#the conflict he stirs up in others

[not-poignant]

Sending some questions rom the fic meme, 20, 21 and/or 25 about Palmarosa? Ty

20. What is something you wish more people noticed about this fic?

The tag that says: this is NOT canon compliant. The author's note that says this is isn't canon compliant and adds: "D&D purists enter at your peril." It's always always that I wish the purists would notice that the story is not and is not pretending to be canon compliant.

That. I wish more people noticed that about the fic. The folks who go into FR lore and go 'I bet the author's doing this' and it's like 'I've never heard of that.' Or the folks who are like 'Mephistopheles should be red' and it's like well he has a canonical blue counterpart and also I don't care.

And secondly it's like, I feel like folks set themselves up for disappointment if they miss the tags. I've only ever played one campaign of D&D and it didn't touch Avernus. All I know about vampire spawn and devils comes from BG3 and patchily maintained Wikis. And while I have done a lot of research, I think anyone could say pretty clearly that you can spend a lot of time doing research and still not know a very great deal indeed if you've only ever had limited experience in the world and haven't paid for the canonical materials.

Like I cannot tell you how many people go 'I bet you're doing this because of (X lore I've literally never even heard of)' and it's like anon, I don't even know how to read, I don't go here, blease I beg of you, notice the tags/author's notes.

Folks who expect little cool tricks based off hidden lore in Forbidden Realms canon are going to be extremely disappointed if that's something they're invested in. Like, no. This is a character-driven story where I'm making stuff up that suits the story and the characters. Some stuff is taken from lore, some stuff is invented lore, it's 'whatever works.'

21. What is something you didn't expect people to notice or gravitate towards in this fic?

I didn't actually expect so many people to gravitate towards thinking that Raphael is always jealous when he's punishing or hurting Astarion. That was kind of odd to me, because I don't really think that's how his mind works.

Like I do think he's possessive, but that to me is different. And I think he's possessive because he's Lawful Evil and has a contract with Astarion, so anyone who acts as though they have power over Astarion and the contract, is therefore acting as though they have power over Raphael, which makes him furious. And I do sort of see how people turn that into 'oh he's jealous because Astarion is his' but it's like well, no, it's not really about Astarion as a person at all. It's about the principle of the contract and the threat to his seat of power which is - as we've seen - a threat to his life.

Likewise, he doesn't hurt Astarion or whip Astarion because he's jealous or for any kind of 'relationship' reason, but because he's been lacking in souls, he's weaker than he used to be, he's used to feeding a much broader sadistic appetite, and Astarion was weak and Astarion was there and I suspect he knew and found it very appealing that Astarion would feel betrayed after he'd done a good job and he thought that would lead to better sadistic satisfaction than tormenting someone like Fhaeleb (and he'd be right, as I said in my author's notes, Astarion suffers very prettily).

I guess I'm always kind of surprised how many people folks try to (in retrospect very understandably) attribute predictable human motives to Raphael's actions. Some of his actions are predictable, especially in the context of him being a sadist. But what I find the most fun about writing him, is that his motives are different by and large to many of us.

His core focus is always attaining more power and more souls, and also feeding via sadism, and he will do other things! We know he enjoys other things in life that seem a lot more 'human' and have very little to do with directly attaining power or torturing people, but I also think he's living his best life when he's kind of doing all of it at the same time, lmao, like watching a pornographic play while debauching Astarion, who is both into it and not into it, which creates a low-key delicious anguish that I think Raphael is very into, on the way to getting even more things that he wants, lol.

He's not falling in love with Astarion, although I do also - on the flipside - think he's a bit more human than some people think he is (since killed and resurrected - I've said he's lost his pit fiend form which means now he really is 50% human again), but that'll be talked about in the next chapter.

But it is really interesting watching people kind of like... try and find ways that Raphael works that aligns with what they know of people they've met. And while there is logic to his actions, it's not 'I'm attracted to Astarion so I'm jealous of anyone else touching him' logic. Possession can look a lot like jealousy, but to me they're two different things!

(It's very interesting watching folks either ascribe wholly human motives to all his actions or alternatively, wholly evil and manipulative motives to all his actions, in a very black and white kind of way. I think we see enough of him in the canon to realise that it's not that simple, for a start he's definitely got his own internal ethical compass, and he's also a horrendously sadistic torturer - enough that it goes against canon to have him not be worse to Astarion, which is where the fic is actually most not canon complaint tbh, and I killed him and resurrected him into a weaker form to justify that lmao - and he's just... Imho, to me he resists 'he's doing this' quantification in that he's doing about 10 different things, and some of those things contradict each other, because he's going through a rough time right now. So anyone who's like 'he's doing this one thing' is like... I mean maybe, but he's got these 9 other things going on. But sometimes he's also just not doing that thing at all. Like Raphael is not jealous of Temter, but he certainly finds Temter and amusing sore spot to keep pressing on to make Astarion twist on the hook).

25. Is there anything you would change now about this fic? Why or why not?

Oh definitely not. So far it's going how I'm wanting it to go (considering it has no plan!) :D Idk I'm enjoying writing it, and I don't like to go back and change things once I've committed to them, so it's rare that I actually even consider thoughts like that? I'm not that kind of writer where I go back and think like 'oh I should have done this' or 'I should have done that.'

I'm writing a serial, if there's stuff I think I should have done, I can usually find a way to introduce it later

~

From this meme!

[muzzlemouths]

does anyone have recs for fics centering around Sun/Moon's internal monologue and conflict for the duration of ruin prior to being rebooted — preferably ones where Moon isn't just portrayed as grumpy whiny mean and villainous w/o reason?

[tiedsh0es]

predictions for the next II episode la la la It's Nickel, I'm like 90% certain he's the next to go. (I feel like Silver is safe, because 1. Yin Yang who had a grudge is gone, 2. He's now allied with Nickel and Blueberry, before he was easy pickings/ there was literally no reason the others wouldn't all go for him, but now its 2 out of 4 on his side) And I don't feel like it's going to be Cabby, I just don't think it makes sense. Not when she's just been named Blueberry's target number one because that would mean Nickel is teaming up with someone to take another out AGAIN (like when he sided with Silver and Candle rather than Balloon) I feel like by the least she will stay at least one more episode after this.

Anyways, Nickel. I don't think they would eliminate Balloon before him, just because... that would be such a huge fuck you to Balloon, and Blueberry literally just rejoined (but i'll come back to him). But Nickel his character has been dragging on and on and now that there's only so many episodes left they have to finally do it.

The only person I see going instead of him is Blueberry. It's not impossible. Where maybe Nickel and Silver get fed up with him, / see how they are just repeating mistakes if he starts going against Cabby. I can see that. but thats just what I think

[shorthaltsjester]

nothing more morally reprehensible than a cleric (checks notes) using the key features of their class…? surely that can’t be where we are regarding analysis of character actions in cr at this point.

[oceanxveiined]

Upon getting to Natlan, there is a very strong chance that if she winds up with the same luck as her mother and is unable to bond with a Saurian of her own ( likely as it is, considering how tainted she has become over the course of her journey ), she would be far more inclined to consider using parts of the dragons to see if they could provide enhancing effects or some other purpose.

[ohproserpine]

ix. deer dolly

see all chapters here apologies for the delay! this SHORT chapter is all about the long-awaited reunion, filled with steamy scenes. no plot points, just pure passion. if this portrayal isn't your cup of tea, feel free to skip to the next chapter: to be posted in a few days. tags: fem! reader, alastor being demisexual/demiromantic, allusions to marital activities, steamy bordering smut, mention of blood and injury, religious symbolism, love as a fucked up obsession

As you shut your eyes, the world around you dissolves into swirling shadows. The darkness envelops you, cocooning you in a sense of weightlessness. Pressed against Alastor, you bury your face into his suit, your cheek brushing against the smooth silk of his tie. The decrepit, torn building fades away, replaced by the crisp, clean ambiance of a hotel room. The air feels fresher, devoid of the musty odors that had clung to your senses before. Light streams in through the windows, casting delicate patterns on the walls that dance and sway with ethereal grace.

"Cher."

Rough lips press tenderly against the side of your temple and a heave escapes your chest, tears tracing silent paths down your cheeks, their presence unnoticed until they meet the fabric beneath your eyes, staining Alastors suit. The noise of your own blood rushing in your ears drowns out all other sounds, leaving you isolated in a world of agony.

Suddenly, the pain in your ankle resurges with a vicious intensity, sending waves of agony coursing through your body. A whimper escapes your lips, barely audible amidst the overwhelming sensation. It feels as though your very being is folding in on itself, ribs straining against flesh, breath catching in your throat. With the adrenaline long gone, every ache and throb becomes magnified, threatening to consume you whole.

"Al, it hurts," you manage to utter, your voice strained with anguish.

Alastor remains silent, his dilated, frenzied eyes locked onto your shaking form. His hand reaches up, lingering where your throat meets your jaw, the sharp points of his claws pressing down with a calculated pressure. You feel a sharp nip, and a bead of blood begins to seep from the small wound, a crimson offering that seems to stir something primal within him.

His mouth waters, and he swallows audibly, his gaze fixated on the trickle of blood.

"Sweet girl," he murmurs softly, the words a stark contrast to the hunger in his eyes. His thumb moves to gently swipe away the tears that streak down your cheeks, his touch oddly tender despite the predatory gleam in his gaze.

Leaning down, Alastor presses a tender kiss against the small wound, his lips a soothing balm against the raw edges of your suffering. A rush of conflicting emotions floods through you—pain, longing, and a desperate craving for his touch. With a soft sniffle, you raise a trembling hand to press against the back of his head, your fingers threading through his hair.

Alastor responds to your desperate craving, his hands flying to your hips as he lifts you effortlessly and lays you down onto a nearby chair. One of his shadows encircles your ankle, causing you to tense instinctively. However, instead of pain, you feel a cool sensation spreading through your skin, soothing the ache and tension. With a sigh of relief, you close your eyes, allowing yourself a moment to relax into the chair.

All the while, Alastor's gaze pierces through you, his eyes dark with desire and desperation.

