#short explanation of my disappearance | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

deansbeer · 25 days ago

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𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔.

♡ ⋮ my content is not suitable for minors.

꒰ paired duo ꒱ྀི dean winchester x female!reader.

꒰ synopsis ꒱ྀི he shows up at your door after years away doing god knows what, and suddenly you’re sneaking around behind your brother’s back.

꒰ sticky notes ꒱ྀི the girlies chose dean, so here he is. this was proofread, but not entirely. i gave up halfway through because i'm exhausted from today. also to my simon girlies, his fic will be posted soon! <3 literally 3.1k words. i’m beat.

divider creds, @haecunt !

you’re elbow-deep in anatomy flashcards when the knock comes at your door. it’s nearly midnight on a thursday, and your brother won’t be home from his shift at the hospital for another three hours. you almost ignore it – probably just drunk college kids at the wrong apartment – but something makes you get up and check the peephole.

your heart stops. dean fucking winchester is standing outside your door, hands shoved in the pockets of that leather jacket you’d recognize anywhere. you haven’t seen him in what, four years? not since that summer before you started college, when he and your brother had some massive falling out that neither of them would explain. one day dean was there, sprawled on your couch playing video games, and the next he was gone. no goodbye, no explanation, just gone.

you open the door before you can think better of it. “dean?” his name comes out as barely a whisper, like saying it too loud might make him disappear again. he looks older, harder somehow. there’s a cut healing on his jaw and his eyes carry weight they didn’t before. but that crooked smile when he sees you? that’s exactly the same.

“hey there, sweetheart.” the nickname hits you like a physical thing.

he’d called you that since you were thirteen and desperately crushing on your older brother’s best friend. back then it was teasing, meant to make you blush and stomp off. now, at twenty-two, it sounds different coming from his lips. deeper. intentional. “gonna let me in, or we doing this reunion right here?”

you step aside wordlessly, brain still trying to process that he’s actually here. He brushes past you, and fuck, he still smells the same – leather and something spicy and fundamentally dean. you close the door and lean against it, needing the support. “what are you doing here?” the question comes out more accusatory than intended. “tt's been four years, dean. four years of nothing, and now you just show up?”

he has the decency to look guilty, rubbing the back of his neck in that way he always did when he knew he’d fucked up. “i know. i’m sorry, i just...” he trails off, eyes roaming over you like he's drinking you in. “shit, you grew up.” his words are quiet, almost reverent, and heat floods your face.

“that tends to happen,” you snap, crossing your arms over your chest. you’re acutely aware that you’re in tiny sleep shorts and an old metallica band tee – his metallica band tee, you realize with embarrassment. one he'd left behind years ago that you’d claimed for pajamas. if he notices, he doesn’t comment, but his eyes definitely linger. “seriously, Dean. why are you here? and don’t tell me you were just in the neighborhood. nobody’s just in the neighborhood of san diego.”

he sighs, sinking onto your couch like he belongs there. like the last five years haven’t happened. “was up at stanford,” he admits, and your eyebrows raise. stanford. where his not-so-little brother sam goes. “just... checking on sam. from a distance. kid doesn’t know i was there,” something in his voice breaks a little. “then i figured i was already in california, might as well...”

“might as well drop in on the other family you abandoned?” your words are harsh, but you’re angry. angry at him for leaving, angry at yourself for how fucking happy you are to see him despite everything. “jake’s not here, if that’s who you're looking for. he’s at work."

“i know.” he looks up at you, and those green eyes are intense in a way that makes your stomach flip. “his shift at UCSD Medical doesn’t end until three. figured we could talk without him trying to punch me in the face.” he pauses. “again.”

your brother had punched dean? that explains the sudden disappearance a bit more. you move closer despite yourself, settling on the opposite end of the couch. “what happened between you two? jake never told me.” you pull your knees up to your chest, making yourself smaller. “one day you were here all the time, the next you were just... gone. do you know how worried i was?”

dean’s expression softens. “fuck, i’m so sorry, sweetheart. i really am. some shit went down with my dad, with the family business. things got complicated.” he runs a hand through his hair, messing up the carefully styled spikes. “jake didn’t approve of some choices i made. said i was throwing my life away, that i was gonna drag sam down with me. we both said shit we couldn’t take back.”

family business. you remember john winchester, how he’d drift in and out of dean’s life, always pulling him away for weeks at a time. how dean would come back with bruises he’d brush off and a darkness in his eyes that would take days to fade. “the family business,” you repeat slowly. “what kind of business has you showing up looking like you’ve been in a bar fight?”

he touches the cut on his jaw absently. “again, it’s complicated,” his standard answer for anything involving his dad. “but i’m handling it. been handling it.” he shifts closer, just slightly, but you notice. “tell me about you. medical school, huh? following in big brother’s footsteps?”

the change of subject is obvious, but you let it slide. for now. “year two at SDSU. it’s kicking my ass, but i love it.” you gesture at the disaster of textbooks and notes on your coffee table. “currently drowning in anatomy and physiology. jake’s been helping when he can, but his residency keeps him pretty busy.”

“proud of you,” dean says softly, and the sincerity in his voice makes your chest tight. “always knew you’d do something amazing. even when you were thirteen and following us around like a puppy.” the teasing is gentle, familiar, and you find yourself relaxing despite your better judgment.

“i did not follow you around like a puppy,” you protest, but you’re fighting a smile now. “i was just... interested in what you guys were doing. very normal behavior.” he laughs, and the sound warms something inside you that’s been cold for four years.

“sure, sweetheart. all those times you just happened to need something from the garage when we were working on my car? total coincidence.” he’s full-on grinning now, and it’s devastating. you’d forgotten how beautiful he was when he really smiled. “or when you suddenly developed an interest in whatever video game we were playing?”

“shut up,” you mutter, throwing a pillow at him. he catches it easily, reflexes sharp as ever. “i was a kid with a crush. sue me.” the admission slips out before you can stop it, and his expression shifts, becoming something hungrier.

“was?” he asks, voice dropping lower. “past tense?” he sets the pillow aside and moves closer, eliminating the safe distance you’d maintained. “that mean you don’t have a crush anymore, or that you’re not a kid anymore?”

oh god, your heart is racing. this is dangerous territory, especially with your brother due home in a few hours. but dean’s looking at you like he wants to devour you, and you’re now twenty-two years old and tired of pretending you don’t still think about him. “‘m definitely not a kid anymore,” you say quietly, meeting his eyes steadily.

“no,” he agrees, gaze dropping to your lips. “you’re definitely not,” the air between you is charged, electric. you should move away. should remember that this is your brother's best friend – former best friend – and that jake would lose his mind if he knew dean was even here. should remember that dean left once without a word and could do it again.

instead, you lean in. his hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone with surprising gentleness.

“we shouldn’t,” he says, but he’s leaning in too. “jake would kill me. hell, i promised him i’d stay away from you both.” his thumb traces your bottom lip. “but fuck, sweetheart, you have no idea how many times i’ve thought about this. about you.”

“then stop thinking,” you whisper, and close the distance between you. the kiss is nothing like the innocent peck you’d imagined when you were younger. this is fire and demand, four years of absence and want poured into the connection. dean kisses like he does everything else – with complete focus and devastating skill.

his hands tangle in your hair, angling your head to deepen the kiss. you make a noise you’d be embarrassed about under other circumstances, climbing into his lap without breaking contact. “fuck,” he groans against your mouth, hands dropping to your hips. “we can’t— your brother—”

“isn’t home for three more hours,” you finish, rolling your hips experimentally. the friction makes both of you gasp. “unless you’re gonna disappear again the second this is over?” it’s meant to be teasing, but real hurt bleeds through. his hands tighten on your hips, holding you still.

“nah,” he says firmly, pulling back to look at you. “‘m not going anywhere. not this time.” there's something in his eyes that makes you believe him. “might have to be careful around jake, but i’m done staying away. four years was long enough.”

you kiss him again, harder this time, and he responds immediately. his hands slide under your shirt – his shirt – and the skin-to-skin contact makes you shiver. “bedroom,” you gasp when he moves to your neck, sucking a mark just below your ear. “dean, my bedroom, now.”

he stands easily, lifting you with him like you weigh nothing. you wrap your legs around his waist, attacking his neck with kisses as he navigates to your room. “which one?” he asks, voice rough, and you point to the door on the right. he kicks it closed behind you, pressing you against it immediately.

“gotta be quiet,” he warns, even though you both know the apartment above yours is empty and jake won't be home for hours. “think you can be quiet for me, sweetheart?” his hand slides into your shorts, finding you already wet, and you bite your lip to stifle a moan. “atta girl. quiet as a mouse while i take you apart.”

that makes you clench around nothing. dean notices, of course he does, and grins against your throat. “you like that, huh? filthy girl,” his fingers tease your entrance, never quite giving you what you need. “you’ve been mine for years, haven’t you? even when i wasn’t here.”

“mhm,” you admit with a hum, past the point of pretending otherwise. “always, dean—please.” he rewards you by sliding two fingers inside, and you have to bite his shoulder to keep from crying out. he walks you to the bed, laying you down carefully without removing his hand.

“so fuckin’ wet,” he marvels, fingers working you expertly. “this all for me?” you nod frantically, hips moving to meet his thrusts. “words, baby. need to hear you.” his thumb finds your clit, and you’re seeing stars.

“all for you,” you gasp out, struggling to keep your voice down. “only you, dean. please, need more.” he adds a third finger, stretching you perfectly, and you’re already embarrassingly close. “gonna come–” you warn, and he speeds up, hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision go white.

“c’mon, sweetheart. come for me. wanna see you fall apart on my fingers,” his words push you over the edge, orgasm hitting you like a freight train. you turn your head and bite your pillow to muffle your cry, body arching off the bed. “you’re beautiful,” he breathes, working you through it. “knew you’s be beautiful when you came.”

when you can think again, he’s stripped off his shirt, revealing a chest that’s broader than you remember and decorated with scars that definitely weren’t there before. your hands trace them gently, and something vulnerable flashes across his face. “dean, what happened to you?”

“life happened,” he says vaguely, but then he’s kissing you again and you let it go. for now. his hands make quick work of your remaining clothes, and then you’re naked beneath him, feeling exposed and wanting all at once. “wow,” he breathes, eyes raking over you. “you’re perfect, baby. better than i imagined.”

“you imagined?” the thought of dean thinking about you, fantasizing about this, makes a heat pool in your belly again. he grins, that cocky smile that used to make teenage-you weak in the knees. still does, if you’re being honest.

“‘course i did. you think i didn’t notice you growing up? took everything i had to stay away, especially that last summer.” his hand trails down your body, reacquainting himself with territory he's never actually explored. “you were eighteen, wearing those tiny shorts and following me around with those eyes. fuck, sweetheart, i’m not a saint.”

“why didn’t you—” your question dies as he moves down your body, settling between your thighs. “dean, what are you—” his mouth on you cuts off any coherent thought. you slap a hand over your mouth to muffle the noise that escapes, hips bucking up involuntarily.

he pulls back just enough to speak. “dreamed about tasting you. gonna make you come on my tongue, then i’m gonna fuck you so good you forget anyone else exists.” he dives back in, tongue working magic that has you seeing stars. it’s too much and not enough, and when he adds fingers to the mix, you have to bite your hand to stay quiet.

your second orgasm builds faster than the first, dean’s name a chanted prayer in your head since you can’t say it out loud. he hums against you, the vibration sending you over the edge with a muffled cry. he works you through it, only pulling away when you push weakly at his head.

“taste even better than i imagined,” he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. the casual obscenity of it makes you clench. “think you can take me now, baby? need to be inside you.” you nod wordlessly, reaching for him. he sheds his remaining clothes quickly, and your eyes widen at the sight of him.

“that’s... you’re...” he’s bigger than anyone you’ve been with, and the smug grin says he knows it. “dean, i don’t know if—” he kisses you quiet, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

“you can take it, baby,” he assures you, positioning himself at your entrance. “know you can. gonna go slow, okay? don’t wanna hurt you,” the gentleness in his voice contrasts with the hunger in his eyes. he pushes in slowly, and the stretch is intense, borderline too much. “that’s it, sweetheart. doing s’good for me.”

when he’s finally buried inside you to the hilt, you both need a moment. he’s shaking with the effort of holding still, forehead pressed to yours. “you okay?” he asks, and you give him a meek yeah in response, experimentally rolling your hips. the movement makes both of you groan. “you’re so tight, baby. so fuckin’ perfect.”

he starts moving, slow and deep, and you understand why he made you come twice first. you need the preparation to take him like this. “dean,” you gasp, nails digging into his shoulders. “feels so good. so big.” he captures your lips, swallowing your moans as he picks up the pace.

“yeah? you like being full of me?” his voice is rough, controlled. “been wanting this for so long. wanting to make you mine.” he hits a particularly good angle, and you have to bite his shoulder again to stay quiet. “the things i wanna do to you. wanna fuck you in every room of this apartment. wanna mark you up so everyone knows you’re taken.”

his possessive words make you clench around him. “yes, fuck, yes,” you agree breathlessly. “i want that. want everyone to know.” his rhythm falters slightly, and he groans deep in his chest. “please. harder.”

he obliges, hooking your leg over his shoulder to go deeper. this new angle has you seeing stars, and you can feel another orgasm building. “there you go, baby,” he encourages. “take it. take everything i give you,” his hand finds your clit, and the combination is devastating. “gonna come for me again? gonna come on my big cock?”

you could only nod, beyond words now. the build-up is intense, full-body, and when it hits, you have to muffle your scream in his shoulder. he fucks you through it, chasing his own release. “where?” he grits out, and you understand what he's asking.

“inside,” you gasp, still shaking from aftershocks. “i’m on the pill. i wanna feel you.” your permission breaks his control. he buries himself deep with a groan of your name, and you feel him pulse inside you. the feeling triggers another mini-orgasm, and you cling to him as you both shake through it.

he collapses half on top of you, careful not to crush you with his weight. you’re both panting, sweaty, completely wrecked. “holy shit,” you breathe, and he chuckles against your neck. “that was...”

“yeah,” he agrees, pressing lazy kisses to whatever skin he can reach. “worth waiting four years for.” he pulls out carefully, and you whimper at the loss. “shh, i got you. not going anywhere, baby.” he reaches for your tiny pajama shorts, using it to clean you both up gently. his tenderness makes your chest tight.

you glance at the clock and reality crashes back in. “shit, jake’ll be home in an hour.” dean follows your gaze and sighs. “dean... what are we doing? he’s going to kill us both if he finds out.”

“then we don't let him find out,” dean says simply, pulling you against his chest. “at least not yet. let me figure out how to fix things with him first.” he strokes your hair, and you melt into the touch. "and i meant what i said – i’m not disappearing again. we’ll figure this out.”

you want to believe him. want to believe that this time is different, that he’ll stay. but you’ve been burned before. “promise?” you ask, hating how small your voice sounds. he tilts your chin up, making you meet his eyes.

“i promise, sweetheart. you’re stuck with me.” he seals it with a kiss, soft and sweet. “now, how about we get dressed and i help you study anatomy? seems like i’d be a pretty good teaching aid,” his innuendo makes you laugh despite everything.

“you're terrible,” you inform him, but you're already reaching for your underwear and his old metallica band tee. because even if this is complicated, even if your brother might actually murder you both, you can’t bring yourself to regret it.

not when dean’s looking at you like you’re everything he’s ever wanted. not when you finally have him here, in your bed, in your life.

Maybe it’s worth the risk.

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imaginesbymonika · 10 months ago

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Not a violent dog | Part 1

Pairing: Logan x fem!Reader

Plot: Back in Wade‘s world Logan meets someone he thought he would never ever see again.

Warnings: slight spoilers for Deadpool 3!!!! mentions of death, angst, cursing, and fluff at the end if you squeeze your eyes at the screen, I haven’t written in A WHILE so bear with me

Masterlist

Wade met you in 2016, while he was staying at the X-Men mansion. You didn’t look up from your spot behind the counter when he came into the kitchen, your eyes were observing how the colorful cereal chunks were floating in the brownish milk. It didn’t take long for him to ultimately recognize you. “You’re Y/N!”, he exclaimed loudly, as if he made the discovery of a lifetime:” Cat Claw, was it, right?” You didn’t respond, instead, your y/e/colored eyes solely looked up. At the sight of his face, you slightly tilted your head. He immediately began ranting about how he truly believed that you could have had your own franchise if Sony cared enough about women before he made a shiver run down your spine.

“You’re Logan’s girl, right?”, he asked innocently, however, the next thing Wade knew, was how the bowl of cereal slammed against the wall right next to his face. He didn’t flinch, instead, he merely ran his finger down the milk stains before putting them into his mouth:” Oat milk, how responsible of you. We should all take better care of Mother-Earth, con-.” But before he had the chance to end his sentence, you made a few long steps toward him until your faces were only a couple of centimeters apart from one another. “That is so hot.”, Wade whispered while you studied his burned features.

“Don’t you ever take his name into your mouth again, or I’ll cut your tongue out!”

“That’s even hotter!”

Wade very quickly learned that despite your powers, your inability to die, and your unbelievably harsh persona you carried a lot of heartbreak inside. Things between you and Logan didn’t end well. You heard about his death through Charles Xavier, a couple of months after he mysteriously disappeared. And never getting any actual explanation or closure had turned you into a person no one could recognize anymore. You were always angry, short-tempered, and mean like a nervous dog. Because let’s call it by its name: you were beyond hurt. There was no term in the dictionary that could fully define how you felt about the whole situation.

So when Wade came across the other Logan, he eventually brought you up. “You’re a hero in my world, you know. Everyone idolizes you.”, Wade explained, looking down at the canned food and taking it into his hands:” No wait, scratch that- almost everyone loves you.”

Logan, who was sitting with his back turned to Wade only scoffed:” Whoever that person is, they’re probably smarter than the rest.” “Yeah, maybe.”, he simply replied, looking out of the window:” I mean, she doesn’t talk about it. Except for this one time where she was really, really drunk and we sang karaoke together…it was terrific.”

“She?”

Wade turned his head:” Yeah, Y/N.” He observed how Logan abruptly tensed up, almost as if the name alone switched on something inside of him:” Say it again.” And for one short second one could've argued that Logan was begging. The sound of his voice was almost vulnerable.

The man in the red outfit blinked a couple of times before he gazed into the open air:” We are about to find out something significant for the plot, guys!”, he whispered excitedly before clearing his throat and turning back to Logan: “Y/N, you know- the X-Man. Wasted potential if you ask me, Sony could’ve made so much money off of her. She’s really popular with women and girls above the age of 14, I-.”

“Cut the bullshit!”, he turned in his chair, eyebrows furrowed:” You are telling me that in your world, she is still alive?”

“What a plot twist!”

Turns out, Logan lost his version of you years ago on a mission. “It was supposed to be an easy one.”, Logan explained, while the two men wandered through the desert-looking realm:” Get into the lab, eliminate the mutant killing weapons, and then leave again-.” He took a deep breath, while his eyes roamed over the uninhabited land. His angry eyes suddenly much softer and sadder:” We thought we killed every guard. The bullet came out of nowhere, and hit her right in the chest.”

Only the sound of the wind cut through the stillness. „ We were supposed to get married. Charles had already promised that we would be able to build a home in the woods next to the School. So she could become a teacher… she always adored the mutant children that lived there. Said she wanted some of her own one day, with me…”

Wade stared at the ground:” I am sorry.” But Logan shook his head in comeback:” It’s all good. That’s how life is.“

“That’s what she always says as well.”, Wade muttered under his breath, as the two continued walking:” But I know she's always lying to me.”

