#not sure if this chapter will be spicy in the end or not

[theother-victoria]

LOVE IS CONCOCTED FROM ESTERS AND KETONES- CH.01: AVENTURINE

SYNOPSIS: he never expected to find home again.

CHARACTERS: aventurine

TAGS: bittersweet veering more towards bitterness I’m sorry guys, menace aventurine, 2.1k+ wc,

TAGLIST: @tragedy-of-commons, @mitsvriii, @harque, @akutasoda, @flowery-jazz, @hazyue, @gabile18, @khoncore , @lxkeeeee , @mewnekoice-mecha , @nariism

NOTES: aven fans are allergic to happiness case in point: me

special thanks to @milksnake-tea for doing the math on how much a perfume bottle costs in the hsr-verse and @akutasoda and @phantovia for letting me use their ocs aika and yeri respectively! additionally thank u to my pookies @tragedy-of-commons, @akutasoda (once again), @https-sourlimes, and @kazuhaiku for proofreading this chapter!

The first of the new customers comes in on a slow Tuesday afternoon.

It’s just you and your two assistants in the shop. They’re restocking some of the bottles on the shelves and you’re in the lab as per usual, this time reformulating an old scent that didn’t sell well on its maiden voyage. You distantly hear the front door chime ring and the voices of your two assistants welcoming them.

You stare down at the flask in front of you on the table and the array of raw materials scattered around it. Eh, might as well get up and help out. You haven’t made any progress in the past half hour either. 

With a sigh, you get up and unlock the door separating your lab from the store. Your usual greeting spills from your lips like you’re on autopilot.

“Welcome, dear customer. How can I be of assistance today?”

You trip over your words a little bit at the end as you take this customer’s appearance. On first impression, it’s a bit gaudy- like a peacock trying to impress. An expensive leather coat with fur like he’s trying to flaunt his wealth and a spade cutout right in the middle of the chest like he’s trying to draw attention to it. His face is also obscured by the brim of his hat and his pink sunglasses so you sadly can’t get a glimpse of his appearance.You haven’t seen him before- you’d remember a getup like that for sure. 

“Nothing in particular. Just doing some window shopping.”

His voice is rich and syrupy like honey and it pulls you in. You don’t miss how your two shop assistants are eyeing him and you send them a look over your shoulder. They giggle under their breaths and scurry away to busy themselves around the shop. 

 He picks up a black tester bottle and sprays it a couple times around his pulse points before walking around the store again. It’s pricey, but it’s a popular perfume among young men, especially those that like to party from your observations. Not surprising, considering how creamy, spicy, and decadent it smells. It’s a crowd-pleaser. 

One of your assistants, Aika, passes by with a box of perfume bottles that you received in an earlier shipment. She pauses and gives you a mischievous look. 

“He’s hot,” she whispers as he passes by. “Looks like he’s interested in you too. I see him eyeing you up. Don’t pretend like you haven’t either.”

You merely glare at her, which she laughs at. He gives you a knowing look and a wink, further proving her point. You pointedly ignore it. 

He seems happy with how the scent reacts with his skin chemistry and the dry down because he walks back to grab a bottle before setting it down by the register. You pause what you’re doing in the meantime to ring him up. 

He hands his card over without a second thought. Black card, you note as you swipe it. It’s got some weight to it too. You catch a glimpse of the name on the card and the IPC logo in the corner before handing it back to him. Aventurine, of the IPC’s Strategic Investment Department. Now you have a name and affiliation to go with the face as well. 

When you hand his card back, his gloved fingers ghost over your hand for a second longer than necessary. The warmth of his hand seeps through the thin leather and you have to force yourself to ignore it and bid him goodbye. 

Another one of your shop assistants watches him go as well.

“You know, he didn’t seem like he particularly loved that perfume. Maye he bought it just to get close to you?”

“Yeri…”

“Just saying. Don’t act like you didn’t notice it too.”

After that, he doesn’t leave you alone. You quickly learn that he’s an IPC executive, which takes you by surprise with how he’s attached to your hip at any given time. He’s still busy with work, but he spends a lot more time at your store than you’d expect- at least a visit or two every week. He always leaves with something as well. At this rate he’s going to have a bottle of every perfume in your store…

“He’s more like a… how do I put it? He’s more like a… clingy stray cat that you took pity on one day and it wouldn’t leave your side after that,” you complained to your shop assistants one day during lunch. Aika snorts and steals a bite of your food. 

“No harm in playing along with him. He’s rich, after all. Savor this opportunity.”

He also likes to flirt with you and hog up all your free time. He’ll walk in with a loud declaration of “(Name)! I’m back!” and wrap his arms around your shoulders and waist the moment he sees you. Over time, you’ve gotten used to it and you’ll do business as usual with a grown man clinging to you like some house cat. 

(Your shop assistants still tease you relentlessly though.)

In return, you turn him into your unofficial guinea pig to test your upcoming perfumes on. He doesn’t mind. In fact, he seems to take pride in it. 

You gently grab his wrist and spray something onto the exposed skin. He doesn’t resist- just lets you do your thing.

“Tell me your thoughts.”

“My friend, you already know what I’m going to say. Everything and anything you create is bound to sell out. When it comes to storytelling, your nose is unmatched.”

“Give me real constructive criticism, Aventurine. Stop trying to butter me up.”

“I’m being honest here!”

With the frequency of his visits, the distance between you quickly closes. He insists you refer to him by his name without any prefixes. You don’t particularly care what he refers to you by, but you’ll frequently catch him on the phone talking about “his beloved perfumer”. 

One day when there are no customers in the shop, he comes in. There’s no loud proclamation of your name or the now-familiar sound of expensive leather shoes against the floor as he searches for you. He looks a little different as well. His hat is gone, as well as his pink sunglasses, letting you see his face unobstructed for the first time.

His eyes. They’re the first thing to draw you in. They’re a hypnotizing shade of magenta and blue that you’ve never seen before. 

What pretty eyes, you think. But you avert your gaze in case he catches you staring. Strangely enough, he doesn’t meet your gaze. He takes a particular interest in the view outside the window even though he’s seen it a million times already. 

You hand him a faceted golden bottle. The turquoise liquid inside swirls slightly as he examines it. A thin turquoise band runs around the circumference of the bottle and he hesitates. It looks a little familiar, for some reason…

“This is a new scent I created recently. Smell it and tell me your thoughts.”

He sprays it on his wrists before tentatively taking a whiff. Instantly, the scent of bergamot and the sea hits him.

No, the smell of home hits him. There’s a faint citrusy smell that smells vaguely familiar to a hardy fruit that bloomed on the scraggly trees during the spring and the earthy scent of sand hits him like a punch to the gut. He can still recall the sensation of the sand stinging his eyes from the harsh solar winds and how despite his sister’s best efforts, he could never fully get it out of his clothes and hair. It stuck to him like a second skin. 

Sometimes, he finds himself wishing that he could’ve filled a bottle with sand and brought it with him so he’d always carry part of home, especially on those lonely nights. 

Then comes the rain.

He can hear the sound of the rain hitting the rooftop of the tent he called home as a child where he’d celebrate a few lonesome birthdays, followed by the stench of iron and rot and the sickening squelch of his footsteps in the drenched sand as he flees, leaving everything he’s known and loved behind. 

For some reason, he can taste the saltiness of the sea as well. But on a planet as desolate and barren as Sigonia-IV, there are no bodies of water. Is it the ocean or rather his tears instead?

He rubs his wrists together to make the top notes and memories dissipate faster. They fade to something richer and deeper, more opulent and decadent. More fitting for who he is now. The spicy scent of expensive alcohol is both familiar and sickening. 

There’s a new syrupy sweet scent that emerges that meshes so well with the alcohol he almost doesn’t realize it’s there until he takes a second whiff. His eyes widen and he almost chokes on it.

Honey. It’s the sugary sweet scent of honey. 

Even now, he still can’t escape his past.

He picks up on a resinous scent and if the honey made him feel nauseous, then the scent of amber makes him sick to his stomach. All for the Amber Lord. That damned phrase reminds him that he still isn’t free, imprisoned by gold and jewels instead of chains and shackles now. 

The decadence and richness of the top notes have died down and it now smells warm and intimate, like a hug from a loved one. He thinks of his sister and the long nights he’d spent cuddled into her side to stave off the extreme cold. He can’t remember what her voice sounds like anymore, or what she smelled like, or how she even looked. But he remembers how safe, how loved, he felt in her embrace. 

He hates every aspect of the scent. It’s too close for comfort. (Did you enlist the help of a Memokeeper for this?)

 But he loves it at the same time. He’s heard the stories of how your perfumes are stories in their own rights, shifting from one scent to another to evoke foreign yet familiar emotions in the hearts of their wearers. He’s enjoyed all your perfumes so far, but hasn’t found something that really resonated with him up until now. Clearly, he’s underestimated your nose.

You fidget a bit, a little unnerved at his silence. He always has something to say. For him to be silent is so uncharacteristic. 

“So… how is it?”

He continues to stay silent. His chest feels tight and his left hand has subconsciously clenched into a fist behind his back. 

“I’ll take your entire stock.”

The words make it past the lump in his throat and he forces a smile. 

You freeze.

“Sorry?”

“You heard me. I’ll take your entire stock.”

“... It’s still under development though…”

“I don’t care. Just don’t release it to the general public. How much per bottle?”

“The same as the rest of them. 112,000 credits for the full size.” 

To your surprise, he hands his card over without a second word. After a moment of hesitation, you swipe it. The little ding tells you the transaction went through. Most, if not all, of your customers are wealthy. They have to be in order to afford your perfumes. But the top one percent of the one percent… they really are in a different realm. 

“You do subscription services, right?”

Dumbfounded, all you can do is nod. He lets out a satisfied hum.

“Perfect. Sign me up for it.”

Sensing your shock, Yeri graciously takes over for you while you head to the back to process what just happened. This scent was just you messing around! If you did end up selling it, it would’ve only been in limited quantities because of how… unique it smells. Not as unique compared to some of your wares, but niche enough to separate it from your more palatable scents. 

Yet here you are with a man that has already paid for and demanded several bottles… Better get to work then. 

Your shop assistants have already finished processing the transaction and Aventurine is standing outside the store now. He gingerly lifts the bottle out from its packaging and sprays it a few times onto his pulse points. He knows he’s being greedy by hoarding all the bottles and not letting anyone else have it, but he doesn’t care. The delusional side of him thinks there’s no way this fragrance WASN’T crafted for him specifically. The notes, the bottle design, everything. 

Fabric holds scent longer than skin does. His mind drifts to the old rag that was his father’s, safely stored away.

He won’t be able to return home for a long while. But this perfume must be what it’ll feel like when that day finally comes and his time runs out.

PERFUME NOTES (yes I am making a perfume for every character):

TOP NOTES: bergamot, petrichor, sand, sea notes

MIDDLE NOTES: tonka bean, sandalwood, vanilla, rum, bourbon, whiskey

BASE NOTES: honey, amber, skin musk, iso e super

INSPIRATION: Versace Eros, Initio Psychedelic Love, and Initio Side Effect

enjoyed this? the taglist is open!

@ theother-victoria, do not copy, repost, modify, translate, or feed to ai

[chaoticstrata]

In Harmonious Song CH 5 WIP

Finally got more than a few sentance written down for this! Huzzah!

--------------------------------

Aketho was both terrifying and oddly beautiful when he was angry. 

Theron came to that conclusion as he watched the Chiss tear Lana a new one for the stunt she pulled on the Republic spy with the Revanites. His cheeks were flushed a pretty purple, his expression was hard and stormy, and Theron swore his eyes glowed brighter with each word spoken. In all honesty, Theron was a bit mesmerized by the sight.

And while he’d say he didn’t need Aketho coming to his defense, he was still incredibly flattered by it.

“Apologize,” Aketho ordered, crossing his arms as he glared at the Sith Lord in question--silently daring her to argue with him. 

Well…that was more sexy than it should have been.

“At the risk of seeming egotistical, I will not apologize for being right,” Lana said, settling the Agent with a stubborn gaze.

Theron had to admit, Lana was tenacious and--like some of his trooper friends would say--had balls of durasteel.

“Do it,” Aketho responded, lifting an eyebrow as he took on the brunt of Lana’s glare.

That last statement was double for the double-agent. Stars, he seemed fearless in the face of a Sith Lord--and Theron would put good money on it being the same for Darth Marr.

There was a long, exhausted sigh from Lana, which drew Theron’s attention. She looked at him, somehow looking both annoyed and sincere at the same time. In all honesty, he had to bite back the laugh with how put out she looked--it would be a good response when she was trying to make an effort to apologize…even if she was being forced.

“Theron…I recognize that I betrayed your trust, and for that I am sorry.”

[celestie0]

choso x reader | punk rock au [18+]

in another life ch.1 cupid's arrow

ᰔ pairing. punk rock au - bass player! choso x reader (f)

ᰔ summary. you and choso were lovers in college when him and his rock band were just nobodies with nothing but a dream, but when his band strikes a deal with an up-and-coming record label in tokyo, you make the tough decision to break up with him since you couldn’t go with him to the city. flash forward seven years, his band is the biggest rock band in the world, n you move from the countryside to tokyo with your fiancé nanami to start your new life together. but in the heart of the city, home to many, there’s one person there that still has the power to turn your whole life upside down. and when you run into him again after all those years, feelings you didn’t know were still haunting you come crashing back all at once, and you’re not sure what it is you want from your life anymore.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fluff, angst, smut, punk rock au, partying, drinking/alcohol, weed usage, cigarette usage, romance, slow burn, friends to lovers, second chance romance, time skips, love triangle, bad boy choso, slight age gap (five yrs), longterm pining, jealousy, messy decisions, you know the drill

ᰔ chapter. 1/x (probably 6)

ᰔ words. 10.2k

a/n. hellooooo aaa welcome to my new choso fic :'') i'm so excited for this one! i'm just laughing at how i cannot just stick to a oneshot idea and somehow end up planning out a fullblown series instead hahah. but anyways, i hope you enjoy! thank you to everyone that wanted to be on the taglist, i'm really looking forward to diving into this story. see you at the bottom!!

alsooo my m00tie @sykosugu and i decided to post for our fics at the same time hehe she has a really spicy suguru x reader fic called 'on the run' that i highly recommend so go check that out as well if you're interestedd <33

nav. ch1 :: ch2 (pending)

“and there was something about you that now, i can’t remember. it’s the same damn thing that made my heart surrender.”

present day. summer.

“We’re gonna miss you so, so, so much, love,” Mai groans, pulling you in towards her for a hug and you reciprocate with fondness.

Another pair of arms wraps around you, grip much tighter and you protest through a difficult breath. “Do you really have to go?” Nobara asks.

You tap on the skin of her arm, urging her to ease her hold in this group hug, and she finally relents and the three of you pull apart from one another. There’s a slight gasp from your lips as you breathe in fresh summer air. “I do, Nobie, I’m sorry. Nanami said it’s the final decision.”

You’re standing on hot concrete in front of a little countryside cottage that you’ve called home for years, but will soon just be a memory. You know which light switches illuminate corners of the rooms, and which creaking wood panels on the floor to avoid when looking for a midnight snack. It’s where you spent years studying for finals, arguing with your mom, learning how to care for Ms. Roxie, and it’s where you fell in love. More than once.

Your parents gave the house to you and Nanami once the two of you became engaged, but that blessing was soon to be given away, as Nanami received news six months ago that he was being promoted and relocated to Tokyo. Now, you have two bags in your hands, your purse slung around your shoulder, and a suitcase filled to the brim with the life you’ve tried to stuff in it. Your taxi driver has the other suitcase, because there were some things you couldn’t leave behind after all, and he’s putting it in the trunk right now.

“Nanami is so rude to take you from us,” Mai sighs, “but at least you’ll be one of those cool city girls now. So scary. I heard trends change faster there than the leaves on Rowan tree during spring.”

Nobara lets out a gasp that’s only half exaggerated. “No way! It can’t be!”

The taxi driver calls after you with a quick question, to which you answer back with a shout from where you stood. A quick glance at your watch tells you it’s time to get moving, as you’ll be taking a connecting train once you reach Tokyo that you need to be on time for. And then he’ll be there. Nanami will be waiting for you there, to lead you into the life that he’s started to make for the two of you.

“I’ll call so very often,” you promise the two of them, “and I will miss you two so very often as well.” Tears prickle in your eyes, and it seems to be contagious as they shimmer in Nobara and Mai’s eyes as well. Another group hug takes place between the three of you, harsh sun beating down with birds chirping in the distance as you try to take in the last few moments you’ve been granted of this place. “Take care of Roxie for us,” you say through a sniffle, “to you, it may seem like you’re only the bearer of food for her, but I promise that little kitty will love you two like no other.”

They both nod at you as you pull away, and you swipe at a tear that rolls down your cheek as you roll your suitcase down the pebbled walkway of your now past home.

The taxi driver helps hoist your suitcase into the trunk and places your other two bags into the back seat. You take a seat at the front with him, clicking the passenger seatbelt, and you roll down the window to wave bye with blown kisses as the taxi driver pulls away from the rocky mud road with crunching under the wheels. You watch Mai and Nobara and your home in the side view mirror until they’re no longer visible, but their voices of farewell linger in the air for a moment more.

“Alright, ma’am, bound for Tokyo!” your taxi driver chirps, his rough-looking hands opening and closing a few times to stretch out the joints of his fingers before tightly gripping onto the steering wheel again.

“Yes, Tokyo,” you murmur softly, gaze set out the window of the familiar street shops and stretches of patchy trees you know you’ll miss once you’re in the city.

“What’s your name?” the man asks, a thick country accent rolling off his tongue, with a sweetness like honey.

You turn your head to look at him more closely. The hair of his eyebrows is bushy, somewhat unkempt, and he has thick lines across his cheeks and forehead that can only mean that he’s lived a lot of life.

You tell him your name and he nods slowly as the two of you stop at a through road, a few school children hurrying past before he turns right onto the main road. “That’s a nice name. Which one of your parents gave it to ya?”

“Um. Both of them?”

He lets out a noise of acknowledgement, and doesn’t ask a further question. You smooth out the fabric of your long skirt with a hand, then toy with the band of your simple watch. Just when you think a comfortable silence has fallen between the two of you, and you think you have the luxury of losing yourself in your thoughts with sights beyond the polished glass window, the man speaks up again.

“Alright then, miss, tell me a story.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Pardon?”

“We’re gonna be spendin’ three hours in this car together, darlin’. It’s either I talk your ear off or you talk mine off,” he says, broad shoulders rolling backwards once as he gets comfortable in his driving position.

“Uh…do we need to talk at all?”

He glances over at you for a moment. The car wheels grind over rocks on gravel road near an agricultural field, and his fingers flex once again on the wheel. “You younger generations are so stuck in your own worlds. Entertain some conversation with the poor old taxi driver, will ya?”

You sigh, folding your hands in your nap neatly. “Alright. I don’t really have many stories to tell, though.”

“A young lady like you, packin’ up her whole life to move to a big city? I beg to differ,” he counters.

His words have you tucking your bottom lip under your teeth, a few blinks of your eyelids to process his observation of you. Your mind searches for stories to tell. Maybe that moment last week when you watched a momma duck waddle across a bridge with all seven of her baby ducklings. Or maybe you could tell him about that time you drove your car into a ditch the night of the comet festival and you swear you saw a UFO in the sky. The story you’ve been telling a lot lately, though, was the one of how Nanami proposed.

But then there’s a different story that comes to mind. With hazy images of blinding stage lights in dim venues, cigarette smoke wafting through the air, sounds of bass and drums and cheers. Smell of dry grass, the feeling of your back against a blanket, heart beating fast underneath the stars in front of a twinkling lake. And forever in your memory, the patterns of his inked skin.

“You got a boyfriend?” the man asks, suddenly.

“Are…are you hitting on me?” you ask awkwardly.

“Oh, no, ma’am,” he shakes his head, lifting his left hand up from the steering wheel and turning the back of it to face you. A silver ring adorning his fourth finger shimmers from the reflected sunlight through the window. “Happily married. Been with my missus for 22 years.”

A small smile makes its way onto your face as you relax into your seat a little, feeling calmer. “Oh, I see. I’m sorry for assuming. And I have a fiancé, actually.”

“Oh?” he chirps, stealing a quick glance at your left hand that was still folded neatly underneath your right one in your lap. “How come I’m not seein’ a ring?”

You tug at the small chain around your neck, a chill felt as diamond stone and cold metal drags against the skin of your sternum before you pull out your own promise of marriage, dangling it in front of your chest for him to steal another glance at. “I wear it around my neck. I’m a pottery teacher, so I usually take it off when showing my students any demos. I figured if I kept taking it off like that, I might lose it, so I just wear it around my neck now.”

“That’s interesting,” he comments, “It’s a real nice ring, that’s for sure! Tell me about this man you’re marryin.”

Your heart aches at the thought of Nanami. It’s been six months since you’ve seen him, since he relocated to Tokyo first, and you’ve missed him every day since. You were in the middle of the academic year at the elementary school you taught at, so they asked you to stay back, but Nanami had already accepted the promotion, thus the two of you made the decision that he would move to Tokyo first to get situated and you’d soon follow in the summer. It was a lot of stress to handle as just one person; searching for apartments on top of managing the heightened expectations from his boss from his new role, but he did it all without a complaint. Because he loves you, and that’s who Nanami was. Someone who would move mountains for you. He’s worked hard to make a place for you in Tokyo, one to call home.

“He really loves me,” you say to the man, softly.

“And you love him?”

“So much.”

“Was he your first love?”

Your breath catches in your throat from his question, a small chill running down your spine. The silence that settles could’ve lasted two seconds or two centuries, and you never would’ve known.

You lick your lips before answering. “No, he wasn’t.”

“Hmm…” the man hums. Bumpy roads are now smooth as he turns onto properly laid roads, the exit from your town onto intercity roads. “I can tell.”

“You can tell?” you ask, skeptic in your tone as you tilt your head at him.

“I can tell from your voice that there was someone else before. Someone who meant a whole lot to you, but he went away for some reason,” he says.

You’re not sure why there’s a lump in your throat from his words, a heavy thing with so much substance that it threatens to weigh your heart as well. Your eyes study the side of his face. “You’re getting all of that from my voice?”

The man’s expression is blank as if it were tabula rasa, something so different from the way you’ve felt for so long now, like your heart has been torn in two. There was something so tempting about it; the luxury of a clean slate. Of a new beginning. A fresh start. And it’s hard not to imagine how you would’ve painted things differently.

“Tell me about him,” the man says, the story he was looking for having been found. “Your first love.”

“He…” you start, shocked that you’re actually answering, but it’s like an invitation you can’t resist, “he was my first boyfriend…my first serious boyfriend. I met him the summer after high school. During a summer like this one.”

.

.

.

seven years ago. summer.

chapter 1. cupid’s arrow.

“C’mon, faster!” Mai exclaims, her hand wrapped around your wrist to tug you across the dim streets of downtown. 

“Just— wait— Mai, please, slow down,” you’re stumbling after her, feet failing to keep up, and you almost crash right into her when she comes to a sudden halt on the sidewalk.

“This is it,” she says, staring up at the sporadically blinking neon lights of what appears to be a small venue, black marquee letters that spell out Backseat Serenade Tonight @ 10pm stand out to you in a way that feels haunting. “We’re so late, let’s head inside.”

Mai drags you inside, and the security guy is less than thrilled by the commotion as he stands in front of closed double doors. You can feel the bass of music vibrating the walls, accompanied by loud shrill screams and chants coming from inside, and the red velvet flooring underneath your feet fuel you with static as you two approach the man dressed in full black.

Mai fumbles with her purse to pull out her phone, and the man scans the barcoded tickets on her screen before giving the two of you wristbands to wear and then he opens the door for the two of you.

The inside of the venue is small but packed, minimal lighting save for moving lights that illuminate the band on stage, but it’s even harder to see anything over the heads of people with their hands up in the air. Mai’s grip on your forearm is tight as she roughly weaves the two of you through the crowd, determined in her gait but you feel the need to apologize to the people she’s shoving in the process. You’re surprised at how fast the two of you make it to the front barricades, thanks to Mai’s nimbleness alone, and your eyes raise to the scene onstage through wafting smoke through the air.

“Alright, alright, alright,” one of the band members chimes right as the final instrumentals of the song begin to fade. His hair is a pale silver under dusty lighting, pushed up from out of his face by a black headband snapped to his forehead, and his eyes are distinctly blue. He has an electric guitar hanging from his neck by a thick black strap. He raises both of his hands up into the air, waving them down a few times to calm down the crowd, and there are scattered hushes surrounding you and Mai. “This is our last song, and we just want to thank you all so much for coming out tonight! This crowd’s the best we’ve ever had!” 

The people cheer in response as a light and relaxed melody begins to tune together from the instrumentals on stage. You hear Mai groan beside you. “What the fuck?! We missed the entire set?!” 

Your hands curl around the cold metal of the barricade dividers and your eyes sweep across the stage. There’s a man in the far back with short black hair, bouncing his leg up and down as he’s seated behind a drum set, fidgeting with wooden sticks in his hands, and you’re puzzled by the fact that he’s wearing a very poorly fitted suit onstage. Off to the right, a man with pink hair is messing with the headphones snapped to his ears in front of an electric keyboard, spread fingers pressing down on chords, and you can vaguely see the black nail polish at the tips of his fingers. A woman with mid length blonde hair and pink highlights stands at the front, her hand wrapped around the mic resting on top of the stand. She’s laughing, tipping her head back at something else the electric guitar player says over the mic, but you’ve drowned out the words because your eyes finally land on what’s directly in front of you.

With an almost bored expression on his face, a man stands with a matte black bass guitar hung from his neck as he has one foot up on the top of a subwoofer located flush to the edge of the stage. His hair is raven black, longer at the nape of his neck with shorter layers scattered, and tendrils fall over his face. There’s a glint to his polished black shoes off of where you’re standing, and he’s wearing tight black jeans that cling to the thick and lean muscles of his calves and thighs, with a leather belt fastened around the circumference of his hips. The shirt that’s tucked into his jeans is just as tight to his skin, and a small gasp leaves your lips when you take in the sight of his arms covered in intricate patterns of ink. His right arm is practically covered from the wrist all the way up to the cut of his short sleeve, likely beyond, and his left arm has ink traveling up to his forearm only, like he’s still working on mapping it all out. You watch the way his biceps flex as he bends his arms, bringing his hands up to his face to push his hair back, and your heart is keeping fast rhythm with the music. 

“Cho!” the woman at the front speaks into the mic, turning her head to look at this man who you’re sure is the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. “You’ve hardly said a single word tonight, baby. Not that that’s unusual though. Why don’t you say a few words before we kick off the last song?”

A bunch of whoos!! and ahhhs!!! and yesss!!! scatter throughout the crowd in the form of cheers and you watch the man furrow his brows together, a scowl forming on his face. There’s a band of black underneath his eyes that runs across the bridge of his nose, with perpendicular lines resembling arrows running down his cheeks. Dark purple eyes that match the dark shadows around them glint under flickering stage lighting as he takes his foot off the speaker and walks a few steps backwards to position himself at his stationed mic. 

“Fine,” he says, and you’re watching the way his lips barely brush against the mic as he speaks, “This is our last song. It’s called Lost Cause. Enjoy. Or don’t. It’s up to you. Who the fuck am I to tell you what to do.”

There’s only a slight beat of silence from the crowd before they’re cheering again, while his band members just stare at him stunned. The white-haired electric guitarist yells into his mic something like  “THAT’S IT?!” before the drum player cuts him off with three taps of his sticks in the air, and then the song commences from them on practiced reflex. 

The energy from the crowd is loud in the last few minutes of the show, smoke rising in the air from the machines spread across the raised stage, and you can’t tear your eyes away from the bass player. You rest your forearms on the cold metal in front of you, the sight of Mai jumping up and down in your periphery as she headbangs and shakes her hair. 

The bass player’s eyes start to scan the venue within what seems to be the final chorus of the song, chin tipping up and fingers continuing to strum as he assesses the back of the crowd first, then gaze darting throughout the center, before he begins to study the front barricade. You watch his every movement, mapping the trail of his sight, and your heart skips a beat when those dark eyes finally fall on yours. 

His eyes briefly flicker to your left, to continue his study of the crowd, but it’s as if his brain just registered something with a delay, and he quickly moves his gaze back to you in a double take. His eyes widen, bored expression quickly turned into one of surprise with a glint to his pupils, and you swear you’ve been struck by an arrow to your heart.

“Yaaaay! Thank you everyone!” the woman at the front exclaims, pulling her mic from the stand to walk around to make work of the crowd. The white-haired man approaches the edge of the stage with a pleased grin on his face, high-fiving all of the outstretched arms, and the man at the keyboard simply waves a few times before incessantly tuning buttons on his headphones. Drum boy hasn’t stopped playing some sort of loud rhythm as an encore. Your sight is set back onto the bass player, and he’s looking off somewhere else now. Somewhere backstage. 

“Hey!” the white-haired man exclaims once he’s made it in front of the two of you. “Mai! You made it!”

She reaches out to grab his forearm, tugging down harshly so he’s stumbling and dropping one knee to the stage floor, kneeling. “Of course I was gonna make it! Thanks for the tickets,” she’s yelling over loud ambient cheers and music, “this is my friend y/n, by the way. Oh, and this is Gojo, he’s the guy I was telling you about.”

You nod at him, and try to accept his outstretched hand when someone bumps you from behind and your hand is in favor of stabilizing yourself over the divider instead.

You can barely hear the laugh from Gojo’s position on the raised stage. “Just meet us backstage! We can chat for a bit with proper introductions and all.”

As the crowd begins to dissipate with people moving through the sets of double doors out back, Gojo hops off stage to take you and Mai through a side door that leads into a hallway that lines the back of the stage. You look up into the high ceilings with metal structural poles banding between the walls, and the dim yellow lighting in small bulbs bolted to the walls like a runway remind you of movie theater exit routes.

“So, what’d you guys think of the show?” Gojo asks, his arms raised up and hands interlocked behind his neck in a casual-not-so-casual way as he sends the two of you a lazy look over his shoulder. 

“Well, we only made it for one song since miss barista over here was running late from her shift,” she sighs, whacking your arm once with the back of her hand. You glance down and realize you didn’t even have the time to take your frilled and wrinkled apron off. “But, from what we did get to hear, AMAZING! AWESOME! SPECTACULAR!”

Gojo is grinning wide as he turns around to face the two of you, continuing to walk but backwards as he slaps the raised hand that Mai had in the air for him. “I’m so glad, I felt the pressure to please was high since I’ve been hyping up our shows to you for so long.”

“We’ve only known each other for like two weeks.”

“I know. But PSYCH 210 lecture at the ass crack of dawn really brings two people together, y’know.”

Mai and Gojo continue to laugh and talk about random things college-related, and there’s a stirring feeling in your chest that you’re surrounded by people older and much more well-lived than you. You’ve just graduated high school, barely a few months ago, but Mai was a few years older than you, so any time she tries to introduce you to her college friends, you feel the need to perform or be someone that you’re not so they’ll like you, despite the fact that you’re aware of the fallacy in that. And tonight, that responsibility feels much more daunting for some reason.

There are voices heard further down the hall, and as you approach, you notice the drum guy, keyboard guy, and devilishly handsome bass guy are all loitering around in that area, along with a few other people they seemed to have invited backstage. 

Gojo walks up to them, grabbing onto the bass man’s hand firmly before patting him on the back, then slings his arms around the other two. “This is Higurama,” he says, rubbing the top of the black-haired guy’s head with the knuckles of his fist, “he does drums for us. And this is Sukuna,” he says, about to repeat the same gesture to the top of his head but his wrist is grabbed and twisted, “ow, fuck, fuck, fuck– sorry.” Sukuna lets go of his wrist, scowl dissipating into sadistic amusement, and Gojo’s holding his wrist, now slightly red from the burn, with a pout on his face. “He does the keyboard. And all the techno sounds. And some other stuff I’ve frankly no fucking clue about.”