You're right in front of him, vulnerable and exposed, a temptation too potent to resist. The taste of your blood still lingers on his tongue and he longs to sink his teeth into your soft flesh, to taste the sweetness of your essence as he consumes you with a fervor bordering on madness, leaving marks that brand you as his and his alone. Every fiber of his being yearns to ravage and possess you, to consume you in a frenzy of passion.

But he understands that to yield to his desires would mean risking further harm to you, and he cannot bear the thought of causing you any more pain.

And so, with a tortured soul and a heavy heart, he fights against the primal instincts that surge within him, denying himself the one thing he craves above all else.

As the minutes pass and the pain begins to dissipate, you find yourself panting softly, your chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. Exhaustion and relief wash over you in waves, mingling with the lingering ache that still echoes through your body.

Gazing up at Alastor, you smile, your hands instinctively moving to rest on his lower abdomen, seeking the reassuring warmth of his touch in the dimly lit room.

A silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating.

Alastor's hands remain clenched at his sides, the strain evident in the way his claws dig into his palms, threatening to break through the surface of his flesh. The protection of his gloves is the only barrier preventing the sharp tips from drawing blood.

His intense gaze, like twin flames burning in the shadows, enveloped you in their fiery embrace. Crimson eyes, almost glowing with intensity, held you captive, trapping you in a cage of his unspoken desires.

With each passing moment, it became increasingly apparent that he was relinquishing control, leaving you with the reins in your hands and him at your mercy.

Straightening yourself, you let your nails graze over his abdomen before landing on his beating chest. The rhythmic pulse beneath your touch erratic. Finally, after what feels like an eternity to Alastor, you break the stifling stillness with a voice barely above a whisper. "On your knees."

Alastor's gaze darkens, a predatory glint flashing in his eyes as he pauses for a moment, as if considering your request. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, your husband obeys, sinking to his knees before you.

Wasting no time, you seize him by the collar, pulling him close as your lips collide in a fevered kiss. The red lipstick you wear leaves its mark on his mouth, staining and smearing across his lips, cheek, and jaw. A low growl escapes him as he tugs off the jacket to his suit before his claws are grazing down your legs, leaving a trail of destruction as the fabric of your stockings tears with an audible rip.

With a breathless whimper, his name rolls off your lips, and Alastor freezes in place. It's as if something inside him shatters, a floodgate bursting open to release the pent-up longing and passion that he's kept restrained for so long.

Suddenly, his arms tighten around you, pulling you closer as he responds to the urgency of your kiss with equal fervor. With a low, primal grunt, your husband pushes against you. Every brush of his lips against yours, every press of his body against yours, speaking of a hunger that can no longer be contained. It's a hunger born of years of yearning and longing, a hunger that demands to be sated here and now.

Both of you lean back, lost in the intoxicating frenzy of desire. The chair beneath you groans and creaks ominously under the strain before finally giving way with a loud snap.

You yelp in surprise as the ground rushes up to meet you, but before you can hit the hard floor, Alastor's arms wrap around you protectively, catching you in a tight embrace. With a swift motion, he pulls you up into his embrace, effortlessly supporting your weight as he holds you close.

With deliberate steps, Alastor guides you to the edge of the bed before gently lowering you onto its soft surface. You land with a huff and a thud, the mattress embracing you like a comforting embrace.

As you settle onto the plush bedding, Alastor follows suit, hovering above you with his arms caging your head. Leaning down, he presses a trail of kisses down the valley of your breasts, each touch igniting a fire within you.

The straps of your white silk dress are tugged down, revealing the curve of your chest as you melt into the softness of the mattress. Your body instinctively arches towards his touch, every nerve alive with anticipation. As his hands explore the contours of your body, your mind succumbs to a blissful haze, thoughts dissolving into a fog of desire and need.

"Al..."

Alastor continued his ministrations, each kiss a fervent prayer offered up to the goddess beneath him. A reunion long overdue, it felt akin to a sacred ritual. With each tender touch of his lips, he sought to worship you in the most unholy of ways, offering himself up as a devoted supplicant at the altar of your desires.

[cowyolks]

TO DULL THE SHOVELS & SMOKE

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Female Reader

Prompt: In which Simon Riley doesn’t hear the gunshots and yells when he’s around his next door neighbor.

Words: 4.2k

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of gore, mentions of torture based on the Ghost comics, drinking, major PTSD.

At first, it annoyed him.

The thin walls of his Manchester apartment blocked absolutely no sound. From one end, near his desolate kitchen, he heard the half-arsed sounds of a couple at all hours of the night. At the other end, nearly midnight on the dot, a bow would pull over strings.

He thought it to be a violin, but the sound was so horrendous and screeching that he couldn’t quite figure it out. Never less, he couldn’t find it in himself to move from the spot on his hard mattress.

It wasn’t like he could sleep anyways.

Gunshots bled into his ears warm and sticky, curses and cries of civilians slammed against his chest and made his eyes feel like sinking weights. Bombs screeched and blinded him, even though he could see the shadows of his wardrobes and chipped wallpaper.

He was there. On the battlefield.

That was until a particularly awful note would catch his ears, digging through all the horrible sounds of war.

It would make the corners of his lips perk up, especially when he heard the gentle curse of the “musician.” He figured horrible orchestral music would do rather than gunshots. He even managed to acquire at least an hour of sleep before he was stirred awake again by the sounds of death.

He’d wake up as he always did. A horrific grunt and a call for his teammates. It was pathetic, but the usual. Simon couldn’t recall the last time he woke up refreshed. He hadn’t slept well in decades, even his childhood was thrashed with harassment from his father who kept him up. He maybe had a couple good nights of rest as a recruit, while his brother and mother were still alive and his father was long gone festering in the hospital with cancer.

Still he was used to the dark circles under his eyes and the constant urge to yawn.

He’d gone about his civilian life as he usually did. Wake up in a sweat, take a cold shower, drink some breakfast tea, and watch the news. That was until three knocks sounded from his door chipping green paint. He had half the mind to ignore it, Simon didn’t know anyone around the area— After all, he was a Ghost. He chewed on his lip, If it was a threat they wouldn’t have knocked. He settled on placing his steaming mug on the wooden side table and huffing to stand. Curiosity won him over as his creaky joints shuffled its way over to the door.

He creaked it open only a couple inches, cautiously glancing around to see no one in the hallway. Scratching his five o’clock shadow, he blinked, feeling slightly paranoid that maybe he was imaging the knocking. That was until his dark eyes settled upon a half open box of what looked to be tea bags.

A note lay scotch taped to the front, written in the most interesting handwriting Simon had seen.

Heard the screams, I won’t pretend to know what it’s like. I figured you wouldn’t want me to pester you, so I’ll save you from the awkward small talk and leave these here. Not sure if you’re a tea person, but they help me sleep.

-your next door neighbor

He couldn’t find himself to move for a short while. His brain clashed in conflicts, as if he couldn’t settle on a single emotion to feel. It swarmed him at once— annoyance, embarrassment, gratitude.

His neighbor had took time out of their day to drop tea off at his door. He tried to think back to when the last time someone had done something genuinely nice for him. Besides his makeshift family of broken soldiers, he couldn’t think of a single occurrence. Zeroing in on the box, a twitch in his nose gave away his reluctance of the flavor. Lavender and Chamomile. So different than his simple breakfast tea.

But, it wouldn’t hurt to try it. Maybe then he’d be able to silently thank the mysterious neighbor for a good night of sleep.

He figured out who you were when he’d exited the shaky and completely unsafe lift onto his floor. In the crook of his arm he carried a brown paper sack full of his weekly groceries. It wasn’t the most fanciful of ingredients, the most extravagant being simple cuts of chicken breasts. He’d shoved the bag further into his grasp, reaching into his dark colored jeans for his room key when he heard your muffled curse.

You were hunched over your doorknob, pulling helplessly on the metal to unlock it. Hurriedly he changed his footfalls, switching from silent to knowingly hitting the creaks in the aged carpet. Your head tilted at the unpleasant noise, eyes widening in embarrassing anticipation.

It took Simon a moment to truly access the situation. It was as if his brain had slammed into a wall, colliding and knocking all of his thoughts astray. When he finally did come to his senses, the only thought he could repeat was— pretty.

Simon would be the first to admit that he had not been around many women in his life. Therefore, he didn’t have much to draw comparisons to—regardless you had to be the most beautifully unique person he had ever seen.

You wore a knitted sweater, likely homemade by the barely noticeable tears of threads and flaws. His eyes filtered down to your jeans, then his attention drew to the absolutely ridiculous socks clad to your feet and ankles. Bright purple, decorated with pink polka dots. He’d glanced up, embarrassingly distracted enough to not be able to listen to your moving lips.

“Hmm?” He grunted, thankful for his black surgical mask that covered half of his face. He felt secure being covered, as if all the bad things couldn’t penetrate through the flimsy material.

“Oh! Sorry for mumbling,” you apologized, which made Simon’s head tilt to the side. Why apologize for his lack of hearing?

You cleared your throat, releasing the doorknob from your hands and instead twisting them together in a nervous habit. It seemed you could hardly sit still, all in the span of thirty seconds Simon caught on to your spastic fingers and tapping foot.

“I don’t suppose you know how to pick a lock?” You squeaked, instantly cringing at the horribly put together question.

“Excuse me?” Simon spoke, a hint of surprised amusement coating his tongue. Of course he knew how to break into buildings and pick locks, but you didn’t need to know that.

“I uh, locked myself out of my apartment. I forgot my purse and I keep my keys in there. I was just in a rush for food before my favorite place closes, and well— I’m rambling.” You sputtered, looking like it would be a better option to break through your door than stand under his burning stare.

He didn’t expect himself to extend towards you, settling his bag of groceries on the floor near his door. You slid out the way as he approached, not before he caught a pleasant whiff of lavender and something floral.

Simon shuffled in the pocket of his jeans, pulling out a floss pick from the material. Call it his nagging habit, but he hated having shit in his teeth. He wasn’t used to eating or drinking with his balaclava on at work, so on the rare occasions he ate, it absolutely irritated him. Now the floss pick came in handy as he bent the hard plastic to fit into the lock of your door.