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #logan howlett x you #xmen x reader #xmen imagine #angst #logan howlett angst #deadpool

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olderwomenenthusiast · 5 months ago

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southern accent (spencer reid)

PAIRING: spencer reid & fem reader DESCRIPTION: spencer is fascinated, maybe more than by your southern accent CAUTION: swearing, the usual smut, a flustered spencer WORD COUNT: 4.6k AUTHOR'S NOTE: proof read? obviously not x

You were frustrated. More than frustrated, actually. Your fingers gripped the edge of the desk in the BAU bullpen, knuckles turning white as you glared at your computer screen. The case report you had painstakingly typed up had just disappeared into the void of your glitchy system. And then, to top it off, the printer jammed when you tried to get a hard copy of what little had been saved.

Spencer had been watching you for a while. He always did, though he’d never admit it. But this time, he noticed something different - something fascinating.

“You have got to be kidding me,” you muttered under your breath, voice sharper than usual.

He tilted his head slightly. There was something about your voice… a shift he couldn’t quite place at first. Then you exhaled harshly and muttered again, this time with an unmistakable drawl, “Lord help me, I swear this stupid thing is ‘bout to get thrown across the room.”

Spencer’s breath hitched. That was not how you usually sounded.

He blinked, taken aback, his analytical mind scrambling for an explanation. He had known you for quite some time now, and while you had once casually mentioned growing up in the South, your accent had always been faint, almost nonexistent. But now? Now it dripped from your lips like honey, slow and warm, curling around your vowels and stretching them out in ways that sent an unexpected shiver down his spine.

He swallowed hard, forcing himself to focus on the situation at hand and not the way his stomach suddenly felt like it was flipping over itself. He knew accents could resurface in moments of high emotion, but knowing that intellectually did nothing to prepare him for the way yours affected him.

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice slightly uneven, betraying his intrigue.

You groaned, pressing your hands to your temples. “No, Spencer, I ain’t okay. This dang system just ate my report, and now the printer’s actin’ like it was built in the Stone Age.”

There it was again. That thick, sweet twang wrapping around every syllable. Spencer felt his pulse quicken. He wasn’t sure why this was affecting him so much, but he couldn’t ignore it. He found himself leaning in slightly, completely absorbed.

“I—uh—I can help,” he offered quickly, clearing his throat. He hoped you didn’t notice the faint pink rising to his cheeks.

You sighed, frustration ebbing slightly as you finally turned to look at him. “You sure, sugar? ‘Cause at this point, I’m ‘bout ready to throw in the towel.”

Spencer sucked in a sharp breath. Sugar. You had never called him that before. He suddenly felt like his brain had short-circuited.

“I—uh—yeah. Yes. I’m sure,” he stammered, quickly reaching for the keyboard to avoid making eye contact.

You didn’t seem to notice his internal crisis, but Derek, who had been passing by, certainly did. Morgan shot Spencer a knowing smirk, arching a brow before strolling off without a word.

Spencer took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. He was going to fix your computer. He was going to focus. He was definitely not going to think about how much he suddenly wanted to hear you frustrated more often.

Or worse, what else that accent would sound like in different circumstances.

Later, in the breakroom, Spencer found himself cornered by Morgan, who was leaning casually against the counter with an all-too-knowing grin.

"So, pretty boy," Morgan started, crossing his arms. "You got a thing for accents, or just hers?"

Spencer nearly choked on his coffee. "W-what? I don't..I mean, it's just. It's fascinating how regional dialects can resurface under stress. It's purely academic."

Morgan snorted. "Right. Purely academic. That's why you looked like you'd been hit with a freight train back there." He smirked, watching Spencer squirm. "Be honest, man. You like it when she gets all riled up, don't you?"

Spencer opened his mouth to protest but, before he could stop himself, he blurted out, "I'd like to hear it in my bed."

The room went silent. Spencer’s eyes widened in horror as Morgan's grin stretched impossibly wider.

"Oh-ho, Reid," Morgan laughed, shaking his head. "Now that is something I did not expect."

Spencer groaned, burying his face in his hands. "This is going to haunt me forever, isn't it?"

Morgan laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. "Oh, pretty boy, you have no idea. This one's getting filed under 'Reid's Greatest Hits' - right at the top."

Morgan, of course, didn’t keep it to himself. Over the next few hours, he made sure to drop little hints whenever you were around.

“You know, sweetheart,” he said casually when you grabbed a file from his desk, “it’s real funny how some people find accents so… intoxicating.”

You arched a brow. “Uh-huh. And what’s that got to do with me?”

Morgan smirked. “Oh, nothin’. Just an observation.”

Later, when you reached for your coffee, he muttered just loud enough for you to hear, “I bet that drawl sounds even better behind closed doors.”

You nearly choked on your drink. “What the hell, Morgan?”

He just laughed and walked off, leaving you thoroughly confused - and curious.

By the time you finally cornered Spencer, you had a strong suspicion that whatever Morgan had been hinting at involved the good doctor himself.

“Okay, what the hell is goin’ on with you?” you finally demanded, catching him in the hallway when he thought he was in the clear. Your accent was softer now, but still present, and Spencer cursed the way it made his stomach twist.

“W-what do you mean?” he asked, adjusting his satchel, avoiding your eyes.

You crossed your arms, narrowing your gaze. “You’ve been actin’ weird all day. Avoidin’ me like I got the plague. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were runnin’ from me.”

Spencer swallowed hard, knowing he was caught. His brain was screaming at him to say something, anything that wasn’t the truth. But instead, his mouth betrayed him. Again.

“I, um… I just—I didn’t mean to say that earlier.”

You blinked. “Say what?”

Spencer turned red. “What I said to Morgan. About… your accent. And my—uh—bed.”

Silence stretched between you, thick and heavy. Spencer wished the ground would swallow him whole. But then - then you smiled. It wasn’t mocking, nor cruel. No, it was slow and teasing, a wicked glint in your eye.

“Well now, Dr. Reid,” you drawled, voice dipping into that honeyed Southern lilt. “That’s quite the confession.”

Spencer’s brain short-circuited. Again. He opened and closed his mouth, his thoughts scrambling like papers caught in a windstorm. He had no idea how to recover from this. How did one backpedal from such a blatant admission?

“You—uh—weren’t supposed to hear that,” he finally managed, cringing internally because he basically just told you that himself – aloud. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, gripping the strap of his satchel like it was a lifeline.

You took a slow step forward, and Spencer, for all his intelligence, had nowhere to run. He was effectively trapped, his back against the wall, your voice curling around him like a warm, velvety ribbon.

“So… you like my accent, huh?” You let the words roll off your tongue lazily, like you had all the time in the world to watch him squirm.

Spencer’s breath hitched. “I...it’s—um—linguistically speaking...”

“Oh, bless your heart,” you teased, reaching out to lightly tug at his tie. It was barely a touch, but Spencer felt it like an electric shock. “You can dress it up however you like, sugar, but the way you reacted earlier tells me all I need to know.”

Spencer swore his heart was trying to escape his chest. “I—uh—”

You leaned in, just close enough that he could feel the warmth of your breath against his ear. “And just so you know… I don’t mind one bit.”

His brain completely flatlined.

You pulled back, giving him one last lingering glance before turning on your heel and sauntering away, hips swaying just enough to be intentional.

Spencer stood there, stunned into silence, pulse racing, mouth slightly parted.

“Oh-ho, pretty boy,” came Morgan’s unmistakable voice from behind him. “You are so screwed.”

Spencer groaned, pressing his forehead against the wall.

He was so in trouble.

The bullpen was eerily quiet now, empty save for the two of you. Everyone else had left ages ago, even Morgan, though not without throwing Spencer one last knowing smirk before heading out.

Spencer had tried, like really tried to shake the feeling that had been simmering in his chest ever since your little exchange in the hallway. But it was impossible when you were still here, moving around like you had no idea what you were doing to him.

He stole a glance at you as you gathered your things, your soft hum filling the silence, that accent of yours still lingering in his mind like an unsolved puzzle he desperately wanted to figure out.

He was so screwed.

“Y’ready, sugar?” you asked, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Spencer blinked rapidly. “Uh yeah. Yes. Ready.”

You smirked, clearly amused by how frazzled he still was, and led the way toward the elevator. The ride down was quiet, but not awkward. The air was thick with something unspoken, something Spencer wasn’t quite sure how to navigate.

When you stepped outside, the night air was crisp, carrying the distant hum of the city. You started toward your car, and Spencer, ever the gentleman, fell into step beside you.

It was a short walk, but with each step, Spencer felt his nerves coil tighter. He knew he should say something, should at least attempt to recover from his earlier humiliation, but his words failed him.

Finally, as you reached your car, he shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked on his heels. “Well, uh… goodnight,” he said, voice slightly higher than usual.

You raised a brow, lips quirking as you leaned back against the car door. “That’s it?”

Spencer frowned. “What do you mean?”

You tilted your head, studying him, clearly enjoying the way he fidgeted under your gaze. Then, before he could register what was happening, your fingers hooked around his tie, giving it a gentle tug.

Spencer barely had time to gasp before your lips crashed into his.

A soft, muffled sound of surprise escaped him, but he didn’t pull away. No, he melted into you, his hands instinctively coming to rest on your waist, fingers twitching against the fabric of your blouse.

Your lips moved slowly, deliberately, and Spencer - despite his usual awkwardness - was a quick learner. He responded in kind, his breath hitching when you deepened the kiss just slightly, your body pressing against his.

It was intoxicating.

Everything about you, the warmth of your skin, the way your fingers tightened around his tie, that damn accent still lingering in the air, had him utterly undone.

When you finally pulled back, Spencer’s lips were parted, his breathing uneven, his pupils blown wide.

You smirked. “Goodnight, sugar.”

Spencer stood there, frozen, his mind struggling to catch up with what had just happened. You had kissed him. You had kissed him. And it had been… electrifying.

He swallowed thickly, adjusting his tie like it would somehow fix the fact that his entire body was burning from the inside out. His lips tingled, still carrying the warmth of yours, but he forced himself to take a step back.

“Uh - goodnight,” he said again, voice weak, shaky.

Then, like an absolute idiot, he turned and started walking away.

You watched him go, amusement flickering in your eyes as you leaned against your car. Bless his heart, you thought, shaking your head.

But Spencer only made it a few steps before something inside him snapped.

No.

No, he couldn’t just walk away from that.

Without another thought, he spun on his heel and strode back toward you, determination flashing in his eyes.

Before you could even register what was happening, Spencer’s hands were on your face, cupping your cheeks with a newfound confidence.

Then he kissed you.

Not hesitant, not unsure - this time, it was fierce.

Your back hit the car as he pressed against you, his fingers threading through your hair, tilting your head just the way he wanted. His lips moved against yours with a hunger you hadn’t expected from him, but damn, you weren’t about to complain.

A soft noise escaped you, and that sound, that sound, sent a shiver down Spencer’s spine. His grip tightened slightly, one hand slipping to your waist, pulling you flush against him.

It was overwhelming, the way he kissed you now. Like he’d been holding back for far too long. Like he needed to make up for the mistake of walking away in the first place.

And God, he was good at it.

When he finally pulled back, his breath was ragged, his forehead resting against yours.

“That,” he murmured, his voice low, rough, “was the actual goodnight.”

You blinked up at him, dazed, lips still tingling. Then, with a slow, wicked smile, you whispered, “Well, sugar… if that’s how you say goodnight, I might need you to stay a little longer.”

Spencer’s breath was still uneven, his hands still gripping you like he was afraid you might disappear. Your words echoed in his head - if that’s how you say goodnight, I might need you to stay a little longer - and something inside him snapped.

He kissed you again, harder this time, as if the act itself might ground him, might make you more real in this fleeting moment. His body pressed against yours, his fingers digging into your hips, and you let out a soft moan against his lips, the sound like a spark to dry tinder.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured against your mouth, his voice hoarse, desperate, like he was fighting a battle with himself.

You exhaled a shaky breath, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him even closer, your heart racing with both anticipation and something deeper, more vulnerable. “Don’t you dare stop, sugar.”

That was all the permission he needed.

With a low growl, Spencer’s hands moved quickly, his fingers fumbling with the car handle before it gave way with a soft click. His urgency had you breathless as he guided you inside, never breaking contact, never letting you slip away from him. The car was cramped, but neither of you cared.

The moment you pulled Spencer into the backseat with you, any hesitation he might have had melted away. His body pressed flush against yours, his lips moving hungrily over your own as the car door slammed shut behind him.

It was rushed, desperate, like the two of you had been holding back for far too long, and now that the dam had broken, there was no stopping the flood.

Spencer’s hands were everywhere - trailing down your sides, gripping your hips, sliding up under your shirt to feel the warmth of your skin. He groaned against your mouth when your nails raked lightly over his scalp, tugging at his curls just enough to make his hips jerk against yours.

“Fuck,” he breathed, voice shaky as he rested his forehead against yours. “You.. this..God, I want you so bad.”

His confession sent a shiver down your spine, and you rolled your hips against him again, grinning when you felt just how hard he was through his slacks.

“I can feel that, sugar,” you teased, your accent dripping, knowing damn well what it did to him.

Spencer let out a strangled moan, his grip tightening on your waist. “You’re gonna kill me,” he murmured, but there was no frustration in his voice - only pure need.

“Mm, not before I make it worth your while,” you whispered, slipping your fingers down between your bodies to work at his belt.

His breath hitched, his entire body tensing as you made quick work of the buckle, then the button, then the zipper. The second your hand slipped beneath the fabric, wrapping around his cock, Spencer whimpered.

“Jesus Christ --”

His head dropped to your shoulder, his hips jerking into your touch as you stroked him slowly, teasingly, savoring the way he trembled beneath your fingers.

“You’re so sensitive, baby,” you mused, kissing the shell of his ear.

Spencer groaned, his teeth grazing over your neck before he retaliated, his fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your pants, slipping between your folds.

“Shit --” Your back arched, a gasp tearing from your lips as he teased your entrance, his breath hot against your skin.

“You’re so wet,” he murmured in awe, sliding one long finger inside of you, then another, curling them just right. “Is this all for me?”

You moaned, rocking against his hand, your grip tightening around him. “All for you, baby. Just you.”

Spencer groaned at your words, capturing your lips in another desperate kiss as he worked you open, his fingers moving in slow, deliberate strokes.

The car windows were completely fogged now, the space thick with the sound of your heavy breaths, your moans, the slick slide of skin against skin.

And then, just as you were teetering on the edge, he pulled away. His hands suddenly gripping your hips as he pushed you back against the seat, his eyes dark with hunger.

“I need to be inside you,” he rasped.

You didn’t hesitate.

You lifted your hips, shoving your jeans down just enough, and Spencer did the same, his movements frantic, desperate.

And then - God, then - he was there, his tip pressing against you, his breathing ragged.

“Tell me you want this,” he pleaded, his voice barely more than a whisper.

You cupped his face, brushing your lips over his. “I need this, Spencer.”

That was all it took.

The second Spencer thrust inside you, a ragged groan tore from his lips, his forehead dropping against yours.

“Fuck,” he hissed, his fingers gripping your hips, nails digging in like he was afraid you’d disappear. “You’re so - Jesus, you’re tight.”

Your body clenched around him at the filth in his voice, at the way his words were completely wrecked, breathless. He was already losing it, and you’d barely even started.

“You like that, baby?” you murmured, voice thick with your accent, teasing as you rolled your hips up against him. “Like how good I feel wrapped around you?”

Spencer groaned, his hands flexing against your skin. “Yes—I can’t—God, I can’t even think.”

“Then don’t,” you whispered, reaching up to tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging just hard enough to make him whimper. “Just fuck me, sugar.”

And he did.

He pulled back and slammed into you, deep and hard, the force of it knocking the breath from your lungs.

“Fuck, Spencer --”

The words barely left your lips before he set a brutal pace, thrusting into you again and again, deep enough that you could feel every inch of him stretching you open, filling you to the point of pure blissful pain.

“You feel so fucking good,” he groaned, his voice rough and shaking as his hips snapped against yours. " I need to feel more.”

His hands roamed your body, greedy, desperate, palming your breasts, rolling your nipples between his fingers until you cried out.

“Spence --”

He swallowed your moan with a bruising kiss, his tongue sliding against yours as he fucked into you harder, faster, like he couldn’t get close enough, like he needed to own you completely.

“You’re so fucking wet for me,” he panted against your lips, his voice thick with lust. “You like this, don’t you? You like letting me take you like this?”

“Yesyes, baby, don’t stop..”

He growled, his teeth scraping against your jaw, down your neck, sucking hard enough to leave marks.

His fingers found your clit, circling it just right, making you arch against him, nails clawing at his back.

“That’s it,” he groaned, watching you unravel beneath him, his pace turning even more frantic. “Fuck, you’re so perfect, I wanna feel you come all over my cock.”

Your whole body tightened at his words, the filth of them pushing you even closer to the edge.

His thrusts turned brutal, deep, each one hitting that perfect spot inside you, over and over, dragging you closer and closer to pure bliss.

“Spencer, oh my God..”

“Cum for me, baby,” he groaned, his fingers pressing against your clit just right, his cock hitting deep, his breath hot against your skin. “I wanna feel it, I need to feel you fall apart for me.”

And you did.

Your whole body clenched, your back arching as you screamed his name, pleasure crashing through you in wave after wave.

Spencer cursed, his hips stuttering, his grip on you bruising as he followed, a wrecked moan leaving his lips as he buried himself deep inside you. His whole body shaking as he came hard, spilling into you with a groan that was damn near filthy.

For a long moment, the only sound was your heavy breathing, the quiet hum of the city outside.

Spencer’s forehead dropped to your shoulder, his body still trembling from the force of his orgasm. Then he let out a breathless, wrecked laugh, pressing lazy, open-mouthed kisses against your damp skin.

“Well,” he murmured, still catching his breath, “that was… insane.”

You smirked, running your fingers through his sweat-damp curls. “That was just the first round, sugar.”

Spencer groaned, already hardening again inside you.

“Oh, fuck.”

Spencer’s chest was rising and falling rapidly as he pressed his forehead against yours, barely able to keep his hands still as he traced patterns down your back. But you weren’t done yet. Not even close.

Without warning, you flipped yourself around, swift and confident. Spencer's eyes widened as he realized what you were doing, and before he could process it, you had already positioned yourself over him, your knees on either side of his hips. His hands instinctively grabbed your waist, his fingers digging into your skin.

“God, you’re perfect,” he groaned, his voice raw, desperate. He could barely take his eyes off your body as you lowered yourself slowly onto his still-hardening cock, the slow stretch sending waves of pleasure through both of you.

You could feel every inch of him filling you, stretching you out and the tightness in your chest twisted with desire as you began to ride him slowly at first. The feeling of control was intoxicating, and you moved deliberately, savoring every moment.

Spencer’s hands couldn’t stay still again. One hand slid up to cup your breast, his thumb rubbing over your nipple, making you gasp in pleasure. The other hand trailed down, gripping your hips as he pulled you closer, helping you move faster, deeper.

“Fuck, you feel so damn good,” Spencer moaned, his eyes glued to your body as you rocked against him, your breath coming in shaky gasps. “You’re gonna make me lose it again…”

You responded by grinding harder, faster, desperate for the release that was building between you. Spencer’s hand tightened around your breast, his fingers pinching and pulling your nipples, drawing out soft moans from you. You couldn’t hold back anymore, your body trembling as the pressure in your core built.

“Spencer, I - oh God - I’m close,” you breathed, your movements becoming more frantic as you chased that release, that perfect feeling of completion.

“Me too,” he rasped, his voice so strained with lust that it made your whole body ache. “I want to feel you come all over me. Do it, baby. Let go…”

You did.

With one final, desperate movement, your body exploded in pleasure, your orgasm hitting you like a tidal wave. You gasped his name, gripping onto him as the waves of ecstasy swept through you. Spencer wasn’t far behind, thrusting up into you as his own release finally overtook him. His hands were gripping your hips so tightly it left marks, pulling you down against him, ensuring every inch of him stayed buried deep inside as he came with a groan.

