#the beginning got me struggling and skipping

[keferon]

*clasps your shoulders gently and looks you straight in the eye*

Keferon. Please read Ninth by Kyn on AO3. I think you would love it very much. It has a large chapter count, but don't be intimidated, it's very easy to get into. It is currently unfinished, but is being updated regularly.

You are the seventh person that recommended this fic to me so ahahahaha yeah

I’m doing great Help I hate some parts of it but I love the other parts I’m spinning in the blender

…..I made the moodboard….

[ccazimi]

cw: crack, fluff, smut, dubcon, panty sniffing/stealing, scent kink, etc. (he's literally part animal what do you expect)

tiger hybrid!sukuna who's prissy and sassy, much like an actual housecat. picky about everything, from the temperature and consistency of his food to the way his water tastes to what a light sleeper he is. sometimes you talk to him, and if he doesn't feel like responding, he literally won't even turn his head to you - all you'll get is an annoyed flick of his ear to tell you that he does hear you, he's just actively choosing to ignore you.

tiger hybrid!sukuna who has a serious issue with boundaries. he's allowed to ignore you if he feels like it, but you dare try and do the same thing back? unacceptable. will be extremely miffed if your attention isn't on him at all times. yes, even when he actively acts like he doesn't want it.

not to mention you need to deal with him literally getting offended at the fact that you wear clothes around him even though "it's just you two in the house" and on more than one occasion will you be absolutely mortified when you find he’s been stealing your dirty panties- he, of course, doesn’t get the big deal.

oh, you thought that was bad? wait till you find that he insists that you sleep naked with him, and your nightly ritual includes him not only licking you clean (at least your face and neck) but sniffing down your entire body. yes, the entire thing. the part where he gets to your pussy is the worst for you, and the best for him. and whenever he gets down between your thighs to smell you, he makes this weird face almost automatically, with his lips pulled back to show off those fangs and mouth a bit open somewhere between a snarl and a smirk, like he’s trying to taste the scent

tiger hybrid!sukuna who has a special vomeronasal organ at the roof of his mouth that can pick up pheromones—and that weird thing he does, when he opens his mouth while sniffing your pussy? yeah, that’s him drawing the scent in deeper, some focused, instinctual decoding process of your sexual health

"you're ovulating, probably peaked this morning. also you're kinda stressed...maybe you need to sleep more," he graciously informs you of his findings between your spread thighs. "oh and your pH is a little off. maybe skip that stupid new soap you got next time."

he looks up at you expectantly—clearly waiting for your gratitude. and you know he won’t finish this whole ridiculous routine until you sigh and say, flat as ever, "thanks for that. can we sleep now?"

"you've got two days left if you're trying to get pregnant, by the way."

you shoot him something between a glare and a grimace.

tiger hybrid!sukuna can pick up everything, but there are two times of the month when he can pick up those smells even with just his normal nostrils. the first one -obviously- is when you’re ovulating. but the only thing worse than the scent of you ovulating, is the smell that envelops you right before you get your period. “worse” in the sense that it drives him completely insane. sweet, cloyingly thick, warm. in fact he blames you for tempting him. you'll be innocently doing the dishes or something when suddenly it's too much for him and he pounces on you from behind, wrapping his arms around you to keep you in place, claws instinctively pushing out to dig into your skin so tight it hurts.

of course you panic, squirming as he begins rutting into the curve of your ass, his cock quickly swelling up till it's very noticeable. and the scent of him that becomes so much stronger when he's...excited like this - warm, musky, all iron and spice, wrapping around you.

"sukuna- let me- go!" you try as you struggle in his grasp, but it's too late he's too far gone, just mindlessly grunting and growling as he chases his release, too desperate to even fuck you properly. "almost there, just a bit more," he pants, nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck and inhaling deeply. "it's your fault anyway, walking around like -hah- i can't smell your pussy fucking begging for me." and right as you're about to splash some cold water on him, you hear him groan filthy, and guttural, as he finishes in his pants just from grinding against you.

and that's when he finally comes to his senses, trying to retract his claws to let go of you. unfortunately they get stuck in the fabric of your clothing, and he just panics making them get even more tangled while you yell at him to stop moving so that you can unhook his claws. finally you turn with your arms crossed, giving him the coldest, and most stern look of all time. he stares at you guiltily, a large wet patch forming on the crotch of his pants where his cum seeps through.

it's not his fault -not exactly- like any good hybrid he needs to be trained, and soon enough you've corrected that little problem of his (mostly)

tiger hybrid!sukuna is intensely territorial, especially when it comes to you. so when you come home smelling even faintly like another man? he’s agitated to no end — not even jealous, exactly, he just feels like it’s wrong. soon after come several arguments his way about “how he can’t piss around your house to mark his territory” or about how “it’s completely unacceptable to leave long clawed scratch marks on the walls or furniture”

tiger hybrid!sukuna who simply cannot keep his hands off you when you're on your period. this time he doesn't touch you (too much) without your permission, but he will beg you incessantly till you finally give in. and that's how you end up with your clothes shredded, and him biting and sucking every inch of your body hungrily as he makes his way down, tail wrapping possessively around you to keep you in place

tiger hybrid!sukuna with long sharp fangs that make his kisses hurt just a little, especially when gets too excited and nips your skin, drawing just a bit of blood that he happily licks up. he loves when they scar a bit too, just so that you’re marked as his.

tiger hybrid!sukuna with rough, spiked papillae on his tongue meant for cleaning raw flesh off bone that are now scraping against the bud of your stiff nipple. you gasp and writhe, and he knows he can't lick you nipples too much (as much he wants to) or it'll really start to hurt.

tiger hybrid!sukuna eats you out like he eats wild prey, teeth just shy of nipping your clit as he laps at your cunt. and of course the rough sandpaper texture of his tongue against your swollen nub feels like nothing else - a bit painful, borderline overstimulating, but so good at the same time. but just like with your nipples he has to be carefully so he doesn't seriously hurt you down there.

tiger hybrid!sukuna who just can't help himself from pinning your thighs open almost painfully as you cum, just to stick his tongue inside your hole and finally taste the leaking sweetness that's been teasing him for days. even when you're done, he continues to lick your pussy gently, almost affectionately. you squirm a little from the slight overstimulation but just let him do his thing as he laps your folds clean, deep purrs rumbling from inside his chest as he does so

more tiger hybrid!sukuna here

[solxamber]

'Elloo! :D I saw your requests open, can I request some hcs or short imagines for the first, second, and third years, separate characters?? Or you can just do it as a single scenario with all the characters. They're (Their??) reaction when they've realized the things reader/Yuu had to go through starting from the very beginning ,when they first got transported to the school. Like, the shock of not being able to go home, new environment, the fear-- just the emotional and mental turmoil reader/yuu went through starting from the beginning.

Also, as time goes by it just gets worse and worse along with all the overblots and stuff that got reader/Yuu over the edge. And now the students kind of help?? Or at least try to soothe or comfort the reader I guess??

Does this make any sense?? I dunno :'D

I want me some angst hehe >:]

But if this is kind of too much then it's okii if you wanna skip this one, I love the effort you put into your writings! <3

I kinda just wanted to ramble and yap about this idea I had hehe

Toodles!

thank you!! and i'm sorry it too so long, but i hope you like it <3

They realise what you went through - All NRC + Rollo + Neige + Grim, Staff

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle doesn’t realize the extent of your struggle until much later, likely after witnessing you reach your breaking point. The way you bottle up your emotions reminds him of himself before his own overblot, and it fills him with guilt. He prides himself on upholding order, but he feels like he failed to notice the chaos within you.

“Why didn’t you say something?” Riddle asks, voice trembling as he stands before you, his normally stern expression soft with regret. He places a hesitant hand on your shoulder, unsure if he has the right to offer comfort after overlooking your pain for so long. “I… I should have noticed. I’m sorry.”

Riddle dives into a methodical plan to ease your burdens. He takes on your academic concerns, ensuring your assignments are manageable and offering personal tutoring. When you’re overwhelmed, he insists you take breaks in Heartslabyul’s peaceful rose garden. While he’s not good at openly expressing affection, he’s steadfast, always by your side with words of encouragement and warm tea.

Trey Clover

Trey picks up on your struggles sooner than most, his observant nature allowing him to notice the small cracks in your demeanor. He doesn’t pry but stays close, offering quiet support until he realizes you’re beyond your limit. His heart aches knowing you’ve been carrying so much without asking for help.

“Hey… you don’t have to pretend everything’s fine,” Trey says softly, kneeling beside you as you sit slumped in an empty classroom. His usual calm demeanor is tinged with concern. “I’ve seen you pushing yourself too hard. You’re not alone in this, you know.”

Trey becomes your sanctuary. He’s the type to cook comforting meals for you, often sneaking you your favorite desserts. He encourages you to talk at your own pace, listening without judgment. Trey also ensures you’re surrounded by people who care, gently urging you to spend time with friends so you never feel isolated again.

Cater Diamond

Cater doesn’t fully realize how bad things are until he catches you breaking down when you think no one is watching. The sight hits him hard—he’s used to wearing masks himself, but seeing you put on a brave face while falling apart reminds him of his own struggles.

“Whoa, hey, hey…” Cater’s voice is unusually soft as he crouches in front of you, the playful lilt replaced with genuine worry. “You’ve been holding all this in, haven’t you? Man, that’s not healthy… You should’ve told me!”

Cater becomes your cheerleader, using his energy to lift your spirits. He takes you on spontaneous outings, distracting you with fun activities and selfies to remind you of life’s lighter side. When you need to vent, he’s surprisingly patient, letting you talk without interruptions. His go-to phrase becomes, “No filter, just let it out. I’m here.”

Ace Trappola

Ace is the last to understand the depth of your pain, brushing off your struggles as stress until you finally snap. Seeing you cry or lash out leaves him dumbstruck—he’s not used to serious emotions and struggles to process it at first. But beneath his awkwardness, he genuinely cares.

“Whoa… I didn’t think it was this bad.” Ace rubs the back of his neck, guilt clear in his expression. “Look, I’m sorry if I made things worse. I didn’t mean to. I just… didn’t know.”

Ace sticks close to you in his own Ace-like way. He cracks jokes to make you laugh and distracts you with playful banter, but he’s also there for the serious moments. If you’re feeling overwhelmed, he drags you outside to play a quick game of basketball or to look at the stars, insisting, “You’ve gotta clear your head, or you’ll go crazy.”

Deuce Spade

Deuce notices your struggles but doesn’t know how to approach you about them. When he finally sees you crumble, it makes him feel like he’s failed as your friend. His protective instincts kick in, and he becomes determined to help you in any way he can.

“Wait—you’ve been feeling like this the whole time?” Deuce’s voice is thick with emotion as he looks at you, his fists clenched at his sides. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve done something! I’m supposed to have your back!”

Deuce takes your well-being seriously, to the point of overcompensating at first. He insists on walking you to class, carrying your things, and defending you against anything he perceives as a threat (real or imagined). Over time, he learns to provide quiet support, sitting with you during tough moments and saying, “We’ll get through this together. I promise.”

Leona Kingscholar

Leona is a perceptive man, even if he acts otherwise, but your struggles slip under his radar for too long. It isn’t until he notices how you’ve stopped rising to his teasing or how the light in your eyes has dimmed that the gravity of your situation hits him. It reminds him of his own sense of isolation, and the guilt gnaws at him.

“Tch. You think you’re the only one who has to deal with this crap?” Leona’s voice is gruff, but there’s no malice in it. He sighs, sitting beside you under the shade of a tree. “You should’ve said something sooner, herbivore. Doesn’t mean you have to carry it all yourself.”

Leona doesn’t coddle you, but his actions speak louder than his words. He offers his presence, silently inviting you to nap in the botanical gardens with him when you need a break. If anyone dares to make your life harder, Leona handles it with a quiet, lethal efficiency. “Rest up. You’re not falling apart on my watch.”

Ruggie Bucchi

Ruggie notices your struggles quickly, but his initial reaction is to brush it off as normal stress—until he sees you genuinely hit your breaking point. It stuns him; he’s used to dealing with hardships himself but hates the idea of you enduring the same without support.

“Oi, don’t do this to yourself,” Ruggie says, his usual playful tone replaced by something softer. “You’re not alone, y’know? I don’t let my people suffer in silence. That’s not how we roll.”

Ruggie uses his resourcefulness to lighten your load however he can. He sneaks you snacks, takes care of tedious tasks for you, and even makes you laugh with his sharp wit. When you’re overwhelmed, he shares stories of his struggles to show you that it’s okay to lean on others. “You’ve got me, okay? I’ll make sure you’re okay, promise.”

Jack Howl

Jack notices the signs of your stress early on, but he hesitates to bring it up, unsure if it’s his place. When he finally realizes how deeply you’re struggling, it stirs a protective instinct in him, and he immediately resolves to do whatever it takes to help you.

“You should’ve told me,” Jack says, his voice low and filled with regret. His ears twitch as he glances away, guilt etched across his face. “I could’ve helped. You don’t have to do this on your own anymore.”

Jack becomes your steadfast support, encouraging you to exercise or go for runs to clear your mind. He’s a calming presence, offering quiet companionship when words aren’t enough. “You’re strong, but you don’t always have to be. Let me help carry the weight, okay?”

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul prides himself on noticing vulnerabilities in others, but your ability to mask your pain throws him off. When the cracks finally show, it shakes him deeply, reminding him of his own insecurities and the times he felt powerless.

“I didn’t realize…” Azul murmurs, his hands wringing nervously as he looks at you with uncharacteristic vulnerability. “I should have seen it. I’m sorry—for everything. Let me help you now.”

Azul’s approach is practical and calculated, but it’s rooted in genuine care. He offers to take over responsibilities or negotiate solutions to ease your stress. When you’re overwhelmed, he’s unexpectedly tender, sitting with you in his VIP room and reminding you, “Even the strongest need someone to lean on. You’ve been there for others; let us be here for you.”

Jade Leech

Jade notices your struggles early but refrains from intervening, assuming you’ll reach out when you’re ready. When he realizes how much you’ve been bottling up, he’s surprised and slightly guilty for not addressing it sooner.

“My, you’ve been carrying quite the burden,” Jade says, his usual calm tinged with regret. “It seems I underestimated just how much you’ve endured. Forgive my oversight.”

Jade is a master of subtlety, offering comfort in ways that feel natural and unintrusive. He invites you on quiet walks through the woods, using the serene atmosphere to help ease your mind. When words are needed, he listens attentively, his soothing voice offering reassurance. “Do not hesitate to lean on me, should you need support. I’ll always be here.”

Floyd Leech

Floyd doesn’t realize how bad things are until you completely snap, and even then, it takes him a moment to process that your outburst isn’t just a temporary mood. Seeing you so broken flips a switch in him, his usual playful demeanor replaced with a rare seriousness.

“Shrimpy, why didn’t you say anything?” Floyd’s voice is uncharacteristically quiet, his sharp eyes scanning your face. He pouts, but there’s no mischief in it—just genuine concern. “You don’t gotta handle everything alone, y’know?”

Floyd sticks to you like glue, his unpredictable nature becoming a strange source of comfort. He drags you out for spontaneous adventures, insisting that fun will help you feel better. When you’re feeling low, he’s surprisingly gentle, wrapping you in a tight hug and muttering, “I gotcha, Shrimpy. Nobody’s messin’ with you while I’m here.”

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim is always full of energy and positivity, so it takes him a while to notice the depths of your struggles. When he does, he’s devastated, blaming himself for not seeing it sooner.

“Wait—you’ve been feeling like this?” Kalim’s eyes widen, tears threatening to spill. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve done something to help!”

Kalim does everything in his power to brighten your days. He showers you with gifts, invites you to lively parties, and insists on spending time together to lift your spirits. When he realizes that quiet support means more than grand gestures, he sits with you, holding your hand. “You’re not alone, okay? I’ll always be here for you.”

Jamil Viper

Jamil is highly observant, and while he notices your struggles early on, he assumes you’re managing on your own until he sees how much you’ve truly endured. It reminds him of his own bottled-up frustrations, and guilt eats at him for not acting sooner.

“...I should’ve known,” Jamil mutters, his voice low and filled with regret. He rubs the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze. “I’ve been through this too. I know what it’s like to feel trapped. I’m sorry I didn’t step in sooner.”

Jamil’s care comes in quiet, thoughtful gestures. He prepares your favorite meals, arranges peaceful moments away from the chaos of NRC, and ensures you never feel overwhelmed alone. “You’ve done more than enough. Let me take care of things for a while.”

Vil Schoenheit

Vil’s sharp eyes catch the signs of your struggles quickly, but he initially brushes them off, believing you’ll overcome them like any challenge. When the full weight of your burden becomes clear, he’s horrified and deeply regretful for not intervening sooner.

“I failed to notice something so glaringly obvious,” Vil says, his tone laced with self-reproach. “That’s not acceptable—not as your friend and certainly not as someone who should’ve supported you better.”

Vil approaches your comfort with precision and care, determined to help you regain your footing. He insists on self-care days, encourages you to vent your frustrations, and teaches you grounding techniques. “You’re stronger than you think, but even the strongest need rest. I’m here for you, no matter what.”

Rook Hunt

Rook is attuned to the emotions of those around him, and your pain does not escape his notice. He marvels at your resilience but is deeply saddened that you’ve been enduring so much without seeking help.

“Mon cher trésor, your suffering… it pains me to think I let you endure this alone,” Rook says softly, his gaze earnest. “You’ve carried a weight that no one should bear by themselves. Allow me to lighten your burden.”

Rook’s support is poetic and heartfelt, crafting moments of beauty to remind you of the world’s wonders. Whether it’s a bouquet of flowers, a handwritten letter, or a quiet moment under the stars, he ensures you feel cherished. “You are not alone in this grand stage of life, and I shall remain by your side as your steadfast ally.”

Epel Felmier

Epel is initially too caught up in his own frustrations to notice the extent of your struggles, but once he sees you falter, his protective side kicks in. It reminds him of his own insecurities about being underestimated.

“Aw, geez, why didn’t ya say somethin’?” Epel frowns, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “You’re always lookin’ out for us, but ya never let anyone do the same for you. That ain’t fair.”

Epel takes a straightforward approach, offering to help however he can. He sticks close, ensuring you never feel alone, and encourages you to vent when needed. “You’re tough as nails, but that doesn’t mean you gotta do it all by yourself. We’re a team, remember?”

Idia Shroud

Idia is slow to notice your struggles, being so wrapped up in his own world, but when he realizes the extent of your pain, it hits him hard. He sees a reflection of his own struggles in you and feels immense guilt for not seeing it sooner.

“This is my fault, isn’t it?” Idia mumbles, his voice trembling. His hair dims as he nervously fiddles with his tablet. “I should’ve… I don’t know, paid more attention. I’m sorry. I—I wanna help, if you’ll let me.”

Idia comforts you in his own awkward way, creating a safe space where you can relax without judgment. He shares his favorite games, shows, and quiet moments, offering you an escape from the chaos. “You don’t have to be ‘okay’ all the time. Just… take it easy for now. I’m here if you need me.”

Ortho Shroud

Ortho is one of the first to notice your struggles, his advanced sensors picking up on changes in your emotional and physical state. His concern is immediate, and he wastes no time in seeking to help.

“You’ve been so sad for so long, haven’t you?” Ortho’s voice is soft, as he hovers close. “I wish I could’ve made you smile sooner. I’m sorry you’ve been hurting.”

Ortho’s comfort is warm and reassuring, filled with optimism and boundless energy. He’s always ready with encouraging words, small gifts, or simply a cheerful presence to brighten your day. “You’re not alone! I’ll do everything I can to help you feel better, okay?”

Malleus Draconia

Malleus has always sensed something amiss about your emotions, his acute sensitivity to auras making it impossible for him to overlook your struggles. However, he hesitates to approach, fearing he might overstep or worsen your burdens. When he finally understands the depth of your pain, he is both heartbroken and determined to help.

“You’ve been enduring this in silence?” His deep voice is laced with regret as his green eyes soften. “If only I had been more attentive, perhaps I could have eased your pain.”

Malleus ensures you feel his unwavering support. He invites you for peaceful strolls under the stars, shares his favorite quiet spots, and reassures you with his calming presence. “You are precious to me. Whatever darkness surrounds you, I will remain by your side until the light returns.”

Lilia Vanrouge

Lilia has lived long enough to recognize the signs of emotional turmoil, and it pains him to see you suffer. While he often masks his seriousness with cheerfulness, he doesn’t hesitate to step in when he sees you reaching your breaking point.

“Oh, little one, you’ve carried such a heavy heart all this time.” His playful demeanor fades into solemnity as he places a gentle hand on your shoulder. “You shouldn’t have to face this alone.”

Lilia comforts you with wisdom and warmth, drawing on centuries of experience. He shares stories to make you laugh, cooks (albeit questionable) meals to distract you, and offers sage advice when you’re ready to talk. “Life’s trials are harsh, but you’re stronger than you know. And if you need someone to lean on, I’ll always be here.”

Silver

Silver is observant despite his drowsy nature, and he’s one of the first to notice your growing exhaustion. When he realizes the extent of your suffering, he feels deeply remorseful for not acting sooner.

“I should have seen this sooner,” Silver says quietly, his tone filled with regret. “You’ve always looked out for others… I should’ve done the same for you.”

Silver stays by your side, offering silent, steady support. He doesn’t push you to talk but is always ready to listen when you’re ready. His calm demeanor helps ground you, and he often sits quietly with you under a tree or by a calm lake. “You’re not alone. I’ll protect you—not just from danger, but from this weight you’re carrying.”

Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek’s initial reaction is frustration—not at you, but at himself for failing to notice your struggles while being so focused on Malleus. His loyalty shifts into overdrive as he becomes determined to help you.

“You’ve been struggling this much, and I didn’t see it?!” Sebek’s voice is loud, but there’s a rare softness in his expression. “That is… unacceptable. I failed you as a companion.”

Sebek’s attempts to comfort you are a bit clumsy but heartfelt. He insists on helping you with daily tasks and loudly declares his commitment to your well-being. Despite his rough edges, his sincerity shines through. “Know this: I will not allow you to suffer alone any longer. You have my loyalty, now and always.”

Rollo Flamme

Rollo’s disdain for magic only deepens when he realizes how much you’ve suffered due to the chaos and overblots of NRC. His concern for you is genuine, though it’s laced with anger toward the school and its culture.

“This place… It’s a cesspool of disorder and harm,” Rollo says, his voice cold yet trembling with suppressed emotion. “You’ve been caught in its web for too long. You deserve better.”

Rollo’s comfort is practical and protective. He tries to create a sense of normalcy for you, offering quiet, structured moments away from the chaos. His words are sharp but sincere. “You deserve a life of peace and stability. If you can’t find it here, I’ll do what I can to give it to you.”

Neige LeBlanche

Neige is quick to notice your distress, his naturally empathetic nature making him keenly aware of your struggles. He’s horrified to think of you enduring so much alone and wants to do everything in his power to make you smile again.

“Oh no… You’ve been feeling like this?” Neige’s voice is soft, his eyes brimming with concern. “You don’t deserve to carry such sadness by yourself.”

Neige’s comfort is gentle and uplifting. He sings for you, offers kind words, and encourages you to express your feelings without fear. “You’re so strong, but you don’t have to be strong all the time. It’s okay to let someone take care of you for a change.”

Grim

Grim initially doesn’t notice your struggles, his focus often on his own ambitions and mischief. When he finally realizes how much you’ve been enduring, he feels both guilt and panic.

“Hey… You’re not okay, are ya?” Grim’s ears droop as he looks up at you, his voice unusually soft. “Why didn’t ya tell me? I—I’m supposed to be your partner!”

Grim becomes fiercely protective, sticking by your side at all times. He tries to cheer you up with his antics and insists on being your “emotional support boss.” “You’re stuck with me, got it? So don’t go actin’ like you’re all alone. I won’t let ya.”

Staff:

Crowley

Crowley prides himself on being the "benevolent" headmaster, but when he realizes how much you’ve suffered under his care—or lack thereof—he’s struck by a rare pang of guilt. While he’s not one to admit fault outright, he becomes visibly uncomfortable with the weight of his oversight.

“My dear, you’ve been carrying all of this on your shoulders?” His dramatic flair falters for a moment, his usual exuberance replaced with awkward sincerity. “I… suppose I may have been a tad neglectful in ensuring your well-being.”

Crowley tries to make amends in his own roundabout way, offering resources, extended accommodations, or attempting to be more attentive (though his efforts are often misguided). “Rest assured, I shall personally oversee that you are well cared for! You have my full support—within reason, of course.”

Divus Crewel

Crewel is not one to tolerate weakness, but when he sees the toll everything has taken on you, his stern demeanor softens. He’s the type to take immediate, no-nonsense action to ensure you’re taken care of.

“You’ve let it get this bad without saying a word?” His sharp tone is laced with frustration, but his eyes betray his concern. “Pup, I thought I taught you better than to carry burdens alone.”

Crewel’s approach is practical yet caring. He insists you rest, brings you comforting meals, and ensures you know you’re valued. “You’re stronger than you think, but even the strongest need support. Lean on me, pup. I’ll make sure you’re back to full strength in no time.”

Mozus Trein

Trein is a man of wisdom and observation. He likely noticed your struggles but respected your space, waiting for the right time to step in. When he realizes the full extent of your distress, he feels deep regret for not intervening sooner.

“I should have addressed this earlier.” His voice is steady but tinged with remorse. “You’ve faced more challenges than any student should. It’s a testament to your resilience, but it shouldn’t have come to this.”

Trein offers gentle guidance, providing stability and reassurance. He shares stories of his own trials and reminds you that even the hardest times pass. “Life is fraught with difficulties, but you’ve shown remarkable courage. Allow others to help shoulder the burden—you need not face this alone.”

Ashton Vargas

Vargas isn’t the most emotionally perceptive, but when it finally clicks that you’re struggling, he’s hit with a wave of guilt. He immediately shifts gears, trading his usual boisterousness for genuine concern.

“Whoa… I had no idea it was this bad,” Vargas says, his brows furrowed in concern. “Why didn’t you say something sooner? I would’ve helped in a heartbeat!”

Vargas focuses on physical activity as a form of comfort, encouraging you to blow off steam in healthy ways. He also offers constant positive reinforcement. “You’re tough, kid, but even the toughest need a break. Let’s get some fresh air and clear your head—you’ve got this!”

Sam

Sam has always been attuned to the emotions of others, so when he realizes the depth of your struggles, he feels a pang of regret for not stepping in sooner. His usual upbeat demeanor becomes tinged with quiet sympathy.

“Well, well… Looks like someone’s been carrying more than their fair share.” His voice is soft, his usual grin replaced with a concerned expression. “You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?”

Sam provides comfort through small but meaningful gestures, like preparing your favorite treats or giving you space to talk. He reassures you with his calming presence and wise words. “Don’t keep it bottled up, friend. Whatever you’re feeling, it’s valid. I’m here to help you through it.”

Masterlist

[joelslastofus]

[SUMMARY: Joel and you aren’t honest about your feelings until one day his jealousy gets the best of him. Ellie walks into the house catching you both in the middle of being intimate.]

Not Holding Back

Smut angst, reader is Ellie’s friend in her 20s

Ellie’s birthday was coming up, working at the bar with Seth you overheard Joel making a trade with him.

“Try not to mess up her name this time” you chuckled to yourself, your back facing him as you put some glasses away.

“Oh, don’t worry, I got someone who’s better at it than myself” he unexpectedly called you over. You weren’t expecting him to point you out hiding in the corner just doing what you were told. Not that you didn’t want to see Joel, of course you did, that was the problem.

“Oh-hi, Joel” you turned to him as he cleared his throat, straightening himself in his seat.

“Didn’t know you were here now”

You walked towards him placing a glass in front of him as Seth turned away.

“Asked Maria to move me somewhere else, I don’t like to really stay in just one spot” you shrugged as you turned to get a bottle of whiskey. Joel’s gaze following your movements, he swallowed hard unable to stop himself from eyeing your backside till you turned back to him, he quickly looked away. He always felt wrong whenever he stole a glance.

“So, vanilla or chocolate?” You poured him a drink, a slight smirk on your lips.

“She did tell me she’d kill for a chocolate cake” you leaned against the counter as Joel struggled to find something to distract his eyes with. You’d noticed it a few times now, the way Joel would look at you. The looks making your heart skip a beat.

“Chocolate it is” he threw his head back downing the drink.

Yeah sure, he was a lot older than you and you were a close friend of Ellie’s but you couldn’t help the feeling you’d get whenever you saw him. He never really had to do or say much for you to feel it in the pit of your stomach or even between your thighs for that matter.

“I think it’s sweet” you spoke softly as his eyes met yours.

“That you always get her a cake for her birthday, I think it’s very sweet of you. She told me you’ve done it every year for her” Joel pressed his lips together unsure of how to respond. He didn’t need to say a word, his eyes beginning to trace your lips, he wondered if they were as soft as they looked when suddenly Seth came back beside you.

“You bought any more of those legos?” Joel’s gaze quickly turned to Seth. Awkwardly you smiled and excused yourself before heading to the back of the bar. Joel watching with the corner of his eye as you left out of his sight.

Joel didn’t understand how these feelings came about, all he knew was that it was wrong. Of course it was wrong, you had become close with Ellie teaching her a few things you knew. Certain mornings you would come by and pick Ellie up for training so she could start patrol, those mornings he made sure to keep himself busy sculpting. He didn’t know how much of himself he could hide from Ellie with you in his living room.

~~

It was early the next morning, Seth asked you to take the cake to Joel but before you could decline he got busy with trades from a few others.

Standing in front of Joel’s door soaked from the rain you waited until you heard the creak of the door as it opened. With a puzzled expression he looked down at the box in your hand.

“Seth asked me to-“

“I woulda gone” he interrupted.