He was aware of your stare as he lay crouched, catching the puzzled yet intrigued look from his peripherals.

“Are you some type of cop?” You blurted, making Simon’s lips peek up in a half arsed amusement. A cop? This girl was funny.

“No,”

With a final click, your door creaked open with a whine of its hinges. He rose off the old carpet with a sigh, immediately going back to his groceries so he could be left in his solitude. Then before he could reach down and pick up the bag, your words cut him short.

“Thank you. Um… did you like the tea?” It was a simple question, but not one he was expecting. “It was alright.” He lied, the untouched box still rested on his cold countertops.

“You didn’t like it did you?” You chuckled, reading right through him. All he gave was a shrug of his shoulders, not confirming nor denying. “I knew it. You probably drink your tea black and food bland.” You teased lightheartedly, making an equally playful offended sound fall from Simon’s lips. It occurred to him that he’d smiled more in these last five minutes than he had in a whole year.

“It’s only for mature palates.” He heard himself joke, nearly shocked at his own behavior.

“Sure…” You introduced yourself at last, finally able to have a name to your face. “Simon,” he only thought it fair to state his own. Although it sounded weird coming off his lips instead of the usual introductory Ghost.

“Well Simon, if you’re ever on Bakers Street, there’s a Korean Barbecue place that is delicious. Now that’s real food. I’ll just have to wait until tomorrow since I pulled this stunt. And thanks again!” You smiled, an awkward wave marking your goodbye.

Simon nodded and entered his dark flat, once again drawn into his own mind and the sound of warfare.

He made sure, a few days later to pay you back for your kind words and the disgusting tea. He knocked on your door, hurriedly rushing back to his own and out of sight, hoping the white takeout box of barbecue would make your evening.

He had a particularly rough morning on an autumn rainy day. The chill of the air and racket of raindrops on the window was enough to startle him awake. He was reminded of the cold chill of Russia, as well as the raindrops hitting way too similar to the sound of bullets. It nerved him, nearly taking him several minutes to be able to breathe properly again.

He’d done what his therapist had mentioned, pinpointing colors, sounds, and textures.

Yellowing wallpaper, humming ventilation, scratchy blanket.

Gray clouds, rattling ceiling fan, his own warm skin.

With a sigh, he curled his palm over his eyes, rubbing away the awful reoccurring night terrors, and settling for getting dressed. He wore the simple clothes he always did, black hoodie, jeans, and boots. Simple, yet effective.

He grew rather sick of the walls of his apartment. The plaster suffocated him, the air suddenly too stuffy. For a short moment he was stuck in that coffin again, maggots wriggling at his flesh and the scent of rotten meat flooding his nostrils.

He stood suddenly, attempting to calm himself. He was in Manchester, he was standing. Something he couldn’t do in a coffin. It was a shitty autumn day with rain battering his window sill. He wasn’t in the desert, he wasn’t half dead. He was here.

He let his body lead him out the door with no destination. All his mind happened to scream was out, out, out.

He’d barely been able to grab the door handle and twist, fingers shaking in such a pathetic way it had him wrinkling his nose. He was underwater, shoved into the bucket as they held him under, making him lose his breath and weakly fight.

No he was here. Manchester! In Manchester.

“Simon?”

He was suddenly lifted up, finally able to push the freezing water out of his lungs and suck down oxygen. His head swiveled weakly to you, eyes likely looking dead and cold.

You were dressed warm. A coffee-colored sweater swaddling your form and a burnt orange cardigan hanging from your shoulders as well. You wore typical jeans and slip-ons, but bright orange knitted socks peaked from your jeans. They were even littered with pumpkins and leaves designs. 

He hummed in your acknowledgment, letting himself worry about his breathing once again. Colors, sounds, textures.

Orange Cardigan, your slow breathing, soft knitted socks.

“Are you okay?” You’d squeaked, barely audible over his massive heaving breathes. He instinctively nodded his head, knowing that if he showed any sign of weakness he’d be terminated. That’s how it’s been since he was four years old, being terrified of his father but not being able to express such fear.

“You know, it’s okay to not be okay.” You read right through him. Taking an inching step towards him. He said nothing, still shocked that you hadn’t left in a disgusted manner. He was weak and terrifyingly broken, and yet your sweet gaze never broke into pity.

Orange cardigan, quiet steps, smooth skin against his wrist.

He’d instantly felt relief from the lack of stinging pressure against his palm. Not realizing he’d been digging his nails into the calloused flesh, causing angry red crescents to print into his skin.

“Would you like a tea? I was about to go to the place across the street?”

His mind screeched no. He wanted so badly to be alone. To break something, to laugh as he bloodied his knuckles. He also wanted to shield his too pleasant neighbor from his violent tendencies. To keep her from him, to protect her. But his cold and dead heart managed to thaw and break all in one. The vile organ spoke for him as he found his head bobbing, lungs sucking in a big breath.

“M’kay.” He mumbled, following after your sweet lavender perfume down the lift like a sickly bloodhound.

He’d followed like a shell, hardly memorizing the turns and passing civilians until he was blasted with warm air from a cozy little cafe. He was slammed with comfort instantly, thrown back into the present world instead of the bloodied one he was used to seeing in his mind.

String lights hung above your head, illuminating your warm skin and kind smile. You’d ushered him to sit in the far corner, the leather booth squishy and comfortable. Simon had tuned into the fluttering orchestra of some jazz band, relaxing his bones and tired muscles only slightly.

Golden lights, swaying music, brewing coffee.

He startled when a thick paper cup slid in front of him, the fresh scent of breakfast tea relaxing him further, among with the smiling face blinking at him.

“Got your favorite, bland breakfast tea.” You quipped, taking a sip of your own lavender fruity tea. He let a soft grin cross his lips, pushing the invasive thoughts away while you were with him. “I told you it was an exquisite taste, you drink tea for a child.”

A bubbly laugh escaped you, making Simon freeze in pure awe. He’d never heard something so beautiful, a real authentic laugh. One that he caused.

“You should try it.” You eased, pushing your cup towards him with amusement. Simon’s eyes managed to squint in disgust, glancing down at the odd beverage.

His hand fit around the paper material, warmth meeting his fingers as he brought it carefully up to his scarred lips. The taste was sugary, but floral and rich at the same time. His tongue retreated away, and instantly he swallowed it like it was burning alcohol.

“I don’t like it.”

This tea perfectly matched your personality. Bubbly, overly sweet, and calming like the essence of lavender under his tongue. He’d rather have you than the tea.

“Well what do you like, oh mysterious neighbor?” You chuckled, taking back your tea with a happy grin. His dislike hadn’t irked you at all, instead you seemed more intrigued than before. As if he was enough to quirk your interest.

“Football.”

“Man United?”

He nodded.

“I’m a Liverpool fan.” You sighed, a guilty and mischievous grin passing over your lips.

“That’s more disgusting than that tea!” He growled out, a chuckle breaking through his chest at your lit up face.

“Yeah? What’s your favorite food or drink then? If you’re so quick to bash my tea!” You bickered back, happily noticing his shoulders relaxing and eyes softening.

“One of my Sergeants lives in Glasgow, he frequents at this pub with the best fry up you’d ever eat.”

“Breakfast in a pub?” You questioned, taking a sip of your tea again.

“Best hangover medicine.”

You’d scoffed, hiding your smile between your empty cup. Simon was surprised just how easy it was to talk to you. Here he was, just a man having a tea with a woman. Perhaps even a date? He didn’t have to worry about following orders or barking protocol to privates. Here he could be Simon, the man under the mask and war paint. It was… nice.

“So you’re in the military. That makes sense why I haven’t seen you over the last couple months.” You observed, but didn’t push. You were hanging the metaphorical bait, but he didn’t have to bite it if he didn’t want to.

He nodded, simple enough to confirm, but not enough to feel exposed.

“Well Simon, I have a train to catch. I’m going into Liverpool to see my Mum.” You explained, offering a polite smile.

“Sure.” He mumbled, watching you shuffle to leave the booth. “We should do this again sometime, it was nice to talk to someone besides my cat.” You urged, a laugh encasing your words.

His heart threatened to bounce out of his chest, but he pulled himself together with a subtle pinch to his thigh.

“Sounds nice.”

Dried blood coated his mask and stained his gloves to the point that he had to pull extremely hard to take them off. His shoulders slouched significantly and his eyes grew such large bags under them he could feel his skin sink into his skull. He was tired, exhausted, and needing a warm, long shower.

“Good te’ be back, yeah, L.t.?” Soap threw himself against a bench, groaning as he bent down to untie the laces of his boots. The Scot likely had the same idea as Simon, to shower all this blood off their bodies.

“Sure. Back to morning drills and bland Mess Hall food.” He added in monotone, eyes twinkling in amusement as Soap let out another dramatic groan.

“Oh don’t be like that.” He teased again, constantly pushing Simon out of his dramatic and lone atmosphere. It was nice in ways, how Soap managed to brighten up his day and keep him on his toes.

Speaking of toes, a frown worked its way onto his face as he caught the state of his freshly knitted socks. Dark mud and seeping blood rubbed uncomfortably against his toes, soaking the material of all its purity.

Soap followed his eye line, latching onto the pattern of white ghosts against black knitted material. A chortle escaped him, “Where the bloody hell did ye’ get those?”

“My Neighbor.” He answered shortly, taking note of the crimson color bleeding into the white ghosts.

“D’aw, little gran’ made ye’ some socks?” Soap teased, making the wrong assumption that you were some sweet elderly lady. Simon shook his head, peeling off the socks begrudgingly as he looked forward to his hot shower to warm his bones.

“She’s my age.”

His mind travelled to you. How you’d begged and begged for him to tell you his callsign, bringing up Top Gun of all things.

“Oh my gosh! You need to watch more movies. I can’t believe you don’t know who Tom Cruise is. Top Gun!” Your ecstatic voice carried as you sat in the now familiar booth the two of you shared.