You both collapsed against each other, sweaty and breathless, your chest heaving as you caught your breath. The only sound in the car was the rhythm of your heavy breathing. Slowly, you lifted yourself off him, a satisfied moan slipping from your lips as his softened cock slid out of you.

You both just stared at each other for a moment, the air between you thick with tension and satisfaction. A small trickle of his cum dripped from you, slowly running down his cock as you both took in the aftermath. Spencer’s hands were still on your body, unable to let go, even now.

“Holy fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his lips still swollen from your kisses.

You grinned down at him, wiping away a bit of the mess from your thighs with a teasing finger. “Yeah. That was perfect.”

Spencer’s grin grew, though his eyes still burned with want. “You’re dangerous, you know that?” he said softly.

After everything, the both of you sat there for a moment, catching your breath, the cool night air gently brushing against your skin. Spencer’s hand was still resting on your thigh, his fingertips lightly tracing over the sensitive skin, the aftermath of what had just happened still hanging heavily in the air between you.

With a deep sigh, you slowly pulled yourself off of him, your body still tingling with the aftershocks of your release. Spencer watched you, his eyes dark and full of desire, as you reached for your clothes, grabbing your top off the floor. He followed suit, his motions slow but deliberate, as if he were savoring every second of this.

He didn’t break eye contact as he began buttoning his shirt back up, his fingers working with practiced ease, but you noticed the faint tremor in his hands, the evidence of how much you had completely undone him.

You did the same, pulling on your jeans with a quiet hum, your movements deliberate as you slowly dressed, taking your time. There was something undeniably intimate about the way you both silently communicated with every motion, the connection between you thick and palpable.

Once you were both dressed, Spencer ran a hand through his tousled hair, sighing as he leaned against the car. “I—uh, I’m really not ready for this night to end,” he said softly, his voice still low with the remnants of desire.

You stepped closer, your body brushing against his as you reached up to adjust his collar, your fingers lingering on his skin. “Then it doesn’t have to,” you whispered, lips close to his, the warmth of your breath mingling with his.

His gaze softened, his lips barely a whisper from yours as he cupped your face in his hands, eyes searching yours with something deeper than just lust. “Next time, we’ll go out—dinner, drinks, something nice. I’ll take you on a real date. I promise.”

Your lips quirked upward into a teasing smile as you reached up, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. It was soft, lingering, as if the promise of what could come next hung in the air between you both.

“You better keep that promise, Reid,” you murmured against his lips. “Or next time, I’ll make you regret it.”

He grinned, eyes still glimmering with desire as he kissed you once more, deeper this time, a soft growl rising in his chest. “I’m counting on it,” he whispered back before pulling away slightly.

He hesitated for a moment, as if unsure whether to walk away or pull you back in for more, before he finally let out a breath. “Goodnight,” he said, his voice almost a plea for just a little more, a touch more.

You heard his plea in his voice and smiled softly, moving closer to him again. "Come home with me?"

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paranoiddreams · 4 months ago

Text

Ch.1 - Spare Tire

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tags/warnings — allusions to death, grief, overall really angsty, assassin!toji, Nobara was adopted by Nanami, Yuji lives with his grandpa and big brother!Sukuna, mamafushiguro is mentioned (not sure if I want to give her a specific name yet), Toji is depressed, Megumi asks a lot of questions, descriptions of murder and killing, one allusion to alcohol consumption, not a lot since this is the first chapter hehe, reader is very confusing and mysterious rn but her side of the story is coming next!

WC — 3.48 k

a/n — oh my god thank you all so so much for all of the support that this series is getting so far!! Chapter one hasn’t even come out yet (until now obviously) and so many people are excited for this series like I am! This chapter is pretty angsty, but we need to hurt before the comfort 🥹 It’s also more of Megumi and Toji but the next chapter will be reader’s POV! I want to make this a story with heavy plot lines, but also with fluff that makes up for the hurt. It’s also a pretty self indulgent series since it’s my first on here lol.

Nobara’s small fingers braid strands of Megumi’s jet-black hair as Yuji spins on the swing wildly next to them. His cherry blossom colored locks are already sticking up from the tiny braids Nobara attempted to put in his hair as well, but gave up after deeming it too short.

“Have you guys ever lost your parents?” Megumi asks as he kicks the rocks below his feet. The chains of the swing holding him up creak as he slowly sways, adding onto the usual ambiance of recess.

“What? Like in the store?” Nobara asks from behind him, still working on his loose braids with her tongue sticking out the side of her mouth.

“Mmm, maybe,” he mumbles, green eyes looking up into the cloudless sky as he thinks. “I didn’t get to ask.”

“Sukuna lost me in the mall once,” Yuji chimes in, his lisp slipping through when he says his brother’s name. “He told me that if I told my grandpa then he’d lose me on purpose next time!”

Nobara clicks her tongue, shaking her head disapprovingly. “You’re both stupid—my daddy always says that I have to stay by his side when we go somewhere because someone bad could try and take me.”

Megumi shakes his head slightly, wincing when Nobara’s fingers pull a strand of his hair roughly. “I was at the car shop with my dad and a woman gave me a quarter for the gumball machine,” he explains, “I got a blue one.”

“You took the quarter?!” She suddenly shrieks, as if he had just stepped on her toes.

“Yes,” he says blankly. “She asked where my dad was, and when I told her about Betty, she said that she lost her dad.” Megumi explains, trying to remember everything the woman said with all of his might.

Yuji’s gaze snaps away from a cloud he was ogling shaped like a duck, back to Megumi. “What?! She lost him?”

“Yeah,” the boy confirms.

A short silence falls over them as Nobara finishes with trying to drain Megumi’s hair, sitting on the third swing.

“Maybe he passed away,” She sighs solemnly. “My daddy’s mom died before he adopted me.”

Yuji gasps softly. “Yeah maybe!”

Megumi shakes his head. “No, I asked her that,” he says.

Nobara pulls one of the practice braids she weaved into his hair, an angry expression on her tiny face.

“Ouch! What was that for?!”

“Why would you ask someone that? How rude!”

Megumi looks down at his old beat up shoes, a wave of embarrassment heating his face. “She said he didn’t,” he mutters.

“Then what happened?”

Nobara and Yuji both look at him in search of an explanation; but Megumi looks as if he’s searching for one as well.

“I don’t know,” he says, “we left before she told me.”

Megumi had spent the rest of the day thinking about the woman and what she could’ve possibly meant. He knew what loss was—the concept of death wasn’t lost on him. But how else could someone lose someone else?

He even asked his dad when they got home, but he was only met with an “I don’t know kid,” before he watched him disappear into the garage to work on the car.

“Maybe you can help her find him,” Yuji’s enthusiastic voice makes Megumi wince slightly.

“Maybe my dad can,” he theorizes, looking up in thought, “he said he finds people sometimes for his job…”

…

Toji’s nail beds are caked with blood and dirt, as well as the material of his sweats.

“Damn it, fuck!” He hisses under his breath. He just washed them, the memory of the journey to the laundromat still present in his mind; Megumi’s stubborn attitude, the long wait, and the stares from concerned mothers and old men.

He’s only snapped out of his temporary agitation when he hears the sound of a blaring train horn in the distance—it’s nearly sunset, which is how he knows that he’s taken way too much time on this job.

As Toji walks to the back of the abandoned building where he parked, he unstraps all of his knives and guns from his body. He opens the passenger door before throwing them inside, right under the loose floorboard. His gaze drifts to the back before closing the door, spotting Megumi’s car seat still strapped into the seat. With a sigh, he slams the passenger door closed and gets into the driver’s side, speeding off before anyone could catch sight of him.

The radio in his car doesn’t work, so the drive home is quiet, as usual. It hasn’t worked for the past 5 years, but Toji’s just never gotten around to replacing it. So he’s gotten used to the silence during morning drives to Megumi’s school, or the ride back from a bloody job worth a few weeks of food on the table.

He was never much of a music guy anyways, and funnily enough, Megumi never was either.

When Toji pulls into the driveway of his house that’s never truly felt like a home, he sighs in relief knowing that Megumi is back from school. But before he opens the front door, he takes a deep breath, ready for a usual evening home. When he does walk in though, it’s just as silent as it was outside.

“Megumi,” Toji calls out, dropping his car keys onto the kitchen table. He spots papers of math equations and grammar practice filled out next to a glass of juice in his usual spot.

“I’m home,” Toji calls out again. He steps into the hallway, the sound of his steel-toed boots echoing loudly against the tile. When he’s only met with silence again, he turns his head to look down the hall towards his son’s bedroom, beams of his yellow night light pouring through his slightly ajar door. He slowly walks over to peek his head in. But all he finds is Megumi fast asleep in his bed, his Spider-Man blanket wrapped around his little body. He’s still wearing his shoes, and his hand is dangling off the end of the mattress, but he looks just as comfortable as ever; like a grown man who’s passed out after a few too many beers. A bit of drool drips from the side of his mouth, onto the pillow under his head. His black hair is a mess around his face.

Toji doesn’t know how he could’ve created something so…small and innocent. He isn’t sure how so much good came from him. But then he catches his son in moments like these, when he’s asleep, or playing outside with his friends, and remembers that beautiful face he’s tried to forget for so long.

Some days, Toji can’t even look at him without seeing her.

…

Megumi wakes up to the sound of his dad’s heavy work boots clomping around in and out of the open garage. He rubs his eyes with his small hand before hopping out of bed and waddling sleepily out of his room.

“Daddy?” He calls out into the empty hall.

Toji peeks around the corner, coming out of the garage. “Get dressed kid,” he says, “we’re going back to the car shop.”

Megumi pulls his hand away from his droopy eyes and looks up at his dad. He looks tired, and if he had to guess, that could only mean he spent the night sitting on the back porch drinking his ‘grown-up juice’.

“Betty’s broken again?” He asks.

“Nah, we just need a spare tire.”

The little boy cocks his head to the side, emerald eyes trained on his father to try and decipher the meaning behind his words.

“Just go get dressed and we can get breakfast after, yeah?”

A rare smile creeps onto Megumi’s face and he nods his head adamantly, his messy locks falling over his eyes. He turns around and speeds down the hall towards his room, his tiny feet pattering against the tile.

Toji warms up the car as he waits for Megumi to get dressed, the garage door wide open. He hears two distant voices across the street, and when he looks up he spots the familiar blonde business man he’s lived in front of for 3 years now. His daughter, Nobara, is tugging on his coat while rambling on about something that Toji can’t make out from where he is.

Nanami’s wife walks out behind them a moment later after locking the front door. She skips over to him and kisses his cheek before picking Nobara up and putting her into the backseat of their car. The little girl’s laughter echoes through the neighborhood, along with the chirps of morning birds singing, and Toji finds himself slightly annoyed.

Does the world have to be so sunny and beautiful while he goes on feeling like he’s stuck? Did the world have to keep spinning after his crumbled right in front of him?

Nanami’s car pulls out of the driveway, the happy family waving at Toji from inside as they drive away down the road. He lets out a low sigh and unlocks his own car, just as the garage door opens.

“I’m ready,” Megumi says when he walks out in a shirt and shorts he put on quickly.

Toji helps him into the back of the car, making sure he’s strapped into his car seat tightly before getting into the driver’s seat himself. He pulls out of the driveway and into the morning sun, immediately putting his visor down to block his rusty green eyes from the rays.

“Daddy, do you remember that lady that was at the car place last time?” Megumi asks as they drive onto the main roads.

Toji’s eyes flicker up to the rear view mirror for a moment to look at his son before the face of the woman his son is referring to pops back up into his mind. He hadn’t given her a thought since that night a few days ago, when Megumi asked him about something the woman told him. But he can barely even remember what that something was since he seldom comes up for air when he drowns himself in work.

“I do,” Toji answers Megumi after a few moments of reminiscing about the woman. He faintly remembers the name y/n attached to the image of her face in his mind. “What about her, kid?”

Megumi looks out the window as he speaks to his father, watching as the traffic lights turn green and red. “I told Nobara and Yuji about how her dad was missing,” he says. “They said that I should ask you to find him for her.”

Toji’s eyes fly back up to the rear view mirror, his scarred lip twitching slightly. “What?”

“I told them that you find people for your job sometimes,” Megumi confirms, “so they said you should find that lady’s dad.”

A soft sigh fills the car, Toji running his fingers through his hair. His face is one of a father’s whose child just asked him what death is. His face carried the same expression when a 4 year old Megumi first asked him what he did for a living to put food on the table and buy his favorite animal crackers.

Toji just didn’t have the heart to tell him what he’s really doing when he’s not home. He doesn’t have it in him to look Megumi in the eyes and tell him that he kills people he only knows the names of for a couple grand.

So, he told him the least monstrous part of his profession.

“I find people.”

It was a meek response compared to the reality of things. He wishes he would have prepared more, maybe before he took the job, just so he had an answer for what he does. And maybe why. But he stopped looking for those answers a long time ago.

“I can’t just find y/n’s dad, it doesn’t work like that,” Toji says after a long pause. He doesn’t even realize the woman’s name slipped from his lips until he hears Megumi softly repeating it to himself in the back.

“Why not?” He asks, expression blank, as if the answer was owed to him.

Toji clears his throat. “Because, it just doesn’t, Megumi. Mr. Shiu gives me my…clients.”

Megumi’s ears perk at the familiar name of his father’s boss. Couldn’t his dad just save the day for once?

“Then can’t you ask Mr. Shiu to talk to her?”

Megumi just wishes that he could say anything but, “My dad finds people,” when it’s his turn to share in class. Because then, when he only manages to get confused looks in return, they ask about his mom. And he’s not sure what to say about her either.

“Can’t, kid. I only know her first name.”

Toji’s not sure why he’s even saying this; even if he did happen to know y/n’s last name he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. Not even mentioning the fact that people who don’t want to be found will not be found.

“Besides,” he adds on as he pulls into the parking lot of the car shop, “she probably doesn’t want to find him.”

Megumi’s confusion only grows.

“Daddy, why? He’s her dad.”

Toji’s hit, yet again, with another question he doesn’t know how to answer without wanting to smoke a cigarette. He turns his head to look over his shoulder at the all too curious seven year old.

“Well, she’s not a kid anymore, so there’s probably a reason she doesn’t know where he is. Some people just don’t talk to their parents after a while,” he explains slowly. “I don’t.”

Megumi’s eyes widen with realization before he looks out of the car window, the sun just starting to fully rise into the sky. His little face scrunches in thought before he looks back at Toji.

“Will I talk to you when I’m older, daddy?”

A moment of silence passes through the car, sending a chill down both of their spines. The answer Megumi is looking for is one Toji is afraid to even consider.

…

The glass door of the car shop swings open, a small bell chiming as Megumi scuttles in with Toji trailing behind him. He goes immediately to the front counter to talk to a bald man with glasses, the owner of the shop, about the spare tire for Betty.

Megumi takes it upon himself to wander away as soon as the words the two men are exchanging turn into a jumble of adult words. He looks immediately for the two rusty gumball machines near the front window; and to his immense surprise, there’s already a figure standing in front of one.

He dashes towards the machines, turning his head up to look at the figure’s face. And just as he suspected, there she is.

“Oh,” it comes out almost as a question, “the gumball police are back.”

“You’re back,” Megumi retorts, pointing a small finger up at her, “y/n.”

She smiles softly, putting a hand in her pocket. “You remembered? Smart kid.”

He smiles ever so slightly, deciding to leave out the fact that his dad is the one who remembered and reminded him in the car during their conversation.

“I told my dad to find your dad,” Megumi says, tilting his head slightly as he looks up at y/n. “He said that there’s probably a reason you don’t know where he is though—because you’re not a kid, or something.”

Y/n lets out a soft laugh, a little taken aback at how much this kid remembers about their encounter just a few days ago.

“Your dad’s right, there is a reason. There’s a lot of them, actually,” she says, not really knowing why she’s explaining this to a kid. Y/n has always been a brutally honest person, but she’s never met anyone bold enough to actually match it; but now, this kid she bribed with a quarter one time knows about one of her tightly sealed secrets.

“Megumi, what did I say about running off—“

Toji, just like their last trip to the car shop, interrupts a conversation between his son and y/n, the woman who ‘can’t find her dad’.

“You again,” he boasts, as if he’d expected this, “y/n.”

“Toji,” she counters, his name falling from her lips with ease. “It is me, again.”

“You come to this shop often? Or should I be worried about you stalking me?”

Megumi looks up at his dad, a little hand tugging on his pants. He wants to ask if his dad really thinks y/n is stalking them, but when he sees his scarred lip curl into a smile, something he hasn’t seen in a while, he has his answer.

“Yeah, I’m stalking an old man and his kid,” she huffs, crossing her arms over her chest. The same subtle smirk that Toji has on his face settles on her’s as well.

“Old man? I really wouldn’t expect a girl who’s barely an adult to determine if I’m old or not,” Toji says.

Y/n’s smirk turns into a soft smile as she shakes her head. “I can assure you, I am an adult,” she says, looking into Toji’s eyes, “and a woman, not a girl.”

He only raises a brow in response, feeling a burning sensation in his chest as she quickly snaps back at him with the same passive aggressive tone as him. By now, most women would be scoffing and walking away.

“Megumi,” Toji looks down at the now scowling boy; his conversation was yet again interrupted by his dad and he is not happy about it. “Take this,” he says before reaching into his pocket to get a quarter, “and get a gumball while I get the spare tire for Betty and put it in the trunk.”

Megumi looks up at his dad for a moment, before turning to put the quarter into the gumball machine. As he turns the metal knob he hears his dad, and y/n, walk over to the counter of the car shop.

“What a coincidence this is,” Toji says once they’re far enough away from his son, in front of the counter where he was just speaking to the owner; the bald man is still in the back of the shop looking for his tire size. “Makes me think I should ask for your number.”

Y/n mirrors Toji’s stance, huffing out a soft laugh. “Really? What exactly makes you think you need my number?”

“Because,” he says in the same unconvinced tone as her, “I’ve lived here for a while now and I’ve never seen you around.”

He says this with some truth mixed in with his sarcasm; he feels as if he’s met nearly everyone in this small part of town, and never once has he seen this woman. But now he’s run into her again, and in the same place no less. He also knows that if she even has a car, it’s not here; only his, and the owner’s are parked out front.

“But,” he continues, “this is the second time this week we’ve met.”

“Via your son,” y/n adds.

“Yes, the brat,” Toji huffs. “He’s always running off…”

“Well, if you must know,” she sighs after a moment, “I grew up here. I’m back again.”

The man’s eyes run up and down her face, searching for any sign of dishonesty; after being in his profession for as long as he has, he’s adopted the ability to tell when someone is telling the truth, or maybe only half of it. Because humans are predictable. The people around him are all the same, morally weak, copies of one another.

But Toji can tell that y/n is telling the truth—she’s not like the people he’s used to being around, she’s unlike anyone he’s met, which he believes he could bet a lot of money on despite this only being their second conversation.

Although, he can also tell there’s something that she isn’t telling him.

The two are suddenly interrupted when the sound of the owner’s heavy boots interrupt them as he returns from the back of the shop. He lays the spare tire Toji requested onto the counter, a sleazy smirk on his face as he looks between him and y/n.

Toji huffs and stares the grimey man down as he grabs the tire, before turning his head to look at her again.

“Well, y/n,” he says with a softer expression than before. “It was nice to see you—again.”

He then turns around to walk away from her, prepared to call for Megumi, who’s now tapping impatiently on the glass bowl of the gumball machine. But he stops when he hears a soft giggle followed by y/n’s voice:

“Gonna give up on my number that easily?”

Toji turns around with an incredulous smile on his face and feels something inside of him come back to life after being dead and gone what feels like centuries.

