He promises. He needs to be for her and for Paris. "I'll call you when I'm back. It shouldn't be more than a few days. Then we can plan New York." He promises as he moves away from her towards the door.

She grins broadly, nodding eagerly. "Okay. I'll look forward to that."

He will too. In fact, dreaming about their future plans is where he'll go in his head as his happy place.

To say Mexico didn't go as planned would be a drastic understatement.

The plan was not to get high, enter a car chase with the police with cocaine in the trunk, and ultimately get arrested.

And there are no words to describe even a tiny fraction of Spencer's despair as he comes down from the awful mix of cocaine and heroin and realizes what's happening. Y/n's on his mind when he starts coming down, but there's so much else happening around him while Emily tries to save him from ending up in a deadly Mexican prison.

Thankfully, his face is so pale, and he looks so ruined that no one notices the dread set in when he's on the jet back to the US, and he finally focuses on his girlfriend. It's a moral dilemma that he doesn't have the morals or energy to work through.

Don't get the team to tell her, and Y/n will believe he doesn't want to be in a relationship with her but is too cowardly to say.

Or get the team to tell her, and she'll be forced into his mess.

He chooses not to tell anyone he's in a serious relationship and holds onto hope that the team can quickly prove his innocence or that he'll get bail and be able to do it himself. He knows JJ, Penelope, or Emily would be delicate, but it's jaw-dropping news, and he needs to be there to beg her to stay if- when, in his mind- she decides she doesn't want to be with a suspected murderer.

At his arraignment, she's who he's thinking about when he gets hauled away, having not been granted bail. He can't make his mind up between speaking up about her and the existence of their relationship or not, and as time goes on, it seems easier not to.

Y/n's not worried the first night he's away, and she doesn't get a text. They're still getting into a routine, and she knows his job often doesn't allow for breaks. On the second day, a missing child's case hits the news, and she figures, although not explicitly stated, that possibly that's what Spencer and his team are working on.

Once it's announced that they found the little girl, Y/n's concern amplifies. It's the longest there's been no contact between them. All her phone calls go straight to his voicemail, and her messages only send as texts.

It's inconceivable that he would purposefully not contact her, so she repeatedly puts his name into Google, knowing it would be published if he were injured or, even more heartbreaking, killed. Something like that would probably make a martyr of him, but it would be an explanation for his disappearance.

Nothing.

There are a few articles on notable cases he's worked on and his remarkable intellectual achievements, but they're all from much earlier.

So it's logical that he's alive and unwilling, rather than unable, to speak to her.

And eventually, she accepts that she got ghosted. The person she thought was the most honorable she'd ever met left and never explained it.

It's heartbreaking, each unreturned message and call piercing her heart and crushing her spirit. Everything about Spencer seemed so perfect. He treated her like glass, delicate and beautiful. He was gentle with her feelings and his words. He never pushed too hard or didn't care enough.

Spencer was everything she wanted, and she had him.

And then he was gone.

She wishes she could be more angry. Of course, she's furious at the abruptness, at Spencer leading her on and possibly treating her so well she won't be able to accept less in the future. She's angry that she looks like an idiot, played perfectly by someone who's probably laughing about it to his friends. And she doesn't even know any of his friends! That's how blinding his affection was.

But she's hurt, heartbroken. What about her is so unloveable that Spencer couldn't stay? And, on top of that, what makes her so unworthy of an explanation? It's worse than a breakup in that way, no answers to the questions plaguing her mind. Doubt and insecurity plague her mind every day. The weight of her sadness felt suffocating. Y/n tried to occupy her mind, but the memories lingered and taunted her. Then there were the inquiries from everyone around her about how her relationship was progressing, everyone who had seen her overjoyed just days before.

She took a weekend to cry about it, to mourn the loss of something good with a promising future.

But, even more than two months after their last contact, it's still difficult to think about. Spencer's absence is found every day in her life. He's not an easy person to forget.