It’s become a common occurrence for him to go out with you on Saturday mornings, sometimes you’d bring your laptop and study for an upcoming test in uni, other times you’d ask him any question under the sun, just to get to know him better. He was comforted by your mindless chatter, even more so when you’d avoid certain topics that made him uncomfortable.

You’d hardly pushed on his childhood or career, that was until you’d thought him traitorous that he’d never seen either of the Top Gun movies.

“Maverick and Goose? Never heard of them?”

“No.” Simon shrugged, sipping on his tea as your eyes sparkled again. “Do you have a callsign?”

His teeth grit at the question as his airway slightly closed. It was dangerous to identify himself off the clock, even more so in a public area. He studied your antsy form, noticing your hips hanging off the booth in curiosity, as well as the soft flesh of your lips pulled between your teeth. How could he ever say no to a creature so effortlessly beautiful?

“Ghost.”

A few days later, a knock on his door startled him from his routine of watching the local broadcasting. He’d approached the door, only to find a black pair of socks with little white ghosts knitted against the seams.

“Is she fit?” Soap found himself asking, a happy grin shining through. Simon was glad for his mask, for when he pictured your smooth skin, beautiful eyes, and stunning frame he could picture no flaws. Fit? That didn’t even begin to describe you.

“You have no idea, mate.”

He’d returned home Christmas Eve, tired and worn from all the flights and jet lagged beyond belief. His muscles were stiff and his heart was heavy. This was always his least favorite time of year.

Horror flashed before his very eyes, usually he’d get away with spending the holidays on base, catching up with his paperwork and training privates a little more to reduce his thoughts of his late family. Instead, Price all but forced him to go home, after a certain Scot let slip that his Lieutenant fancied his own neighbor.

He had nowhere to hide this time. He was home, and at the worst time of the year. Near instantly his nostrils filled with the smell of burnt Christmas ham, charred and ashes by the time he’d opened the front door. But that wasn’t the worst smell, not even close. Coppery tinges of blood clouded his nostrils as his eyes glazed over.

Hidden and reflected off the ornaments on the tree was his family. His poor sweet mother, who’d done so much and tried so hard to raise two boys with an abusive husband— she lay face first on the festive rugs. He’d rushed to her, only to nearly trip over his brother. Tommy’s hand was outstretched, blood trailing as he’d likely tried to crawl to his dead wife.

He couldn’t breathe, sheer panic and despair crawling on him like millions of slippery bugs. He’d vomited all the contents of his stomach as he caught the crib in the corner. Not his little nephew, not little Joseph.

Loud honking from below drew him out of his mind. He’d been standing idly in front of his door, duffel clutched so tightly in his hand he was sure he’d had punctured skin.

White snow, soft violin, warm coat.

Violin?

His feet had already carried him to your door, hand cautiously rapping against the thin wooden material. He knew it was late— hell, it was likely already midnight and Christmas Day. Yet he needed something, he needed to hear your voice and smell the lavender and floral ofyour perfume. He even wanted to see the orange fur of your pet tabby cat.

“Who is it?” Your soft voice carried through the door, successfully halting some of the tension in his shoulders.

“Simon.”

The door cracked open almost immediately, revealing you in red flannel pajamas and sleepy eyes. He’d never felt such a relief as he had just now. Seeing you, your warm smile peeking through all the tiredness.

“You just get back?” You asked, slippered feet already sliding to the kitchen to turn on the electric kettle.

“Yes.” He replied, bending low to pat the orange ball of fur dubbed Garfield. The cat mewed happily, even going as far as letting his belly be scratched. He’d missed your eyes curiously glancing at him from behind a cabinet, two mugs clinking as you pulled them out. He’d had the same cloudy eyes and sagged shoulders he always did when he was plagued by bad memories and PTSD.

“I was just about to put on a movie, if you want to sit on the sofa.” You’d suggested, seeping the leaves of his breakfast tea in a fluid motion. Your warm and inviting voice broke him away from thinking of his family, especially when the steaming scent of tea crept up his nose.

“What movie?”

“I was thinking Home Alone, or maybe even The Grinch. Tis’ the season and all that.” You bubbled, taking your own seat against him. He’d stiffened slightly at the mention of the holidays, but his thoughts quickly vanished at the subtle brush of warm skin against his side.

He wasn’t able to breathe properly as you laid your cheek upon his shoulder, right in the dip between his neck and clavicle. But no, it wasn’t the suffocating and violent loss of breath like before, when he thought of war and bloodshed. No, this was a dull ache of his heart, as if telling him that yes, this is where I want to be.

Red Flannel, shifting bodies, soft lips.

“How about we watch Top Gun?” He asked in a whisper, still feeling the absolute sweetness of your lips, the pleasure and love that was you.

You’d single-handedly dulled his pain, silenced the noise, and picked him up on the darkest of his days.

He loved you.

Tag list: @mykneeshurt



[uzurakis]

childhood friend! reader who's somehow getting closer with itadori due to them being both bubbly and chatty; this obviously doesn't go unnoticed by megumi.

he can feel the resentment gradually building up within him, but how could he ever dislike itadori? sure, the pink-haired boy tends to steal the attention of his childhood friend (that megumi may or may not secretly harbor feelings for) but hey, could he blame reader for being drawn towards such a passionate and humorous guy?

(winks) i'm leaving you to decide which direction this scenario should go hehe

n. i can promise you that i understand very well which direction to write this, nonnie (winks aggressively). hope this serves justice for your req <3

fushiguro megumi had always been reserved.

a man who preferred the company of his thoughts to the noise of the world. he had grown accustomed to solitude, finding solace in the quiet corners of his mind where he could retreat from the chaos of the outside world.

but then you came along, a beam of light in his otherwise bleak life. you were his childhood friend, the only one who had managed to break the walls he had put around the core of his being. and as he saw you grow closer to itadori yuuji, a friend of both of you, he couldn't help but feel a sense of unease creeping into his soul.

as you walked into the bustling classroom, your eyes immediately found their way to itadori’s infectious smile. he was chatting animatedly with you, his laughter filling the room like a burst of sunshine. you’ve been drawn to his magnetic personality, his energy infectious and his jokes never failing to bring a smile to your face.

fushiguro megumi, your childhood friend, stood off to the side, expression unreadable as he observed the interaction between you and itadori. there was a tightness in his chest, a pang of jealousy that he couldn't quite shake off. he had always been reserved, quiet, but seeing you gravitate towards someone else, someone so different from him, it stirred up a whirlwind of conflicting emotions within him.

you realized that as the days went by, you were spending an increasing amount of time with itadori because of his carefree nature and enthusiasm for life. you found yourself having fewer and fewer talks with megumi; his presence receding as itadori's charm dominated your days.

however, megumi always had a bad taste in his mouth whenever he saw you laughing with itadori. he was unable to ignore the bitterness that was boiling under the surface and the sense that someone so affectionately pleasant had taken his place. on the other hand, how could he blame you? how could he hold it against you for being drawn to someone who lit up the room with his mere presence?

one day, while you sat with itadori during lunch, megumi couldn't help but overhear snippets of your conversation. his heart clenched painfully as he heard you laugh, your voice mingling with itadori's in a way that felt like a stab to his chest. he turned away, the turmoil within him threatening to consume him whole.

later that afternoon, the man found himself alone with you for the first time in what felt like ages. the air between you was heavy with unspoken tension, a distance that seemed to grow with each passing moment.

"hey, megs," you started, breaking the silence with a hesitant smile. "i feel like we haven't talked in forever. you okay?"

his throat tightened at the concern in your voice, the guilt gnawing at him as he struggled to find the right words. "i'm fine," he muttered, his gaze flinching away from yours.

you weren't persuaded, though. "are you sure?" you pressed, your eyes searching his for any signs.

megumi swallowed hard, his chest tightening with a mixture of longing and frustration. "i just.. i miss us, you know?”

“i miss how things used to be."

your expression softened, a pang of guilt tugging at your heartstrings. "i miss that too, megumi," you admitted, reaching out to gently grasp his hand. "but things change. people change. it doesn't mean we can't still be friends, right?”

friends, he heard it right.

his heart ached at your words, the realization hitting him like a ton of bricks. “yeah, friends..” you were slipping away, drifting further and further out of reach, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

just when the heaviness of the stillness weighed heavily on you and megumi, there came a voice from across the hallway.

"hey, [name]! come check this out!"

itadori's cheerful voice pierced through the tension, and you turned towards him with a bright smile, leaving megumi standing alone in the echoing hallway. “yuuji’s calling me. later!”

megumi watched as you pulled your hand away and hurried off to join itadori, his heart sinking as the distance between you grew wider with each step you took. already on a first-name basis? it took megumi and you some years to get used to addressing each other by your first names, but just a couple months with itadori?

thus, it was in that moment, with the sound of your laughter fading into the distance, that he realized just how much he had lost.

a sense of resignation settled over him, the bitterness in his heart mingling with a profound sadness. he had always known that he could never compete with someone like itadori, someone who effortlessly captured the attention and affection of those around him.

as he stood there, alone in the empty corridor, megumi couldn't help but wonder if this was the beginning of the end. if perhaps, despite his silent protests and unspoken desires, he had already lost you for good.

because fushiguro megumi had always been reserved.

and there’s nothing he could do about it.

@uzurakis — rqs are open <3

[roguelov]

Sleepless Night

Summary: Unable to sleep, you stumbled across Sanji at the back of the ship. A quick exchange, and some teasing remarks, a realization was made. Sanji hasn’t been with anyone, and you wanted to be his first

Word Count: ~ 4k

Reader: Afab (referred as love/sweetheart)

Warning: SMUT (oral (m!receiving and f!receiving), light exhibition (outside at night), voyeurism, inexperienced!Sanji)

Part 2

MINOR DNI/ 18+ ONLY

The late night breeze rippled across the obsidian glasslike sea. The ship, the Going Merry, was gently rocked like a baby in a cradle. The moon and stars glittered across the sky, guiding those to the land of dreams. It was a calm night, a peaceful night.

Yet, one soul was awake.