The two of them acknowledge you and Mai, along with the few other people who Gojo seems to know as well, and then Gojo’s approaching the bass player again before resting his elbow up on his shoulder, leaning his weight onto him and the man just crosses his arms across his chest, sending Gojo a side-eye. “Mai, I think you two have met before, but this is Choso. Choso Kamo, our bass player. Best bass player I’ve ever known to be honest. Be careful though, he might bite you.”

Choso scowls, rolling his shoulder back once to get rid of Gojo’s resting elbow. His eyes are on yours, boring into you deep, and when he darts his tongue out briefly to wet his bottom lip, you finally notice the silver lip ring near the corner of his mouth. “Hi. Nice to meet you,” he says, hand outstretched and you shake it with a mention of your name to him. The skin on his fingers feel rough from play, a small sacrifice to pay for the talent he’s harnessed over the years from plucking at strings. His eyes sweep down you once. “Why are you dressed like Strawberry Shortcake?”

“I–” you start, glancing down at your attire and feeling the heat pool in your cheeks, “I just got off a work shift. I work at a cafe.”

“Oh,” he responds, and you notice his hand is still holding onto yours, Your eyes trail the patterns on his skin, visible in more detail up close, and you find yourself lost in every line and swirl and scale and skull and cross, the only thing breaking you out of your trance being Mai’s jab of her elbow to your ribcage.

You gasp, snatching your hand away from Choso, and when you look up at his face, there’s a hint of amusement on it. 

“Babes, he was asking you a question,” Mai says, looking between you and the man in front of you.

“Huh?” you ask, suddenly flustered and you swipe your palm down your work apron to wipe the sweat that begins to perspire at your palm from the lingering heat of his hand.

“I was asking if you liked the show,” Choso says, tilting his head to the side and now he’s allowing his eyes to travel all across you in any way he wants. 

“I loved it,” you respond, almost breathlessly, “it was great. I mean– we only saw, like, one song. But still, really amazing.”  

“Only one song?” Choso asks, his eyebrow raising, “that’s a shame. You’ve gotta come to more shows then.”

Before you can respond, there’s a feminine voice heard down the hallway, sounding an awful lot like the one echoing off the speakers inside the concert venue, and then the blond woman who was the lead singer of the band skips right up to the group formulating in this hallway before wrapping her arms around Choso’s neck and pulling him down towards her in a kiss.

You’re standing there stunned, eyes immediately averting from the scene of the two of them in front of you, but in the corner of your eye you can see his arm wrap around her waist briefly before he pulls her away from him, and the release of her lips from his makes a sound that for some reason creates a pit in your stomach.

“Cho, baby, I just had an insane conversation,” she says, still practically hanging from his neck as she stands on tiptoes, “with this record label guy. He’s apparently hot shit in Tokyo, and he wants to offer us this city gig ‘cause he thinks we’re a potential sign-on, and–”

Choso’s hand reaches to the back of his neck, gripping around her wrist to pull it apart from her other one, and then her arms fall to her sides and her heels flatten to the ground as she blinks up at him. “That’s cool, Sana, but can we talk about that later?”

Gojo’s arms cross his chest as he leans forward, glaring at the woman. “Yeah. And as a band, not just with your lover.”

Sana rolls her eyes and scoffs, placing curled hands low on her hips. “He’s not my lover, bitch. Unless he’s my lover like you’re lovers with a blunt on a sunday– sucked off in a car ‘cause you’ve got nothing better to do.”

“That’s offensive to both of us,” Gojo grumbles but Choso just sighs, unbothered, as he rubs at the back of his neck. He makes eye contact with you again, and his expression sobers as though he forgot for a second that you were still standing there. 

Sana turns to you and Mai. “Hi, I’m Sana, nice to meet you guys. Sorry, I thought you two were some of our other friends, otherwise I wouldn’t have kissed Cho in front of you. I hate PDA, trust me.” 

Mai lets out an awkward laugh as she shakes her hand, and you almost don’t want to shake her hand, but you do just to be polite.

“You didn’t hate PDA that one time I was about to bag the girl I’d been talking to for weeks and you decided to grind your sorry excuse of an ass right up against me in front of her,” Gojo grumbles.

She waves a dismissive hand in the air. “Whatever, she thought you were gay anyways. Would’ve done yourself a favor if you actually grabbed my ass.”

She ignores the insulted gesture Gojo makes, cutting off whatever words he was about to spew with words of her own. “What are you girls doing after this? We’re having a post-show party, you two should come.” She glances at you. “Uh, love, I’d ditch the apron though. Unless it’s, like, some sort of fetish for you.”

You’re defeated as your arms cross your torso to grip the hem of your apron and pull it up over your head, shaking your head a bit to allow your hair to fall back into place, and then you fold the frilly article of clothing neatly before hanging it over your arm. “It’s not,” you sigh, too exhausted to be subject to the title of your occupation anymore. A small flicker of your eyes to Choso tells you he’s staring at you.

Sana shrugs. “So you pretty ladies wanna come?”

Mai shakes her head. “No, sorry, my baby here,” she says, wrapping her arm around yours tightly, “just graduated high school recently, so she’s too young for a party. I’ve got a responsibility to look after her. And throwing her into a room full of sleazy drunk punk college dudes is the opposite of looking after her.”

Sukuna comes around, leaning his arm against the wall, smirk on his face, as he eyes you like you’re something to steal. “Just graduated high school? So you just turned eighteen, sweetheart?”

Mai glares daggers at him. “Get the fuck away from her, Super Senior. You’re icky. Also, case in point proven.”

Sana whacks the back of Sukuna’s head, and he all but growls at her. “Stop being creepy,” she reprimands him before turning to Mai again. “No, I swear, it’s not like that. It’s chill, minimal alcohol. No drugs. Just a small get-together with a few of our fellow friends, and friends of fellow friends, from the music scene.” She leans against Choso’s arm, wide eyes looking up at him, but he doesn’t lean into her. “Right, Cho? No scary guys for her to worry about?” 

His eyes narrow at you, raking down your figure again, and his chest moves a little faster with his breath. “I’m against it. It’s no place for an eighteen-year-old. You’re a fucking idiot for trying to invite a girl who just recently graduated from highschool to a house party. She’s practically a kid.”

Your heart sinks from his words, and you feel juvenile standing in front of him, in a way that makes you angry and embarrassed at the same time, and you can’t bite back the words in time, “Whatever, at least I haven’t been on crack since the day I was born like you probably were.”

Almost all heads in this small hallway snap to you, if they weren’t already there before, wide eyes blinking before Gojo bursts out into a laugh, which dominoes into Mai’s laughter, and you barely register the way Sana looks you up and down once before forcing a smile. Choso’s surprised expression turns into a disgruntled one as he crosses his arms across his chest, and you can’t help but watch the stretch of his inked skin over his muscles as they flex. 

“I’ve never done crack, shortcake, and your lame insult only proves my point on your immaturity,” he scowls, leaning his upper body forward towards you, and his gaze briefly drops to your lips.

Sana comes in between the two of you, pressing herself up against him to get him away, and he takes an involuntary step back and now he’s scowling at her too. She turns around to face you, and there’s that forced smile again. “Uh, y’know what, sweets? Cho is sooo totally right, no place at all for a—I’m sorry, how old did you say you were?”

“Eighteen,” you say with a slight grit to your teeth.

“Oh! Yeah, no place for you, sorry,” she says, with a small jut of her bottom lip to signal a pout.

You roll your eyes at her, then glance past her at Choso who’s looking at you like he’s still got a few retaliating words for you on his tongue, but then he’s dropping his gaze to the neckline of your shirt, eyeing the shape of your breasts, even dipping further down your legs and you let out a scoff.

“You sure enjoy checking me out for someone you think is practically a kid,” you spit back.

He’s not angry this time, the corner of his mouth simply tipping up slightly into a smirk. “I meant you’re too young to drink, but you’re old enough to fuck, so spare me the attitude.”

Your cheeks flush at his comment, nonetheless made in front of a group of people who were practically strangers to you, and you’re about to give him a piece of your mind when Mai grabs your forearm and Gojo places himself between you and jerkface. 

“Woah! Look at the time,” Gojo chirps, glancing at his wrist that was absent of any time-telling device but he rolls with it anyway, “should probably head out now, since the venue’s closing soon. Y’know, grab our stuff.”

Mai nods her head at you in response to his words, sending a single glare Choso’s way before exchanging some pleasantries with Gojo and then dragging you down the hallway with her towards the exit.

“Hey–” you begin to complain, her grip on you starting to hurt, and you eventually yank your arm away from her before she opens the backdoor exit. “Let’s go to that party.”

Mai sighs, leaning her back against the door and crosses her arms. “No way. Your mom wanted me to get you home before midnight,” she says as she glances at the time on her phone, “and it’s close to midnight.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m an adult now, I don’t have to adhere to a midnight curfew, like I’m fucking Cindarella.”

Mai raises an eyebrow at you from the profanity, recognizing the fact that it’s something you just forced into your vocabulary in a way that doesn’t suit you. “I already said no.”

“Take me or else I’m going to tell your mom about the nipple piercings you got last week.”

Mai hisses a sharp breath through her teeth. “You’re a bitch.”

“Take me,” you deadpan.

She tilts her head back so that it hits the metal of the door, and then she’s pushing her back against it to open it, the rush of cold wind from outside brushing past the two of you as she steps into the night and you follow her. “Oh my god, fine. But only for a little bit, and let’s get the lie straight right now–you had explosive diarrhea at the concert so I couldn’t take you home right away since you were incapacitated in the restrooms.”

“What? Why do I have to be the one with explosive diarrhea?” you ask, frown on your face but there’s a skip to your step as you follow her down the street to where she very poorly parallel parked and you open the passenger side door. She doesn’t bother answering you as she settles into the driver’s seat and her car roars to life with a few struggling turns of the key in ignition. 

“No drinking,” Mai says, voice strict with eyes locked on yours, and it’s the last thing she says before she starts driving. 

The house is just a few miles from the venue location, and Mai seems to have been there before since she turns the navigation off once she turns onto a street that has her driving switch to from perusal to more casual.  

Gojo is the one to greet you two at the door with wide eyes and a drink in his hand. You notice he’s changed out of his stage attire into something more casual, and likely in a rush too since his hair is disheveled, and you figured that you and Mai barely got here after they did. The surprised look on his face is quick to turn into a pleased one at the sight of the two of you. “Oh sweet you two actually came,” he comments, waving a hand for you two to come inside, “figured Kamo would’ve scared you off.”

You roll your eyes, “where is that jerk? I still have a few choice words for him.”

“Babes, let it go,” Mai sighs, “Not worth your time.”

“I concur,” Gojo says, “but, if you really want, he’s upstairs putting some of my stuff he borrowed for tonight’s show back into my room. You can…” he glances down at you once, “uh. Cuss him to death? Or whatever you can manage, I guess. But just don’t fuck on my bed, please. That’s my only rule.”

“Why do you sound like that’s a rule you’ve had to make often?” Mai scoffs, amused, while your cheeks feel hot. 

Gojo slumps his shoulders in some type of comical defeat. “I don’t wanna talk about it…” he mumbles, voice trailing off and turning on his heel to walk away while Mai follows him off with more follow-up questions he doesn’t seem receptive to answering. 

Your eyes glance over to the staircase, studying for a moment as loud party music fills your ears before making your way over and up the steps. As you head down the hallway leading into bedrooms, the floorboards creak until your sneakers even over soft carpet, and you hear soft sounds of clattering off to the left. There’s a door that’s half ajar leading into a warmly lit room, and you deftly peek your head through the opening.

Choso stands near the foot of the bed inside a messy room, black boxes and cases and wires surrounding him as he fumbles with unplugging some sort of audio station pad from another piece of hardware. His hand grips tightly around the thick black rubber coating of the wire, and you watch the flex of his knuckles that tense the veins running up his arm, sleeve of the shirt he’s worn all night stretching to accommodate the roll of muscle at his upper arm. With a solid yank, the chord releases itself before the wire whacks him straight in the face and he grumbles a fuck under his breath and he rubs the skin of his cheek, to which you can’t help but let out a small laugh at the sight of. 

His furrowed and frustrated expression turns into surprise as his eyes flicker to the entrance of the room. He stands up straight, and then there’s that bored expression again. “Oh. Shortcake. I thought I said you’ve got no business being here.”

“Yeah, about that, I’m waiting for you to apologize to me,” you say, leaning sideways against the doorframe as you cross your arms over your chest. 

He sighs, eyes moving away from yours to busy himself with the jungle of equipment he’s practically drowning in, as if he couldn’t be bothered by your presence right now. “Apologize for what?”

You make your way inside the room, foot pushing aside anything sprawled on the floor that’s in your way so you can continue to approach him, and you stop just when you’re just a step away. His gaze is still set to the ground as he’s crouched over slightly, but it shifts from the speaker he was toying with to the shape of your shoes instead.

“Apologize to me for being so crass,” you say, “after we had just met.”

He slowly straightens his spine, and you’re a little shocked to find the height that he has on you. His expression is curious, eyes narrowing slightly like he has you all figured out already, and it pisses you off. “Crass is such a prissy word to use, princess. Try ‘apologize to me for being a massive dick’ or something, and I’ll start to take you more seriously.”

“Why are you so rude?” you ask, anger building up inside of you all of a sudden. “I’ve barely met you, I don’t see how I could’ve upset you in any way. Yet you’ve already insulted me in multiple ways tonight, and it’s not a cool look for you. Trust me.”

“You’re the one that basically called me a crackhead,” he counters, but there’s no real offense behind it.

“Yeah, because you called me a kid,” you say, face tightening even further with anger, “even though I’m an adult.”

He sighs, closing his eyes in irritation, and tilts his head up to look at the ceiling briefly as his mouth hangs slightly open, all as if he’s running thin of the capacity to deal with this conversation, and then he looks back down at you again. “Shortcake, I didn’t call you a kid ‘cause of your age. I called you a kid ‘cause you’re just so–” he starts, eyes traveling down your body paired with a vague gesture of his hand towards all of you, and you find yourself shifting on your feet to stand a little more poised, “you just seem so innocent and clueless and, uh, forgive me, naive.”

“You’re the clueless one here if you still think negging a girl will get you anywhere with her,” you say, hands clenched in fists at your side now.

There’s a hint of a smirk on his face as he tilts his head at you, some of his dark hair falling over his forehead from the motion and a few strands weave with his eyelashes. “I’m not trying to get anywhere with you here, sweetheart, unless you’re wanting that,” he says, voice almost purred at the end as he steps over a guitar case on the floor to get closer to you.

You’re unable to make eye contact with him when he’s close and you can smell the earthy notes of his cologne, mixed with another scent that seems more distinctly him that makes your head spin. Your gaze takes in the sight of his forearm, the one with scattered tattoos trailing up his arm but not yet fully inked in. You wonder what he’s saving the space for, and what he’s willing to let in. 

When your gaze flickers up to his face again, you’re a little surprised to see his expression is softer. He suddenly holds his forearm up in front of you. Your eyes signal confusion to him, but he just keeps his arm up the same.

“You’ve been ogling my tattoos since we met,” he says, voice low, “if you’re curious, then just have a closer look.”

Your breath picks up in speed, and you hesitate for a moment but it’s true. You were curious. Your hands shakily hold onto his forearm to keep it still as you study the ink on his skin. You twist his arm as much as his joint allows, and he lets you handle him in any way you want, and you swear the snake tattooed on his skin moves as if it were alive. A dark blossoming rose with highlights of burgundy red catches your eye near his elbow, and you brush the back of your hand against it. Your fingers accidentally find his pulse at his wrist, and you find his heart is beating fast. 

You run a flat palm up his arm, the skin to skin contact feeling intimate, and your fingers stop when they tuck under the fabric of his sleeve. You feel the warmth and curve of his bicep, lightly wrapping your hand around it, and you blush at the sight of how small your hand looks on him.

“What does this one mean?” you ask, not meaning for it to come out as a whisper, but you feel like his answer is meant to be kept a secret. Your thumb swipes over small roman numerals permanently etched into him over muscle.

“It’s my dad’s military tag,” he responds, voice quiet like yours.

You tear your gaze away from his skin to look up at him, and you realize he’s closed enough distance between the two of you to where his face is just inches away. From the moment you looked up, his eyes have been on your lips, and his brow furrows as if he’s fighting some voice in his head that’s testing this harmony between the two of you in this moment. 

You swear he’s about to kiss you, since there could be no other explanation for the way he was looking at you, but instead he clears his throat and his face is first to distance from you before he pulls his arm back as well, and then a small step backwards. “Sorry,” he says, and he almost sounds awkward. It startles you, because it’s the first time he doesn’t sound cool or calm or collected.

“That-” you start, “...wait, what are you sorry for?”

His eyes widen, and you see the heaviness under them for a moment, “uhh…I’m actually not too sure.”

Your head feels clear now that he’s not close enough to breathe in, and you blink a few times as your annoyance from earlier resurfaces amidst the lingering energy he just broke between you two. “Start with ‘I’m sorry for calling you a kid, and then also just now calling you naive and clueless,’” you say, foot tapping impatiently, “and then, in front of all your bandmates, mocking the fact I’m not old enough to drink, and shamelessly traveling your eyes over me, and then–” your breath catches slightly as the words fail to leave your tongue, cheeks feeling hot, “and then saying–” you try again, but the thought only falls flat, and he’s taking a step closer to you again.

“And then saying that you’re old enough to fuck?” he asks, finishing your sentence for you, but there’s no remorse in his tone at all. 

His hand suddenly finds the small of your back and he pushes gently so you take a stumbled step towards him, like he needed to have you close to him again.  His lips brush against the top of your head, and the sensation sends a hot feeling through your chest. “Choso,” you reprimand him.

“Fuck,” he exhales, like in cynical disbelief, “my name sounds so sweet coming from you.”

It makes no sense, but you grip his shirt at his chest just to make contact with him, and you brave yourself to look up at him, wondering if he can see the hint of worry in your eyes, because he already feels like something you can’t resist.

His eyes are dark now, different from the tenderness in them before, and he’s freely studying the features of your face. “I don’t want to fuck you, Shortcake, if that’s what you’re worried about. You’re a little too good for me to do something like that.”

His words say one thing while his eyes say another, his arm wrapping around your waist to keep you close, and you’re astonished at how little he cares about the clear contradiction in his words from the way he holds you. His gaze slowly travels down from your eyes to your lips.

“What about–” you start, heart beating fast in your chest as you see the glimmer of the silver ring pierced through his lip. You bite back the words.

But he reads your mind, because his head dips down towards yours and he captures your lips in his, slow and sweet at first before pressing more firmly, more decisively with both hands flying to hold your waist. A moan muffles in your throat at the sensation of his bare fingers coyly traveling under the hem of your shirt, and you can’t help but slide your arms up over his shoulders, locking them behind his neck to pull him down closer to you, and he sighs in response as he presses your hips flush against him. The chill metal of his lip ring has the plush of your bottom lip tingling cold, and when his tongue swipes across to warm it for you, your mouth opens with ease. You taste spearmint on his tongue, and his lips curve against yours in what feels like an amused smile, large hands now slid so far up your shirt that his fingers reach the band of your bra.

“Hey, Cho, do you know where–”

The trill of a feminine voice in the air cuts through harshly, and he pulls his lips from yours but not without a moment of reluctance. You two turn your head to the door, and you see Sana standing there, eyes wide and blinking as she takes in the sight of the two of you standing in what feels like a guilty proximity from how her eyes silently curse you. 

You can only manage an awkward laugh, fist shoving against Choso’s shoulder but his hands are still placed firmly on the curve over your lower back, dangerously close to the plush of your ass, and your hips are practically pinned to him while you do all you can to lean your upper body away. “Oh–sorry, this…is not what it looks like–”

“I…” Sana starts, and you can see the hurt in her expression, but she quickly corrects it, “Oh! Ah, was just lookin’ for Cho here,” she says, making her way into the room, and a harsh shove of your fist against Choso’s chest finally has him relenting to let you go. Your posture immediately stiffens when she approaches Choso’s side, and she playfully pushes his arm but the effort is weak. “Kissing girls in Satoru’s room is seriously not a good idea, Cho. That freak probably has cameras in here to make sure people don’t bump uglies in his room again after that New Year’s party.” 

Choso gives her a pointed look, like he wasn’t caught up on that drama, but you’re just standing there with your eyes flicking between the familiarity of the two people standing in front of you. Why wasn’t Sana jealous? She was looking at you ten seconds ago like she was a whole lot of jealous. 

“What are you looking for?” Choso asks her, and she holds her red plastic solo cup with her drink in it out for him to hold as she crouches down to the floor to sift through the equipment now surrounding the three of you.

“My lucky mic,” she says, “Gojo said it’d be here.” There’s a hint of something in her voice, something that mirrors betrayal if you’re perceptive enough. 

You watch Choso lick his lips once, eyes darting to you, before he’s crouching down too to help her look. “For something that allegedly means a lot to you, you sure do a shit job at looking out for it,” he comments with a sigh before pulling out a black case from under three other ones and handing it to her. “It’s here.” 

“I’m–” you say, taking a step back and almost tripping over a guitar case, “I’m, um, going to head downstairs. Mai is probably looking for me.”

Choso raises an eyebrow at you from where he’s still crouched down next to Sana, and he’s about to speak when Sana cuts him off.

“Okay. Bye,” she says, still rummaging through things mindlessly even though she had already been given what she was looking for.

Choso makes a move to stand up, like he wants to see you out the door, but Sana’s hand grabs him by his forearm, eyes still not meeting his, and there’s a beat of confusion in his eyes as he studies the side of her face. But you know what sort of look she probably has in her eyes right now, and you know only because you’re also a girl, and all girls know what it’s like when a guy you love doesn’t want you in the way that you want him. All you can do at this moment is feel sorry for her.

The atmosphere in the room begins to suffocate, and you head out of the door in a rush. 

.

.

.

present day. summer.

“He kissed ya the day he met ya? Hmph! That wouldn’t fly with me,” the man seated beside you says, his grip on the steering wheel tightening as he shifts slightly in his seat to puff his chest out. 

“Hmm,” you hum as you look out the window wistfully, memories that you had locked up for so many years opened like a pandora box that fills your chest with warmth but has your fingers trembling with anxiety because you know how it all ends. “You wouldn’t…let a man kiss you on the first day he met you?”

The driver humors you with a hearty laugh from his chest, at least. “Not talkin’ about it that way, darlin’. I’m talkin’ about my daughters. I’ve got two girls of my own. A man should keep his hands to himself the first time he meets a lady. At least that’s what I’ve taught ‘em.”

There’s a small smile that tugs at your lips at his words, the love he has for his daughters heard clearly through his strict tone. You left out a lot of the details that probably would’ve angered him on your behalf even more, so the fact he still ended up getting worked up about it has you a little amused and reflective at the same time. “How old are your daughters?” you ask, tucking strands of your hair behind your ear, watching the wind-rustled plains of grass that you two have been driving by for a while now.

“They’re a little younger than you,” he comments, his expression now a bit more serious, “one just graduated from college, she’s startin’ more school in the city soon, and the other’s still in highschool. She’s turning sixteen next week.”

“Ah, sixteen,” you muse, “that’s a confusing age.”

“You got that right,” he gruffs, “the other day, she called me on my way home from work to bring some drink called a boba. Fifty-two years of life and I never even knew there was a damn thing called a boba! Why would anyone want swirlin’ stuff in their drink?! Anyways, the shop got her order wrong, and when I brought it home, she refused to drink it, called me the worst dad ever, then stormed upstairs to slam the door on her room. I turn to my wife, and she’s shakin’ her head at me like I’m the one that did something wrong!”

You laugh, then press your lips into a smile. “I’d have to agree with her on that,” you joke, and he lets out another disgruntled noise that has you laughing again. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve lived with my wife and those two girls for over two decades,” he sighs. “I’m used to it by now. All three are equally pains in my ass, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Your smile drops a little as you look at him more contemplatively. There’s a glimmer in his eyes as he speaks, and you realize it’s familiar, but the answer of where you’ve seen it before fails to arrive.

“My youngest,” he starts again, “she’s been listenin’ to really loud music lately.” He presses one of the buttons underneath the AC vents, static noises coming to life before he changes the output to bluetooth. “My wife says it’s some sort of phase, but I’m not likin’ the music. Always sounding tempered and inappropriate.” He plays a song from his phone paired to the car, speakers flowing with music, and a chill runs down your spine the moment the first few notes fill your ears. A song so painfully familiar, so connected to your soul it’s as if your heart still keeps time with it to this day. 

“See what I’m talkin’ about?” the man says, “Lots of words about skin and cigarettes.” With a shake of his head, he lowers the volume. “She’s obsessed with this band, it’s probably a band similar to your old lover’s from the sound of it. She’s got posters of ‘em up on the wall, and she took the picture of us on our first fishing trip together out of the picture frame on her desk and replaced it with this man. This silly-lookin’ white-haired man that always looks like he’s just pretending he knows how to play a guitar. Hmph! She keeps saying ‘dad, I wanna go to their concert!’ There’s no way in hell I’m allowing that.”

You stare down at your lap, brow furrowed from the realization flashing through your head, and your thumb nervously passes over the skin of your other hand. In your periphery, you see him glance over at you once, and he sighs before stopping the music and speaking up again.

“It’s fine,” he says, “my youngest got her sister into the same band, and she likes one of the other ones. Plays bass. He’s too rough-lookin’ for my daughter. Arms covered in tattoos, he’s even got some on his face! She keeps dreamin’ about havin’ him for a boyfriend, but if she brought that home, there’s no way I’d approve. I’d scare him off with my rifle.”

Your heart is beating fast in your chest, and you realize what a small world it is. Or, you realize just how big Choso’s world must be now. So much bigger than he or any of the other members of his band could’ve ever imagined. For once in a lifetime, so rare and pure, are dreams that are fully realized. 

“Gosh,” you respond when you realize you’ve been lost in your own revelations for too long, “that’s an…extreme response. You sound like my father, though.”

“Hm,” he responds, “I’m sure. Did your father approve of this lover of yours? The one that’s makin’ moves on you so fast and too soon?”

You lean back in your seat with your head hitting the headrest. It’s been years since you’ve felt like you’re being lectured or reprimanded for anything, but the feeling comes back to you at this moment as if no time had passed at all. No matter how old you get, you’ll never forget how humbling the feeling was when you thought you knew everything at eighteen, just to look back and realize you didn’t have a single clue.

You sigh. “No. He didn’t approve. Far from it.”

.

.

.

seven years ago. autumn.

chapter 2. the juvenile & the delinquent.

[to be continued]

a/n. eeeeeppp thank you very much for reading n supporting my new fic!! i hope you enjoyed :') still a lot more to uncover n unpack hahah i'm so nervous to start a new fic but i'm also very excited!!! i love choso sm but i also love nanami so this is gonna be interesting to write. also TYSM to everyone that wanted to be on taglist for this omg your support means the world to meeee. love you all sm.

taglist: @joemama-2 @sweetpo1son @lilluna12 @polarbvnny @4y3sh4 @sedona-the-l0bster @horisdope @ilovenana88 @thexmistress @atsushirolll @flvrrg0d @strawnanamilk @nighttwingg @indieotterxoxo @pirana10 @bakuhoethotski @tvdumarvelhpsimp @lavender-hvze @whereflowerswenttodie @alwaysfreakingout @kaitoluver @3xv5s @wrenabbadon @erwinslut @winsga18 @ynishalee @yungbloode

love u all so much!!

[coco-loco-nut]

Book Club - Part 3

Pairing: Grid X Reader, Lance X Reader

Summary: lewis get a new song inspired by one of the book they read that week, a little lance relationship focused as well

a/n: even as an avid reader, i struggle so much choosing books for this 🥲, sorry if this one sucks

requests open 🫶✨ masterlist

—————————

“Alright boys, get ready to swoon!” You pull out copies of your chosen book, The Dead Romantics. After reading classics and adventure, and thrillers, you chose chick-lit. It had been recommended on other book club chatboards, so you deemed it safe for the guys.

“Same time, same place next week,” Daniel grabs a book and walks out. The rest file out of the motor home, books in hand. You follow Fernando to Aston Martin.

“Lance, your girlfriend is here for you,” Fernando calls for him before you can. “Good choice, I enjoyed this one the last time I read it,” Fernando says before walking to his room, leaving you stunned.

“Hello, mon cœur,” Lance kisses you before grabbing your hand and taking you to his room.

“What is the book this week,” He asks once you cuddle up on the couch. Since he found out about the club, he’s been reading the books with you.

“The Dead Romantics, first one to finish gets to choose the next date,” you hand him his copy before starting your own. Lance’s assistant brings in coffees and breakfast for you both while you read.

“When we get married, would you change your last name, combine ours, let me take yours, or leave our names as is,” Lance asks after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

“Hmm, I like the sound of Y/n Stroll, but maybe I’ll still race under my name,” you decide, paying attention to the books, thinking about the predetermined discussion questions.

“Fuck,” Lance groans after his phone went off, quickly bookmarking his page.

“What’s wrong baby?” you ask, bookmarking yours as well.

“I have a meeting with Dad in a few minutes,”

“Oh, want me to come along? I love your dad,” you run your fingers through his fluffy hair.

“It’s okay, it’ll take a while. You are more than welcome to stay here or go and get ready for the drivers parade. Either way, I will see you after,” he kisses you before gathering a couple things and heading out. You finish another chapter and head to your motorhome, dressing yourself in team gear and redoing your hair. Lance waits for you outside your team garage.

By next week, you both have finished the book and have been raving about it to people, you even sent a copy to George. You won the challenge, although you were sure Lance let you win.

“Have fun at your meeting, you are literally bouncing in excitement,” Lance laughs, kissing the side of your head and leaving you in front of Haas’ hospitality. You quickly find the club, who are equally happy with your pick.

“That was the best romance book I’ve read in a while,” Daniel starts off.

“It was my second time reading it. Much better than the first time,” Fernando agrees.

“And the plot twist!” Nico gasps, all of you nodding along.

“I wrote a song about it,” Lewis says nonchalantly, causing you all to pause.

“Lew… what?” You can’t imagine how one would write a song about it. The book was good, but it wasn’t Shakespeare.

“Yeah, the broken hearts, the forbidden nature of their love, separated by the paranormal, the spiciness of the ending. It inspired me, almost like all those songs for Fifty Shades of Grey,” Lewis explains.

“I don’t know how that would work, but I am sure that you made it work,” Kevin says as Lewis pulls out his phone.

You heard some of his music before, and you knew he could sing and his writing was pretty good. Unfortunately, this was not the case. The singing was great, but the lyrics were a little too… sappy for his style. It wasn’t even sensual, he was just singing about falling in love with someone you shouldn’t.

“That was great, Lewis,” Daniel encourages Lewis,

“If racing doesn’t work out, maybe you will have a career in music,” Valtteri offers, maybe you were the only one who wasn’t a fan.

“He already does, he was featured on a song,” Fernando rushes to pull it up on his phone. You swear he is the proud father of everyone in the room.

“Oh! We should do karaoke!” you gasp, excited at the thought.

“I like the way you think,” Daniel grins at you. It is usually never a good thing when you both get excited about an idea, it tends to end up with alcohol and regret, but never fails to be fun.

“My liver can take that right now, I would participate,” Checo says, leading the group in agreeing.

You and the other drivers rent out a bar the next night and make sure karaoke is set up, Lando DJs in the meantime.

“I’m going to sing my song!” Lewis tells you over your jolly rancher shots.

“Slay!” you cheers the shots, tap the glass to the bar, and take the shot. “I think I’m gonna sing Post Malone,” you reply, and Lewis drags you to sign up. Lance appears beside you, slipping an arm around your waist as he looks at the paper.