It feels like hundreds of times she's typed out text messages to him, ranging from begging him to reconsider their relationship to demanding answers about why he left without a word. Then it dawns on her that maybe it's not even still his phone. Maybe Spencer does the whole dating thing with lots of different girls to get off, and he has a burner SIM for each of them, and he's thrown hers out.

Still, she has to send that last text message. A final conclusion, two months after the "Please just let me know you're okay" text message that Spencer didn't return. It got sent with trembling hands and a heavy heart, but the final one wasn't. It's impersonal. Structured formal language, blocked out her feelings, and commanded he never contacts her again.

So, the last thing she expects at 7 pm on a random Tuesday night is Spencer to be at her door.

Spencer with, through her view from the peephole, a blonde woman. So this is probably his wife, and now she's about to get accused of being the other woman and sleeping with a married man.

Y/n only opens the door for the chance of seeing him getting slapped by her or slapping him herself.

His eyes soften as hers fill with tears. It hasn't even been that long, but Spencer looks different. He actually looks like shit, totally worn down with his messy curls, deep bags under his eyes, and unshaven facial hair, and she's unsympathetic to it. She felt like that, so he deserves to look like it. Spitefully, she might be enjoying it.

"You good?" The blonde next to him asks, but her eyes aren't judging, just concerned.

So she's probably not a wife, but he has no right to bring an emotional support person to a confession about being a complete dick to her.

Spencer barely glances in her direction as he nods. She hastily exits down the hall while Y/n stares him down.

"I don't want to speak to you." She informs him sternly, shaking her head to avoid tears falling. She's not going to let her walls crumble for him. That was a lamentable mistake and a pitiless lesson.

When she goes to slam the door, Spencer puts his hand in it. He's an asshole, but she won't go as far as to break his fingers.

"Please." He begs, voice grave. "Please hear me out."

Y/n scoffs, dramatically rolling her eyes. It's a facade for how destroyed she is internally. "Why? Why should I?" Unfortunately, she couldn't turn off her caring like he could turn off his attachment.

"I promise I can explain." He assures her.

Her patience is gone in an instant, and she snaps. "Explain!?" She balks. "You can explain why you've been ghosting me for two and a half months? Why you lead me on with these fantasized plans of us going on vacation together only to not speak to me again? Well, that sounds delightful."

Spencer had anticipated the hostility he's met with. "Can we talk inside?" He offers calmly. His fuse is shorter after prison, but he needs to set this right. There's not an ulterior motive. All he wants is for her to know the truth, even if she never speaks to him again.

"Sure." She voices, stepping out of the way to let him in.

It chills her to think that the last time he was here, they were making gentle love and vows.

"Was it all just a ploy to fuck me?" She spits out.

That was the deep insecurity she had about the situation. It couldn't have been a coincidence that, proceeding their first night, he wouldn't return a call.

She continues, voicing all the built-up feelings that are finally exploding. Her emotions are like a pressure cooker with a strong need for release. "Because that's so fucking low. I trusted you! I let you in, and you were such a coward you couldn't tell me you finished with me."

The cracks show. Spencer can hear the pain in her voice and see the tears she's fighting. He wants to reach out and hug her- he needs to. It's what he's been thinking about for so long, but he can't, not yet.

"I was in prison." He says calmly. There are so many ways he's played this out, but in the moment, it came out simply.

"Fuck off." She says, not at all believing a word. An easier lie to sell would be that his mom died or his phone got stolen. Neither are good excuses, but they're much more likely.

Spencer shakes his head. "I'm not lying, I promise." His voice is so profound that it's hard not to believe him.

But he could easily be a psychopath, doing this for more sadistic pleasure.

"Why should I believe you?" Her arms cross over her chest defensively.

"Because I am crazy about you." Her heart stops, and those butterflies are impossible to suppress. They're second nature when she's around him. "I would never jeopardize that on purpose." He swears, but he can tell she needs more. "You are lovely, everything I could ever want in a partner and more. Your kindness is like nothing else I've ever experienced, and I'll always be grateful I met you."