Sanji leaned his forearms on the railing, overlooking the sea staring off into the horizon. The sky and sea almost seamlessly blended together. A cigarette lazily hung from his fingertips. The salty water misted in the air, mixing with the light smoke. He brought the cigarette to his lips, inhaling deeply. The sweet nicotine swirled around, filling his chest. Tipping his head back, he exhaled slowly. His usually pristine suit was exchanged for sweatpants and a plain shirt. The chilly air nipped at his skin, but he didn’t mind. In fact, he welcomed it. Everything about tonight should lull a person to sleep, and have them running to be tucked nicely under the covers, yet he was wide awake.

The only one, or so he thought.

“You know those things can kill you.”

Sanji immediately smiled to himself. He laughed once, then glanced over to you. You strolled up beside him, sporting similar pajamas. Another sign you both should be asleep, you were dressed for it. You leaned your arms onto the railing, mimicking his stance.

“Is that so?” He quipped. “I’m sure a few won’t kill me before the Grand Line.”

“No,” you tilted your head in thought. “But, I might if I see you light another one.”

Sanji dipped his head, leaning in close to you. The smoke wafted off of him, a smell which always lingered around him. A smell which stirred such conflicting emotions in you. A devilish smirk danced over his lips. “Are you threatening me, sweetheart?”

You let out a bark of laughter and matched his smirk. “Definitely.”

You quickly snatched his cigarette then flicked it out into the sea. Sanji blinked, stunned for a moment. “I still had some left,” he mumbled, disappointedly. He shook his head, then smiled back at you. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

You rolled your eyes, and bumped his hip, “So, why are you up so late?”

“Couldn’t sleep, you?”

“Same,” you sighed, leaning heavily into the railing. It was just one of those nights, your mind and body were at war with each other.

Sanji smirked, “Bet I could make you tired.”

You snorted, playing into this game of yours. “Yeah? Do you think you could keep up with me?”

“Oh! Well, look at you,” he chuckled. “I certainly will try. What do you say, love? Should we give it a go?”

This was your normal relationship with Sanji. The light teasing, the flirtatious comments; well, him more than you. Sanji’s silver tongue was far faster and sweeter than your own. Yet, you never thought it was nothing else but some simply fun.

Or you thought it was just for him.

Maybe it was because the two of you were alone, maybe it was because you knew you would probably just crawl back to your bed unable to sleep the rest of the night, maybe it was because he looked so unbelievably beautiful in the moonlight, you wanted to push it tonight. Normally, you would have dropped it by now. You would both laugh, and pretend nothing happened. Only for these same heart pounding scenarios to happen over and over.

Yet, a voice called out: your buried desires for the cook.

You wanted to test where the boundary in the sand was drawn between the two of you. Was it only games? Was there some truth behind his words? With the rest of the crew sleeping, you had to take your chance now.

Staring unwaveringly into his dazzling blue eyes, you said, “And if I say yes? What then?”

Sanji blinked, taken back. He opened his mouth and muttered utterly confused, “Wait, what?”

Don’t turn back now.

“I said -“

“No, no, I heard you. It’s just I, uh, I didn’t really expect you to ever answer with a yes.”

You cocked your head. Sanji’s smooth, wicked tongue was failing him. This was a side you never thought you would see, let alone a side he had. His words then replayed in your head, making you question a few things. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Sanji was handsome, sweet, kind, a great friend and cook. Only a fool would say no to him.

And a fool you were for a long time.

He licked his lips, glancing away. “I, uh, I don’t know -“ he fiddled with his hands, wishing desperately you didn’t toss away his cigarette - “I just never thought you would or if … if …”

His voice trailed off.

Your eyebrows knitted together. You stared more and more, watching him with confusion while he oddly retreated within himself. Under the moonlight, a faint blush dusted across his cheeks. His eyes widened, actively avoiding your gaze. He fidgeted in place, picking at his nails or part of the banister.

He was so nervous, so unlike him, almost as if -

Realization finally struck you.

“Oh - oh!” You twisted around to face him directly. There was no way to beat around the bush, you just had to ask him. “Sanji, have you ever been with anyone before?”

He tensed up at your question. You hit the nail square on the head. He sighed, dropping his shoulders. Was there any real point in hiding it now? “I may or may not have been busy with the Baratie and the old man, never had much time to myself.”

“Really?”

You would have never guessed. You would have assumed he had flings almost every night with the constant stream of customers. A new love, a new interest, with every ship that came in.

“Yes,” he groaned. Shame and embarrassment bubbled up inside of him. He may talk a big game, but he had nothing to back it up.

“Hey.” You gently rested your hand on his arm. His attention dropped to your hand then up to your kind face. “I’m not judging you, I don’t care honestly. I’m just surprised because you’re just so - so … flirty? Sauve? You’re just really good with your words.”

Even if he can be a bit cheesy at times.

Sanji laughed through his nose. “I find words are easier, sweetheart.”

You smiled at him, so endearing and sweet. His heart skipped at such a loving sight. “I don’t blame you, people can be a bit more complex,” you chuckled, hoping to lighten the mood.

He smiled softly in return, then glanced away. You both looked back out towards the sea. Sanji still naturally leaned into you, seeking out your warmth and comfort. Despite it all, nothing seemed to truly change. He was still Sanji, and you were still you.

Or so it seemed.

You, on the other hand, were now utterly restless. An idea was planted inside your head. One you couldn’t quite ignore. You bit your lip, nervously.

Where is the line? And do I dare keep pushing it?

“Sanji?”

He hummed, almost absentmindedly.

“Could … could I be your first?”

“What?” He whipped his head towards you.

“We don’t have to go all the way, I thought maybe I could just …”

How could you word this? You didn’t want to be harshly blunt and possibly frighten him.

“Just to start off small, I was thinking maybe I could … suck you off?”

You winced internally. That wasn’t entirely smooth. But, like you said, Sanji was better with words than you were.

He gulped, gawking at you. His quick fire mouth silenced for once. How could he say no? Why would he say no? To be his first, it was almost like a dream. Excited nerves sparked across his growing hot skin. His heart pounded feverishly in his chest, and he licked his lips trying to find his voice again.

“Are … are you sure?” He asked in a soft dazed whisper.

You smiled. “Sanji, I don’t mind but this is about you. Do you want this?”

“Yes,” he breathed out, without needing a second thought.

He wanted this, he wanted you. He wanted you the moment he saw you, but he never thought such fantasies could become reality.

“Good,” you whispered. You slowly sank to your knees in front of him.

“Out here?” He whispered out in surprise.

“Why not? Everyone else is asleep, and we’re at the back of the ship so no one should see us.”

His body buzzed. “Are you sure?”

You glanced up at him for a moment. Nerves were written so plainly all over his face. Maybe, this is a bit too much. “Sanji, we can go inside if you want. This is about you so -“

“Out here is good.”

You blinked, shocked by his quick change. “Are you sure? Because I want you to be comfortable.”

“Yeah,” he sighed then smiled. Honestly, the place didn’t matter. He just wanted you. But, out here on the deck, oh it sent a pleasant chill down his spine. “I’m sure, love.”

“Okay then,” you nodded.

You situated yourself, ensuring Sanji’s back leaned into the railing while you sat on your knees before him. Your hands skimmed up his thighs, just dipping your toe into the water. And yet, Sanji shook slightly under the simple touch.

“Relax, Sanji.”

“Sweetheart, I’m trying but - oh my god, you look so - so -“

Amazing. Beautiful. Stunning.

You peered up at him with adoration. Yet, a sinful darkness swept over your features. A viper-like smile crossed over your lips. You couldn’t hold back your desires. Seeing him stuttering, so unlike his usual composed self, was absolutely thrilling. You chuckled at his rosy tinted cheeks and ears.

“What happened? You’re usually so good with your words,” you teased, running your hands up and down his thighs.

His knees nearly buckled. You hadn’t even truly done anything, but any touch left his body dizzy. He was trapped in a whirlwind of building desires. “Hard to think when you’re looking up at me like that,” he mumbled.

You hummed, smirking to yourself. “Well? Can I take these off?” You snapped the band of his sweatpants, almost making him jump.

Sanji didn’t trust his voice for once. He simply nodded.

“Wonderful,” you purred.

You carefully tugged down the sweatpants, revealing a wet spot on his boxers. You bit your lip. You hadn’t begun, and yet he was already turned on. It fueled your ego a bit.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.” You promised.

But, you would also have your fun along the way.

You softly blew on the wet patch. Sanji’s hands grabbed the railing, holding it in a crushing white-knuckling grip. He swallowed, and groaned very softly.

How was he going to last?

You kissed directly over the patch.

Sanji shoved a fist into his mouth, forcing back an awfully loud moan.

You slowly slid down his boxers, and his cock sprung out. You shivered at the sight of it. To say the cook was packing was an understatement. You snuck a glance up at him. He looked adorable. No, appetizing. His cheeks were flushed, and a hand covered his mouth preventing any wayward sounds. He was fighting back against his own desires, but you desperately wanted the cook to lose control. You wanted to see this side of him, to see pleasure wrought into every inch of his body.

And to know you were the first made it all the more delicious.

Your fingers curled around the base of his cock. Sanji fiercely but his lip, trying to keep calm. Your thumb brushed over his red, swollen tip, gathering up precum. You gave him a few soft and teasingly slow pumps. Sanji tipped his head back, falling under your spell. His hand slid from his mouth, latching onto the railing. Your hands were far better than his own.

You then swept the flat of your tongue over his swollen tip. He bit down on his lip harshly, almost about to draw blood. His eyes squeezed so tight, losing a part of himself with every passing second.

“Fucking hell,” he hissed out.

You chuckled, mischievously. Teasing him was so easy now. His reactions were delightful, and spurred your own growing desires.

Your tongue ran up the underneath of his cock. He slapped his hand over his mouth, groaning into his palm. Then, you peppered kisses up and down. With each kiss - each sweet butterfly kiss - he became more and more vocal.

If only you could hear it so clearly.

Kissing his tip one last time, your lips finally wrapped around him and took him inch by inch. Your tongue glided along his base, tasting him and feeling the weight of him. Taking all of him, you held him in your mouth for a second before slowly pulling back. You repeated the movements, slow and steady. A teasing pace, or a way to warm him up to it.