“Babe, what song is ‘Why Don’t You Love Me’, I have never seen it on an album,” Lance asks and you tell him its origin. “Oh, that’s funny, I’ll film it,” he writes both of your names down for Total Eclipse of the Heart.

A few shots later and Lewis kicks it off with his song, it is actually a lot better drunk. You follow him up with the meme song, getting everyone laughing, before Lance joins you. The two of you surprisingly sounded very good when you rewatched the video the next day, then posted it to your Instagram story.

“Never. Again.” Kevin groans the next morning as Valtteri walks in, excited to talk with the group.

“That was fun! When are we doing that again?”

[reiderwriter]

Let Me Love You, Baby

Chapter 7 of That's What You Get Prev Chap // Next Chap

Warnings: Oral (M and F receiving), nipple play, handcuffing, BDSM themes, dom! Spencer, sub! Reader, breeding kink, creampie, handcuffing, a variety of PinV sex positions, multiple orgasms, squirting mention, mentions of different types of orgasms involving penetrative sex and anal sex. 18+ MINORS DNI Summary: Your memories of your wedding night come back. Not all of them, just the interesting ones.

A/N: If you're enjoying this series please PLEASE let me know in the comments! I've really been loving the theories about who the other witness is and I've changed my mind like three times on who it is eventually going to be BUT I've made up my mind now and I think it's going to be a great reveal lmao. This chapter has been on my mind since I started the series and I'm so happy you can all finally read it, but it is also A Lot of sex because every time I had a thought, I wrote it down and then didn't self-edit lmao. You can find my masterlist here, the series masterlist in the link above, and if you enjoy my smut, think about checking out my kinktober masterlist or my AO3 account for daily spicy content next month! <3

You stumbled, drunk, into the room, not sure in the haze if it was yours or his. The card had passed between you in many hushed giggles through the hall as you eagerly pulled each other forward. Falling onto the bed, you let out a contented sigh as Spencer fell next to you, face first into the sheets with a small laugh. 

“I can’t believe we did that!” You grinned, meeting his eyes as he turned his head towards you. “We’re married!” 

“We are.” He smiles, and you can’t help but let your eyes fall to his lips, swollen and pink from your earlier enjoyment of one another. You start to laugh, not fully understanding why, but thinking it probably had a lot to do with the alcohol you’d consumed. Bringing a hand up to his face, you let a finger run over the corner of his mouth, wiping away a tiny splash of red you’d deposited earlier. 

“Your lips are swollen.” 

“Whose fault is that?” He leans in and catches your lips again in his and you squeal at the sudden contact, excited to feel him against you again. He’s soft and gentle at first, but as you gasp underneath him your breaths get shorter, stopping just shy of moans as you let your hands trail up and down his body. But the edge of the bed is uncomfortable, so you push him off, following his lips still as he pushes himself further up, straddling his waist as you let yourself melt into him. 

“How did this happen again?” You ask, memory already feeling a little fuzzy, as you think back on the stressful few weeks you’ve had and how much better this feels. How nice it is to have someone underneath you, pressed against you, holding you. 

“Is that important right now?” He asks, lips seeking yours again as you turn your head just as he tries to connect, giggling at his pout. 

“You know, I always thought getting married would be this whole huge thing. Hundreds of guests, 18 months of stress while planning, you never really know on the day if the man you’re attempting to lock down is actually going to be on the other end of that aisle or if he’s bolted somewhere.” His lips are carving a path down your throat as you talk, memorizing the peaks and falls of every inch of your skin, committing you to memory like a prayer. 

“A man would have to be absolutely stupid to leave you at the alter, Y/N.” He says those words that prick your heart so easily, worming his way in, without even breaking his lips away from their spot on your collarbone. 

“Then if he didn’t leave, he’d be too drunk to perform on the wedding night, and so the entire day would end up just being a bust anyway.” He smiles into his final kiss, letting it linger against your skin as he pulls away and looks into your eyes. 

“How drunk are you, Spencer?” Your voice falls to a hush as you shift your weight in his lap, opening your legs just a smidge wider, shifting forward so more of you is falling over his clothed member, pressing up against him as close as possible. 

“You’re talking too much,” he growled out, and, grabbing you by the neck, pulled you into another heated kiss. This one isn’t giggles and soft sighs, it’s a clash of teeth and tongue and desperation, and you suddenly have the answer to your question as you feel him stiffen beneath you. Grinding down into him, you let him take control of your actions, letting him tell you when you can come up for air. 

When he finally pulls away from you, you stay connected through a line of saliva stretching from your lolling tongue to his mouth. He breaks it with his thumb, forcing the digit into your mouth as you suck your shared mess from him. 

“Definitely not too drunk.” 

You couldn’t help yourself then, as you pulled his thumb from your mouth and shifted your body down the bed until your face was parallel to his crotch, beginning to palm him in his trousers. 

“If we’re married,” you say, popping the button on his pants open. “We should probably get to know each other's… preferences early on. Stop any future arguments from occurring, right?” You looked up at him through hooded eyes, plastering the most sinful smile you could muster on your face. He stayed quiet, but you felt him twitch underneath your hand, and decided that was response enough. 

“You can bite me and scratch me if you want. I like it. Pull my hair, spank me, choke me until I’m begging to cum. I like all of it. You’re in control now, Spencer. You can do whatever you want with me, so long as it ends with your cum down my throat or stuffed inside me.” Finishing your speech, confidence fueled by alcohol and the buzz of your wedding vows, you slip his cock from its cloth prison and take it directly into your mouth. 

It’s thicker than you expected, and you just sit with the tip of it in your mouth for a second, trying to find a comfortable position. When you finally do, you push slowly down on it, letting your tongue tease and trace a path down. You don’t make it to the base before you’re pulling off, reaching what you expect to be your max about halfway down. You set a rhythm for yourself, hands pumping the rest of him as you coax the cum from him. 

He gives you three minutes of fun before he decides that you need a little help reaching your full potential. Fisting a hand into your hair, and cradling the back of your neck in his other, he stills your motions before pushing you further down his cock, bypassing your gag reflex as your throat battles against the position he’s put you in, your nose tickled against his soft curls. 

“Okay, let’s talk preferences. I’d prefer it if you ask permission before you touch something, whether that be me or yourself. I’d prefer if you used a safe word if this all gets a bit much for you. And I’d prefer you to relax that little throat of yours so I can fuck a load of my seed down it baby, okay?” He pulls you up by the hair and you nod, rasping out a yes as you gasp for air. 

“Safeword is profile, tap twice if you need air.” And with that, he’s fucking your face again, pushing and pulling you by your hair as your mouth leaks spit. This was going to be a moment you’d never forget, the taste of his precum at the back of your throat, burning its way down. 

Shrugging off his pants completely, he keeps at his movements, your head still working over him like you’re simply a fleshlight for his personal use. He grunts and twitches into you, signaling his impending release, and you try to ready yourself for the sting of the liquid hitting the back of your throat. He cums hot and fast, and you swallow around him, but there’s so much, it spills out of your mouth quickly, dripping down your chin and neck. 

“Good girl. You listen to instructions well.” He pulls you up to his lap again as he begins undressing you, not bothering to wipe his cum from your mouth. 

In a matter of seconds, he has you completely bare for him. Pulling your legs further up, he lets your torso fall back into the bed before shimmying himself down, coming face-to-face with your core. 

“You remember the rules?” He asks, and you nod, answering his question. 

“No touching, safe word is profile. Is that it?” 

“One more thing. You’re not allowed to cum until I say so, okay?” You let out a moan of discontent then, but he shuts you up with a light slap to your face, coming up to press a kiss to your lips before traveling south again. 

“Relax for me, baby,” he says as he spreads your legs and stretches out his tongue to finally come in contact with your needy core. His tongue is skilled, and you almost immediately break one of his rules as you arch off the bed, trying your best not to suffocate him between your thighs as you search for ways to heighten this pleasure. 

He wastes no time being gentle, just fully eating you out like it was his job to make you cum on his face. His tongue stretched from your clit to your hole, flattening out and writhing in equal amounts as your pleasure built to a frenzy. Your hands gripped into the sheets and you clung to the single thought that maybe a punishment from your new husband wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. 

Your hands drift to his hair, gripping tightly as you begin bucking into his mouth, completely lost in your base desires. He quickly grips your hands and pins them to the bed again though, pulling away just before you even think about climaxing against his face. 

“Spencer,” you beg, your moans sounding like the sobs of a spoiled child. 

“You broke a rule, princess. I can’t just let you get away with that.”  You moan at the loss of contact, your voice whinier than you'd ever heard it. 

He left the bed entirely then, and you lifted your head up to follow his path to the drawers by the side of the bed. Opening it, he picked up the wedding license you'd discarded on the floor, placing it nearly inside and slowly pulling out a pair of handcuffs. Your standard FBI set, not something light, flimsy, and cushioned with fluff, these were hard and cold against your skin as he returned to the bed. 

"Wait, S-Spencer…. Really?" You panicked as he pulled one arm over your head placing it parallel with the headboard, trapped between the slats. He tightened the cuff around your hand, leaving one free as he started kissing down your arm, down to your shoulder and into the hollow of your neck. 

"Yes, really. Now since you want to use that other hand so badly, why don't you use it to get yourself off." You swallowed the spit in your mouth, and nodded at him, before doing just as he asked, picking up where his hands had gotten off. 

He shifted to sitting just by your side, lifting your body half on top of him, your back pressed up against his chest as he watched over your shoulder as your hand-worked you into a frenzy. Bringing both of his hands around your body, he started playing with your nipples, rolling them between his fingers, pulling and fondling your breasts as your breathing became more labored. 

"There are seven different female orgasms, you know. The clitoral orgasm, the G-spot orgasm, the blended orgasm, the anal orgasm, the A-spot orgasm, a purely psychological orgasm, and," he leaned down closer to your ear to finish his sentence. "The nipple orgasm." You struggled against the handcuff as you felt the tightness build in your chest, but he grabbed and held your other hand close to him as he pushed up on top of you again. 

"How many do you think you'll get tonight, Y/N?" He asked, lowering his head back to your chest as you bucked your hips wildly, trying to feel him in between your legs. 

He pushed down your hips and kept his attention on your chest, your brain going fuzzy with the contact as the orgasm that had been imminent kept growing until you couldn't stop it from rushing over you, chumming with his attention solely on your chest. 

"You didn't answer my question?" He brought his head up, frowning slightly as you blinked your eyes open and focused on his shape above you. 

"Did you read some kind of sex book, Spencer? Jesus Christ that was…" You couldn't say anything else and he chuckled from above you. 

"I didn't read one, I've read multiple, and it's less reading and more committing to absolute memory." He swooped back down to your lips. "Answer the question, how many do you think you'll get tonight?"

"Two?" You ask vaguely, immediately opening your mouth back up to keep rambling. "But Spencer I've never really had more than one with another person and I'm not sure if I even can-" 

"You can. You will. You promised to listen to me, remember?" You flushed at his words, choosing simply to just nod for him instead of trusting your tongue to spit out the right words. 

"Good girl," he says, wrapping your legs around him, and running his cock through your folds, holding it there as he teased you. 

"I don't have to use a condom, right? You want me to drop my load directly into you, right? We're married now, so I can just fuck my seed into you, hmm?" You moaned out, begging for him to just push into you, to keep his promises and pleasure you again and again. 

"Hands in the sheets baby, come on, no touching remember?" You did as you were told, and with another kiss to your lips, tongues locking in your battle, he thrust his entire length into you in one movement. 

A scream of pleasure ripped out of you, just as quick and fast as you were sure you ripped the sheets of the bed, your sharp nails digging in for dear life as you struggled against the desire to hold him against you. 

"That's it, princess. That's it." He starts thrusting, snapping his hips up, and slowly pulling himself out again. For a moment, it was like you weren't breathing at all, his body feeding you everything you needed to sustain yourself. Lungs burning, you gulped in large breaths of him. His tongue swallowed each and every complaint, as he shared in your pleasure. 

He wasn't afraid to be vocal, like some men you'd been with in the past, and the sounds of his pleasure echoed out louder than your own. He was moaning in your ear, telling you how beautiful you looked on him as he pounded into you relentlessly. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead as he slapped into you again and again. 

His hand came up to your face as he grew closer to his climax, pushing his fingers back into your mouth as he turned your face further against the pillow. Your spit dribbled out of your mouth as you moaned around his fingers, pussy clenching on his dick as you felt your embarrassment rise. 

"So pretty and messy," he mumbled, hips keeping his pace up. 

"Did you make sure to swallow all of my cum earlier baby? Because if there was any of it left on my cock, I'm fucking it into you. Going to drop another load next to it so you can feel me knock you up." 

Unlike your first orgasm, you don't feel this one coming, you just know that he's hitting a spot so deep that it's never been reached before and saying the exact words that are pulling it closer to you, and then you're ecstasy has you squirting around his dick. 

"That's right. There you go, baby, lay nice and calm there, I need to keep going."

You were overstimulated, already feeling your desire burn a path through you again. He pulled out though, but made it clear that his intention was just to switch the positions of your bodies. 

Making sure not to twist your locked-up arm uncomfortably, he laid on the bed and pulled your fucked out body on top of him. You shivered at his touch and he pulled you further into his embrace warming you up. 

Your chest was pressed against his back, your head rolled back on his shoulder as he gently coaxed your legs apart one more time. 

"That's it, baby, you're listening so well. Just push your legs apart for me, okay?" You did as he asked, and he pressed your legs further up and apart, grabbing into the flesh of your thighs as he aligned his dick with your aching pussy and pressed into you one more time. 

The new angle had you moaning around you, as he encouraged you to start lifting your hips up and down, as he trusted up into you, your eyes rolling back into your head as he hit an electric point inside of you. He grabbed your hand to steady you as you moved to a seated position, letting your heels dig into the bed as you began riding him.

You were so tired that it didn't last long though, your hips stuttering awkwardly. 

"It's okay, Y/N, I'll do the rest, you just stay right there." From his place underneath you, he kept your thighs from above him as he thrust into you just as quickly as before, somehow maintaining his stamina despite the edging, the alcohol, and the energy you'd already exerted. 

Just as you were really about to lose your mind, he pulled out again, escaping from beneath you and gently laying you back on the bed. 

"One more position, princess, and then we can rest. You've been so good for me, you can do this, right? Can let me drop all of my cum inside you?" You nodded another sleepy yes, eyes somewhere between closed and open. There was no strength left in your body to stiffen up as he began moving your now malleable body into position, but that doesn't mean you didn't let out a moan at the way he'd stretched you out. 

Pushing your legs apart again, he's settled between them, but instead of letting them wrap around him, he'd kept hold of them, pushing your knees up still until they were on either side of your chest. He kissed away complaints and approvals that didn't come and slowly pushed into you again. 

He was evidently close, by the way he was drawing this out now. His fingers found your clit as his cock slowly worked in and out of you, the snap of his hips completely controlled and even in tempo. 

"Just keep doing that, Spence, oh my god," you begged, words suddenly returning to you. His fingers on your clit increased in pressure, but his pace otherwise didn't change, and you soon felt that third orgasm ripple through you, finally leaving you with no more to give. 

Your last fall from grace had him following you swiftly after, his lips finding yours as he crashed back down on top of you, hips stuttering as he drank you in like wine. 

The rest was a blur, really, sleep having claimed you so swiftly that you barely remember the words he had definitely whispered to you as soon as he caught his breath again. 

"I love you. It's always been you." 

Other than a vague recollection of him rearranging your legs so you wouldn't struggle to walk the next day, and the sensation of a cold, damp cloth on your skin, nothing besides remained. 

–X– 

It's unfortunate, really, that the memory came to you when you did, his lips on yours heating you up in a way that made you absolutely want to relive every experience he had given you. But paralyzed with shock, you'd had only one recon to choose a reaction, and out of fight, flight, fawn, or freeze, you'd gone for slam the door in his fucking face. 

Not your finest moment. 

Which is why after two minutes of listening to his confusion on the other side of the hall, your brain kicked back into gear and you started weighing your options. 

It would be wrong to open the apartment doors and pull him back in, right? It would certainly be wrong to pull him in and demand a re-do of the first time you'd forgotten. Would he even want to redo doing it with you? And what did he mean when he said "I love you." 

It was those words more specifically that scared you. You'd both been absolutely intoxicated when you'd fallen into the wedding chapel together and still remarkably unstable afterward presumably. There was a high likelihood that he hadn't known what he was saying, and taking a risk on a friendship for half a memory and wishful thinking wasn't a great calculation. 

But gripping the door handle, you realized your body had made the decision for you, completely overwhelmed by the need to see him again. 

When you opened the door, no one was there. Your phone pinged with a text as you looked around disappointedly, not finding him anywhere. Looking down at your phone, you cursed your own stupidity as you read his message. 

"Sorry. I won't do that again."

You typed out explanations and deleted them over and over for what seemed like an hour, guilt eating you up. 

Eventually, you threw your phone down in resignation, and, grabbing your groceries, started frantically planning your next steps. 

Step one: wallow in your own misery. 

Step two: crack open the single bottle of red wine in your pantry. 

Step three: beg for heavenly guidance. 

After the wine was opened, you picked up the phone again and shot off a quick emergency message to Penelope. 

"Pen, need help, may have just ruined EVERYTHING with Reid because I remembered our wedding night mid-kiss - long story. Mine, now? Xx"

You couldn't stand to look at your phone after that, putting it on silent and assuming the single time it flashed was confirmation that Penelope was on her way. After half an hour, you sprang from your seat at the sound of the door, making your way back to the scene of your most recent number one embarrassing memory. 

Only opening the door to Emily Prentiss, you were sure you'd just dethroned yourself. 

"You're going to have to start from the beginning or explain to me that that message had multiple typing errors, because just when did you and Reid get married, and why is it suddenly over now?" 

--X--

🏷️ Pt 1 @w-windy @multifandom-on-the-side @reidandhotchsgirl @babybluecakes @hugyourlungs @prentissesredtanktop @reidscaffeine @bethanyhaas01 @average-sunflower @academiareid @sailortongue @daddy-dotcom @high-functioning-cosplayer @anniewhalelover @abbyshmaby @isabel-ffl-xoxo @sujan39 @frxcless @bluestuesday @busy-buzzing @breadbrobin @maxinehufflepuffprincess @l0v3cam @booksandwonderlands @myescapefromthislife @ferrjulie @scoobydoopoo @aelinismyqueen @littlesingingbean @jamiemuscatosslut @xohoneybun @anchovy89freya @dysphoricsanity @ghostheartbeat @casss2111 @rebloggiest-reblogger @wishyoudaskme @imawhoreforu @academiacoffeelover @softservepunk @andiebeaword @r-3dlips @wakaladjarin @ratbastardchild @mcira

@danika1994 @stargurl99 @whovianwholikesgirls @its-not-too-late-for-coffee @doriantomybasil

[jjenthusee]

Racing Hearts Pt. 4

f1!driver!jason x reporter!reader

A/N: hello my gremlins <3 i wanted to share with u guys that i successfully moved YAY so that explains the update being slightly behind and the less responses i’ve given to comments (i read them all i swear <3) BUT HERE IT IS \(^o^)/ i took way too long to edit and rewrite the way i believe the story should go, im having so much fun with this series and i want to thank all of u who are supporting it from the beginning or saw the updates as they came. ENJOY the fourth chapter of the Racing Hearts series (ALSO THERE’S 300 FOLLOWERS WOW 🥹 THANK U TO ALL THE PEOPLE THAT LIKE MY PAGE AND CONTINUE TO SUPPORT MY CRAZY SAD WRITING AND MY DRAWINGS i love reading your funny comments, unhinged reblogs, and talking about your favorite parts of the story, it really gave me the push to write and contribute to the jason todd community) and i just wanted to remind yall…i haven’t forgotten about that hurt/comfort tag :)

Check out the Racing Hearts masterlist! It shows all the updated chapters and upcoming ones <3

Tags: banter, agonizing fluff, hurt/comfort, strangers to friends to lovers, spicy if u squint, we’re hitting halfway thru the story so let me introduce what i do best…angst HAHAHA

Word Count: 4.1k

“In all of my career, I have to say that I never thought I would be standing here wearing…these.” Jason looked down to his feet.

The camera focused on the two of you standing next to one another, the lens following Jason’s stare toward the ground. The camera woman zooming in on the bright red Lightning McQueen crocs he was wearing.

You sheepishly admired the shoes, proudly smiling back up to Jason. Bewilderment plastered on his face as he couldn’t believe you actually gifted him Lightning McQueen merch, not even in private but in an interview with multiple cameras pointed at him.

What a predicament he was in. He was definitely not offended when you told him how similar the red car and he were.

“It’s a small thanks from the company for completing your third interview with us.” You smiled brightly at Jason. “Also consider it as a way for us to say ‘good luck’ for your upcoming season.”

Jason couldn’t believe it as he laughed. No matter how much time he spent with you, you always surprised him in the best ways.

“Y’know, I thought the Cars jokes were going to fade out, but you’re a bad influence on my fans.” Jason lightheartedly teased you, stomping his foot enough to let the crocs light up.

You fought a straight face, holding in laughter and trying to stay as serious as you could, but you were about to break any second. You bit the inside of your cheeks to prevent yourself from smiling, internally promising yourself that you would make sure to get a picture of him later.

You already had his new contact picture picked out.

“I couldn’t think of any other way of showing you my support.” You nodded your head proudly.

“Really? Nothing else?” Jason’s eyebrow rose, his tone sarcastic.

“You’re the best F1 driver I’ve ever interviewed.” You smirked, watching the shoes sparkle.

“I’m the only F1 driver you’ve ever interviewed.” Jason looked at you in disbelief.

“Anyway! We’re closing this as the last part of our series, I’m glad you were able to be a guest before you get busy putting on the RedBull uniform again, I know your fans will really enjoy that—” You wrapped up the finale, finalizing the last public appearance the two of you would have next to each other. A bittersweet ending.

But you always had the Jason laying with you on your couch. Feeding each other dinners, taking motorcycle rides late in the night.

“This can’t be the last time I see you. You’re my favorite interviewer.” Jason lulled his voice, rephrasing your earlier comment back at you. “After all, you gifted me something so…special.”

You paused, shocked at Jason’s forwardness with you, the timber of his voice adding an underlying flirty tone to him.

You’ve never talked to him about the public appearance about the two of you. Could you go public?

It’s for the camera. You silently told yourself.

“You have to win for me to see you again.” You smirked, quickly playing along with his attempt to fluster you.

“That’s too easy, you could try to make this a little harder for me.” Jason chuckled lowly. “It’s almost like you want to see me.”

Oh my.

“So much talk for someone who hasn’t started his comeback season.” You playfully rolled your eyes. “You also didn’t start your last season smoothly, so don’t talk so confidently.”

“But who sat at my last press conference celebrating my win? I don’t end things so easily.” Jason tilted his head as he looked down at you, tension increasing. “I’ll come back when I win, it’ll be our little secret.”

Jason winked at you, the cameras focused in on his face and your reactions.

You raised an eyebrow, trying to decipher between the RedBull Jason on camera and your Jason.

He was his playful self, the signature half smirk trying to get you to blush, but his eyes were soft when he glanced over to you.

You calmly gave in, maybe it was for the camera or maybe it was for you.

“Aw, that’s so sweet, but I don’t think I could keep that a secret.” Your polite smile opposing Jason’s mischievous one. “I don’t think you realize but,” you leaned toward Jason, pausing to eye his figure up and down, gleefully watching him pay attention to your every word. Your smile getting wider at how easily he was wrapped around your finger. “I’m a reporter, I can’t keep that beautiful face to myself.”

“But I’m really good at keeping them.” Jason stepped closer, eyes never leaving yours.

His eyes beamed a playful hue to them.

You cleared your throat, looking at the camera woman who also stared in awe.

Crap, the office was going to get suspicious.

“You should focus on winning first before you make any promises.” You coughed, diffusing the atmosphere Jason created as the film crew watched. “Then call my business number and you don’t have to keep any secrets.”

Once the camera stopped rolling, you resumed your professionalism. Saying goodbyes and getting final pictures for the website and both social medias.

All the previous interviews went well. The fans saw Jason’s personality in action, gaining more attention and love for the racer. Jason’s management team was satisfied with you and the attraction he was gaining before the season started.

It gave him the right press he needed to put him in the spotlight.

After Jason left with his management team, you finalized the video upload that his company agreed to. Your draft for a new article about Jason to be edited and reviewed for the upcoming week. It was business as usual.

Getting work done during the day, then meeting Jason for the evening.

When you got back to your desk, you organized yourself to overlook the release date for the final interview and reviewed for the next big project to tackle now that your work with Jason was finished. Multiple meetings with project managers and your team.

Work was picking up for you, managing larger projects, interacting with larger faces.

Jason lit the hallway to opportunities for you.

Your phone lit up next to your laptop, distracting you from one screen to another.

(Handsome) Mr. Todd: pick you up at 6?

You smiled to yourself. Happy, but bittersweet.

You reminded yourself that Jason’s off-season was ending. You wished time could slow down.

—— “Gosh, you’re so clumsy.” You adjusted Jason’s helmet. All the time spent with him reflected in your familiarity with the motorcycle helmet.

“Only for you.” Jason stood there, leaning down to let you reach around his head. Watching you worry about the two of you.

Jason had kept his promise to pick you up.

Most of the time he waited on you to get back from work. Sometimes pushing the boundaries and secretly meeting you for a quick lunch. Meeting him far from where your coworkers frequented.

Your first encounters were hidden behind the idea of work, finding answers to questions for interviews, or suggesting new places to eat.

It was like you couldn’t be apart from one another.

Oh, how you can change a man.

You let Jason fake his ignorance through certain tasks, giving him any reason to get you close to him.

But you gave into his every attempt. Not fighting against his clinginess.

Your roles would switch soon, he wouldn’t wait for you after tiring days of work. You would have to watch him race lap after lap on live television like the rest of the world.

He was leaving soon, you knew he would be busy, it was inevitable, but you wanted as much time before he left.

You sat behind Jason, his body warming the front of you as you wrapped your arms around his waist.

Holding onto him close, wearing the helmet he got you, feeling his solid stomach shift the motorcycle as you rode around the city. You were getting used to your new lifestyle, despite the hidden secrets you shared.

He couldn’t announce a relationship after you were waiting for the last installment of your interviews.

The timing wasn’t right and the meetings this would cause for you and Jason were going to give you a headache.

You heard the motorcycle engine interrupt your thoughts.

Jason slowing at a red light. He stopped, placing his feet on the ground to stabilize the two of you while you waited. The red glow reflected onto Jason sitting in front of you.

The streets were almost empty. Gotham barely waking to the darkness, a city that never sleeps.

“Jay.” You hesitated behind him.

“Hm?” Jason unconsciously acknowledged, resting his hand over yours around his stomach. Rubbing the fabric of his gloves onto yours.

“I want to stay with you longer.” You calmed your voice, careful in verbalizing your feelings.

“You want to drive around more? I think we can drive by—“ Jason continued to rub your wrists. Cars passing in front of him, the opposing traffic keeping you still.

“No, I don’t want to leave you tonight.”

Jason paused, his hand resting on yours, no longer moving. If the cars weren’t in front of you, crossing the intersection, you would have thought time was frozen.

Jason tilted his helmet back, to get a look at you.

You don’t know what he was looking for, your face covered by a protective helmet like his was, but he found what he needed when the light turned green.

It was green, but you stayed there, no other traffic surrounding you.

Just you and Jason.

“Want to come to my place?” Jason kept his black visor on you. “I have a killer TV to watch Cars on.”

You chuckled. Squeezing his waist a little more.

“Better have a good speaker for playing Life is a Highway.”

Jason smirked, hidden from your eyes as he watched you lean back into his warmth.

The humid air covering the two of you into summer clothing. Thinner fabrics and showing more skin.

Jason wore a simple fitted thin long-sleeve, matching the look of his helmet and gloves. It made a great view of his broad back.

A quiet exhale as he looked forward again, revving his engine to life to make a quick turn, opposite of your home.

You were racing the rain as Jason was taking you back, but after you spoke the magic words, how could he send you back home?

The dark summer rain clouds were no longer behind you, the two of you heading straight for them as you watch Jason take you down new streets, an unfamiliar path to Jason’s place.

“I don’t think you’ll make it to the living room before then.” Jason quietly spoke to the light drizzle hitting your bodies

“What did you say?” You couldn’t hear above the engine.

And he was right.

After you were soaked to the bone, fabric sticking to your form, water droplets falling down your skin. A glossy sheen from the harsh rain falling all around you.

Jason had pulled into his garage.

He was in the same state, wet clothes stuck to his skin. The water from you and the motorcycle dripping onto the concrete floor.

You pulled your helmet off, the only dry place.

Once Jason parked the bike, he took off his helmet, placing it on the nearest work table. Your body shivered as you threw your leg over to maneuver yourself off.

You looked down at your state, smiling in disbelief at being caught in the rain.

Maybe you could wear Jason’s clothes after a nice warm shower. You internally thought to yourself. Excited to enter Jason’s place. A new location unlocked.

When you put your helmet next to Jason’s, you could finally take in all of him.

Black shirt tight from the weight of the water, his hands littered with scars, free from the gloves. His hair dry, but messy.

All his muscles more prominent.

You stood in awe, your chest rising from the breaths you took. Humid air invading the inside of the garage, elevated from warm summer nights.

The sight of Jason reminded you of the professional pictures taken of him, leaving his Formula 1 car after a race. He was sweaty, running his hands through his hair with a towel in hand.

After all the time you spent together, it was your favorite photo of him. You secretly saved it because there was something about the look on his face, happy to win, alive on the track.

How attractive he looked was a definite bonus in your opinion.

Jason glanced over to you, finally realizing the state the two of you were in. He slowly looked you up and down, lost in the same visual you were in awe of once you saw him.

You suddenly remembered the last time you and Jason were enclosed in a garage, close to each other, messy from a hard day of distributing winter jackets and food to those who stopped by.

A slight warmth increasing on your face.

Jason stepped closer to you, hands grabbing for your waist to pull you in. His hands reaching under your chin to stretch your neck to adjust to his height.

Breaths mixing as your lips touched only from the movement of your lips unconsciously opening, ready to kiss him.

He waited.

Letting the pressure build as he spoke.

“There’s no volunteers to interrupt us now.” Jason lifted you, letting you sit on the surface of his work table. His arm swooping everything off as he cleared enough room for you.

You could hear objects fall, but you couldn’t care less as Jason stepped between your legs. Quickly, but carefully rubbing at your legs with his palms, his hands getting closer to the blurs of where your thighs met your waist.

Everywhere felt great that you didn’t know where to focus.

The feeling of your lips, your sides, his body between your legs?

You could only huff between the intensity he was igniting in you.

“Jay—inside—it’s cold.”

Despite your words, you didn’t bother to move. You kept touching, feeling everything before Jason lifted you again, the placement of his hands as he carried you, lifting the edges of your shirt.

The feeling of a mattress beneath you as you uncomfortably tried to peel the clothing off your body.

Jason chuckled at your frustration. You couldn’t bother to give him a snide remark as he also struggled to get your soaked clothes off.

When lifting the shirt didn’t work, you tried rolling the fabric, but it only bunched just below your sleeves.

You could only laugh as Jason desperately tried to get the shirt through your arms. Tangled in the mess you both created that you were left with a heavy shirt stuck around your biceps.

“Why is there always something stopping me from seeing all of you?” Jason laughed as he kneeled above you, his shirt completely off at some point along the way to his room.

“I don’t think a pair of wet clothes are going to stop you now.” You smiled at him, glancing up at his figure through the darkness. Only the city lights creeping through the blinds, illuminating his skin.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous.” Jason yanked your entire shirt off your arms.

You sucked in a breath at his desperation, memorizing the look of his face as he leaned down closer.