“I don’t mind” you assured him as you handed him the box and that’s when he noticed your now transparent shirt. Your nipples erect, you hadn’t realized, Joel cleared his throat looking up at you, his eyes unsure of where to go. A clear look of discomfort making your eyes widen.

“I’m sorry for coming I just-“

“It’s fine” Joel groaned looking out beside you. God he wished it wasn’t raining, he knew he’d look like a dick if he didn’t offer you to come in.

Joel took a step back motioning for you to come in but you quickly shook your head.

“Oh no, it’s fine-“

“Get in, don’t need ya gettin’ sick” you pressed your lips together and gave in walking into his home. Joel closed the door behind you before leading you to the kitchen, it was quiet, you could smell the coffee on him as you followed him to the counter.

“She still asleep huh?” He nodded as he placed the box on the island standing on the opposite side of you hiding his arousal. For just a moment he got lost in the view before him as you kept your eyes on the box, his eyes drifting down to your breasts that you still hadn’t noticed were slightly visible.

“Well are you gonna look at it?” Your voice making him quickly look up.

“Huh? Oh yeah-“ he cleared his throat before reaching on the chair beside him, grabbing a flannel button shirt and handed it to you.

“What’s-“

“Just take it” Joel distracted himself slowly opening the box as you put on his shirt, the slightest curve on his lip as he looked down at the cake.

“You did this?”

“Uh yeah, used her favorite colors, don’t ask how I got it, but yeah” you chuckled looking down at the cake.

“It’s nice, thank you”

“I used to do it for the little kids whenever a birthday was coming up and I had supplies, it was my thing I guess” he looked at you intrigued.

“All this time and nobody ever told me a damn thing”

“Hey there’s a lot of things you don’t know about me” you smiled, your gaze meeting his. A soft look in his dark eyes before he caught himself and looked away.

“Should uh, get goin’, don’t want her to suspect anything just yet” you noticed his tone change, slightly cold.

“Yeah, I gotta do a few things now. I’ll see you around” Joel felt a bit shitty for rushing you out. But you standing soaked in his kitchen, wasn’t doing his imagination any good.

After making your way back to your house, you proceeded to unbutton his shirt to remove the wet top you wore underneath and that’s when you realized why he had given you his shirt in the first place.

“Oh my God-” you whispered staring at your now transparent top in the mirror.

You had no idea just what this sight actually did to Joel. You had no clue how hard he became standing across from you. Rushing you out the damn house so he could relieve himself at the thought of his lips closed around your nipple- he lay back defeated on his bed, his cum pooling over his hand as struggled to catch his breath.

~~

That evening you sat with a few others going over next days plan for patrol. Jesse had an idea of a new route to look into, after the council approved of it you both went over all the ways through.

“That chocolate cake was fucking amazing!” Ellie came up behind with a grin going around the table and sat across from you.

“I’m glad you liked it” you smiled as Joel walked up to Tommy and Maria just a table away.

“You made her a cake? How come you didn’t make me one?” Jesse teased, Joel noticed him playfully nudge you from where he was.

“Cause it’s not your birthday, jackass” you nudged him back.

“Didn’t your birthday pass” Ellie raised a brow at him.

“So? Maybe you can make me a cake for somethin’ else then.” He suggested as you stood up, Joel still with his eyes on you.

“Hm, I don’t know, I’ll have to think about it” you attempted to walk away until Jesse playfully grabbed your hand. Joel’s shoulders tensed up as he watched the way Jesse pulled you to him.

“Aw come on, a small one”

“Joel” Tommy spoke loudly catching his attention.

“The hell man, you listening or what?”

Joel adjusted himself in his seat turning towards his brother.

“Patrols going on a new route tomorrow, it’s you, Matt and-“ he motioned towards you and Jesse.

“You want me to cover for you-“

“I’ll go” Joel assured him before taking a look at the way you laughed with Jesse, the sight making his stomach turn. He’d never really seen you this playful with someone before.

~~

That night Jesse and you decided to go by the stables and decide which horses you would take for the next day. Prepping them as you usually did when Joel appeared. He didn’t say much, staying to himself as he prepped his own horse when he heard laughter coming from the both of you. He looked up to see Jesses arm around you, when he noticed a drink in his hand. Joel cleared his throat making you both look up at him a bit confused.

“Ain’t Maria and Tommy waitin’ on you to approve what else you needed for tomorrow?”

Joel’s eyes narrowed on Jesse.

“Yeah uh-“

“Then how bout ya stop wastin’ time drinkin’ and go over what is needed before it costs us a damn mistake” you frowned at Joel, he sounded cold, you’d never heard him talk to Jesse like that before.

“Joel, he was just about to-“

“With all due respect, darlin’ I’m talkin’ to your friend here,” you noticed his eyes move from yours to the arm that lay over your shoulder. Jesse genuinely confused by Joel’s sudden coldness.

“I apologize, I’ll be goin’ now” Jesse uttered low. Joel simply nodded and left the stables.

“The hell is wrong with him?” Jesse whispered looking down at you.

“Don’t know, don’t worry about it. Probably just in a mood” Jesse shrugged and went on his way.

It bothered you how Joel spoke to Jesse, his tone towards you, you made your way to his house eagerly knocking on his door. Joel silently opened to find you with your arms crossed.

“The hell was that?”

Joel took a deep breath turning away as he walked back to his kitchen finishing his drink.

“Why did you act like that with Jesse, you know he’s never been disrespectful to you”

Joel finished his drink not saying a word.

“Hello?” You stepped closer to the counter.

“Jesse should be on top of what we have goin’ on tomorrow, not foolin’ around…flirtin’” you almost snorted, he couldn’t even look you in the eye as he spoke.

“Flirting? Jesse was not flirting”

“Look a lot different from my side”

The tone in his voice actually making your blood boil, the man who could barely look you in the eye or speak to you having a problem with a friend having a laugh with you? It made no sense. But before you responded you took a deep breath and calmly placed your hands on your hips.

“And what’s it to you?” This time he did look you in the eye, his jaw clenching, he couldn’t help but glance at the way you stood in front of him. God damn it, he knew it’d be hard to act “hard” on you, standing in his damn living room pouting with your hands where he wanted to touch you.

You knew damn well there was nothing to it with Jesse, strictly just friends he would vent to you about his feelings for Dina but Joel didn’t know that.

And maybe a part of you was having fun with it.

“You should get back home” Joel responded low. You almost laughed.

“So now I should get back home?” You walked towards him as he stood in place straightening up as you got closer.

“Who the hell are you to be telling people what to and not do? Huh?” He sucked on his bottom lip as you spoke, God if you didn’t get out of his face this minute-

“What the hell do you care how Jesse is with me? If he’s flirting or not?” His tongue sliding up his inner cheek, trying to hold himself back but something in him snapped in that moment, unexpectedly even shocking you.

“You wanna know why?” he walked slowly towards you making you lean back against the counter. He breathed heavily staring down at you, his eyes darting back between your eyes and lips, your lips parted as you felt his body lean against you and you felt something.

Joel was hard, he was hard and he wanted you to know it. You gasped softly looking up at him, a tingly sensation forming down to your core.

“I’ve wanted you from the first damn moment I saw you” he whispered, he didn’t care if he was wrong for it, he couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“Every moment around you I feel like I can’t breathe -“ You couldn’t believe what he was saying, his face leaning closer to yours, you found yourself looking at his lips.

“I couldn’t let myself get close but-“ he shook his head.

“I can’t do it anymore, baby.” The pull you felt to each other could no longer be ignored, Joel kissed you, savoring the taste of you as he held your body against him. His tongue swirling along yours, as you wrapped your arms around him. His kisses trailing down to your jaw line as he roughly unbuttoning his shirt, eager to strip himself and you of anything keeping your bodies apart. Joel unbuttoned your pants pulling them off you, kicking them aside as he grabbed your face and kissed you more. The sound of your moan exciting him, he picked you up and sat you on the counter

“Joel-“ you panted, you could hear the buckle in his pants coming apart, he dropped them low enough where he can pull out his hard and throbbing cock. Pulling you by your legs to the edge closer to him, you felt his fingers pull aside your underwear already beginning to soak from your arousal. His lips finding yours as he aligned himself at your entrance and thrusted fully into you. Joel had wanted this for so long, something he had to convince himself he would never have, or so he thought. You could feel his hunger for you, you moaned grabbing onto his broad shoulders as he kissed your neck. Each plunge into you bringing you closer to a high you hadn’t felt in so long. Joel grabbed your face, leaning his forehead on yours moving his hips faster against you. Sweat building up on him, he panted hearing your moans, his hand sliding down your face and closing around your neck.

“You ain’t for nobody else here, you hear me?” He whispered, his accent thick as he spoke giving your throat a squeeze. He moved faster making you whimper quickly nodding your head. The two of you so lost in the heat of the passion you felt, neither of you heard the front door open.

“What the fuck-“ Ellie’s voice making you jump.

“Ellie-“ Joel quickly turned zipping his pants up as you rushed onto your feet grabbing your pants from the floor.

Distraught and in shock with what she just walked into, she quickly turned away stomping out the door, slamming it shut loudly.

“Ellie wait” Joel called out to her heading for the door but stopped himself knowing it wouldn’t do any good. He looked back at you to see you mortified, your hands slightly shaking as you buttoned your jeans together. He could tell you were holding back tears, you couldn’t even look at him.

“I’m sorry” Joel rushed towards you trying to somehow comfort you, somehow fix this mess.

“I should go” you walked around him quickly heading for the door and left. Joel stood still, his hand brushing over his lips before he slammed a fist down onto the counter.

Walking outside you could see Ellie from a distance across the street by herself, you decided to approach her.

“Ellie-“

“I don’t wanna hear it” she kept walking.

“Ellie I’m sorry-“

“Of all fucking people here, Joel?” She finally turned to you.

“You couldn’t fuck Jesse or something, isn’t he always all over you?”

“Jesse is just a friend, he talks to me about Dina, that’s all” you noticed her face change at the mention of her but didn’t understand why.

“Well so what?! It doesn’t mean you had to go and- I thought you were my friend”

“I am your friend!” You insisted.

“You sure got a funny way of showing it, just fuck off” she walked away from you. You stood silently, you didn’t expect to her understand, hell you yourself didn’t understand exactly what feelings you had for Joel.

That evening you hesitated to go to the mess hall, but you did. When you first walked in Joel wasn’t there, neither was Ellie, you weren’t sure exactly where to sit till Jesse approached you excitedly.

“Hey what’s going on? What’s with the face?” He asked as you walked with him and sat down at a table.

“Nothing, what’s going on with you and-“ Dina appeared cutting you off in time.

Slowly the table filled up with a few others, Maria and Tommy sitting at the end of the table when you saw Joel walk in. Your heart began to race, his hands in his pockets you could tell he seemed slightly uncomfortable.

Joel sat beside Tommy and Maria at the edge, everyone in their own conversations you couldn’t hear what they were speaking of, but you knew Joel knew you were there. The two of you unexpectedly locking eyes across the table before you quickly looked away and that’s when you noticed Ellie walking in.

“I’m surprised you two love birds aren’t sitting next to each other” she laughed motioning towards you and Joel.

“What?” You whispered confused.

“Yeah what?” Jesse asked with a laugh.

“Oh, you guys didn’t hear?” Joel looked up at Ellie as she looked directly at him and he knew what she was about to do. He could hear the sarcasm in her tone.

“She’s fucking Joel” you could feel the heat of embarrassment wash over your face. All eyes on you as Joel stood up.

“Ellie-“

“What? You didn’t tell them what I walked into earlier? How you had her on the damn counter” Joel’s jaw clenched as he felt eyes dart back and forth between you and him.

“Stop it” your voice making Ellie look over at you with tears in your eyes.

“Not my fault you wanted to act like a slut”

“Ellie enough!” Joel yelled before you quickly stood up and ran out of the nearest door. Ellie had a slick smirk on her face casually sitting down with Jesse and Dina before she began to eat as everyone stared at her in shock.

Joel was pissed, he knew Ellie was upset, he understood that but he wasn’t ok with her disrespecting you telling everyone your business. Tommy stared up at Joel with his brows raised but didn’t say a word. Joel eventually walked away, following you in the direction you left in.

Joel walked out looking around into the empty street. Confused by where you had gone, there was no one in sight. He turned to the direction of his house when he heard something, he looked toward the dark alley a few feet away and heard another sound. It was you, the sound of your cries making him rush towards you. He called out your name, you quickly wiped your tears away and looked up to see him with concern.

“I’m fine-“

“I’m gonna have a talk with Ellie when she gets home” you shook your head silently.

“There’s no point” you whispered.

“She had no right to do that to you”

“I need to go home” you quickly walked around him rushing to create a distance between you and him. You felt the urge of wanting to put your arms around him in that moment and you couldn’t allow it, not after what had just happened.

Joel followed you calling out for you, his voice only making you rush faster to your home that was thankfully close by until you finally reached your door.

���God dammit, you don’t hear me callin’ you?” He rushed up your front porch just as you unlocked your door but you wouldn’t look at him. Catching the door with one hand and your arm with the other he forced you to turn around to him and that’s when he noticed the desperation in your eyes. A fight with temptation that you were clearly losing.

“What do you want me to do? Tell me?” He moved closer to you, his hands on your arms, you quickly shook your head.

“You need to go” but he knew you didn’t want him to.

“Tell me” he whispered again caressing your face as he leaned closer till you felt the warmth of his breath.

And he kissed you.

You instantly melted in his arms, he guided you into your home, you could hear the door slam behind him before you quickly pulled your face away.

“Ain’t nobody coming in here” he whispered staring down at your plush lips before you eagerly wrapped your arms around him and pulled him back in. You kissed him desperately, your arms holding him close as he shook off his jacket letting it fall to the floor. While guiding you towards the couch a few feet away he removed whatever he could off you as fast as he could until he felt your bare skin with his hands. He stopped for a moment, gently pulled away and looked down at your naked body, he could feel himself practically bursting in his pants. Joel roughly wrapped one arm around your waist and pulled you against him as he unbuckled his belt clip with one hand. His lips finding yours, you could hear him fumbling with his pants till the heavy buckle hit the floor.

“C’mere” he whispered against your cheek before he went around you and sat on the couch pulling you right on to him. You could feel his erect cock against your pelvis, your hands on his shoulders you kissed him. You pushed yourself up and slowly guided him to your entrance. Joel locked eyes with you as you slowly took him in fully, the heat he felt from you wrapping around him making his eyes darken with hunger. Your eyes rolling back as you began to ride him slowly, his hands on your waist, Joel’s body tensed up. The ache he felt from the moment you were both interrupted earlier, he needed you again. He needed to feel himself inside you and he wasn’t going to let anyone get in the way.

You kissed him as you began to move fast, Joel moaned deeply against your lips, his grip on your waist tightening.

“You’re ridin’ me so good, baby” he looked down to see his cock glistening with your arousal, you moaned as quickened your pace. You could feel his hands guiding you up and down making you slam harder onto him.

“Joel..” you panted-

“Cum on me, baby, go ahead” he felt your hips twitch on him, he slouched down on the couch and began thrusting his hips upwards making you moan louder.

“Oh fuck-“ you screamed throwing your head back as Joel pumped faster into you, the sight of your breasts bouncing in his face as he felt you tighten up around him and you felt an intense vibration throughout your entire body. You screamed out in pleasure squeezing your own breasts before you looked down slowly coming back from your high and found Joel looking at you practically hypnotized. Watching you have an orgasm was something that completely sent him over the edge.

Joel panted loudly thrusting faster until he picked you up with one arm pulling you aside and his cum spilled out of him. You looked down out of breath watching as he jerked himself off moaning deeply. Joel threw his head back with you on your knees beside him, laying your head on his shoulder.

“Jesus Christ” he whispered, his curls by his head damp from sweat. You both lay still for a moment, his arm still around your waist holding you close, you felt him look over at you. You lifted your head up and he could see the worry slowly grow in your eye but before he said a word you quickly stood up and left to the restroom.

You wouldn’t describe the feeling as regret but it certainly wasn’t a good feeling. Being Ellie’s close friend, you felt you were betraying her in a way and you never wanted to hurt her.

After cleaning yourself up you eventually came back out in a robe to see Joel sitting on a chair at the table dressed. He sat patiently almost worried that you wouldn’t come out while he was still there. He knew how you felt.

“Now what?” You whispered crossing your arms leaning back against the counter. Joel stood up and made his way towards you, his hands falling on his hips. He looked around trying to think of what to say, or how to say it.

“Ellie is very important to me” he began, he looked down at the counter beside you.

“But I don’t want this to be a one time thing” his eyes slowly found yours, hesitant for a reaction. You stood silent, he slowly walked towards you and took your hand in his, pulling you against him.

“You hear me?” He whispered searching your eyes for an answer. You wanted him just as much as he wanted you and he knew it. Quietly you nodded and wrapped your arms around him, Joel gently pressed his lips against your forehead and held you close. Neither of you knowing exactly how to go about this but one thing was for sure, you could no longer hold back..

[bitchyglitterkoala]

‘𝐄𝐌 𝐅𝐈𝐀𝐓 𝟓𝟎𝟎 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐒 🚗

plot! ⋆𐙚₊ : you really wanted to get your neighbor’s attention. you’ve tried everything as far as ruining your own car so riki could help a damsel in distress. after all, boys love helping pretty girls in trouble. ♡

genre! ⋆𐙚₊: fluff

warnings! ⋆𐙚₊: swearing ; smoking ; argument : suggestive themes ; skin ship; kissing ; probably more

ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE!

───୨ৎ─── ───୨ৎ─── ───୨ৎ───

It was a bad night. Really bad night.

The whole time you were supposed to be sleeping you couldn’t help but squirm like a child in your bed, with sweat dripping from your forehead to your stomach.

Your eyes were blurry and mind hazy, it was so hot, too hot. Your red cheeks were burning so much it felt you had a fever. It might be an exaggeration, but closest thing you could link your situation to was a cat in heat.

How can you blame yourself? You’ve been working so hard, switching between school, work and money struggles.. Life was so difficult on you, and your body was begging, pleading and screaming for a pause, a relief.

At least that’s what you tried to tell yourself. If you were actually frank with yourself, the truth would be that your neighbor has been making you crazy for months.

He’s new to the apartment, and only moved in four months ago. The man is tall, slightly tan.. He wears comfortable clothes like sweatpants and hoodies like a loser who doesn’t have a job. His gaze is sharp and lips plump, and the best of all, he had biceps. Biceps you’ve been dreaming about getting buried in ever since you’ve seen them. You see him practically everyday, yet you can not do the first move. It’s like your brain is stopping you from any kind of embarrassing situations, ever since Caleb has dumped you on message.

Does life really have to be like this? Why can’t you be a free confident and independent woman who faces challenges in no fear.

You needed a plan, a clever plan.

For a week, your mind has been planning the perfect “unfailable” and smart trap to get that man in your pants. There was no room for any romance, you were too busy to get your heart broken again, so hooking up with your wet dream is the best solution.

Not long ago you’ve seen him working on a car, like he was fixing it. Eventually you’ve thought about accidentally on purpose break some things here and there with your car.

During the night, you cut some wires, played with the motor and poured out the oil to throw it in the bin, something you absolutely regret by now. But today is the day, and you’ve been getting ready since 5 AM to put on the best show.

You know your neighbor comes out of his apartment everyday to smoke a cigarette in the parking at exactly 7:12, which made his ‘unemployed junkie’ allegations even worse.

You’ve been waiting in your car for at least thirty minutes for him to come out of his cave and have his smoke break. Once you finally see him, you feel your heart skipping a beat, your cheeks reddening and your hands sweating.

“Okay Y/N, you got this.”

Before beginning your plan, you grab your makeup bag to powder you face and perfume your skin with some cheap Britney Spears perfume you bought at the dollar store, hoping to smell heavenly.

“Oh no! Not today please! I’m at my last warning!” you whine as you put on your best performance, thanks to these drama classes your mom forced you to take back in high school.

“I can’t be late again!” you sigh as you hit on your steering wheel.

A smirk can’t help but appear on your face when you see him approaching from the corner of your eye.

“A problem miss?” the giant man asks, his cigarette still in his hand.

“My stupid car.. I have a very important meeting today and I’m on my last warning. If I’m late again my boss is going to kill me!” you cry, with your exaggerated feminine voice.

The man raises his eyebrows and tilts his head to check the label of your car. “A fiat 500 huh?”You look up at him acting confused.

“Yeah.. why..?” you mumble in a shaky voice, like you’re about to cry. “These cars are known to be trash. No wonder it’s not working.” he replies, getting comfortable and resting his arm on the edge of your window.

“I didn’t know, now I have to call the garage and use my savings for the holidays to drive again..” you sigh, looking down at your bare thighs, thanks to this pink short ass skirt.

“I mean.. I can still check what’s wrong and do some things here and there.” the man shrugs, looking so unbothered with his hood on.

“Really? Thank goodness. Your name?”

“Uh.. I’m Riki. Do you mind getting out of the car? You can go home and call your boss while I take care of your ‘car’.” How rude! What does he mean ‘going home’! He’s completely ruining her plans.

“Y-yeah..” you stutter in embarrassment. It’s like no matter what you do, shame is not something you can escape. You get out of the car, hand him the keys and walk off to your apartment. The sound of your heels clicking resonating in your mind, fading in with the loud insults your own mind is making.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

It’s been approximately 2 hours since Riki has been toying on your car. You didn’t think you would cause so much damage and you’re actually starting to regret destroying your car yesterday night. But you can’t be left in defeat, no, not this time. Luckily, you baked some cookies during the time he was fixing your car, and now decided to try approaching him again.

Once you come down to the parking you see your neighbor still fixing your car. To your surprise, the man is shirtless, with his skin is glistening, wiping off his sweat with his hand . You couldn’t tell if you were getting horny from how amazing his body looked, or icky from how cliché this scene looked. You wanted to thank global warming for absolutely destroying our climate, and making a day in the middle of April, in London, as hot as a summer day in Morocco.

“Water?” you say as you walk to him with the plate of cookies in your hand, a fresh bottle of water in the other, and a soft smile on your face.

“I’d love to, dear.” Riki breathes through his open mouth because of the heat. He grabs the water bottle and mutters a little “thanks”, before chugging the water down, until the bottle is left with a small amount. Gently, he pours down the cold water on his shoulders while speaking. “Your car was an absolute mess. Are you sure you don’t have a stalker or an enemy who tried to sabotage you? Because this, is clearly made by a human.”

“Uhuh..” you nod stupidly, not focusing on any words coming out of his mouth. The sight you were given was God sent. You focused on every single detail of his upper body. His jawline is sharp, his shoulders broad, his arms big and his abs lean. God you wish you could just-

“Miss? You listening?” he stops your thoughts right away.

“Uh.. no. Is it fixed now?” you respond honestly after recollecting your thoughts.

“Should be.” Riki opens the door and sits on the driver’s seat. He turns on the engine and your car starts roaring like a lion again. (Its fiat, of course it does not..)

You clap your hands and jump on your feet. “Yay! Finally!”

As you jump in excitement, you can’t miss the way Riki smirks seeing you happy over his work.

He turns off the engine and gets out of the car. “Here, I baked you cookies while you were fixing it.” you say, extending your arms so he can grab a cookie. The man smiles and grabs the plate, he looks so proud, like a kid who got rewarded after doing homework.

“Oh please don’t stay there.. You’re probably tired. I’ll cook you some roasted chicken.”

Before he can say anything, you grab his arm and drag him into your appartement.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

“Careful it’s hot.” you warn him before putting your chicken on the table. You take off your gloves and apron, before taking a seat. “Bon appétit.”

“Thank you, you really didn’t have to do all that…” he hesitates.

“Y/N, it’s Y/N. Don’t be silly, if it wasn’t you who helped me I’d probably lose 500 bucks.”

Riki looks at you with a confused look on his face, while he devours the chicken. “What?” you giggle, thinking he’s checking you out.

“I don’t want to be mean but, that won’t be free Y/N.”

Your body freezes and so does your mind, taking a few seconds before processing what he just said.

Son of a bitch! So your hot neighbor’s not only a jobless loser, he’s a scammer! No wonder he’s always fixing all the cars in the parking. “Motherfucker..” you accidentally let out. “Why didn’t you just tell you’d charge me?! If I knew, I would’ve not let you fix my car!”

His eyes widen, with his mouth and cheeks still full of chicken. “Woah there.. No need to get in this state miss. I don’t know what you were expecting.”

As your temper rises you get up and put your fists on your hips. “Expecting what? I don’t know.. fucking.. gentleman behavior? A real man would do this for free! I baked you cookies, and even made you chicken, and now you want me to pay you?!”

“I’m just charging 150! How do you want me to live out there if I don’t get paid!” the man raises his voice as well, creating a symphony of excuses and blames.

“150?” you laugh, “If I knew you’d charge me even a dollar I wouldn’t have sabotaged my car.”

Riki frowns, flabbergasted. “You did what?”

As your own words echoed in your mind, you slowly realize the big mistake you just did. You clear your throat and regain your composure. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t have any money to give you.” you respond calmly.

“Then how the hell are you supposed to pay me?”

Jackpot. This stupid man doesn’t even what he got himself into. You tilt your head and walk closer to him. “Maybe not money, but I could give you something else..” you mutter, trailing your pink nails on his skin, giving him goosebumps.

He slowly looks down at your hand then back at you, and the mischievous smile you have on your face. You can see his cheeks slightly blushing and his breath rising, but your anticipation reveals to be wrong when the man opens his mouth to speak.

“Sorry but I’m not into this miss, you need to pay me.”

“Won’t you just shut up already?”

You suddenly grab his face and smash your lips against him, making his eyes widen again before he kisses your lips back. You jump onto him, and instinctively he grabs your hips to carry your small body, all while trying to not break the kiss. He walks you through the apartment, searching for your room while trying very hard not to break the kiss and ruin the moment.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

You have him laid down on your bed, groaning and breathing heavily as his hands grope your cheeks, trying to press you onto his crotch.

“Arms up..” he whispers with a dominant tone, hiding his desperation.

You oblige and once your arms are up, he grabs the hem of your top and takes it off for you. Your top didn’t really leave anything to imagination, but seeing your bare breasts has his blood boiling and pumping. He leans your torso down into his face with his cold hands on the small of your back, and begins to nibble on your chest. You can’t help but let out little whimpers and giggles, knowing what’s about to happen.

“Why you laughing?” he asks, in a deep voice, you can practically hear him growl.

“Because you think you’re in control.”

With no explanation, you turn around so your back faces him and get in all fours. You gently pull the hem of your skirt down until it’s completely off.

Riki, despite his want to be the dominant one here, can’t help but blush seeing you strip.

You gently tug the elastic of your underwear and slowly slide it down, until you’re completely bare. His breath hitches, and his chest keeps heaving, he’s hot, needy and about to burst if he doesn’t get to touch you in the next seconds. Eventually he grabs your cheeks again, trying to pull you in, but you stop him, slapping his hands off.

“What.. what are you-“

“Lay all the way down.” you say in a serious tone, facing him again.

He doesn’t want to obey, but does so anyway, too excited to discover what you’re about to do to fight back.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Needless to say what happened next. Your hook-up session ended up with cuddles and kisses on your bed. You both are naked, holding onto each other, despite the sweat sticking on your bodies.

He smokes a cigarette while staring at the rain violently hitting the window and the trees shaking. The weather went from a burning sun to a tempest, which reminds Riki how much time he spent in here already.

“Seems like you’re stuck with me now.” you say, looking at his detailed features with your doe eyes.

“Couldn’t spend my day in a better way.” he smiles before gently pressing a kiss on your forehead. “..A-are you going to pay me though?”

You roll your eyes and wrap your arms tighter around him. “Silly boy..” you whisper, inhaling the smell of his body to seek comfort.

You too, couldn’t spend your day in a better way.

I definitely wrote a smut part for this but got shy and scrapped it lol.

[ghostedgwen]

but I knew you | j.potter [part two]

note : I am so happy with the positive response to the first part, I had struggled drafting it up for months because I felt lacking. I hadn't written in so long that I was beginning to doubt if I could still do it like before and the answer is 'no', but this way, I can keep improving. Thank you all so much for the support as always <3

warnings : just pure angst, James is very ouchie on this one, some hints of Lily hate sorry, graphic mention of violence but just briefly, enemies to lovers maybe, james is an asshole, keep in mind he was 14 in the flashbacks pls, angst ouch ouchie

James gets into an accident during a Quidditch game and develop amnesia - he doesn't remember the past 2 and a half years, and he currently has the mentality of fourth-year James. This doesn't bode well for you that your boyfriend of 2 years now currently thinks he's still  in love with Lily.

└——————— - [ 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 : 𝚃𝚊𝚢𝚕𝚘𝚛 𝚂𝚠𝚒𝚏𝚝 - 𝙲𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚗 ]. +

An absolute bloody nightmare is a light way of putting it. You barley remember how you reacted and digested the whole situation, well enough to stumble back to your dormitory and act like everything is fine in front of your dorm mates.

You could guess you acted like a big, brave girl and smiled while nodding. “James here needs some more rest, so do I, I’ve been here since last night - I need to go get changed and everything.”

The boys tried to cut in but you didn’t let them. Getting up to pat down your uniform nonchalantly. “He’s all yours, take care of him for me.”

As you walked out, you pretended like your heart wasn’t breaking into pieces, leaving behind a shard with every step you took.

To make it worse, you heard your lovely boyfriend’s voice again. “Who the bloody hell was that? Are you lot pissing on me again?”

.

You couldn’t sleep a wink. You got up with bags under your eyes and Mary gasping at the sight of you.

“I guess your boyfriend falling 500 feet in the air would do that to you.” Marlene shrugged as she was putting on her tie.

“Perhaps you should skip class for now?” Lily suggested. Oh Merlin, it is not her fault but you can’t help feeling irritated at her voice.