♡🏷️: @palmtreepanik0 @nina-from-317 @your-mum3000 @dahwcwb @weeezeerrss @just-lilita @averyjadedemerald @pinkhoneydrop @gina239 @tojisrealwifey @teacuup @cor-asomatum @newcina @deathrye @yoymii @evilari111 @sonakshrs @gradmacoco @edgyficuselastica @yourgirljasmine5 @Ivrndkoo @kaiparkerwifes @evilari111 @sonakshrs @llamatravel @ourfinalisation @aiahmwah @xoxoblueyy @1lastair @lavenderdaydream97 @imnotlurkingherepls @idkccdfnfz @amortsukii-writes @totallygyomeiswife @vehuzzzz @tinytinalifes @youngwizardfox if I forgot anyone I apologize!! Please let me know if you want to be on the permanent tag list in the comments below!

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ace-turned-confused · 1 year ago

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sea spray | dbf!joel miller x f!reader

joel masterlist

summary: a relaxing weekend break by the sea is just what you need, but spending it under the same roof as joel miller might not be the kind of relaxing you had in mind word count: 3,4k warnings: 18+ only, reader is able-bodied / wears a bikini & a dress / can swim, pet names, unspecified age gap, food & alcohol consumption, smut, m masturbation, oral (f receiving), fingering, squirting, unprotected p in v, spitting, creampie, overstimulation, joel's filthy mouth, praise kink, size kink a/n: i actually did spend the past weekend by the sea, unfortunately without joel miller 😔 written for @mermaidgirl30's Ocean Challenge! of course it took the entire timeframe of your challenge for inspiration to strike, but it was super fun! 🩵 big hugs to @morallyinept for beta'ing & the kind words, your message legit put the biggest grin on my face LMAO ily 💜

Going away with your parents for a long weekend is just what you need — walks along the cliff path, cocktails on the beach, lounging in the sun. Plus the bonus of free accommodation and your meals being paid for. You’re long overdue for a break and this will be a good change of scenery.

The bricks burn through your sandals as you unload your bags. Midday sun blazing down on you, you’re desperate for a cold shower after two hours of traffic to get here.

“Hello?”

You’re met with silence as you push open the front door, a rare breeze coming through the windows. They must’ve gone into town. Kicking off your shoes, you pad through to your room at the back of the house and dump your bags.

You peel your clothes off and run a shower, washing off the sweat and stress of the morning. Unpacking your bags, most of your weekend attire is swimsuits and dresses; you’ll just be floating around the house the rest of the day and decide on a blue and white check bikini, pulling on plain linen shorts.

Making your way upstairs, the rest of the house is still, the only sound coming from slow waves rolling against the rocks. Kelp bobs up and down in the swell and wispy clouds dot the sky, you pull your phone out to snap some pictures to send to your friends, relishing in the tranquillity.

You hear muted footsteps and turn around, expecting to see your parents come up the stairs. Instead, you’re met with Joel Miller — your dad's best friend with nothing but a thin towel hanging low on his hips.

“Oh! Didn’t uh- didn’t hear you come in sweetheart.”

Your eyes flicker down as he adjusts his towel — he clears his throat and you snap your eyes back up to his face.

“I got in about half an hour ago, I just got out of the shower. I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Your old man told me to come up for the weekend, he didn’t mention what time they’d be back this afternoon though.”

You nod and turn to look outside again, the image of Joel in his towel now burned into your mind. You don’t ask him about it — no possible explanation would stop your mind from wandering.

You were much younger the last time you saw him — just a sweet girl harbouring an innocent crush on a handsome man. Now you’re far from sweet, and that crush is far from innocent. This is the most you’ve ever seen of him — greying curls in every direction, wide chest into a soft tummy, dark trail of hair below his navel disappearing beneath his towel.

You can feel a wet spot forming on your bikini bottoms — so much for a relaxing weekend.

Joel’s seen you in passing and heard about your various achievements and adventures from your parents, but it’s been years since he spent so much time with you in such close quarters. He can’t remember you being so… grown up.

Seeing you stand there in just your bikini, your eyes flitting down to his towel, he almost instantly began to harden. Maybe some light conversation will calm him down.

“So, what you got planned for the rest of the day?”

You turn to face him again and he takes a steadying breath.

“I was gonna head down to the beach but it’s fucking hot out, so I think I’ll just be lazy here instead.”

“Pool’s nice if you’re keen on a swim.”

You slink past to head downstairs, stopping in front of him to look up at him.

“You wanna join me?”

“Think I’ll uh, sit this one out. Don’t worry ‘bout me.”

Scratching at the nape of his neck as you descend the stairs, he’s not sure how he’s going to survive this weekend. He shouldn’t be looking at you like this — you’re young, spritely, his best friend’s daughter — but he watches out the window anyway as you pull down your shorts, glass in hand, and dip down into the water.

He sneaks off to his room before you can notice.

Sitting on the edge of the bed with his head tilted to the ceiling, he’s already fully hard. He lets the towel fall open and wraps a hand around his throbbing cock. He shouldn’t do this, but who’s going to know?

Stroking himself with long, slow pumps, he closes his eyes and all he can see is you. Ass peeking out the edge of your bottoms, your tits spilling out your bikini top, so much skin. You sighed as you sat down in the water, a breathy, satiated sound — he wishes he could make those sounds spill from your mouth.

Precome leaking from his tip, he’s reaching his end embarrassingly fast. Speeding up to fist himself tightly, he imagines your hand wrapped around his cock instead. He imagines burying his tongue, fingers, cock into your cunt, tight and wet and his to have however he pleases.

It takes just one, two, three more strokes of his cock and he sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, biting back a moan as he comes, spilling milky ropes across his hand and lower stomach. Using the same towel to clean up his mess, he tells himself he won’t do this again, he can’t do this again.

He shifts up to lean against the headboard as he comes down from his high, deciding to stay clear of you until your parents get home. Keeping you out of sight is the best way forward, even if he can’t keep you out of his mind.

You spend the rest of the day in the pool, nursing a Long Island iced tea and paging through your book. Joel doesn’t show face again, but it’s for the best — you can’t stop thinking about that damn towel and how easily it could slip down.

Your phone rings and pulls you from your daydreaming; you haul yourself out of the pool and pat yourself dry, fingertips wrinkled from the water. You see it’s your mom calling, and slide to answer.

You don’t get a chance to say hello and she’s bombarding you with questions.

“Hi, sweetie! How was the drive? I hope you didn’t have too much traffic. Oh! And did you see Joel? He’s with us for the weekend, maybe he went out for the day too.”

You certainly did see Joel. You still can even with your eyes closed.

“Hi, Mom. The drive was fine, and Joel’s been here the whole day.”

“That’s nice. I hope you don’t mind, you two always got along well so your father didn��t think to tell you beforehand. Listen, why don’t you and Joel come through to town for dinner with us? I’ll send you the restaurant name.”

“Yeah, okay sure. See you soon.”

“Bye, sweetie. See you.”

She hangs up the phone and you venture inside to find Joel, heading towards the spare room. Pressing your ear to the door, you don’t hear any movement. Maybe he’s sleeping.

“Joel?” You knock on the door and hear rustling, he responds a few moments later.

“Yeah? You can- you can come in.”

You nudge the door open and he’s sitting up in bed, sheets pulled to the same height his towel was hanging earlier and it takes everything you have not to stare, debate if he’s still got that towel on or is stark naked.

Stepping just over the threshold, you lean against the wall to steady yourself and focus your eyes on his face.

“My mom called, she said we must go into town to meet them for dinner. She texted me the address.”

“Sounds good, I can drive us. I’ll just uh, get ready.”

You nod and retreat from his room in silence — you’ll be able to hold a conversation once he’s fully clothed.

Tonight’s restaurant is right along the shoreline, carved into the cliffside. It’s a good climb down the hillside and you’re glad you’re wearing flats, mentally noting to go easy on the drinks tonight to make it back up again. Gentle waves lap against the rocks and the sea breeze is just the refresher you need after a hot summer day.

You’ve changed into a strappy dress, the hemline falling just above your knees and Joel’s in a loose button-down and board shorts. Your parents are sitting across from you, and they’d spent the better part of an hour asking you about work and romantic prospects.

Once satisfied with your answers, they turn to focus on each other, leaving you and Joel to your own devices. With them both engrossed in conversation, you try and test the waters.

You shift your legs under the table and bump your knee into Joel’s — his hand falters as he scoops more food onto his spoon, but doesn’t pull away. You push further, pressing your thigh against his and he stills completely, peering at you out of the corner of his eye.

The unfortunate combination of the summer heat and your heavy hand when pouring your drink earlier has made you fearless. You snake a hand below the table, resting it dangerously close to the growing bulge in his shorts.

He drops his spoon, catching your dad’s attention.

“You alright?”

“Yeah, uh… Yeah, fine.” He swallows and gives them a tight smile, waiting for them to continue their conversation.

“What the hell are you doin’?” Joel practically hisses at you under his breath, eyes flashing in your direction.

You ignore him and flatten your hand, unsure if the heat you can feel is radiating from him or yourself. You continue moving upwards, the tips of your fingers brushing against the outline of his cock.

“Tell me to stop and I will.” You whisper back to him, unmoving in your chair.

You start palming him through his shorts, angling your head to look at him and a fresh wave of arousal floods your panties.

“Sweetheart, you can’t be doin’ this. Not here.”

“Say stop and I will.”

His eyes flutter closed, taking in a shaky breath. It feels like he’s already fully hard.

Just when you think you’ve won, your parents stand up and you rip your hand away, heart racing in your chest. Caught up in your teasing you hadn’t noticed they’d finished dessert and paid the bill. You look at your dad with wide eyes, hoping nobody saw anything.

“Nice dinner, everyone. Good to have you here, kiddo. We’ll see you back at the house, been a long day.”

“Um, yeah, we’ll follow you guys.” You hope you sound less startled than you feel.

He rounds the table, a hand coming down on your and Joel’s shoulders and he walks off. You and Joel stand to follow him — your mind foggy with lust, you can feel his eyes burn into you, but you don’t dare look at him.

Arriving home after a charged car ride with Joel, your parents say goodnight and their door shuts behind them. The room falls silent, you’re unsure who will make the first move. Joel grabs onto your arm, dragging you through the house.

“What?”

“Don’t play dumb with me now, sweetheart. You’re gonna finish what you started.”

He pulls your dress over your head, leaving you in just your bra and panties. Pushing you onto your bed, his eyes trail up and down your figure as you lie before him.

“What were you doing all afternoon? Didn’t see you at all.”

“You wanna know what I was doing?”

You nod and he leans down to speak into your ear, voice low and raspy.

“I was thinkin’ of you, baby. That skimpy little bikini of yours got me all hard, so instead of spendin’ my time out by the beach, I was jacking off in my room and all I could think of was you.”

A shiver runs down your spine, a small whine escaping at his words.

“Thought a lotta things about how you’d be, now we’re gonna see how much of it is true.”

He pushes you down to lie on your back, pulling your panties down. You try to cross your legs out of habit and he grabs your knees, spreading you open before him.

“Now we’re shy, are we? Don’t want me seeing this pretty pussy?”

He cups you entirely and you tilt your hips, chasing the friction of his palm against your clit.

“After that little game you played just now, you’re gonna take what I give you, and you’re gonna enjoy it.”

He wraps his arms under your legs, dragging you to the edge of the bed and drops to his knees, draping one leg over each of his shoulders. You look down at him and he stares into your eyes, flattening his tongue against you and licking a broad stripe up through your folds. He sucks your clit into his mouth, tongue swirling in tight circles and your head falls back against the bed.

“Oh, fuck, Joel.”

He chuckles into you, causing you to moan again.

“Better than the boys you normally go out with?”

He doesn’t give you time to answer, tongue circling your clit again and he drags his fingers up and down, coating them in your arousal. Pushing two fingers into your cunt, the stretch is already far more than with your own — you’re not sure how you’ll ever satisfy yourself after this.

He pumps his fingers in and out, in and out, curling them upwards and you feel heat spreading across your abdomen, your legs just beginning to tremble. You move your hands into his hair, tugging on his curls and he groans against you, speeding up his movements.

“You gonna come for me?”

“Please, Joel. Oh, god, please.”

“Go on then, come. I know you can.”

You tighten your grip on his hair, legs going stiff as you come on his fingers and his movements don’t stop, tongue flicking back and forth over your clit, fingers fucking into you relentlessly to drag out your high. With no chance to recover, he pushes a third finger into you, his pace never faltering.

“Joel, please. It’s too much.”

He pulls off from you just enough to speak, a devilish grin on his face.

“Say stop and I will. I told you you were gonna take what I gave you.”

Mouth latching onto you again, he ignores your protesting, eyes boring into your own. You can see him rutting into the side of the bed and your moans turn into whines and whimpers, the heat pooling at the base of your spine more intense than before.

“Come on, sweetheart, be a good girl for me.”

Pushing his free hand down onto you, he curls his fingers inside of you, grazing over that one spongy spot and your vision blurs. You dig your heels into his back, hips lifting off the bed as you come again, a warm stream of liquid soaking his beard that’s scratching at your inner thighs.

Chest heaving as you come down, he pulls his fingers out and sucks one into his mouth, licking it clean.

“Better than I imagined.”

He leans over you, shoving his other two sticky fingers into your mouth and you whine at tasting yourself on him.

“All that messing around and look where it got you.”

He unbuttons his shirt agonisingly slowly, a smirk spreading across his face. His eyes are blown wide, beard slick with your release as he trails his fingertips up and down your leg, the small hairs standing in his wake. You close your legs and flop back onto the bed, already feeling spent.

“Just one more thing I needa see for myself.”

Finally pulling his shorts down, that tantalising trail of hair you saw this morning spreads into wiry curls surrounding the base of his cock. He’s bigger than anyone else you’ve ever been with, fully stiff as he takes himself in his hand with long strokes — thick, throbbing, and precome pearling from his tip.

“Are you gonna fuck my mouth?”

He draws circles into your leg, still stroking himself.

“Not this time. Wanna feel how tight this pussy’s gonna squeeze my cock.”

Not this time. You clench around nothing in anticipation, and he starts crawling up the bed to you.

“Be good and maybe we can use that mouth of yours another day.”

Propping yourself up on your elbows, Joel drags himself through your wetness, nudging the tip of his cock against your clit.

“Gonna be a tight fit, sweetheart. Might just ruin this cunt for anyone else.”

He lines himself up with your entrance, both of your eyes locked on where you join. Pushing in just past his tip, your mouth falls open with a strangled moan.

“Warned you. Feels good, doesn’t it?” All you do is whimper in response.

“Gonna feel even better.”

He sheaths himself completely inside of you, hair at his base pressed against your clit and balls pressed against your ass. It’s the most stretched out you’ve ever been — it’s also the best you’ve ever felt and he hasn’t even started moving.

He leans over you and starts grinding his hips, pulling your bra down. Pinching a hardened nipple between his fingers, he takes the other into his mouth, swirling his tongue just the same as before.

You lock your ankles behind his back, legs wrapped around his waist and arms wrapped around his neck, holding onto him as if you’d float away. He lifts his head, a trail of spit connecting his lips to your breast. Bringing a hand up to your face, he squeezes your cheeks to force your mouth open, looking into your eyes as he spits into the back of your throat.

You moan quietly, clenching around his length and he huffs a laugh, shaking his head.

“Dirty girl. You let other boys spit into your mouth, too?”

You shake your head clumsily and tighten your legs, trying your hardest to grind yourself against him.

“What’s wrong, baby? What happened to it’s too much?”

He straightens up and pries your legs off him, pressing them into your chest. His eyes are dark as he watches how you squirm and stretch around him. He angles his head forward, letting another string of saliva fall from his mouth onto your cunt and it drips down around his cock.

Using two fingers, he puts slight pressure on your clit but doesn’t move.

“You’re gonna come on my cock, and then I’m gonna come inside you. Understand?”

You’re not sure how to string words together on your own accord anymore, clit throbbing and cunt stretched out, mind filled with just Joel.

“Hey, repeat after me, come on: I’m gonna be a good girl.”

“I’m gonna be a… a good girl.”

“Next: I’m gonna come on your big cock.”

“I’m gonna come- on your big cock.”

“And to finish off: You’re gonna come inside me.”

“You’re… gonna come inside me.”

“Was that so difficult?”

He readjusts his grip on your legs and starts pounding into you, the force of his thrusts shifting you up and down, your clit rubbing against his steady fingers. Your moans are only broken by the need for more air, your voice becoming hoarse and getting higher and higher in pitch as he keeps going harder.

You start clamping down on him, the day’s heat and your teasing and the way he’s using you relentlessly quickly becoming too much.

“Come on, sweetheart. You’ve been such a good girl. Come one last time for me and I’ll fill you up.”

His words push you over the edge and he keeps fucking into you as you come. You reach down to hold onto him, your hands wrapping around his arm and you dig your nails into his skin, carving out crescent moons.

Through the ringing in your ears, you can hear him grunting, his resolve finally breaking after a few more thrusts as he spills inside of you, your walls coated in his spend as the warmth spreads throughout your body. He loosens his hold on your legs, bringing them down and massages your tired muscles.

Pulling out of you, you feel his come slowly leak out and down your folds, landing in thick droplets on the sheets. You turn onto your side, sleep already creeping up on you and he drops down behind you, his chest pressed against your back and softening cock against your ass.

“We’re going to the beach tomorrow, and I wanna see what other little outfits you got with you. Try another game like you did tonight, though, and I’m gonna have to put you in your place again.”

You huff a laugh, a gentle, satisfied smile on your face. This long weekend is suddenly far more exciting than you prepared for.

comments & reblogs are hugely appreciated, forehead kisses to all 💜

dividers by @saradika-graphics

#joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #jamie's ocean challenge

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mariasont · 10 months ago

Text

RAINY WITH A CHANCE OF HOTCH - A.H

a/n: hi wow it's been a hot minute!

firstly, i just want to say i am so incredibly grateful for everyone who has reached out <3 i love you all and once i am not as overwhelmed i promise i'll go through my messages and inbox. you all are amazing and im kissing you all through the screen.

secondly, this summer was the hottest messiest express that could have been is the short n sweet explanation to my disappearance (sabrina reference, sorry i had to) but i just struggled hard core with my mental health and needed a detox from social media.

thirdly, but i'm back and i love you all and here is a short like fic featuring everyone's fav miss bimbo reader <3

masterlist

parings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

warnings: just some cuties being cute

wc: 0.6k

Hotch hesitated to acknowledge the fact that he found himself often gazing out of his office window, discreetly observing your arrival in the parking lot each morning. He attempted to justify this behavior by reasoning that, as the unit chief, it was within his responsibilities to monitor the welfare of his team.

He mentally recited the same mantra repeatedly as he moved towards the exit, an umbrella tapping persistently against his side. Hotch found himself calling out your name before he realized it, his hand shielding his face from the unrelenting raindrops as he took in your appearance.

"Stay there," he borderline commanded, moving towards you as you clung to the driver’s side door.

You looked as pretty as ever, with your hair swept back from your face and curls framing your doe eyes. It made you that much more alluring and, consequently, even more distracting.

When you first joined as his assistant, he discreetly suggested to whoever was in charge of the hires back then that he was less than pleased with the arrangement. He found it hard to focus, his eyes constantly drawn to you. He wanted to claim it was involuntary, but he knew there was intention behind his constant search for you.

"Well, hi there, boss man," you chirped, your disposition utterly unaffected by the water that had dampened your outfit.

He considered himself a noble man, honorable even, or so he told himself as he resisted the urge to glance down at your blouse that was now nearly see-through.

He quickly unfurled the umbrella, taking the liberty of shielding your perfect face from the onslaught of raindrops. You smiled up at him in a way that was so carefree it made his heart clench in his chest.

He cleared his throat. “You’ll catch a cold if you stay out here.”

“Good thing you’re here to prevent that.”