“I want to turn you into a mess.” He whispered into your mouth, kissing down your body.

Overwhelming gasps and breaths left your mouth the more he touched your skin.

“I want to touch you too.” You exhaled, trying to coherently express yourself.

“Next time, sweetheart. I want to focus on you. Everything I want is you.” Jason moved your hair out of your face, stuck from the sweat covering your skin.

The night filled with you repeating Jason’s name, no distractions keeping that man off of you.

After a shared warm shower, Jason gave you a nice pair of his dry clothes. You walked around his place, relaxed after Jason’s…expertise.

What you weren’t prepared for was just how normal his apartment looked. It felt like yours, but bigger, a little more luxurious like it was bought with the intention of having better quality to last longer.

You hoped he had no plans of moving anytime soon.

You stood in the kitchen in awe.

“You have a kitchen island.” You whistled in excitement. “Formula 1 money is good, huh? Maybe I need to pick up a Redbull uniform.”

Jason chuckled, hugging you from behind smelling like the same soap in your hair, his face nuzzling into your neck. You continued to speak.

“No, I can’t steal your fame.” You whispered to yourself. Jason feeling the vibration of your voice the longer he leaned into your neck.

“I’m happy you’re here.” Jason mumbled into you, ignoring everything you said.

“Me too, I’ve been curious where you live.”

“I invited you before, but I guess we’ve always gone to your place.” Jason smiled into your skin. “What do you think?”

“Its very…Jason. I like it.” You glanced around.

You more than liked it. It smelt like Jason. A smell you’ll never grow tired of.

His apartment was slightly bare, the space a little too large for the one man, but that was charming too. It felt like you were able to occupy that small empty space in his life.

When you walked around, Jason following you like a duckling, you noticed the small knick-knacks you bought with him on your dates.

Matching plushies, a book you picked randomly, a bookmark you gifted him, and a tiny paper frog you made while waiting for your table before dinner.

You felt cherished, looking at the physical representations of your memories together.

He grabbed you again, wanting the closeness. You fell back into him, the small paper frog in your hand, made from old receipt paper.

Jason resumed his prior back hug, absorbing your warmth.

He was more clingy than usual tonight.

“How was your trip to the charity today? I forgot to ask you about it at dinner, it must be hard to take a break from them to race again.” You leaned into him more.

Jason buried himself further. Not a great hiding spot since he was larger, but it was the thought that counted.

“I would love to hear about it.” You put the frog back on the shelf, letting it watch the two of you.

“It was good, I got to do one final check to make sure everything would be good when I’m gone. But…” Jason hesitated, squeezing you a little tighter.

You waited, rubbing circles on his forearm.

“I had noticed a lot of stuff come in, it’s a good thing, but it wasn’t like our usual haul. I didn’t recognize it as the stuff I brought over either.” Jason breathed, agitation filling his voice. “When I asked around about it, they said Wayne Enterprises had it delivered.”

Jason went silent. He was tense.

“I always tell that old man to fuck off. He never listens.” Jason sighed.

The last thing Jason wanted was another check from Bruce. Taking over the hard work he had volunteered for months.

Another sanctuary was being taken away from Jason’s grasp.

“I can’t stand it.” Jason whispered. His eyebrows taut.

You maneuvered your head back to kiss him on the cheek.

“I’m sorry, I know that was the last thing you wanted to happen.” You soothed.

Jason leaned in for more kisses.

“Don’t worry, I’m feeling better already.” He exhaled, his shoulders relaxing. Jason smiled into your skin, his voice returning to normal. “But looking at those damn crocs every morning makes me mad.”

You laughed as he grew bolder, pushing the topic aside as you leaned to the floor buried from Jason’s affection surge.

If he was deflecting, distracting himself from his hurt then you could let him kiss you a couple times to distract himself.

Shared kisses, lost in each other’s presence, too occupied to notice the multiple buzzing sounds from Jason’s phone.

——

Once the public release of the third and final interview was released to your company’s website, the usual flood of comments embraced the look at the two of you.

You lost yourself in the positive comments, ignoring the negative ones, but that was the price of social media. It was the evils of publicity.

You read comment after comment about the excitement to watch the fresh new season. Iconic racers coming back to their playing field, excited to reveal new car designs, getting the opportunity to collaborate with anyone and everyone.

As the time for Qualifying reached you, the temperature fully warmed and Jason wasn’t next to you to enjoy it.

He had conferences, practice drives, and flights to catch. Now that he was past elimination, it was time to test his fastest time.

It wasn’t even the peak of the season, but you were missing him.

You sighed into your phone, a small vibration felt in your palm. A message from Jason appeared.

It was a photo of his Lightning McQueen crocs on the plane. A big contrast to the fancy carpeting, expensive seats, and an up-to-date screen playing the children’s movie.

You smiled to yourself in your desk chair, but a small prick to your heart struck you.

The difference in your lifestyles hitting you. He was a rich racer, traveling the world in one of the most expensive suits in modern racing.

You felt…small.

The two of you hadn’t talked about what would happen once he started racing full-time again.

How far was this relationship going?

Would you follow him to his races around the world? Should you follow him?

Would you officially announce anything?

Was this an off-season romance? Only an off-season romance?

What about your job?

“Hey, we need to be there by one. Should we grab a quick lunch?” Your coworker called out to you, interrupting your pessimistic thoughts to yourself.

“Yeah, I’ll be right there. Meet you in the lobby?” You locked your computer, grabbing your key badge, ready to go out of the office.

You quickly typed out a message, taking advantage of Jason still on his phone.

You: Hey slow down try to give the other guys a chance

(Handsome) Mr. Todd: fast is the only way I go. you, especially, should know that ;)

You blushed, quickly putting away your phone to catch up with your team.

——

Jason’s performance during qualifying went as expected. He performed in P1, claiming and boasting as he usually did. His time seemed to be getting faster, raising the competition standards for everyone.

You only shook your head as you looked at the results on your phone, a small smile on your face.

Jason was busy going to opening days, press conferences, driving on the racetrack. His replies were becoming sparse.

You: I knew those crocs were good luck charms

No read receipt. No reply.

You kept yourself busy at work. Falling into a routine.

You checked your phone again during lunch. No messages.

Your apartment felt empty when you came home, no lovable man standing in the kitchen.

Still no reply from Jason. It would’ve made you sad if you weren’t so tired.

Your phone rang as you got ready for bed. Letting your head hit the pillow as you heard Jason’s voice in your ear.

“I just saw— paper frogs that—vendor—the street and—grab some.” Jason’s voice went in and out of your mind, fighting the urge to sleep.

His voice was too soothing.

“That’s nice, Jay.” You slurred.

“Sweetheart? Are you awake—“ His voice started to get farther and farther.

You couldn’t keep your eyes open and your dreams filled with you sitting in the stands, watching Jason race.

Wind hitting your skin, watching the flags fly in the air, engines roaring past you.

He was so far away and kept driving further away from you.

You jerked awake. Looking for your phone in the blankets.

You had fallen asleep while on your first phone call with Jason since he left.

“Shit, I wanted to hear his voice.” You shook the blanket in the air until your phone fell from it.

You looked at your call history. Apparently, it had been a video call, but you hadn’t realized after you woke up this morning.

Jason not only heard you embarrass yourself, but he saw it too. You quickly opened your messaging conversation.

You (Yesterday): I knew those crocs were good luck charms

You (Today): i’m sorry I didn’t know it was a video call

(Handsome) Mr. Todd: don’t worry about it, I got to see u when your phone fell off your face

“Nooo!” You screamed to yourself.

Your face fell in your hands as you read the messages coming in.

(Handsome) Mr. Todd: I got something out of it HAHAHA

(Handsome) Mr. Todd: let’s talk next time

(Handsome) Mr. Todd: I wanna hear your voice

You sighed.

Getting up to start your weekend, putting Jason’s live race on the TV screen.

Putting on the shirt that smelled like Jason.

Tag List: @jaybirdstreet @gallusstuff @meowkn @velvetberries @i0lovepink00 @rayaskoalaland @spidernuggets @janybabyy @deimks @yasmin-oviedo @bigraga-sk @indulgentdaydream @uhhellnogetoffpleasenowty @idontknowanythingsblog @xakilicious @livvyliv15

[missmonsters2]

Mirror, Mirror | Two

Please do not copy, repost, or translate my work anywhere else.

PART ONE

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Wanda oscillates between crying and being overcome with confidence to confess. She barely has time to reflect when the devastating news arrives that you have a date, and Wanda needs to formulate a plan—quickly.

Warnings: best friends to lovers. shenanigans. jealousy, jealousy. sexual tension. pining. yearning. sexual thoughts. spicy (tumblr's version). stupid steve. neurotic nat. brat & stinky. bug as in shutterbug.

*explicit version will only be available on Ao3 & will be posted there after series is completed*

Note: cue the shenanigans of date stalking and taylor swift. Put your hands together for the real MVP of this chapter: Yelena.

Reminder there's no taglist but you can follow my library blog for notifications 💘

Series Masterlist || Library Blog || AO3

Count: ~4.5k

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

This week's philosophical question is: Is it gay to think about your best friend?

The short answer is no. The long, complicated answer is that it might be. 

There's logic and reasoning behind this because don't most people think about their best friend? Don't most people plan to have their best friend in the future? If not, then why would they be best friends in the first place?

Sadly, there's a rude awakening in Wanda's wobbly defense. Natasha is the only person to blame for blowing down her defense made of straw when Wanda chats with her on the phone in the evening while you're out for a photoshoot. 

"How's Maria doing?" Wanda asks.

"Good," Natasha answers, and Wanda can hear the tap water running and realizes the redhead is doing the dishes. "She'll be coming to visit during Christmas."

"Oh, you must be very excited!" Wanda beams. If it were her, she'd be ecstatic to be seeing you after so long. 

"Yeah, it'll be good to see her. I think she's bringing her girlfriend, Sharon. They've been seeing each other for a few months, and she doesn't have anyone to spend Christmas with since her grand-aunt passed away.

"Oh," Wanda's voice is low, brows furrowing. "That seems very fast if she's coming to spend a holiday with Maria. How do you feel about it?"

Natasha hums. "Happy, I guess? I haven't met Sharon, but I've been hearing good things about her. She's able to keep up with Maria's busy life as she's got her own, but they make time for each other."

"But what if Sharon's wrong for Maria, or Maria ends up getting hurt."

"Then I'll break Sharon's legs, but Maria's a big girl. I'll be there for her, but she'll be okay," Natasha chuckles.

"But—"

"Wanda, what's with the questions about Maria?" Natasha cuts off. "Is it something with Bug? Are you worried about Raye? She's told me they haven't even gone on a first date yet; why are you so worried?"

"It's not about that!" Wanda said defensively. "I mean—I am worried, but I just don't want her getting hurt. She's my best friend; she deserves someone perfect. Don't you want someone perfect for Maria?"

Even as the words came out of Wanda's mouth, she grimaced because she was nowhere near perfect herself. 

"Of course I do," Natasha sighs. "But unless Maria is hurting, I'm not going to get overly involved with her love life. She'll go at her own pace and update me as she goes."

"But how will you know if Maria is going to continue living away? If she gets serious with Sharon, will Maria still plan to move back here? How will you guys plan on having a wedding at the same time and picking a house in the same neighborhood?" Wanda asks seriously. Her tone is distraught because it feels like Natasha doesn't care about her best friend at all! 

There's a moment of silence on the other line before Natasha says, "We don't plan for that. I mean, I'll be bummed for sure if Maria doesn't move back but we'll always be best friends. We'll visit each other and keep in contact as often as we need, but we don't need to physically be in the same place."

And another realization slides into place. 

"How are you guys best friends?!" Wanda yells into the phone before she hangs up without another word. 

Wanda knows that she'll have to call Natasha later and apologize and say she's on her period or something, but right now, with her eyes hot and wet, she digs her face into her pillow and cries instead.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷ 

"Hey, I need to head out for another shoot today. Do you want me to pick up anything for you?"

Your voice muffles through Wanda's closed door. You've come in a few times, but Wanda had stayed in bed and pretended that she might've been under the weather. 

"No," Wanda says loud enough so you can hear it. "Have fun, though."

"I'll be home soon and make you some paprikash, but there's some chicken soup in the fridge for you if you want some while I'm gone," you reply. Wanda momentarily hears your hand land on the doorknob, but you don't turn it and come in. "Feel better, brat."

You don't wait for Wanda's response even though it is a quiet, "Thanks, stinky."

Alone in the apartment once more, Wanda sighs. She's been all over the place emotionally since she last talked to Natasha on the phone. She later sent a voice memo through text apologizing and said her period just came, which explained all the craziness. Luckily, Natasha was kind enough to leave it be, but they haven't chatted much since then—mostly on Wanda's end. 

Wanda's been caught between wanting to spend more time with you and distancing herself while sorting through her feelings. It was so easy at that moment to leave Vision and feel intense jealousy of Raye, but now in their own little bubble, everything was unraveling like a poorly wrapped present. 

The only saving grace was that you and Raye couldn't align your schedules to go on a date anytime soon. Raye was out of state currently and was supposed to be traveling for work for the next few weeks, and you were confirming projects that were supposed to be for the entire month. 

The extra time was sorely appreciated. 

In short, Wanda has cried 8 times in the last week while equally getting the inspiration almost to confess 7 times. 

There was a nagging fear, though. What if you didn't feel the same? What if Wanda was reading this one gigantic sign wrong, and you simply just liked brunettes with green eyes?

Or, what if you did feel the same and things didn't work out? What if the two of you date, and it goes wonderfully well before it ends? It doesn't matter what causes the end; just what if it did?

In either scenario, things would never be the same, and Wanda would lose her best friend of 10 years. 

Although, Wanda reasons that even if she confessed and you didn't feel the same, she wouldn't actually lose you. Sure, things would never be quite the same, but the friendship would continue. They've endured much worse, and Wanda would probably get over her feelings. 

Probably. 

Because if she didn't, well, Wanda wouldn't know what to do. She's lived too long of her life with you; she can't think of what it'd be like without you. Logically, she knew she'd survive, but there'd always be a part of her missing. 

Sometimes, Wanda thinks there was always a part of her missing until the day she met you. She can still remember 10 years ago like it was yesterday.

"Wanda, it'll be fine," Pietro's accent was thick and heavy, and Wanda refused to say anything out loud to acknowledge it. 

The girls in her class were already making fun of her accent, and her attempts to talk to them were rebuffed with looks as if they couldn't believe she dared to speak to them. 

It was too difficult, Wanda thought. It was too difficult to make friends when she transferred here mid-year, and everyone had already formed their cliques since elementary.

It was hard enough with the growing changes in her 14-year-old body, and she already felt awkward all the time—the giggling behind her back and to her face wasn't helping. 

Wanda wanted to go back home to Sokovia, except there was nothing left to return to. The war had reduced everything to shambles, and everyone else in her family was happy to have been able to seek refuge in America—Rochester, specifically. 

Wanda knew she should be grateful, especially since many of her aunts, uncles, cousins, and other extended family couldn't escape. She never really had too many friends, but the few she did went to Canada, and she knew she'd unlikely ever talk to them again. 

It was a lot of change, and Pietro was the only person who understood her at this new school, but even he couldn't do much since they shared no classes together. Plus, Pietro had still managed to make a friend, and Wanda didn't have the heart to make him sit with her at lunch every day. 

"Do you want me to eat lunch with you? I can ask Sam to sit with us," Pietro offered, but Wanda shook her head. 

"Are you sure?" Pietro asked again, preparing to sit with Wanda anyway, but Wanda shook her head.

"No, it's fine. I'm just going to eat my lunch quick and head to the library to catch up on some assignments," Wanda mumbled quietly, waiting for some girls in her class to pass by before she said it. 

"Okay," Pietro said, sighing since he was conflicted about staying with his sister or heading off to hang out with his friend. But at Wanda's insistence, he merely told her where she could find him if there was anything and took off with one last glance.

When Pietro was fully out of sight, Wanda took a seat alone at an empty table, pulling out her lunch reluctantly. She was quick to notice that the American kids typically brought a plain sandwich or bought food from the cafeteria, which usually consisted of the same foods like pizza or mac and cheese. 

While the comments about the food she brought were also embarrassing, Wanda didn't have it in her to ask her mother to make something else. Money was tight, and asking to add other things to the grocery list just so she could fit in didn't seem worth it when it wouldn't do anything about the fact no one wanted to talk to her. 

So, Wanda pulled out the finomfőzelék with her breaded chicken breast. She still didn't open it and let her containers sit on the table. 

Wanda wasn't quite sure what was causing it. Maybe it was just this specific instance of sitting alone, or maybe it was the last week and a half of enduring this, but Wanda felt her eyes burn and water. She willed it with everything she had inside to not let it fall and took a deep breath. 

"Hi."

The sudden sound made Wanda's head snap up, eyes wide with surprise. You stood there, and Wanda sort of recognized you from her classes. She thought she shared all but one with you. You've never contributed to the bullying but never stopped it or talked to her, either. 

Wanda vaguely recalled you've been sick with a cold the last few days. Her eyes shifted to look behind you, and she could see your friends looking very confused and beckoning you to come back to their lunch table.

"Hi," Wanda quietly greeted you back, wincing at how the accent could even come out with one syllable. 

You sat down suddenly, clearing your throat. "Can I ask you something?"

"Okay," Wanda replied warily. 

"Do you practice witchcraft?"

The question stumped Wanda.

"What?" 

"Do you practice witchcraft?" You repeated, looking serious. 

"No," Wanda frowned, so perplexed that she couldn't even be upset about her accent. "I don't. Why would you think that?"

"Well, Hela has been spreading rumors that you're a witch from Sokovia, and that's why Mr. Coulson passed away suddenly when you came."

Then, it's suddenly so clear why no one has been talking to her. 

"But if you're not a witch cursing people to death, then that's cool," you said, interrupting Wanda's thoughts. "I wanted to ask you that earlier but then I got sick for a few days. So, do you want to hang out with me?"

Wanda just stared at you, her heart racing because finally, finally, she was going to have a friend. "Yes," Wanda replied quickly, smiling. "That'd be...cool," she repeated your slang. 

"Cool," you smiled back before pointing at her food. "Noticed you bring different food every other day. Can I try some? I'll trade you some of my sandwich. Heads up, though, my mom has been experimenting with food. This week was Chinese food, so beef and broccoli might be between the bread."

Wanda smiled at the memory, the ends of it tapering off. You changed her life, and even when Hela made fun of you, you shut her up with a comment about how she stuffed her bra. It was devastating to a 14-year-old. 

After that, the two of you were inseparable. You still occasionally hung out with your group of friends, but you definitely drifted to spend time with Wanda. 

Wanda wonders if it was actually at that moment that she fell in love with you, but at 14, she didn't know how else to interpret it other than friendship. 

You and Wanda didn't meet Nat, Steve, Bucky, and all the others until high school when the other districts were poured into one school. Since then, so much has happened. 

Your parents divorced.

Wanda's mother passed away from cancer. 

You dated Sam very briefly, giving him your first kiss and then shortly breaking up with him after. 

You came out to her, scared, hesitant, and so happy when Wanda didn't care. 

Wanda started to date Vision.

Wanda wanted to go to NYU, and you happily went there with her. 

You confessed you had a crush on Natasha but didn't want to pursue it. 

Wanda's first break-up with Vision. 

You dated Jean Grey and cried when she left you for Scott. 

When you wanted to stay in New York City, Wanda decided to stay here too, rooting her career here with you. 

Wanda wonders if maybe actually she'd fallen in love with you several times over and over but didn't know how to interpret any of her strong feelings for you, categorizing them as friendship just as she did when she was 14.

"I'm home!" 

Wanda hears the apartment door close and the shuffling of you taking off your shoes. She looks at the time and realizes two hours have already passed. Deciding that she's wallowed enough, Wanda decides to get out of bed and leave her room, running her fingers through her hair to tame it.

When she enters the kitchen, Wanda finds you starting the process of making paprikash. It's something you've always done for her when she's sick, feeling down, or homesick. Yet, in this moment, something swells inside Wanda's chest, and she wants to burst out crying again.

"Oh, hey," you turn around and smile as you see her, and Wanda clears her throat and blinks the tears quickly away.

"Hey," Wanda smiles back as she makes her way towards you. "You didn't have to do that, you know. I'm feeling better."

You open your arms for her to dive into a tight hug. You smell like clean laundry and mint, and Wanda wants to bottle your smell. The tension in Wanda lately starts to drain from her body as you rub her back comfortingly. 

"Some paprikash never hurt nobody," you joke. "I'm glad you're feeling better, though, brat. Is it the break-up with Vis?"

"Huh?" Wanda's brows furrow. "No, not really. I haven't really thought about it."

"Homesickness?"

"Er," Wanda fiddles with the back of your shirt. "Kinda, I guess."

"Well, good thing Thanksgiving is in a few months. Your dad and brother are coming here this year, right?"

Wanda nods, brightening at the thought of seeing her family. "Yes, I hope papa and Tony don't get into it again this year."

"I think your dad gets a sick sense of joy of torturing the son of man responsible for all the weapons that destroyed Sokovia," you say dryly. "I think Tony's starting to catch on he's not serious, though."

Wanda chuckles, and you pat her shoulders before you pull away and take out a knife and chopping board. Watch sits on the bar stool, watching you cook, letting things fall into a comfortable silence. 

This was everything, Wanda thought.

Nothing could ruin this moment, and Wanda thought long and hard, building up the courage to say something about her feelings. She wasn't sure what to say, so she might start with something flirtatious, but Wanda would say it more sensually instead of the usual joking tone. 

"Oh!" You say without looking at Wanda, chopping the onion and garlic. "I forgot to tell you. Raye's flying back in a few days before heading out again, and we planned a date this weekend."

Everything is ruined, and Wanda can't tell if the onion or the devastating news is causing her eyes to water.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷ 

"Why did you bring me here?" Yelena hisses.

"Because I can't bring Natasha!" Wanda hisses back. "And be quiet or else they're going to hear us!"

"Why not Natasha? She's your other closest friend," Yelena says, quieter as she grumbles. "You're making me miss movie night with Kate. We're supposed to watch Insidious and you're ruining my chances of making fun of her being scared."

"Because," Wanda exasperatedly says. "I've already had a meltdown with Natasha, and she's going to make all sorts of comments if she knows I'm doing this now. I can't be here alone since this is the type of restaurant only couples go to."

"You think I won't make comments?" Yelena raises her brow at Wanda, looking frighteningly similar to Natasha at that moment. "I thought you grew out of stalking Bug's dates in university."

Wanda doesn't reply, too busy staring at your table. Raye is making some kind of flirty comment, reaching across the table and lacing your fingers through hers. You're laughing—Wanda can tell with how your shoulders shake. 

The restaurant you've chosen to take Raye to is a slightly upscale steak restaurant. You've ordered cocktails, a bottle of wine, and two appetizers to start. 

Raye's biting her bottom lip suggestively before she takes a sip of her wine, her index finger is stroking the back of your hand, and Wanda's wondering if she can bribe a waiter to spill a glass of beer on Raye accidentally. 

"Seriously, I know you're best friends, but this is out of hand. Just confess before Raye steals your girl and they get married."

Wanda whips her head back towards Yelena, eyes filled with indignation. 

"THEY WOULD NEVER—"

"SHHH," Yelena hisses, and they both have to hide behind their menus when you turn around and look. "Jesus Christ, Maximoff."

"They would never get married," Wanda huffs before peeking outside her menu to see that you've returned to your conversation with Raye. But then she turns back to Yelena. "You know about my feelings? Did you always know? Did you—"

"Shut up," Yelena groans. "No, I was just fishing, and you're the sucker I caught. I mean, was there a time I thought you guys were too close? Yes, but it eventually became normal."

The two of them put their menu's down when it's safe, and Yelena seems to be carefully planning how to explain her thoughts. 

"We've all accepted that you guys are very close, but you both kept dating different people—you specifically only dating boys and then Vision. It worked out that we were all going to NYU, but did you know that Bug had an offer to study abroad and do an internship that would've accelerated her graduation and then career?" Yelena carefully looks at Wanda's face.

"What?" Wanda frowns. She vaguely remembers you mentioning the program but recalled you dismissing it. You didn't tell her you were offered a spot in the program. "No, but I mean, she was building her online platform, and it was taking off. She didn't need to do an internship."

"No," Yelena agreed with a shrug, "but it wouldn't have hurt. I suspect she couldn't stand the idea of being away from you for a year. Just like how you turned down the job offer in LA at graduation when you knew she would stay in NYC."

"That wasn't—I just—" Wanda huffs. "I like where I am now. My work is flexible." 

"Yeah, but being in public relations, you could've been making twice the amount you are now," Yelena raises her brow again. "Although, at this point, I suspect you both chose adaptable careers in case one of you wanted to move to another city."

"That's not true," Wanda protests.

"Do you even like being a PR?" Yelena asks. "At least Bug loves photography. You, on the other hand, have a talent for PR, but it'd be just as easy for you to do anything else."

"I do like it," Wanda stresses. "It's easy, and the clients I've got keep me busy enough. Just because I don't spend all my time on it or talk about it doesn't mean I don't like it."

"But—"

"Enough talking, our food is coming, and you better be ready to leave at a moment's notice," Wanda cuts Yelena off as the waiter arrives and sets their food down. 

"Worst. Date. Ever," Yelena deadpans.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷ 

As it turns out, Raye lives relatively close to the restaurant as you walk hand-in-hand back to her place.

And not too far behind, Wanda and a reluctant Yelena trail from a distance. 

"She's not going to Raye's house, is she?" Wanda whispers with a frown.

"Why not?" Yelena grunts, adjusting her leather jacket. "She has casual flings all the time, and by the looks of their date earlier, it went very well."

"Not. Helping," Wanda glares at Yelena. They enter a street filled with apartments, and Wanda is careful about not following too close and walking under the streetlights.

"This is psychotic," Yelena groans. "Can't we go home? I feel like a literal serial killer out here."

Wanda doesn't respond, just staring ahead as they continue to walk. You're swinging your hand back and forth, interlaced with Raye's. There's giggling, and Raye keeps leaning closer to say something to you. 

There's so much sexual tension that it's palpable from here, and Wanda wishes there was a serial killer out here. 

How was Wanda going to stop this? How was Wanda going to prevent you from going home with someone else?

Wanda picks up a small rock and chucks it hard toward your general direction, hoping to spook the two of you apart. Except, her aim is so terrible that it flies completely left and hits the car beside you instead.

The car alarm goes off, setting off flashing lights and a very, very loud beeping noise.

"Wanda, what the fuck—" Yelena is cut off when Wanda suddenly shoves her down into a bush and dives next to her. "Ow, you fucking—" Wanda slaps her hand over Yelena's mouth.

You and Raye look behind, completely perplexed, when no one is there. You try to check out the vehicle, but other than a small dent, nothing is wrong with the car otherwise. Since neither you nor Raye caused it, you continued walking.

It turns out Raye lived in the building just a few steps ahead. You both stand at the door, holding hands before Raye throws her arms around your neck, smirking. 

Wanda's about to pick up another rock when Raye moves in suddenly for a hot, searing kiss.

And when Wanda watches you kiss back, her hand goes slack. Something awful builds in the pit of her stomach, and there's nothing Wanda can do when she watches you go into the apartment. 

Yelena watches Wanda's crestfallen face and sighs. "Wanda—"

"Let's just get back to the car and go home," Wanda mutters as she stands up, not bothering to brush off the dirt, leaves, or twigs from her hair. 

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷ 

The car ride home is sickeningly pathetic—a new low for Wanda. 

"PLEASE DON'T BE IN LOVE WITH SOMEONE ELSE. PLEASE DON'T HAVE SOMEBODY WAITING ON YOUUUU—" Wanda hoarsely cries out, tears streaming down her face. She's off-tune, and she's screaming more than she is singing. 

"Oh, god," Yelena sighs, bringing her hand to her face in embarrassment in the passenger seat. They've stopped at a red light, and the car beside them is staring at them strangely. "This is sad for even you, Maximoff."

Wanda doesn't even acknowledge that she heard Yelena, only belting out, "I'LL SPEND FOREVER WONDERING IF YOU KNEW—"

"Just kill me, just kill me, just crash this car and kill us both," Yelena mutters to herself. 

The house is dark when Wanda returns, not that it should be any surprise. Deep down, though, Wanda hoped you'd return home and somehow beat her to it. 

Wanda's eyes feel tired and raw from crying the entire way home. Yelena gave her a reluctant hug, mustering all her kindness into rubbing Wanda's back and kissing the crown of her head when it was buried in her friend's shoulder. 

Pulling out her phone, Wanda looks at her texts. One from work, a couple of Natasha, one from Vis, and one from Pietro. She stares at your name in her messages, but nothing comes even if she wills it. 

Instead, she shoots you a quick "hey :)" and puts her phone away. You'd unlikely answer, but Wanda couldn't help herself. 

Sighing, Wanda gets ready for the night, trying to not let her mind drift on what activities you and Raye could be doing.

Please let it be scrabble, please let it be scrabble, Wanda thinks as she finishes brushing her teeth. 

As she walks towards her room, she pauses. It's unlikely you'd return until tomorrow morning, maybe even noon. Biting her lip, Wanda turns and walks into your room instead, crawling into your bed under the sheets. She pulls the blanket up to her chin, inhaling your scent slowly.

It both comforts her and makes her heart twinge. 

After an hour, sleep falls upon Wanda easily, and she's nearly in a deep sleep when the lights suddenly turn on, and a yelp is heard.

Wanda wakes up suddenly, shooting up with her heart pounding that it's a robber, but it's just you standing at the door with your hand over your heart and chest heaving. 

"Oh my god, you scared the shit out of me!" You scold Wanda. "I totally thought you were my sleep paralysis demon!"

Wanda rolls her eyes at the comment but frowns as you calm yourself and rummage through your closet for sleeping clothes. "What are you doing at home? I thought you were going to sleep over at Raye's."

"She got a call in the middle of everything. It was her sister or something having some kind of meltdown. Raye says her sister can be dramatic, and it happens once a month, but she couldn't really hang up. I got sleepy waiting, but I didn't wanna crash there to just sleep on a first date," you answer. 

"I'm sure you would've gotten some in the morning," Wanda mutters.

"I guess, but feels weird since it'd definitely be rushed," you take off your jacket and socks before heading to the bathroom. "It's fine, we'll probably reschedule for another date." 

"Perfect," Wanda sighs as she starts to get up. 

"Stay there, brat," you tell her as you stand at the door. "If you're gonna sleep in my bed, you better commit to the sleepover."

Wanda sticks her tongue out at you, which you return before you leave.

Tapping her fingers against the sheets, Wanda smiles. Maybe the night wasn't so hopeless after all. 

PART THREE

[readychilledwine]

hi, i’ve recently found your blog + wow, you’re writing is amazing! i have an idea for i would like to request, i hope that’s okay.

reader has just came home from book club w nesta, gwen and emerie at the house of wind. reader is mated to az - they’re been mated for about a few years. still reader has met nesta, reader almost always has her nose in a book - smutty book to be exact. reader is kinda embarrassed by this bc she wasn’t one to read smutty books before meeting nesta. az is starting to question why reader is always so invested in a book or why he has hardly seen reader for the last couple of weeks. az picks up the book reader is currently reading behind reader’s back & starts to get a little jealous maybe? az may confront reader about the book? i’m not to sure about the ending, but i do know az would do something like asking reader what their favorite scene & they could reenact it or something of that nature. i could totally see az teasing reader just a little bit as well.

i love for you to put your own spin on this. thank you 🩷🩷🩷

Book Boyfriend

Summary - Azriel has gotten a little tired of your reading habits.

Warnings - Az is a kind of a dick

A/n - I went the spicy mad Az route, and don't worry. Per Liz tradition, it's open for another part.

Azriel could have burned the damn book in your hands. You hadn't set it down in 3 days.