Your boyfriend’s injury and sudden amnesia is not her fault but you can’t push back the bitter thoughts beginning to surface. It was bad enough how much you and James went through when you were starting out because of the history he had with Lily, but now there’s this.

You give her a small smile instead and willed your thoughts to fade. “I don’t think skipping classes and putting my grades at risk would contribute in any way to the situation.”

Lily gives you a sympathetic smile and a curt nod.

“Thank you, Lils. But I need the distraction anyway.”

.

You should have known it won’t be so easy. You always considered yourself to be strong, in mind and in heart.

But there are things you never prepare for because how could you have possibly foreseen them to ever happen anyway?

You walked into potions class all hopeful that your favorite subject could take your mind off the way James looked at you.

That was quick to die down when he stormed inside during the middle of class with his fellow Marauders running after him.

He burst through the doors looking fresh out of the infirmary. He was lucky Slurghorn left to go do something leaving you all to quietly work when he came in or this would be another 5 points off Gryffindor.

You half expected him to run to you, a smile instinctively forming on your lips until you saw the look of panic on the three boys’ faces.

James walked past you and right up to Lily. You slowly turn your head to watch him smile so brightly at her, in great contrast to how he treated you.

Bloody fuck, you shouldn’t watch. Sirius appeared beside you, an arm around you as he also watched James who they obviously failed to stop from coming here.

“My darling Lily-Flower, how - you cut your hair?” James frowned, eyeing the way Lily’s usually long red curls are now framing her face in a neat bob cut. “Since when?”

Lily was shocked at the nickname. Her eyes darting to you right away as she dodged the hand James was gonna use to touch her hair. The sight made you want to throw up.

“Potter, what is with you? This isn’t funny.” Lily stepped back and he closed the gap, she did it again and he closed the gap again.

“Oi Potter,is this why our ____ looked like shite this morning?” Marlene stepped in, pushing James away from Lily. “This joke isn’t funny for either Lily or____!”

James glared at her “Watch it, McKinnon. I don’t know why you lot think I’m joking. If anything, you bloody wankers keep insisting that that -“ he turns to point at you “person is my girlfriend.”

Oh bloody fuck. It’s a good thing Sirius was holding you or you would have collapsed to the floor with the way your knees gave out. You lean into him for support, and his hold on you tightens.

You look up to see that he is visibly upset at James, he's never looked at his best friend that way before.

"What is up with this tosser?" Marlene asked, beginning to raise her voice as she turned to Remus and Peter watching the scene unfold in horror. "Has your friend gone mental from the accident yesterday?"

"It's okay, Marlene." You tell her, but she would not budge.

"Why is he bothering Lily again and pretending like he doesn't know you? This is pissing me off."

Remus lets out a heavy sigh. "The accident caused him to forget about ____."

You wanted the ground to swallow you whole. All their eyes turned to you and you try your best to look brave. Even when you could also feel James' unfamiliar gaze on you.

"Is that true?" Lily asked, a look of shock painted on her face. "____, I don't even know what to say."

You almost laughed. Of course she doesn't, no one would. Would apologizing make you feel better? Of course not, what would she even apologize for? "Sorry your boyfriend got amnesia so now he's in love with me again."

"Prongs, let's not do this here." Remus grabbed James by the arm and nudged him to get out. "Please."

James is very confused why everyone is acting the way they are but they let him drag him out this time, only Sirius brought you as well. He eyes you curiously, you seem familiar but he has never seen you before until yesterday when you hugged him.

Something about the action was familiar and it felt oddly warm but he did not know you. You look at him and could tell he was examining you.

"Who are you, really?" He asked.

You give him a bitter smile. "Let's talk."

.

The boys left you alone in the common room and has decided to stand guard outside to ensure no one would be walking in to disrupt the conversation.

He sat on the couch across the one where you sat, he watched your every move intently, trying so hard to understand who you are and what role you played in his life.

They say you're his girlfriend but just yesterday he was professing his love to Lily in the Great Hall during breakfast when he woke up in the infirmary all of a sudden.

He can't even begin to explain the weird feeling swirling all over him, like his body isn't his and he's just a visitor stopping by.

You cleared your throat. "James," his gaze unwavered, remained on you. "My name is ____, I'm in my sixth-year at Hogwarts. I transferred here during our fourth-year."

James' brow slowly stitched into a frown, he doesn't know you at all. In his current memories, you have not transferred yet.

He didn't speak yet. "You pestered me endlessly during my first week, until I gave you a taste of your own medicine -" You can't help the grin from forming, recalling the memory.

"What?" He asked.

.

You had no clue why James bloody Potter thought it would be the funniest thing to make your first week in Hogwarts horrible. From the moment you transferred, he's had his eyes set on you.

It even made the other three boys wonder just what has got him so taken with you. Enough so that he's not once bothered Lily like usual, which was a great surprise to everyone - not great for you.

"Potter, I'd be willing to give you everything in my trust fund if you would just sod off for the rest of our lives." You were only joking, not that you'd pay him a dime to piss off.

He smirks at that. "You forget I'm rich, ____."

Your eye twitch irritably. Right. Rich pretty boy thinks he can mess with anyone because he's a pure blood wizard from a well-off family, what a big man he is.

You smile sarcastically. "Oh my bad, I forget how rich you are that you can probably buy me."

James' brow perked at that, "Can I?"

You almost swung your entire arm to give his right cheek everything you've got but you kept your cool, sighing while biting the insides of your cheek to will yourself to calm down.

"You are a dog - no, worse than a dog. You are a cockroach. You disgust me, James Potter. Every single second spent knowing you has been a hellish nightmare. I hope that should lightning strike me dead right this very moment, I never get to fucking meet you again in my next unfortunate life or Merlin help me I would take a rock and break my own skull with it just to escape you."

Yeah you weren’t keeping your cool at all.

James stood dumbfounded at your words, barely registering them when you actually finally decided to swing. Your whole body twisting to deliver a blow to his face, it echoed in the empty halls and left a big red imprint on his cheek.

To say he was shocked was an understatement. "Don't bother telling on me unless you want people to know a little girl smacked the shit out of you."

You turned around, not bothering to wait for an answer and began strutting away. Ignoring the way your palm tingled from the slap, it hurt a lot but you kept walking away confidently.

James Potter stood still, cheek hurting while his heart remained pounding. In a way it never has around Lily before. "Bloody hell," he muttered with a devilish grin. "Bloody fucking hell."

.

"You beat me?" James asked, you fight the urge to think how cute he looks all clueless - like a baby. "Why would I start courting you after that."

"No clue, you are a weirdo." You roll your eyes at him. "But you were my weirdo. Unfortunately."

James couldn't comprehend it. He's 16 now and yet in his mind, he is still 14. "It doesn't make sense."

You shake your head. "No, it doesn't. But can you try? Isn't there a tiniest bit of you that recognizes me? Not in the slightest?" You ask him, running a desperate hand through your hair. "They say the mind can forget but the heart doesn't."

James stared at you, he could tell how much it hurts you. From the way his friends acted, even the other classmates - it was obvious that this was reality.

He's a visitor in his own body, two years has passed and he doesn't remember a single moment from them.

"I'm sorry . . .for not knowing you." James hesitantly apologized. He could tell, you were important to him, with how his body craved to run up to you and hug you - but his mind sees you as a stranger.

You smile bitterly at that. "So right now, it's still her?"

James didn't answer, something in him instinctively telling him not to. You waited, but he didn't say anything. "When you started courting me, everyone had thought it was a grand prank. Like some big joke you were pulling, so did I."

James remained silent.

"How could we honestly expect a James Potter who has pestered Lily Evans for 4 years to just suddenly fall for the new girl? It was a whole commotion, I wanted everything to stop. I couldn't focus on my studies with how much everyone buzzed whenever I walked into a room."

James slowly nodded. "Why did you say 'yes', then? You said we have been together for two years."

You chuckle at the question, you ask yourself the same thing every day. "Because I got to know a James Potter that no one ever has before. A James Potter that I could have all to myself. . ." you heaved a heavy sigh, shaking as you let out your breath. Looking up to smile up at him sadly, so familiar yet so strange. "But you're not mine. You're not my James, are you?"

He couldn't answer as the lump in his throat got bigger and bigger and bigger. His body hurts, his stomach kept dropping and his hands twitched to reach out to you.

His legs are begging him to run to you, his skin is crawling to meet yours. Every part of his body wanted you, except in his head - you remain a stranger.

"I. . .don't know."

to be continued . . .

part three | masterlist

[funkycoloured]

| STRESS RELIEF - DEAN W.

NOTES . . . I have to be up in around 2 hours to work a full day at the barn and I'm too anxious to sleep so I wrote some smut 🙃 strawberry girl is still in the works but this is just a quick thing to pass time

WORD COUNT . . . 845 exactly.

SUMMARY . . . After a stressful day of driving for hours on end hunting down a monster, you and Dean indulge in some much needed stress-relief. (y'all fuck).

WARNINGS . . . literally just smut so MDNI!! f!reader, unprotected sex (don't do this irl), cowgirl, soft sex, petnames, a little bit of cockwarming, basically no plot, I think that's it but lmk if I missed anything, written in regular text under the cut cause I'm blind as hell, NOT proofread

The bedsprings of the motel room's mattress creaked in rhythm with your movements, groaning underneath the shared weight of you and Dean. Your breaths came in soft pants, eyes shut in bliss as you fucked yourself on his cock, the tip nudging that spongy spot inside of you that your fingers never managed to reach. You both had been going at it for a while, a creamy ring forming on the base of his cock — a mess created from your shared orgasms. Dean's eyes were glued to your breasts, watching the supple flesh as you bounced on him. Your thighs were aching, shaking slightly from the effort it took to keep yourself upright. You were already tired to begin with, the stress of the long day wearing you down, but that wouldn't stop you.

Dean seemed to notice your silent struggle, the way you weren't riding him as smoothly as you were just moments ago. Your hips stuttered, nails digging into his chest where your hands once lay flat for support. A choked, desperate little whine escaped you, and he took that as his cue to step in — despite how pretty you looked, skin sweaty and features twisted in a mix of exhaustion and pleasure.

“Shh, I got you, baby,” Dean spoke, voice breathless, as his hands clasped your hips. When he squeezed the soft flesh, the coldness of his ring was a contrast against your heated skin. His gripped tightened, his brows furrowing as his lips parted in concentration. He lifted you up, and down, slamming you back onto his cock. You cried out in pleasure, stars bursting behind your eyelids as he let out a low moan of his own. “Y'need me to help, huh, sweet girl?”

“Yes, please, De-”

Dean interrupted your breathy plee, planting his feet flat on the mattress. His grip on your hips tightened, fingers leaving indents in the fatty flesh, and using it as leverage to lift you up and down. His hips buck wildly for a moment, but it only takes a few seconds to work into a rhythm that has you both moaning in pleasure, hips thrusting up in time with his movements dragging you down. You collapsed against his chest, moaning in his ear as you clenched around him, walls fluttering in response to the new deep, quick pace.

“Mmh, there we go,” Dean cooed, his own eyes falling shut, lashes kissing against his freckled cheeks. The cheap metal headboard thumped against the wall, sounding off in tandem with your little whines and gasps. Dean's hands eventually left your hips, arms wrapping around you to hold you close, one hand cradling the back of your head as it rests against his chest.

The fire in the pits of your lower stomach grew, walls fluttering and clamping around his cock like a vice. “Fuck, baby-” He hissed, brows furrowing again. He knew you were close, and he was determined to get you there before he broke. “C'mon, baby,” Dean grunted, the hand he once had on your back sliding across your ribs and to your front. His middle and ring finger find your swollen clit, calloused fingertips rubbing the sensitive bud in circles.

The shrill moan you let out makes his heart skip a bit, his cock throbbing inside of you. He cursed again. “You're gonna be the death of my, baby.” His voice is whiny, and his thrusts stutter, faltering as he works hard to get you to the edge.

“De- Dean! Holy fuck, ‘m gonna…”

“You gonna cum, sweetheart? You gonna cum all over my cock? C'mon, baby, do it. Let go.”

And with that, you did. His cock nudging your g-spot, his fingers on your clit, warm breath against your ear and the creaks of the bed down to the wet squelch of your pussy made your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave. You scream out in pleasure, burying your face into the crook of his neck. Dean's hips come to a stop as he spills himself inside of you, the seed from his earlier climax slowly seeping out of you and down his cock, to his balls.

It was quiet, heavy breaths mingling together as you both basked in the aftermath of pleasure. If Dean wasn't so tired, he might've been a bit worried about just how loud you were. A noise complaint was worth it. He panted, arms wrapping around you tightly as he softened inside of you. One of his hands stroked your head, shaky lips pressing a kiss against your temple.

“You with me?”

“Mhm.”

“Good,” He whispered, carefully lifting you off of him to lay you down on the bed. Dean was quick to press a kiss to your forehead when you winced as his cock slid out of you, sticky white seed spilling out of your spent hole. “Did so good for me, baby,” His voice is soft as he speaks again, pulling you close to his chest. Dean knows he needs to get you cleaned up, but a short moment of peace was well-deserved.

[hughesbrothersfanpage]

Stay Home With Me

Jack Hughes x Zegras!Reader

WC: 1.6k

Summary: Jack wants to go golfing with the guys, but you have other plans for him.

Warnings: SMUT! oral (m receiving), dirty talking, brief mention of balls (sorry), F!reader but no use of Y/N, Jack thinks it’s kind of funny that he’s banging his best friend’ sister

A/N: I know I promised a Quinn fluff first and I swear to GOD it’s coming but I’ve been having an AO3 author level bad few weeks and somehow it’s easier to write a bj than anything romantic rn. Also more Hughes!Sister insta edits coming soon!

Jack thinks you’re asleep as he tiptoes around the room getting dressed as quietly as he can. You’re wide awake, though, plotting and scheming to get him to skip golfing with the boys and spend the day in bed with you.

They’ve gone three days in a row now, eighteen holes each time, and you’re dying for some alone time with your boyfriend.

You’re still pretending to sleep when Jack leans over you to press a kiss to your forehead. “Bye, baby,” he whispers.

It’s then you pounce, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him down to your chest.

“Oof,” he winces as his arms give out and you trap him.

“Don’t leave,” you whine.

Jack laughs, lifting his face to kiss you softly. “I gotta go babe, the guys are gonna want to leave any minute.”

One of your hands drifts from his back, coming up to gently trace his lips. You’ve got a small pout on your face, and Jack couldn’t possibly find you any more endearing.

“Stay home with me.” Your thumb pulls gently at his bottom lip and Jack feels his resolve begin to crack. He goes to protest, but you’re quick to cut him off. “I will blow you right now if you stay home with me.”

Jack’s mouth falls open. “Right now?” he asks, cheeks burning bright red when his voice cracks from excitement.

“Right now,” you confirm. He pulls himself from you in a flash, nearly running to the door and pulling it open.

“Hey, guys?” he calls out. “I’m not feeling so hot. You go ahead without me today.”

There’s loud laughter from downstairs. “I told you not to eat that sushi in the fridge! It smelled off, man!” Trevor shouts up at him. Jack smirks to himself. If only Trevor knew what he was really up to. Your brother would probably knock his head clean off.

There’s a chorus of ‘goodbyes’ as Jack closes the door. You’re sitting up in bed now, staring at him like you’re going to eat him alive. He can’t wait.

“Take your shirt off, handsome,” you command softly. He ditches his hat and shoes quickly before tugging his shirt up and off. “You’re so pretty, Jack,” you murmur as you stand and make your way to him.

With a hand on his chest you back him up until he hits the wall. You take your time unbuckling his pants and pushing them down, going so slow that Jack feels like he’s losing his mind. You’re even more mean when it comes to his underwear, palming him through his boxers until he’s on the verge of tears. You take pity on him eventually, freeing his dick from his underwear and pressing small kisses around the head.

Jack whines. From base to tip, you trace the vein on the underside of his cock with a flat tongue. His thighs shake with effort, struggling to stand from the feeling of your lips and tongue on arguably the most sensitive part of his body. Jack is a mess of broken moans and muttered curses as you do everything but put it in your mouth.

“Baby,” he whines, well beyond caring how desperate he sounds.

You pull away, replacing your tongue with your hand, stroking him slowly. Your thumb brushes over his leaking tip with every pass, and you revel in the way he shudders.

“I’ve been trying to get you alone for four days, and you’re telling me you can’t handle a little teasing?”

His face burns red at your condescending tone, but his dick twitches in your hand anyway. You rest your face on his thigh, looking up at him with doe eyes as you wait expectantly for his answer. The way you bat your lashes leaves his mind totally blank. All Jack can do is watch slack jawed as you flick your wrist lazily, your grip just loose enough to deny him any real relief.

“I want you to ask nicely, Jack,” you murmur before mouthing at the skin of his hip, leaving a few love bites in your wake.

He whimpers, honest to god whimpers, chewing at his bottom lip. “Please,” Jack croaks.

He cries out when you pull your hand away. “Please, what? Use your words,” you chide.

“Put it in your mouth baby, please,” Jack begs.

You smile up at him. “See? Now was that so hard?”

Any reply he might’ve come up with dies on his lips as you take him into your mouth. He throbs as you swirl your tongue around the head.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so good to me,” he grunts.

You hum as you take him further down your throat, using your hand to make up for what doesn’t fit. One of his shaking hands grips the edge of the doorframe, and the other tangles itself in your hair. He guides your head as you suck him off, grunting softly when you hollow your cheeks.

The feeling of your mouth is dizzying, and you look so pretty on your knees for him that he’s already embarrassingly close. You pull off for a moment to catch your breath.

“You’re incredible,” Jack moans as you stroke his cock.

You smile but don’t answer. Instead, you duck your head and run your tongue over his balls. “Oh, fuck!” Jack yelps. You can only hope that all of the boys are gone, because if even one of them is home, the two of you are fucked. “You are so fucking hot. I don’t deserve you, I-“

You cut off Jack’s rambling by taking him back in your mouth, as deep as you can handle until he hits the back of your throat. His hips thrust involuntarily, and you gag around his cock. You take it like a champ, breathing through your nose and never letting up your pace.

“Fuck,” Jack cries. “You’re so fucking good, I’m so close baby.”

You caress his thighs softly as he nears the edge, putting all your focus toward blowing his mind. His hips stutter, and he cums down your throat with a loud groan. Slowly you pull away and stick out your tongue to show you swallowed.

Jack helps you up from your knees and kisses you gratefully. He tries slipping you some tongue, but you pull away.

“Jack, I have blowjob mouth. I’m gonna brush my teeth, you get back in bed. You’re mine for the rest of the day.”

Jack grins as he nods. “Yes ma’am,” he replies.

He looks so good when you return, sprawled over the bed in just his boxers, hair falling perfectly over his face. You want to devour him all over again.

By the time the guys get back from golfing, you and Jack have fucked in your bed, the shower, and the kitchen.

The kitchen had been a close call. You’d both still been panting, reveling in the afterglow of really good sex, only just pulling your underwear back on when you heard car doors slamming. With a shriek you’d bolted back to your room, stumbling hand in hand up the stairs with Jack who couldn’t stop laughing.

Now you’re laying together in bed, trying to catch your breath, in absolute stitches over almost being caught. When the burning in your lungs subsides, you sigh and snuggle into Jack’s open arms, suddenly exhausted.

“Tired, baby?” he asks, brushing some hair away from your flushed face.

“Mhm,” you mumble, pushing your face into his neck.

His hands slip under your (his) tshirt, rubbing firm circles over your overworked muscles. “We can take a nap,” he says quietly.

“Mmm.”

Jack can tell you’re on the verge of passing out, so he just smiles and continues to massage your back. Your bliss is harshly interrupted when someone bangs on the door.

“What?” Jack yells, annoyed.

You’d forgotten to lock the door, so your brother pokes his head in. Thank god the covers are pulled up, hiding your nearly-naked lower bodies.

“We got lunch. You feeling any better?” Trevor asks.

Jack nods, biting back a smart comment. “Yeah, had a migraine but it’s better now,” he says instead.

“That’s good, man,” Trevor replies. “Well, we got pizza. Come down before it gets cold.” He goes to shut the door, but pauses. “And for the love of god, Jack, put on a shirt.”

Your cheeks burn, hidden in Jack’s neck. You haven’t moved an inch, hoping Trevor assumes you’re asleep and leaves. It works, and you prop yourself up a little as you hear the door click shut.

“For the love of god, Jack, put some pants on too!” you giggle, snapping the waistband of his boxers.

“Hey,” he whines. “I haven’t had pants on all day and you haven’t complained once.”

“I have to put on pants too,” you try to compromise. “No one wants to see the hickeys on my thighs.”

Jack scoffs. “I do!”

You kiss him softly before swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. “Well then you better come with me and eat lunch. After that, I’ll take my pants off and we can have that nap I was promised.”

Jack reaches for the pair of sweatpants he’d left on the floor that morning when getting changed and pulls them up his legs. By the time he gets a shirt on, you’ve slipped back into your pajama pants and one of his old sweatshirts.

“Shit, babe, my legs,” you groan, unsteady on your feet, thighs burning and more than a little sore.

Jack grins, beyond proud of himself. “Keep it together, sexy. Your brother would freak if he knew what we were up to while they were gone.”

You shake your head as you reach for the doorknob. “He still hasn’t forgiven you for the first time he walked in on us. He nearly punched you.”

A small smirk makes its way to his lips. “He did punch me, after. And it was totally worth it.”

[shockercoco]

That Damn Phone

Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings - fluff, flirting, some swearing

Word count - 3020

a/n - I got this idea after seeing this video on tiktok, even though I know this has been done before on tumblr, and I wanted to write my own version. This was supposed to be posted a month ago, but I procrastinated and somehow ended up rewriting the whole thing💀. Also idk if I want to do a part 2 to this yet. Anyways, I hope you enjoy and thanks in advance for reading :)

Summary: After seeing a video of a couple do a certain trend on tiktok, you can't get it off your mind but decide not to bring it up to Bucky to avoid the embarrassment. Though, with Bucky being Bucky, he finds out anyways.

You sit on the couch waiting for Bucky to come home, passing the time by scrolling through Tiktok. You had planned on just being on the app for a little bit before opening your book currently sitting on your coffee table, but you keep getting absorbed in one video after another.

One video in particular catches your eye, so much so that you end up spending the next ten minutes reading comments and freaking out with everyone else. The video was of a girl asking her boyfriend to try a popular trend that all of the readers had brought to the internet.

You watch as the girl stands in the doorway and practically melts into the ground as her boyfriend towers over her, gently lifting up her chin to maintain eye contact. The girl’s face is covered in happiness and shock as she laughs and pulls away from the guy.

You can’t help but giggle along with her as butterflies fill your stomach, feeling the tension through the screen.

This would be fun to try with Bucky, but you don’t really want to ask him. It’s not like he would have a problem with fulfilling your wishes, but you know that he knows the effect he has on you, and this would just be added to the list of the things Bucky can purposefully do to make you flustered.

Bucky knows how you struggle to hold eye contact after a while of having his blue eyes stare back into yours when the two of you are having a conversation, and he has no problem with using it against you. He knows how flustered you get when he gets all up in your personal space, whispering teasing words into your ear to make you laugh and shy away.

He loves the fact that you still get nervous around him, even though the two of you have been dating for a while – long enough for those nerves to get thrown out of the window.

A memory suddenly enters your thoughts of Bucky being his usual flirty self before a night out:

You had just put on your new dress you had bought recently for tonight’s date. You look at yourself in the mirror, turning from side to side to make sure you’re satisfied with your appearance.

You see Bucky through the reflection in the mirror as he walks into the room, fixing the sleeves of his dress shirt. “Alright, doll, are you ready to head ou- woah,”Bucky begins to say, but cuts himself off when his eyes land on you. “Well what do we have here?”

You turn around to face him, giving him a bashful smile. “I just bought it last week. What do you think, do you like it?”

“I love it,” Bucky admits as he walks closer to you, taking his time on purpose as he lets his eyes run up and down your figure. He grabs your hand and makes you do a spin before facing the two of you towards the mirror. He pulls your back into his chest as he runs his hands up and down your sides. “You look so gorgeous, darling.  I don’t think I’ll ever get used to you.”

You let out a small laugh as you can’t help but roll your eyes at his compliment.

Bucky chuckles. “Don’t roll your eyes at me, I’m serious.” He moves his lips down to your ear to whisper, “you know, if you’re not feeling up for going out, we could skip the dinner and go straight for dessert.”

You give him a confused look, but it immediately goes away as he continues his statement, his voice dropping even lower. His eyes meet yours in the mirror as a smirk grows across his lips.

“...I’m suddenly in the mood for something sweet, and I’m pretty sure you could help me out with my craving.”

You gasp as you move out of his grasp, playfully pushing him away.

“Bucky!”

Bucky just laughs at your expression. “Eventually those nerves will be gone, doll, I don’t care how long I have to work on you.”

“Okay, stop!” you tell him with a smile as you turn and head into the bathroom to finish getting ready.

You suddenly hear a car door close, tearing you away from your thoughts. Your eyes widen as your heart picks up speed, only just now realizing how much time has passed when you glance at the time on your phone.

As soon as you hear Bucky’s keys jingle from the other side of the door, you quickly save the video and scroll past it, trying to act nonchalant as Bucky opens the front door. You greet him with a small smile as he walks over to you.

The smell of his cologne fills your nostrils, sending warmth through your body as he comes up behind you and leans over the couch to give you a kiss on the cheek.

“You’re in the exact same spot you were in when I left you,” Bucky chuckles as he rests his arms on the back of the couch, his eyes staring directly into yours. “What have you been doing this whole time?”

“Nothing really, just scrolling through random videos,” you shrug.

“Have you been on the same app?” he asks, his eyebrows furrowed as he glances down at the current video playing on your phone of a woman doing her makeup, before sending you a look.

“...maybe,” you shyly admit as you look away, causing Bucky to shake his head in fake disappointment. 

“You told me you were planning on finishing your book,” Bucky nods his head towards the now abandoned book on the table. 

“I was going to, but-,” you cut yourself off as Bucky gives you a teasing look. “It’s really addictive, okay! You would understand if you’d actually give it a chance.”

“If it’s going to take up my day like it does yours, I don’t want any part of it,” Bucky says, putting his hands up in surrender as he backs up and makes his way towards the stairs. “I would like to keep what’s left of my mind.”

You roll your eyes at his response. Your eyes flicker towards the book in front of you before trying to turn your attention back onto your phone, but the video from earlier keeps playing in your mind as you subconsciously scroll.

Should you really ask him to do this trend? Should you do it now? You could wait until he’s already standing next to you so it seems casual. Should you just scrap the idea and stick to daydreaming?

Your mind continues to turn, and after a while of not being able to come to a decision, you let out a groan and slump further into the couch.

“Everything okay over there?” you hear Bucky ask, making you jump a little as you turn your head.

You watch as he pulls a shirt over his head while coming down the stairs. He’s changed into comfortable clothes instead of his outfit he wore to hangout with Sam.

For a moment, you get distracted by the snug fit of Bucky’s shirt, specifically the way it clings to the top of his bionic arms and fits around his chest and-

What the hell is your problem?

Bucky gives you a confused look from your delayed response. 

You clear your throat. “Yeah, just…thinking,” you respond, shaking your head as if to try and shake the thoughts from your head.

Not completely believing you, but deciding to brush it off, Bucky gives you a look as he makes his way into the kitchen. You let out a breath at the tiny bullet you just dodged.

Maybe it would have been better to just read the damn book instead, that way you could just enter another world and fantasize all you want about a fictional man instead of creeping Bucky out.

“What do you want for dinner?” Bucky calls out from the inside of the kitchen. “Do you want to have something delivered or do you want to try that new recipe you found online?”

“We’ve been eating out all week, we should probably just try that recipe,” you call back. You stand up from your spot on the couch and stretch, before making your way to Bucky. “I can take care of everything since it was my idea after all.”

Bucky glances at you as you walk in. “Don’t worry about it, sweets, I don’t have a problem with making it for you,” he tells you, his voice clashing with the sound of him rummaging through cabinets for cookware and ingredients.

“Well at least let me help,” you say, tilting your head as you give Bucky one of your sweet smiles. 

He playfully scoffs at you, but gives in. “Alright, alright. If you insist,” he tells you as he leans in to place a quick kiss on your forehead.

“Let me just use the bathroom first. Oh, and I should probably go change in case things get messy,” you tell him, subconsciously placing your phone down on the counter before walking away.

Bucky gives you a nod, and continues to get everything ready. When he notices your unlocked phone on the counter a couple of feet away from him, his attention shifts.

He has a habit of looking through the TikTok videos you’ve watched to see what you enjoy and find funny, or to give him ideas for things he could do from you. You’ve caught him a couple of times, and each time you would playfully scold him and take back your phone, and Bucky would just laugh it off knowing that you were joking.

It’s the closest he will get to actually using the app and he would rather die before admitting that it has been helpful or that he too has stumbled across some interesting things.

Bucky stops shuffling through videos when he sees one that you’ve liked and added to your favorites — the video of the girl and her boyfriend.

His eyebrows raise as he watches the video play, an evil smirk developing on his lips once he realizes why you’ve added this certain video to your favorites.

As he hears your footsteps get closer, Bucky quickly scrolls back down to the video that was paused on your phone before you left and moves back to his previous position on the other side of the kitchen. He clears his throat as he busies his hands to prevent you from being suspicious,

“Okay, let’s get started,” you announce as you enter the kitchen, rolling up your sleeves in the process. “Oh! Let me pull the recipe video up, I have it saved.”

“Of course it’s on that damn app,” Bucky murmurs as he watches you find the video, causing you to quietly let out a giggle.