The self-preservation instincts in her brain are screaming at her, warning bells going off. "I need to hear the rest of your explanation." She says strictly.

"Can we sit?" He asks, nodding at the couch. "It's a long story."

Hesitantly, she agrees. She needs to guard herself, but she needs answers just as badly.

So Spencer recounts it. From why he was in Mexico, what substances he was getting for his mom, the other times lies about his whereabouts, the cocaine and heroin forced into him, his hallucination about having sex with her in the motel room, the car chase, the arrest, the cocaine in the trunk, coming off the drugs, the holding cell in Mexico, his team turning up, the times they had to repeat what had happened because of how high he was, the childhood flashbacks, the eleventh-hour transfer to the American authorities, the realization of his situation, the arraignment, the horrible verdict, prison without protective custody, the beatings, his friend dying, the fear, feeling like it was forever, all the interviews and meetings with his lawyer, the unlikely savor on the inside, finally getting out and having his name cleared, and the somehow more stressful ending.

By the end, he's crying, not trying to wipe away the soft tears falling down his cheeks. Y/n hasn't realized she has started to cry, but she can't stop it.

"I'm so sorry." She apologizes, but it's primarily for the internal resentment she's harboring for him and all the hateful things she said about him in her head.

"It's okay," Spencer promises. His guilt is overwhelming already, but it's going to increase tenfold if she's remorseful about it. "You didn't know."

"But I sure as hell didn't give you the reasonable doubt." She adds in.

He shakes his head. "I haven't spoken to you in almost three months, Y/n." He speaks softly, still weeping. "The logical conclusion to draw is that I left you on purpose. I can't imagine how much I've hurt you, and I'm so sorry for it."

"I know it's not your fault." She says, before tacking on, "Now."

He's so grateful she just gave him a chance to explain. He's hopeful it will bring her peace, but there isn't a doubt it will do that for him.

He stands up awkwardly. "Thank you for hearing me out... and for the best few months of my life. It's truly been a pleasure."

"Wait." She pleads softly, making him spin around quickly. "You're leaving?"

"Do you need something?" Spencer asks. He'll do anything she wants in a heartbeat, hoping it will ease some of the misery she's been in.

Y/n bites her bottom lip, thinking through what she's about to ask, but she knows she has to go with her heart and gut. Spencer is Spencer, and she'll never be able to convince herself that he's hurt her on purpose.

"You." She admits.

Spencer's heart gets crushed in an instant. She knows about it now, but there's no way she can fully understand the changes, so he'll have to let her down again and break both their hearts, hearts that long for each other.

"Y/n..." He trails off. "I'm not who I used to be."

She shakes her head. "I don't care." Her confession is nonchalant. It's a quick decision, but it feels right. "Please don't leave again."

"I've been in federal prison." He reminds her.

She gulps, feeling the full power of his rejection. It's a much more Spencer way to do it, letting her down gently. "Mm-hmm." She mumbles. "Okay, I understand." She gets up to show him out, and it feels like the weight he's relieved has been piled back on. "If you ever want to be with me again... you know where to find me." She knows it sounds pathetic, but she needs to say it.

If he ever wants her. There's nothing more than Spencer wants. "Y/n." He coos softly. His hands come to cup her cheeks, relishing touching her skin and being close to her again. It's a natural desire to kiss her, but he stops himself from doing it a few inches away from her lips.

"Don't." She begs in a whisper, more tears clouding her vision. "Not if you're not going to stay."

"I want to." He promises. "But I'm different."

Y/n shakes her head in his hands. "Not inside. You might have more walls, but your heart will always be good."

So he doesn't let himself self-sabotage. When he kisses Y/n, it feels like everything is right in the world again. It's what he's been dreaming about for as long as they've been apart. It's fireworks and butterflies and every cliche possible, but there's a reason those cliches get repeated: they're true.

Spencer pulls back once he's kissed her until they've both run out of air. He's crying as much as he's smiling. "We're okay?" He double-checks.

"You're going to be," Y/n promises. "And that means we're going to be."

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