3 fucking days of you and Nesta curled into each other, drinking Rhysand's expensive wine, reading that stupid thick book.

He knew you loved to read. Books and book related gifts had been his go-to gifts for you since the mating bond snapped 100 years ago. But the obsession since Ness was made was unbearable.

He never had to fight for your attention until now. He felt a shoulder brush his. "Ah, they're in the "We don't want Cassian to know we're reading smut," pose."

Azriel froze, feeling down the bond and trying to get to your end. You had it locked down, but there was a soft blush on your and Nesta's cheeks. "How do you know its smut?"

Cassian sighed. "It's all they read, Azzy. Have you not noticed?"

His shadows darkened. You had hardly kissed or touched him in 3 days in favor of a smut novel? He could show you things, do things, most authors would only think of in their sick dreams.

He felt himself paling under Cassian's gaze. Was he not pleasing you anymore? Was he not performing to your expectations? You always seemed content, spent, and overjoyed when you two had sex.

"I need a fucking drink." Azriel stormed away. Slamming the door to your shared chambers shut. He took on look at the crystal whiskey decanter and decided to drink until you came to the room.

Azriel woke up to soft footsteps and the feeling of a blanket getting laid across him. He heard you sigh, falling into bed, then that faint creak of an unbroken in book spine opening.

Meaning you had a new book. A new smut novel to ignore him with. A new fake boyfriend to imagine between your thighs.

Azriel stood on shaking legs, and he went to bed. Watching as you snapped to book shut and set it on your nightstand title down. "Did I wake you?"

"Yup." He curled into the bed facing away from you. It was childish, but if you weren't happy, you could have just told him instead of replacing him.

When he woke up, raging headache and all, you were gone. But the book wasn't. He reached over and grabbed it, cracking the spine out of spite. 55 chapters in, and Azriel was bored. If he tried to fuck you on a table covered in paint, you'd glare at him about the mess. About getting paint 1000 places you shouldn't.

So why the hell were you reading a book about it?

It was late into the evening when you returned. Azriel had finished the book, marking specific things he wanted to confront you about. He didn't stand as the door opened, didn't greet you as you came in with a few bags. You were all smiles, dolled up in a pretty dress. Your hair was loosely curled, and makeup was done.

"Where the fuck have you been?" It came out as harsh as he expected it to. "I take a week off and you have hardly spent time with me."

He watched you jump, eyes going wide as you took a few steps back. "Nesta wanted to go into town. We lost track of time. I-"

"Lost track of time? Aren't you the female who taught Rhysand how to properly track the stars and sun?" He stalked toward you, book in hand. "Did you two go to find more vitriol like this?" He held it up, watching as your cheeks flushed and you went to reach for it.

"Azriel-"

He lifted it above his head. "You haven't touched me in weeks. You've kissed me maybe once. Hell, yesterday you were content to leave me on the damn couch. I can see why though, you're sitting here getting your needs met by some fictional fae lord instead of me. If you aren't happy anymore just tell me."

Shock hit your face slowly, mind whirling and emotions pouring into him from the bond. "Azriel, it's a book. Not another male."

That wasn't enough for him. "And how many times have you pleasured yourself to this book? Thinking about the main character between your thighs?"

You sighed. "To that one? Not a single time. I haven't gotten to read it and you already damaged the spine." The sadness in your voice made him pause, lowering the book until you could grab it.

You were always so gentle with your books, caring for them and placing them somewhere safe. Bookmarks never sat in them for too long out of fear of damage. He watched you stroke the spine, going to the bookshelf and placing it in the spot it would belong in to match your color based organization.

"Is this really about a book, or is something else going on?" You wouldn't look at him, wouldn't say his name. He could hear the soft tremble. "I'm sorry I made a friend. I'm sorry I've been spending time with Nesta instead of you. But she gets it. She gets how feeling like you don't belong in this family feels," a stab to his chest. "She gets how feeling out of place among you all feels," the stab turning into a gapping wound that had him leaning against the couch. "She gets what it's like to have a mate that is busy and expects you to be here waiting."

You had ripped his heart out. In 100 years, this had never come up. There had never been signs. "Y/n-"

He watched in silence as you held a hand up, moving to grab some clothes and a hair brush. "I'm going to sleep in a guest room tonight. This could have been turned into something beautiful, Az. We could have used these books to inspire fun in our bedroom," your hand ran along that damaged book. "Instead, you disrespected my belongings, accused me of an unthinkable act, and made this about your fragile ego."

You left the room, silence falling in the wake. Azriel stared at the book he had damaged. It was a first edition. A soft shade of blue with swirls of darkness. He walked to it, head hung in shame.

It was an escape. A way for you to cope with your feelings. No different than him training, and he had ruined it.

And now, he checked his calendar, he had 4 days to make it up to you before he, Cassian, and Nesta were gone for a month.

Leaving you alone all over again with nothing but an empty house and a book boyfriend.

General tag list:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanager @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho

@mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered

Azriel Taglist:

@elle4404

💕 As always, comment or message me if you'd like to be added to a taglist💕

[shxxxbi]

EVERYTHING THAT WASN'T INCLUDED IN LOVE SEA THE SERIES 🌊

Episode 2 (Chapters: 4 - 8)

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Why get your hands dirty?

One of the biggest differences between the novel and the show is Tongrak's attitude during intimate times with Mut. Rak is very horny for Mut ever since he first lays eyes on him, often wondering what he tastes like or what sex with him would be like but, despite his bold thoughts, Tongrak tends to be very submissive during spicy times. Here for example, Rak doesn't eat the urchin himself, nor does he suck Mut's finger on his own. It's Mahasamut who starts caressing his lips and then slowly forces them apart with his finger. Rak lets it happen, thrilled by this new situation he had never encountered before, where "the hunter in him felt like it was being hunted".

🍑

Though depicted as a blowjob in the show, what you should know about our little island treasure is that Mut is a man who eats ass. He worships ass. He'd eat ass all day, if he could. And he is terribly good at it. At least that's what Rak tells us, as he finds his thighs pushed up against his stomach and gets devoured by a wicked tongue that doesn't stop, even after Tongrak cums.

Happy horny puppy

Despite initially doubting his abilities, Mahasamut isn't mad at Tongrak for rushing him back to the island to work. He isn't angry, upset nor irritated that he couldn't get to release or that the writer is ignoring him. Mahasamut is happy. He's happy that Tongrak finally looks like he's enjoying his work. He is happy that Tongrak is smiling looking at the screen. He is happy that Rak's eyes now "sparkled with life". However, as he admired the writer working, Mut couldn't stop his eyes from lingering on the fair neck smeared with sand and reddening from sunburn. He wanted to bite into that neck and taste again "how sweet that fair skin was".

Money is not a problem

At this words, both of them closed the distance "as if they had been waiting for this moment all along". Tongrak's submissive nature shows again quickly, as Mut scoops his leg to bring their lower parts together: he complies easily when the younger boy brings his hand to hold them and rub against eachother, while a hot mouth licks and nips at the skin of his neck. Tongrak is delirious with excitement, he loves it when Mahasamut bites him and Mut knows it. He seems to know exactly where to suck, lick and bite to drive the older man crazy, to the point where the only words he could get out are "Mahasamut, suck, suck more. Ah, it's so good", as he kept grinding into Mut like an animal in heat.

Since he had already given in, why hide his desires any longer?

🌶️

Another thing you should know about Mut is that doesn't only eat ass, he spanks ass. After picking a condom that fit him, he turns around to find Tongrak on all fours on the bed, his legs spread wide. The sight provoking the young boy to the point he couldn't help but slap those cheeks. His desire for the writer was unbearable, making him thrust deep into the man. His size so big, it fills Rak in all the right places, bringing tears to his eyes.

"Can you take it?"

"I don't know, Mahasamut, I don't know."

As they fucked, Mahasamut wondered where to kiss and touch to make the person in his embrace melt, only to find out shortly after that Tongrak loved him plunging deep, even after the writer had already climaxed.

"Damn it, Rak, how could you let him do something like that?!"

Our little princess may have kicked Mut out of the room, and out of him, after the younger boy had tried to kiss him at the end of their sexy times. But his thoughts were quite different. Rak considered the sex exceptional, in the top three experiences of his life. It was so good he'd "almost choked to death trying to suppress the desire for another round".

Also, despite being kicked out, Mahasamut made sure a set of fragrant Thai food was delivered to Rak's room, so that the he could eat something before falling asleep.

The boy is mine

Tongrak tried to ignore it at first. He really did. But then a question popped into his head.

"How could he let his dog go and rub up against someone else's legs after he'd already bought it?"

As for Mut, he loved it. He loved that Tongrak showed possessiveness over him, just as much as he liked being a dog on a leash.

"Damn, he is too cute. I just want to fuck him right here, right now".

"It hurts!"

Hearing Tongrak's words, or rather Mr. Cutie as Mut liked to think of him, he quickly bent down to check if the other man's legs had been too close to the exhaust pipe or if he'd been hit by a stone along the way. After knowing the reason, Mahasamut helps Rak get off the bike by wrapping his arm around the writer's waist. He proceeds to tell Tongrak he'll be more gentle.

"No need. I can handle it. I like it rough".

Restaurant scene

After hearing what the Auntie had to say about Mut personality, Rak couldn't help but stare at the young man in front of him. He sensed nothing but goodwill, sincerity and respect, no matter how annoying he could be. The two then talk about Palm and what he had said about Mut being the island's treasure. Recalling the conversation they had had at the bar, Rak starts biting his lip. Mut reaches out to gently caress his mouth with his thumb, asking Tongrak to stop biting.

"Not your business"

"Yes, it's none of my business. But when you bite your lips... I want to kiss you".

Rak's dive

As we know, Rak is actually a certified diver. He got into deep diving thanks to Connor and they often dived together. He enjoyed it but didn't necessarily love it, as his hair and skin got easily damaged, so he eventually stopped. This dive, however, he craved. Rak had been around people for so long, he'd forgotten what tranquillity felt like. In the past, he liked being around people to mask his loneliness. He hated how miserable his large house made him feel, so he used to hang out with his friends as much as possible. Through writing tho, he found out there could be beauty to loneliness too and that he liked being alone, at least while he's working. This dive reminded him of this feeling, made him feel at peace, so he allowed his body to float in the sea. The feeling doesn't last long though, as the vastness and quietness of it all start to overwhelm him. Mahasamut arrives to lead him back to the surface. Contrary to the series however, Tongrak does not have a panic attack, nor does he recall painful memories of his family.

[diazsdimples]

Do you have any buddie fic recs that is a /must/ read for Buddie shippers ( sorry I don't ship Bucktommy 🥹)

Boy do I ever!!!

honey, when you call my name - @hippolotamus (Explicit)

"Eddie witnesses the Buck/Lucy kiss, has himself a little panic, and decides to do something about it when Buck does his Buck thing and won't stop pushing Eddie's buttons" It's spicy, it's sweet, it's packed full of feels and there was not a dry eye in the house!!

Whatever may come (your heart I will choose) - @hippolotamus (Mature)

"The Story of Eddie and Christopher Diaz" The number of times I yelled at Hippo while reading this,,,, it is incredible!! 30 chapters of Buckley-Diaz family feels, Eddie's heartbreaking backstory and FUCK if I could read it for the first time again, I would!

James Bond AU Series - @princessfbi (Teen & Explicit)

James Bond AU with 007 Agent Eddie Diaz and Buck as Q. Incredible. No notes. Read them back to back in one sitting, and then read them again immediately after. No prior knowledge of James Bond needed (cause I sure didn't have any) but be prepared to have the sudden urge to go watch all the films.

Kink Club AU Series - @princessfbi (Explicit)

"Canon compliant one shots where Eddie works at a Kink Club as a side hustle and meets Buck there before his first shift in 2x01." This series is insanely good. 5 perfect fics of the boys and BDSM, it is incredibly hot, full of feels and just.... yeah. Incredible. Please do read the tags before each fic though, especially if BDSM isn't your thing.

because we'll all arrive in heaven alive - @neverevan (Explicit)

"During a search and rescue, Eddie disappears without a trace, leaving Buck to grapple with the sudden possibility of a life without him." I was literally on the edge of my seat with every single chapter release. It's SO angsty and delicious and absolutely incredible, and I think also very feasible for what could happen in canon should Timothy ever decide to be as mean (affectionate) as Newbie was by putting the boys through this.

Out Of Order, Still In Line - @neverevan (Explicit)

"When Buck finally gets to the Clinic, the long awaited release doesn’t seem to come; cue Eddie to the rescue." One of the first Buddie fics I read and it altered my brain chemistry a little. Lord have mercy. It's just ... you gotta read it. Like, Jesus 🥵

My Blood on Your Skin (My Rose on Your Snow) - @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Explicit)

"When Eddie needs cash and fast to take care of Christopher, his LAFD Academy buddy suggests a job as a bouncer at Elysium - an exclusive sex club in downtown Los Angeles. Eddie doesn't care what goes on there, so long as he's paid, but he finds he cares a lot bout the club's enigmatic owner, Evan Buckley, and it's not long before the two of them are violating every boss-employee rule in the book. But there's something different about Buck and the club, something not quite... human. If Eddie wants to keep Buck, he's going to have to delve into the world of immortals, and all the risks that implies." Honestly I think the blurb says it all. I read this at my cousin's wedding (literally just before the ceremony and during the reception fsdkjdfs) because I literally couldn't put it down. Incredible Greek Gods integration and so. fucking. hot. Sorry Caleb, I hope your matrimony is holy but this was so worth it.

stuck now so long, we just got the start wrong - @daffi-990 (Unrated at present)

"Probational Firefighters Evan “Buck” Buckley and Eddie Diaz meet on a call which ends with them at odds with each other. As the months roll by, they keep running into each other on the job, much to Eddie’s dismay and Buck’s delight. Can they put aside their first opinions and misunderstandings and allow the seeds of friendship, and possibly something more, to take root?" This AU has been eating me alive with snippets for the last few months and the chapters are FINALLY being published!! Stay tuned for weekly updates about our idiots being - well - idiots. Daffi has written them so well and I don't think I could yell louder about this one if I wanted.

Cow Eyes - @theotherbuckley (General)

"'Eddie's in hospital and Buck tries not to break down' fic except its actually just a cute silly little fic" Exactly what is says on the tin. Cute, silly, fluffy and entirely adorable. High!Eddie is fucking hilarious and Worried!Buck has my whole ass heart. Love this fic, have read it many times, will read many times more

Both Blade and Branch - @cal-daisies-and-briars (Mature)

"The chances of being struck by lightning twice are incredibly minute, but Buck still manages to pull it off. During a double date with Marisol and Natalia, nonetheless. Eddie manages to resuscitate him, but as Buck recovers from yet another trauma, Eddie can’t help but notice there’s something very different about him. He’s not quite sure what version of Buck he got back." Orpheus and Eurydice vibes but somehow more heartbreaking because it's the Boys? Literally every chapter I was gobsmacked and the fact that I couldn't read it in one sitting due to Life™️ was frankly criminal.

what humans do - @gayhoediaz

""…and the thought that she had just escaped death by such a narrow margin made me realize the intensity of my feelings toward her.” Eddie swallows. “‘What’s the matter?’ I couldn’t tell her, so I kissed her instead,” Buck goes on, and since Eddie’s eyes are focused on the page, they drift ahead a little bit, and the next few lines have him swallowing once again, taking his hand back to brace himself against the mattress as he slowly starts to push himself up to sit. “Kissing is what humans do when words have reached a place they can’t escape from. It is a switch to another language. The kiss was an act of defiance, maybe of war. You can’t touch us, is what the kiss said. ‘I love you,’ I told her, and as I smelled her skin, I knew I had never wanted anyone or anything more than I wanted her…” Buck trails off when Eddie reaches for the book, gently luring it out of his grasp. " One of the best getting together fics I've read. So sweet, so hot, full of feels, and also just very 🤯 in many places. Just insanely well written and perfect imagery.

Also I have a small list of authors whom I love dearly:

@spotsandsocks @exhuastedpigeon @wildlife4life @thewolvesof1998 @thekristen999

@steadfastsaturnsrings @watchyourbuck @fortheloveofbuddie @rainbow-nerdss @bidisasterevankinard

@aroeddiediaz @jesuisici33 @wikiangela @loveyouanyway @kitteneddiediaz

@actuallyitsellie @dangerpronebuddie @loserdiaz @elvensorceress @underwaterninja13

@smilingbuckley

Literally anything these wonderful people (and the authors of the above fics) have written is well worth a read. I would rec all of their words and make individual recs for all their fics but I fear I simply do not have the words.

I might also humbly suggest some of my fics, which you can find here! Happy reading!!!

[formulauno98]

Yacht Girl Summer - Chapter Ten / Thursday Evening, Four Months Post-Break-Up - George Russell x Reader, Toto Wolff x Reader

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: Angst!!! 🌶 This one is a little spicy. 18+ only. If you're uncomfortable with the idea of two-timing don't read this.

Author’s Notes: Disclaimer, purely fiction. No use of Y/N and minimal descriptions because I want everyone/anyone to be able to enjoy this.

I'm sorry this chapter took forever to post, life got very busy and some of you may have seen that I had someone plagiarising my work on Wattpad and was NOT happy. I got it taken down and finally felt ready to finish this bad boy.

There will be one more chapter coming up shortly, aptly named Chalet Girl Winter. Hope you like it and thank you to everyone who reported the person who was stealing my work 🫶🏽

THURSDAY EVENING, FOUR MONTHS POST-BREAK-UP

George's alcohol-glazed eyes bore into yours in a way that made you almost uncomfortable. Surely he did not mean what he just said and was just drunk? Before you could determine an appropriate response, your door buzzed for the second time that evening. Your heart leapt to your throat, knowing exactly who it was. 

Toto.

“Who’s that?” asked George, his tone suspicious.

“Well…” you stumbled over your words, “I was trying to tell you. It’s Toto….”

George’s expression shifted to horror as he groaned.  “Amazing,” he muttered. “Just what I need. I’ll go, forget what I said.”

Your eyes softened, “George…” Before you could finish your sentence, the buzz came again, Toto was obviously growing impatient. “I better get that,” you said, George huffing in response.

You stood there in awkward silence, George glowering as he knew Toto was on his way up and there was no escaping seeing him. Fortunately, the pair of you didn’t stand there long before there was a knock on your door. 

Taking a deep breath, you opened it to reveal Toto standing there, handsome as ever, grinning, holding an impressive bouquet, even larger than the one George had brought.

“Hi,” he said, his smile faltering as he stepped inside and clocked George standing in the hallway behind you, "Hi George, what’s going on here?"

George turned to face Toto, his face now filled with rage, "Of course, you’re here" he spat. "You just can't stay away, can you?"

"George, calm down, Toto, come in," you said, Toto looking shocked as he stepped inside. You quickly closed the door, not wanting your neighbours to overhear the drama unfolding, stepping between the two men. 

"I don’t think you’re in a position to lecture me," George snapped, his voice rising as he stepped forward, squaring up to Toto over your shoulder. "Why do you think you can just come here and replace me? Steal my girlfriend?"

Toto, to his credit, remained calm, handing you the bouquet he’d been holding, and moving out in front of you, his hands now raised in a placating gesture as he faced the younger man. "George, I understand you're upset. But this isn’t helping anybody."

"Upset? You don’t know the half of it," George shot back. "You think you can just waltz in here with your yacht, all tall, dark and handsome and your big flowers and your charm and…"

"George," Toto interrupted, his voice firm but gentle. "Please, I didn’t come here to argue."

The tension in the hallway was palpable and you could see George's anger teetering on the edge. You stepped from behind Toto and placed your free hand on his arm, trying to soothe him. "George, please, it’s been months."

For a moment, you thought George might explode, but then he seemed to deflate, the fight going out of him. "I just... I just wanted to fix things," he mumbled.

“There’s nothing to fix,” you said, looking at the ground as you felt your eyes tearing up. “I’m sorry but I think you should go,”

George glanced back at you, his eyes filled with hurt. "I just don’t understand why things had to end this way. Why him? Of all people?"

"It’s complicated," you replied softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "We both deserve to be happy and I think we both know that it wasn’t working between us anymore."

Toto stepped forward, his voice calm and reassuring as he placed a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. "George, it's clear you still care but right now, the best thing you can do is take care of yourself."

George looked between you and Toto, his shoulders slumping. "Yeah, maybe you're right."

Toto nodded and pulled out his phone. "My driver just left, let me message him and he’ll take you home.”

“Okay.” said George, looking at you wistfully, “Can’t say I didn’t try.”

You felt a pang of guilt as you watched George shuffle towards the door as Toto typed out a text. You turned to face your former boyfriend, "George, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I hope you find someone who makes you happy."

He gave you a sad smile. "Yeah, me too." With a glance back towards Toto, he added, "Take care of her."

Toto nodded. "I will.”

Then, much to your surprise,  George leant in to hug the older man, perhaps a sign that the journey to forgiveness had begun. “Thanks, boss,” he said.

Toto shot you a look of shock over George’s shoulder, somewhat awkwardly patting him on the back. “I’m sorry for everything.” he said, his deep voice thick with emotion, “I really am.”

George seemed placated by Toto’s words and stepped back from the embrace, his eyes red, filled with emotions. “I appreciate that," he said quietly, casting one last look at you. "I’m sorry I interrupted your evening, I guess I should get going.”

"Don’t be silly. I know it’s weird but you’ll always be welcome here, any time," you replied softly.

“Thank you,” said George, turning to Toto. “Did you say your guy will be here soon? I can wait downstairs and be out of your way.”

“Honestly, take your time,” you said, secretly willing Toto’s driver to arrive asap. As if by magic, Toto’s phone buzzed.

“He’s downstairs,” said Toto, clearly sharing your sentiments as you exchanged a look of relief.

“Thanks, Toto.” said George, “See you guys around.”

As you murmured your goodbyes and George walked out your door, you were floored by the evening’s events. Did George really still love you or was it just the drink talking? If Toto hadn’t come over, what would have happened?

Your mind was racing as you closed the door behind him and Toto immediately pulled you into a comforting embrace, his strong arms enveloping you, putting your mind at ease.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face.

You nodded, feeling the weight of the evening slowly lifting. "I am now. Thank you. I’m sorry about that, it’s not been easy. I bumped into George when I was out earlier and I guess he hit the pub afterwards."

Toto gently rubbed your lower back, soothing your concerns, "No need to apologise, it’s not your fault. I think unfortunately this was always going to happen. He has been behaving strangely with me all season.”

“How come you never said anything?” you asked, leaning into Toto’s chest, “It’s less than ideal.”

“Life is often less than ideal. But we deal with it and move on.” Toto said, pressing a kiss to to top of your head, “How about we get some food and relax? We can take your mind off things."

"That sounds perfect," you replied, “And thank you for these, they’re beautiful,” you added, holding up the huge bouquet Toto had handed to you. 

Toto’s goofy grin had returned, “Beautiful flowers for a beautiful woman. Although I did picture myself giving them to you in different circumstances.”

You laughed as you made your way through to the kitchen to find a vase for them, gesturing for Toto to follow. “You mean to say that you didn’t envisage my ex being here?”

Toto laughed in return, “Not exactly, I can’t blame the guy though. I wouldn’t want to lose you.”

Surprised by Toto’s admission you stopped in your tracks, “Well don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”

Toto quirked an eyebrow as you set about arranging both his bouquets and the roses from George in two vases, struggling to fit them in.

“Did George bring you those?” asked Toto, sidling up to the kitchen island.

“Yep,” you said, feeling slightly guilty, “I don’t want to waste them.”

“Of course,” said Toto, smirking slightly as he clocked how much larger his bouquet was.

“Sorry, I’m being the worst hostess, I got some wine out and then George completely distracted me. Would you like some?” you asked, suddenly flustered by Toto’s presence in your kitchen.

“Relax,” said Toto, stepping nearer to you, reaching around to hold your hip from behind as you arranged the flowers, kissing your neck softly, “I will pour us the wine.”

Melting into the tall Austrian, you finished arranging the flowers and turned to face him, “Sorry, I let the stress get to me. I was kind of surprised when you said you were nearby and then George coming over completely blindsided me.”

“Don’t be silly and stop saying sorry” Toto said, gently caressing the side of your face, “I should be one saying sorry if I took you by surprise. I wanted to see you. I had planned to take you out to dinner but maybe a quiet night in is better tonight?”

“A quiet night sounds wonderful,” you said, stretching up to kiss him, finally starting to calm down from your stressful altercation. It was amazing how quickly you had started to feel comfortable with Toto.

“So this is where you live?” asked Toto, pulling away and starting to take in his surroundings for the first time. Your apartment was small but cosy and somehow Toto’s tall frame looked larger than life in the tight space of your kitchen, almost as if he didn’t belong.

“Yes,” you said, feeling awkward as Toto surveyed your domain. “My home for the last four years. I know it’s nothing compared to your yacht even but…”

Toto quickly interrupted you, leaning over to kiss you once more before pouring out two generous glasses of wine. “Stop it. This place is perfect. It’s you and that’s what makes it perfect.”

You chuckled, knowing he was being polite and was used to much grander surroundings, "Thanks. I’ve tried my best!"

Toto finished pouring and handed a glass to you. "To a quiet night in," he toasted, clinking his glass with yours, his eyes crinkling warmly as he smiled at you.

"To a quiet night in," you echoed, taking a sip and feeling the tension of the evening finally begin to melt away.

FRIDAY MORNING

As your eyes fluttered open, crisp Winter sunlight started to spill through the curtains and you were finally content. Toto had kept a firm grip around your waist all night and waking up in his strong arms was bliss. You could feel the gentle rise and fall of his chest pressed up against your back as he slept peacefully.

Having ordered dinner in, spent far too long carefully selecting a film to watch together and then watched it for all of ten minutes before you were all over each other, your quiet night in had taken a wilder turn. Having only had the one time with him on the yacht, you hadn’t known what to expect but Toto had more than delivered. You were sore in the way that you only felt after a night spent fucking, enjoying each other’s company and letting loose for the first time in what felt like forever.

Basking in the post-sex glow, you snuggled closer into Toto before you dropped back off to sleep, knowing that you didn’t have any commitments for the day and could enjoy a lie-in.

– – – 

Rousing from your sleep for the second time that morning, this time was different. Your bed was cold, there was no strong arm cuddling you, Toto was nowhere to be seen and your heart dropped. You hadn’t discussed whether he would stay the night but to wake up and find him missing was somewhat disheartening. Perhaps you’d gotten the wrong idea? Cara and Marion’s words of warning swam around in your head, leaving you wondering.

That was until you heard a clatter coming from the kitchen. Easing yourself out of bed, you fetched your bathrobe, slipped it on and made your way to the source of the noise.

“Morning!” said Toto brightly, turning to face you. He was wearing nothing but boxers and a copious dusting of what looked to be flour.

“Good morning,” you said sleepily, making your way over to him, realising what he was doing. He was making pancake batter. You were floored, in what world does a man who has staff to do everything he could ever dream of wake up and start making pancakes? “This looks interesting.”

Toto looked a little sheepish, bending down to kiss you, coating you with a light sprinkle of flour. “Sorry for the mess, I thought I would surprise you with breakfast in bed and clean up without you seeing.”

“Oh my goodness,” you said, “Don’t worry about that!” You smiled widely at your beau, “I thought you’d left, I’m just happy to see you.”

“Why would I leave?” asked Toto, quirking an eyebrow, “I am not working today, I thought I told you.”

Casting your mind back to the previous night, you suddenly recalled him saying something about having Friday free - you were an idiot for thinking otherwise. “Sorry, my bad,” you said, coming closer to him, placing a hand on his hip as you surveyed the carnage that was your worktop. He’d taken the bowl off of your Kitchenaid but managed to coat most of the worktop and himself in flour. “Have you made pancakes before?”

“Have I made pancakes before?” Toto repeated back to you, aghast, “Who do you think I am? A heathen?”

“Well, it’s not like you were making pancakes every day on the yacht…” you replied sheepishly, hoping he wasn’t insulted.

“That was my holiday, I’m not cooking on holiday, especially not for six guests,” said Toto grinning, “Now that you’re up I can ask, do you want tea or coffee? I know you drink both.”

Grinning that he remembered this small detail, you replied, “Maybe coffee this morning, something kept me awake all night.”

Smirking, Toto turned around to face you, “Sounds like a fun night…”

Returning his look, you leaned up once more to catch his lips with yours, “Indeed it was.”

“Well there’s more where that came from,”  said Toto boldly, his hands starting to caress your hips as he gazed down at you.

“That’s good to hear,” you said, sliding a hand under the waistband of his boxers, stroking his bare hip idly. 

“We have time later, let me finish breakfast, go back to bed and I’ll bring it to you,” said Toto, taking your wandering hand in his.

“No, I can help, honestly,” you said, “How about I make the coffee?”

“Ok.” said Toto, pressing a kiss to your hand before dropping it, “Deal.”

SUNDAY AFTERNOON

By the time Toto had left, he’d spent the best part of the weekend with you, only having left your side to go and grab some fresh clothes, not having planned to stay over. You’d spent a good part of the weekend in bed, making the most of your time together before Toto had to leave for the final race of the season in Abu Dhabi.

Aside from the obvious, you’d also spent time getting to know each other better, exchanging stories about your childhoods, your crazy family members, not to mention your hopes and dreams. Toto was a good listener and you were pleasantly surprised that he even remembered things you’d told him when you’d first gone to explore the cove and sat by the waterfall. 

Life could be strange and surprising sometimes and Toto was certainly turning out to be a man full of surprises. If you could have time-travelled back to the days of you sitting patiently in the garage watching George drive around, your past self would have baulked at the idea that you’d now be so close to his intimidating Team Principal who had never even looked twice at you. You knew that you would never have believed it but stranger things had happened.

SUNDAY AFTERNOON, ONE WEEK LATER

The following weekend you settled down on your sofa, a glass of wine and snacks in hand, to watch the final race of the season. The Abu Dhabi Grand Prix. Granted, your situation was an odd one, rooting for your ex-boyfriend’s team because your current not-quite boyfriend owned and ran it was a somewhat unusual predicament but you wanted to see how they got on. 

Mercedes weren’t fighting for a driver’s championship but could still do well in the constructors and were competing against Ferrari for second place, something you knew that Toto wanted desperately. It meant more to the team collectively and more to the shareholders.

You’d promised him you’d be watching as you’d waved him off so true to your word, you settled down to watch. As the camera panned around you kept an eye out eagerly for any glimpse of Toto. Searching hungrily for that famous white shirt or tousled dark hair. You knew that the cameras often liked to linger during races as he was particularly emotional for a Team Principal so it would only be a matter of time before he was shown. 

Sure enough, the race had only been running for a few laps when George made a particularly impressive overtake and Toto was shown enthusiastically celebrating. Butterflies started as you took in his dimpled grin, quickly turning to nausea as the camera panned out to show him wrapping his arm around a willowy blonde on his left-hand side. She was statuesque, beautiful and all too close to the man who’d recently stolen your heart. Tears started to form as you saw him flash a handsome smile at her which she returned, leaning into him, their heads close as his hand lingered on her waist.

You were devastated. Of course, Cara and Marion had warned you about Toto’s playboy tendencies but you naively had believed that Toto was not seeing anyone else. How could you have been so foolish? He was just using you and going home to a model-like blonde. In a fit of rage, you turned the TV off. This was clearly your karma for what you had done to George.

– – – 

Having turned your attention to cleaning your flat for the rest of the afternoon, you spent the next few hours dwelling on the cosy image that was now burned into your mind and were livid by the time your phone rang. 

Toto. The name flashed on the screen as you swiped to decline the call. A few minutes later and he rang once more.

By the end of the afternoon you had six missed calls from Toto so after you’d checked where Mercedes had finished (you were relieved to see they had come second in constructors- you weren’t completely heartless after all), you turned your phone off. 