After giving the video another run through and looking through the comments, you feel confident in what has to be done. You turn on some background music before placing a pot of water onto the stove for it to boil. When you go over to Bucky to help him cut up the vegetables, he tells you that he’s got it.

“Come on, Bucky. Give me something to do,” you groan, hopping onto the counter to watch him work. 

“You could read your book. You know, the book you’ve been wanting to finish reading for a while, but you keep putting it off? That sounds like a good idea to me,” Bucky gives you a teasing look as he glances over at you, and you just glare at him in return. 

You pettily let out a loud huff and cross your arms across your chest. “Well, when you tell me to do it, I no longer want to.”

Bucky chuckles at your response as he continues slicing and dicing. 

Having nothing better to do at the moment, the tiktok video from earlier enters your mind, making you open up an app to read some fanfiction. After noticing a smile repeatedly make its way onto your face from the corner of his eye, Bucky steals a look at your screen. 

“Are you reading a book on your phone?” Bucky raises his eyebrows.

Well, reading fanfiction is technically like reading a book, so….

“Yeah, why?”

Bucky stops chopping altogether, turning his attention to you in disbelief. “So you’ll read on your phone, but not in real life?”

“Technically, this is still real life – the words are just on a screen instead of paper,” you give him an innocent smile before looking back down at your phone.

Bucky playfully rolls his eyes at you, before turning his attention to the vegetables. That's when he remembers something. Bucky turns back to you.

“Y’know, speaking of books, have you ever heard of this thing called booktok?” Bucky asks. There’s a teasing look on his face, but you don’t notice it yet.

Confused, but not giving it much thought, you direct your attention at Bucky. “Yeah, but why do you know about it?”

He gives you a shrug. “I just saw something about it, and it seemed like something you’d know about.”

Thinking that the conversation is over, you look back down at your phone.

But, it’s not.

“You know, I saw this interesting video recently and it had something to do with booktok also. Maybe you’ve seen it?” Bucky continues, trying to hide the smirk from growing on his face.

Once again, you look at Bucky. This time your eyebrows are furrowed, getting the feeling that he’s up to something.

“I don’t know, maybe. What was it about?”

Bucky turns back to the vegetables on the counter and continues to chop, but his focus is still mainly on you.

“It was a video of this girl and her boyfriend, and in the video she asks him to do this trend with her–”

He’s not talking about- No, there’s no way.

“--you can see her set the camera up and ask her boyfriend to stand in the doorway, and she joins him.”

You feel your heart drop as you finally notice the teasing tone in his voice as he talks and the hint of a smirk at the corner of his lips.

Oh. My. God.

Bucky looks back over at you. “Have you seen this trend?”

You’re speechless for a second, but you quickly find your words. You swallow. You’re looking back down at your phone when you respond. “Um, yeah I think so.”

“Apparently all the people involved in this booktok thing know about it. She asks him to recreate a scene in a book where the man towers over her and leans in, and apparently a lot of women seem to enjoy it,” Bucky continues to innocently ramble as if there’s no ulterior motive to this speech, but you know there is. Then Bucky asks, “Do you?”

You don’t know if you should strangle him or curl up in a ball and die of embarrassment.

“Do I what?” you ask, trying to seem as unaffected as possible.

“Do you enjoy things like that?” he simply asks as he stops chopping to wash his hands.

This smug piece of shit.

“Did you go through my saved videos?” you ask, deciding it’s time to drop the facade and let the shock show on your face.

Bucky chooses to do the same; letting the smirk fully emerge on his face, Bucky dries off his hands and leans on the counter with a hand on his hip, giving you his full attention.

He shrugs. “Maybe.” 

You let your jaw drop. “Why?”

He shrugs again. “Why not?”

“You know what? I think you should cook by yourself,” you huff. 

You’ve made up your mind – you’ll crawl up in a ball and die.

You hop off the counter and begin to make your way out of the kitchen, but bucky stops you.

“Oh, come on. Don’t be upset,” Bucky chuckles as he pulls you back and backs you into the kitchen counter, keeping his hands on your hips.

You really hate your body for enjoying the feeling of being trapped between him and the counter at a time like this.

“I’m not upset,” you lie, avoiding eye contact as you fold your arms across your chest.

“See, you're telling me one thing and your face is telling me something else, sweetheart. You’re not even looking at me,” Bucky smiles, and you roll your eyes.

“Don’t ‘sweetheart’ me,” you tell him, causing him to let out a laugh.

“Oh, you’re really upset,” Bucky says. When you don’t say anything, he adds. “Come on, doll, I’m sorry. How can I make it up to you?”

“Like I said earlier, you should cook by yourself,” you say. You make another move to leave, but Bucky just tightens his grip to golf you there. You let out a groan. “Let me go.”

“No can do, not until you're no longer mad at me.”

“We’re gonna be here for a while then,” you mumble.

Bucky moves his head to try to get you to look at him, but you just move too. Bucky breathes out a laugh. He steps away from you as he says, “I’ve got a better idea.”

You watch him go to the now boiling pot of water and move it, before reaching to turn off the stove. When he turns back to you, there’s a different look on his face.

Uh oh. 

“What are you doing?” you ask and slowly start making your way towards the kitchen entrance.

“I gotta cheer you up somehow,” he smirks, grabbing your phone out of your hand and stuffing it in his pocket.

“What the hell are y-,” you begin, but cut yourself off with a scream as your tossed upside down from Bucky throwing you over his shoulder, “Bucky!”

“Would you stop?” Buck laughs as his grip on you tightens from your squirming. “We have to recreate some scenes for booktok.”

“What about dinner? Everything is still out,” you say as he begins to make his way up the stairs.

“Don’t worry, we'll be back. Hopefully.”

Like what you see? check out my masterlist :)

[thanksbutno98]

John Price Drabble

John Price x wife!reader

——————

“You got ice cream?” You watched your husband walk through the back door of your home holding a large plastic cup with a lid. John’s look of excitement dropped at the sight of you.

The container he had was translucent so you could see the three swirls of vanilla soft serve. Each peak had a bright red cherry with its ruby juice swirling down the vanilla slopes. As soon as the words left your lips John hid what he was holding behind his back.

“Uh, what are you doing home early?” John wasn’t expecting you to be home, you said you were going to be on a run at this time.

The plan was to eat this by himself and hide his shame by throwing it in the outside bin so you wouldn’t see it. John didn’t mind sharing normally, but with three kids it was nice to get something to himself from time to time.

“Don’t answer my question with a question.” Without thinking you grabbed two spoons from the kitchen drawer and waved John over so you two could share. Ice cream sounded amazing on this warm spring day.

“I think I forgot something in the car.” Turning on his heels John quickly made his way back to his truck.

The new plan was to leave; that way he didn’t have to share with you. He would deal with the lecture when he got home and probably take you and the kids out for dinner as an apology.

Two steps on to the patio and John felt something solid smack into his back. Then came your arms and legs wrapping around him like a serpent. As you jumped on to his back you tried to snatch the plastic container from John.

“Give me a bite.” You demanded as you clung on to John’s back.

Trying to shake you off wasn’t working and John was scared he would drop the dessert. Placing it on the picnic table he tried to pry you off of him.

“There’s ice cream in the freezer.” John tried to protest. Each time he unwound one of your limbs the others tightened with brutal pressure.

“I don’t want that I want the soft serve.” You had to speak through gritted teeth because John was putting in a lot of effort to get you off of him.

Peeling your limbs off him wasn’t working so John started to shake you off. John tossed your slippers into the yard hoping that would get you off of him but it didn’t. Next came your socks, even tickling your feet didn’t work you only tightened your legs around his waist and lightly bit his shoulder. If John wanted you off of him he could do it easily, he was just scared to hurt you by accident.

“No, I don’t always have to share.” John snapped struggling to get you off of him.

“I pushed your big headed babies out of me! The least you can do is share!” The insult made John’s jaw drop and a shocked gasp leave him.

“You can’t use that every time you don’t get your way.” Hissing the words, John was begining to get fed up with you.

“I made multiple humans and all you had to do was bust a nut! I can use that whenever I want!” You shouted in John’s ear which was his final straw.

“FINE!” John yelled so loud it carried across the yard and echoed into the forest.

He stopped trying to get you off of him and stood there in the middle of the patio seething. You were wrapped around him and waiting a moment to make sure he wasn’t tricking you.

“Yay!” You first let your legs go and dangle a few inches off the ground, your arms were wrapped around John’s neck. Leaving a kiss to his cheek, your mood was like night and day.

John saw you go from a rabid raccoon mauling him to a sweet little thing skipping over and taking his ice cream. You two sat at the picnic table and ate the sweet soft white peaks together. John decided he would eat fast so he could have more than you, but that didn’t work. As soon as he was half way through it you snatched the container from him and told him to stop being stingy. John then had to watch you slowly finish the other half while you babbled on and on about your day. He loved you dearly, but in that moment he didn’t particularly like you.

[phoenix-art-official]

Inspired by i could imagine the end of the world and nothing else by cottonmouthcandy on Ao3 (link in reblogs)

“Couldn’t talk for a month after I got out of that goddamned city. Just clammed up. Started sweatin’ like I was hunted every time I opened my mouth.”

What if there was no hang fire?

"WHO IS IT? HAVE YOU COME TO STEAL MY EYES?!" 

Stan looks surprised, then his face falls. He waves. 

"... Stanley? Is that you?" Ford grabs him and shines a light in his eyes. 

Stan winces and tries to shove Ford off of him. 

"Apologies, I just had to make sure you weren't... nevermind. Come in, come in." 

Stan follows Ford into the shack, looking around judgementally as Ford paces. 

"Did anyone follow you? Anyone at all?" 

Bemused, Stan shakes his head. 

"Good, good. I appreciate you coming so quickly. There's not much time. I've made huge mistakes, and I don't know who I can trust anymore." He turns the head of a skeleton to look away. Stan raises an eyebrow, perturbed. 

Stan steps forward to place a hand on Ford's shoulder, and his jaw works as he wants to say something... but even now, the words stay caught in his throat. Instead he just squeezes in what he hopes is a reassuring manner. 

Ford sighs. "Right, I... I should explain myself. Follow me. What I'm about to show you is... something you can't even imagine." 

Stan nods and gestures for Ford to lead on. 

They make their way downstairs. Ford is too caught up in his own head to notice how silent Stan is being. 

When they get to the portal, Stan is actually speechless. Ford takes this as his sign to begin a monologue. 

You and I both know how this next part goes, so I'll do you a favor and skip to the good part. The part where Ford tells him to sail away.

Stan's face falls, then turns angry. He wants to shout, to scream, but he still can't seem to get even a frustrated grunt past his lips. Instead, he just shoves the journal back at Ford. 

"What the- Stanley! Be reasonable! All I'm asking for is one single favor! I haven't asked you for anything in over ten years, the least you can do for me is make sure the world doesn't come to ruin!" 

Stan just shakes his head. In his fury, a single syllable forces its way out of him. 

"You-!"

And just like that, his jaw clamps down again. His hand finds its way to cover his mouth. He can't do it. No matter how angry and hurt he is, he's still too terrified. Too broken.

Ford doesn't catch Stan's inner turmoil. "I what? Go on then! What's the first thing you have to say to me in over a decade? After everything you did, after you ruined my life, what could you possibly have left to say to me?" 

Stan has so much to say. Too much. So much that he can't even make his voice work, just like he hasn't in over a year. It hurts too much. 

Ford waits, and when Stan doesn't say anything, scoffs bitterly. "Right. Of course not. That's what I thought. More the fool I was for thinking I still had one person left in the world I could trust." 

Stan stops at that. It hurts more than words can say. 

Ford turns back, a new pleading look in his eye. "If you truly won't help me, I... Stanley, I don't have any idea what I'll do. We have our resentments, but this is bigger than that. Bigger than either of us. This could destroy reality as we know it. I don't expect you to understand it, but I at least want you to..." 

Ford sighs again, rubbing his eyes furiously. He looks so tired. "Of course, I shouldn't have bothered. None of this means anything to you, does it? It never has. You only ever saw me as your ticket to success. That's why you still have nothing to say to me." His voice grows hardened, resentful. "You've always been a coward and a liar. I can't believe I was so desperate as to reach out to you. No matter how dire the circumstances, I should've known I could never trust-" 

Stan's fist connects with Ford's jaw. He folds like a house of cards. He struggles upright, surprised at Stan's seething expression. 

Stan breathes heavily. He's shaking. His jaw works, but he still can't make himself speak. Ford waits for him to say something, anything. 

Stan opens his mouth to speak, and he almost manages- an odd, squeaky, hoarse noise comes out of his throat. But that's all. So he just turns around and walks away. 

Ford watches him go, heart sinking into his stomach. He looks at the journal in his hands and wonders what he's going to do now. 

"Wait-" 

Stan stops dead. He didn't expect that. He turns back. 

Ford doesn't know how to ask this, but he has to. "... If you're leaving, just- at least take this with you." He holds out the journal. "I can't keep it. I- I can't be trusted with it. It's not safe here, not with me, not with anyone else." 

Stan actually considers it now. Ford seems so terrified and desperate. But is this really all Stan is good for? 

Ford swallows his pride just a little more. "... Please?" 

Stan is shocked. Neither of them ever say please. Pa always said that was for sissies- real men take what they want. And yet, here they are, and Ford is asking. 

It hurts to know this is all Stan means to him, but he can't find it in himself to say no. 

Stan takes the journal. 

Ford heaves a sigh of relief so potent he nearly topples over. "Thank you." 

Stan just nods. He doesn't know if he feels like leaving now, though. Ford seems fragile. It worries him. 

Ford doesn't catch it. "... Well. I suppose that's it then. You're... free to go." 

Stan just keeps staring at him. He looks awful. It's much harder to leave now that the anger has faded a bit. 

"... What?" 

Stan isn't sure what. He gestures with one hand at Ford. 

Ford just blinks. Utterly bemused. "I... um..." 

Stan rolls his eyes and repeats the gesture more emphatically. 

"... I don't... what are you doing?" 

Stan sighs and looks around. Luckily, he spies what he needs on a nearby desk. Ford watches, dumbstruck, as Stan retrieves a pen and notepad. Then when Stan is finished scribbling, the note is shoved in his face. 

You gonna be okay?

"... I... Stanley, what's going on?" 

Stan shakes the note. 

"Yes, I read it, I just- why are you- I don't understand-" Ford's breath catches. His eyes go wide and he lowers his voice. "Are we being listened to?" 

Stan's shoulders slump. He shakes his head and writes something else. 

Pretty sure I wasn't followed.

"Then- then what? Why are you..." It's Ford's turn to gesture vaguely at his twin. "This?"

Ouch. Ford probably didn't mean it that way, but still. 

Stan chews on the inside of his cheek. He doesn't want to reveal how broken he is now, but Ford just isn't getting it. He can't bring himself to look at Ford when he hands over the next note. 

Can't talk.

Ford stares at the message. It doesn't compute. "... I don't..." He tries to meet Stan's eyes. His gaze is avoided. "Why not?" 

Stan hesitates before writing again. 

Just can't.

"No, clearly you can. Or at least to a degree." Ford's eyes flicker over Stan's body. "Your mouth and layrnx still seem functional... No one is listening to us... Are you cursed somehow?" 

Stan almost laughs, except it's been even longer since he did that than it has since he's spoken. 

Something like that.

Ford's brow furrows. "That isn't an answer. Why can't you speak?" 

Stan underlines his earlier message. Just can't.

"No, you can," Ford insists. "You always could for as long as I can remember. It was harder to get you to shut up sometimes. Why have you decided to stop now? Is this a recent development?" 

Stan really wants to walk away now. But he knows Ford will just follow him. Not that recent. Didn't decide. Just can't. He underlines the last word several times. 

Ford looks even more frustrated when he reads that. "If if isn't voluntary, how is it that you're still capable of speech, in the mechanical sense? Is it... neurological somehow? What was it that F mentioned..." He rubs his eyes again, even rougher than before. Before Stan can write anything else, he snaps his fingers. "Expressive aphasia! It can be caused by a traumatic brain injury. You appear otherwise unaffected though. Have you experienced any extreme head trauma?" 

Stan shakes his head incredulously. Well, he's been clobbered a few times, but he always ended up fine afterwards. No stupider than he was before. 

"Are you sure? Because I can't think of anything else that would..." Ford slowly starts to piece something together. He looks cautiously at Stan. "Except..." 

Stan shifts uncomfortably. He shrugs, as if to say, What?

Ford just stares at him, as if seeing him for the first time. He swallows. "It's just that... the only other cause I can think of is psychological trauma." 

Stan snorts. He can't help it. He shrugs in a, well, what can you do? gesture. 

Ford looks horrified, the drama queen. "... Really?" 

Stan rolls his eyes, then gestures to himself. I mean, look at me. Then he gestures at Ford. You don't look too good yourself.

"I- no, I'm fine," Ford defends in a very-not-fine tone of voice. "And you- you're supposed to be... that doesn't make sense. None if this makes sense..." He rubs at his face almost violently, skewing his glasses. "Stupid brain, just work for a minute here..." 

On instinct, Stan steps forward to take his hands and stop him. Ford flinches back. They stare at each other for a moment. 

Stan raises an eyebrow. Fine, huh?

Ford sighs. "That... it's been some time since I've slept and I'm a little jumpy. Like I said, I've made... terrible mistakes." He shudders. 

Stan looks at him with new understanding. He crosses his arms and gestures for Ford to continue. 

He frowns darkly. "There is a being of unimaginable power that seeks to use me to bring about the end of the world." 

Stan doesn't even blink. Just waits for him to keep talking. 

He does. "He takes over my body when I sleep. I've been able to hold him off so far, but only barely. If he gets his hands on my journals, is able to activate the portal..." He puts his hands on Stan's shoulders. "Stanley, it would be the end of the world." 

Stan raises an eyebrow. Another note: He?

"Bi-" and this time it's Ford who clams up. He shakes his head. "It- it's not safe to invoke his name. What's important is that he is an entity with infinite knowledge and access to my mind and body at any time." His eyes are wide, afraid. "I was a fool to ever trust him." 

Stan softens. He understands that, at least. He writes: You got conned.

Ford considers that and nods gravely. "I suppose I did." Uncharacteristic shame colors him. "Hook, line, and sinker, as it were." 

Stan studies him for a moment. Then, determined, he writes: He gonna hurt you?

Ford is stunned at that, a little vulnerable. "That- that's not important." 

Stan shakes his head emphatically. Points at the note. 

"Probably, yes, but again, that's not-" 

Stan lifts a hand to stop him. Miraculously, he does. Stan thinks for a second, then writes: Not leaving.

Ford's face falls. "What? No, you can't stay here, I just told you-" 

While Ford was speaking, Stan finished another note, and he shoves it in Ford's face. 

You're my brother. And below it, pressed so hard into the paper it almost tears, Not leaving you.

Ford can only stare at the words. "But..." 

Stan cuts him off with another wave of his hand. This time he writes for much longer. Ford waits. 

You look half dead. Don't wanna lose you. Don't care if you don't wanna see me. You. Need. Help.

Ford can't think of anything to say to that. For once, all he can think is that maybe Stan is right. 

So, eventually, tentatively, shakily, he nods. "Okay," he croaks. "Okay. What do we do?" 

Stan offers a smile. Then he wrinkles his nose. Shower first. You stink.

Ford mirrors him. "Well, you don't exactly smell pleasant either." 

Tooshay. Upstairs?

"Not how it's spelled," Ford mutters. Still, he considers the words for a moment. Looks back. Looks at the journal in Stan's hands, then behind him at the elevator. 

"... Alright."

[reidsmanuscript]

Cracks in the System

Summary: What happens when a string of murders tied to the District Attorney's office lands on the BAU's desk, a high Spencer Reid struggles through withdrawal, and reader, the genius A.D.A., stumbles upon Reid's darkest secret? Tensions rise as professional and personal boundaries blur, leading to revelations that could shatter them both. Pairing: Spencer reid x lawyer!reader Genre: HEAVY ANGST, a little bit of comfort, open-bittersweet-ending Tw: spencer's addiction arc, no y/n but reader has a lastname and a nickname bc it would be impossible otherwise, mental health issues, mention of food and skipping meals?, imppliead reader's past with drugs and abuse (not graphic tho), canon typical cm violence, reader dislikes gideon as father figure wc: 9.2k! A/N: i always HATED how reid´s addiction got portrayed so here´s my take on it, english is not my first language part I - part II - part III - ... - masterlist

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In the chill of autumn morning, while the BAU reunited for the debriefing of a case where their help had been specially requested per the District Attorney, old college friend of Hotch, a string of murder had been recently connected due to the victim’s correlation to the office.

Morgan, Prentiss, Gideon, and Hotch sat in their usual spots, reviewing the files as JJ prepared to brief them. Spencer Reid entered late for the second time that week, a distant look in his eyes, his demeanor unusually absent. No one acknowledged his lateness.

JJ took it as her cue to begin. “A string of murders have been committed around the capitol's perimeter, 3 women all killed and found at the surroundings of their home, Sarah Jennings, 23, defense attorney. Found in a downtown alley.." She clicked to the next slide, revealing another victim. "Second, Nicole Hart, 25, paralegal. And finally, Emily Russell, 30, judge. Found just outside her apartment. All victims were killed within a three-month span. Each one of them were found with a different note”

"Your silence speaks for itself."

"Mitigating circumstances should not overshadow the gravity of the crime."

"Your behavior demonstrates a pattern of reckless disregard for justice."

“M.O.?” asks Prentiss. “Strangulation and multiple stabs to the chest were revealed by the reports” answers JJ.

Morgan adds “So overkill and legal connection, did they knew each other?”

“Families have denied any possibility of any of them being friends with each other” JJ answers.

Reid, who has been anxiously tapping his fingers in the arms of his chair, huffs in frustration, ignoring how annoying his subtle tremor is “So outside a simple note no connection.”

Gideos shoots him a glare but before he can say anything Garcia appears through the tv screen “My dear fuzzy friends, i have found something," She adjusts her glasses and clicks away at her keyboard. "All four victims have recent ties to cases handled by the District Attorney's office, big ones, too. Corruption charges, high-profile lawsuits, political scandals. It's a feast of legal drama."

Morgan leans forward, his interest piqued. "Anything specific about their involvement?"

"Funny you should ask," Garcia says with a wry grin. “Jennings provided testimonies in ongoing cases. Hart did legal research for one of those cases, and Russell? Well, she worked directly with the DA's office on prepping trial strategies. But here's the kicker—none of them worked together. Different cases, different departments. And all of them seemed to be very successful on their own"

Prentiss raises an eyebrow. "So 3 successful women with overkill, that sounds like envy to me"

Reid, his voice laced with a nervous edge, blurts out “Envy could be a factor, but it's also the level of violence. Overkill is usually a sign of a deep personal rage. It's like the unsub is targeting not just their professional lives, but something deeper, maybe the idea of success they represent.”

Gideon glances at the screen. "Any connections between the cases themselves?"

Garcia shakes her head. "Nothing that stands out yet, but I’m digging deeper. Let me keep working on it. I'll be needing access to the information the D.A. office has”

Gideon folds his arms over the table. “If they're found around their personal home it could mean the unsub is following them or getting the information from somewhere else. Someone inside the DA’s office could be leaking it."

Morgan shakes his head. "How do we narrow it down? A place like that probably has dozens of people handling sensitive information."

Hotch rises from his chair. "We need a list of who has access to it and interrogate them, but first, we should brief the DA. If someone in their office is compromised, they need to be aware of the risks."

JJ nods. "The District Attorney requested our help specifically. She mentioned an ADA, Woodvale, her right hand, who might be able to help us get a clearer picture of the internal dynamics in their office.” A photo of you in professional attire, looking sharp with an almost predatory confidence appears on the tv screen while JJ explains how you have been working with all the victims for different cases.

Morgan smirks. "Sounds like she’s got her hands full with this mess."

Reid rolls his eyes, muttering under his breath, "Perfect. Another overachiever."

The team exchanges uneasy glances but says nothing. Hotch sends Morgan and Reid to the D.A. office while Prenttis, Gideon and him go to the victims' workplace. As the team disperses, Reid lingers behind, rubbing his temples in frustration. Gideon notices but says nothing.

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At your office, returning from Judge Gibson’s chambers after pushing for a warrant, your assistant, Molly, looks up from her desk.

"Austin’s waiting in your office," she says, a small smile tugging at her lips.

You thank her and add, “Call the detectives and let them know the warrant is secured.”

As you step into your office, Austin is lounging in the chair across from your desk, a familiar paper bag dangling from his hand.

“Your mom sent you this,” he announces, lifting the bag as if it’s a prized trophy.

You let out a sigh, already knowing what’s inside and taking off the clip that holds your hair in a half pony off, relaxing a bit. “Can you stop going to my parents’ house without me? It’s kind of weird.”

“It’s not weird. She always gives me sweets and pastries. You should see the look on her face when I take them.”

“Well, I’m glad someone enjoys them” you mutter, dropping your leather bag in your chair, taking the bag and peeking inside, finding a full banana loaf and a neatly packed sandwich that your mom always sends every couple weeks to ensure you eat enough and take time to rest.

You grab the loaf and glance back at the door. “Molly, I’m taking fifteen for lunch” you call. As you step toward her desk, handing over to her the dessert, you notice two men standing in front of it.

Neither of them looks familiar, no badges in sight, so they're not cops or detectives. One of them’s dressed too casually to be a lawyer, and the tall one has a leather messenger bag just like yours. He seemed distracted, his sharp features catching the light as he frowned slightly, visibly uncomfortable with the brightness in the room.

Molly glances at you, then back at the men. “They asked to see you, Ms. Woodvale.”

You study them for a moment, your fingers still wrapped around the paper bag from Austin. The tall one stood out, his tousled hair, a quiet intensity in his eyes. You quickly push the thought aside. “And you are?”

The broad one steps forward, offering a warm but professional smile. “Agent Morgan. This is Dr. Spencer Reid. We’re with the FBI.”

Your eyes narrow slightly, not out of distrust but because an unannounced visit from the FBI rarely means good news. “FBI? What’s going on?”

Morgan’s gaze shifts between you and Austin who is now standing behind you with his arms crossed, casually leaning against the doorframe. “Can we speak in private?” he asks, his tone calm but firm.

You frown but nod slightly, feeling the sensitivity of the conversation, opening the door widely for them to enter, looking at Austin apologetically, and you see him frowned as well but gets the hint.

Austin pushes off the doorframe, clearly reluctant to leave. “I’ll be outside if you need me, Woody.” you would’ve preferred he did not use the dumb nickname he gave you in front of the feds, but at least it softened the tension in the air. It was a subtle reminder that you had allies.

Once inside, you clip your hair back and slip into professional mode as they take in your office, your diplomas, the little wooden chess board your father gifted you when you were 15, your little trinkets arranged through the shelfs. You set the paper bag down on your desk, smooth your blue suit, crossing your arms as Morgan steps forward, his tone polite but serious. “We’re here about the leak in your office. The D.A. suggested you might have information that could help us.”

Your expression hardens, a mix of frustration and worry bubbling beneath the surface. You’d been working to deal with the fallout, but if the FBI was here now, it meant the situation had escalated far beyond your control. “I’m already working with the detectives assigned to the case,” you say, keeping your tone even. “Why is the FBI suddenly involved?”

“Because people are dying,” answers Reid sharply and a bit too harshly, with a too obvious expression.

Morgan glares at him briefly, before stepping in to clarify. “We believe the leak in your office is connected to a string of murders. The unsub is targeting individuals tied to the office, we believe is a male driven by envy towards powerful and successful women and possibly has someone from here leaking personal information. Does that ring any bells?”

Your brow furrows as you digest the information. “Envy over women?” You let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “That doesn’t help or narrow anything down in a place like this. And ff there’s someone leaking information in this office, I would’ve—”

“Maybe you’re too close to it to see the cracks,” Reid interrupts, frustration clear in his voice. His gaze is sharp, challenging, and for a brief moment, you feel like you’re being dissected under a microscope.

“Excuse me?” The words come out clipped, your irritation flaring at his insinuation.

Morgan steps in, shooting Reid a pointed look that speaks volumes. “What Dr. Reid is trying to say,” he begins, his tone patient, “Is that we’re not ruling anything out yet. We’re here to figure out how the information is getting out, not to place blame.”

Your eyes linger on Reid for a moment. His posture is rigid, his hands curling around the straps of his bag, fingers flexing into fists before relaxing again. There’s something raw about him, an edge that feels out of place but oddly familiar. You can’t decide if it’s irritation, exhaustion, or something else entirely.

“And what exactly makes you think the information is still coming from here?”

Morgan reaches into his jacket, pulling out a thin file. He places it on your desk and flips it open, revealing photos of victims and case files. “These are the people we’ve identified so far. All of them were connected to cases your office has handled in the past 3 months. The timeline suggests the leak is ongoing.”

You skim the photos, the pit in your stomach growing heavier with each passing second. “And you’re sure this isn’t coincidental?”

Reid answers again, his voice tight. “Murders tied to your office’s cases? That’s not a coincidence. It’s a pattern.”

“Reid,” Morgan says firmly, his voice a quiet warning.

Reid exhales sharply, scratching his neck he mutters, “Sorry. I mean... it’s statistically significant.”

You straighten up, your gaze flicking between the two agents. “What do you need from me?”

Morgan’s grin softens the tension in the room. “Your insight, the D.A. said she trusted you to be our inside guide. We think you can help us fill in some blanks.”

You go through the file and nod “Fine. But if we’re doing this, I want access to everything you have so far. I don’t work blind.”

“Fair enough, we will also need a list of the people who have access to sensible information for our tech analyst, and if you can come to our office it would be useful” Morgan says.

“I'll have my assistant send it, let me just get some stuff” they nod and step out of your office, you grab your coat, satchel leather bag swinging it over one shoulder and eyed the untouched lunch.