Aaron’s face was now wet, rivulets of rain tracing paths from his hair to his chin. He struggled to prevent a smile at your words, tucking his chin into his chest to conceal it.

He let you take hold of his arm, your purse occasionally tapping into his leg as he closed your car door and started towards the entrance. You leaned in closer, earning a knowing look from him.

You smiled into your coffee, pink lipstick staining the travel cup. “What? I wasn’t all the way under the umbrella.”

He knew that was a lie because he wasn’t all the way under the umbrella, ensuring you were fully covered.

“I didn’t say a word.”

“Your eyes are very expressive, Mr.”

“Then you should know I’m thinking we need to get you inside and dry." He looked at you knowingly, his grip on the umbrella tightening as you both reached the entrance.

“Dry? Around you?” you questioned, smiling innocently towards Hotch as he closed the umbrella and opened the front door. “Wishful thinking, sir.”

“Do I need to remind you we’re at work?”

Hotch combed his semi-damp hair with his fingers, flicking some water in your direction. You squealed, hands flying to shield your face, a stream of giggles following. The smile on his face was now inevitable.

“Sorry, can’t help myself,” you managed to say through the laughter.

He kissed your cheek softly, then started to walk to his office. Glancing back, he adds, “You’ll be sorry when we get home.”

That shut you up.

taglist: @readergf @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @freyy253 @broadwaytraaaaash @sunfyyre @sleepysongbirdsings @trulycayla @crouchingapple @navia3000 @aaronlovesava @bakugocanstompme @pansexualhailstorm @averyhotchner @looking1016 @everythinglizzy @sky2nd @messylxve @alexxavicry @yaykeira @spencerssatchel @candyd1es @storiesofsvu @pleasantwitchgarden @kodzukenmaaa @hiireadstuff @dilflover-3 @spenciesslut @phoenix-le-danseur-de-pole @deadofnight0 @sabmichell @jstcln @just-here-to-read13 @c-losur3

join my taglist here!

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x fem reader #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x bimbo reader #aaron hotchner x bimbo #bimbo reader #criminal minds

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jollyparaphernalia · 1 month ago

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*Inhales* Hey there, wanna see my 'In Stars And Time' AU? I call it 'Kingswap'

Hey, What's This?

My Brainrot <3 This is Kingswap: Also known as 'Hey lets swap The King and Siffrin's roles around in this play, and go from there'. There's more to it than that, but that's the premise. While 'The Guy Who Would Be Siffrin' has their life derailed in such a way that leads to them becoming the Main Villain, 'The Man Who Would Be King' likewise has his life play out in a way that has him in the shoes of a Saviour of Vaugarde.

WARNING This AU chatter post has spoilers for pretty much all of 'In Stars And Time', including stuff from 'Two-Hats'! and 'Start Again: A Prologue'. This is the Spoilers Zone. Also any Content Warnings that apply to In Stars and Time also applies to this post, just to cover my bases.

Let's Take a Look at The Stranger Who Could Have Been Siffrin:

Meet The Stagemaster. Potentially known as 'Sulking One'/SM/Don't Call Me Shirley Siffrin'. While the King and Siffrin in baseline ISAT woke up on a beach with no memories, i've decided it would be interesting to put 'Siffrin' in Corbeaux as a young adult when The Island disappears. He wakes up one day with no memories of his past, no name, and only a vague idea that he had a community in the city...that has forgotten him completely. He takes this Very Normally over the next 10 years (alongside some other...complications) and after some travelling, returns to Vaugarde to be a Menace.

He's also got some funny 'Craft Hands' that let him do things even when he has his hands in his cloak. These hands are also capable of conjuring wires/strings that allow him to physically bind/control people as an added bonus (For the Puppeteer motif) Watch the hands, Heroes!

But Wait, I thought The King Was Big, Why Isn't Stagemaster Big?

Because this tiny form isn't their 'true form'. THIS is what the Stagemaster ACTUALLY looks like, trapped in the House of Dormont by the Orb Door.

The Stagemaster...really isn't a person anymore. It's sort of debatable he was still human even before Big Mode. He can fly like this, and can control his cloak as though it's a part of himself (But he can still remove it) If you are looking at this going 'hey, he looks like a boss out of Kirby' then I did my job right. A theatre kid isn't very fun to watch unless seen, so, even before the Party gets to Dormont, it seemed fitting for SM to have a presence in Orbquest. So...Stagemaster controls a crafted avatar from afar - like playing a character in a game. There's a metaphor about disassociation from the self here. I personally love the idea of this nasty little guy interfering with the Orb Quest and antagonizing the Heroes - he is not NEARLY as powerful as his Big Form when he's Little Guy, so there's enough back and forth for Stagemaster to both be a threat, and also give some wiggle room for the Party to bully the Villain. Build up some rapport for funsies.

Stagemaster's a real piece of work. Imagine if Siffrin took all his self loathing, and then transformed that into outward loathing. If you took the WORST impulses from Loop and Act 5 Siffrin and put them in a blender, and then added a huge chip on his shoulder against the Universe, you might get the rancid creature you see here. Wet Meow Meow has transformed into a Feral Cat With Mange. And Rabies. And an impulsive urge to monologue. He doesn't even like puns!! Horrible!

The Party eventually calls him 'Smaster' for short before arriving in Dormont.

So if 'Siffrin' is in Kings place...Who or What is travelling with our beloved Party?

Meet Clovis (Named after an old King of Franks because I am very subtle). While Siffrin was a wet meow meow stray cat, Clovis is more a nervous dog. The King's explanation behind why he called himself The King seemed very utilitarian to me in ISAT, like he wanted to embody his role completely. So...here, Clovis puts all his eggs into his identity as 'Knight'. He doesn't serve anyone, he's just really into the idea of a brave, heroic persona. He's...very awkward and nervous, and often falls back onto 'what would a more brave, knightly sort do?' to make up for the fact his entire life was carved out of his skull with a spoon.

Look at this, took a perfectly good villain and made him a blorbo. Look at him, I gave him anxiety and sword autism. Like Siffrin, the party grows to love their weird wet dog. Mirabelle bonds over swords and anxious 'do it scared' behavior, Isabeau shares a 'battle bros'/'two bros sitting in a hot tub' dynamic, Bonnie treats him like a Substitute Teach ("yeah this is fine for kids c'mon lets go' 'uh, if you say so, boniface...') and Odile merrily bullies him (Paper beats rock)

Of course we need the Don Quixote reference. (He lost the fight, for the record.) Clovis is more than just a cute face, of course. Even he has his secrets.

Something is wrong here. Something wrong with him, maybe. Maybe he isn't supposed to be here.

Much like the King, Clovis also knows he's missing important things from his life, and has taken great effort (and personal injury) to keep what bits he can close to him - even when he really shouldn't.

The Party keeps Clovis from the Headache books not because they don't think they matter, but because the party doesn't want Clovis to hurt himself. They joke that he's an amnesiac prince from a far off land, but, well, at a certain angle, that's sort of the truth, isn't it? Clovis isn't a trap master like Siffrin, (or nearly as fast) but tends to walk as the lead of the Party because he's a Very Durable guy with some armor and protective Craft, so, any traps that explode in his face are easier to shrug off, and those that aren't...well, he's got quick reflexes.

But Wait! If The King is the looping hero, and Siffrin is the Big Evil Bad Guy, who does Clovis get as a Guide?

It's good ol' Loop! Our Loop, the Loopert we love and adore. SURPRISE! I fooled you!! This AU isn't meant to be a thought experiment, it's actually an overly elaborate way to give Loop as much psychic damage as physically possible!!

What's worse than having Another You take your place? Having a Tiny Version of your Nemesis take your place, earning the love and affection of your beloved family instead of you!

(They call him 'Princeling')

Needless to say, Loop and Clovis' dynamic is what we call in the scientific community fucking atrocious. Clovis wants to put his trust into this Guiding Star, and Loop is far, FAR worse to Clovis than Loop would be to a Siffrin. Loop may not be able to guess every single thought Clovis has, but any anxiety that is a reflection of Loop/Siffrin will be mercilessly picked apart with a smile. It's hate at first sight. At least Loop can take solace in the fact that Clovis is just as clueless as Loop/Siffrin was in their loops.

Clovis meanwhile is just intimidated. A guiding star of the universe?? And they hate him already??? 'Ohh...I really messed up already, haven't I? What'd I do???' Anyways, that's all for now. I just really wanted to get my initial brain worms out of my head and into the world. Please enjoy. If I do more posts like this, i'll prolly tag it as 'isat Kingswap au'. okay byyyyyyyyyeeeee thanks for reading! And thanks to the AU channel of the ISAT Discord for being so supportive of my brainrot!

#isat #in stars and time #isat spoilers #isat au #isat kingswap au #isat king #isat siffrin #isat loop #jpdoesart #i'm obsessed with parallels between Siffrin and The King #How alike and how unalike they are #and i've seen people tackle ideas like 'what if Siff met the King before everything happened' and there's such good shit there #but i haven't really seen anyone tackling 'hey what if we just outright swapped them'#So I wanted to explore the idea a bit and became so charmed that I had to draw the idea #I enjoyed the challenge of 'hey what if we made The King a Blorbo'#A lot of people like making villainfrins but where is the love of the rare heroic king?#if Siffrin has the potential for destructive evil #can't the king also have the potential for heroism #anyways ring ding ding ding here I am ringing a dinner bell for the five King enjoyers in the fandom #long post #If you see words change or swap out shhhhh

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softlymellow · 1 month ago

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The Order Forgot Me First - Chapter 10

☆⁠ PAIRING : Anakin Skywalker x Reader

☆⁠ word count: 4.3k

☆⁠ story themes: lovers to enemies to eventually lovers

☆⁠ warnings: spoilers to swtcw, angstttt

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

"The city didn’t care. The war didn’t stop."

Anakin’s chest rose up and down frantically as he watched you disappear. He could only feel anger and disappointment. Disappointed at your insensitivity. Disappointed in himself…

He hated to admit it but he himself wanted to forget about all of this. To take you in his arms, caress your hair and feel your warmth. But he couldn’t. There was something inside of him, a lingering feeling that wouldn’t escape. It felt like revenge. Like he wanted you to feel his pain and suffering while you were suffering.

He wanted you to know just how much he tried for you in the past year. Only for you to come back, no apology and no explanation.

It wasn’t something a Jedi should be feeling. He should be rejoiced that you were even alive.

But he didn’t feel that. It felt like he had a volcano in his stomach bubbling, waiting to explode.

So he went to the only place where he could let out his frustration with no shame. No regards for the Jedi code. He wanted to hit something and let it be okay.

Anakin made his way to the Jedi temples training wing. His head felt hot and his hands were in fists.

The training room was dark. He didn’t turn the lights on. He didn’t need to. The red glow of the emitter pads lit the room enough.

His cloak was already on the floor and his saber ignited with a hiss so loud and abrupt it startled the stillness of the room.

Blue lit up his own face in violent flashes as lunged forward and swung at the automated saber droid designed for training. Not destruction.

And he hit hard.

Again.

And again until the droid automatically went into defence mode.

But Anakin didn’t give it any time as moved to destroy it, not train with it.

CLASH. SNAP. WHIRL.

Anakin moved his body with gritted teeth and he slammed his saber through the droid's core and sent it crashing against the wall.

His chest rose and fell in short gasps as he felt sweat beading off his forehead. He then dropped to his knees.

And then—

A soft beep.

A little trill.

He looked up to see R2-D2 rolling into the room, checking up on Anakin as he always did. Anakin and R2-D2 had a special bond. It wasn’t just master and astromech. R2 was a friend to him. An attachment he shouldn’t have but Anakin would go to great lengths just to save R2.

Another beep. Quieter.

Anakin’s eyes burned and he wasn’t sure when they began to water.

“Don’t look at me like that…” He muttered.

R2 let out another trill, this time more like a question.

“I don’t know, okay?” His voice cracked. “I don’t know why I care so much. I don’t know what I’m doing. She’s not--she’s not even the same person anymore.”

Anakin crossed his legs and his saber deactivated in his lap. His mechanical hand ran through his hair — frustrated.

R2 chirped again.

Anakin laughed once, sharp.

“What? You want me to say I messed up?” He shook his head, his hair still sticking to his forehead. “That I yelled at her? That I made her hate me even more than she already did?”

R2’s dome rotated as if he was shaking his head ‘no’.

“I practised every insult in my head for months. I thought that if I saw her again I’d be strong. Cold.” His hand slammed against the rubber pads on the floor. “But she accepted that offer like nothing had even happened. Like I didn’t even matter.”

Anakin leaned back against the cold wall. He closed his eyes.

“I don’t know anymore.”

Beeeppp

Anakin looked down at his wrist as his comms were ringing.

Obi-wan.

Sighing, he rubbed a hand across his face and blinked away any sign of whatever just happened. Pressing the small button on the left, Obi-wan's voice was heard.

“You left the meeting rather fast.”

Anakin rolled his eyes and stifled a groan. “I had things to do.”

“Well, whatever it is, you will have to continue later. The Council has a mission for you.” Obi-wan said.

“What is it?” Anakin furrowed his eyebrows.

“To fully wrap up this case, one of us do need to visit Dev in the detention center and make up a report.”

“And why can’t you do that?” Anakin inquired.

“I have things to do.” Obi-wan mocked. Anakin could almost imagine the smirk on his face.

Anakin audibly groaned and rose up from his spot on the floor. “You owe me for this.”

“This is part of your role as a Jedi,” Obi-wan said matter of factly, “I will see you soon.” And just like that the call disconnected and Anakin was left with a task he definitely did not want.

“This day just keeps getting better and better…” Anakin said aloud.

Whrrrrrp

R2 trilled, amused over Anakin’s situation yet happy that he rose up.

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

You sat by the fountain, your palms rubbing at your sore red eyes. This was all stupid. Why did you let him affect you like this? Why couldn’t you have just walked away.

The silence pressed against you harder with every passing second. A breeze drifted through and gently nudged your hair.

With a quiet sigh, you pushed yourself to your feet. You turned around and towards the wall, wanting to cut across the courtyard —straight to your room. The temple courtyard buzzed with life.

Clone troopers prepping transports, some snickering at their own banter and some gathering supplies. You used to have your own clones. Just like Anakin —his 501’st— and Obi-wan’s 212th. But you weren’t a Jedi Knight anymore. So you lost yours. You probably lost it just as fast as you left. The war continued. A new Knight would take your place.

No one turned their heads towards you or stopped when you passed. Don’t think any of them noticed.

Until one did.

“Commander?”

Commander?

No one had called you that for far too long.

You whipped your head around.

Captain Rex.

Rex tucked his helmet under his arm, his mouth slightly agape, his armour dusty and his hair seemed blonder than you remembered.

“Force,” he said, approaching slowly and blinking like he couldn’t believe it. “It really is you.”

You forced a smile on your face, suddenly hyper aware that your nose might’ve been equally as red as your eyes. “Rex.” You swallowed.

And then a warm smile crept up his face. “Didn’t think we’d ever see you again.”

You smiled awkwardly, rubbing the back of your neck. “Yeah, well. Things happened,” you tried to laugh it off.

Rex shifted his helmet to his other hand, “word is that you will be joining us in our expeditions.”

You narrowed your eyes at this, “us as in…?”

“General Skywalker,” he scratched his chin. “I think that includes General Kenobi’s 212th.”

You held back a groan and instead began to rub the skin under your lips anxiously. “Seriously?” You grumbled.

“Seems like you guys know more than me,” You forced out an awkward chuckle.

Rex shrugged, “word gets around fast around here.” And then with a cheeky smile, “I’m sure Sir was ecstatic to see you.”

“Anakin?” You questioned, taken aback.

“You know how he is. Wouldn’t say it outright, but…you could tell.” His voice more gentle now. “Every free second he had, he spent it with R2.” He added. “Thought he was fixing comm relays. But we knew.”

“He was still trying to reach you.”’

You felt your heart pang. You didn’t know what to say. Biting your lip, your brain scrambled to find anything to say.

“Well…um…He was definitely-” You stuttered. “Emotional?”

So what the hell was the deal with Padme? Why did he have to make things so much more complicated for you than they already are.

Force.

Rex immediately sensed the way you uncomfortably shifted weights between your feet. To spare you, he changed the topic. His gaze grifted briefly to your untouched saber at your belt, then back up to your eyes. “You’re gonna be needed,” he said. “We’re spread thin. Too thin.”

You then looked at him, really looked at him.

This wasn’t about orders and pride from the council. It was about survival.

“It’s not the same,” you said, looking down.

“No,” he agreed, his voice low. “But we’re not the same either.”

You glanced back at the Temple. Maybe you didn’t belong here. But you were needed. As much as you hated it, you had nowhere else to go. You already tried that.

Before you could answer, a call crackled through Rex’s comms. He grimaced.

“Gotta go,” he said, lifting his helmet and tucking it down under his chin. “But…it’s good to see you again. Really.”

“Likewise.” You shot him a small smile.

He then turned away and jogged off. You stood there alone. Reality dawning upon you. You couldn’t ignore both Anakin and Obi-wan as much as you wanted to. You were all so close knit so of course they would place you under their supervision.

Your shoulders slumped and you felt a ball of anxiety grow in your stomach. You weren’t excited for this. Not one bit.

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

Anakin’s boots echoed as they hit the durasteel floor in rhythmic taps.

In his usual confidence, he walked with his shoulders set, one hand on a datapad, the other swinging at his side. His gloved fingers were twitching like they wanted to grab something more useful than a report.

He didn’t look around or glance at the other hallways. He knew this level.

Level 6, Cellblock.

Judicial Detention Center, Coruscant.

It was the level where high risk detainees were kept. Prisoners of war. Assassins. Dev.

The corridor was narrow and lined up with holding cells built for function, not comfort. White-blue lightning. A singular bed and just enough room to sit, pace and regret.

His nose crinkled as the place reeked of sterilisation fluid.

As Anakin passed cells, he couldn’t miss the people who muttered to themselves, rocking in place. The ones who were scarred and slouched against the wall, eyeing him carefully.

Anakin didn’t break stride to look at them, he didn’t need to. His presence said enough.

Glancing down at the datapad as he neared the end of the hall, he tapped against Dev’s record.

Bounty: Two confirmed Jedi targets — dead or alive.

Affiliation: Independent. Known associate ‘Ani’ (alias).

He felt his mouth twitch.

Anakin paused at the final cell. And inside was Dev.

Dev who sat against the edge of his bed, his wrists bound in stun cuffs, his ankles chained to the floor. He didn’t look up right away.

Grabbing something in his pocket, Anakin pulled out an ID tag and scanned the scanner. The cell door slid open with a hiss. And then he grabbed a chair with rough hands that was placed at the end of the hall, where a guard would most likely watch overnight. The chair scratched the floor as he pulled it in the cell.

Anakin stepped in, his shoulders broad and his face unreadable.

Dev finally looked up, neither of them smiled or showed any emotion.

Anakin sat on the chair across from Dev, clearing his throat, ready to begin.

“Full name, Dev Lowsyk, correct?”

Dev didn’t say anything.

Anakin’s expression darkened.

“Answer.”

Dev rolled his eyes. “How long will this take?”

“If you work with me then we won’t be longer than 10.”

Dev looked down, his chest rose up slowly. “Correct.” He then exhaled.

“Age twenty-one?”

Dev nodded.

“Left the order at 15, yadda yadda yadda…” Anakin scrolled through the datapad before pausing at his most recent history.

“Bounties including specifically targeting Jedi. And the Corellia bombing.” Anakin looked up from his datapad, a stern look on his face.

Dev shifted slightly. His jaw was bruised —no doubt from the temple guards that dragged him in— and his knee was wrapped in bandages.

Anakin continued, his voice level. “Tell me who paid you.”

“You’d think I’d tell you?”

“It wasn’t a request.”