You didn’t want to talk to Toto, you didn’t want to see him. He’d lived up to his reputation and you felt like a fool. What was he playing at, flaunting another woman on screen when he knew you’d be watching? You briefly considered sending a message to Cara as you knew she was at the race and would suitably berate Toto for his cruel behaviour, but you decided against it. It was time to take the high road and ignore him. He was probably out celebrating with the mystery woman anyway.

You didn’t sleep that night, restlessly tossing and turning as the mental picture of Toto’s hand on another woman’s waist lingered in your mind. You knew it was incredibly hypocritical considering the circumstances that you’d gotten together but you were floored by the cruelty of which he’d flaunted another woman when he knew you’d be watching. It was sick and twisted and you were upset at yourself for being so stupid.

MONDAY MORNING

Finally having dropped off the sleep, you were rudely awoken by the buzzer of your door. You groaned as you woke up, your eyes puffy from a night spent crying. It was still dark and checking the time on your clock, you saw it was five o’clock in the morning. There were only two people in the world who would have the audacity to wake you at this hour and you groaned once more, not wanting to see either of them.

The intercom buzzed once again, whoever it was growing impatient. Getting out of bed, you padded along to the hallway to answer the door.

“Hello, can I help you?” you said wearily, the annoyance clear in your tone.

“Is everything okay?” came a deep, heavily accented voice over the speaker. Fuck, it was Toto. Although you hadn’t wanted to see George, he was easier to deal with and get rid of.

“You tell me,” you said indignantly, yawning.

“Can I come up?” asked Toto, “I am sorry if I woke you, I was worried when I didn’t hear from you.”

Knowing the man as you did, you knew he was persistent so reluctantly you pushed the key button and answered tetchily, “Sure, come up.”

“Have…” Toto began answering but you cut off the intercom, waiting to see how he’d explain himself face-to-face.

Knowing he was on his way up, you steeled yourself and hurriedly tried to flatten your bed hair in the hallway mirror as you caught sight of yourself looking like a wreck. You were fighting a losing battle but didn’t have time to do more as a knock landed on your door.

Cracking the door open you were surprised to see that Toto was still wearing his work uniform, he must have come straight from Abu Dhabi. He looked equally as shattered as you felt and it somehow comforted you to know that Mr Perfect was not always so. His normally pristine white shirt was rumpled and his hair was nothing short of a complete mess.

“Thank goodness,” he said, pushing the door wider and coming towards you, trying to pull you into an embrace.

“Why?” you said, annoyed at his pretences and turning away from his arms.

Looking hurt at your rejection, his brow furrowed, “I thought something bad had happened. I was trying to call and it kept not working, I couldn’t leave a voicemail. I came straight from the track.” He gestured down at his clothes, “Is everything okay?”

It was your turn to furrow your brow, annoyed that he was not catching on. “No. It’s not. Why would you tell me to watch the race and then do what you did? Rub it in my face.”

“Huh?” he asked, running his hand through his hair as he often did when he was nervous. It was a tick that you’d noticed. “What do you mean? What did I do?”

“Wow.” you said, “The camera panned to you… and your girlfriend.”

“Huh?” he said, still confused. “What girlfriend?”

“The tall blonde you were draping yourself all over. Rub it in my face why don’t you…” 

Toto cut you off, “My sister?”

Floored by this, your face dropped. “Your sister?”

“Yes my sister,” said Toto, his expression darkening as he realised what you were accusing him of.

An awkward silence crept in and you were not sure how to respond. In hindsight, you had been quick to jump to conclusions. Perhaps driven by guilt over the way you’d handled things with George, you jumped to think the worst of Toto.

“This is why you ignored my calls?” asked Toto, looking thunderous, “Because you thought my sister was my girlfriend?”

Feeling smaller by the minute you shrunk back towards the wall, “I suppose.” you mumbed, “Look, I’m sorry, I leapt to conclusions.”

“You could say that,” said Toto, folding his arms, “I was worried about you, I thought something bad had happened and all this time you were sitting there thinking the worst of me?" His voice was thick with disbelief. "You didn't think to ask me before shutting me out?". His dark eyes bore into yours and you could feel the weight of your accusation.

You swallowed hard, the realization of your mistake sinking in like a stone. "I’m sorry," you said, "It’s just that… I’ve been burned before and I guess I panicked."

Toto's expression softened, his anger giving way to concern as he stepped closer. "I understand that you're scared, but I’m not George, and I'm certainly not the kind of man who would play games with you. I’m insulted that you would think I would do something like that."

You winced at his words, the guilt gnawing at you. “I just… I didn’t know what to think. It all felt too good to be true."

Toto sighed, reaching out to cup your face in his hands, his touch gentle despite the tension in the air. "I’m not perfect, but I’m not going to lie to you. If I ever make you feel uncomfortable or unsure, I want you to tell me, be direct."

Feeling like a fool, you felt tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. "Direct, I can do that," you whispered, your voice cracking, leaning into his touch. “Why did you come back? You should be out celebrating!”

A small, relieved smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. "So you did watch the race?" he murmured, his lips lingering against your skin. "Because I care about you, more than you know."

You looked up at him, your heart swelling, "Of course I did, I care more than you know too," you admitted.

Toto's smile grew and he leaned down to capture your lips in a slow, reassuring kiss. The tension between you melted away as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. The kiss deepened and when you finally pulled away, breathless and flushed, Toto looked at you with a mischievous glint in his eye. "You know," he said, his voice low and husky, "there’s a way we could put this little, let’s say, misunderstanding behind us."

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh? And what might that be?"

He grinned, a wicked smile that sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine. "I have some ideas.”

You nodded eagerly, all thoughts of your earlier insecurities forgotten as he swept you off your feet and carried you to the bedroom.

– – – 

Later that morning, as you lay tangled in the sheets, your head resting on Toto’s bare chest, he broke the comfortable silence. "You know," he began, his voice a soothing rumble beneath you, "I have been thinking. How would you feel about coming skiing with me next week? I have a chalet and I always invite people at the beginning of the Winter break."

You looked up at him, enchanted by the thought of a snowy getaway. "That sounds amazing," you said, smiling. "But… when you say people, who do you mean?"

Toto hesitated for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "Well, normally friends from the team. James, John, some of the other engineers. George also mentioned that he might be free… I thought I’d ask if you would be okay with him joining us."

The mention of George sent a ripple of unease through you, but you quickly pushed it aside. If Toto was willing to include him, it was only fair for you to try to be okay with it too. "I suppose," you said cautiously. "I’ll drop him a text and see how he feels about it. If it’s easier just take him this time."

Toto nodded, "That’s fair."

"I’ll text him now and see what he says," you said, grabbing your phone from the nightstand and typing out a quick message, asking how he felt about the idea. To your surprise, his reply came almost instantly.

Yeah, that's fine. Toto asked me the other day. I'll be bringing someone too, so it should be fun.

You stared at the message, your heart sinking slightly. George bringing someone else was entirely reasonable, but it still stung more than you cared to admit. He’d been busy declaring his love for you just one week ago and now he was bringing someone for a weekend away?

"Is everything okay?" Toto asked, noticing the change in your expression.

You nodded, though the feeling lingered. "Yeah, he said it's fine. He's bringing someone too."

Toto's eyes softened as he sighed, "I know. He already asked me. Are you sure you're okay with that?"

"Yes, just a little surprised after his outburst the other week," you said, still wondering what that had been about if he was already seeing someone new.

“I was too.” said Toto, his brow furrowed, “But I know him, he overthinks, it will be good for him.”

At that, you managed a small smile. "I think it will be good for all of us. It's time to start new chapters, right?"

Toto studied your face for a moment, then nodded, pulling you close again. "Agreed," he said, kissing the top of your head.

FRIDAY MORNING, ONE WEEK LATER

The week leading up to your ski trip had flown by and anxiety lingered at the back of your mind. Trying to take the high road once more, you kept reminding yourself of the progress you'd made. George’s last drunken visit had given you a strange sense of closure and Toto’s less than happy reaction towards your unwarranted accusations had reassured you that he was somewhat of a realist. A few days away should do you all the world of good.

As you found yourself in a sleek black car with Toto on the way to the airport, the scenery blurring by, your thoughts drifted to the upcoming weekend. The air between you and Toto was comfortable, though the unspoken tension of the past week still hovered.

Toto reached over, squeezing your hand as if sensing your unease. "We'll have a great time," he said, his voice filled with a quiet confidence that made you believe him.

You smiled, squeezing his hand back. "I know we will."

Taglist: @prettiest-at-the-party @noooway555 @annewithaneofthegreengable  @xoscar03 @totowolfffcheco @justzluv @kravitzwhore @bborra @a-beaverhausen@amandadesantasworld @formulaal

[ks-dreams-fantasies]

TEACH ME PT.5 | TRAVIS KELCE

a/n: I know I've been MIA and I'm deeply sorry, hope you can forgive me. Here's a longer chapter for you guys. Still pretty soft but cute. It's going to become spicy in the next chapters, so stay tuned for that.

Warning: None

Words: 3.348 (not proofread)

Pairing: Travis Kelce x Reader

Part 4

TEACH ME PT.5 | TRAVIS KELCE

Later that evening, after your day filled with playful banter and shared moments with the kids, you sat on your couch, sipping on a glass of white wine. The buzz from the day’s excitement lingered, and you found yourself reaching for your phone to give Travis a call.

The phone rang a few times before he picked up, his voice warm and inviting. "Hey there, I was just thinking about you. How’s the night treating you?"

You couldn’t help but grin at his playful tone. "Pretty great, actually. And I have you to thank for the wonderful day."

Travis chuckled on the other end. "Glad to hear that. So, spill the details. What’s your favorite part of the day?"

As you recounted the moments spent with the kids, laughter and shared experiences, you could feel Travis’s genuine interest through the phone. The conversation flowed effortlessly, a comfortable exchange that reflected the ease between you.

Before you knew it, the topic shifted to the surprise bouquet and the unexpected plane ticket he had sent you. "I couldn’t believe it when I found those waiting for me," you admitted, feeling a rush of gratitude. "Thank you, Travis. You didn’t have to do that. The bouquet is beautiful. You really know how to make a girl feel special."

Travis chuckled softly. "You deserve it. I just wanted to make you smile. Consider it a preview of what's to come. I thought you might want a little something to brighten your day while I'm away." You couldn’t suppress a chuckle. "Well, you certainly succeeded in doing that. But about the ticket—"

Travis jumped in before you could finish. "I know it’s short notice, but I wanted to make sure you had a chance to visit KC. Besides, I have a game coming up, and I’d love for you to be there. "

You were touched by his gesture. "That’s incredibly sweet of you, Travis. I’d love to come. It’ll be an adventure for sure." The conversation meandered into plans for the upcoming trip, laced with excitement and the promise of new adventures. Travis was eager to show you around, his enthusiasm contagious. The days that followed were a whirlwind of anticipation and planning. You couldn't shake the smile off your face after that incredible evening with Travis on your official first date. Every text, call, and shared moment only deepened the connection between you two.

Your classroom buzzed with excitement as the kids were eager to know more about the mysterious bouquet and the note. They couldn’t help but giggle at the idea of their teacher having a secret admirer.

Camille, your confidante, and cheerleader, was over the moon, practically planning your entire wardrobe for the trip to Kansas City. She oscillated between teasing and genuine excitement, leaving you laughing at her enthusiasm.

The days dwindled away, each passing moment building up the anticipation for your upcoming trip. Travis was a constant presence in your thoughts, his gestures and the sheer thoughtfulness behind each message making you feel like a school girl.

As the day of your flight neared, you found yourself standing in front of your closet, deliberating over what to pack. Camille sat on your bed, throwing outfit suggestions your way faster than you could consider them.

"You've got to look effortlessly chic but also comfortable," she insisted, holding up a stylish yet casual ensemble.

You chuckled, admiring her enthusiasm. "I think I'll manage. But thanks for the fashion advice."

The day before your flight, you received a call from Travis, his voice warm and inviting over the phone. "Hey, just making sure you're all set for tomorrow. I've got a few surprises planned."

Your heart fluttered at the excitement in his voice. "I'm beyond excited! What surprises?" you teased, hoping for a sneak peek.

He laughed, a melodic sound that made your heart skip a beat. "Ah, ah, can't spoil the fun. But I promise, you're in for a treat."

The night before your flight was filled with a mix of excitement and nervousness. You packed and repacked, ensuring you didn't forget anything essential. Camille stayed over, the two of you reminiscing about past adventures and making plans for when you returned.

The next morning arrived in a rush of adrenaline. You barely slept a wink, your mind filled with thoughts of the trip and the moments awaiting you. A quick check of your suitcase, a last-minute glance in the mirror, and you were ready to embark on this new chapter.

At the airport, the buzz of travelers and the anticipation in the air only fueled your excitement. Security cleared, you made your way to the gate, heart racing with every step closer to seeing Travis again.

The announcement for your flight echoed through the terminal, signaling the start of your journey. As you settled into your seat, the anticipation bubbled within you, the plane humming with the promise of a fun weekend.

As the flight took off, you gazed out the window, the city shrinking into the distance. Thoughts of what lay ahead filled you with a sense of joy and nervousness, a beautiful mix of emotions swirling within.

Kansas City awaited, and so did Travis. The promise of new experiences, shared moments, and the chance to explore a city with someone special made your heart race. The adventure had just begun, and you were ready to embrace every moment of it.

The descent into Kansas City was exhilarating. As the plane landed and passengers started to gather their belongings, your heart raced with anticipation. Stepping off the plane, the familiar buzz of a new city surrounded you, the air carrying the excitement of the adventures ahead.

As you made your way through the bustling airport, Travis’s text chimed in, “Just landed? I’m parked at the arrivals, can’t wait to see you!”

You grinned, your heart skipping a beat at the thought of reuniting with him. Your pace quickened, eager to see the man who had been on your mind for days.

Spotting Travis waiting by the arrivals gate, your breath hitched. Dressed casually yet stylishly in jeans and a well-fitted tee, he looked even more handsome than you remembered. His eyes lit up as he caught sight of you, a wide smile spreading across his face.

"Hey there," Travis greeted, pulling you into a warm hug that felt like coming home.

The familiarity of his embrace made your heart skip a beat. You matched his grin, feeling a surge of happiness at the sight of him. "Hey, stranger! Missed me already?" you teased, playfully raising an eyebrow.

Travis chuckled, stepping closer. "More than you know. But I must say, you’re looking even better than I remembered." His gaze swept over you appreciatively, sending a warmth through you.

"Well, I had to bring my A-game for the city tour," you quipped, enjoying the playful banter.

As he reached for your suitcase, his hand brushed against yours, sending an electrifying tingle down your spine. "Shall we head out then? I’ve got a couple of surprises lined up for you," Travis said with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

The casual flirtation between you and Travis felt effortless, the chemistry palpable as you made your way to his car. The car ride was a flurry of laughter, easy conversation, and subtle touches that spoke volumes.

"So, any hints about these surprises you mentioned?" you teased, unable to contain your curiosity.

Travis flashed a sly smile. "Ah, where’s the fun in spoiling the surprise? But I promise you won’t be disappointed."

As Travis navigated the streets of Kansas City, the city's vibrant energy surrounded you. The car ride was a symphony of shared laughter, playful teasing, and moments that felt like they were plucked straight out of a romantic comedy.

You couldn’t help but grin at Travis’s playful secrecy about the surprises. "You’re really committed to keeping these under wraps, aren’t you?" you teased, enjoying the delightful mystery.

He shot you a grin that sparkled with mischief. "Absolutely! Gotta keep the suspense alive. Builds up the excitement, you know?"

Your curiosity was piqued, but you couldn’t deny the thrill of anticipation. The chemistry between you and Travis was undeniable, each moment spent together deepening the connection.

Pulling into a parking spot, Travis cut the engine, turning to face you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "And here we are!"

You looked around, a hint of curiosity in your expression. "Here? Where exactly?"

Travis pointed to a bustling street lined with colorful shops and cafes. "Welcome to one of my favorite spots in town. Thought we'd start our adventure with some local treats and maybe a bit of shopping. You up for it?"

Your eyes lit up at the prospect, a playful smile forming on your lips. "Absolutely! Lead the way, tour guide extraordinaire."

The two of you strolled down the vibrant street, exploring quaint shops and sampling delicious treats. Travis was the perfect guide, sharing anecdotes about each place and introducing you to the city’s hidden gems.

Amidst the laughter and easy banter, there were subtle touches, a brush of hands when reaching for the same item at a shop, a lingering glance that spoke volumes. The chemistry crackled in the air, adding an extra layer of excitement to the day.

As you settled down at a charming café for a quick break, sipping on some freshly brewed coffee, Travis leaned in with a playful twinkle in his eye. "Okay, maybe it's time for a tiny hint about the surprises."

Your eyes sparkled with curiosity. "Finally! Lay it on me."

Travis leaned closer, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. "Let's just say one involves a spectacular view and the other might be nostalgic. But that’s all you're getting for now."

You couldn’t help but laugh, feeling the thrill of the unknown. "I'm intrigued. Can't wait to see what you have in store."

As Travis and you stepped out of the charming cafe where you’d shared a warm beverage and a pastery, the late afternoon sun bathed the streets in a golden glow. The chatter and laughter between you felt like a warm embrace amidst the bustling city.

As you strolled along the street, absorbed in conversation, a flurry of camera clicks disrupted the tranquility. Paparazzi had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, snapping pictures of Travis. He shielded you instinctively, guiding you away from the commotion.

"Sorry about that," he murmured, a hint of frustration in his voice. "They're everywhere sometimes."

You offered a reassuring smile, squeezing his hand gently. "It’s okay. I guess that comes with the territory, huh?"

Travis nodded, the tension easing as you continued your walk. Soon, you arrived at his place, a modern yet cozy and beautiful house that exuded warmth.

Travis guided you through his home, the décor a reflection of his eclectic tastes and passions. He stopped in front of a guest room, gesturing toward it with a smile. "This is the guest room. Feel free to settle in here. I've made sure it's comfy for you."

You nodded appreciatively, taking in the inviting setup. "Thank you, Travis. It looks lovely."

Yet, there was a gentle hesitancy in his demeanor. He shuffled his feet slightly, his eyes meeting yours with a touch of shyness. "Um, I mean, if you're more comfortable, there's also my room. I could set up the guest room too, but..."

Travis’s voice trailed off, a hint of uncertainty lingering in the air. His suggestion hung between you, laced with a vulnerability that surprised you. You understood the unspoken invitation, the gentle offer to share his personal space, but you also sensed his hesitance.

Your heart warmed at his gesture, his consideration palpable. "I appreciate that, Travis. Your kindness means a lot."

A comfortable silence settled between you, the unspoken understanding weaving a delicate thread of connection. The offer was sweet and genuine, but you also sensed the boundaries he respected.

"I think I’ll settle into the guest room for now," you finally said, offering a warm smile.  ‘’Of course,’’ he responded with a smile, ‘’I’ll let you get ready for your next surprise’’ 

You dropped your things off and freshened up, excited for the evening’s surprises Travis had planned.

Once you opened your suitcase, you surprisingly found the red and lacy 2 piece set that Camille had bought you before your first date with Travis. You grabbed your phone and snapped a quick picture sending it to you friend.

I don’t remember packing that... 

Glad you arrived safe and sound. I figured it might come in handy for your trip, thank me later 😉

You shook your head giggling before picking an outfit for the evening. As the sky transitioned into a canvas of twilight hues, Travis led you outside, where a vintage car awaited.

‘’You look beautiful’’ he said with a genuine smile. You thanked him, a blush creeping on your cheeks.

Travis opened the car door for you with a grin. "Ready for the next surprise?"

You nodded eagerly, feeling a thrill of excitement. "Absolutely."

The drive to the outdoor dinner spot was filled with easy conversation and stolen glances, the city lights painting a picturesque backdrop. You arrived at a charming courtyard lit with fairy lights, a table set for two in a secluded corner.

Travis pulled out your chair with a charming smile. "Welcome to our dinner spot."

The evening unfolded like a dream, a delectable meal served under a canopy of stars, animated conversations, and shared laughter that echoed in the intimate space.

Travis glanced over at you, a playful smirk on his lips. "So, tell me something random about yourself. Like, your secret talent or an odd quirk."

You chuckled, mulling it over. "Well, I have this uncanny ability to remember the lyrics to almost every song I've ever heard. Comes in handy for karaoke nights."

Travis raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Impressive! Mental note: invite you to a karaoke night."

You nudged him playfully. "Better brush up on your singing skills then, Mr. Kelce."

He laughed, the sound warm and infectious. "Challenge accepted."

The banter flowed effortlessly between you, each moment feeling comfortable and easy. Conversations shifted from favorite movies to childhood memories, the laughter echoing through the park.

As youcontinued to eat your amazing dinner, Travis leaned in, grabbing your hand to caress it like it was nothing. "So, what’s your go-to guilty pleasure food?"

You grinned, knowing exactly what he was asking. "Pizza, hands down. I can never resist a good slice."

Travis nodded approvingly. "Solid choice. Mine's probably ice cream, especially on game nights."

You arched an eyebrow, teasingly. "Does ice cream give you your touchdown mojo?"

He chuckled. "Maybe not directly, but it definitely adds to the celebration."

As the evening deepened, Travis led you to another surprise—an old-fashioned drive-in movie setup in a secluded spot, complete with a screen as you both got comfortable in his car. Travis extended his arm to get a small basket form the backseat. He handed you some popcorn and candy as well as a drink for you to sip on during the movie. 

‘’Wow you really came prepared.’’ You chuckled impressed by him.

‘’Of course I did.’’ He said pulling a blanket and putting it on the both of you so you could get cozy. He drapped his arm on the seat pulling you closer to his body as the screen lit up announcing the movie that was about to play.

Your favorite movie, "Casablanca," played in classic black and white, the iconic scenes flickering across the screen.

You couldn’t contain your delight. "You remembered!"

Travis grinned, drapping his arm around your neck, pulling you closer to his body. "Of course I did.’’ 

You turned around looking into his eyes. ‘’Thank you for this, you’re the best.’’ You said before pecking his lips gently. He was taken by surprise but didn’t complain, since you arrived all he wanted to you was to kiss you. 

As the black and white scenes of "Casablanca" played on the screen, the vintage car was transformed into a cocoon of intimacy. The air was charged with the nostalgia of the classic movie, and the soft glow of the moon added a touch of magic to the evening.

Travis shifted in his seat, stealing a glance at you as Humphrey Bogart's iconic scene played out. With a playful smile, he nudged your shoulder. "Quite the romantic, aren't you? Bet you've seen this movie a dozen times."

You chuckled softly, feeling the warmth of the moment. "Maybe a dozen and one. But it never gets old."

Travis's gaze lingered, the dim light casting a soft glow on his features. He reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. The simple touch sent a jolt of warmth through you, a subtle electricity that crackled between you both.

In the hushed silence of the night, the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you under the canopy of stars and the timeless story on the screen.

As the movie reached a poignant moment, Travis turned to you, his eyes reflecting the vulnerability of the characters. His hand moved to gently cup your cheek, his touch tender and deliberate.

"You know," he murmured, his voice a whisper against the backdrop of the movie. "There's something about old movies that make the moments feel timeless."

Your breath hitched at the intensity of his gaze, the unspoken emotions swirling between you. In that quiet space, with the characters of Casablanca whispering their love story, a different kind of tension simmered—a tension that danced on the edge of unspoken desires and the anticipation of what was to come.

Without a word, Travis leaned in, closing the gap between you. The world outside faded away, leaving only the warmth of his lips against yours. It was a gentle kiss, tender yet filled with a quiet intensity, as if he was pouring his feelings into that single moment.

Your heart pounded against your chest as the kiss deepened, the quiet rustle of the leaves and the distant hum of the city creating a symphony around you. His lips were warm and soft, a silent testament to the unspoken emotions that had been building between you both.

As the evening wound down and the drive-in movie came to a close, Travis led you back to his inviting home, the night air carrying the scent of possibility and warmth. Inside, the soft glow of lamps cast a cozy ambiance, enveloping the space in a comforting embrace.

‘’Thank you so much for tonight, it was an incredible evening, you really know how to make things special.’’ 

‘’I just wanted to show you how much I like you and how serious I am about this.’’ He said playing with your fingers.

‘’ Well I like you too, Travis.’’ You responded blushing. ‘’It’s getting late, I’m going to head up to bed if you don’t mind.’’ You said pecking his cheeks as he closed his eyes to appreciate the moment.

‘’Of course, I’ll see you tomorrow morning, sleep tight.’’

As you settled into the cozy guest room, a sense of gratitude filled you. The day had been nothing short of magical, and Travis's thoughtful gestures lingered in your mind, leaving a trail of warmth.

However, as you lay in bed, thoughts of the day's shared moments with Travis played on a loop. His considerate offer to share his space echoed in your mind, and a subtle curiosity tugged at your thoughts.

With a soft sigh, you found yourself standing outside Travis's bedroom door. You hesitated for a moment, contemplating the unspoken invitation. Gathering your courage, you lightly tapped on the door, the sound barely audible in the quiet house.

Travis opened the door, surprise flickering in his eyes at the sight of you in your light blue satin pyjama. "Hey, is everything okay?"

You met his gaze, feeling a rush of vulnerability. "I hope I'm not overstepping, but... I'd like to take you up on your offer, if it's still open."

To Be Continued

Taglist : @kkrenae @spencerreidisbootiful @nabiiturner @ilove-tswizzle @legit9thlunaticwarrior @evernova @kelcemenow @bellstwd @my-regrets @green-lxght @thecubanator2 @corvusmorte @vznggh @kxllanxtdoor @youareadistraction @blackstabbath6 @queenmendes @@maryleclerc @itsdesiree86 @pookiepookie8 @kristencochefski1125 @mellyie @miab11181999 @hornyavengers @tringeorge @unsaidjaelinrose

[zombiekooo]

Pretty Please? (18+ Hannigram Fic)

Warnings: Mildly Dubious Consent, Mild Blood Play, Dom/Sub Undertones, Aphrodisiac Use, Mild Homophobia, Subspace

(6.7k Words)

Summary:

Will enters Hannibal’s office for the first time, drugged and confused with the effects of an aphrodisiac. He begs for Hannibal whose touch seems to help the impact of the drug, while simultaneously struggling with the fact he is in fact, attracted to men. Hannibal gets the brute end of it, and knows exactly how to satisfy his fascinating new toy.

A/N: Hannibal is Hannibal, also known as the biggest narcissistic and manipulative freak I have ever seen. So, just keep that in mind while reading.

This will be a mini series, maybe 2-4 chapters long. I haven’t decided yet, but read the tags for future warnings ;)

- Koo

Chapter 1:

Will steps into Dr. Hannibal Lecter’s waiting room. The only reason he knew where he was at that moment was because of the glittering bronze name tag that framed the man’s name like a medallion, greeting him on the door leading to the office.

He felt disoriented. Unlike himself. He couldn’t recall how he had shown up to the man’s office in the first place. He had no appointment, no number to call, not even an email to warn the man of his arrival. He didn’t know why he was here. Hell, he had only met the man a handful of times.

Will flinches, the letters of the psychiatrist’s name blurring momentarily. He felt a particular pinch in his side that reminded him of the vivid sensations of pins and needles across his entire body. He was thankful for it though, seeming as it was the only thing stopping him from succumbing to the fatigue that clouded his brain. He pushes back his messy bangs with a weak hand, absently noting how his hair sticks up sloppily from the sweat accumulated on his forehead, and lifts a heavy limb to knock on the dark wooden door.

Courtesy was appreciated by the man, he had remembered that much.

After he knocks, he recognizes the chatter of two voices stopping abruptly. He curses himself for not paying attention. Of course, he would have patients, it was his office after all. So much for courtesy, Graham.

He hears a faint voice muffled by the door. Thick, accented, ridiculously smooth like melting butter. He could almost find himself envying the undeniably attractive voice. Man or woman, it had the same impact, melting their bones to jelly and allowing the tactile doctor to mold them to his liking with those strong large hands, which seemed unusual to have as a psychiatrist. He must work out. Of course he does, he can’t just be rich, handsome and intelligent. He’s gotta be ripped as well.

“Will?”

He could feel the rumble of the syllable, crawling up his throat and forcing him to swallow it back down, trapping it there, storing it away behind his ribs. He soaks in the way it rebeverates down his spine, and a stronger tremble of pins and needles envelops his body. They’re pleasant, he decides.

“Will.”

The pins and needles shifted to his left shoulder, forcing out a hiss from behind his teeth. The entire width of his shoulder tingles pleasantly, not unlike a massage. He feels himself answer the pleasant feeling with a rumble of his own, unknowingly leaning into the source of the pleasant feeling.

“Your name is Will Graham. You are in Baltimore Maryland, in front of Hannibal Lecter’s office. It is 11:21 PM. You are safe. Can you repeat that for me?”

“Hannibal?” Will sighs dreamily. As his eyes flutter open from being half closed, he begins to piece together the figure in front of him. A crimson suit with checkered patterns, maybe with some yellow stitching— he couldn’t focus his eyes well enough to know for sure—paired with a creamy white undershirt. Glossy black shoes tied meticulously, dark slacks with even darker stripes. Cologne. Rich, warm, and spicy but not overwhelmingly so. Just enough to alight his eyelids to flutter open all the way.

“That’s it, very well done.” Hannibal doesn’t exactly smile, but his eyes suggest that he is satisfied with Will’s response. Will lets out a shuddering breath, his heart fluttering at the thought of pleasing the man before him. He doesn’t let himself think too much about that.

“Jessie, I’m afraid I will have to end our session short. It seems I am faced with an emergency.”

Will only then registers the person inside the office, sitting down in a velvet seat. But he doesn’t process the curt exchange of words they share, his unfocused eyes eventually darting back to Hannibal’s eyes, which he notes haven’t once left his own. Then only once he begins to move his legs, does he realize the hand on his shoulder firmly guiding him, and a second tremor of butterfly wings beat at his chest. The same warm solid hand he was just thinking of, long fingers that encompass his shoulder effortlessly. He leans his weight against it, just to test the firmness of Hannibal’s grip.

“Will, please come in,” Hannibal says, unfazed by the weight of his colleague. He simply guides the man inside with a firm hand.

“M’sorry. You had a client.” Will says, looking at the now absent chair. He hadn’t seen the person leave.

“That is irrelevant,” Hannibal replies smoothly. Will can’t help but notice the way his accent becomes accentuated on certain vowels, and it has him looking back at the older man’s face, specifically his lips.

Hannibal studies him momentarily, his expression unreadable.

“Where did you go tonight, Will? It is awfully late.”

Will grunts, shaking his head in dismissal and motioning to the chair across from him.

“Who was that? Didn’t think’ya had customers… er clients, this time around.” He says with an irritated lilt. He couldn’t remember what the person looked like, but if they had the company of Hannibal at this time of night, then it must’ve been something personal. A boyfriend? Or was it a girl? A girlfriend was more likely... Fuck do I care.

“You’re correct, I normally do not have clients at this time,” Hannibal responds.

Will stiffens and shoves his hands in his pockets like a petulant boy. His eyes drop from Hannibal’s face and he shakes off the hand from his shoulder, instantly regretting the solid weight of it. He desperately ignores whatever bubbling emotion is being stirred in his gut. He steps away from the comforting presence of the older man and begins regretting his entire decision to come.

“I should go, dunno why m’here.” Will grunts, shoulders retracting nearly up his ears. He looks down at his scuffed loafers, comparing them to the most likely designer black leather shoes that reflect the orange light from the office. Only then does he realize how pathetic he must look to the man. Dazed, dirty and whiny. Like a kicked dog. He turns to leave, shame nipping at his heels.

“Will,” Hannibal says firmly, his voice descending down Will’s spine, dragging against each rivet of bone. He stills instantly, shoulders hunched and defensive.