Your eyes flickered up, eager to see all of his reactions.

His eyebrows were pinched together in pleasure. His soft pants could not be completely silenced by his hand. While, the other held firmly onto the railing. He needed stability, he needed support.

You removed your mouth completely. You reached over, gently grabbing his hand on the railing and guiding to the top of your head. “Here,” you encouraged. “You can keep your hand here, and tug on my hair if you want.”

He peered down at you like some dazzling treasure. “I - really? Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you.”

You laughed lightly. Your hands wrapped around his thighs. “You can’t hurt me. Besides -“ you threw him a wicked smirk - “maybe I want you to hurt me.”

Fuck.

He could have came right there.

“You’re dangerous, sweetheart,” he muttered in awe.

You winked, then chuckled darkly. You quickly took him in your mouth again, setting a faster pace. Your tongue swirled and grazed along him. Your fingernails dug into his thighs, eager to do all you can for him.

And dear god, you were.

Sanji was losing himself. Pleasure was filling his veins, and blood rushed in his ears. He was becoming wildly desperate for his release. His hips bucked once, unconsciously chasing his high.

You groaned, feeling his tip kiss the back of your throat.

Sanji flinched, and froze in place. Has he hurt you? He grunted, forcing himself to stay still and enjoy it.

You pulled away with a pop.

Sanji nearly whined.

“Don’t hold back,” you said, a little breathless. “I don’t mind if you move your hips.”

‘You can fuck my face,’ you almost said. However, you tried your best to be a little tame.

Sanji’s heart nearly bursted. He nodded, humming in response.

“Good.” You kissed his tip, and Sanji almost fell backwards into the sea. “Because if anything was wrong, I would tell you. Now, enjoy yourself.”

Your lips wrapped around his cock. Your head bobbed up and down again. Sanji bucked his hips again. You hummed, encouraging him.

“Oh, fuck,” he groaned. He was panting heavily. His head fell forward, watching you. Your lips covered in spit, wrapped so perfectly around him. It was a sight he never thought would happen. Your eyes locked with his. His hair clung to his forehead. His eyes had pooled into the sinful black, and sweat glistened along his skin.

He hasn’t looked more beautiful until now.

You hummed. He hissed then moaned softly. His lovely lips were now an incoherent mess.

He gasped, “Love, I - I -“

He choked on his words. He couldn’t form a thought, let alone a full sentence.

But, you understood. His cock twitched in your mouth. He was close. You wanted to whisper to him, to whispering loving praises in his ear. ‘Come for me, Sanji’, or ‘you’re doing so good’ but perhaps another time.

He moaned, and leaned heavily back into the railing. He could barely keep himself upright anymore. He rocked his hips, matching your pace. He tugged on your hair, drawing you closer. Your nose brushed against his abdomen with each thrust. You relaxed your jaw, allowing him to use you.

You moaned, loudly.

This was all so hot.

His head fell back, mumbling your name over and over. This was heavenly. You were heavenly. This was better than he dreamt over, far better knowing you were the one doing such things.

God, he was already imagining other things. He wanted fuck you, he wanted to make love with you, he wanted to have you on the counter, he wanted to see you riding him, he wanted to try it all. He wanted to do it all with you.

“Please,” he whimpered. He wanted this to last forever, but the pleasure was too much. “Can - can I come in your mouth?”

You moaned a ‘yes’.

That was all he needed.

He came down your throat, moaning out your name. You hummed, taking it all. Sanji glanced down at you with heavy eyes. He panted loudly, gulping down air. Ever so slowly, he released his intense grip on your hair. His legs shook slightly reeling from all of this.

Peering up at him, you pulled away then opened your mouth. His cum sat on your tongue. He whimpered faintly, utterly spent and in awe. You gladly swallowed it with a devious smirk.

His reaction was priceless.

You pulled up his boxers and pants. Standing up, you patted his chest, feeling his chaotic heart race under your fingertips. A swell of pride surged through you. You opened your mouth to ask if he liked it, when he swiftly grabbed your face kissing you.

Your eyes widened, but instantly fell into him.

His tongue slipped past your lips, drawing out your wondrous sinful sounds and desires. He could taste himself on your tongue. He groaned.

Fuck, he thought.

He pushed off the railing, flipping you around. Your lower back dug into the wood, but you didn’t mind. Your hands wandered up his chest into his hair. Your fingers tangled into the blonde locks, tugging on them softly. He moaned against your lips. He nipped on your bottom lip, loving your small gasps.

“Please,” he murmured against your lips. “Please, I want to return the favor.”

His hands skimmed down your sides, gripping your hips. He drew you close to him. You grinded softly against him. A small, sweet moan fell off your lips.

Sanji was greedy for more.

You had only given him a tasting, he now wanted the meal.

“I … I want to … please,” he begged again.

He was already sinking down to his knees. His fingers dug into your thighs, bunching up your sweatpants. Your heart pounded in your chest as you bit your lip. Just as he thought earlier, why would you say no? Even if he was inexperienced, you didn’t care.

“Okay, okay,” you mumbled, shakily.

His eyes twinkled with glee, like a kid in a candy store. You hastily kicked off your sweatpants, and about to remove your underwear -

“Let me.”

Sanji’s hands stopped yours. You froze then nodded, letting go. You wanted him to try and take charge, to see what he would do.

Sanji hummed. He slowly pulled down your underwear. He was entranced. His fingers delicately traced down your thighs and legs being as gentle as possible. As he brought them down, you stepped out of them. Sanji placed them with your sweatpants. Glancing back, he groaned at the sight of your glistening cunt.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, licking his lips.

His breath on your dripping folds made you shiver. You were immensely turned on by all of this. But, it was the hunger in his eyes that made you weak. Such hunger and want. He wanted to please you in any capacity, he wanted to be good for you.

Holy shit.

“Sanji,” you breathed out. “Can - can I -“

“Do whatever you need to, love.”

“I just want to -“ you carefully hooked one of your legs over his shoulder. You leaned backwards using the railing and Sanji for support.

He firmly grabbed your thigh, thrilled by this. He turned his head, kissing all over your thigh. Up and down, up and down, until he trail led back to where you needed him. You shivered, tipping your head back.

“Sanji,” you sighed.

“What do you need? Tell me what to do,” he purred, buzzing with excitement.

“Your tongue, your tongue, I -“

His tongue quickly swept through your folds. You groaned. His mouth latched itself onto you, swirling around. His tongue was like utter magic. You supposed you should have known from the kiss. Sanji knew how to work his tongue, he had experience in that field. All he needed was a little guidance and encouragement elsewhere.

“Higher,” you gasped. “Go higher.”

His mouth moved. His lips wrapped around your clit and you whined.

“Right there, fuck,” you hissed.

Sanji hummed.

For a brief moment, you saw stars. He sucked on your clit, feeling your thigh twitch. Sanji groaned at the thought of both of your thighs wrapped around his head.

Another time, he swore to himself.

His tongue slowly swirled around again, lapping up your juices. His movements were hesitant, yet with each of your sighs and praises he grew more and more confident. Every sound was music to his ears. Sanji pulled away. He stared up at you breathless. His chin coated in your juices. He wanted to savor this moment.

Savor you.

“Sweetheart,” he mumbled. Your eyes dropped down to him. He smiled softly with such a boyish charm. “You are absolutely stunning.”

You laughed once, shaking your head. It seemed he had his silver tongue back. Sanji dived back in. His tongue parted your folds, curling around, and pushing inside of you. You moaned. Your fingers tangled into his hair.

“Fuck, Sanji,” you hummed.

Your foul mouth only encouraged him.

With his hand still on your thigh, he tugged you forward. His nose brushed against your clit. You gasped. Pleasure shot through you. You whimpered as your hips unconsciously bucked forward again.

More. You wanted more.

Your heel dug into his back, and you yanked on his hair. Sanji moaned, sending sweet loving vibrations throughout you. “Keeping going, Sanji, just like that.”

Sanji listened perfectly. He devoured you.

Fuck, he’s a natural.

Just with your gentle guidance, and your soft moans, Sanji had quickly learned your body. His tongue swept against your folds again and again. You moaned, almost pornographically. You rode his face, bucking your hips against his wondrous tongue.

You were panting as your pleasure built and built. “Fuck, Sanji, I’m about to come.”

He whined, “Oh, please, sweetheart.”

His fingers dug into your thigh. His lips wrapped around your clit, hearing your sweet sharp inhales. All your weight fell into the railing. You gasped, chanting Sanji’s name over and over. Your eyes squeezed shut, and finally let go, let pleasure consume you. You cried out his name. Sanji moaned as you came all over him. He greedily lapped up everything, not daring to waste a single drop.

He carefully pulled away, and your leg slid off his shoulder. He stood up, and cupped your face. He kissed you passionately once more. His expert tongue slid inside, making you taste him and yourself.

“Fuck,” you mumbled into the kiss.

Your knees were weak. You clung to his arms, humming into the kiss. Sanji slowly broke the kiss, enjoying your soft whines of protests. Both of you were panting, filling up the quiet still night.

Sanji chuckled once. “So? How did I do, sweetheart? Tired yet?”

You may have created a monster.

You blinked, then shook your head. You smirked, “Oh, I’m not done with you yet, unless you’re tired.”

He wrapped an arm around you. “Oh, sweetheart, I can keep going.”

I want to keep going, I want to have it all, he thought. Besides, what meal isn’t better without some dessert?

[strwberri-milk]

Crashed on Shore

AO3 || Rafayel x Reader || Nightmare Comfort || 1, 552 words

a/n: this is totally based off of fragrant dream tender moments audio but instead you guys are acc dating [early relationship] so rafayel can shower you in kisses and share a bed w you romantically not platonically ty

It was just a bottle of perfume - there's no reason it should be stirring up all these emotions in you.

Rafayel is anxious.

He knows that you’re busy, that sometimes, you can’t reply to his messages as quickly as he hopes you could or that you’ve got other things on your mind. The two of you are still figuring out what it means to be with each other and how to communicate your needs and wants. Rafayel knows he’s told you time and time again that he hates waiting, pouting and whining whenever you take too long to give him his long-awaited attention.