Dev gave a sharp breath through his nose. “Look, I don’t keep receipts, alright? I get the target and then I get my credits. That’s how it works.”

“You’re telling me you don’t know who you deal with?” Anakin’s eyes narrowed and he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, the datapad forgotten now.

“We don’t ask questions,” Dev shrugged, “they aren’t usually too eager to tell anyways.”

Anakin paused at the mention of ‘we’.

“And Y/n?” Anakin felt himself tiptoeing around a topic he knew himself wouldn’t like. “Did she know about the bombing?”

Something flickered in Dev’s face. So imperceptible. But Anakin saw it.

Dev’s lips twitched. “You mean, Ani?” Anakin felt his stomach twist at his nickname. At the alias you chose to have. “She didn’t know.”

Anakin didn’t blink.

He felt the Force in the room thicken with tension.

“Let’s talk about you two.” Anakin crossed his arms defensively. “Where did you meet, Y/n?”

“Jakku.” Dev answered honestly. “I helped her get out of her Jedi clothes. She seemed pretty useful so that’s how we ended up here.”

Jakku?

That was where you had been all along?

The most remote, lawless planet in the outer rim. Anakin wanted to hit himself because how couldn’t he have thought of that? It was a planet for refugees, outlaws, thieves. It was the most perfect place you could retreat to. Still, there were too many systems for him to pick but he just wished he could have done different.

Anakin cleared his throat, trying to not it affect him in front of Dev. “She worked with you for over a year. You coordinated jobs together,” Anakin nodded to himself, trying to understand the picture.

“We recently had our one year anniversary,” Dev corrected.

Anakin ignored him. “So why take her in at all?”

Dev huffed a dry breath. “It’s not every day you see a rogue Jedi.” Anakin didn’t say anything, but gave Dev a hard stare, not satisfied with his answer.

“Look, I saw myself in her. She didn’t know who to trust. Didn’t care if she lived through the next week, but still she wanted to find her footing.” Dev leaned forward. “She had the skills, I needed an extra hand, she had nowhere else to go, so it worked out.”

Anakin’s throat tightened, but said nothing.

“It wasn’t anything romantic,” Dev added, a strand of his golden hair falling over his eye. “I respect her. I still do. And then Dev’s mouth curled downwards, in an expression Anakin could almost describe as disgust. “But not when she acts like a Jedi.” Dev referenced the moments when you would defend the Order as if they didn’t abandon both you and him. When he saw the way you immediately obeyed Anakin and Obi-wan after being found, it made him realise the flaws you had.

Anakin allowed him to continue, watching the way Dev shook his head as if he wanted to forget about that part of you. “She would give credits back to the kids on the outer moons. Never kept any for herself.”

Dev went quiet for a moment as if he was thinking. Then casually—

“She used to have this old comm receiver. Beat to hell. It never left her wrist.”

Anakin’s head lifted, his eyes widened in slow realisation. “And what did she do with it?” He asked carefully.

Dev watched Anakin with a growing smirk, like he was a predator and Anakin was the prey. Dev knew which buttons to push.

“Oh, she didn’t tell you? She used to listen to your messages. Quiet little habit. Helped her fall asleep, I think.” Dev shrugged it off.

Anakin didn’t speak. He couldn’t.

His jaw clenched hard and his teeth ached. His grip on the datapad was so tight it could almost crush underneath his white knuckles. His stomach twisted in knots and he suddenly felt very nauseous. It wasn’t because he didn’t believe Dev — but because he did.

Because Anakin knew the way you would sleep.

Anakin knew that you needed something to hold. Something to ground you. Whether he would spend the night in your room —your arms around his chest— or when you missed his voice when he was away, he would send you encrypted voice messages.

You heard him. This entire time.

Anakin stood slowly, trying his hardest to keep a neutral expression on his face. He didn’t want Dev to think that it affected him.

“Where are you going?” Dev asked coyly.

“I think our time is done here.” And without letting Dev have another word in, he made his way out the cell door.

The door slid shut behind him with a hiss.

Anakin didn’t stop walking and he most certainly didn’t look back. He didn’t speak. He couldn’t breathe either.

Dev’s words replayed in his head over and over again.

Anakin turned a corner and into the turbolift, wanting to get out of here as fast as he could. He wanted to punch a wall but instead he closed his eyes.

Anakin had spent a year telling himself you didn’t care, that you had moved on, that you didn’t miss him at all.

And now — now it was a shitty truth in his hands and he didn’t know what to do with it.

He didn’t know anymore.

Maybe he could call Padme? Padme knew how he felt about you. Especially while you were away. But now that you were back in the picture, it felt like he couldn’t. Like the problem was here, head on, and not tucked away in the corners of his heart and mind.

He wanted to sleep.

He wanted to forget about you.

Forget about everything you two had together.

Forget about the kind, sweet girl he grew to love.

He had wished he argued against Obi-wan and not taken this task.

That night, Anakin didn’t go to bed. Instead, he stared blankly at the endless lights of Coruscant.

The city didn’t care.

The war didn’t stop.

And he would still be expected to turn up at 0800 sharp.

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

Anakin was already there when the doors opened. Already aching in places he couldn’t name.

The mission hall buzzed with tension. Multiple holomaps hovered mid air, showing different systems, landmarks and terrains.

You walked in but dressed differently. Dressed like a commander.

Across the room, clones murmured strategy amongst themselves. Both part of Anakin and Obi-wan’s army.

Anakin stood near the front, his arms crossed against his chest and his jaw tight. He wouldn’t look at you directly. He never wanted to look at you. His heart burned every time he met your gaze and he would feel his throat tighten up. He still could still feel your palm lingering against his chest, pushing him away in anger. You didn’t even want to look at him. After the things he had said to you, how could you? It was clear enough he had changed. This wasn’t the same Anakin you grew to love. The Anakin you knew would have come to you at the late of night to apologise, gently taking you into his arms. But you didn’t know that such a thing was not part of Anakin’s agenda anymore. Certainly not after learning that you didn’t care as much as Anakin wanted you to.

Obi-wan paced between the holomaps, gesturing and talking to Cody. No one looked at you directly. You could feel it. Questions buzzing around the room.

Why is she here?

What is she now?

You’re not a Jedi anymore?

Obi-wan and Cody went over usual protocols, debriefing the team on what was to be done.

“The final sweep team for Saleucami will leave within the hour,” Obi-wan said, his voice steady. “L/n, you’ll accompany Commander Rex’s division.” Obi-wan broke you out of your trance.

You gave a short nod. And beside Obi-wan, Anakin shifted just slightly. The subtle roll of his shoulders.

Cody glanced at you, and then back down at the map, and then back at you. Like he wanted to say something but he wasn’t sure if it would be appropriate. Raising his hand and enlarging a certain point on the hologram, he inhaled.

“Commander, L/n. If you have worked there before-” he subtly referenced your ‘past’, "- we’d value your expertise.”

The words were polite. Measured. Although, you suddenly felt on the spot. There was still some chatter amongst the other soldiers yet it felt like you were the center of attention.

You’ve been there once —with Dev— not exactly on Jedi business.

“I mean, sure-” You walked up towards the magnified holo of the terrain, adjusting your glove absently.

You inhaled deeply before beginning, "the west flank has collapsed terrain,” you pointed towards the ridgeline. “It’s narrow and we aren’t able to see much, but it's defensible if we can take it before dusk.” You said calmly.

Planning and strategising like this wasn’t new to you, you had done it a million times with your own troops, the troops here and with Obi-wan and Anakin.

“The main risk is the drop off here.” You circled a cliffside on the eastern shelf. “It's too deep for us to scale on our own so if we set charges at the middle of all of that..." You hummed, licking your lips. "We can collapse the exit and trap anyone trying to come in from the south.”

“If we push Rex’s squad through the north pass at-”

“-Or,” Anakin snapped. “We don’t risk sending people into a canyon you’ve only seen from the wrong side of the war.”

The words immediately died in your mouth and the room fell silent. You stared at him and you didn’t even register the way Obi-wan’s head turned sharply towards him. Every clone fell silent and even the holomap flickered like it wanted to disappear.

All you saw was him. Anakin. In all his glory.

He wasn’t even trying to hide it anymore.

The fury.

The hurt.

He couldn’t hide it after feeling another betrayal from you.

You hadn’t even realised your arm was outstretched pointing to the map. You forced it down slowly, eyeing Anakin very carefully.

“Excuse me?” You blinked.

Anakin stepped forward. “That plan is reckless and arrogant.”

“I’ve led strikes like this before.”

“How long ago?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “I know the terrain. I’m not just guessing-”

“You’re not a Jedi anymore.”

Silence.

Rex looked down awkwardly, feeling the tension in the air. He felt torn between defending you and protecting his general.

Kix busied himself with the holomap, beginning to adjust the map for no reason but to do something. And Cody pretended as if he wasn’t listening, fiddling with his helmet.

You audibly scoffed, feeling the tips of your ears turn red. You opened your mouth to respond but Obi-wan stepped in just as fast.

“Anakin.” He warned firmly.

“I was given just as much authority by the Council to help lead this mission.” You defended yourself.

“You’re not cleared yet. You’re here under supervision.” He said, his voice low.

Your throat closed but you stayed standing.

Obi-wan stepped forward again, wanting to diffuse the situation. “Anakin, that's enough.” Obi-wan had a hard look on his face.

Red —poor Rex— looked like he wanted to sink into the floor, glancing at you and then immediately away.

You felt every eye in the room digging at your skin. You stood there frozen. Shocked that Anakin had embarrassed you this badly in front of your own people.

Obi-wan broke the silence diplomatically. “Commander Rex, if you would please assign a recon detail to L/n and prepare for the shuttle.”

Rex straightened and immediately nodded, “Of course, Sir.” He said, eager to leave the room. The other clones busied themselves and maps began to blink out as they also aimed for the door.

Anakin didn’t say anything else but stare at you across the room. His chest heaving and a glare on his face.

And as you turned to leave the room, you still felt him shoot daggers at your back.

While the room filed out, Obi-wan looked over at Anakin disappointed. This was not at all how he raised his padawan.

“You crossed a line,” Obi-wan finally said, watching Anakin’s jaw tighten. “And you know it.”

His lips parted, wanting to defend himself in fury, but Obi-wan didn’t let him.

“You humiliated her in front of the entire command council,” he continued. “You humiliated yourself.”

Anakin pushed his arms closer to himself and he looked away, not wanting to meet his eyes. “She deserved it,” he muttered.

Obi-wan’s gaze hardened. “No.” He said sharply. “She didn’t.”

Anakin whipped his head around to look at Obi-wan, his eyes blazing. “She heard everything, Master! All that time I tried to talk to her through my comms —like you suggested—” he pointed at Obi-wan, “she heard them! She doesn’t care.”

“How can we let her back in here like nothing happened? She–” he stopped himself. The words snagging in his throat like it would hurt too much to finish.

Obi-wan took a step closer to Anakin. Master and apprentice. Obi-wan couldn’t miss the way Anakin’s hands shook ever so slightly. He saw the grief under all that rage. And Obi-wan knew, he knew how much it would hurt him to find out something like that. He was the one who suggested it. He told him to keep trying and he did. He also knew when Anakin had given up on it.

“You’re angry,” he said softly, “I understand.”

Anakin laughed bitterly, his boots squeaking against the polished floor as he fidgeted. “You don’t understand.”

“She was ours,” Anakin said quietly. “She was our friend.”

Pain flickered across Obi-wan’s features. He too yearned for the old days.

“I know,” he said.

Silence.

“Hurting her won’t undo the pain you’re carrying. It never does.”

Anakin said nothing, just looked down at his shoes as if the answer was plastered there. Obi-wan inhaled deeply, slightly relieved that he had calmed down.

“You owe her an apology,” Obi-wan gently said.

Anakin didn’t react. He didn’t agree nor disagree. He just stared down, his jaw clenched so tight it looked painful.

Obi-wan watched him for a long moment. Anakin looked like the child he once was after being scolded by his master. He saw the boy he raised. And the man he was becoming.

With that, Obi-wan left the room and left Anakin to stand alone in the silence.

a/n: YAAYY new chp guys better days r coming TRUST MEEE anakin wont forever be like this 😭😭😭😭hope yall liked it mwah omg also some credit to @k-n-e that whole dev and ani scene was like a light bulb moment i had to add it in hehe omg one more thing i hope that last part wasn't rushed or anything i just dont wanna bore u guys 😩

This isn’t proof read guys sorry I’m sleepy I will tmr💔

Taglist: @endairachristensen26 @hayden-christensen-verse @ducks118 @seventeen-x @movingalongthekiwi @ssnapsaurus @caramelfondu @dayrin085 @devilslittlehelper @f1wh0recom @green-lxght @bettysgardenswift @heyitsbeeeb @user-3113s-blog @fandomhoe101 @veronaspencil @zudooms @hiphopdancer101universe @starfire21 @devotedlypaleluminary @miksxz @lacherrysouldy @lotushzl @biddycums @wandasblacknails

if u want to be added or removed lmk!

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wlw-imagines · 1 month ago

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Knifepoint - Amelia Shepherd x Reader (Grey's Anatomy)

a/n: ignore this is a day late and also that i have disapperead for a week, work was high stress - i may upload previous days or i may disappear for another week. with me - who knows!!!

summary: You’re a trauma surgeon known for rocking black scrubs and keeping cool under pressure. When a tense situation turns dangerous and you get hurt, Amelia Shepherd steps in to save you and things get a little complicated. Between the hospital chaos and all the unspoken feelings, you both start to realise maybe there''s more to your rivalry than just work.

Part of May Prompts (a black scrub top) AND Maylancholy 2025 (held at knifepoint - @may-lancholy) - that's right, we have a combo one in day sixteen!

Early on in your career, you made a choice to wear black scrub tops.

Not charcoal. Not navy. Not a trendy graphite hue that someone from plastics might mistake for fashion. Just black. The kind of colour that takes no prisoners.

They drape like shadows around you, absorbing everything, blood, questions and grief. You make no explanation for them, and in your silence, everyone else fills in the blanks.

Some say it’s a trauma thing, a symbolic mourning, whilst others think it’s rebellion. A way to set yourself apart from the chaos of surgical life, from the rainbow of department colours that try to make life-and-death look less... well, less like death.

You don’t confirm or deny. You just keep moving.

There’s something in your gait, unapologetic and smooth, that makes people step aside before they consciously decide to. You walk like someone who’s already memorised the next fifteen steps. Your stethoscope is always coiled neatly, and there is not a strand of hair out of place.

The residents know not to chatter around you. The interns whisper your name with reverence and fear, as if you’ll materialise behind them with a glare sharp enough to lacerate.

You’ve heard the nicknames: The Void, Reaper in Reeboks. One ICU nurse calls you death in Danskos when she thinks you’re out of earshot.

You don’t mind. Better that than someone trying to make small talk.

Only one person doesn’t keep their distance. Amelia Shepherd.

It didn’t begin as antagonism. More of a clash. She barreled into the scrub room mid-glove, her ponytail swinging. Her badge hit her chest as she moved, the words NEUROSURGERY catching the light. She stopped short in front of your locker, her arms folding across her chest.

"You’re not hijacking my OR just because you’ve got seniority and a God complex," she snapped, voice sharp with adrenaline and annoyance.

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t even look up from the chart in your hand. "My patient is crashing. Yours is stable, sedated, and prepped."

"So that’s a yes on the God complex, then?"

"I’m trying to save a life," you said, calmly sliding your arms into your black gown. "If you’d like to argue about it with the chief, be my guest. But I’ll be done before you even know it."

She narrowed her eyes. "You better or you can be the one to apologise to my patient's family."

You met her gaze finally, with the slightest quirk of your eyebrow.

You’d been circling each other ever since.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

It was a few weeks later. The hospital had finally quieted to a dull hum, most of the chaos seeping into night shift rounds and whispered consultations. You sank onto the cracked leather couch with a sigh, unwrapping the worst vending machine sandwich known to mankind.

"You know," came a familiar voice, dry as desert air, "I’m starting to think you enjoy suffering."

You didn’t look up right away. "Big talk from someone eating protein bars like there's no tomorrow."

Amelia Shepherd let the door swing shut behind her with a soft thud. She was still in her scrubs, top untucked, sleeves pushed to her elbows, hair escaping in every direction. She looked like someone who hadn’t slept in twenty hours, which, given the shift schedule, was probably accurate.

"They do the job and at least they taste somewhat alright," she said, biting into her bar without a flinch. "You, however, look like you’re one bite away from a stomach pump."

You risked a glance at her, brows arching. "Did you come in here just to roast my dinner, or…?"

Amelia’s lips twitched. "I came for silence. I stayed for the opportunity to roast your dinner, obviously yes."

You rolled your eyes, but the corner of your mouth twitched upward. You tore a piece off the sandwich, then paused, glancing over at her. "Rough day?"

She gave a noncommittal shrug, flopping into the chair across from you. "They’re all rough days lately." You didn’t respond right away. Amelia tapped her thumb rhythmically against the side of her protein bar wrapper. "You haven’t been sleeping."

You blinked at her. "Is that an observation or an accusation?"

"Just an observation." She leaned back, regarding you with that unnervingly perceptive look she had, the one that always made you feel a little too seen. "You’ve got the whole haunted-in-the-hallway vibe going."

You bristled slightly. "You don’t exactly radiate sunshine and puppies yourself."

"Touché," she said with a smirk. Then, after a beat: "But I’m not the one deflecting by working double shifts and pretending it doesn’t bother me."

You met her gaze, something sharp and vulnerable flashing across your face. "And what would you suggest I do, Shepherd? Meditate? Journal? Scream into a pillow between rounds?"

Amelia didn’t flinch. "No. I don't have an answer yet. I wish I did."

"Ah, so you dish out this empty advice for free, huh?"

For a long moment, you sat there, two people balancing on the knife’s edge between pushing each other away and pulling each other in. Then Amelia sighed and stood, tossing her wrapper into the trash with unnecessary force.

"I’ll bring you real food next time," she muttered, already halfway to the door. "Try not to die of sodium poisoning before then."

You looked up, surprised. "You cook?"

She paused in the doorway, turning her head just enough to send you a small wink, "No. But I have very convincing delivery menus."

And then she was gone, leaving the door swinging quietly in her wake and something strange in your chest. You weren’t sure if it was annoyance or interest. Maybe both.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Another three weeks later, you’re mid-chart, back hunched at the nurses’ station, eyes moving too fast over patient notes that make you wish you could just go home, when you feel it.

A presence. Off-kilter.

You look up.

The man standing in the lobby doesn’t... belong. That much is obvious from the way his body holds tension. It's coiled, like a spring waiting to snap. He wears a hoodie too thick for the weather. His eyes dart from nurse to wall to floor. Sweating, fidgeting, vibrating with something that doesn’t match his surroundings.

You’ve seen that look before, where someone balances on the edge of unreality. A place where people either break down or break through.

Then you place him.

Angela Vasquez’s brother.

Angela, seventeen, who came in with a sudden thunderclap headache and collapsed in the elevator. You’d operated for six hours, cut and clamped and prayed with every ounce of precision you had. But the bleed was too fast. Too much.

She never woke up.

You were the last one to touch her. You’d stayed after the code was called. Sat beside her body. Pressed your palm against her cooling wrist and whispered her name.

Now her brother is here, standing across the atrium with that look in his eyes.

You push back from the desk and murmur low to the charge nurse, "Call security. Quietly." But it is too late.

He’s already moving. Three strides, maybe four. He closes the distance with a speed you don’t expect. There’s no time to back away. His arm rises.

Metal flashes.

The folding knife is cheap, dull silver with black tape around the handle. It catches the light for half a second before pressing hard into your chest.

There’s a shout. A dropped clipboard. Somewhere, someone screams.

But all you see is him.

His eyes are red-rimmed. His breath comes in short gasps. He’s not a killer. But he’s grieving.