“She’s going to be pissed if you give that to anyone else,” Austin says from the doorframe. You roll your eyes and bite the sandwich, your mother is an incredible woman and baker, but in your opinion she always excels herself when it comes to savory. “What was that about?” He asks.

“Apparently we have a mole in the office that's connected to murder by someone who’s envious of women” you answer halfway through that sandwich.

Austin’s expression sharpens as he steps closer. “Need me to look into it?” he offers, he’s an experienced private investigator who’s helped you through more cases than you can count. His connections, street smarts, and knack for digging up information have been invaluable to you, especially when things get too tangled for the usual channels. You could call him your best friend; though sometimes you threaten to kill him for knowing way too much about you.

You nod, finishing the sandwich, crumpling the paper bag and walking to the door “I'll text you if I need your help” you leave the office, going through the hallways to find the agents who lead you to their SUV on the way to Quantico.

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At headquarters, you stand in a room in front of the plastic board, all the victims, your ex-colleagues, none of them were truly friends, just girls you have worked with and you have lamented their deaths when you find out. You never thought their deaths could be related, less so to your office. You never thought their deaths would affect you so… personally.

You had already been introduced to the team, they all seemed professional and grounded, though you already knew Agent Hotchner from when he was a prosecutor, you shaked hands with Prentiss, Gideon, and JJ, letting your coat and bag in one of the chair’s arm in the conference room after being hand out the files.

The team gathers around the plastic board, Reid standing slightly to the side, tapping a pen against his palm with restless energy. He was looking at you and the way your eyes moved through the board, like you were physically trying to connect the dots, the way you were flicking your nails unconsciously, it was driving him crazy.

They had given the full profile of the unsub. Male from 30 to 35, probably has a job in the criminal justice world but his work goes unnoticed which lead to him being envious of women and blaming them when it comes to injustice, therefore the accusing notes.

You could think in a couple names from that description, but none of them were capable of murder, let alone how violent the crime scene pictures showed. From the list of people with recent access you had gave out, you secretly wished they were wrong about a mole. Although something sat wrong for you when you looked at the notes, why would someone-

A bright sound cuts through the room and your thoughts, Garcia’s voice, announcing through the screen, “Okay, folks, I’ve cross-checked the office access records with everything we have so far, and guess what? We have a match.” She sounded confident “Someone on the inside had access to all of the victims’ files. And it’s not just anyone. We have a name, and a face.” she announced showing a picture of a Paralegal friend of you, no. “Ana Lopez” Garcia continues, the name sounding almost foreign as it leaves her lips. “She’s been in and out of the office with access to every victim’s file, and I’ve cross-referenced her movements—she’s had a direct connection to every single one of them. And what's more... she had an unusual interest in the victim's case files long before things escalated.”

“it´s not Ana” the words leave your tongue before you can stop them.

Prentiss looks at you with a concerned expression “is she your friend? look i know it can be hard to digest that she-”

“She's very advocate to the victims,” you interrupt, with a voice tight, as you shakes your head. “Ana's been one of the most outspoken advocates for justice in the office. She’s passionate about these cases, about the women who get overlooked. She doesn’t fit the profile. This isn’t her."

“People can do out-of-character things when they’re pushed to their limit” Gideon interjects calmly, cutting through your spiraling thoughts and rambling. His voice is soft, but there’s an undeniable weight to it. “We’ve all seen it. The pressure can change people. It’s not always what it seems.”

Hotch nods, already stepping into action. “We’ll have to bring Ana in for questioning. Morgan, JJ, go to her house, Garcia will send you the address.”

Morgan gives a nod, and JJ’s gaze flickers to you, but she doesn’t say anything, respecting the heavy tension that hangs in the air.

You stand still, a knot of frustration tightening in the chest. You couldn’t shake the feeling of wrongness in all of this. Partially because Ana was a steady paralegal who wouldn´t hand out sensitive information, and partially because you felt there was something else buried deeper, and you needed answers.

“Look… let me dig further into this,” you reach for your phone, desperately avoiding the feeling of becoming someone who clings to conspiracy theories. “How are you planning on doing that?” Hotch’s voice is firm, questioning, but not dismissive.

“You have your sources, and I have mine,” your tone sharp as you speed dials a number. The phone rings once, twice, before it clicks. “Austin,” you step into the bullpen to take the call. “They think the mole is Ana”

“Lopez? That can be it. One time, I saw her take down a guy who was trying to cut corners on a case. She was too righteous about it, if you ask me.”

You exhale sharply, a mix of frustration and confusion clawing, making the room too warm for your liking, leading you to take your navy blazer off and settle it over a desk chair. “I don’t know, Austin. My gut tells me there's something more. I need answers.”

“You think someone’s using her name? Hacking her or setting her up?” Austin asks, picking up on her suspicions.

“Exactly,” you answer quickly. “I don’t know how they’re doing it, but I need you to dig into everything—anything that could explain this. There has to be something we’re missing. Get me answers, Austin.”

“Understood, Captain,” he replies, his voice laced with a touch of humor despite the seriousness of the situation. “I’ll get to work on this and call you with anything I find.” he hangs up.

You save your phone, square your shoulders and take a deep breath, noticing Prentiss walking towards you, concern in her eyes. She stops just a few feet away and speaks gently, “Hey… I know this is a lot, and I know it’s close to home for you. Do you want some coffee? It might help clear your head for a moment.”

You glance at her, tired but appreciative of the offer. A small sigh escapes your lips as you nod. “Yeah, I think that’s a good idea.”

She leads you to the break room, a quiet part of the office where the noise of the investigation feels a little further away. The sound of the coffee machine brews in the background as she pours two cups, and you deny when she asks for how much sugar. She hands one before sitting down across from you at the table.

You take the mug in your hands, feeling the warmth seep through, the bitter and burn taste grounding your thoughts. “I get that you’re all just doing your jobs, Prentiss. I understand that. It’s just... as an attorney, you learn to read people. And sometimes, you have to trust your gut. Right now, my gut is telling me I missed something, not about Ana but about all of this.”

Prentiss nods like she understands what you are saying, letting the silence settle between you for a moment “You know you seem young to be A.D.A.” she jokes lightly.

Raising up your cup “That’s what the defense always says before losing” you say back, thanking internally for the attempt to ease up “I'm 22… I graduated from law school at 18 and immediately got an internship… so since then i’ve been working up my position”

Prentiss chuckles softly, leaning back in her chair. “Don't tell me you are a genius too… I can see why though. You’ve got a sharp edge to you—good for the courtroom, probably not so great for poker.”

You chuckle, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “Well, let’s just say I prefer chess.” Sensing where the conversation might go, you subtly steer it away, curious about what she meant by too but before you can say more, Austin’s ringtone erupts, cutting through the quiet hum of the break room. You quickly pull your phone out and answer. “Got you answers” he says.

That was enough for you to put him on speaker mode and head back to the room with the rest of the team.

“Turns out Ana had an intern who’s been frequenting closed files, Daniel Reeves” he states, and when you don´t recognize the name it weirds you out. “I don’t recall that name”.

“That’s because he was at the office while you and I were on vacation in L.A. in February,” Austin explains. You’re too focused on connecting the dots to notice Gideon’s raised eyebrows or Spencer’s subtle eye roll.

“Anyway,” Austin continues, “This kid’s good with computers and had access to her credentials. Nobody paid too much attention to him, but an officer told me he’s been prowling around the file room for the last couple of months. I can’t guarantee he’s your guy, but it’s definitely worth looking into.”

“Daniel Reeves…” Garcia says through the desk phone speaker. “Graduated top of his class in computer science, specialized in cybersecurity, and interned with several law firms before Ana’s office. If anyone could hack a system and cover their tracks, it’s him.”

“Looks like he had access to the same systems Ana uses,” Garcia adds “And—oh, this is interesting—there’s a flagged incident from his previous internship. Something about unauthorized access to confidential records, but no charges were filed.”

Hotch steps forward, his posture commanding as always. “Garcia, send the new address to Morgan and JJ. I’ll let them know we found the mole”

“On it, Hotch. They’ll be there in no time.” She answers.

You take a deep breath, rubbing your forehead and letting settle the satisfaction that you are being useful to stop this madness. You glance at the phone, and press the speakerphone off. “Thanks for your help, Austin.”

The voice on the other end crackles with a slight delay, but Austin’s tone is unmistakable “Glad I could help Woody, take care”. You smile faintly at the nickname. “You too,” you say before hanging up and saving your phone in your bag, returning your attention to the team.

Reid, still fidgeting with the files in front of him, looks up briefly, his gaze lingering just a little too long. The flicker of his interest escapes you, your thoughts focused on the notes but you don't acknowledge it, choosing instead to focus on the case.

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There was something oddly familiar about the notes; and, of course, you were the only one noticing it. Since Austin’s discovery, they had brought in Daniel Reeves, who confessed to being blackmailed, claiming he had no idea who was behind any of this, so it was almost a dead end. You flicked your nails unconsciously, if you had a pen you would swirl it and if you weren’t so anxious you would be seated with your leg bouncing.

"Your silence speaks for itself."

"Integrity means different things to different people. Some get to define it for themselves."

"Your behavior demonstrates a pattern of reckless disregard for justice."

"Your behavior demonstrates a pattern of reckless disregard for justice." That one had stuck up with you. Reckless disregard. Reckless disregard. Reckless disregard. The way it rolled through your tongue gave you the clue of something else. You knew you had used those words before, if you could only place where; thousands of citations, warrants? Your eyes would move from point to point like you were physically searching, your nails would flick faster and faster. Where?

“God, could you stop doing that!?” Reid snaps, his gaze sharp with annoyance, and you look at him with the eyes of a deer caught in headlights.

You have learned over the years to not take stuff thrown at you personally, whether it is an out loud objection, a dirty trick in court with a judge, an inmate yelling at you for getting a sentence, an annoyed face in the search of a judge to sign a warrant, you do-not-take-it-personally.

But the look on Reid’s face made you feel like a 15-year-old misfit again, the girl who would cry, jump, and be on the verge of a panic attack if anyone accidentally touched her or if something too sweet triggered memories of hands creeping up, a teenager surrounded by college students who believed she was a narcissist egomaniac violent freak, a look you were afraid to find in your parents eyes when the therapist had told them about your anger issues and impulsiveness after you had destroyed the lamp in your bedroom, a look of plain annoyance not for what you had done but for who you are and what you represent, a mere obstacle, you were awkward and overwhelmed by everything. For a moment, the confident prosecutor, the woman in charge, vanished.

And you knew everybody in the room had noticed it, even after you had recovered from that second, you noticed it in the look on Derek's face, the way he looked at you apologetically, “Reid.” Gideon said, like a father scold his kid.

“It's okay I'll.. i need a coffee” you excuse yourself out of the room as fast and collected as you can, looking for some air.

In the room Reid senses his outburst has landed harder than he would’ve imagined. “Reid, go back to the scene. Start digging through the evidence again. There might be something we missed.” Hotch’s voice cuts through the air, and he opens his mouth to protest “Now.” Hotch remarks, which stops him from going further.

It was just so fucking annoying, the way she flicked her nails nonstop. Why did nobody see it?. So on his way out he grabs the leather bag that’s in one of the chairs of the room and finds it so irritating when Gideon follows him to notice there’s another satchel, in his desk chair covered with a blue blazer, his satchel.

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You had poured yourself another cup of extra bitter coffee, why did it affect you so much? god it was pathetic, you had faced worse than some guy calling you annoying. Maybe because you haven't seen it coming, maybe because it was so… reckless.

Reckless disregard. Reckless disregard.

Now where the fuck did you know that from? While being focused you sensed someone coming and discovered it was Morgan’s footsteps echoing through the bullpen, drawing your attention back to the present.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice low as he stepped into your line of sight. “How you holding up?”

You took a deep breath, trying to center yourself. “I’m fine, just… thinking. I guess.” you tried to brush off, your mind was already elsewhere.

“Look, Reid is going th—”

“I’ve had it worse, really. I mean, law school is not for the weak,” you interrupted, joking, before he could start feeling pity for you.

He huffs with humor and decides to drop the apology on Reid’s behalf. Instead, he leans casually against the wall, arms crossed, his eyes watching you carefully “Occupational hazard I suppose... you know sometimes I wonder what happens after we catch the Unsubs”

“Well the fight doesn't end there, it does bring peace to the victims but believe me.. the legal battle sometimes is worse than the haunt.” you stare at the wall as you recall some of the people you have helped over the years.

“What do you mean?” Morgan's brows furrowed as he leaned closer, genuinely intrigued.

“Well…” you began, taking a deep breath, “The system is messy. It’s not like TV where the bad guy just goes to jail, and everyone walks away happy. Families have to relive their trauma during trials. There are plea deals, technicalities, appeals... It drags on. And sometimes,” you pause, gripping your cup a little tighter, “Justice doesn’t feel like justice at all.”

Morgan tilted his head, his voice softer now. “You’ve seen that happen, haven’t you?”

You exhale sharply, giving him a sidelong glance. “More times than I’d like to admit. You work so hard to get the right outcome, and then… loopholes, errors, or even just bad luck. It’s like pouring water into a cracked glass. It never fills up.”

He nodded, his expression thoughtful. “And the people who go through that… they don’t always come out the other side, do they?”

“No, they don’t.” You look down into your coffee, your mind turning over the notes again. “Sometimes they snap under the weight of it all, the pain, the guilt, the blame, the...”

Blame

Your head snaps at him as you realize. “Blame.” That was it.

He furrowed his eyebrows not catching your thoughts “What?”

The cup clatters onto the counter, the sound sharp in the quiet hallway, but you’re already moving, your steps brisk as you head toward the conference room. Morgan calls after you, his voice a mix of confusion and concern. “Hey, hold up! What’s going on?”

You don’t answer immediately, your mind racing as you burst into the room. The others look up, startled by your sudden entrance. Without a word, you grab the bag containing the notes from the board, your hands moving with purpose as you spread them out in front of you.

“Blame,” you say, your voice firm, almost breathless. “These notes and murders—they’re not coming from someone who’s envious, but from someone who’s blaming the system. Not because it didn’t recognize them, but because it failed them!” The words tumble out faster than you can organize them, your thoughts racing ahead of your mouth. You’re not even fully conscious of what you’re saying, already dissecting the next connection in your mind.

JJ steps closer, his brows furrowed in curiosity. “Failed them how?”

“They’re not jealous of the people they’re targeting,” you continue, pointing to the scattered notes as your mind sharpens. “They’re angry. Angry at the system for not delivering justice, for letting them down when they needed it the most.” You reach for one of the notes, holding it up as you ramble. “Look at the phrasing they’re accusatory they’re challenging the idea of accountability, of consequences it’s not about wanting what these people have it’s about punishing them for what the unsub sees as complicity in their pain.”

In your state of mind you barely recall the sound of Hotch’s phone and him stepping out of the room, too focused on looking at Morgan, Prentiss and JJ.

“The profile is wrong” Prentiss says, nodding slowly as she starts piecing it together herself. Her eyes flick to the board covered with crime scene photos and victims’ profiles. “That’s why he’s targeting people from both sides, defense and prosecution. It’s not about personal grudges against individuals; it’s about what they represent.”

“Exactly,” you reply, your voice firm. “He sees them as symbols of a broken system. Defense attorneys, paralegals, judges—they’re all complicit in his eyes. They’re the ones who allowed the system to fail him.”

Prentiss gestures to the timeline on the board. “But what was the trigger? What pushed him from feeling betrayed to committing these murders?”

You take a deep breath, your eyes scanning the notes again. “It’s got to be personal—a case he was directly connected to. Something happened that made him feel like the system didn’t just fail, but actively betrayed him. He have go to the records”

Morgan pushes off the table, already reaching for the phone. “Hey, Babygirl, we need you to go through court files and find something that stands out, any cases around three months ago when the murders started.”

“Okay, do you have anything more specific to know what I’m looking for?” Garcia’s voice crackles through the speaker, the familiar clacking of her keyboard filling the room as she prepares to search.

“We need to focus on high-profile cases that could have shaken the system. Look for any parole hearings, controversial verdicts, or any case that resulted in a big upset—something that would’ve made the Unsub feel like the system betrayed him,” He explains, already pacing with his phone pressed to his ear.

"Got it," Garcia responds, her fingers already flying across the keyboard. "I'll start pulling up all cases with defense or prosecution lawyers involved. High stakes stuff."

But before all of you could start digging and theorizing, Hotch’s voice cuts through the air, leaving you all frozen. “They’ve found another body with another note.”

The tension in the room thickens. Your breath takes off and without missing a beat, you all gather your things, it takes you a minute to find your blazer but in the heat of the moment you didn’t question why and how had your bag gotten under it, instincts kicking into gear as you rush to the scene.

“JJ you are with me, Gideon and Reid are already going to the scene” they all nod at the commanding voice of Hotch and you rush to get in the back seat of the black SUV with Morgan and Prentiss.

　　　　 　　　 .˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅.　　　　　　

In the car you take a moment to breathe and collect your thoughts to be able to think of anyone who can feel betrayed enough to commit murder. The problem is that anyone can feel betrayed enough to have an outburst. Hell, you were no one to talk about outburst if more than a couple times you had imagined yourself throwing something to inmates or smashing their heads against the table when all the evidence pointed at them being guilty and insisted on dragging the trials off.

“Can I ask why L.A. in the winter?” Prentiss' voice from the passenger seat brings you back to the car.

“What?”

“I mean it wouldn’t be my first choice for a romantic getaway” she thinks out loud.

“Ohh.. wait, romantic? Austin is not my boyfriend.. I just don’t like travelling alone” you are quick to correct her. You weren't lying, the statistics show how dangerous it is for women to travel alone and it gave your parents some peace to think someone will be there to keep you company that they trusted, plus he’s a good travel buddy because he knows when to bother and when to not do it.

Prentiss nods, as if taking mental notes, probably profiling you. “I just thought L.A. in the winter was more of a vacation spot, you know? Beaches, sunshine... not really the first place you’d think of for a quiet getaway.”

“They hold the biggest Doctor Who convention there during that time of the year ” you mumble, noticing how both Morgan and Prentiss look at each other as if sharing a thought and before you can ask, the blue and red lights hit you, announcing the arrival to the apartment complex, the crime scene.

You all step out of the car, the place is full of officers and you rush to where Gideon and Hotch are standing, note in hand. You notice how Reid has some urgency to tell you something but when JJ hands you the bag that secures evidence with the note.

"No one is above the law. Except for the guilty who’ve been given second chances."

Glancing at the note, your mind races, piecing together fragments of information, second chances. “Parole,” you murmur “The unsub is a victim, and their victimizer got out on parole!” Your eyes dart from point to point, connecting the dots. “That’s what he means by second chances.”

Hotch nods sharply “Garcia is already going through parole records.”

Just as the words settle, a new idea strikes you like lightning, and you barely take a breath before blurting, “I think I know something about the notes!” The sudden burst of realization sends you sprinting to the car, leaving the team, and a startled Spencer Reid, in your wake.

“Wait-” Spencer starts, his voice tight and laced with something unspoken, but you’re already too far gone to hear the rest, leaving him with panic in his eyes and an open mouth as he was about to say something.

Fumbling through your bag, your hands shake with the adrenaline coursing through you. “Your silence speaks for itself. Integrity means different things to different people. Some get to define it for themselves. Reckless disregard for justice. Second chances...” You mutter fragments aloud, recognizing the phrases. They weren’t random. You’ve read these words before, somewhere specific. A draft of a closing statement? A court transcript? Your fingers move frantically, searching for your phone, your notes, something. Why did you brought your copy of Crime and Punishment? and why did it look a little bit newer than yours? Where's your phone? Where are your files?. Not every criminal can get out on parole—they need good behavior, a stable support system… Maybe you put it in the front pocket.

Your hand grazes something cold and smooth. Glass. Then something sharp, metal. You freeze, pulling the objects into view. Two small bottles of Dilaudid and a needle. Your throat tightens, and you feel the air around you thin and the familiar warm that comes with anger starts to settle down your back.

You glance up, almost instinctively, and your furious eyes land on him. Spencer’s standing a few feet away, his expression is a contorted pale mask of fear, guilt, and helplessness, his eyes wide and pleading as they lock onto yours, making you look away at the full disclosure of a crime scene.

The chaos of the crime scene rushes back to you. The flash of blue and red lights dancing across every surface, the sharp crackle of radio chatter blending with raised voices, the metallic tang of blood still fresh in the air. Officers move purposefully, their dark uniforms a blur of activity as evidence is collected and barriers are secured.

There are 3 things going on in your brain right now.

This is not your bag, it's Spencer’s.

Spencer is an addict.

You are in the middle of a crime scene, surrounded by cops with a full stash of illegal drugs.

You have to think, think fast and now. The unsub, the drugs, the notes, his sharpness, the victims.

You see Morgan stepping out of the building, his sharp gaze scanning the scene. Panic rushes through you like ice water. You shove the Dilaudid and needle back into the bag, your hands trembling as you close it. Your mind races, desperate to piece together what to do next. “Morgan I need you to drive me to my office”

“What? Why?” he looks at you like you are out of your mind.

“I need a file I thought I had it with me but I don't and it would be faster I don't think the words of the notes are random I think I have seen them before in some legal file that could lead us to the Unsub” the words rush, you are rambling desperate to get out that place, clutching the strap of the bag to your chest.

Morgan’s sharp gaze lingers on you as he signals the car. “Get in,” he says before telling Prentiss and Hotch about it and getting in the car.

You slide into the passenger seat, gripping the bag so tightly your knuckles ache. Morgan settles into the driver’s seat and starts the engine, the rumble of the car barely masking the tension between you. As you approach your office building, you mentally rehearse your next steps. Get upstairs, dispose of the drugs, and look for the file. Your mind spins with the weight of the discovery, but you shove it aside as Morgan pulls up to the curb.

You get out of the car and enter the building. It’s past 10 pm so no one is around, except you two, as you get closer to your office you hear a noise somewhere that makes Morgan instincts spark up. “It's probably the janitor” you brush off.

“I’ll take a look” you nod and ask for his phone to call Garcia if needed, he gives it to you as he takes off his gun and you thank whatever mess that cleaning man was making, giving you the opportunity to execute your plan alone.

You open the door and rush to the bathroom taking the bottles out. How could Reid do something like this? Did his team know? The anger, a familiar flame, burns through you as you flush the contents of the bottle and went back to the office to look for the paper bag that had contained your lunch this morning.

It was irrational for you to be this angry at him without even knowing him but it was there, simmering under the surface. How could someone do this to himself? To his team? To the people who rely on him?

The crumpled paper bag from earlier sat on your desk, you broke the needle off, and shoved it inside with the empty bottles to dump it deep into one of the trash cans in the hallway. Out of sight, out of mind. At least for now.

You go through your cabinets, looking for the draft files. “Where is it?” you muttered under your breath, flipping through yet another folder. The contents were a jumble of case summaries, old briefs, and legal drafts, but none of them held the connection you were chasing. You were good with names, especially if it was tied to a legal document, which could be sad but right now is useful when you finally stumble upon a file that felt too familiar. You pulled it out, the edges worn from use, and opened it. A closing statement you’d written 5 years ago during a case.

Lawrence Finch. Larry.

Father of two kids with a wife, family that was taken away from him because in a car accident where the other driver was a rich guy who was too high to understand anything and got out harmless, Evan Grayson was his name. You remember how hollow he looked and how much he had thanked you after you got the guy sentenced. In your closing statement you spoke about the depth of his loss, about the void that could never be filled. You'd used his words, his pain, to hammer home the injustice, the lives lost because of one reckless decision. You remembered how his face had softened in that brief moment of relief after the sentence was handed down. He’d shaken your hand and said, “You gave me my justice.”

Glancing at the words you realize how the words you’d written, once so full of conviction, now echoed in your head, twisted and distorted. The Unsub had taken your closing statement—Lawrence Finch’s words—and turned them into something chilling.

"Your silence speaks for the victims. They can no longer speak for themselves." had become "Your silence speaks for itself."

"Integrity is the foundation of justice. It means holding those responsible accountable, no matter who they are." was now "Integrity means different things to different people. Some get to define it for themselves."

"His behavior demonstrates a complete disregard for human life, a pattern of recklessness that cannot go unpunished." had morphed into "Your behavior demonstrates a pattern of reckless disregard for justice."

And the final sting, the one that had sealed the fate of the driver who’d taken a family’s life, was now twisted into something far more personal "No one is above the law, not even those who believe their privilege protects them from it." turned into "No one is above the law. Except for the guilty who’ve been given second chances."

He wasn’t just echoing your words—he was using them, warping them into a weapon.

You grab Morgan’s phone and look through the contacts before pressing call “Garcia, I need you to look up something for me,” the urgency was clear in your voice.

“You are not my chocolate thunder but speak and you'll be heard” Garcia responded, always upbeat even when the stakes were high.

“Evan Grayson. I need everything you can find on him—parole status, criminal record, anything recent,” you said, pacing the room as your mind spun with connections you were still piecing together.

"Got it! Give me a second, I’ll dig into the system,” Garcia said, her voice clicking into business mode. A few moments of silence passed, you hear some rustling outside but ignore it, before she spoke again, her tone more focused. “Okay, here we go. Evan Grayson, 27, convicted of vehicular manslaughter five years ago. Served three years, got released early on good behavior.”

“Garcia, they guy murdered almost an entire family five years ago, the only one left was the father Larry Finch, he’s our unsub, he’s been using the words of trial for the notes!” you said, your voice tight. “We need to localize him and inform the rest of the team that-.”

Before you could finish, a scuffle echoed from down the hallway, followed by a muffled shout that cut through the silence of the building. Morgan’s voice calling your name with an edge of panic. Garcia’s voice asking what was going on felt far.

You bolted toward the sound, heart pounding in your chest. The door to your office was ajar, and you caught sight of Morgan wrestling with someone, a blur of motion. The other figure was struggling, trying to break free, but Morgan’s grip was like steel.

"Get down!" Morgan barked, his voice gruff with exertion.

Your eyes widened as you recognized the man, Larry Finch, the very person whose family had been torn apart in the accident. He was here. Right here. In your office. Probably looking for you.

Your mind raced, trying to process the situation, but Morgan didn’t give you time to think. He quickly subdued Larry, pinning him to the ground with the precision only years of training could provide. The fight drained from Larry’s body as Morgan cuffed him, his breath coming in ragged gasps with his gaze towards the officers that were running towards him.

His words pierced the air, heavy with accusation. “You promised me he would never get out! You failed me! All of you failed me!” Larry’s voice was raw, full of grief and rage. This wasn’t the grieving father you’d met 5 years ago, this was a man hollowed out by loss, filled with nothing but rage and betrayal. His words struck deep because he wasn’t wrong, you understood profusely the feelings and you had failed him somehow and maybe if you had known about Evan Grayson getting out you could’ve done something. Those eyes full of hurt and betrayal were locked on you as they pulled him away, Morgan´s concerned gaze on your figure frozen behind the door of your office, with your hands still clenching the statement.

He went to put a hand on your shoulder to comfort you “Wanna step outside for some air?” he offers. You shake your head, moving on to the next task, locking your feelings away “i’ll meet you outside, I just… I need to do something real quick.”. He hesitates but nods and leaves you alone giving your shoulder a brief squeeze as you walk back to your desk, focused on the pace of your breaths and working on keeping them even. You see Morgan’s phone screen with a message from Garcia “i heard noises and called for backup”

So everyone was downstairs. Everyone including Reid. Reid. Dilaudid. Your fault. Anger.

You exhaled slowly, willing yourself to stay in control and not destroy or throw anything that was at your reach, you grab the black desk phone, speed dialing 9 without even looking. When a calming “Hello?” sounds in the other line you breathe deep again, the grip on the phone getting tighter, you close your eyes, steadying yourself as you grab a pen and paper with shaking hands.

“Dr. Fitzgerald i… i need your help”

　　　　 　　　 .˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅.　　　　　　

You step outside just as JJ and Reid emerge from a black SUV. JJ barely spares a glance before rushing toward Morgan, Prentiss, and Hotch, but Reid stops. His gaze lands on you, then drifts lower to the satchel slung across your body. His satchel.

Your breath catches for half a second, but you don’t give him the chance. Before he can take a step in your direction, you move first. Quick, deliberate. You make your way to another SUV, open the backseat, and set the bag inside without so much as a glance in his direction. Then, with Larry’s file gripped tight in your hand, you head straight for the team.

You don’t look at him. You can’t.

But it doesn’t stop you from feeling the weight of his stare. From sensing the way he lingers, trying to find a moment, an opening, to talk to you alone. You know exactly how that conversation will go, how the fury and frustration bubbling under your skin will erupt the second he speaks. If he tries, you will yell. And you don’t trust yourself to stop.

So, instead, you focus. You lay out what you’ve found to the rest of the team members, flipping through the notes, explaining the connections, your voice steady despite the storm inside you, trusting that he’ll have the decency to not approach you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch movement. Reid. He’s walking toward another SUV, the leather bag, your leather bag, slipping from his shoulder as he places it inside without hesitation.

He caught on.

You force yourself to keep talking, to keep your focus on the case, but inside, you're torn. Part of you wants to be grateful that he understood, that he’s playing along. Another part of you hates that he did.

Because it means he knows. And that’s almost worse.

　　　　 　　　 .˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅.　　　　　　

You watched the chessboard, considering the game’s progress. The case was wrapped up, but you still had some files and reports to gather. More than that, you liked talking to the team, there was something about the spirit of family among them that you hadn’t expected. It was a strange feeling, one that tugged at you.

“Would you like to play?” you heard someone ask you, making you turn around to see Agent Gideon, speaking of “family”, you had noticed how he acted like a mentor or father to Reid, maybe he was. You knew fathers weren't perfect, you guess that extended to figurative ones too, but how could someone so proud of playing that role ignore something as obvious as Reid’s addiction? No help, no support. Did he even know what it was like to battle something like that? did he even know what it was like having an addiction? did he know Reid has one?