“Tell me what happened tonight. You are disoriented, and as my job as your psychiatrist, I cannot let you leave the building until I am assured that you are safe. Both emotionally and physically.”

Ah, right. Nearly forgot.

Jack had assigned Hannibal as his very own psychiatrist. The very reason why he went to a random bar, drank enough whiskey to surely kill some kidney cells, read the email Jack forwarded of Hannibal’s office address, and called a taxi to drag him there just because he wanted to look at the man, and in spite tell him he didn’t need his help, that he wasn’t unstable.

Then forgot all about it because of the damn pins and needles the man gives him just from thinking of his stupid dreamy accent and his fancy clothes.

“Went for a drink.” Will shrugs, refusing to turn around, staring at the closed door. He feels a prod of anxiety from the realization that he’s alone with the doctor.

“And how many did you have?” Hannibal replies firmly, leaving no room for an argument.

Will turns the question around in his head, trying to remember the evening. It’s all blurred and it gives him a headache from trying.

“Three.” He answers. He knew that much.

“Three,” Hannibal repeats warily. Will hears the shuffle of clothes and the waft of that spicy, woody, addictive cologne come closer. His head tingles with a fuzzy feeling just from the scent alone. He tells himself everyone would react the same, despite their gender. They must have put some kind of pheromone in that crap.

“Who were you with tonight, Will? Did someone accompany you while drinking? A stranger, perhaps?”

“Ya, maybe. So what? So were you.” Will drawls, overly conscious of his Louisianan accent making an appearance.

He squeaks in surprise as Hannibal takes a firm hold of his shoulders, spinning him around to face him. Instinctively, Will reaches to hold onto the older man’s arms to prevent him from falling, the room spinning nearly to the point nausea. But then the fuzzy blend of heat and needles shoot from his fingertips, up his chest, then finally simmering pleasantly around his shoulders and the base of his skull. The heat from the touch was nearly too much and not enough all at once, he could feel the way his eyebrows pinch and his jaw slacken. It felt like electricity and raw nerves, every touch so hot it was almost freezing.

“I believe you have been roofied, Will. Tell me what you remember.” Hannibal says matter-of-factly, leading Will backwards until the back of his knees meet the chair and he falls backwards until he’s seated clumsily into it.

Will can hardly process the meaning behind Hannibal’s sentence. Instead, he blinks up at the solid man above him who is looking down at him with deep maroon eyes, bordering on dark red from the influence of his crimson suit.

Fear prickles at the nape of his neck, telling him that the man was a predator— the looming figure ever so intimidating above him, tall and muscular, with broad shoulders and an even broader chest. He can’t recall ever meeting a psychiatrist who had such a powerful figure. The fear didn’t last long, however. A tingly warmth spread over his scalp like a massage as he felt his eyes struggle to maintain focus on the man’s face. He shrinks away from the intense stare, afraid that Hannibal would figure out the undignified thoughts that began manifesting on their own accord.

“Dunno,” Will responds stubbornly, chanting away the blush he feels rising to his cheeks. He eyes the way the man’s throat bobs in silent frustration, then darts his eyes up just long enough to see his expression, but Hannibal’s gives away no hints to his emotions.

“Then, tell me what you are feeling as of right now,” Hannibal replies calmly as he takes a seat across from him.

Will scoffs, “Lazy psychiatry, doctor.”

“Entertain me then, Agent Graham,” Hannibal says, cold and somewhat unsettling.

Will shuffles uncomfortably, tucking his legs against the chair and squirming around in the chair. Suddenly, he feels too warm. His clothes were suddenly too restrictive. He sighs in defeat and looks down at the floor at Hannibal’s pointed shoes.

“Warm… no, hot, actually. I keep getting these tingles everywhere, and fuzziness too. Like wool is dragged against my skin, but like, the soft wool, not the scratchy kind. Y’know?” Will sniffs absently, making an effort not to look the man in the eyes. He’s painfully aware that he’s rambling, so he looks down at his feet, kicking off his shoes and tucking them under the chair.

Hannibal is silent, patiently watching the squirming man before him. Eventually, Will breaks some more under the penetrative stare.

“It’s especially when m’touched. Or, no, I don’t know. It’s not painful or anything, just a bit overwhelming. Feels like m’just a bundle of nerves.” He shrugs.

Hannibal considers him for a moment, allowing the silence to stretch until it has Will squirming all over again.

“How did it feel when I touched you, Will?”

Will chokes and sinks into the chair, his arms crossing over his body defiantly.

“It was fine.”

“Yet, your expression tells me you ache for it back.”

Will feels on the verge of panic. His eyes briefly meet Hannibal’s, and he nearly loses his breath at the wave of neediness his body swoons with. The tingles return, but only a phantom version of them. He aches for them back, aches for the solid strength of the man before him. The firm grip that was on his shoulder, grounding him, accepting the strain Will forced upon it.

“No, m’not— I don’t swing that way, doctor.”

“That was not what I was implying.” Hannibal has a teasing glint in his eye, a ghost of a smile pulling at his plump lips. “Does that bother you? Homosexuality?”

“No- that isn’t-“ Will shakes his head, eyebrows creasing.

“Tell me what happened tonight.”

Will sighs and rubs his eyes with the heels of his palms, hard enough for him to see stars. He doesn’t realize his glasses fall from his face as he does, nor the way Hannibal reaches down to grab them, placing them on the desk next to him.

“Nothing! Really. I just, I went for a drink, I talked with this man… I don’t even remember his name or what he looked like. He seemed attracted to me, but I didn’t… I’m not gay. So I left.” He drops his hands into his lap dramatically once he’s finished, he looks at Hannibal’s sternum with a pout to avoid the man’s eyes. He felt frustrated, like his body was punishing him for not satisfying a craving that his brain couldn’t figure out. Subconsciously, his hands begin to rub at his forearms, simulating another’s touch.

Hannibal hums and leans forward.

“May I try something?”

Will frowns, searching Hannibal’s carefully blank face.

“What? Like what?”

“I want to see how you react to my touch. Skin to skin, however.”

Will’s gut nearly roars with heat, and he feels a sudden wave of shame cascade down his spine from his body’s reaction. He thinks his expression gives away the mixture of desire and guilt, and his first instinct is to defend himself. He bares his teeth and turns his head away from Hannibal’s intense gaze.

“Don’t— don’t fuck with me. I told you, it’s not a big deal. I don’t even know why I came here, this is stupid—“

Will hadn’t heard Hannibal stand up, and suddenly he felt the searing heat of pressure against his cheek. His body reacts without his brain’s knowledge, and he finds himself nuzzling his face into Hannibal’s palm. The pleasant pins and needles return, and the heat— flaring and incredibly soothing— takes over completely. He doesn’t hear the sigh he lets out, only feels the release of pressure from his ribs.

Will feels the way Hannibal hums and a heat in his gut alights like a hungry flame from the thought of satisfying the man.

“That’s it, that’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?” Hannibal coos, as if talking to a hungry stray pup who had just gotten fed.

Will was about to argue, reel back and defend himself, but then a hand is buried in his hair, and he’s being pulled forward into a solid weight. The cheek that isn’t being caressed by a large hand is being pressed into a hard abdomen, wafting with that masculine scent that he distantly notes isn’t only the cologne.

Will practically melts with a moan, his arms wrapping around Hannibal’s waist and hugs him tight as if at any moment his touch will be taken away from him. His brain feels foggy, his eyelids heavy, and even his body feels limp and malleable, encompassed with a pleasant heat. He imagines this is what it feels like to sleep without nightmares.

Will buries his entire face into the man’s stomach, enjoying the way the material of the man’s waistcoat scratches against his face. He takes a large breath of the man’s scent, and again he feels his body succumb to the pleasure of being touched. He knows he should feel embarrassed, humiliated— ashamed even, but he can’t find the energy to.

“There we go pretty boy, that’s it, just relax. I can give you what you need.” Hannibal coos again, and Will can feel the way his baritone voice vibrates against his face.

“Mm’not pretty,” Will grumbles weakly into the man’s body, his words slurred and obscured by the fabric.

Hannibal chuckles, sending another wave of pleasant tingles and warmth down Will’s spine.

“I care to disagree. I think many people believe that you are a very pretty man, Will. Cherubic, even.” Hannibal responds, a smile present in his voice. He drags a couple of fingertips teasingly light against Will’s nape which ignites an intense shiver down his spine, while keeping a gentle yet firm hold in his hair with the other hand. Will presses his face tighter against the man and bites his lip, unable to keep the groan of delight from escaping him.

Will doesn’t respond this time, instead he stands up, temporarily distancing his face from Hanninal’s body. Surprising Hannibal, Will stoops forward with a dreamy look in his eye and wraps his arms around the man’s neck, then buries his face just below Hannibal’s ear and inhales deeply.

“Y’smell so good,” Will drawls, mouthing absently at the exposed skin just above the man’s collar, as if trying to taste the scent. His hands grab at the neat strands of gelled hair and pull Hannibal impossibly closer.

Hannibal allows him, and moves one hand down to the small of Will’s back, the other pressed across his nape. He notes the feverish heat and the light perspiration against his skin. Hannibal dips his nose into the crook where Will’s neck and shoulder meet and inhales deeply. He smells of cheap whiskey, deodorant and dog, but underneath, below his skin, he smells a metallic sweetness alongside the heady musk of arousal. His suspicions have been confirmed.

Hannibal can’t suppress the shiver when Will gently nibbles at his skin, instantly leaving wet kisses and licks as an apology.

He won’t take advantage of Will like this. Especially not when his fascination for the man has nearly tripled after this new encounter. Instead, he buries his desires and saves them in his memory palace for another time.

But, it proves harder to do so when Will begins panting sweet little moans into his ear while rocking his hips against Hannibal’s, all the while Will’s hands explore Hannibal’s back, shoulders and neck.

“Darling boy,” Hannibal says with a mixture of fondness and sternness, gently easing Will’s head from his shoulder. He cups his jaw, forcing him to meet his eyes.

“Mmm…?” Will hums so sweetly, pupils blown so wide that only a sliver of those gorgeous blue-teal eyes are left. His lips are bitten raw, red and plump, gaping just enough to get a glimpse of that teasingly pink, wet tongue that holds so many sharp remarks and brilliance. Hannibal actively fights the way his gut tightens at the desperate expression Will has, wanting nothing more but to dip his fingers inside that pliant mouth and explore the depths of it. He imagines the velvet heat of his tongue and cheeks, the slippery heat that is the cavern of his throat.

“I am going to suggest something, to help you ride through the aphrodisiac you’ve been given,” Hannibal says in an even tone. He allows himself the luxury of pushing Will’s bangs away from his face, relishing in the way Will instantly nuzzles into his palm.

Will only nods clumsily, opening his mouth to lick Hannibal’s fingers, nibbling at the tips. Hannibal has to take a deep breath to restrain the burning in his gut from intensifying anymore. He watches in fascination as Will’s lips wrap delicately around his skin, sucking and kissing his fingers as an apology for the bites. When he pulls off, his tongue lingers behind, reluctant to leave.

Hannibal clears his throat to try and mask the desire thick in his throat. “I have some paperwork that still needs to be done. I would like you to sit by me as I do so.” Hannibal continues, the only thing giving away that Will’s ministrations have any impact on him is the barely noticeable quiver in his voice.

“Y’still touch me?” Will asks against Hanninal’s palms. Looking up through thick dark lashes, eyes round and sickly sweet. Hannibal wonders if Will knows the impact he could have on anyone just by looking at them the way he’s looking at him now.

“Yes, pretty boy. More than what is being done to you now.” Hannibal promises, successfully appeasing him.

“Please,” Will whispers, pressing his groin tight against Hannibal’s. “M’want more.”

Hannibal can feel the outline of Will’s erection against him, and can’t stop himself from shifting his thigh between the boy’s legs and dragging it beneath his balls and perineum. Will cries out loud, dropping his forehead on Hannibal’s clavicle, and grinds desperately on the thigh graciously given to him.

Hannibal huffs a breath through his nose, silently admiring the frantic rock of the boy’s hips against him. He lifts his thigh lightly, nudging his heavy sac and earning a loud, needy whine.

“Ohhh fuck, please! I can’t…I need more,” Will keens, frustrated tears welling in his sweet eyes. He tugs at Hannibal’s hair and dives upwards to bite at his jaw.

Hannibal quickly grabs Will’s hair before he can leave a mark, yanking him back and looking down sternly at the pouting face below him.

“Violent, greedy thing. That is not how we ask for things.” Hannibal chides, pulling Will back further until he’s straining to keep hold of Hannibal’s neck with his arms. Pitifully, Will whines, squirming and trying to fight against the grip.

Will bares his teeth again, but when the grip in his hair turns painful and the playful expression in Hannibal’s eyes turns cold, he stops and goes limp.

“M’sorry,” Will pants. He struggles to swallow, his neck strained at an angle from the way Hannibal grips his hair.

“You will strip for me until you are in nothing but your underwear,” Hannibal states, ignoring the slurred apology and the keening whine that Will responds with. “You will then kneel between my feet when I am at my desk. Understood?”

Another flare of heat in his gut has Will squirming all over again, and he nods frantically despite the restraint Hannibal has by his hair.

“Use your words, boy. Or have you lost your ability to talk?” Hannibal mocks, cruel eyes staring intensely at the teary blue ones below him.

“Yes! Yes m’understand, please Hann’bol!” Will cries, hands already darting down to his belt buckle and clumsily undoing it. His breathing has become laboured, pants through his mouth rather than dignified breaths. All rationality has flown out the window at this point.

“Good boy.” Hannibal praises. The proud gleam in his eye makes Will’s knees feel like jelly, and when Hannibal lets go of his hair, Will has to slouch against the arm of the chair behind him to stabilize himself. The way Hannibal calls him ‘boy’ has his groin straining painfully against his jeans, and it has him doubling his efforts to rid himself of his clothes.

Will watches as Hannibal takes long strides to his desk, elegantly sitting down in the chair and sliding out documents from his drawer. When Hannibal looks up at him expectantly, Will slides out of his jeans and quickly shucks off his shirt, throwing them haphazardly over the arm of the chair. He doesn’t think twice about how needy and vulnerable he must look— naked, sweaty and flushed from head to toe. All he can think of is getting that incredible sensation back on his skin that only Hannibal seems to provide.

Will rounds the desk somewhat tentatively, unsure exactly what is being asked of him. He silently admires Hannibal’s side profile, his dark eyes paying all their attention to the papers in front of him. Will squirms with impatience, panting through his mouth as he continues to drag his eyes alongside the man’s sharp nose, then his plump pouty lips, and down his jaw, finally catching on the prominent adams apple halfway down a sleek yet strong neck. Distantly he feels the alarm bells go off in his brain— the shame and humiliation that comes with the thought of being attracted to a man. But lust and bursting waves of oxytocin cloud his brain from recalling the touch Hannibal gave, ultimately chasing away those anxious thoughts.

Without thinking, Will pushes his way in front of Hannibal, between his desk and the broad chest of the man. Hannibal relents, rolling his chair backwards to look up at the boy in dissatisfaction.

“I expected you to follow my instructions, Graham.” Hannibal sighs in agitation, an undertone of disappointment in his tone. It has Will’s heart churning in what he could only place as guilt. He bites his lip and climbs into the man’s lap, plopping his pert bottom onto the man’s thighs. Watching Hannibal’s expression closely, he sees nothing but cold blankness stare back at him.

“I did,” Will slurs, hands coming up to wrap around Hanninal’s neck, but his wrists were quickly snatched, and shoved behind his back, earning a pained whimper. He arches his back to ease some of the strain, but humiliating enough, it only pushes out his chest and bulging erection, exposing the hard pink nubs and strained underwear to both his and Hannibal’s eyes.

“You’re testing my patience. Did you want to be left alone, is that it? Without my help? Because that surely can be arranged.” Hannibal pulls his arms further back, forcing Will into a near pornographic pose atop him. With his chest pushed out, inviting pink nipples centimeters away from Hannibal’s lips, and a throbbing cock pressed against his stomach. Never did he imagine Will Graham would ever be willingly presented in this way. But what a pleasant surprise it was.

“No! Hann-“

“Wasn’t it just a moment ago when you were trying to convince me of your heterosexuality? What is this now, Agent Graham? You’re pleading to me like a bitch in heat, all for a simple touch.”

Will moans wantonly at the accented curse. Never had he heard the man swear, and the way it was spat at him like it personally assaulted the man by saying it had his hips rolling forward on its own accord.

“Please! M’sorry, I’ll do anything you say, just- pleeease! M’just… just want it so bad,” Will hiccups, fighting away the frustrated and humiliated tears welling in his eyes. “It just feels so good,” He whines, furrowing his brows and looking up through his lashes at Hannibal, blinking away the tears that cling to his eyelashes.

Hannibal’s grip relents and Will falls forward into his chest. A loud needy moan rips through his throat, and he eagerly scoots closer to the man until his naked body is pressed against his clothed one. Will’s arms wrap around Hannibal’s neck, and he lays frantic kisses and licks against his jaw as a thank you. Hannibal silently basks in the attention, particularly fond of the way Will’s facial hair scratches his clean shaven jaw.

“Ohh, please, need’you so much, anni’bol.” He slurs, indulging in the heat that radiates off the man’s body. His fingers plunge back into the soft tresses of once gelled hair, and he begins to kiss down the man’s neck, inhaling greedily of the scent that is the strongest just below his ear. His hips undulate, and he arches his back, presenting his round bottom obscured by blue boxers to try and entice Hannibal’s touch back on his body.

Hannibal allows him a minute of Will’s desperate touches and kisses, allowing his boy to relax. He can feel the way Will’s muscular thighs tighten around him, as if afraid he will leave him at any moment, but when he grants him a gentle touch to his boy’s nape, Will practically melts, body going limp in his arms.

“Miraculous, deviant thing. How fascinating you truly are.” Hannibal whispers, massaging Will’s nape. “How long have you been without another’s touch, I wonder. Desperate enough to seek the companionship of a male, of which you seem quite averse towards in the beginning. What changed? Or have your walls been weakened enough that your true desire has shown?”

Will only hums, and nuzzles Hanninal’s neck with his nose. He was too far gone to comprehend what was being said to him at that moment, only enjoying the way Hannibal’s baritone voice vibrated his body. Hannibal noticed this and laughed, feeling the unfamiliar emotion of something akin to adoration materialize in his body. He distantly files away the emotion to analyze later.

Hannibal slides a hand up the warm sides of the boy, grazing his ribs and running his palm back down to hold onto his hips. Will releases a pleased moan, muffled by Hannibal’s skin.

“Listen to me, Will,” Hannibal says firmly, but without any venom. Will reluctantly moves his head back, dreamily looking into Hannibal’s eyes after momentarily glancing down at his lips, nodding clumsily, pretty curls falling back into his eyes.

“I’d like you to kneel between my feet while I finish my work. I will continue to touch you, darling boy. But I expect you to be quiet and obedient. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes, please,” Will responds with a happy sigh, immediately sliding down from Hannibal’s lap and settling between thick spread thighs, but not without grinding his bottom against his thighs beforehand.

Hannibal smirks at this but says nothing, and once Will is comfortably situated between his feet, he nudges the chair forward, trapping him inside the small space under his desk meant for his legs.

“There we go, beautiful boy. Very good.” Hannibal praises, reaching a hand down to gently caress the thick locks of Will’s head, and he pulls him forward so his head is forced to lay on his lap. He instantly feels the way Will relaxes, nuzzling into the fabric of Hanninal’s inner thigh, just in front of the prominent erection he has worked hard to ignore. He feels Will turn his face to nuzzle at his cock, breathing in a greedy breath and exhaling hot air onto it, igniting a twitch from Hannibal’s tip, but he redirects him to lay his cheek on his inner thigh instead.

“You will stay like this until I say otherwise, do you understand? You will not touch me unless permitted.” Hannibal states, tightening his hold on Will’s hair until he receives an answer.

“Yes, doctor,” Will responds. The name has Hannibal groaning deep, and he pushes the boy's head firmer against his thigh, nudging his nose below his sac, and he hears Will moan in return.

“Good boy.” Hannibal praises, his voice an octave lower and gravelly with arousal.

Will relaxes into the position fairly quickly. His nose rests below the doctor’s heavy sac, his cheek warmed by the inside of his thigh, and the heady musk he inhales with each breath is enough for him to feel high. He doesn’t touch himself, somehow imagining that if he did, Hannibal would be disappointed, and the thought of disappointing the man again makes his heart ache. Instead, he keeps his hands atop the man’s shoes, his legs tucked comfortably underneath him, and his upper body resting against the solid length of Hannibal’s leg. He feels as if he’s floating, tingly and warm despite being nearly naked.

The pins and needles have subsided somewhat, and replaced with a pleasant, fuzzy heat that envelops his entire body. The hand atop his head tugs gently at strands of hair, twirling individual curls and smoothing them back down across his scalp, each time erupting waves of pleasant tingles across his scalp and down his back, punching out a moan of delight. Once in a while, Will will nuzzle his face against the man’s thigh, his nose bumping into the sac, earning no reaction other than a warning pull of his hair.

Will distantly hears the scratch of paper and pen, and the occasional crinkle of paper, but the hand in his hair never leaves once. He doesn’t know how much time passes, but judging by the way his limbs feel tight and a bit sore, he’s been here for at least an hour. Hannibal’s voice penetrates the fogginess of his brain, forcing him back to the present.

“Darling boy, are you asleep?”

Will moans sleepily and shakes his head, lolling his head to the side so Hannibal can see his face. He feels the graze of fingers on his cheekbones, so he presents his neck, shivering when he feels the slide of fingertips across his jaw and down his neck, thumbing at the pulsing artery beneath his ear.

“How are you feeling now?” Hannibal asks, pushing his hair back a bit to get a better look at Will’s adorably sleepy expression.

“S’good,” Will slurs, nudging his body forward to press himself tighter against Hannibal’s legs. Will flinches when he feels a hand slither down his chest and pinch at his nipples, seething through his teeth at the sharp yet pleasant tingles that spread across his chest. He never touched himself there before, surprised at how sensitive he felt there.

Hannibal scratches a nail at the perky bud and Will doubles forward, a whine punched from his throat. He looks up at Hannibal with a confused pinch between his brows.

“Have you ever touched yourself here for pleasure, sweet boy?”

Will furrows his brows and shakes his head as if it is obvious, but when Hannibal gives him a disapproving look, he remembers to use his words.

“No… m’not a woman.” He huffs, yet his shoulders twitch and he exhales a shaky breath when Hannibal pinches rather hard.

“You certainly are not.” Hannibal muses, teasingly shoving a shoe beneath the boy’s balls, and lifting it. Will groans and grinds his hips forward, but as quick as it comes, the shoe disappears. “However, men still can achieve pleasure through their nipples similarly to women. Does this not feel good?” Hannibal twists both nipples this time, scratching the reddened nubs with his thumbnails.

Will’s jaw drops open, and his whole body shudders, savouring the orgasmic sensations rolling down his spine. He traps a moan by burying his face in the doctor’s thigh, hands rising to claw at his knees.

It was a feeling he’s never experienced before, sharp, intense pleasure nearly too overwhelming for him to withstand. He could feel the way his cock pulsed, and a tinge of embarrassment broke through the fog in his brain. This isn’t right, I shouldn’t be enjoying this. He thinks before Hannibal pulls him from that thought by a cruel twist of his nipples.

“Tell me, Will,” Hannibal demands, pulling hard and stretching the abused flesh.

Will moans as a second pulse of pleasure from his nipples runs down his spine and thrums at his tightening balls. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this aroused before in his life.

“No! It’s not—“ A harder pinch has him throwing back his head and each one of his limbs trembling. He felt humiliatingly close to an orgasm, despite not being touched where he needed it most.

“No? Then why are you leaking all over yourself? All messy and dirty, just from this.” Hannibal chides, clicking his tongue and scoffing. “I bet you could come all over yourself just from your chest being toyed with. Hm?” The shoe returns, and applies light pressure to Will’s groin until he presses the hard shaft firmly against the boy’s stomach. Will squeezes his eyes shut and his mouth gapes in a silent scream, his head dropping between his shoulders, his body shaking uncontrollably.

“Please!” Will whimpers, raising his head back up to look at the older man with pleading wet eyes and burning cheeks. His thighs quake, curls damp with sweat cascade over his face, and those adoring lips are shiny with saliva. He looked ravishing, to say the least.

“Please what? Begging for a man to touch your nipples and rub your needy wet cock. I wonder what someone would think if they were to walk in right now, seeing you on your knees, pleading and crying in between a man’s thighs, rubbing your face all over his groin like a mutt. What do you think they would say?” Hannibal becomes cruel with his hands, twisting and pinching the deep red buds, nearly drawing blood from the abuse. His maroon eyes hold a suggestion of a wicked smile, the shadows drawn across his face from the lighting make him look otherworldly, dominant and terrifying— beautiful.

Will only shakes his head, his hips now grinding forward to meet the pressure of the sole of the doctor’s shoe. He can feel the way his balls draw up and tighten, the pleasure intensifying and flooding his drugged mind with oxytocin. He’s so close, and his eyes begin to flutter shut, chanting intelligible sounds and syllables that almost sound like ‘Hannibal’ and ‘yes.’

“You will look at me while you come, boy. You will remember who gave you this pleasure. Of the man who was kind enough to accept your pathetic, whorish act. Then you will thank me afterwards, understand?” Hannibal pulls Will forward by the nipples, breaking the delicate skin open with his nails and drawing little droplets of blood, barely enough to coat his fingertips. Will stumbles forward with a cry, his legs forced to spread around the shoe pressed firmly against his crotch. His hands land further up the doctor’s thighs, and his neck strains further upward to meet eyes with Hannibal like he was told to.

“Yesss! Ohh fuck! Please, doctor, pleaaase!” Will chants, looking through lidded eyes right into the dark pits of maroon eyes, highlighted with what appeared to be a tinge of red. He finds himself lost when looking into those eyes, as if he is floating and losing all awareness of his surroundings. Floating on nothing but solid, firm hands that give him immense pleasure and security— safe and warm in between the cradle of Hannibal’s thighs.

Hannibal’s mouth flickers open in a smile, revealing sharp, glittering white fangs. “Take your pleasure, then, darling boy.”

As if a dam was broken, Will’s orgasm rips through him, forcing his body to double forward, his eyes still locked onto Hannibal's as his hips stutter and his balls draw tight, a high pitched cry ripping from his chest. He feels the powerful force of his cum shoot into his underwear, seeping through the fabric and onto the sole of the shoe he grinds on, creating an uncomfortable stickiness with each stroke of his hips, but the flood of chemicals in his bloodstream makes it hard for him to care.

Even after the initial intense waves have passed, he can feel the pleasurable tingles engulf his body, specifically in his balls and chest. He continued to ride his orgasm through the cants of his hips against the shoe, panting and shaking while maintaining an unfocused, yet direct eye contact with the older man above him, staring down at him in amusement, still teasing the boy’s nipples.

In a lazy orgasmic haze, he moans his gratitude, mouthing and licking at the bulge in between Hannibal’s thighs in appreciation. Hannibal’s eyes darkens, but he allows the ministrations for a moment, groaning deeply at the feel of Will’s warm mouth through his slacks. Then he cuts Will off by digging his nails back into his nipples, earning a high pitched moan muffled by Hannibal’s clothed cock, sending pleasurable vibrations through Hannibal’s balls.

Once the sensation crosses the line of overstimulation, Will keens his chest upward, trying to escape the overwhelming mix of pain and pleasure.

Hannibal grants him the mercy and lets go of his nipples, then abruptly pulls Will up into the his lap. Will falls forward into the man’s broad chest, boneless. The pleasant tingles remain throughout his body and brain, and he settles into a comfortable position atop Hannibal, his face buried in the man’s neck and inhaling that familiar comforting scent of what he can now identify as spiced cedar and coffee grounds. He feels a large hand at the back of his head, encouraging him to press himself tighter against him and breathe more of his scent in. Will doesn’t question it, all too happy to comply.

“You did so well for me, beautiful, darling boy. Exposing yourself to me and allowing me to bring you to your pleasure. Obedient, precious, cherubic thing.” Hannibal praises, his deep voice like a soothing melody to bring Will to sleep.

Will exhales a big sigh, a happy groan escaping his chest. He presses a sloppy kiss against Hannibal’s neck, then quite literally, passes out.

Hannibal smiles to himself.

Oh the fun he will have with this magnificent boy.

[sapphire-writes]

Girl In The Bar (modern hospital AU)

Do No Harm part 1 || masterlist || next part

pairing: doctor!Aemond Targaryen x doctor!Reader

summary: Your internship begins at Citadel General Hospital. But your first day does not go according to plan as a familiar face appears.

word count: 4.3k

note: here we go! my little celebration piece, the beginning of a new AU/mini-series! thank you so so much for all the love and support ❤️

warnings below the cut!

warnings: medical terminology, stitches/sutures, mentions of blood, concussions, nausea, referencing spicy times but nothing explicit in this chapter

disclaimer: yall, I am not a doctor, I am simply a Grey's Anatomy stan. If something is off or incorrect please just suspend your disbelief! I am trying my best to make it as accurate as possible but its just for fun!!

dividers by the lovely @firefly-graphics

You’d been preparing for this. That’s what you keep telling yourself as you stand outside the doors of Citadel General Hospital. Four grueling years of med school weren’t for nothing. Your heart beats steadily, only slightly quicker than usual as you take a deep breath to steady yourself. 

You can’t help but stare up at the large building in front of you, watching the sunlight reflect off of the many windows, obscuring the view of the occupants inside.

“Are you going in?” a girl says sliding up beside you, curly brown hair flowing freely around her face. She gives you a crooked smile, tilting her chin to signal you inside. There’s a faded scar across the bridge of her nose along with a dusting of freckles. 

“Can’t believe it’s the first day,” she sighs as the doors open and you follow her inside, “We met at the intern mixer briefly.”

The mixer was held a few weeks ago. You'd met most of the other medical interns and gotten a tour of the hospital. CGH is massive; it’ll take time to learn the lay of the land. You follow her down the hall towards the intern locker rooms. Scrubs wait for you and you hurriedly begin to change into them. Nettles scoops her hair into a large bun on top of her head, wrapping a scrunchie around the mess of curls. 

“Right,” you say, nodding as you remember her, “It’s Annette, right?”

“Nettles,” she corrects, “Family nickname. Though from what I’ve heard, they barely refer to us by our first names.”

“That’s correct,” a guy says, throwing on his scrub top, “Be prepared to change your name to whatever your last name is.”

The guy glances at you, cheeks flushing. He rubs his dark curls out of his eyes, adjusting his light blue scrub top before extending his hand for you to shake.

“Jace Velaryon,” he introduces, squeezing your hand, “Or just Velaryon I guess.”

“Do you know who your resident is yet?” you ask, just as a woman in dark blue scrubs enters the room. Her red hair is held behind a scrub cap decorated with silver eagles. She holds a clipboard tightly in her hands, tapping a pen against the metal.

“Velaryon, Waters, Martell, Snow, and…” she pauses, before reading your last name, “You five. Baratheon will meet you at the nurses' station. Three minutes.” 

You hurriedly lace your sneakers as a locker from across the room slams shut. A woman with long ink-black hair elegantly plaited down her back hurries forward. 

“Thank you Dr. Arryn,” she calls, as the woman leaves the room.

Another young woman hurries from around the corner of lockers, struggling to pull her thick brown hair into a ponytail, “She didn’t say Baratheon, did she?” she asks, as her hair tie snaps. 

You reach into the pocket of your scrubs, holding out the spare you have. She smiles gratefully as she accepts it.

“Sara Snow,” she introduces, “We’re sure she said Baratheon?”

“Sure did,” the girl with the braid says, her dark eyes wide, “Cory Martell. Nice to meet you all for whatever time we have left.”

Jace chuckles nervously as Cory fiddles with her braid, taking a sudden interest in the ends of her hair.  