He knows you got his package because you opened his message and sent him a picture of you with the bottle of perfume, thanking him for the gift and telling him you were tired and needed to go to bed. He let you go with a goodnight message of his own.

You typically awake before him, texting him good morning or sending him a picture of your breakfast. Something would prove you were still alive and his erratic heartbeat would calm once again. He tries instead to distract himself with his work, ignoring how many times he has to stop his mind from wandering over to you and what you could have been doing.

He ignores the fact that right now, he’s haphazardly looking through his things to find that spare key you gave him under the pretense that it’d help soothe his separation anxiety (that he swears he doesn’t have) and grabbing his keys to dive over to your place. It’s been a day and a half now and you didn’t tell him that you had a mission and you normally would have picked up one of his calls by now. He pats himself on the back for driving safe despite how worried he is for you, knowing that he can use it to lord over your head if you scold him for getting to your place so quickly when he confronts you for driving him up a wall with worry.

Pretending to be calm, he rings the bell to your apartment. He’s going to be patient, crossing his arms and fiddling w the keys in his hand. He’s thinking up ways to scold you, how he’s going to get you now for not listening to him but when all that meets him is a deafening silence his demeanour really drops. He practically forces his way in, unlocking your door and seeing your shoes still just sat by the door unmoved.

Quickly, he makes his way to your bedroom and heaves a sigh of relief when he sees you’re asleep. The rise and fall of your chest as you’re curled around a pillow is slightly less noticeable. When he brushes back your bangs to look at your face, he’s glad to see nothing’s wrong.

“Stupid. Got me all worked up for nothing,” he scolds you quietly, intending to lean over to give your forehead a kiss right as your brows furrow.

He expects to see the lines smooth out but when you start to mutter something under your breath that he can’t make out he feels a wave of anxiety begin to crash down on him. You begin to look more and more distressed. You already tend not to sleep easily from how busy your days are and he can barely manage to put you down to rest so he’s conflicted about waking you up but when he sees tears slipping down your cheeks as you start to thrash, he decides he doesn’t have a choice.

You don’t notice any of this is happening. Your mind spins as you try to make sense of all the “memories” fragmenting in your mind. You can feel Rafayel’s arms around your body, the way he’s trying to reassure that it’s okay but you can’t think straight as you watch him disappear. You reach out desperately to grab him, hand tightly squeezing around a quickly dissipating arm and shout for him, not expecting to grab something solid. You’re relieved – maybe he won’t disappear now – but suddenly you feel your arms being pinned to your sides.

“Rafayel?” you ask hoarsely, unsure why he looks so flush and why your throat hurts so much.

Your eyes struggle to adjust to the light in your room, slowly coming to your senses as you realise you had been just having a horrible dream. The fight leaves your body as you slump into your bed a little more. It takes you a second to catch your breath and you wait to see if Rafayel will say anything to you.

“You’re a lot stronger than I thought you’d be asleep. You hit me so hard I thought I’d black out. I guess that’s why you’re a hunter, huh?” he says casually.

If you didn’t know him better you wouldn’t have noticed the way his eyes keep roaming over your body. His grip holds your wrists securely and he lets go of one hand to gently brush a knuckle against your cheek.

“You’re crying. What happened?” he asks softly after a minute, cupping your face in his palm. Your hand comes up to validate his observation, laughing shakily.

“I had a nightmare. I guess it just shook me up more than I thought.”

You’re about to tell him about it when it hits you. Rafayel basically died in your dream, leaving you all alone after trying to reverse whatever it was that happened to the you in your dream. He gave himself up for your life. Your breathing begins to pick up again and your tears begin to shed anew, making him panic again.

“I’m sorry – I’ll never ask about your dreams again. It’s okay, it’s okay. I’m here,” he tries to soothe, not knowing what to do since he’s never seen you cry before.

He sits you up, pulling you into his lap easily and hugging you tightly to his chest. Your face buries itself in his neck, arms wrapping around his shoulder and as you cry harder. You can feel the reassuring warmth of his palm against your back, his voice trying to calm you down and ground you. Your nails dig into his skin almost painfully, Rafayel holding back his tongue. He can tell you need this and he’s glad you’re being this vulnerable around him, rocking back and forth gently until you slowly start to calm yourself.

“How’d you know to come?”

“You didn’t reply to any of my messages. Surely that’s more than enough reason to come and make sure you’re alright.”

The words that would normally have a bit of his good-natured bite seem softer than usual, you hiccupping a little in response from how hard you were crying. You try to wipe away your tears but he stops you again, wiping them away for you and laying the two of you back on your bed.

“Do you want to give it another shot? Try to tell me what happened.”

You try again to explain to him what happened, choking a little on the end that put you in distress in the first place. He listens attentively, body stiffening as he processes why you were so upset. Before you can start to cry again, he simply holds you tighter, shaking his head as you take a deep breath of him.

“I’m flattered you care about me that much but next time don’t try to break my arms in an attempt to rescue me. I think you’d end up doing more harm than good.”

You feel yourself growing a little embarrassed, covering your face with your hands. The two of you haven’t been official for long and you’re flustered. To admit in such a dramatic way that he’s already become such an integral part of your being that the thought of losing him makes you this frantic is humbling to say the least and you sigh.

“Honestly, it felt so real. I was so afraid I lost you and the dread that I felt was just…”

Rafayel places a feather light kiss on your cheek, breaking you out of your stupor. You feel him press more and more, stopping when your eyes finally meet his. A hand on your waist squeezes you gently.

“Did you feel that?” he asks you, smiling softly when you nod.

“It was just a bad dream. I’d never leave you like that,” he mutters against your lips, stealing your breath in such an affectionate kiss that it makes your mind melt.

“You couldn’t have slept well like that and you still look tired. You can go back to sleep. I’ll still be here when you wake up, I promise.”

Your grip on his body tightens and you look at him hopefully, Rafayel laughing as he finally manages to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Yes, I’ll stay despite my incredibly busy schedule. You’re the only one who can ask such things of me.”

You hum happily, nuzzling your face in the space between his neck and shoulder. You can feel sleep coming back to claim you, Rafayel’s hold on your body continuing to ground you. He continues to press kisses to your face affectionately, thumb rubbing circles on your skin as he waits for you to fall asleep.

If you listen closely, you could hear him humming a familiar tune, lulling you back to sleep with promises of forever.  

[rebeccathenaturalist]

Unsurprisingly, a lot of the commentary I'm seeing about this has been of the "But--but--I would do the same thing because I don't want anything bad to happen to the deer!"

Look. I love wildlife, and I love getting to see deer, coyotes, and even the occasional black bear in my neighborhood. But they are here because there is good habitat nearby with lots of natural food sources, not because I deliberately put out food for them to eat. I respect them as wild animals with whom my relationship is very different compared to the domesticated animals I take care of every day. A deer is not a sheep or a horse; a coyote is not a dog.

People who do things like try to tame deer or, worse yet, try to raise a fawn or other young wildlife like pets are robbing those wild animals of their natural existences. We've already wrought our own preferences on the landscape to a severe degree, tearing the wildness out of it to create lawns and farms and subdivisions and strip malls. When we then dismiss the wildness of these animals and impress our own desire for connection on our terms on them, we are harming them.

I've already written elsewhere about the difference between "tame" and "domesticated". No matter how docile that deer seems, it is never going to be as (relatively) safe and tractable as a domesticated sheep or goat. It will always be more unpredictable, and more likely to lash out suddenly at a person due to fear, or hormones, or protection of young.

These animals need their wild instincts to be intact if they are going to survive without being dependent on us. They need those instincts in order to find mates and keep the gene pool stirred up. Their instincts keep them safe from danger, including humans. And their instincts never totally go away, no matter how much we may try to tame them otherwise.

This is why a good wildlife rehab is going to minimize handling of the wild animals they care for, especially those that are going to be able to be released back into the wild. The less comfortable these animals are with humans, the better their chances of surviving in the wild and having fulfilling, natural lives. Wildlife that retain their wariness of humans are less likely to end up falling prey to hunting, or being killed as nuisance animals when they get too aggressive in seeking food or otherwise coming into conflict with people.

The person who painted "pet" on a fully grown white-tailed buck and put a collar around his neck may have felt like they were doing that deer a kindness, but they have likely robbed him of the chance to just live a natural life as his own, independent being out in the woods and fields. He might be out there, sure, but perhaps he won't mate because he imprinted on humans. Or maybe he will end up shot by a hunter in spite of the precautions because he's just too friendly and those antlers are worth taking the shot.

There will always be something missing from this deer's life because of the arrogance of someone who thought they could own and keep and control a wild-born animal for their own enjoyment, instead of allowing him to come and go as he pleased. Honestly, it reminds me of King Haggard from Peter S. Beagle's The Last Unicorn, whose response to seeing something beautiful was to capture it and keep it rather than simply enjoying and remembering that magical moment:

"I like to watch them. They fill me with joy. The first I felt it I thought I was going to die. I said to the Red Bull I must have them, all of them, all there are. For nothing makes me happy but their shining and their grace. So the Red Bull caught them. Each time I see the unicorns, my unicorns, it is like that morning in the woods and I am truly young, in spite of myself."

That's how I feel about people who are willing to drastically alter a wild animal's behavior for their own selfish benefit, even if they think they're being kind. I know I'm fighting a bit of an uphill battle in this, but I'm rather stubborn that way.

[yveaart]

HAIIII ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ are you able do to bf seungcheol headcannons or the type of bf seungcheol!!! If you’ve alr had, sorry for asking 😿

seungcheol as your bf !!