“Yes” you answer to him, chess has always played an important part in your life, a way out, literally and metaphorically, a board of 46 squares and more possible moves than the amount of atoms in the universe, a regulated and controlled space, where you had all the control.

You both sat at opposite sides of the board, rearranging the pieces. “Black or white?” he asked. “I'm fine with either”. You didn't believe in luck or coincidences, so when he grabbed both queens and made you pick, drawing black, you didn't think much of it. Mathematically you were at a disadvantage, when two machines play chess, black always loses. But you’d gone through enough to know better than to give up on a weak starting position.

So move after move, you weren't playing to win really, and judging his moves he wasn't either, you can tell a lot from someone's way to play chess. “It's nice to play against someone new you know?”. Gideon glanced for a second at Reid with a brief smile. That made you doubt your next move, because your rage has always made you freeze for a second and erratic the next. How could he?. Yes, you have been avoiding Reid at all costs. No, you didn't know if he and Dr. Fitzgerald had talked. You had helped him in the best way you could've possibly found fighting to not panic too much.

So you hummed in response, letting the wheels in your head turn as you shifted your strategy, so when you started playing to win, the game was too advance for him to do a proper counter attack.

“Checkmate” a smile appeared on your face, the same one when you knew the inmate was going to get convicted, when your closing statement had convinced the jury. When someone underestimated you.

Gideon tilted his head, eyebrows raised, lips pursed. He glanced between you and the board. “Didn’t see that one coming,”

With your fingers still resting lightly on the queen, you paused for a second. “Yeah there's a lot of things you either don't see or choose to ignore, Agent Gideon” your piercing stare and a cool voice, heavy with the weight of frustration.

Gideon’s smile faltered, and for the first time, his eyes showed something more than just the calm resolve he always projected. Your words had hit the mark. He knew it wasn’t just about chess.

You had outplayed him, just as you had outplayed the situation. And just as you had done with Reid, by realizing and taking action, something that clearly no one else had.

After talking to Hotch, reports in hand, as you walked out of the Headquarters and stumble upon Morgan, who gives you a warm and friendly smile as he says hi.

"Hey umm.. I wasn't really able to thanked you the other night after you saved my life, I truly thought it was just a cleaning lady" It felt so shameful how unaware you had been at the danger that night because of your meltdown.

He moves his hand as it was nothing. "Hey I'm just glad I decided to go with you instead of waiting in the car"

Reaching for one of your presentation cards, neatly saved in your new black leather bag, holding it between your index and middle finger to him "Well... I still own a big one. So if you ever need legal help or anything else, don't hesitate to reach for me"

He takes it nodding and reads it out loud your full name with a funny pace "I'll hold on to that one Miss A.D.A. Woodvale".

You laugh at his way to pronounce it, feeling too formal for the moment "Please just.. call me Woody"

He chuckles "Wait like the Toy Story character?"

You chuckled too "Yeah it's uhh.. dumb name but.." you shrug as a friendly smile paints your face as you realize you had made a new friend which was weird for you but felt oddly satisfying as you said your goodbyes and walked in opposite's directions.

Your thoughts wandered to Spencer, against your better judgment, they always did recently. It was infuritating the fact that your mind always went back around him, you couldn’t quite say why exactly, because if you would've have never found out what you did, he would've have stayed as the rude and annoying agent you met once.

But then you remembered the other side of him—the trembling hands, the lost stares, the outburst, the bottles you found in his bag. You couldn’t unsee it, couldn’t separate him from the shadow of his addiction. And it broke something inside you, because you knew what that darkness looked like, how it devoured people whole.

You wanted to reach for him, to offer more than the cold anger and frustration you’d shown, but you were too afraid. Afraid of what it might mean for both of you if he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, fight his way out. Afraid that you would fall too, trying to save someone.

You hoped he would get help. You prayed to gods you didn't even believe in for it. You knew all too well what it felt like to be trapped in that cycle, in your body. You couldn’t bear the thought of him staying there, lost.

And so you walked away, keeping your distance, even though a part of you that you didn’t understood ached to stay.

　　　　 　　　 .˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅.　　　　　　

part II Feedback feeds motivation! Likes, reblogs and comments are all appreciated <3

[coriihanniee]

ARE YOU GONNA MARRY, KISS OR KILL ME? ˚₊‧꒰ა ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

۶ৎ ALTERNATIVE : boynextdoor as high school tropes

۶ৎ PAIRING : boynextdoor x f!reader ۶ৎ GENRE(S) : highschool au, fluff, comfort, mutual pining, grumpy x sunshine in Taesan's~ ۶ৎ WARNING(S) : academic burnout in Sungho's, mentions of overworking in Sungho's and Jaehyun's, mild illness in Taesan's ۶ৎ WORD COUNT : 1.0k - 1.3k words / member

۶ৎ A/N : got inspo after seeing a certain tweet on X,,, and I just miss Boynextdoor... (っ- ‸ - ς)

SUNGHO ⋆⑅˚₊

˖➴ PAIRING : class president!sungho x burnout academic!reader

Park Sungho has always had that quiet kind of magnetism, the kind that comes from genuinely caring. You’ve watched him from across classrooms and crowded hallways for months now. The way he remembers people’s names without effort, asks about their sick grandparents like it matters (because it does to him), and somehow makes even the most reserved students feel heard during class discussions. 

He's untouchable in the way that good people often are, golden and warm like late afternoon sunlight streaming through classroom windows, which is why you can't quite believe he's sitting across from you in your carefully chosen corner of the library, two cups of coffee steaming between you.

"You know the library closes in an hour, right?" His voice is soft and hesitant, as if he's unsure of his welcome here in your sanctuary of solitude.

You glance up from your chemistry notes, blinking away the blur of exhaustion that's become your constant companion. The numbers and formulas swim on the page like they're underwater. "I know what time it is."

"When's the last time you went home before 8 PM?" 

The question settles between you with uncomfortable weight. You honestly can't remember. Home has become nothing more than a place to collapse for a few hours before the cycle begins again, classes, college prep courses, extracurriculars that look good on applications but drain your soul. The pursuit of perfection that everyone expects from you, that you've learned to expect from yourself.

Sungho pushes one of the coffees towards you, his fingers brushing the table near yours. "Vanilla latte. Extra shot, no whip. I noticed you always get that one from the machine by the gym."

The fact that he's noticed, that he's paid attention to something so mundane about you, sends an unexpected flutter through your chest. Park Sungho notices everything about everyone, it's what makes him such a natural leader, so beloved by teachers and students alike. But you never thought his careful attention would extend to you, the girl who sits in the back and keeps her head down.

"Don't you have student council stuff to do?" you ask, wrapping your hands around the warm cup. The vanilla scent is comforting, familiar. "Important presidential duties?"

A soft laugh escapes him, and you're struck by how different he seems here in the quiet library light. Less polished, more human. "Meeting ended an hour ago. We were planning the winter formal, if you must know." He pauses, opening his own textbooks with deliberate slowness. "Besides, I'm worried about you."

The admission hangs in the air between you, honest and vulnerable in a way that makes your heart skip. "I'm fine."

"You fell asleep in calculus yesterday." His voice is gentle, no judgment in it. "Mrs. Kim had to wake you up three times. And you haven't been eating lunch, I've seen you in the library instead, every day this week."

Heat creeps up your neck, embarrassment blooming across your cheeks. You thought no one had seen, thought you'd been invisible in your struggle. "I was just—"

"Exhausted," Sungho finishes. "You're burning yourself out, and I can't just sit back and watch anymore."

The crack in your carefully constructed facade widens at his words. You've been running on caffeine and stubbornness for weeks, pushing yourself harder and harder because that's what's expected. Because perfect grades and perfect applications to perfect colleges are supposed to guarantee a perfect future. Because everyone thinks you have it all figured out.

"I have to keep up," you whisper, and your voice sounds small even to your own ears. "Everyone thinks I'm this perfect student, but I'm barely hanging on. If I slow down, if I let myself slip even a little..."

"The world won't end," Sungho says quietly. "Your worth isn't determined by your GPA."

You look up at him then, and find his dark eyes fixed on you with an intensity that makes your breath catch. There's an evident concern shown on his face, and it makes your heart race despite your exhaustion.

"You don't have to be perfect for everyone else," he continues, leaning forward slightly. "And you definitely don't have to be perfect for me."

The words hit deep in your chest, some buried part of you that's been aching to hear them. When did his opinion start mattering so much? When did Park Sungho become more than just the golden boy class president you admired from afar?

"How about this," he says, opening his physics textbook with careful precision. "We study together. I'll make sure you actually take breaks, eat something that isn't from a vending machine, and get out of here at a reasonable time. Consider it my presidential duty to look after my constituents."

There's a teasing note in his voice that makes you smile despite everything. "You don't have to babysit me."

"I'm not babysitting you." Pink colours his cheeks, and he looks younger suddenly, less like the composed leader everyone knows and more like a boy with a crush. "I like spending time with you. Even if it's just sitting here doing homework. Especially if it's sitting here doing homework."

Your heart beats faster in your chest, a flutter of possibility that you've been too tired to acknowledge until now. Park Sungho, who could be anywhere, with anyone, who probably has dozens of people vying for his attention, wants to sit in the quiet library with you, wants to drink coffee, share conversations and study together, with you. 

"Okay," you say quietly, and the word feels like stepping off a cliff. "But I'm buying the coffee next time."

His smile is radiant, transforming his entire face. "Deal. Though I should warn you, I take my coffee very seriously. Two sugars, splash of cream, and it has to be from the good machine in the student lounge."

"Noted, Mr. President."

"Just Sungho," he says, he glances at you, then away, as if trying to build the courage in silence. "When it's just us, just call me Sungho."

As he starts explaining a physics concept you've been struggling with, his voice patient and encouraging, you find yourself studying more than just the diagrams he's sketching. The way his brow furrows when he concentrates, how he bites his lip when he's thinking, the gentle way his hand moves across the paper. 

"You're not paying attention," he says suddenly, catching you staring.

"Sorry, I—"

"Don't apologize." His smile is soft, almost fond. "I was starting to think you saw right through me."

"Through you?"

"I've been looking for an excuse to talk to you for months," he admits, his honesty catching you off guard. "Every time I'd work up the courage, you'd disappear before I could say anything. The library was the only place I knew I'd find you."

The confession settles over you like a warm blanket, chasing away some of the cold exhaustion that's been your constant companion. "You've been looking for me?"

"Every day." He reaches across the table, his fingers barely brushing yours. "I know you think you have to keep going, but you’re allowed to fall apart too. Let me be there when you do."

For a second, you forget how to breathe.

No one’s ever said that to you. You don't say anything right away. You’re afraid if you do, your voice might crack open too much, so you just nod, acknowledging his words. 

"Same time tomorrow?" Sungho asks as you finally pack up your books, the library growing quiet around you.

"Tomorrow," you agree. For the first time in weeks, you're looking forward to something that isn't an exam or an assignment.

You're looking forward to him.

RIWOO ⋆⑅˚₊

˖➴ PAIRING : quiet artist!riwoo x theater kid!reader

Lee Sanghyeok is poetry in motion, even when he thinks no one is watching.

You discover this quite by accident on a Thursday evening when you're rushing back to the theater for your forgotten script. The performing arts wing should be empty by now, all the after-school activities long finished, but as you pass the dance studio, music bleeds through the heavy doors, and you catch a glimpse of movement that steals your breath.

He dances like he's having a conversation with the music itself, every gesture deliberate yet effortless. His hair falls across his forehead as he moves, and there's an ethereal quality to the way he flows from one position to the next, as if gravity affects him differently than the rest of the world. You've seen him around school, of course, the quiet boy who sits in the back of art class, who walks the halls with his head down and his sketchbook clutched close to his chest. But this is like seeing a secret part of his soul.

You shouldn't be watching. But you can't seem to make yourself move, can't tear your eyes away from the graceful arch of his spine, the precise angles of his arms cutting through the air. He's beautiful in the way that demands him to be witnessed, even in solitude.

The music ends, and he comes to a stop in the centre of the room, chest rising and falling with quiet breaths. That's when he sees you through the window, and you watch his eyes widen in what looks like panic.

You should run, perhaps pretend this never happened, let him keep his secret sanctuary. Instead, you find yourself pushing open the studio door, stepping into his world uninvited.

"I'm sorry," you say quickly, holding up your hands in surrender. "I was just—my script—I didn't mean to spy, I just—"

"It's okay." His voice is softer than you expected, barely above a whisper. He reaches for a towel draped over the barre, not quite meeting your eyes. "I thought everyone had gone home."

"That was..." You struggle for words that won't sound empty or inadequate. "You're incredible."

Pink blooms across his cheeks, and he ducks his head in that shy way you've noticed in class. "It's nothing special. Just how I unwind."

"Nothing special?" You can't keep the disbelief out of your voice. "Sanghyeok, that was—it was like watching art come alive."

He glances up at you, vulnerability flickering in his dark eyes. "You know my name."

The question catches you off guard. "Of course I know your name. We've had classes together since sophomore year."

"You never..." He trails off, shaking his head. "Most people don't really see me."

There's heartbreak in the way he says it, as if invisibility is just another part of his daily routine. You want to tell him that he's wrong, that people are just too intimidated by his quiet intensity to approach. That half the girls in your grade have whispered about his mysterious appeal, wondered what it would be like to be noticed by Lee Sanghyeok.

"Well, I've always seen you," you say instead, and the words come out more earnest than you intended. 

He musters up the courage to look at you in the eyes, and you feel the air between you shift. The studio suddenly feels smaller, more intimate, filled with possibilities you hadn't considered before this moment.

"What were you working on?" you ask, partly to break the tension and partly because you genuinely want to know. "The dance—is it for a specific performance?"

"Just... expressing what I couldn't put into words." He gestures vaguely at the mirror. "Movement says what words can't."

You understand that feeling more than he knows. It's why you act, why you lose yourself in characters and scripts and the magic of becoming someone else for a few hours. "I get that. That's what theater is for me, finding ways to say the things that are too big for regular conversation."

Recognition sparks in his eyes, a shared understanding passing between you. "You're in the drama program."

"Guilty. Though I'm probably not very good at it." You laugh, suddenly self-conscious. "I saw you at our last production. You were there opening night, sitting in the back row."

"You noticed me in the audience?"

"I notice you everywhere," you admit, and immediately want to take it back. However, Sanghyeok doesn't look uncomfortable, if anything, he seems surprised, pleased even.

"I wanted to tell you afterwards that you were amazing," he says quietly. "But I didn't know how to approach you. You always seem so confident on stage, so sure of yourself."

"That's just acting," you tell him with a rueful smile. "Real me is significantly less put-together."

"I doubt that." He takes a step closer, close enough that you can see the fine sheen of sweat on his skin, smell the faint scent of his cologne mixed with exertion. "You want to try dancing?"

"Try what?"

"Dancing. With me." He extends a hand, palm up, waiting. "If you want. You don't have to—"

"Yes." The word comes out before you can second-guess yourself. "I mean, I'm not very good—"

"Neither was I when I started." His smile is small but genuine as you place your hand in his. "Just follow my lead."

He starts the music again. His hand settles on your waist, warm even through your sweater, and you try not to think about how perfectly you seem to fit together.

"Just feel the music," he murmurs, close enough that his breath tickles your ear. "Don't think about the steps. Just move."

It should be awkward, you've never been much of a dancer, more comfortable with scripted movements and blocked staging. But there's a quality to the way he guides you that makes it feel natural. When you stumble, he steadies you with gentle hands. When you get self-conscious, he distracts you with observations about rhythm and flow that make you forget to be nervous.

"See?" he says as the song winds down, and you realize you've been moving together without conscious thought, following the music and each other in equal measure. "You're a natural."

You're standing closer than you started, his hands still on your waist and yours having found their way to his shoulders. The studio is quiet except for your slightly uneven breathing, and you can see yourself reflected in his dark eyes.

"This is nice," you whisper, not wanting to break whatever spell has settled over you both.

"Yeah," he agrees, voice barely audible. "Really nice."

"Could we..." You bite your lip, suddenly nervous. "Could we do this again? I mean, if you don't mind sharing your space. I know this is your sanctuary—"

"I'd like that." He smiles, the kind that transforms his entire face, makes him look less mysterious and more like a boy your age who's just been asked on a date. 

As you finally step apart, gathering your forgotten script and preparing to leave him to his private world, you can't help but feel like the foundation of your reality has shifted. Like you've been let into a secret world that few people ever get to see.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" Sanghyeok asks as you reach the door, and there's hope in his voice that makes your heart skip.

"Tomorrow," you confirm, and you're already counting the hours until you can watch him dance again, until you can be part of his quiet magic once more.

Lee Sanghyeok has shown you a new way of expressing what words cannot capture, and you think you're falling for both the art and the artist.

JAEHYUN ⋆⑅˚₊

˖➴ PAIRING : energetic senior!jaehyun x chaotic junior!reader

The first time Myung Jaehyun and you interacted, you were arguing with a folding table.

Not just struggling with it, actively engaged in what appeared to be a heated philosophical debate about its structural integrity while half the student council watched in fascination. You'd arrived twenty minutes late to the festival planning meeting, knocked over three chairs in your haste to find a seat, and now stood toe-to-toe with an inanimate object like it had personally offended your entire bloodline.

"I think you're supposed to lift the latch first," Jaehyun offered as he approached. His voice carried that familiar teasing lilt that made teachers simultaneously want to throttle him and nominate him for student of the year.

You whirled around, cheeks flushed with embarrassment and indignation. "I know how tables work, thank you very much."

"Do you, though?" He tilted his head, studying you with barely concealed amusement. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're losing."

The committee head, a stern-faced senior who treated festival planning like military strategy, cleared her throat pointedly. "As I was saying before the interruption, we need volunteers for setup crew. Since our newest member seems so... enthusiastic about furniture arrangement, she can assist Jaehyun with decorations."

Your mouth fell open in protest, but Jaehyun was already grinning, that infuriatingly smug expression that made your pulse quicken for reasons you refused to examine too closely.

"Looks like you're stuck with me, rookie."

The days into what you'd mentally dubbed "Festival Prep Hell," you'd learned several crucial facts about Myung Jaehyun :

First, he had an uncanny ability to appear whenever you were about to do anything remotely dangerous, stupid, or both. Second, his definition of "helping" involved a lot of commentary and very little actual assistance. Third, he had appointed himself your personal supervisor despite you never asking for, wanting, or needing one.

"You realize you're holding those scissors wrong," he observed from his perch on the art room windowsill, watching you cut paper streamers with the intensity of a nature documentarian studying an exotic species.

"I realize you're supposed to be helping instead of providing color commentary," you shot back, snipping another length of crepe paper with unnecessary force.

"I am helping. I'm preventing you from injuring yourself or others." He hopped down, sauntering over to peer at your work. "Besides, someone needs to make sure you eat. Speaking of which—"

He produced a triangle kimbap from his backpack, setting it on the desk beside your elbow with practiced ease. You'd stopped questioning where he acquired these snacks or why he'd decided feeding you was his responsibility. The alternative was admitting that his quiet attentiveness made your chest feel warm and fluttery, which was absolutely not happening.

"I'm not hungry," you lied, stomach choosing that exact moment to growl audibly.

"Uh-huh." Jaehyun's eyes crinkled with suppressed laughter. "And I'm not devastatingly handsome."

"Correct on both counts."

"Ouch." He pressed a hand to his heart in mock wounded. "You wound me, rookie. Here I am, generously sharing my food with an ungrateful underclassman—"

"Generously?" You finally looked up from your streamers, eyebrow raised. "You literally stole that from Sungho's lunch."

"Borrowed. There's a difference."

"The difference being that stealing implies you plan to return it?"

"Exactly." His grin widened. "See? You're learning."

Despite yourself, you found your lips twitching upward. This was the problem with Jaehyun, just when you'd worked up a proper head of indignation, he'd do or say something that made you want to laugh instead. It was infuriating and endearing in equal measure.

"Eat," he said, his voice gentler now. "You've been working for three hours straight."

"I'm fine."

"You're dead on your feet." Before you could protest, his hand was on your forehead, checking for fever with the casual intimacy of someone who'd been doing it for years instead of days. "When's the last time you slept? Not whatever you call that thing you do where you close your eyes for twenty minutes between assignments."

Heat crept up your neck at the contact, at the unexpected tenderness in his voice. "I sleep plenty."

"Rookie." The nickname sounded different this time, more affectionate than teasing. "You know you don't have to prove anything to anyone, right?"

Your hands stilled on the scissors. "I don't know what you mean."

"Sure you don't." He settled into the chair beside you, close enough that you could smell his cologne. "You've been running yourself ragged trying to show the committee you belong here. News flash : you already do."

"I'm a freshman who can't even set up a table correctly."

"You're a freshman who told the head of the planning committee that her colour scheme looked like a unicorn had a violent encounter with a rainbow." His shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. "Do you have any idea how long I've wanted to say that?"

You ducked your head, fighting a smile. "It did look like that, though."

"It absolutely did. And you had the guts to say it." His finger hooked under your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. "That's not something to be ashamed of, rookie. That's something to be proud of."

The art room fell quiet except for the distant sounds of other students in the hallway. Jaehyun's thumb brushed across your cheek, when had he gotten so close?—and you forgot how to breathe properly.

"Besides," he continued, voice dropping to a murmur, "I happen to like chaos. Keeps things interesting."

"I'm not chaotic," you whispered. "I'm just... enthusiastic."

"Is that what we're calling it?" His eyes were warm, crinkled at the corners with genuine fondness. "In that case, I'm enthusiastic about you being enthusiastic."

Before you could process what he meant by that, he was pulling back, ruffling your hair with practiced ease. "Good job today, rookie. But next time, eat the kimbap when I give it to you, yeah?"

You watched him gather his things, movements unhurried and confident. At the door, he paused, glancing back with that familiar grin.

"Oh, and for the record? Tomorrow we're bribing the janitor to let us use the good ladder for hanging decorations. I've got hot packs and chocolate milk."

"You can't just bribe people to make your life easier!"

"Watch me."

He was gone before you could formulate a proper response, leaving you alone with your paper streamers and the lingering scent of his cologne. You touched your cheek where his thumb had been, heart hammering against your ribs.

Myung Jaehyun was going to be the death of you.

TAESAN ⋆⑅˚₊

˖➴ PAIRING : grumpy musician!taesan x sunshine class rep!reader

Every morning began the same : the classroom door sliding open at precisely 7:45am, followed by your sunshine-bright voice cutting through pre-class murmurs.

"Good morning, everyone! Good morning, Tae-Tae!"

And every morning, Dongmin, known to most as Taesan, would respond with the same carefully calibrated grunt, eyes never lifting from the composition in his worn music notebook.

Today was no different. You placed your bag down before making a deliberate detour to his back corner desk, where he sat with headphones covering one ear.

"Here's the chemistry handout you missed yesterday," you announced, placing the paper atop his notebook. "And the college application deadline got moved up, it's on the second page."

His response was a barely perceptible nod, fingers continuing to sketch musical notations.

Most students would have retreated. But three years as class representative had taught you to recognize the difference between genuine hostility and practiced indifference. With Dongmin, the distance was carefully constructed.

"There's a faculty meeting fourth period, so we're having study hall," you continued. "Perfect timing for that history essay due Friday. Which you haven't started yet, have you?"

His pencil paused. "How do you know what I have or haven't started?"

You smiled triumphantly. "You always touch your left ear when you're behind on assignments."

His hand jerked away from his ear where his fingers had been tugging at his earring. The betrayal of his unconscious gesture sparked annoyance across his features.

"Don't you have morning announcements to obsess over?"

"All prepared! I even included your band's show this weekend."

Surprise quickly disguised as indifference flickered on his face. "You didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to. That's what friends do."

Before he could protest the label, you spun away, leaving him staring after you with bewildered frustration.

The cafeteria buzzed with lunchtime chaos when you spotted Dongmin at his usual corner table, guitar case beside him, music sheets spread as both creative outlet and social barrier.

You set your tray down across from him without asking permission.

"Not hungry again?" you asked, noticing his empty table.

He shrugged. "Forgot."

You sighed before producing a second lunch box from your bag. "Good thing I remembered for you."

His eyes narrowed. "You packed me lunch?"

"Just rice and kimchi. And those octopus sausages that were on sale." You pushed the container toward him. "Consider it payment for helping with the festival sound check."

"That was weeks ago."

"I'm very thorough with my debts."

He stared at the lunch box with frozen incomprehension before reluctantly pulling it towards himself.

"The vitamin C packet is in the side," you added. "You've been coughing since Tuesday."

"I don't need—"

"Just take it, Tae-Tae. Being grumpy is your personality, being sick is just inconvenient."

A passing classmate nearly stumbled at your audacity. Everyone knew Dongmin allowed only close friends to use his stage name Taesan. The diminutive "Tae-Tae" should have earned immediate banishment.

Yet somehow, you remained unexiled.

He unwrapped the chopsticks, mumbling what might have been "thank you."

When the bell rang, he had finished everything, even the vitamin drink.

"You didn't have to wait," he said, noticing you'd barely touched your own food while chatting.

You shrugged. "I like talking to you."

"Why?" The question escaped before he could contain it.

You tilted your head with unusual seriousness. "Because I think you're nice. Even if you pretend you're not."

The words hit him like an unexpected chord change. Emotions rippled through his features, confusion, denial, then fleeting tenderness that disappeared before you could place it.

He turned away abruptly. "You're delusional."

"Probably," you agreed cheerfully. "See you in math!"

As you walked away, you missed his fingers tracing the empty container's edge, or how his eyes followed you with an expression his bandmates would have recognized as panic.

Days later, you arrived at school with a slight fever and significantly less energy. Your morning greeting lacked volume, and you forgot the fire drill reminder.

During literature, you rested your head on your arms, closing eyes against too-bright fluorescent lights. When the lunch bell rang, you remained seated.

"You're sick."

You looked up to find Dongmin beside you, his perpetual frown deepened with suspicious concern.

"Just tired," you insisted.

"Your face is red. And you didn't harass me about the math assignment."

"You didn't turn in the—" You stopped, recognizing the trap. "You did turn it in."

His mouth twitched. "You're slipping, Class Rep."

He placed a bottle on your desk, cold green tea, your favourite brand.

"Drink this instead of that sugary coffee."

You stared at the bottle, then at him, uncharacteristically speechless.

"It's just tea," he muttered. "Don't make it weird."

"Did you... buy this for me?"

"You gave me vitamin C." He said it like the connection was obvious.

A smile spread across your face despite fatigue. "Tae-Tae, that's so sweet."

"Stop calling me that," he grumbled with notably less irritation.

"Never."

He sighed, resigned. "You should go home if you're sick."

"Can't. Student council meeting after school."

He observed you before reaching a decision. "Give me your phone."

Too tired to argue, you unlocked and handed it over. He typed quickly before returning it. On screen, you saw he'd added his contact information.

"Text me after your meeting. I'll walk you home."

Your eyebrows rose. "Really?"

"You'll probably pass out on the subway otherwise," he said defensively. "And then I'd have to listen to everyone talk about how the perfect class rep collapsed. It would be annoying."

"Can't have you annoyed," you agreed solemnly, though your smile betrayed understanding.

True to his word, Dongmin waited outside the student council room. When you emerged looking exhausted, he wordlessly took your backpack.

On the crowded train, he positioned himself beside you, one arm braced overhead, body angled to shield you from pressing commuters.

"This is my home," you said, stopping before your apartment building.

He returned your backpack. For a moment, he seemed on the verge of saying something, hands shoved in pockets.

"Thank you for walking me home."

"It's nothing," he responded, then reconsidered. "You should rest tomorrow. The class can survive one day without your excessive enthusiasm."

You smiled weakly. "Is that your grumpy way of saying you'd miss me?"

He scoffed but didn't deny it. "Just take care of yourself for once instead of everyone else."

You missed the next day, fever worsening. Your phone filled with messages from classmates, and among them, a single text from Dongmin : Did you eat?

You replied : Soup. You?

His response came quickly : Yes.

Then : The classroom is too quiet.

The admission warmed you more than your fever.

When you returned, you found a small package on your desk : throat lozenges, vitamin C, and a handwritten note with music recommendations labelled "Songs for Recovery."

You glanced at Dongmin, who sat pretending to read, ears betrayingly pink. When your eyes met, he quickly looked away, but not before you caught his relieved expression.

"Good morning, Tae-Tae," you called, voice still hoarse.

His response, though quiet, was distinctly more than his usual grunt :

"Morning."

As much as he'd hate to admit it, he'd been waiting for his sunshine to return.

LEEHAN ⋆⑅˚₊

˖➴ PAIRING : popular pretty boy!leehan x shy science nerd!reader

Kim Donghyun is the kind of beautiful that makes people stop mid-sentence when he walks into a room. All sharp jawlines and soft eyes, with an effortless grace that makes even the most mundane activities look like they belong in a magazine spread. So when Ms Chen announces that he's your lab partner for the semester-long marine biology project, you nearly choke on your own saliva. 

"Looks like we're stuck with each other," he says, sliding into the seat next to you with that easy smile that's probably launched a thousand crushes. Up close, he's even more devastating, long lashes, perfect skin, the kind of natural beauty that should be illegal in high school settings.

You manage a squeaky "yeah" in response, already mentally preparing for a semester of doing all the work while he coasts by on his looks and charm. It's not fair to assume, but you've been burned by pretty partners before.

"So, marine ecosystems," Donghyun continues, pulling out a notebook that's surprisingly well-organized. "I was thinking we could focus on coral reef symbiosis? The relationship between clownfish and sea anemones is fascinating from both a biological and chemical perspective."

You blink at him, certain you've misheard. "You... want to study clownfish?"