"Say her name," he growls.

You exhale, slowly. Keep your body still.

"Angela," you say. "I remember. I was there."

He breathes harder. The knife digs in. You feel the press of it, sharp enough to pierce fabric, bite skin. "She walked in here. Alive."

"I know."

"She had a headache. That’s it."

"I know," you repeat. "I’m sorry."

The blade jerks. He presses it harder. Blood wells and there's a sting, then warmth. You'd hardly be able to see the liquid bloom through your shirt but you feel it become damp.

"Say it again!" he shouts. "Say it!"

"I’m sorry."

His eyes glisten, fury cracking into anguish. The whole hall is still. No one dares move.

And then- "Hey!"

The voice slices through the tension. Amelia.

She’s standing at the end of the corridor, wide stance, hands half-raised, eyes locked on the man’s trembling grip. She’s wearing her normal clothes and must have just come off shift. But her presence shifts the air.

"Don’t move," she says, calm and razor-edged. "It's just us."

The man twitches. The blade shifts slightly. Your blood spreads slightly wider beneath the black.

"She didn’t care," he says, voice cracking. "Didn’t even say sorry till I made her."

Amelia takes a step closer. "You’re right. It wasn’t enough."

You shoot her a glance. She doesn’t look at you. Her focus is entirely on him.

"Hurting her won’t bring Angela back," she says, voice thick with compassion and authority. "You don’t want to carry that weight."

He trembles. The muscles in his forearm twitch. "She was my baby sister."

"I know," Amelia says. "And I’m sorry. I should’ve caught the bleed. I’m the neurosurgeon. Maybe I missed it. Blame me."

Your heart spikes. "Amelia. No."

She finally looks at you, just for a second. And what’s in her eyes is not fear. It’s fury. It’s fire. It’s something too big to name.

"I’m not letting him kill you."

The man is confused now. His rage flickering, not knowing where to land. You feel his grip loosen. And so you move. It’s instinct. You slam your elbow into his ribs. The knife slices downward as he staggers, leaving a hot, burning trail across your chest.

Then you’re falling.

But you don’t hit the ground.

Arms catch you, steady, strong, too warm. Amelia's hands are on you, pulling you back against her body, her breath right against your ear. "Okay. Okay. I’ve got you. Just breathe. Stay with me."

You feel her pressure against the wound, fingers trembling just slightly. Blood soaks into her sleeves. Her hair brushes your cheek.

"That was monumentally stupid," you whisper.

"You’re a fucking idiot," she chokes. "A stupid, noble, infuriating idiot."

You wince. "Didn’t know you cared so much."

She huffs a broken laugh. "Don’t flatter yourself."

But her hand never leaves your chest.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

You wake up in post-op and feel sore. Slow. Heavy.

And you’re not alone. She’s there. Curled in the corner chair, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, her cheek resting on her fist. Her eyes are closed but not asleep.

You whisper, "Did I ruin your day?"

Her head jerks up. "You ruined my fucking month."

You give her a tired smile. "That dramatic streak. Neurosurgeons really are the worst."

"You bled on my sweater. And almost died. You don’t get to talk shit."

You reach out. Your hand finds hers. "You stayed."

"Yeah, I never left."

There’s a silence. Then, "Why?"

She swallows. "Because I didn't to. Not when you owe me for that takeout. It's your turn to buy me food."

"That makes sense." You smile softly and she shakes her head.

"Maybe I want to keep you around to see what happens too." She hums, a slight anxiousness in her eyes. But you are too blunt for this.

Your voice barely makes it out. "Say it."

She leans in, forehead brushing yours. Her breath is warm, her voice softer than you’ve ever heard it.

"I care about you," she murmurs. "More than I should. More than I ever wanted to."

You close your eyes.

And for the first time in weeks, maybe longer, it doesn’t hurt quite so much to feel.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Two weeks later, you’re back on rounds. You turn a corner and stop.

Amelia’s waiting for you and she is in black scrubs.

She raises an eyebrow, arms crossed. "Well? Do I look intimidating?"

You glance at her, lips twitching. "You look like my evil twin. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

She smirks. "I can think of some other things."

Teddy walks past, gaping and tilts her head, eyeing both of you with theatrical scrutiny, one brow lifting. "Okay. You can’t both wear black. People are going to think you’re in a cult."

Amelia didn’t even look up from her coffee. Her tone was bone-dry. "We are. It’s called the surviving trauma and deflecting with sarcasm cult."

You leaned back against the nurses’ station, a grin spreading slowly as you raised your coffee like a toast. "And caffeine. Don’t forget the daily sacrifices to the coffee gods."

"You need a catchier name, there's no way that'll catch." Teddy came to a stop next to Meredith, who was leaning on the opposite side of the counter. Meredith lifted her head and blinked at you both and deadpanned, "You two realize you’ve been matching every day for a week now, right?"

You shrugged with mock innocence. "Coincidence." Amelia, at the exact same time, replied, "Solidarity."

That earned an amused snort from Teddy, who shook her head. "So… solidarity in looking like you’re two seconds away from scoring a record deal with a broody indie hospital soundtrack?"

Amelia finally turned toward her, her grin blooming slowly. "If the scalpel fits."

Meredith took a slow sip of her coffee, clearly savouring the moment before droping in her next line, "Honestly, I just want to know how long until you two finally stop pretending that this is just a trauma bond."

You choked on a laugh and pretended to clutch your heart. "Meredith Grey with emotional insight? Who are you and what have you done with our queen of avoidance?"

Teddy leaned in, stage-whispering to Meredith with a gleam in her eyes. "I give them two more days before Amelia ‘accidentally’ kisses her in the elevator."

Amelia didn’t miss a beat. "Please. It’ll be the supply closet. Have some respect for tradition."

"Just for the record," you said, voice lower now, intimate in a way that made Teddy raise her brows and Meredith pretend very hard to be engrossed in her phone, "if it were the supply closet... I wouldn't exactly object."

Amelia tilted her head, mouth curving upward into that mischievous little half-smile she wore when she was two steps away from doing something reckless and brilliant. "Noted," she said, her voice just as soft.

Teddy cleared her throat, "Well. That’s my cue to make myself scarce before someone violates HR policy behind the linen cart."

Meredith finally looked up, smirking. "Just make sure someone actually does kiss someone before I waste another bet on emotional repression."

Amelia chuckled, stepping close enough that your shoulders brushed. "No promises," she murmured.

But the glint in her eyes said otherwise.

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yeonmuse · 2 months ago

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meandom!heeseung that degrades reader and makes her ride his thighs (smut prompt no. 1)

This one is long overdue im so sorry but I’ve finally got around to clearing my inbox

✧ tw. smut (18+ mdni!),mean heeseung, slight dom, dirty talk, thigh riding

Heeseung was used to girls yearning for him and falling at his feet, but she had been on an entirely new level. She was like a desperate attention seeking virgin that he couldn’t wait to bend to his will. It all started with innocent glances and the fluttering of her eyelashes when she looked at him. Eventually that led to her leaving drinks and sweet notes at his desk out of hopes that he’d give her the attention she had seeked from him for the longest time now. Eventually he gave in flashing her that charming smile as he approached her at her locker just to thank her for the drinks. That one interaction has lit a fire in her and what was once a subtle crush turned into silent yearning and desperation.

Heeseung had been leaving the gym after practice when he heard a sound so sweet and alluring he wouldn’t dare pass up the opportunity to listen. As he drew closer to the girls locker rooms and heard the sound of your sweet voice his mouth nearly fell open. So that’s where you had disappeared to? Heeseung knew you would often come in to watch his practice, of course you’d always hide behind the facade of coming to watch your best friend yeonjun but he knew very well your eyes would always find him.

The more he listened in on your ragged breath and painfully desperate whines the more he felt his cock twitch against the inside of his basketball shorts. His problem only seemed to worsen as he heard the sound of his name come spilling from his lips and he froze in place. His name had just fallen from your lips so sweet and distressed he couldn’t even stop his feet from moving.

After glancing around the gym to make sure no one else had been there he steps inside dropping his bag at the locker room entrance. He strides through what seemed like an endless stretch of lockers until finally he found you, sat on one of the dressing benches, legs spread and fingers shoved into your jeans as if you’d been too scared to fully push them down.

Heeseung let out a playful whistle, putting a quick end to the girl's showcase and making her scramble to her feet, her cheeks burning with nothing but shame and embarrassment as she struggled to find any logical explanation.

“H- heeseung.’’

“You put on quite a show, i mean i knew you were a little desperate but this?’’

“I’m sorry..’’ heeseungs smirk only widened at the way you looked away from him, a shameful expression shading over your face.

“Sorry? Oh princess, you aren’t sorry. I bet this isn’t even the first time is it? First time you’ve buried your fingers into yourself like a desperate slut while moaning my name.” he watched as your lips pressed into a thin line and you remained silent and the smirk was immediately wiped from his face.

“Answer me yn.’’ annoyance was evident in his voice, yet still you remained silent and frozen in place as if the embarrassment of being caught had shut you down entirely. In a flash Heeseung had stood before you, hand holding a fist full of your hair forcing you to stare up and return his gaze.

“I said answer me princess.’’

“No..’’ the shake in your voice told Heeseung exuding you needed to know

“No what. Speak up.’’

“It’s not my first time.’’ you finally choke out embarrassingly, your cheeks heating up the longer he stood there looking at you, his gaze like some sort of burning light.

“I knew it, you’re so pathetic, all worked up over someone that rarely ever even speaks to you.’’ he chuckles before finally letting go of your hair with a rough jerk stepping back from you and taking a seat on the bench.

You weren't sure how to take his words, but he was right. Here he was degrading you, making you feel less than you were and you were everything but upset about it, in fact it turned you in even more.

“Go on then pretty, you want relief so bad. Sit.” He spits out, making your eyes widen and sending you into an eternal panic.

“W-what?”

“Sit. I won’t ask again.” He repeats, his gaze ushering her to have a seat on his thigh.

“B-but someone could”

“Walk in? You weren't thinking of that when you had your fingers shoved into your pretty pussy screaming my name now did you?” He watched as you silently shook your head, unable to spit out any sort of defenses or retorts because he had been entirely right.

“We don’t have all day. This is what you were so desperate for right? For me to hear you? For me to come in here and make you feel good? I bet you wanted me to hear you hm?” Your cheeks flushed and your legs feel like jelly beneath you, his taunts lulling you into a new state of desperation you never knew had been possible until now. “Come on pretty girl.”

That was all it took to get you sitting on his lap, legs straddling his thigh as he held your head in place forcing you to stare into his eyes as he flexed his thigh.

“Fuck soaking my thigh already, who knew you were this desperate?” He chuckles at your audible reaction. The drag of your clit against his muscular thigh makes you whimper. He can’t help but find amusement at the way you’re pressing yourself harder against his thigh.

“Such a pretty thing, drooling over my thighs already. You wanted to ride them that badly?” His hands ghost over your hips as your hips move at a desperately speedful pace. He watched as your vulnerability unfolds in his lap.

“That’s it princess, doesn’t it feel good?” He questions, his hands rubbing at your thighs and your waist as he egged you on. You can’t seem to find the words to respond, overwhelmed by pleasure. You nod dumbly, moaning out his name as he tenses his thigh.

“Want you to cum, can you do that? Cum on my thigh, want you to walk around like this all day knowing what you did to get that way. You wanted it so bad. Stay like this until the day ends.” He groans, your arousal audible now with each drag. Your legs begin to shake with exertion, heeseung taking the opportunity to continuously grind you into his thigh, muscles tensing sporadically.

Your orgasm takes you by surprise despite the build up, head thrown back with a moan and eyes rolled back. “Oh god, Heeseung, please.” You moan out, not sure if you’re begging him to stop or keep going.

“There we go, good girl.” He groans, his thigh absolutely covered in you. He holds you still, allowing you to catch your breath.

“Now clean up before someone sees sweetheart, wouldn’t want them knowing that their little sweetheart is just a desperate little slut”

I rarely write smut and haven’t done it in so long guys go easy on me please 😭 im better at aus

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matchpointfaist · 3 months ago

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riff x teacher!reader. Maybe they have known each other since they were kids, secretly in love with each other. She's very kind and patient, and maybe the only one Riff can ever be vulnerable with. love your writingg 💖💖

this is such a cute concept omg!! you ate.

riff lorton x teacher! reader for anon xx

you met riff lorton when you were just a kid, bounding through life with naive, shiny bright hope that everyone would want to be your friend. riff, on the other hand, had lost that hope, not that he ever had it to begin with. he was short, rude, aloof, and cold, ever the opposite to your warm, sunny personality.

you knew you could push through, though, if you just kept trying. so every day, for weeks, you brought him part of your lunch, paired with a hopeful little smile. and every day, he took the lunch, turned his nose up at you, and walked away to eat in privacy. it took three entire months for him to spare you so much as a conversation.

"you don't have to keep doin' this. you know that? i can get my own lunch," he said, glaring over at you despite holding the sandwich your mom had packed so neatly. "i know," you just shrugged, "i just wanted to be nice, that's all,"

he relaxed then, just slightly, unpacking the sandwich and slowly eating sitting right beside you, glancing all around at passing cars and the breeze blown trees. you just pulled out your book, content to sit in silence, thumbing through the pages as you sat.

"what's that?" he asked, gesturing to the paperback. "oh, it's pride and prejudice by jane austen," you smiled, holding it up, "d'you wanna borrow it?" he shook his head quickly, an odd sort of look passing over his face, "no, i was just askin',"

"i can read it out loud, if you wanted," you offered, hopeful smile returning, "it's a very good story," he shrugged, looking away, and you just went ahead and accepted that as invitation.

your little lunch dates turned into daily occurrences, riff eating the extra sandwich and carrots your mom had started packing, and you reading him page after page of your favorite novels. you'd offer, occasionally, to let him take them home, to finish them. but he'd always made that same face, a distant, indifferent expression in his eyes.

"are you sure you don't wanna borrow it?" you'd practically pouted, knowing how invested he'd gotten. he shook his head, his face slightly flushed, "look, i can't read, okay? my ma can't afford to send me to the school and i ain't smart enough to learn it myself,"

you'd gone home that night and sobbed to your own parents, crying for this poor, pitiful boy who'd been deprived of your greatest pleasure in life. then, you'd set out on a mission. you would teach riff lorton to read, right there in the schoolyard, if it was the last thing you did.

he downplayed it, when it was all said and done, but he'd never be able to tell you how much that really meant to him. you were the one person in his life that actually cared, especially enough to take such time and energy out of your day to repeatedly go over the same letters with him, never wavering, never getting frustrated. you never showed him anything but love.

years passed, and the two of you grew up together. schoolyard reading turned to riff disappearing for days at a time, finally returning with some bruises or a split lip, but never an explanation. you eventually found out, when your parents forbid you to go near him, that he was a part of the jets. not just a part of them, but the leader.

you'd cried, once again, for that broken boy who never got a fighting chance. for days, you'd wondered why he didn't tell you, why he didn't just ask you for help, or at least let you know he was in some sort of danger.

but that wasn't riff's way. he never wanted you to worry, or worse, to look down on him for the sort of people he surrounded himself with. so kept his mouth shut, all until the day you confronted him. he'd been gone for days, not bothering to stop by, and your worry had worn thin, morphing into anger.

"where the hell have you been?" you asked, hand on your hip, glaring at him like you were any sort of intimidating. "i'm sorry, i've just been busy," he waved you off, like he always did when it came to admitting his faults. "yeah, busy with your gang," you mumbled, shaking your head.

"what?" it came out sharper than he intended, voice coated in confusion. he'd worked so hard to keep you away from that, how could you have known? "my parents told me," you finally admitted, unable to meet his eyes, "riff, how could you?"

"this doesn't have nothin' to do with you, girly," he said quickly, "alright? it's my life and my business, and i'm doing my damn best to keep you out of it, so don't go puttin' your nose where it don't belong, y'hear me?"

"you are my business!" you snapped, throwing your hands up, "you're my best friend! how could you be so stupid, riff? you're putting your life in danger, and for what? for some street cred? over some stupid turf war for land that isn't even yours?"

"for my family!" he knew as soon as it came out, he'd raised his voice too much, gotten far too angry with you, but he couldn't stop, "this is all i got left, the jets, my boys! my parents are dead, i ain't got nothin' else to live for, alright? this is it, so don't you dare try and take that away from me,"

tears were slipping down your cheeks, and he wanted nothing more than to apologize, to tell you he never meant to yell and that you were his best friend, too, his only friend really. he ached to tell you the truth of it all; that he'd fallen in love with you sometime during all those afternoons you spent reading to him, and he was terrified at the thought of you getting anywhere near the life he'd made for himself.

"i hoped you'd at least say i'm something to live for," your voice was quiet, hurt, "maybe we just need some space for a while, alright? i shouldn't have lashed out, but i can't process this right now. i'm sorry, riff, i gotta go,"

you were gone before he could argue, and he knew better than to chase you. to chase you would be to give in, to agree to let you in to this mess, and he just couldn't do that, to you or to himself. so he let you leave, stood there for a moment just absorbing it, and went on home, whatever that even meant anymore.

you didn't get a proper chance to apologize after that. three days later, riff had been locked up in the state prison for assault during some gang fight, adding to the laundry list of reasons you'd ever had to cry for him. this beautiful boy that had no choice in how his life turned out, constantly chasing the legacy of a man who had long since died, and was never worth anything when he was alive. you moved on with your life eventually, graduating from college and going to teach at the very same school where you'd first met riff.

five years later, he came home. he didn't know where to find you anymore, not after your parents had moved off out of the city and you'd surely gotten a home of your own. he wasn't sure where you worked, or if you'd gotten married, or if you'd even want to see him. he spent days asking around, until he finally found out the teaching job you'd taken.

it made so much sense for you. he couldn't stop replaying the memories of you taking such doting care with him, teaching him something as basic as literacy like it wasn't something he needed to be ashamed of. he worked up the nerve, cleaning himself up as best he could, putting on his cleanest shirt and pants, picking some half dead flowers from the road and waiting outside the schoolhouse for you.

at the dismissal bell, you exited in a flood of students, all smiles and laughing and nurturing words to the kids as you walked them to their parents cars or to buses. good fucking god, you were beautiful. he nearly turned around and ran right then, too scared of what you'd think of him, too scared to know if you ever forgave him for that argument. he wondered how much you knew about what had happened, if you thought he was just another hardened criminal by now.

before he knew it, all the kids were gone, and you were walking towards you car. it was now or never, he guessed, and he'd never prided himself on being a coward. he called your name, jogging over, hoping he came across hopeful and not deranged, "girly, hey, hold on a second,"

"riff?" your voice was a jolt, straight to his chest, nearly diminishing all of his resolve from one syllable, "oh my god!" any fear he had that you were angry was gone the second you touched him, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him to you, crying into his shirt like he'd come home from war and not prison, like he'd never hurt you.