“What’s that mean?” Jace asks, looking at you all as you don’t respond, “Hello?”

“Ballbuster Baratheon,” Sara says with barely an audible whisper.

“Ah shit,” Nettles says, tilting her head back as she groans.

“Am I the only one who is lost?” Jace asks, “He can’t be so bad.”

Nettles only shrugs but gives you a wink before pushing forward out the door. You hurry after her, the rest of your cohort stumbling not far behind. The nurses’ station is bustling with people; the phones ringing continuously. 

Cory stands up straighter, flipping her braid over her shoulder. 

“Do you see him?” Jace asks, looking down the hallway.

“See who?” a doctor comments, eyeing Jace carefully. 

She’s wearing similar blue scrubs and holding a clipboard, black hair cut bluntly at her chin. 

“Dr. Baratheon,” Jace comments, still looking off in the distance, “Heard he’s a hard ass.”

The doctor raises an eyebrow at him, fire in her cobalt blue eyes. She wets her lips, before folding her arms in front of her, holding her clipboard against her stomach. 

“Very interesting Dr. Velaryon, assuming the scary resident is a man,” the doctor comments, flipping through her charts.

Jace’s face turns beet red, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Sara glances at him, a pitying look on her face whilst Nettles attempts to hide her snicker with a cough. You elbow her slightly in the ribs and her eyes widen in feigned shock. 

“I didn’t—” Jace begins to ramble before being cut off.

“I didn’t ask,” Dr. Baratheon says, waving him off, “I’m Dr. Maris Baratheon, you may call me Dr. Baratheon. Not Maris, not Mari, not Baratheon. Is that understood?”

You all nod eagerly, mumbling your agreement, Jace looking rather pained.

“You’re interns,” Maris says, deep blue eyes scanning over you, “Runts—bottom of the food chain. Extensions of me-but don’t get in my way. When I move, you move. You will observe, you will listen and you will learn.”

She lets her gaze fall on each of you as she speaks, her tone not very friendly.

“You are my interns. My responsibility. You fuck up, it falls back on me,” she says, pointing her finger at each of you, “Do you think I like fucking up?”

“No ma’am,” Jace says, shaking his head back and forth. 

“Correct,” Dr. Baratheon says. 

The pager strapped to her waist beeps frantically and she glances down, before nodding; more to herself than to all of you. 

“Let’s move people,” she says, moving down the hallway.

You all begin shuffling behind her, quickening your pace to match the urgency of her walk. 

“I’m an idiot,” Jace says miserably, “She’s going to hate me forever.”

“Probably,” Nettles says with a snicker.

“She won’t hate you, she’ll understand you’re learning,” Sara insists.

“Oh yeah, she seems super understanding,” Cory agrees, but one glance at her reveals her sarcasm. 

Dr. Baratheon stops outside a room before turning back to the lot of you. You all nearly collide with each other trying to stop in time; Jace slams into Sara’s back and she pushes him with her shoulder. Cory reaches into her pocket, pulling out a small notepad and pen. 

“Who has been prepping my charts?” Dr. Baratheon asks, rolling her eyes at your scrambling. Your hand shoots into the air along with the rest of your cohort, “Good, you’re not entirely useless.” 

Dr. Baratheon opens the door, walking inside the airy hospital room. The windows are large, letting in rays of sunlight along with a beautiful view of the Honeywine River. It’s a clear day today, the blue water ripples and sparkles as some boats make their way further down the mouth of the river. 

“Come on in,” Dr. Baratheon insists, “Someone tell me what’s been going on.”

A girl sits on the hospital bed, tubes, and wires twisting away from her, a stuffed lion held tightly in her small arms. Her golden hair lays flat against her head and though her skin is pale, she smiles when Dr. Baratheon enters the room. A woman you assume to be her mother sits beside her, looking tired as she holds a cup of ice. 

“Cerelle Lannister, nine-year-old female,” Nettles begins, lacing her hands behind her back and straightening her shoulders, “Admitted while complaining of fever and muscle spasms localized to the lower body.”

“Thank you, Dr. Waters,” Dr. Baratheon says, walking to check the chart at the foot of her bed, “How are we feeling this morning Cece?”

Dr. Baratheon’s voice changes as she talks to Cece; it takes on a more caring, comforting tone. Cece smiles nervously, turning her flushed face to her mother. 

“She’s okay,” her mother answers, “The spasms seem to be about the same. Nurses said her fever broke last night.” 

“I’ve eaten so much ice, my tongue is numb,” Cece says, sticking her tongue out, “See? I bet it's blue.”

Sara giggles at the action and you can’t help but smile too. You hate seeing such a young kid in the hospital, it makes your chest tighten. 

“No blue tongue. But I guess you’re not interested in ice cream for dessert later?” Dr. Baratheon teases. 

Cece’s eyes widen and she shakes her head vigorously.

“Let’s not talk crazy now,” she squeaks, “I am always interested in ice cream.”

“Just making sure,” Dr. Baratheon says, cracking her first smile of the day, “Dr. Snow, how would you proceed?”

Sara stiffens at the sound of her name, clearing her throat. 

“Muscle spasms can indicate an overuse of the muscle or perhaps an electrolyte imbalance,” Sara begins, as though reciting from a textbook, “I would make sure she’s getting enough fluids and rest, get some labs done to confirm.”

“And after that?”

“Potentially a CT scan and MRI to rule out any potential nerve damage that may be contributing to the spasms.”

“What about the fever?”

“Fever is an immune response that indicates potential infection,” Cory interrupts, “We want to rule out a viral or bacterial infection.”

“Which first?”

“Rule out the infection first,” you interject, causing Dr. Baratheon to turn to you, “More likely bacterial than viral. Ms. Lannister doesn’t have symptoms.”

“Alright, yes,” Dr. Baratheon agrees, “What should we do if we think it's bacterial?”

“Gather a culture,” you continue, “Skin, nose, saliva. Run labs for those as well to rule them out.”

“Well Cece,” Dr. Baratheon says, turning back to the child, “You’ve got a competent group of doctors caring for you. We’re going to do our best to get you better.”

Mrs. Lannister squeezes her daughter's hand. Cece smiles shyly, holding her stuffed lion closer to her chest. 

You stand in line for lunch in the bustling cafeteria. Quick lunch, and then off to run for labs for Cerelle Lannister. Different options are laid out in front of you as you drag your tray alongside Jace’s. He’s still moping-- has been all morning. Sara rolls her eyes at him as he drops a banana onto his plate.

“You need to chill,” she tells him, reaching for a turkey club. 

“How do I come back from this?” Jace asks, reaching for a cup. He moves to the soda machine, choosing to fill it with cherry coke, “She wants me dead.”

“You’re so dramatic,” you tell him, fighting a smile.

“I’m serious!” he says, eyes wide, “She could make or break my entire career based on this slip-up, put me in the pit for the year.”

You decide on a chicken Caesar wrap before scanning the cafeteria for a free table. You spot Nettles a few tables away, leaning back in her chair and munching on a bag of potato chips. She waves you over and you motion to your colleagues to follow. 

“So you’ll do the time, pay your dues, all that jazz,” you console Jace.

“Yeah, but--shit!” Jace yelps as you reach the table, his cup falling to the floor. Reddish brown liquid blooms on the white floor and Jace groans, “This day keeps getting worse.”

“C’mon, let’s get some paper towels,” Sara says, putting her tray down and grabbing Jace’s arm.

Nettles watches them walk away, unmoving from her spot as you take the seat beside her. 

“What a drama queen,” Nettles comments.

“I mean, if I pissed off Ballbuster Baratheon, I’d be pretty upset too,” you tell her, giving a sympathetic smile.

“You’re too smart to make that mistake,” Nettles comments, and a pleasant prideful feeling lodges in your chest. 

You smile at her.

“Thanks,” you tell Nettles and she shrugs.

“Just being truthful,” she says, “I briefed everyone before we started. You’re rather impressive.”

“You briefed everyone?”

“I like to know who I’ll be working with,” she says nonchalantly. 

You nod, impressed by her dedication. You take a bite of your wrap, wincing slightly at the soggy texture of the lettuce. It’s edible. You doubt you’ll have anything to complain about when the hospital is working you into the ground. Your eyes scan the cafeteria as you chew, taking in the other doctors in the cafeteria. 

Your eyes drift over to a pair of residents near the vending machine; a man and a woman both with strikingly platinum blonde hair. The taller of the two has it pulled away from his chiseled face and into a low bun. As he turns your heart drops into your stomach. 

“Shit,” you whisper, feeling the blood drain from your face. 

“What?” Nettles asks, examining her half-eaten sandwich, “I mean it's bad, but not that bad. They have hot dogs on Fridays.”

“Not the food,” you explain, “The doctor.” 

Nettles follows your gaze toward Aemond as he’s lost in conversation with the other resident. Her eyes flicker between you two, eyebrows raising to her hairline. 

“You know him?”

“Know who?” Cory asks as she arrives, sitting in the empty chair beside you, “This food looks nasty…”

“I need to go,” you tell them, standing with your tray, “I need to--” It’s too late when you realize you’d stepped right into the spilled soda, your feet going out from under you.

You drop onto your back with a loud thud, head smacking against the linoleum floor.

“Fuck! Are you okay?” Nettles asks, crouching beside you. You blink rapidly, stars in your vision from the impact, “Shit, Y/N you’re bleeding don’t move! Head injury, you could have internal bleeding-”

“I’m okay,” you insist, trying to sit up, “I’m just….woah.” A wave of nausea rolls through you and you lean back against the ground, “Maybe I do just need a moment.”

Your vision blurs but you can see his lean silhouette in the distance. Through your haze, you swear you see his body language change, his posture stiffen, and your lunch lurches in your stomach. 

“You’re concussed,” Jace insists crouching beside you, “Don’t move. You’ve cut your head too…”

“My head?” you ask, bringing a hand to your temple, feeling wetness on your palm, “Fucking hell.”

You’re staring blankly at the ceiling, mortification settling in your bones as your colleagues chatter around you. 

“What is going on?” Dr. Baratheon’s voice echoes through the cafeteria, “Y/L/N?”

“Yes Dr. B?” you mumble, earning a chuckle from Cory.

“I’m going to let that one slide because you’re likely concussed,” Dr. Baratheon says, “Velaryon, Waters, get her to a bed.” She grumbles, moving on with Cory and Nettles, “I’d like to keep my interns in one piece please.”

The night before the first day of your internship you couldn’t sleep. Call it nerves, call it excitement, one thing was for sure; there was no way you were finding sleep at a reasonable hour. So you decided to grab a drink. Something to calm your nerves. 

Just a few blocks from your studio apartment was a small hole-in-the-wall bar, the Dragon’s Den. One drink to calm your nerves, that’s all you needed. You’d sat at the bar alone for a while, sipping your wine and reading yet another smutty romance on your Kindle.

You’d noticed him come in, of course. It was hard not to notice him. 

He was truly beautiful; with striking platinum hair braided away from his face and down his back. Chiseled jawline, long straight nose, and those eyes. One violet, one blue, watching you from across the room. Your cheeks warmed as you buried your nose back into your book.

He’d caught you staring. 

He’d joined you at the bar; slightly awkward, but confident enough to strike up a conversation with you. Ask what you were drinking. He was so close you could feel the heat radiating from his body, and count the veins winding their way up the back of his hands.

“You’re a long way from Riverlands,” you’d commented as he’d told you where he was from.

“My sister dragged me out,” he’d told you, “I’ve just recently moved back here, to be closer to family.”

“I have a new job starting tomorrow,” you’d told him, causing him to raise an eyebrow at you.

“Congratulations,” he’d said, smiling as though he genuinely was happy for the stranger he met at the bar.

He’d bought you a drink, saddled up next to you. Listened intently as you spoke to him about your hobbies, your interests. Watching you the entire time with intense focus. 

“I don’t normally do this,” he’d insisted as you pulled him towards you outside the bar.

“Me either,” you agreed. It didn’t matter if it was true or not; it's what people say when they make reckless decisions. 

Fingers fisting into his button-down shirt, you’d pressed your lips eagerly against his. You hadn’t been kissed like this in forever. Hadn’t been touched like this, been fucked like this. 

You’d brought him home, walking the short distance hand in hand taking breaks in between for him to press you against the brick walls of the buildings you passed, let you wrap your legs around his waist as he kissed the life out of you. 

You’d stumbled into your apartment desperately peeling the clothes from your body and his. Greedy hands, greedy mouths, and lipstick smeared across his cheeks and chest. Fingers, tongue, a combination of the two, and then his cock splitting you in half, pounding you into the mattress. 

He’d made you cum five times. 

Five times, during a one-night stand. You could barely feel your legs as you drifted off to sleep. 

You’d woken early the following day, stumbling out of bed and into your small kitchenette as the lanky stranger gathered his things. 

“Aemond,” he’d told you, with a shy grin as he entered his number into your phone.

How anyone could be shy after that bedroom performance was beyond you. 

“I’ll text you,” you’d promised him, as he opened the door.

“Have a great first day.”

Somehow, Jace and Sara get you to a bed, secluded with some curtains. You can’t believe he’s here. He’s a resident. In every hospital possible, it had to be this one. By the looks of it, he wasn’t expecting to see you as well.

The curtain opens and an attending enters the small bedside area, flipping through the papers on his clipboard. Dark hair and eyes he glances up at you, a small smile on his lips. 

“Not every day an intern lands in a hospital bed,” he comments, ushering you forward. 

You sit up, groaning slightly at the throbbing in your head. 

“Didn’t do it on purpose,” you grumble, and he flashes you a grin. 

“Follow the light,” he softly commands, clicking his penlight and moving it in front of your face.

You blink, but obey; following the bright light. 

“Good,” he murmurs, “Now follow my finger.” He does the same motion with his finger, “Pupils look good, any pain?”

“Just where I hit,” you tell him, “Will I need stitches?”

“Just a few,” he says, bringing a gloved hand to move your hair, “A small split. Bleeds a lot more than it's worth.”

“Not my first rodeo,” you tell him, as he reaches for some gauze, “You’re the neuro attending?”

“One of them,” he comments, applying some dap gauze to your wound, cleaning it gently, “I’m Dr. Cole.” 

You tell him yours and he nods, a glimmer of recognition in his eye. 

“I read your resume,” he muses, discarding the bloodied gauze, “Your thesis was very interesting.”

“Thank you,” you told him, remembering your research, “I enjoy research a lot.”

“Plenty of opportunities here,” he says, removing his gloves, “I’ll have Dr. Targareyn come stitch you up.”

Your heart leaps into your throat, “Can’t I just use some butterfly bandages?”

He shakes his head, pursing his lips.

“Don’t want to scar up that pretty face,” he comments, “Targaryen doesn’t mind, he enjoys the practice.” 

You chew on your lip as Dr. Cole leaves the room. Several moments later the curtain opens and Aemond steps forward. He’s just as beautiful as last night and your pulse quickens remembering your time spent together. 

“Hey,” you manage as Aemond clears his throat. 

Aemond stands awkwardly stiff, before moving to the stool Dr. Cole previously occupied. He doesn’t speak, just uses his long legs to pull himself closer to you. He readies a tray, grabbing a suture kit and lidocaine. You watch his tense, calculated movements before he turns to you. 

“This may sting,” he murmurs, as the tip of the needle enters your skin causing you to wince. 

The lidocaine works fast, and the area begins to tingle with numbness. Carefully disposing of the needle, Aemond grabs the suture and begins his work. You can feel his hands on you, and watch his face as he stares at his handiwork. 

He won’t meet your eyes. 

“We didn’t know,” you tell him, feeling the tugging of the sutures, “Aemond-”

“No,” he answers, “You’re right of course. No harm, no foul. But this can’t happen again. I’m your superior.”

“Superior? It’s not like you’re an attending,” you tell him. 

“No but I’m in a position of power and authority over you,” he continues, “The implications of a workplace relationship between the two of us would be an uneven distribution of power.”

“Okay, we slept together once,” you tell him, “No one’s saying we’re in a relationship-”

“Then you agree,” he counters, “We shut this down before it really starts.”

That’s not exactly what you were thinking as you reminisce about the previous night. Staring into his eyes only makes your cheeks grow hotter, a nervous sweat begins to form on your brow. 

“Is that what you want?” you ask, your heartbeat suddenly noticeable; a gentle flutter against your ribcage.

“It’s not about want,” Aemond insists, avoiding your gaze and focusing solely on his suturing, “It’s about being dutiful, and doing what’s right. What’s expected of us.”

Goodbye guy in the bar, you think to yourself, heart sinking slightly at the thought.

“Yeah, sure,” you tell him as he cuts the final stitch, “I’m not going to say anything.”

“You’re all set,” he tells you, moving to stand, “Think you can take them out on your own in a week?”

“If not, I know where to find you,” you quip.

Aemond stands next to the tray of instruments, freezing as he awkwardly glances at you sideways. His posture is tense. You let out a nervous breath at his startled reaction. The sex god you met last night is nowhere to be found. He flexes his hand before shoving it into the pocket of his white coat. 

“That was a joke,” you tell him, earning a curt nod, “One week. Got it.”

You hear the sharp voice of Dr. Baratheon call your last name before the curtain is yanked back. Her eyes find Aemond immediately, lips forming a tight pout.

“Dr. Targareyn,” she says apprehensively, as though she’s watching him very carefully. 

Aemond nods acknowledging her before she turns to you.

“How are you feeling?” she asks.

“I’m fine,” you assure her, “I have to run those labs for Cerelle Lannister-”

“Martell is covering that,” Dr. Baratheon cuts you off, “You have a head injury. I want you home for the remainder of the day.”

“Dr. Baratheon-” you insist, but she holds up her hand.

“Come back tomorrow,” Dr. Baratheon tells you and reluctantly nods. 

You suppose going home isn’t the worst idea. 

“Let’s get you an Uber,” Dr. Baratheon says.

“I can drive her,” Aemond says suddenly. His eyes are wide before he casts his gaze to the floor as if he can’t believe the words left his mouth.

You watch him carefully.

“Okay,” you tell him. 

Aemond’s car is nice. Clean, like he just bought it. He very well might have, now that you think of it since he moved to the area so recently. The ride is silent besides the sound of the air coming through the vents. 

“Thank you,” you tell him, as he pulls up to your apartment complex.

“No drinking any alcohol,” Aemond says, still not meeting your eyes, “Make sure to get plenty of rest and monitor your symptoms. Do not feel any pressure to come back to work tomorrow if you’re not up for it.”

You nod and his gaze flickers to your face. He wets his lips, tongue darting out quickly. It might be the concussion, but you can remember how it felt. How he tasted. Fuck. 

“I got it,” you assure him, unbuckling your seatbelt.

He nods, unlocking the car doors before getting out. Aemond walks around the front of the car, opening the door for you.

“I’ll walk you up,” he insists, and you nod, taking the hand he offers. 

He remembers your unit. The entire elevator ride is full of tension as you wait to reach your floor. As you walk down the hallway. As you get to your door.

You turn to him, wanting to invite him inside if only for a cup of tea to thank him for being so kind. If only to keep him near your longer. 

But Aemond nods curtly as you unlock the door.

“Have a nice day, Dr. Y/L/N,” he says, turning on his heel and heading down the hallway. You watch him flex his fingers again, before shoving them into his pocket. 

“Goodbye Aemond,” you call, and he pauses, hand outstretched to press the elevator button.

His head dips for a brief moment before he straightens up as the elevator doors open and he disappears inside. Your heart hammers as he turns, giving you a nod once more, before the doors close obscuring him from your view. 

You exhale the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Before tucking yourself into your bed, you lean against your window which gives a view down to the front of the apartment. Clouds have gathered and fat drops of rain begin to fall, splashing onto Aemond’s car still parked below. You watch as the lights come on, but he stays idling a moment more.

Your phone vibrates. 

Reaching for it you can’t help but smile as you see the message.

note: hope you liked it!! again, thank you thank you THANK YOU for all the love and support for my silly little stories, y'all are seriously the best for real 🥹

Series Taglist: @witches-of-discovery-a @mooncalvin @rwdkarla, @spinachtz, @arcielee, @castellomargot, @bellaisasleep, @wintrr13, @angel6776, @watercolorskyy @hogwarts1207, @gibbsgirl7, @high-on-darren-criss, @theshatteredideal, @elizarbell, @hiraethrhapsody, @helaenaluvr

[lialacleaf]

To Care For A Woman

Chapter 8

Summary: You join the army as a last-ditch effort to avoid destitution, but when you sustain an injury protecting Lieutenant Ghost and earn yourself a medical discharge, you're stuck all over again. Or maybe not...

Warnings: Tension, Simon wants to care for you, small reader, a little bit spicy but not NSFW, man worrying about a woman's safety, typical cannon violence, deception I'm sorry it's unedited...

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9

You were quiet while you watched him pack. It was always the moments right before he left that you felt the coldest. He hadn't even left yet, but something about watching him move Moonbeam off of his duffle bag for the hundredth time, patting the cat patiently on the head, made your chest ache.

It would be weeks before you saw him again. When he finally noticed you staring from the kitchen, he zipped his bag shut and padded across the living room to pull you into his arms.

"Won't be gone too long, love. Just some loose ends to tie up," he said, placing a kiss on your cheek.

It wasn't as if you wouldn't be busy while he was gone. You had physical therapy, gardening, and plenty of reading to keep yourself occupied until he was back.

You'd still miss him though. The lack of his gruff voice in your ear in the mornings, his arms around your waist, and the feeling of his chest pressed against your back. There was nothing quite like him.

"Tell Johnny I said hello," you murmured, tilting your head upwards to press a kiss against his lips. You knew for the next few months they would become chapped under the rough material of his balaclava.

"Will do."

"Keep each other safe."

Of course.

"Remember to eat something-"

"y/n,"

"I love you, Simon," you murmured.

He hummed softly in your ear as he squeezed you against his chest. "Love you more."

~

It was supposed to have been no longer than three weeks. You'd started calling base after the first month, asking if there had been any sign of his team.

Two months went by with no news, and your poor garden was the victim of your frustration as you aggressively dug up your potatoes and planted carrots. You were going to have a full pantry by the time Simon came home.

Moonbeam had been equally distressed by the lack of Simon's presence, and you found yourself snuggling the cat in bed most days, hoping you'd receive a call to come pick up your husband any day now.

You had just about succumbed to the idea of the third month coming to an end before Simon returned when you received a call from Captain Price, asking that you come to base as quickly as you could.

You had felt unease tighten in your stomach at his tone. The last time you'd received such a call, Simon had been in a horrible state, and you couldn't help but worry about your poor husband as you packed a thermos of tea for him and loaded into the truck.

The drive felt longer than usual, and you wished you could simply teleport directly to him. You pulled haphazardly into a parking spot and jumped out of the truck.

"Lass," Soap greeted you as he led you to Price's door. His face was somber, and he didn't attempt to make conversation.

You knocked softly on Price's door, and waited for a reply. The door opened to reveal the Captain, looking far more tired than you'd ever seen him.

"Sir? Is everything all right?" you asked.

"y/n, come in. Have a seat," he instructed, pressing his lips together firmly.

"Is Simon alright? Can I see him?" you asked desperately.

Price hung his head as he sat before his desk, running his bottom lip between his teeth.

"I...I'm so sorry, y/n,"he started, and your eyes narrowed. He pushed a folder towards you, sighing deeply. "These are all his assets. He left you everything."

He left you everything.

He left you.

"Simon wouldn't leave," you said, your lip wobbling.

"I truly appreciate what you did for him. I'm sure it wasn't easy loving someone like him. Someone like Ghost."

you shook your head, a sob breaking past your lips. "Where is he?" you begged.

Price swallowed thickly. "We couldn't bring you a body, I'm sorry. We were ambushed. The building went up in flames," he explained. "They knew we were coming."

"Where is he!" you sobbed, unwilling to believe he was gone.

Price simply shook his head, moving from his desk to pull you against his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

~

You poured the tea from the thermos into the sink, feeling the tears run down your cheeks as you did so. You couldn't believe it. You had lost him. After everything you'd done to hold onto him, you'd lost him.

The cabin suddenly felt so much colder with the knowledge that he was never coming back. It stung in your chest, and suffocated your throat.

You had money, food, and everything you'd need to live, but you'd give all of it up in a heartbeat if it meant you could have him back.

You placed a hand on the kitchen counter as you fought back a sob.

"I want him back," you whispered. " I want him back!"

Your hand connected with the plain white mug on the counter and sent it flying into the wall, causing it to shatter.

"I want him back! I want him back!" you cried, falling to your knees as your fist pounded into the floor.

He was supposed to be untouchable. Supposed to come back to you. Now he really was his namesake.

You were supposed to be there to protect him, but you hadn't had his back when he needed it most. You'd never felt such a desire to throw your useless body down the stairs.

A soft meowing pulled you out of those dark thoughts, and you pulled Moonbeam into your lap with a sob. "He's not coming back," you whispered to the cat as if wishing the creature would somehow prove you wrong.

you received no answer as you lay amongst the debris of your tantrum on the kitchen floor.

~

The apparitions started shortly after that night you spent sobbing your heart out, begging your husband to come home, as if his Ghost would hear you and miraculously pull his body from the grave once more.

But maybe you had been all too successful in calling his Ghost to you. You felt as if you were being watched when you went into town for more meat. It was an itch in the back of your head that wouldn't disappear.

You could have sworn you saw his figure in the glass window of the shop, but when you turned around he wasn't there.

The shopkeeper raised a brow at you, and you quickly paid before hauling your groceries into the truck.

You couldn’t help but look behind you in the rear view mirror on the drive home, watching to see if you were being followed.

You felt a shift in the wind as you quickly made your way into the cabin, locking the door behind you.

You pulled Moonbeam into your lap as you sat on the couch, rubbing her soft fur as your hands shook.

You saw movement, something shadowy outside your window, and you could have sworn the moonlight reflected a white surface.

You had never seen yourself as the dependent type, but you wished Simon was there to hold you, to reassure you that nothing could harm you.

A loud banging sounded against the door, had you jumping out of your skin, and you ran to the bedroom for your pistol.

You wanted to see your husband again, but not if it meant being six feet under with him.

The banging continued, like an erratic drumbeat of death as the person pounded frantically at the door.

You gripped the hun in your hand, pointing it towards the entry as you threw the door open, prepared to defend yourself against…

The hun fell from your boneless fingers as a choked noise left your lips. Your eyes settling on the panting form before you, blood smeared on the skull mask, ash stuck to his jacket. Ghost.

Your Ghost.

“Simon?” You whispered, noting the wild, frantic look in his eyes. He wheezed a little, coughing as he took a shaky step towards you, his legs nearly buckling beneath him. He shut the door behind him, leaning against it as he slid to the floor.

Another cough racked his body, and a shaking, gloved hand reached for you. You grasped his hand, feeling your heart race inside your chest as you gently pulled his glove away from his hand, inspecting the burnt patches of fabric, before your eyes landed on one of the burns littering his skin.

He simply stared at you through the eyes of his mask, deep brown eyes burning into your form.

He was alive. He was alive. The words rang in your ears over and over again.

You stood quickly, racing to the bathroom for a first aid kit. Ghost didn’t try to stop you, watching closely as you began to strip his other glove, then his jacket, and next his shirt until he was left in the mask and a black tank top.

“This is going to sting,” you warned, dabbing some rubbing alcohol onto his burned skin, watching as he tried not to jerk away from you. There were burns along his shoulders too, and you tended to them carefully, wrapping the once you’d applied a salve to his injuries.

Your eyes settled on his once you were finished, and with a shaky hand he moved to lift the mask above his nose. “C’mere,” He mumbled, tiredly, and you leaned closer, balancing yourself with a hand on the door behind him.

His lips crashed onto yours, and you delicately cupped his chin, leaning into the affection.

“We’ve gotta go,” he said, pulling away. “Gotta help me pack the truck,” he said, stiffly attempting to sit up.

“Go? Go where? Price thought you were dead-“

“Good. We’re safer that way.”

Your eyes narrowed in confusion. “Safer?”

“They were waiting for us. Waiting for me. That was the point. Draw us out, get rid of the Ghost. They got what they wanted, now we have to run before someone decides to make sure they did the job right.”

“We should tell your team-“

“We can’t tell anyone,” he interrupted, his eyes meeting yours before looking away. “You don’t have to come with me,” he began, and your eyes widened. “If you don’t wanna run, you don’t have to, but you can’t stay here. I’ll take you to your family-“

“No.” He tilted his head at you. “I’m not abandoning you, Simon. If you go, I’m coming with you. I’m not losing you again,” you decided resolutely, tears welling up in your eyes.

His eyes seemed to soften, and he reached for your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “If that’s what you want,” he whispered.

Your answer was to press your lips on his. “I did say I wanted to see Cambridge.”

Simon nuzzled your cheek in response. “Whatever you want, love.” He murmured. He’d give you anything and everything.

“You,” you choked. “I want you.” 

Tag List:

@originaldeerhottub @crowbird

@warenai @livynicole @ghostlythots @hilowhiho @mrmountainman @miamia89 @shiraya92 @crocodilefeet2707

@zzariyahchan @gaida-511 @misshoneypaper @soldierlass @dazaiscum @mockerycrow @kaysav608 @classygardencroissantcolor @innerskylover @kristalhi @hotaruteba @tzutology @sushiumex @l3xiluve @immajustlikeok

@iplayghoul @linoskitten11 @zollaris @whore-for-anime @migeuloharaslxt @blog-luvdance @embermdk @buttercupmuffins

@corpsebridenightamare @15382663884 @discowizard88 @strawberryjambrrread @lieblinqs

[ghostboneswrites2]

My Reading List:

Daryl Dixon

This is a masterlist of some of my favorite works by other writers on tumblr! Features, one shots, drabbles, headcanons, etc. Anything reader x daryl that I enjoyed a lot. Will constantly update as I find more.

To the authors whose work is linked here: I wasn't sure if I should tag you or if that would be rude or annoying plz lmk if tagging is not preferred and I will remove your tag and leave it as just the link!

2 Batteries Away (mildly angsty smut) - by @pirateprincessblog

Wha's up there? (funny little convo) - by @celtic-crossbow

She's alrigh' (another funny little convo. This author is great with these) - by @celtic-crossbow

Can you flip me on my back? (smutty drabble that made me die) - by @dixonzzgirl

Dog headcannons (omg?? this was geniusly adorable????) - by @dixonzzgirl

Sins and Honey Flavored Sweetness (smutty one shot) - by @scudslut

Long Before (long, smutty, beautifully written reader!greene x Daryl) - by @ladywuvly

When Skies are Gray (we only have the first chapter so far but I'm already hooked) - by @optimist-pine

The World Keeps Getting Hotter (Daryl fears death for the first time, because of you) - by @celtic-crossbow

Older and Older Pt 2 (first fic is younger reader tormenting Daryl with her suggestiveness, second is the smutty payoff for his suffering) - by @d1xonss

Love me, love my cat (Daryl isn’t a cat guy but he doesn’t have a damn choice) by - @spectacular-skywalker

Best Served Cold (Walsh!Reader gets revenge on cheating fiancé with Daryl) - by @gutsby

Afterglow (a lovely Bethyl where Beth survived and ends up in the CRM) - by @galadrieljones

Failed to Protect You (a sad self insert but worth the tears) - by @on-twd-writing

Sleeveless (suggestive & lusty little one shot) - by @fluffy-dixon

Get Off My Back (angsty and cute) - by @metanoiahh

Shane’s Girl (ongoing Walsh!Reader x Daryl Dixon) - by @wannabespacesmuggler

“You’re so, so, so pretty.” (drunk!daryl fluff) - by @daryl-dixon-daydreams

Take me High and I’ll Sing (Daryl overworking himself like the stubborn princess he is) - by @celtic-crossbow

The Fair (very sad but very good!) - by @xoxo-sarah

There Ain’t No God Here (spicy breath play smut) - by @darylbae