"Well, the broader ecosystem, but yeah. Did you know that clownfish aren't actually immune to anemone stings? They build up immunity gradually by carefully exposing themselves to the mucus." His eyes light up as he talks, and there's genuine excitement in his voice that catches you completely off guard. "It's this incredible example of mutualistic symbiosis that most people think is just cute fish living in pretty flowers."

"You know about marine biology?"

He laughs, and the sound is warm and genuine. "I know I don't look like the type, but I've been obsessed with aquatic ecosystems since I was ten. I have three saltwater tanks at home and volunteer at the aquarium downtown on weekends."

This revelation is so far from what you expected that you actually stare at him for a moment. Kim Donghyun, who you've seen being voted for homecoming court and having lunch surrounded by the most popular kids in school, spends his free time cleaning fish tanks?

"That's... actually really cool," you admit, and his smile grows wider.

"Right? Most people think it's weird. My friends are always trying to drag me to parties when I'd rather be home watching my corydoras or reading about new conservation efforts." He leans forward conspiratorially. "Don't tell anyone, but I have names for all my fish. My runny nose tetra is called Professor Bubbles because he's very serious and intellectual-looking."

The giggle that escapes you is involuntary, and Donghyun's expression brightens like he's just won a prize.

"See, I knew you'd get it. You're always reading those marine conservation articles before class starts. I've been wanting to ask you about that paper on coral bleaching you were annotating last week."

"You noticed that?"

"I notice a lot of things, like how you light up during the ecology units, or how you always have the best questions during lab discussions. I was actually excited when Ms Chen paired us up."

Your brain struggles to process this information. Kim Donghyun, noticed you? Was excited to work with you? "But you could have anyone as a partner. People were literally volunteering to switch—"

"Why would I want to work with people who see this as an easy A when I could work with someone who actually cares about the subject?" He starts sketching out ideas for your project, his handwriting neat and precise. "Besides, I have a confession. I may know about marine life, but I'm terrible at the statistical analysis part. I was hoping you could help me with that side of things."

"You want my help?"

"Partnership means playing to each other's strengths, right?" He grins, and there's genuine warmth in it that makes your chest flutter. "I'll handle the biological research and species identification, you handle the data analysis and statistical modeling. Together we'll probably ace this thing."

Over the next few weeks, you discover that Donghyun is nothing like what you expected. He shows up to every study session with homemade flashcards and detailed notes, gets genuinely excited about discussing nitrogen cycles and pH levels, and has an encyclopedic knowledge of fish behaviour that rivals your textbooks.

He's also surprisingly goofy, making terrible fish puns that shouldn't be funny but somehow are, doing silly voices when he reads scientific papers aloud, and getting distracted by every aquarium they pass when you visit the marine centre for research.

"Oh my god, look at that parrotfish," he whispers during one of your field research trips, pressing close to the glass with the wonder of a five year old. "Look at those colours! And the way it's reorganizing the substrate—they're such meticulous little architects."

You find yourself watching him more than the fish, charmed by his unguarded enthusiasm. This is so different from the cool, collected version of himself he presents at school, and you realize you might be seeing the Kim Donghyun who cares more about marine conservation than maintaining his image.

"You're really passionate about this," you observe as he takes detailed notes on fish behavior patterns.

"My dream is to study marine biology in college, maybe work in conservation someday." He looks almost embarrassed by the admission. "I know it's not what people expect from me."

"Why do you care what people expect?"

The question seems to catch him off guard. He's quiet for a moment, watching a school of tropical fish swim in perfect synchronization. "I guess I've gotten used to being what people want me to be. The pretty face, the popular guy, the one who makes everything look effortless." He glances at you sideways. "But it's exhausting pretending you don't care about things just because it's not cool to be passionate."

"For what it's worth, I think passion is attractive. The way you talk about marine ecosystems... it's like watching you come alive."

Pink creeps across his cheeks, and he ducks his head with a shy smile that's entirely different from his usual confident grin. "Really?"

"Really. I've learned more from you in three weeks than I did in the entire first semester."

"Same here. You make the statistical analysis actually make sense instead of just being numbers on a page." He bumps your shoulder gently. "Plus, you're the only person who doesn't tune out when I start rambling about symbiotic relationships."

"I like your rambling."

"I like that you like it," he says quietly.

Two months into your partnership, you're not sure when exactly Donghyun stopped being your intimidatingly beautiful lab partner and became simply the boy who brings you coffee during long research sessions, who texts you pictures of his fish with increasingly ridiculous captions, who stays after class to debate conservation policies with the same intensity other guys bring to sports.

"We should celebrate," he says after you receive your project grades, an A+ with a note from Ms Chen praising your thorough research and innovative analysis.

"Celebrate how?"

"The aquarium is having a night dive program this weekend. Would you want to go? As partners in academic crime?" His smile is hopeful, nervous in a way that's endearingly human. "I promise I'll try to control my excitement about seeing nocturnal feeding behaviours."

"I'd love to," you say, and the way his face lights up makes you realize that you've fallen for Donghyun, not the popular pretty boy everyone else sees, but the passionate, goofy, genuine person he trusts you enough to be.

"Perfect. It's a date." He pauses, seeming to realize what he's said. "I mean, if you want it to be. A date, that is. It could just be a friendly educational outing between lab partners who happen to—"

"Donghyun."

"Yeah?"

"I'd love for it to be a date."

WOONHAK ⋆⑅˚₊

˖➴ PAIRING : protective basketball athlete!woonhak x transfer student!reader

Whispers stirred through homeroom like a breeze before a storm, and Ms Park’s usual monotone took on a rare edge of anticipation as she cleared her throat and said, “Class, please welcome our new transfer student.”

You stood beside her desk, clutching your schedule with white knuckles, eyes fixed on a mysterious scuff mark on the linoleum floor. The classroom felt cavernous, thirty pairs of eyes burning into you like searchlights.

"Would you like to introduce yourself?" Ms Park prompted gently.

You mumbled your name, hometown, and a forgettable fact about yourself before sliding into the only empty desk available. 

That's when you felt a gaze so persistent it practically warmed your skin. You glanced up to find a boy with tousled dark hair and a smile that could power a small city staring directly at you. His uniform tie hung slightly crooked, but everything else about him radiated perfection.

He waved. At 8:17am in the morning. Who does that?

You offered a tentative half-smile before returning your attention to unpacking your notebook. But the intensity of his attention lingered like perfume.

When class ended, he materialized beside your desk with supernatural speed.

"I'm Woonhak," he announced, as if introducing a celebrity. "Kim Woonhak. I'm the class representative and captain of the basketball team." His enthusiasm bordered on excessive for this ungodly hour of morning. "You picked a great day to transfer, the cafeteria's serving tteokbokki today."

You blinked at him. "That's... useful information."

"I can show you around if you want. The school's layout makes zero sense."

“I think I can manage," you replied, but with less ice than intended.

Woonhak's smile never faltered. "Cool, cool. Offer stands. See you at lunch?"

Before you could respond that you hadn't agreed to any lunch plans, he'd bounced away to high-five someone across the room.

Your plan had been to eat alone, to blend into the scenery until you found your footing. But when you entered the cafeteria, Woonhak spotted you instantly as if he'd been watching the door, and waved with such vigor you worried he might dislocate something.

"Saved you a seat!" he called out, drawing attention from nearby tables.

You considered pretending not to hear him, but that would require explaining yourself tomorrow, which seemed more exhausting than just surrendering to his relentless friendliness.

"You didn't have to do that," you said, sliding onto the bench opposite him.

"I know." He pushed a small carton of banana milk towards you. "They always run out, so I grabbed an extra."

You stared at the carton, unsure how to process this random act of kindness. "Thanks."

Lunch with Woonhak meant meeting his entire social circle, which appeared to encompass half the student body. He introduced you to everyone who passed, pronouncing your name with such pride you'd think he'd invented it himself.

"How do you know so many people?" you asked when the parade of introductions finally paused.

He shrugged, mouth full of rice. After swallowing, he said, "I've lived in this neighbourhood my whole life. It's impossible not to know everyone eventually."

His popularity seemed effortless, yet he chose to spend lunch with the new girl. "You don't have to babysit me, you know."

His eyebrows shot up. "Babysit? Is that what you think this is?"

"I don't know what this is."

His expression softened. "This is me making a friend. Unless you'd rather be left alone? I can respect boundaries, my mom says I come on too strong sometimes."

The naked honesty in his voice disarmed you. "No, it's...fine. I'm just not used to people being so..."

"Charming? Devastatingly handsome?"

You rolled your eyes, but couldn't suppress a smile. "I was going to say 'persistent.'"

His laughter rang clear and genuine. "Fair enough."

Days blurred into weeks. Woonhak's morning greetings became as reliable as sunrise. He started walking you to classes even when they weren't on his route, claiming he "needed the exercise" despite his obviously athletic physique.

"Everyone's staring at us," you whispered as you entered the gymnasium where Woonhak's basketball team was practicing. You'd agreed, against better judgment, to watch. 

"They're just not used to seeing me with such an intimidating person," he whispered back.

"Intimidating? Me?"

"Absolutely. You've got that mysterious transfer student aura. Very exclusive."

You snorted. "You're ridiculous."

"Part of my charm."

You settled on the bleachers while Woonhak jogged to join his teammates. Watching him transform from goofy hallway companion to focused athlete was fascinating. His movements became precise, calculated, as if he'd shed a layer of himself when stepping onto the court.

After practice, you waited by the gym doors, scrolling through your phone. You didn't notice the approach of three players until their shadows fell across your screen.

"You're the new girl, right?" The tallest one asked. His hair was still damp from the showers, his uniform shirt unbuttoned at the collar.

You nodded.

"I'm Minje. Team vice-captain." His smile carried confidence that bordered on arrogance. "We're heading to get bubble tea. Wanna join?"

Before you could answer, Woonhak appeared beside you, gym bag slung over his shoulder. His usual smile seemed different, tight around the edges.

"She can't," he said, voice unusually firm. "We have plans."

Minje's eyebrows rose. "Do you? Or are you just saying that?"

"We're working on her literature assignment," Woonhak replied smoothly, though this was news to you.

"I didn't know you two were so... close," Minje said, looking between you with renewed interest.

"We're not—" you began.

"Running late," Woonhak interrupted, gently tugging your sleeve. "See you guys tomorrow."

Once outside, you pulled your arm free. "What was that about? We don't have plans."

His cheeks flushed pink. "Sorry. Those guys are my friends, but they can be... I just thought you might not want to..."

Understanding dawned. "Are you jealous?"

"What? No! I'm just..." He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it further. "Protective."

"I don't need protection, Woonhak."

"I know that." His voice softened. "Trust me, I know how capable you are. But Minje collects phone numbers like Pokémon cards.”

"We could get bubble tea," you suggested. "If you want."

His face brightened immediately. "Really?"

"Don't make a big deal about it."

"I would never," he said, already bouncing slightly on his toes. "Except it is kind of a big deal because this is the first time you've initiated plans with me, which means you officially consider me a friend now, which is a significant milestone in our—"

"I'm rethinking this already."

He laughed, falling into step beside you. "No take-backs."

@coriihanniee 💌

˖➴ reblogs are appreciated! ty for reading! <3

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[pinkslaystation]

Tulips or Roses?

John Price x reader

In which you find John's old diary detailing his love for you his teammate and you begin to question his love for you. Word Count: 3.6k -> blurb - rose meets tulips

Being a civilian to a soldier was hard enough.

And it was even harder when your husband was a commander for one of the most skillful task force. So it wasn't unusual for him to be gone for long periods of time.

So on a random Friday evening, anticipating his arrival in the coming week, vacuuming the floors, cleaning the windows, you found yourself at the door of John's study, with was decorated with a glass name plate, with the words 'Study' accompanied with a painted heart created from blue and pink fingerprints from you and your husband.

John was never the man to tell you off if you entered his study, instead he encouraged it. He's beckoned you to bring him his evening tea to him, to give him a massage, sometimes when you wanted him, he'd allow you to help him under the desk, if you get what I mean. (speaking from experience ;>)

As you stepped into his room, you noticed the ceilings adorned with sizable white cobwebs, cringing at the apparent neglect of his study. When was the last time someone had even been here?

Sweeping his desk, wiping away the dust, you find a box underneath beside his chair, which prompted you to lifting it up and placing on top of the desk. Man, you underestimated it's weight. You struggled to lift a small but heavy moving box, and it caused a few books and papers to fall out.

You cursed at your clumsiness, picking up the loose sheets, until you fingers caught the spine of a red vintage-like book, which had the word 'diary' written on the front. You didn't take too much notice, skimming through the pages until you caught your name being mentioned a phew times.

You giggle, it's a diary probably with John confessing his love to you numerous time! You know you probably shouldn't look through it, I mean privacy exists, but you just can't help it.

So you look through some of the infrequent entries, the oldest dating back to 10 years back, and the most recent one being nearly 4 years, when you and John had first met.

30th February 2010

Suffering in Afghanistan, the lads and I are stuck in the safe house for a week now. Rose is here too, I should ask her if she's okay.

Ahhh you remember this story. When the Task Force was stuck in the city of Kandahar, in the safe house. You also remember John's team, whom you are well-acquainted with, Soap, Ghost, Gaz, Roach, Rose?

You skip through the boring entries, most of which are just John documenting his work-out plan and the places him and his team had visited.

5th July 2016

Gaz's going on and on about his lass. Someone tell him to talk to her at least, he doesn't even know her name! I keep bringing it up but he keeps mentioning when I'll talk to Rose.

You chuckled, assuming the chick was Gaz's current wife. But the last part caught your attention, Rose again? You remember John telling you that she'd retired, went back north to settle with her family now, so you don't think much of it, I mean they are team mates.

19th June 2017

Saw a cute kid and her mama, wishing I had kids, without this lifestyle. Rose wants a son but I don't particularly mind. Soap overheard our conversation and spammed me lols on Whatsapp, but I thought lol meant little old lady? I am a man though.

You raise your eyebrow at another mention of Rose, why doesn't he care if Rose wanted a son? You didn't realise how close your husband was to her.

2nd December 2018

Christmas this month with my boys. Rose invited me over for a smoke. Ghost rolls his eyes when I mentioned it to him, says I need to man up and make a move.

You squinted your eyes, rereading the entry, and hesitantly skipping to the next one.

7th April 2019

Drinks with my men (and Rose haha, she doesn't like being part of the men). It's her birthday and she wants to tell us something. She's got her red lips again. I'm excited, Soap kept nudging me the entire ride, that cheeky bugger.

Then immediately below it, an update: She's seeing someone.

You're slowly piecing the puzzle, though you don't want to assume anything.

21st August 2019

She came into my room crying, seems like it's not going well, good for me. I hope she's okay and she realises there's better fish in the sea. She hugged me, she smells like roses, I love floral scents. I tried leaning in, she says I'm like an older brother to her.

Your heart breaks a bit, sniffing at your freshly washed hair, which smelt like ... like roses.

You thought floral scents were YOUR thing.

You continued, to the next entry which was marked the date you remember meeting John for the first time at the pub. You force a smile, hoping the entry would lighten your mood.

30th November 2020

In the pub and bored. Rose brought her lad... they're back together. What does she see in him? Soap urges me to find someone else but my heart is set on someone, for a long time. Won't change. He keeps gesturing to a girl on the other end of the counter, she's pretty, but like a tulip. Not like a rose. Not like my Rose.

You grip at the notebook and you try your hardest not to rip the papers out of the book and set his entire study on fire.

You remember this day, when you were dragged to the pub by your friends after being dumped by your ex for another girl. You sat at one end of the counter, with tears in your eyes but one look at that buff Englishman on the other end and your mood flipped instantaneously, 180 degrees.

"Kelsey, look at that guy, Mr Army over there." You beckon towards John's direction, to your friend., slightly tipsy after a peg of beer.

Your friend looks at you with a raised eyebrow, then turns to the guy whose piqued your interest, "You should go for it." She encourages you.

So you get yourself 2 drinks and approach the guy, more confident that usual due to your alcoholic state. A beer would do.

"Hi, this seat empty?" You smile at him innocently.

All this time you had recalled a look of fondness towards you, when he'd first locked eyes with you. You remember bragging about how it had been love at first sight for the both of you, but thinking back, a feeling of doubt starts bubbling inside you.

"It's reserve- you know what. Take a seat."

You remember sitting next to him, passing him a drink, and telling him your name, "...and you are?" you question, although you see him wincing. At first you thought it was just an army thing, so guarded that even the slightest of movements would make him twitch.

But now you're questioning whether he really wanted to engage into a conversation with you.

The following hours, as you painfully recall, was filled with you talking about yourself and occasionally asking him after his life, though he gives you one word answers and frequent nods.

But that was just because he'd just come home from a mission right?

"...and he just broke up with me out of the blue! Like was my 12,000 followers on TikTok not good enough for you?" You chuckle, attempting to crack a joke. He smiles confused, and you note he's probably too old to understand what TikTok was.

"Sounds like an asshole, love." He replies.

"Hmm, he was...I- I just don't know what he'd leave me for her...like I gave you my everything, I was always with you through thick and thin and what, that wasn't enough for you?" You trail off, the effects of the 2nd beer hitting you.

"I understand dove, you just give 'em everything and they just find someone else. What does he have that I don't?" He spaces out, his eyes falling on his teammates sitting at a different table. You follow his gaze, smiling slightly when you lock eyes with one of his smirking subordinates, whom you know know as Soap.

"Those people, they're your team?" You question.

His eyes aren't on you though as he responds, "That mohawk, that's Soap, Ghost next to him, tough as steel but soft at heart, Gaz on the opposite, funny lad, Roach, good ol' Roach..."

You look at the woman to the right of 'Roach', taking in her beauty. Though she's sitting down, you can tell she's taller that you by least 4 inches, with a blonde pixie haircut and painted with a dark smokey eye. A deep smirk is plastered onto her plump ruby red lips as she looks at John Price finally talking to a woman that isn't her. She raises a hand, waving to the both of you, which is almost instantaneously reciprocated by John.

"And her?" You ask, head nudging towards the woman.

"Her...That's Rose. You should meet her, you would like her, but who doesn't..." His chuckle fades out and you at how his attention was fully directed to her. A sinking feeling told you that you should have backed off from the married man, but it disappeared when John pointed out her partner, with gritted teeth.

Your hands are gripping the pages at this point, as you recall memories from the diary from his point of view.

You turn the page to the next entry, dreading the words.

19th December 2020

Thought me and Rose would go back to the pub for another drink for the holidays, but she's going back to his place. Seems they're taking the next steps with meeting the families.

Soap's annoyed at how I'm 'ghosting' the girl I met at the pub, I'm once again unfamiliar with the lingo, I'm not Simon?? She's nice but, not sure I see anything further than a friendship. Gaz and him are picking out an outfit for me, she wants to meet up for bowling apparently. I just want to be with Rose...

Clenching your fist, you shut the diary and toss it aside, feeling all kinds of emotions. Upset that John had never truly looked at you the way you'd looked at him. The way he never wanted you, like you wanted him.

Every time you'd seen him online on Whatsapp, but still hadn't opened your messages, he was ghosting you? Sure after a while of being friends, his behaviour gradually changed, accompanied with rapid texts, but you felt like this relationship was built on lies.

Did he even want to go bowling with you that day? Did you win because he purposely let you, because he was bored and wanted to go home, be with Rose instead? When he asked you to be his girlfriend, did he ask you with Rose in mind?

The ding of the oven stopped your trail of thoughts, so many questions swirling around your head. You walk out of the study, slamming the door behind you, the combined mess of dust and cobwebs remaining untouched.

The glass name plate falls to the ground, the edge shattering, with shards of clear glass laying dangerously on the wooden floor.

A couple of hours go by and the doorknob rattles at 8:45 P.M. on the dot. John was never late when he had to come home to you.

He reaches base at 7:30, drives exacting an hour to your shared home, after making a quick pit stop at the florists within 10 minutes to give you a freshly scented bouquet of red roses.

Roses. So that's why he'd give them you every time...

He makes sure to leave him 5 minutes of spare time, which was designated to flipping open a small metal notebook you'd gifted him, and writing his thoughts down. And once those 5 minutes were up, he places the notepad back into his jacket pocket and practically runs towards the front door.

"Dove, I'm home!" He exclaimed, gently placing his belonging on the floor, before walking into the living floor, where you sat on the sofa with your legs and arms crossed. (MY BITCH POSE IS NASTY)

"Sweetheart, you didn't run up to me at the door, you alright love?" He sits next to you, his calloused and freshly bruised arms rubbing your knee.

The silence was deafening and you couldn't find it in yourself to look at him after all you've read.

He takes it as a cue to continue, "I got you some roses, baby. Your favourite-"

"When did I say they were my favourite?"

John blinks at the interruption, "I mean, you don't like them? It's tradition to bring the same red roses for you every time I'm back..."

"And when did I say I liked them? Are they my favourite? Or are they her favourite?" You shift towards him, anger evident in your voice.

"Her? Who? Sweetheart, what's going on?"

"I mean, come on man, you like floral shit that much that now you're making me wear it?"

"You...don't like floral scents? Did you want tulips instead, baby?"

Your eyebrows are furrowed in annoyance by his confusion.

"It doesn't matter if I wanted tulips, John, it's the fact that YOU like roses. In fact you've like Roses this entire time! Don't act like you like tulips 'cos you don't- to be honest I don't think you ever have!" You rant, handing running through your hair.

"I mean I like both honey, roses are just, um, prettier?" He sounds like he's asking you rather than telling you.

"Of course roses are prettier to you- that's all that you're fucking used to you. It's always roses, roses, roses. You're so obsessed with fucking roses, you never gave tulips a bloody chance!"

"Are we still talking about flowers-"

"And when you do give tulips a chance, you're still thinking about roses- how red they are, how pretty they are, how they need to be watered every 5 fucking minutes, even then there's already someone to water those damn. Red. Roses."

"I- I mean I like tulips too, baby-"

"No. You don't. No, you don't. Tulips are just the safest options for you, cos someone already plucked out those fucking roses. Cos roses don't want you."

You're standing up now, and John's attempts to speak are futile with every sentence you shout.

"No. In fact, roses has never wanted you, roses look better with someone else, and ol' poor John has no more roses, so he goes and waters some unwanted tulips instead!"

John stands up, towering over your shaking frame, his hands come up to stroke your biceps, but he's pushed away.

"I mean, did John ever even like tulips? Or was he faking it cos he never got roses? Was tulips just the safe option? Does John still want roses after all the years tulips have been there for him?"

You left out a pained cry, you didn't even notice the tears leaking out of your eyes.

"Does John even like tulips? Does John even love tulips?"

His hands wipe your tears away, and he brings you into his chest, and you don't attempt to push him away this time.

"Does you even love me, John?" You break down into his arms, letting him carrying you into the bedroom, where he places you gently on the bed, while you hiccup through your uneven sobs. He smells the stench of wine through your shaking breath, whilst stroking your hair, and you slowly fall into a deep slumber with your head pressed against his still uniform-clad chest.

The clock hits midnight and John gets up, trying not to wake you up, grabbing his sweats from the drawer and walking to the bathroom across the hall, in order to not wake you up, from what looked like a well-needed rest.

As he trudges out of the bedroom and through the corridor, the reflection of the broken glass catches his eyes and he squints in the darkness, squatting down to pick a small shard. As he lifts the remains of the nameplate, hooking it back to the door, he steps over the mess into the study to retrieve a dust pan and brush.

Flicking the lights on, he's met with what looks like a scene from the reality TV show - Hoarders. So starts cleaning quickly, picking up the duster and bunching up the paperwork from the floor, the pot of pens that had seemed to be knocked down, the diary he'd used to write in...hold on-

Picking up the diary, John flicks through the entries, the book naturally opening to the last open slide.

He begins reading the last entry.

19th December 2020

Thought me and Rose would go back to the pub for another drink for the holidays, but she's going back to his place. Seems they're taking the next steps with meeting the families.

Soap's annoyed at how I'm 'ghosting' the girl I met at the pub....

"Oh...my tulip, I've never loved roses as much as I loved you." He mumbles to himself, whilst simultaneously cringing at his previously written words, immediately throwing the book back on the floor.

It's past breakfast when you wake up, throat and eyes painfully dry from last night's crying session, forcing yourself to drag yourself to the bathroom. You've forgotten that John had come home last night, as your met with a familiar empty bed.

After brushing your teeth and washing your face, you walk downstairs, being face to face with the naked back of Captain John Price.

The smell of chocolate pancakes waft towards your nose, as you look around the kitchen, the room garnished with a variety of different flowered bouquets, with so many variations of plants.

Bundles of dahlias and lotuses, orchids and lilies, carnations and irises, roses and tulips.

John turns to your footsteps, smiling at his perfect woman.

"Baby, good mornin'" He greets you, placing a single rose into your hair, and pecking your forehead warmly.

"John, listen about last night-"

"It was the old diary, wasn't it?" he asks.

You nod, ashamed for your abrupt behaviour yesterday. John lifts your chin up, resting his forehead against yours.

"Rose never taught me how to love like you did."

"John, you don-" His pointer finger is pressed against your lips.

"Reading those words from the past, I can see how it may have painted a different picture of my feelings. But let me assure you, my love, that you are the one I adore with all my heart."

Your stroke his face, heart warming to his words.

"Every rose I brought home was a symbol of my love for you, not because it was her favorite, but because it reminded me of the beauty and grace that you bring into my life. And those tulips, they represent the new beginnings and the fresh start that we share together.

My love for you is unwavering and unconditional. You are my tulip, my true love, and I vow to cherish and adore you for all eternity. Please forgive me for any pain or doubt my past words may have caused."

"John..."

He hands you his notepad from from his back pocket, beckoning you to open it.

You look at the first entry.

19th February 2021

I mentioned how I journal sometimes to her, and she bought me a new notepad, it's cute how she calls it a diary. Things are looking good. Bowling's our thing, I let her win because seeing her smile means I've won too. I'm asking her out tonight, Soap cried real tears when I told him.

You turn the page.

20th July 2021

Our 6 month anniversary. Took her to a field of roses and tulips, though nothing compares to her beauty.

The next one.

17th September 2021

I seldom think of Rose, I have my tulip on my mind now. Rose retired, and the team celebrated last night. She hugged me and thanked me for being a good captain. She also acknowledged my previous feelings for her. Man that was uncomfortable, but I reassured her I'm with my tulip now. I love my tulip.

I've always preferred tulips anyway.

And the next.

5th July 2022

Our 500 day anniversary. I want to propose.

17th September 2022

She said yes!! She may be my fiance, but I've already started calling her my wife, not legally yet at least...illegally?

28rd December 2023

We married 30th November. The day we met. Xmas was amazing, I can't see myself with anyone but her. I'm getting deployed tomorrow though.

You look at the most recent entry, dated last night.

16th February 2024

Missed the valentines day with my missus. Hope these roses are enough, though I wanted to get something better. Tulips for my tulip. They ran out haha. Missed my girl, missed her like I've never missed someone before. Soap's right, deployment suck.

Tears welled up in your eyes, not from pain or doubt this time, but from overwhelming joy and love for the man standing before you.

"I'm sorry, John," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. "I didn't mean to doubt your love."

He smiled, a genuine and heartfelt smile that reached his eyes, pulling you into a warm embrace. "No need for apologies, my tulip. Thank you for teaching me how to love."

And in that moment, amidst the scent of chocolate pancakes and fresh flowers, it felt like you love story was just beginning, filled with trust, forgiveness, and a deep, unwavering love for each other.

That should not have taken me 2 days to complete what in the world. Also if i was tulip, that old diary is going straight into a fire! Barbecue anyone? <3 Quick Notes: I head-cannoned Rose to look like Sergeant Calhoun from Fix-it-Felix lolololol woman crush fr i get u john boy I've decided to start a tag list! -> lemme know you're interested to be tagged in my future posts! tags -> @lilliumrorum

[goldfades]

WHO DID THIS TO YOU?──RAFE CAMERON

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for this request, for my lovely jo! @wanderlusturous

─ summary | you and rafe are consumed by an obsessive love, where their madness is fueled by each other. you find exhilaration in pushing boundaries, testing each other’s limits, and the deeper you fall into your shared insanity, the tighter your bond becomes. when rafe finds you crying in your bedroom one day, he loses his shit and is thrown into a silent rage, seeking revenge. and you don't mind, not one bit.

─ pairing | rafe cameron x fem!reader

─ warnings | oh my god, where do i even begin?? obsessive rafe, like insane but reader reciprocates it. a few kisses but mostly just insane stuff. mention of drugging (not to reader), hacking (?), idk what else but this is lowkey insane...

─ ev's notes | im gonna be honest, i don't know if i like this... but lmk if yall enjoyed it. it's a little too dark-themed for me and i got into it until i reread it and realized that it was lowkey insane but hey!!! whatever!!! anyway, pls lmk if this was too dark.. or if you enjoyed it. also, sorry to any becca's out there, it was just the first name that popped up. any feedback is always very appreciated!

ok love u bye!!! pls send me requests!!!!!!

⇨ missing out on updates? check out my masterlist!

The night is suffocating, thick with tension that mirrors the pulse racing in your veins. Every sound, every breath, seems amplified, as if the world knows what’s coming. You stand by the dock, your eyes on the dark water ahead, but your thoughts are elsewhere—on him.

Rafe.

You can already feel him, even when he’s not here. The way your skin hums when you think of him, the way your pulse skips in sync with his name. No one gets you like Rafe does. No one makes you feel like the world is spinning off its axis just by looking at you. He’s chaos, destruction wrapped in a pretty face, and you... you crave it.

The roar of an engine breaks through the night. You don’t turn, but a slow smile curls on your lips. You feel the heat of his presence before you even hear his footsteps.

“Couldn’t stay away, could you?” Rafe’s voice is a low drawl, but there’s something manic beneath it, something that sparks against the madness in you.