"it's me," he choked out, petting the back of your hair helplessly, "you're okay, i'm fine," he murmured, suddenly embarrassed at his lack of grand gesture. "i was so worried about you," you sniffled, wiping your eyes, "you have no idea, i tried to come see you and they wouldn't since i'm not family and i was trying to find a way, i promise,"

"darlin, calm down," he smiled softly, wiping your cheeks gently, "i'm fine, alright? that's real sweet of you to try and come see me-" he stopped as you kissed him, all frantic in your movements, clinging to him still. he was frozen in place, kissing you back on instinct alone, his legs nearly giving out beneath him. "i've wanted to do that since we were kids," you whispered as you pulled away, "missed you so much, riff. i'm so sorry for the way i spoke to you that day, i never should've overstepped like that,"

"you weren't oversteppin," his voice was thick, strange to his own ears, "i got outta all that shit, before i came and found you. i'm on the straight and narrow, all cookie cutter for you, doll," "for me?" you repeated, eyes wide like it was the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to you, "oh, riff,"

and then you were kissing him again, like he'd disappear if you stopped, your hands on his shoulders as you stood on your tip toes, in front of all the other staff leaving like he was more than just some boy off the streets, like he was really worth somethin, same as all those years ago.

when you pulled away, he rested his forehead on yours, smiling like a madman, "thought about you every night in that jailhouse, sunshine, you're the only thing that brought me home. y'know that? told myself if i got outta there and you'd have me, i'd be a good man for you. make you my wife one day,"

"maybe we'll start with you bein my boyfriend," you grinned, cheeks all rosy and shining, "thought about you all the time, too. never stopped missin' you,"

minutes later, he was scrunched up in the passenger seat of your volkswagen bug, listening as you rambled on about how you just adored teaching, and how all the little boys reminded you of him when he was that age, all shiny and impressionable. you took him back to your apartment, promising that he could stay there as long as he wanted, practically begging him to never leave again.

that night, the two of you lay entwined across your bed, the words of pride and prejudice filling the silence as he read to you until you fell asleep.

#mike faist x you #riff lorton x you #riff lorton fluff #rifflorton #riff lorton x reader #riff x reader #west side story riff #riff #riff lorton #riff west side story #mike faist fluff #mike faist x reader #mike faist fic #mikefaist #riff lorton fic #fic requests

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tmwcs · 11 months ago

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Little Red Riding Hood - Part One

Pairings: Jake X fem!y/n

Warnings: Werewolf Jake, there will be smut in his werewolf form, knotting, CNC smut, non/dub-con, kidnapping, Jake is Yandere in this one. Based off the fairytale. This is part one.

Authors note: Hello my lovely readers! Finally had some time to post part one, will be posting part two tonight. Please note that I have not had any time to go over and fix the structure or grammar, I wanted to but that would have furthered delayed in posting the parts and I just didn’t know when I’d get the time to do that. So please ignore any mistakes as this is not at all proofread. But I’m excited to write for you guys again! Enjoy! ♥️

“Y/n! Don’t forget the basket of fruit.”

Your mother trails behind, hand delivering the goods as you enter the uber. “Oh! Thanks mom. I’ll be back later.”

She nods. “Okay, have fun with granny!” waving goodbye, she sees you off as your driver pulls out of the driveway. The ride was silent, at least up until he entered the back road. “Visiting grandma’s house, huh?” he presents, attempting to make conversation. You nod. “Mmhmm.”

You take a moment to respond to unanswered texts, losing track of the value of time as the driver takes a backroad. It went unnoticed until you looked up the window and failed to recognize the scenery. “Um…sir? Which road is this?”

“Oh, just a shortcut. It will cut our trip in half this way.” Your brows frowned. Your grandma wasn’t far at all, only five miles down from the main road. The robust driver continued to travel along the long windy path, which ultimately surpassed the length of time it would normally take to reach your grandmother’s home. “Sir, please drop me off here.” You spoke sternly as you felt uneasy by the driver's response. His caucasian features presented a stoic countenance as he kept flashing a perverse gaze through the rearview mirror, making eye contact.

“Sir, I said drop me off here!” you demanded, yet all it did was make him chuckle laconically. “And leave a pretty girl like you stranded?”

You hissed. “I’m calling the police. Either you drop me off here, or I’m giving them your information.” A sudden turn of the vehicle gives you some relief, until he spoke out. “Fine, I'll drop you off.”

You quickly exit the vehicle. He berated and demanded extra payment for the inconvenience of the trip, in which you scolded him. “You have got to be kidding me! You’re the one who took me out here! I am nowhere near my destination, just what were your intentions? You sicko!”

After a spat that continued to go back and forth, you figured that this pathetic man was only trying to buy time and continue to view you from his mirror. It was the only sensible explanation, seeing as how he didn’t pose a greater threat other than lashing cursings and insults. Finally, with you dialing the number to the police yet again, the driver darts off, seeing that you weren’t bluffing. “Idiot.” you hissed as you watched the car disappear in the distance.

You attempted to make a phone call to your mother, but the call never went through. Figures. Being out here in the country, it seemed that the entire region was undeveloped. Your best chance was to walk on foot and knock at the first house you see. Carrying the basket, you start your journey and head in the direction of where you last saw the vehicle.

The windy breeze began picking up, fluttering the hem of your short sundress. An idea pops in your head and you remove the protective cover of the basket–a long red sash. Wrapping it around your body, it was wide enough to cloak your bodice and mid thigh. The length provided enough material for you to tie loosely around your waist as it draped over your hair, just as if it were really a cloak. “Perfect!” you whisper.

About a quarter of a mile out, and still there was no sign of any inhabitants. You can’t wait to get back home and report that driver to the head of the company. “He should be fired.” you huffed as you continued to walk. The sun started to set, which escalated your fear of not being able to make it back in time before nightfall. The massive forestry arching the road didn't make it easier. You looked back repeatedly to see if a car would come by. You’re not one to hitchhike, but there’s a first time for everything, you guess.

Your low heeled shoes started to feel uncomfortable as you reached a full mile. You wondered if turning back and heading in the opposite direction was a better option at this point. Just as you were reconsidering your approach, a lone vehicle pulls up from behind. It was black, and a luxury brand. Counting your lucky stars, you instantly greet the driver as the window pulls down.

“Hello, are you lost?”

From the angle you stood, you could only view the man’s lips and his seated position. He was finely dressed, and had on an intricate designed leather glove that partially decorated his left hand. “Yes! Could you please give me a lift to the next town?”

You watch as his lips give off a half smile, and the clicking of the locking feature puts you at ease when he reaches over the center console and opens the door for you. “Hop in.”

You settle yourself in the fine leather seating and then it hits you internally.

‘Whoa…’

The man presents a hand initiating the formal manners of introduction as he bids you to shake his. “I’m Jake.”

You gently take his hand with your fingertips and give a subtle shake. “I’m y/n.” The man was too handsome. His wide glasses gave him a classic appeal, while his lengthy hair enhanced it all as it swooped over the side. He looked as smooth as aged liquor, and as fine as fresh silk. Given the luxury of his attire and car, you figured he either came from a wealthy family or made his own fortune, which proposed the bigger question in what he was doing driving on this lonesome road. There was absolutely nothing industrious about this entire place, what could a fashionable man possibly be doing here?

You figured it would be too rude to inquire, so you merely relaxed and made conversation instead. “Thank you for giving me a ride. My uber driver had left me stranded and i am unfamiliar with this part of town.”

He kept his eyes on the road, relaxed in his seat as he steered the vehicle with one hand. His suit outlined his lean muscle and broad chest. You’ve never seen such an incredible looking man before. “Left you stranded, huh? That wasn’t nice of him.”

His voice was deep and equally as smooth as his looks. “Where was he taking you?” he inquires softly. You answer, which propelled him to continue on. “Your grandmother’s house is this far out?”

“No.” you respond. “He took this route while I was on my phone and I’m not sure why. I started to feel uneasy so I told him to drop me off here. I figured it was better to take chances on foot than it was to stay inside the car with him.”

“And what was he driving?”

You were somewhat confused at his inquiry of the driver's vehicle, yet it somehow made you flattered that the man appeared to indicate that he was going to take action against the rude driver. “It was a white car, I can't remember the make or model but its on my uber app.”

He nods. “I see. I suppose you want me to take you to the police station?”

You shook your head and asked if he wouldn’t mind bringing you to your grandmother’s home, to which he agreed. He gently taps on the wide screen on the dashboard. “You can put in the address.”

Once the gps feature was set, you frowned and internally cursed the uber driver in seeing that you were thirty minutes out from where your grandmother’s house was located. Feeling terrible that man, Jake, had to go out of his way to bring you there, you offered to pay him gas money, to which he declined. “Its alright. No need.”

As much as you hated the fact that you were so far out, you found yourself grateful at the fact that you had so much time to spend talking with Jake. His voice was so light and airy, yet deep with a lustful bravado. His features were perfect, and you had to keep reminding yourself to avoid staring.

Finally, you reach your destination as he pulls up to your grandmother’s mailbox. “We’re here.” A man of few words, yet somehow that just made him more attractive. You thanked him as you unbuckle your seatbelt. “One moment.” You halt your movements at the sound of his voice, and watch as he leans in. His chest hovering over the center console as he delicately unbuckles your seatbelt for you. With his face close to yours, you slightly blush and clear your throat as the smell of his cologne dances in your nostrils. He smirks as he unravels the seatbelt and lets it free from his grip. “Let me get the door for you.”

You watch through the windshield as he walks around the front of the car. Hand in pocket, his frame and stature in full sight was equally as impressive as his profile. God this man was so sexy.

He opens the door and helps you out. “Oh…thank you.” you softly express your gratitude while he takes your hand and stabilizes your posture as you hold onto the hem of your dress while getting out. His smooth tone had a faint–a very faint chuckle as he responded. “Hmph. No problem.”

The sunset fired the sky with an orange red hue. “Looks like it's going to be a full moon tonight.”

You chuckled. Confused by his deduction, you sought clarification. “What makes you think so?”

He remains staring at the sky and you feel his thumb stroking the back of your palm while your hand remains resting in his. You feel the heat of bloodrush as he continues to do so before gently releasing your hand at your side. “Just by the way the sun is setting. The color and direction can tell you these things.”

You look up to view the sky before he says goodbye. “It was nice meeting you. Please be careful. I would have someone else drive you home tonight.”

He was so kind. The fact that he had considered your safety made you fall for him, more so than what is considered normal considering you didn’t know this man. Still, how can someone be so beautiful inside and out? “Thank you…Jake.”

He flashes a smile–a real one this time. His teeth were pearly white and straight, enhancing the dashing value of his appeal. “Take care, y/n.”

He drives off after seeing you reach the front door. You sigh as sadness settles in your heart and soul watching him go. “I wish I could see you again…Jake.”

Entering the house, you announce your presence aloud, hoping that your grandma wouldn’t be startled as you let yourself in. Noticing the lack of response, you venture in and explore the house, and see no one was home. It figures. Your grandmother spent a lot of time at one of the neighbors' homes. She probably assumed you weren’t coming and went to spend time with some friends. You reached into the basket and noticed that your phone was not inside. “Oh no–my phone…my phone!”

Since your dress didn’t have any pockets, you had it nestled in the basket during the drive. It must have fallen out on the ride here, which posed another dilemma. You pick up the landline and dial your mother’s phone number, when a stagnant tone indicates that the line was busy or unresponsive.

After a few minutes of pondering, you figured it was best to take your grandmother's car and head back home. Hopefully she wouldn’t mind.

You make your way out and head to the main road, when construction signs indicated that all routes to the path were blocked. With your phone in Jake’s car and no GPS feature in your grandmother’s older vehicle, you had no choice but to head back the way you came in—the backroad. At least this time you had a car and didn’t have to face traveling by foot anymore.

Driving the same route, you turn the bright lights on as night falls. It wasn’t long before you saw red flashing beams blurring up around the bend. You make the curve and rest your eyes on a vehicle stalled to the side. The blinking lights continue to flicker on a steady tempo as you slowly pull from behind. The driver was nowhere to be seen, yet the door remained ajar. You felt uneasy, but you couldn’t leave without confirming that the passenger was unharmed. You place the car in park directly behind and call out–but no answer. You check your surroundings before breaching the driver side and peeking in–a sight that sends shivers down your spine. The windshield was stained with the words ��she’s mine” all in blood. The bright red color combined with the ongoing dripping indicated that it was fresh. It only got worse as you continued to look around.

“Polaroids?”

A stack of small prints laid sporadically on the seats and floorboard–some were smeared with hints of blood. Looking closely at the photos, your breath paused as you squint in confusion. You pick up one of the prints and gasp in horror.

“This is–”

You held the photo in a pinched grip as your heartbeat escalated. The photos all were images of you during the uber ride. The angle of the camera was primarily pointed under the skirt of your dress, while others captured the fleshy softness of your cleavage, your defined collarbone, and delicate shoulders. Your hair draping over your bosom with your side profile reflecting your thoughtful gaze as you stared through the window. Everything became clear as you recognized the vehicle and its interior.

The Uber driver…

Part Two

#jake scenarios #jake imagines #jake fic #jake fanfic #jake enhypen #jake sim smut #jake sim x reader #jake x reader #jake sim #jake smut #enhypen jake #jake #sim jake #jake smau #yandere fiction #yandere enha #yandere enhypen

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mrrharper · 1 year ago

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Elevator Malfunction

Greg was walking along the corridor. He had just finished his last lecture for the day and was ready to leave the campus and go get something to eat. He got to the staircase but decided he didn't feel like walking down all these stairs, so he pushed a button for an elevator instead.

As he waited for it to come to the floor he was currently on someone walked up to the elevator and stood next to him, also wanting to give their legs a break. Greg looked to his left, then quickly moved his head back. That was Brad Petrović, one of the stars of their university's soccer team.

One look at the jock was enough for Greg to feel his cock hardening in his pants. He felt he was turning red and he hoped no one would see him getting a boner. From his perspective Brad was a perfect male specimen, and exactly Greg's type - clearly muscular but not bulky, tall with a masculine jaw, short hair, thick thighs, that permament arrogant smirk on his face, a constant aura of sweat and musk. Greg, a closeted gay man and an obvious nerd, knew that the chances of getting a guy like that in bed with him were very slim, but he could always dream.

He took another quick glance at Brad. He was wearing a sleeveless t-shirt, which allowed Greg to just barely see his hairy armpit and chest. He was now sure his boner would not disappear for as long as he was in close proximity with the soccer bro.

The elevator had finally arrived and the doors opened. Brad went in first, followed by Greg who constantly made sure there was distance between them. And he made sure his shirt was hiding the bulge in his pants. The jock then pushed the "ground floor" button and the eevator began slowly moving down.

Greg turned his eyes for a split second and saw a few beads of sweat run down Brad's arm. Fuck, he was hot. He wanted to look again, but the more rational side of his brain prevented him from doing that, aftaid the athlete would notice, call him a perv or maybe beat him up.

They were around halfway down when the elevator wobbled. Both guys looked around but saw nothing that would suggest something was wrong. But then the lights flickered and the elevator suddenly stopped. Greg, who wasn't expecting this sudden change in velocity didn't have the time to grab anything, so he lost balance, fell down on the ground, bumping into Brad and then crashing his head against the floor, loosing consciousness for a moment.

A few moments later Greg opened his eyes and was instantly blinded by the light shining from the elevator's ceiling. He blinked a few times and put his hand over his face, trying to shield his sensitive eyeballs from the bright lamp above him. He slowly dragged his body off the floor and sat down, already feeling pain radiating from the back of his head.

He turned his head and-- he blinked quickly a few times, because he couldn't believe what he saw. He saw himself, his very own body standing up and looking towards him. Greg was sure he also saw confision on his-- his body's face, but it was quickly replaced by concern.

"Brad, you're alright? Oh my god, I'm so sorry I bumped into you. Are you okay?"

Brad? He wasn't Brad, he was-- Holy fuck! Greg looked down and saw the jersey Brad was wearing on his torso. He almost jumped and turned towards the mirror on the back wall of the elevator. A confused Brad Petrović looked back at him.

"Jesus Christ, what happened?" he asked aloud, then flincked, surprised by the deep voice that he was apparently in control of.

"I... I don't know" He heard his own voice behind him and turned around to see... No, he was certain he was looking at himself. This must have been a result of a concussion. He's never experienced soemthing like this but this was the most logical explanation. Yes, this would end in a moment. "I think the elevator stopped suddenly for some reason and I lost balance, and then... then I fell onto you, and then we both... Are you sure you're okay?"

"No" Greg muttered under his breath.

"Oh god, you have a concussion? Crap, we need a doctor to have a look at you" his body stood next to him. This was a reasonable suggestion. But Greg was not really thinking straight right now.

"No!" he barked a little louder than he wanted to. "I... I need to get home."

"Oh, uhm... of course, of course" The other Greg quickly took a few steps back. Then they heard a ding and the doors of the elevator slowly opened. Greg watched as his very own body walked out of the elevator and was gone in justa few seconds. The real Greg, now seemingly occupying the body of a soccer jock bro, stood still, failing to comprehend what was happening around him.

The doors started to close and Greg quickly jumped out of the elevator. He took a few deep breaths and thought about what should he do. He had now convinced himself that all this was the result of him injuring his head during the fall and it would all go away in a few minutes. Maybe hours. Hopefully not days. Oh god, he wanted to go home so bad. He quickly left the building and made his way to his dorm on the other side of the campus.

As he walked he realized his dick had been hard this entire time. And since he seemed to be wearing gym shorts it was way more visible. Greg looked around, hoping there weren't many people who would witness him with a hard on in public. Thankfully the area was not very busy.

He got to his room, unlocked the door and-- wait a minute! This wasn't his room. He took a step inside and instead of his small and tidy space, he saw a fairly large room that almost certainly belonged to a jock. A bunch of posters of various athletes hanging on walls, dirty gym gear laying everywhere, the table covered with empty beers, boxes of protein powder, a few condoms even, and of course the smell of sweat. This was Brad's dorm room. How did he get here?

A thought appeared in his head. It was muscle memory that took him here. Brad's muscle memory. This was not a concussion. Greg's mind was currently occupying Brad Petrović's body. He closed the door behind him and looked around, then grabbed his head with both hands. This couldn't be happening, this was just a dream!

He slowly went further into the room, then stopped as he felt he stepped onto something. Greg looked down and picked up a pair of boxers, with clearly visible sweat and cum stains. The smell was intoxicating. He suddenly thought about smelling, maybe even licking the underwear that was clearly used by the real Brad fairly recently. His cock reacted positively to this possibility, but Greg wouldn't allow himself to use his terrible position like this.

Although... would it be that wrong? It would get rid of his boner, allowing him to think more clearly. No one would have to know, he was all alone in this room.

Greg sat down on the couch standing in the middle of the room and took off his shorts and briefs in one, brief motion, freeing his hard cock. He then put the dirty boxers up to his nose and breathed in loudly. It felt like getting high, the manly smells filling up his nostrils. His hand gravitated to his dick and started stroking it as he imagined worshiping this body, all of its hard muscles, the armpits, the thighs, the crotch.

He sped up his hand movements and moand loudly, still pushing the underwear against his face. He started licking the material and another wave of lust came over him. He was overwhelmed with what he was feeling, his brain overridden by his horny instincts. He thought he could taste the cum and it got him even more excited, if it was even possible.

As he continued stroking though, something happened. The images he had in his head of Brad's flexed arms that revealed two sweaty armpits turned into a topless woman waving her boobs in front of him.

This would be enough to raise concerns, but for the moment Greg was fully controlled by the horny part of his brain, which didn't allow any critical thoughts to arise. He just continued jerking off, not realizing that his dick got even harder the moment the images in his head changed.

It didn't stop there. Next came a memory (wait, a memory?) of Brad eating pussy of some random chick. Greg continued stroking and licking the cum off of the boxers while his head became filled with images of Brad Petrović having sex with a bunch of women. No alarms went off in his head, he seemed to get more horny the longer he played with his dick.

A certain scene got stuck in Greg's head - Brad fucking a blond haired girl, letting his primal instincts control him. As he leaned in to touch one of the girl's breasts Greg finally got over the edge. He came harder than ever before, his jizz landing on his hand, jersey and the couch.

Brad cleaned his hand with the boxers he was holding for some reason, then threw then on the floor and immediately forgot about them. Instead he thought about that blond chick - Beth. Fuck, he needed to find her again. He heard his phone ringing. Oh fuck, he was supposed to meet with Garrett and Trevor at the gym! He quickly stood up and ran out of his room with only his phone in his hand. It was time to get jacked, then find some pussy later. Shit, Brad loved his jock life.

#jock tf #nerd to jock tf #gay to straight tf #body swap #soccer jock

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