You turn your head slightly, just enough to catch his eyes. There’s that look again. That wild, possessive look that sets your blood on fire. He’s close now, so close you can feel the heat radiating off him, feel the tension in the air tighten like a noose around your neck.

“Neither could you,” you reply, your voice low, daring.

He grins, a sharp, dangerous thing. “You’re right. I can’t.”

His fingers brush your arm, just a ghost of a touch, but it’s enough to ignite something violent between you. This—this is what you live for. The thrill. The madness. The way Rafe looks at you like you’re the only thing keeping him sane, and maybe that’s what scares you the most.

Because you’re not sane.

Not anymore.

You can’t even remember why you broke up with him a few months ago, but all you know is that it got overwhelming. There was something suffocating about it—about him. The way he always knew where you were, who you were with, what you were thinking before you even said it. At first, it was intoxicating, the way he could read you like no one else ever could, like you were the only two people on earth and no one else mattered. But then… it was too much. His intensity felt like drowning in quicksand, slow but relentless. And for a moment, just a moment, you thought maybe you needed air.

But standing here now, with the salt stinging your nostrils and the wind howling like some kind of omen, you can’t remember why you ever thought you could leave him.

Because there he is—Rafe Cameron, walking toward you like the world is his and you’re his prize, eyes locked on you in a way that makes your chest tighten, your stomach coil in knots. He’s dangerous in all the ways that matter. Not just because he’s reckless and violent (though God knows he is), but because of how he makes you feel. Alive, in a way that hurts. Like the rush you get standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing one wrong step and it’s all over, but you can’t stop yourself from leaning forward, just to feel the thrill of almost falling.

He doesn’t stop walking until he’s so close you can smell the gasoline and smoke on his clothes, the wild energy pouring off him in waves. He looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters, like you’re the oxygen he’s been deprived of for too long, and suddenly it all makes sense again. The madness. The break-up. The inevitable pull back to him.

“Why’d you leave me?” His voice is low, rough like gravel. His eyes burn with something fierce, and you can feel it sinking into you, clawing its way under your skin. He’s not asking because he doesn’t know. He’s asking because he wants to hear you say it.

You stare at him, heart pounding, pulse thrumming in your ears like a warning. But instead of stepping back, you step forward, closing the small gap between you two. Your breath mingles with his, the night air thick with unsaid things, and you feel like you’re standing on the edge of something irreversible. Like if you take one more step, there’s no going back.

But isn’t that what you’ve always wanted? The danger. The thrill. The sick, twisted excitement of being so intertwined with him that you forget where he ends and you begin.

“I don’t know,” you whisper, even though that’s not the full truth. You do know. You left because you were scared. Scared of how much you wanted him, needed him, even when it hurt. Scared of the fact that the line between love and obsession blurred so fast with him that you couldn’t tell the difference anymore.

His jaw tightens, and his hands, those rough, calloused hands that have touched you in ways no one else ever has, reach out. He grips your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze, and for a moment, you swear you can see the wild, unhinged thing lurking just behind his eyes. It’s the same thing you see in yourself when you look in the mirror. The madness that ties you to him, binds you like a curse.

“You do know,” he says, voice dark and demanding. His thumb brushes your bottom lip, slow, like he’s testing how far he can push you before you break. “You just won’t say it.”

A shiver runs down your spine, but it’s not fear. It’s something else, something deeper. Something that feels like surrender and power all at once. You lean into his touch, letting his hand curl around the side of your face, the heat of him soaking into your skin like a drug.

“I couldn’t handle it,” you admit, the words thick and heavy in your throat. “You. Us. It was too much.”

Rafe’s lips curl into a smirk, but it’s not a kind one. It’s dark, possessive. “Too much? You know you liked it. You loved it.” His hand tightens slightly on your jaw, just enough for you to feel the edge of his control, like he’s reminding you who he is. What he is. “You loved me because of how fucked up we are. Don’t pretend otherwise.”

You swallow hard, heart thundering in your chest, because deep down, you know he’s right. You’ve never felt more alive than when you were with him, caught up in the madness of it all. The fights, the passion, the way you both pushed each other to the edge and then pulled each other back, only to do it all over again. It was twisted, dangerous, and wrong in every way, but that’s what made it irresistible.

“I did,” you confess, and it’s like a weight lifts off your chest, even as you feel yourself falling back into him, back into the chaos. “I do.”

The smirk fades, replaced by something darker, hungrier. His eyes search yours, looking for any sign of hesitation, any crack in your resolve. But there’s nothing. You’re not the same person who left him. Maybe you never really left at all.

Rafe’s hand slides from your chin to the back of your neck, pulling you closer until his lips hover just inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin. “That’s what I thought,” he murmurs, and before you can respond, his mouth crashes into yours, hard and demanding.

It’s not gentle. It’s never been gentle with Rafe. His kiss is all teeth and tongue, like he’s trying to devour you, claim you all over again. And you let him, because deep down, you crave it just as much as he does. The fire, the chaos, the way he makes you feel like you’re spinning out of control but somehow exactly where you’re supposed to be.

When he pulls back, you’re both breathing hard, your lips swollen, your pulse racing like you’ve just run a marathon. His hands grip your waist now, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel the heat of his body searing into yours.

“Tell me,” he says, voice low and dangerous, his eyes boring into yours. “Tell me you’re mine.”

Your heart hammers in your chest, but you don’t hesitate. “I’m yours.” And you are, completely, utterly, unashamedly his.

And just like that, you’re back where you started.

───MONTHS LATER . . .

“God fucking damn it, if you don't tell me right now, I'm gonna lose my shit!” Rafe shouts, his voice cracking like thunder in the small living room as he throws the beer bottle against the wall.

Glass shatters everywhere, scattering across the floor, but you don’t even flinch. You’ve seen this before. Hell, you’ve lived it. The rage, the temper, the chaos—it's like a script you’ve both memorized by heart.

You lean back against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching him like you would a caged animal—wild and unpredictable. He’s pacing now, his movements sharp and erratic, the muscles in his jaw clenched so tightly you wonder if they might snap. His eyes are wild, blue like ice but burning with something untamable, something dangerous. He’s teetering on the edge, that fine line between fury and desperation, and you know it won’t take much to push him over.

But you don’t care. Not right now.

“Rafe, calm the fuck down,” you say, your voice steady, almost bored. You know that’ll get to him. It always does. Nothing makes him crazier than when you don’t give him the reaction he’s fishing for.

His head snaps in your direction, eyes narrowing as he stalks toward you like a predator honing in on prey. He stops just inches away, towering over you, his chest heaving, breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts. He’s so close now that you can smell the alcohol on his breath, feel the heat radiating off his skin. But you don’t move. You stand your ground, looking up at him with a calm that borders on defiance.

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” he spits, voice laced with venom. His hands are balled into fists at his sides, knuckles white. “I’m sick of your bullshit! You think you can just stand there like you’re better than me, like you’re not a part of this, but guess what, baby? You are. You always have been.”

You tilt your head slightly, eyes narrowing as a slow smile creeps across your lips. “You’re being dramatic, Rafe,” you say, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “What, you gonna break something else? Or are you actually gonna say what’s bothering you for once?”

That does it.

He slams his hands down on the counter behind you, trapping you between his arms, his face just inches from yours. His eyes blaze with fury, but beneath it, you see something else—something raw, something that makes your stomach twist in knots.

“Don’t play games with me,” he growls, his voice low and dangerous. “I know what you’re doing. You think you can just push me around, mess with my head, and I’ll keep coming back like a fucking dog, huh?”

You meet his gaze, unblinking, heart racing in your chest but refusing to show it. You can feel the tension crackling between you like electricity, the air thick with it, suffocating. This is what it always comes down to with Rafe—this toxic push and pull, this need to break each other just to see what’s left after the pieces fall apart.

“You think I’m the one messing with your head?” you say, your voice low, challenging. “Maybe you should take a look in the mirror, Rafe. You’re not exactly innocent in this, are you?”

His jaw clenches, and for a moment, you think he’s going to explode. But instead, he just stares at you, eyes flickering with something dark, something primal. Then, slowly, he leans in closer, his breath hot against your skin.

“Innocent?” he whispers, his lips brushing your ear. “Baby, I’ve never claimed to be innocent. You knew exactly who I was when you got into this.”

You don’t flinch. You don’t pull back. Instead, you tilt your head slightly, your lips grazing the corner of his jaw as you whisper back, “Yeah, and that’s why I’m not scared of you.”

His breath hitches, just for a second, and you feel a surge of satisfaction. You’ve always known how to push his buttons, how to throw him off balance, even when he’s at his most dangerous. It’s a game you’ve played a thousand times before, and you both know how it ends—chaotic, messy, with both of you circling back to the same place.

But this time feels different.

There’s something darker in the way he’s looking at you, something that feels more like possession than anger. Like he’s not just mad because you’re fighting—he’s mad because he can’t stand the thought of you slipping away. Because he knows, deep down, that no matter how hard you push him, he’ll always want you. Need you.

“You don’t get to walk away from me,” Rafe says, his voice low, deadly. “Not this time.”

You feel his grip tighten on the counter behind you, his body pressing against yours as if he’s trying to fuse the two of you together, like if he holds on tight enough, you won’t be able to escape. But he doesn’t know, doesn’t understand that you’re already too far gone. That the very thing he’s holding on to is slipping through his fingers, and there’s nothing either of you can do about it.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” you say softly, a cold smile on your lips. “I can walk away whenever I want. I just choose not to.”

And with that, you duck under his arm, slipping out from between him and the counter. His eyes follow you, wide with disbelief, rage bubbling just beneath the surface. You know he’s about to lose it, to completely unravel. But you don’t turn back. Not yet.

Because this time, you want him to come after you.

And he always does.

Rafe’s eyes darken as you slip past him, and for a moment, the room goes deadly silent. The tension is thick, heavy like a storm cloud waiting to burst. You know exactly what’s coming, and it sends a thrill down your spine. You can almost feel it—the moment he snaps, the second his control shatters. It’s a twisted game, one you’ve played too many times before, and every time, you push him a little harder, a little further, just to see how far he’ll go for you.

You take slow, deliberate steps toward the door, your back turned to him, feeling the heat of his gaze sear into you. You don’t need to look back to know he’s watching, every muscle in his body tensed like a predator stalking its prey. The air feels electric, charged with a violence that’s always been just beneath the surface between you two.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” His voice cuts through the silence like a knife, sharp and biting. You stop, but you don’t turn around. Not yet.

“Does it matter?” you ask, voice calm, almost teasing. “I thought I could walk away whenever I wanted, remember?”

The silence that follows is deafening. You know you’ve hit a nerve. He hates when you challenge him, hates when you act like you have the upper hand. But that’s what makes it so addictive—pushing him to his limit, watching him unravel in front of you, knowing that no matter how hard he fights it, he’ll always come back to you.

Because he can’t help it. Neither of you can.

Suddenly, you hear his footsteps behind you, fast and heavy, and before you can react, his hand grips your arm, yanking you back toward him with a force that nearly knocks the breath out of you. He spins you around, his face inches from yours, eyes blazing with fury.

“You’re not fucking going anywhere,” he growls, his voice low and dangerous. His grip tightens on your arm, fingers digging into your skin, but the pain only makes your pulse quicken, your breath hitch in your throat. There’s something about the way he looks at you—like he’s on the verge of losing control, like he’s barely holding himself together—that sends a thrill through you.

“Let go of me, Rafe,” you say, your voice daring him, even though you know you don’t really want him to.

He doesn’t. Instead, he pulls you closer, his other hand gripping the back of your neck, forcing you to look up at him. His chest is heaving, his eyes wild, but there’s something else there, too—something desperate, like he’s terrified of losing you, like he’s clinging to you with everything he has left.

“You think you can just walk away?” he snarls, his breath hot against your face. “After everything? After all the shit we’ve been through? You really think I’m just gonna let you go?”

You meet his gaze, unblinking, your heart racing, but there’s no fear. Not with him. There never is. Instead, you feel the pull again—the twisted, sick need to see how far you can push him, how deep his obsession goes.

“I think you don’t have a choice,” you say, your voice steady, even though your pulse is hammering in your ears.

His grip tightens, his jaw clenched so hard you can see the muscles twitching beneath his skin. For a second, you think he’s going to snap—really snap—but then, just as quickly, something shifts in his expression. The anger doesn’t fade, but it’s joined by something darker, something raw and consuming.

“You’re wrong,” he whispers, his voice barely audible but laced with danger. “You don’t get to decide when this ends. I do.”

Before you can react, his lips crash against yours, rough and demanding, as if he’s trying to prove a point. It’s not a kiss; it’s a claim, a reminder that you belong to him, whether you want to admit it or not. His hands tighten on you, pulling you impossibly closer, and you can feel the tension in his body, the barely restrained violence simmering just beneath the surface.

But instead of pulling away, you kiss him back with just as much fire, matching his intensity. It’s always been like this between you two—this chaotic, messy whirlwind of emotion that neither of you can control. You push, he pulls, and somewhere in the middle of it all, you find something that feels like love, even though you both know it’s something darker, something more dangerous.

When he finally pulls back, both of you are breathing hard, your lips swollen and bruised. His hand stays on the back of your neck, his thumb brushing against your skin in a way that’s both possessive and tender, like he’s reminding himself that you’re still here, still his.

“You’re mine,” he says, his voice rough, eyes blazing as he stares down at you. “You’ve always been mine.”

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest. There’s a part of you that wants to fight it, to push him away and run as far as you can. But there’s a bigger part of you, a darker part, that knows he’s right.

You’re his. You always have been.

“Yeah,” you breathe, your voice barely a whisper. “I’m yours.”

The words hang in the air between you, thick and heavy, and for a moment, everything else falls away. The anger, the tension, the broken glass on the floor—it’s all background noise now. All that matters is the two of you, standing here in this twisted, fucked-up mess of a relationship, knowing that no matter how many times you try to break free, you’ll always end up right back here.

With him.

Rafe’s grip on you softens, just slightly, and for the first time in what feels like hours, the intensity in his eyes eases. But it’s still there, simmering beneath the surface, waiting for the next time one of you decides to test the limits again. Because there will be a next time. There always is.

“You’re not leaving me again,” he says, his voice softer now, but no less serious. “Not ever.”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Because deep down, you know that no matter how much you might want to, no matter how many times you tell yourself you can walk away, you won’t.

You never could.

And Rafe knows it, too.

───

You don’t usually cry. Not ever. Tears are something you’ve learned to bury deep down, hidden under layers of indifference and biting sarcasm. But tonight, they come, hot and angry, streaming down your face as you sit curled up on the edge of the bed, hands trembling in your lap. The weight of the evening presses down on you, your mind reeling from everything that happened.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not tonight.

Your phone buzzes again on the nightstand, but you ignore it. You can’t deal with it right now. You don’t want to see the messages or hear the apologies. You don’t want to relive what just went down.

You wipe at your face roughly, trying to pull yourself together, but it’s no use. The shaky breath you let out only betrays you further, and you feel the tears well up again. You bite your lip to keep from making a sound, not wanting him to hear you.

But, of course, Rafe hears everything.

The door swings open, and Rafe steps inside, his broad frame filling the doorway. He looks at you, really looks at you, and in an instant, his expression darkens. His blue eyes narrow as they sweep over you, taking in the tear-streaked face, the hunched shoulders, the way your body is wound tight like a coiled spring, ready to snap. His jaw tightens, and you can practically feel the shift in the air around him.

“What happened?” His voice is low, dangerous, barely restrained. It’s not a question—it’s a demand.

You shake your head, trying to brush it off. “It’s nothing, Rafe. Just forget it.”

But you know better than to think he’ll let it go. The second you met him, you realized Rafe Cameron isn’t the kind of guy who “forgets” anything.

He moves closer, the tension in his body palpable. He’s not pacing like he usually does when he’s angry. This is different. Controlled. Focused. Like he’s honing in on the source of your pain, ready to eliminate it. He crouches down in front of you, one hand gripping your chin, forcing you to look at him. His touch is firm, possessive, but not rough—not yet.

“Tell me what happened,” he says again, his eyes boring into yours. “Who did this to you?”

You hesitate for a moment, unsure if you should even bring it up. You know how Rafe gets—how he reacts when someone hurts you. And this time, it wasn’t just anyone. It was someone close. Someone you thought was your friend.

“It’s—” You start, but your voice cracks, and you quickly bite down, trying to steady yourself. “It was…Becca.”

“Becca?” The name drops like a lead weight between you two, and you can see the recognition flare in his eyes. Becca, your friend for years, the one person outside of him you’ve always trusted. The one person he’s always been wary of.

Rafe’s grip tightens slightly, his thumb brushing over your jaw in a way that makes your pulse race. His voice drops to a low, dangerous whisper. “What did she do?”

You hesitate, but the words spill out before you can stop them. “She—she said some things. At the party tonight. She called me out in front of everyone, said I was using you, that I only stuck around for the money, the attention. She tried to turn everyone against me, Rafe. She made me look… weak.”

His face hardens instantly, and for a split second, you see something flash in his eyes—something dark and lethal. The kind of rage that makes your breath catch in your throat, even though you know it’s not directed at you.

“She said what?” His voice is so low now, it’s almost a growl.

You nod, swallowing hard, feeling the burn of humiliation all over again. “I don’t know why she did it. I thought she was my friend.”

Rafe lets out a slow breath, and the air around him feels like it’s vibrating with the intensity of his anger. He stands up abruptly, pacing the room, running a hand through his hair as if trying to keep himself from completely losing it. But you know it’s too late for that.

“I’ll fucking kill her,” he mutters under his breath, but you hear every word. “I’ll ruin her life.”

“Rafe—” You start to protest, but he cuts you off with a sharp look.

“No. No one talks to you like that. Not her, not anyone.” His voice is clipped, sharp, like he’s barely holding back the full force of what he’s feeling. “You don’t deserve this shit. Not from her, not from anyone.”

His protectiveness borders on obsession, but you can’t help but feel a strange comfort in it. It’s twisted, but there’s something about the way Rafe reacts to these things—like the whole world can burn as long as you’re safe—that makes you feel… seen. Important.

“I’m going to fix this,” he says, more to himself than to you, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “She thinks she can talk shit about you? In front of everyone? Humiliate you? Nah. She’s going to regret it. I’ll make sure of that.”

“Rafe,” you say softly, trying to reach for him, but he’s too far gone. You can see it in the way his eyes have glazed over, already plotting, already deciding exactly how he’s going to destroy Becca.

And part of you wants to stop him. Part of you knows that this isn’t the answer, that maybe you should handle it differently, like a normal person would.

But you’re not normal. Not anymore.

“I’m serious,” he says, turning to face you again, his expression deadly serious. “No one fucks with you. Ever.”

His intensity washes over you, and for a second, you feel like you can’t breathe. But at the same time, it fills you with a sense of power, knowing that he’s willing to go to these lengths for you. That he’ll protect you at all costs, no matter how destructive it gets.

You stand up slowly, crossing the room until you’re in front of him, your hand resting on his chest. “Just… don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

Rafe’s eyes flicker down to you, and for a brief moment, you see a softness there, a flicker of the boy beneath all the rage and chaos. “I won’t. But I’m not letting this go.”

You nod, knowing there’s no point in arguing with him. This is who he is—who you both are. Twisted, obsessive, reckless. But it works. Somehow, it works. And deep down, you don’t really want him to let it go.

A few months later, and somehow everything goes to shit for Becca.

It starts small—things that could almost pass as bad luck. First, her new car gets keyed, deep scratches across the side that no amount of buffing can fix. Then her social media accounts get hacked, posts disappearing, weird comments being left on other people’s pages, like someone is deliberately screwing with her life piece by piece. She brushes it off at first, because Becca’s tough. She’s the type of girl who bounces back quickly, who doesn’t let things get under her skin.

But then things escalate. Quickly.

She gets benched during a big volleyball game when her coach suddenly pulls her aside and questions her attitude. The team captain claims Becca’s been talking shit about the coach behind her back, stirring up drama with teammates. The problem is, Becca never said any of it. But now, she’s got a reputation, and people are starting to look at her differently.

Still, she fights through it, determined not to let it get to her. Becca’s always had her eye on the prize: her full ride to UC Berkeley, where she’s set to play volleyball at the college level. That’s her future. Her escape. Nothing can touch that.

Until it does.

The call comes one morning, out of nowhere. Becca’s shaking as she listens to the voice on the other end of the line, her heart plummeting as her coach tells her the news.

“We’ve received the results of your recent drug test, Becca,” the coach says, his voice stern but somehow apologetic. “I’m sorry, but you’ve tested positive for a banned substance.”

Becca’s head spins, her mouth going dry. “That’s impossible,” she blurts out, panic rising in her chest. “I don’t do drugs. I don’t—”

“I know this is hard to hear,” the coach cuts her off, his voice firm. “But the results are what they are. This disqualifies you from the scholarship and the team. UC Berkeley has revoked your offer.”

The words hit her like a sledgehammer. She feels the ground tilt beneath her, everything she’s worked for slipping through her fingers in an instant. She argues, pleads, tries to explain, but the decision is final. There’s nothing she can do.

And that’s when she starts to see it, to feel the weight of something much bigger pressing down on her. This isn’t just bad luck. It’s not a coincidence that her life is unraveling at the seams. No, this feels orchestrated, like someone’s been pulling the strings behind the scenes, watching her fall apart.

That someone is Rafe Cameron.

Rafe can be physical—he wouldn’t hesitate to swing on anyone he deems a threat. But Rafe isn’t a dumbass. He knows that not everything should be dealt with by violence. Some things are better handled with precision, with patience, with slow, deliberate destruction. He knew that punching Becca in the face wouldn’t satisfy him, wouldn’t give him the kind of control he wanted over the situation.

So instead, he used his connections, his money, his influence, all of the tools at his disposal to dismantle her life bit by bit. A hacked account here, a few whispers to the right people there. He didn’t need to lay a finger on her to destroy her. He just needed to plant the seeds of doubt, to set off a chain reaction, and then watch it all come crumbling down.

The drug test? Easy. A little slip of something into her drink at a party when she wasn’t paying attention, followed by a tip-off to the testing agency. The rumors about her trash-talking her coach? Carefully spread by a few well-placed texts to her teammates, pretending to be her. Her social media? That was just for fun, a way to throw her off balance and make her feel like her world was spiraling.

And it worked.

You know all of this, of course. Rafe never bothers to hide things from you. In fact, he’s proud of it, proud of the way he’s dismantled Becca’s life without so much as breaking a sweat. He tells you about it one night while you’re lying together, his arm draped lazily over your waist as he whispers in your ear.

“She thought she could fuck with you,” he murmurs, his voice dark, satisfied. “But now she knows. No one touches what’s mine.”

You should feel guilty. You should feel something for Becca, after all those years of friendship, of thinking she had your back. But all you can feel is a sick sense of satisfaction, like the universe has finally corrected itself. Becca messed with the wrong person, and now she’s paying the price. And as twisted as it is, you can’t help but feel a little thrill at how far Rafe was willing to go for you, how meticulously he destroyed her without you even asking him to.

“You really did all that?” you ask, your voice low, a smirk tugging at your lips.

Rafe shifts beside you, leaning in closer, his breath warm against your neck. “I told you, baby. No one fucks with you and gets away with it.”

You turn your head to meet his gaze, and there’s something dangerous in the way he looks at you, something possessive and wild. It should scare you, but it doesn’t. Not anymore.

Because the truth is, you like it. You like how far he’s willing to go for you, how far he’s willing to take it. There’s something intoxicating about the way he loves you—twisted, obsessive, and all-consuming. It’s not healthy, not normal, but it’s yours. And that’s enough.

You press your lips to his, kissing him fiercely, feeling the heat between you two ignite once again. Rafe kisses you back just as hard, his hands gripping you tightly, like he’s reminding you that you’re his and no one else’s.

As you pull back, your breath ragged, you glance at him, your voice barely above a whisper.

“She won’t come near me again.”

“No,” Rafe says, his eyes gleaming with a dark satisfaction. “She won’t.”

And in that moment, you both know it’s true. Becca’s done.

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[pucksandpower]

Lullaby

Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: in which Max is the only lullaby you’ll ever need

Warnings: 18+ content

You stare up at the ceiling, wide awake. The numbers on the alarm clock seem to taunt you, the minutes ticking by as you struggle in vain to fall asleep.

It’s nearly 1 am and Max still isn’t home.

With a sigh, you roll over and bury your face in his pillow, breathing in his familiar scent.

It’s not the same.

Your body craves his warmth, the protective circle of his arms. Sleep just won’t come without him here.

You’ve always been this way, for as long as you can remember. A perpetual insomniac, tossing and turning through the lonely nights.

That is, until you met Max.

The first night you spent together, you were astonished to find yourself drifting off within minutes of being wrapped in his strong embrace. It was like magic. Now, months later, the spell hasn’t broken. Max has become a necessity, not just for your heart but also for your health.

The sound of the front door opening stirs you from your restless thoughts. Muted footsteps make their way to the bedroom and you feel the mattress dip down.

“Hey,” Max whispers, his hand grazing your shoulder. “Sorry I’m so late, the meeting ran long. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting up.”

You roll over to face him, drinking in the sight of his tousled hair and tired eyes. “It’s okay. I’m just glad you’re here.”

He offers you a soft smile, the one he saves only for these quiet intimate moments, and your heart skips. No matter how many times you see it, that smile never fails to make you melt.

“Let me just wash up and I’ll be right there, okay?” He squeezes your hand gently before disappearing into the bathroom.

You listen to the familiar sounds of him getting ready for bed, a ritual you know by heart. The splash of water, the electric hum of his toothbrush, the soft thud of his clothes hitting the hamper.

When he emerges in just his boxers, you lift up the covers in silent invitation. He slides in behind you and tucks your body against his chest, legs tangled together.

You fit so perfectly, two puzzle pieces made for each other.

His arms wrap around you like bands of steel and you feel yourself begin to relax into him. Here, cradled against him with your legs interlocked, is the only place you’ve ever found true peace.

Max brushes his lips over your hair. “Did you miss me?” He murmurs.

You smile into the darkness. “You know I did.”

“I missed you too, schatje.” His voice is husky with fatigue. “I’m exhausted but I had to get back to take care of my girl.”

You snuggle deeper into his embrace. “My hero.”

He chuckles, low and warm like honey flowing over you.

You talk softly as you both unwind from the day, voices hushed in the intimacy of the night. He tells you about the team debrief that ran late and you fill him in on the book you started today, trading thoughts and details as the fuzziness of sleep starts to seep into the she of your consciousness.

Eventually conversation tapers off, words replaced by contented silence. Max’s breathing deepens and you know he’s nearing slumber. But your mind still buzzes, body fighting against its own weariness.

You shift restlessly and Max instantly tightens his hold. “Shh I’ve got you,” he soothes. “Just try to relax.”

One large hand begins massaging gentle circles on your back and you focus on its hypnotic motion, on the sensation of his calloused fingers tracing delicate shapes.

He starts humming softly, a nameless tune that fills you with wistful melancholy. You’ve never asked where he learned it. It belongs to these fragile midnight moments, when he coaxes you to stillness with his voice and touch.

Between the comfort of his embrace and the lullaby reverberations rumbling through his chest, you finally feel sleep approaching. Your thoughts drift away until only the present remains — Max surrounding you, his warmth, his scent, the combined rhythm of your heartbeats.

Just as your heavy eyelids begin to close, Max shifts suddenly and cages you beneath him. You gasp as he presses urgent kisses under your jaw, nipping at the sensitive skin.

“Max!” You squirm half-heartedly. “I was almost asleep.”

“Not quite yet, schatje. We’re not done.” His voice is gravelly with arousal that makes your belly swoop. “I need you.”

He kisses you deeply until you’re clinging to him, nails digging into the flexing muscles of his back. This man unravels you with barely a touch, your body open and pliant to him like a flower turns to the sun.

When he enters you it feels like coming home. You let out a shaky exhale, overwhelmed by the perfection of his body joining yours. This connection, this wholeness, is all you’ve ever wanted.

Max sets a slow, deep rhythm. His eyes blaze into you, grey flickering with lust and love and possession. “You’re mine,” he rasps, thrusting harder. “This is right where you belong. Under me, surrounding me, taking all of me.”

“Yes, yes I’m yours,” you gasp. The slide and drag of your bodies is maddening, tension coiling at the base of your spine.

Max grips your thigh, hooking it over his hip to drive himself deeper. “No one else gets to have you like this. You only come apart for me. I’m the only one who gets to feel you shatter.”

You cry out as he hits that perfect spot inside, stars bursting behind your eyelids. “Max, please …”

He crushes you closer, thin control fraying. “Please what? Tell me. I’ll give you anything you need.”

A particularly deep thrust wrings a wanton moan from you. You’re so close now, balanced on a knife’s edge of bliss. “Just you,” you manage to say. “I just need you.”

Max smiles, satisfied. “That’s my girl.” Then his lips slant over yours, swallowing your sobs of pleasure as his hips piston faster. The tension crests, higher and higher, until finally it breaks and you’re swept away on waves of dizzying ecstasy.

Max tenses and follows you over with a rough groan, your name a prayer on his lips. He collapses heavily against you, breath coming in harsh pants.

For long moments you just cling together, fingerprints bruising, heartbeats thundering through one another.

Eventually Max stirs, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. But he doesn’t separate your bodies. He knows you’ll rest easier staying connected, so he simply shifts just enough to take some of his weight off you.

You let out a small sigh of contentment, his warmth seeping into every inch of you like a blanket. Utterly spent and sated, you quickly begin drifting off. But before sleep claims you, Max’s quiet voice cuts through the haze.

“I’ll always come back to you. Every night, just like this. You’re my home.”

His words wrap around your heart, a vow and a lullaby in one. You manage to murmur a quiet “love you” before finally succumbing to sleep, safe in the harbor of his arms.