(absolutely up for all the scoups movement🥰)

seungcheol as your bf !! who does the coquette ribbon trend where you tie his bicep with a ribbon and making him flex it. your eyes trained on his bicep but his eyes were on you as the ribbon rips at the bottom part making it fall down to the ground.

seungcheol as your bf !! who spends extra time at the gym just to see your face whenever he sneakily flexes his muscles in front of you. he makes sure that they are firm whenever you get the urge to bite him

seungcheol as your bf !! who lets you wear anything, he totally doesn’t understand whats with people telling their girlfriends what to wear

seungcheol as your bf !! who doesn’t answer how many kids he wants and replies that its up to you who had to carry them

seungcheol as your bf !! who would purposely place your cooking stuff a cabinet higher so you always had to ask for him.

seungcheol as your bf !! who does your skincare for you when you had a hard day. he would pat his fingers no heavier than a feather.

seungcheol as your bf !! who makes you rely on him so you could turn your brain off with him.

seungcheol as your bf !! who hides his face in his hands and laughs uncontrollably whenever you compliment him.

seungcheol as your bf !! who smells like baby powder because he puts it on purpose saying that he could be your baby (and the fact that you loved the smell)

seungcheol as your bf !! who tries to make you paper flowers every anniversary but ends up buying a bouquet thats as long as your arm because he couldn’t fold them the right way.

seungcheol as your bf !! who brings sandals whenever you go out because he knows you might get your feet hurt

seungcheol as your bf !! who always respects your space, except when in conflict because even if you don’t talk; you had to cuddle each other to sleep.

seungcheol as your bf !! who keeps an eye whenever a guy approaches the both of you, placing his hand on your waist as he held you closer to him

seungcheol as your bf !! who had enough of your ex and kissed you deeply when he was trying to approach you two.

seungcheol as your bf !! who would “help” you cook but would just back hug you and watch you stir up some delicious meals for the both of you.

seungcheol as your bf !! who whispers “i love you” and lands a peck on your forehead when you sleep

seungcheol as your bf !! who’s willing to share his food with you and makes sure you eat well.

seungcheol as your bf !! who sprays his cologne on your clothes whenever he does the laundry.

[reiding-writing]

i LOVE your angsts

you can write something about the reader and spencer being apart after a conflict, being childish and sarcastic towards each other afterwards, and then, one of the cases ends in an explosion and, or, fire in which one of the two is trapped and alone, and the other takes risks to save him

who knows, maybe one of the two in the hospital is still delirious and asking to marry the other? anyway, you choose

basically two idiots in love and proud who can't bear the thought of losing each other

thanks 🥺🫶🏻

commitment [ s.r ]

You love Spencer Reid more than anything in the world, but committing to someone for life was not something to be considered lightly. A life or death situation might speed up the decision process a little.

spencer reid x gn!reader || angst || 4.0k ll masterlist!!

WARNINGS: commitment issues, fire, major character injury, miscommunication, happy ending

a/n: happy 29th of february? is that something to be celebrated? anyway, kinda took this one on a rollercoaster ride, enjoy :)

Spencer Reid wanted a family.

He wanted to get married, have 2.5 kids and live in a house with two cars and a white picket fence.

But he didn’t just want that with anybody, he wanted that with you.

You weren’t sure.

You loved Spencer with your whole heart, you really did, but after your parents’ failed marriage and your negative experiences with romantic relationships in the past, the fact that you’d even been in a committed relationship with Spencer for the last four years was an achievement in itself.

You’d talked about it a few times, but you’d always come to opposite decisions. Spencer wanted to settle down with you, and you were afraid to do so.

Your most recent conversation on the subject ended less as a conversation and more as an argument.

“So you don’t really love me then?” You could see the betrayal in his eyes at you again shutting down the idea, his tone carrying more upsetness than accusation.

“No Spencer of course I love you what are you talking about?” You can feel yourself nearing tears at his question. He was quite literally the person you loved most in the world, and to have him shut down your feelings because you didn’t see eye to eye with him broke your heart.

You spent the next few days staying with Garcia.

You tried to not let your disagreement with Spencer influence your work, but the fact that you wouldn’t so much as spare a glance at each other during office hours tipped off the rest of the team about your situation immediately.

“So,” Morgan leaned his hip against the counter of the kitchenette as you fixed yourself a cup of coffee, neglecting Spencer’s mug on the shelf instead of making both cups at once like you’d usually do.

“So?” You raise an eyebrow at his incomplete sentence.

“What’s going on between you and pretty boy?”

You sigh before he even finishes the question. “It’s nothing for you to worry about,”

“Your lover’s quarrel is ruining the vibes, it is most definitely something for me to worry about,” You roll your eyes at his response. Trust Morgan to find the most unserious way to express his concern for the two of you.

Logically you knew it was because he wanted to tread lightly, but that didn’t make it any less eye-roll inducing.

“So,” He leans forwards a little. “What’s going on? Did you disagree on whether Star Trek or Star Wars was better or something?”

You give him a deadpan stare and he immediately surrenders, raising up his hands as he concedes.

“What else do you have to argue about? You guys are like the most boring couple I know,” Morgan shrugs nonchalantly, and you halt the stirring of your teaspoon in your drink.

Boring? You weren’t boring. Were you? Did Spencer think you were boring? Did he think your relationship was boring? Maybe he only wanted to tie the knot in the hope that it would ‘reignite the spark’ or whatever people said.

“Hey.” Morgan snapped his fingers in front of your face, effectively pulling you out of your internal spiral.

“Hm?”

“I asked if it was serious, Garcia told me you’ve been staying with her the last few days,”

Curse Garcia and Morgan’s no filter relationship.

“Everything’s fine, we both just need time to cool off,”

“You’re sure?”

You have to consciously suppress a sigh at his continued questioning. Morgan was great, but god did he push.

“Yes Morgan, everything’s fine,” You spoke with enough conviction that you managed to convince him of your truth, although whether you believed it yourself was another question.

“Good, because if you two ever broke up I’m pretty sure the whole team would fall apart,” His tone tells you his joking, as does his expression as he leaves you to your coffee, but your brain isn’t as kind as to just let the comment fly over your head, and you’re sent into another spiral as you make your way back over to your desk.

Do the whole team really think of your relationship with Spencer as a vital part of its inner workings? What if it really didn’t work out? What would happen then?

Would the whole team fall into chaos?

You didn’t want to break off your relationship with Spencer. But what if it did happen?

Your thoughts leak into your body language, your shoulders tense as you sit down and your eyes not quite focused on the papers on your desk.

It didn’t help that Spencer sat directly opposite you either. It was like the world was trying to rub your conflict in your face every time you saw his hair in your peripheral vision.

You could feel his eyes boring into the top of your head, but you knew he wouldn’t say anything. It was one of the faults in his character, and yours you suppose, because even if he did ask you what was wrong you’d probably blow him off anyway.

The tension between the two of you was enough for Emily and Morgan to share a glance across the bullpen to each other, although they didn’t have enough time to corner you into asking what was actually going on as Hotch called the team into the conference room.

The silent feud between the two of you continued into the meeting, sitting on opposite ends of the table like you were two negative magnets being forced away from each other by an insurmountable pressure.

It was a little silly you think, to be so removed from each other after a single argument, but when Spencer put his foot down about something, he held his ground under any circumstance.

And so the two of you were destined to lie in a stalemate, sat seething in silent frustration with each other until one of you eventually caved under the pressure.

It wasn’t going to happen.

It was another fault of the two of you. You were both too damn stubborn for your own good, and it was beginning to affect your ability to work together.

You were supposed to be two sides of the same coin. Two gears intertwined and seamlessly rolling off of each other in perfect unison. Instead, you couldn’t even decide on the importance of a half-burned diary found at the scene of the last scene you’d arrived at, the fourth building set ablaze in Fallon in the last five days.

“This guy is clearly dealing with marital struggles, that could be our trigger,”

Of course he had marital struggles, because you couldn’t escape your own issues even when you were two-thousand miles across the country.

“We don’t even know if that diary belongs to our unsub,” You sigh exasperatedly as you slump back in your chair.

“It was a grocery store. Who brings a diary to a grocery store unless it’s something extremely important to them? It has to belong to our unsub.”

“Spencer-”

“You know that I’m more likely to be right about this,”

You can’t help but scoff at his statement, discarding your coffee mug on the round table and causing small brown droplets to coat the surface of the wood from the force. “You’re really pulling the intelligence card? Seriously?”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Spencer shrugs his shoulders with a furrowed expression. “My intelligence is what got me here and it’s telling me that this diary belongs to our unsub,”

“And my experience is telling me that you’re fixating on this goddamn diary instead of looking for things that could be actually useful to finding this guy because you want to feel sorry for yourself by living through his struggles.” You gesture exasperatedly to the book in his hands, becoming increasingly frustrated with Spencer’s attitude towards you.

He might be smart, but you had almost half a decade on him in terms of experience. He had zero right to speak to you like that mid-feud or not.

“You’re angry at me, I get it. Don’t let it cloud your judgement.�� You push yourself up from the table with a scowl, leaving your chair pushed out as you exit the station with the door slamming shut behind you.

“You’re sure this is the right place?” Morgan furrows his eyebrows as you approach the house, clearly run-down and looking as though no-one had lived in it in several years.

“I’m sure,” Spencer gave a determined nod as he un-holstered his gun, following the team into the house to sweep it for the suspect.

Despite your argument about the importance of the diary, Spencer had continues to fixate on it completely, leading to a partial name that Garcia had managed to identify and ultimately the house you were now running into.

You feel under-appreciated sometimes. Hotch always ended up going with Spencer’s choices, experience didn’t matter. It was like he had a tattoo across his forehead that read ‘I’m always right’ and everyone else took it as law.

But you’re not going to disobey direct orders, even if you did want to throw all of Spencer’s favourite books into a filled bathtub and watch him mourn over the ruined pages.

“Clear!”

You sweep the house room by room, you, Hotch, and Emily in charge of the ground floor whilst Morgan and Spencer went upstairs.

It was a complete ghost house. There was no electricity, no running water, smashed windows and moulded wallpaper, the furniture looked decades old and above all it just smelled horrific, a mix of leaking waste pipes and faulty gas lines. Were you seriously supposed to believe someone was living here?

“All clear up here,” Morgan emerged at the top of the stairwell with a shrug. “We got nothing,”

“Of course we don’t,” You mutter the words to yourself with a roll of your eyes, silently confirming your own victory at the obvious lack of human presence in the house Spencer was so sure belonged to the unsub.

“Alright, regroup outside,” Hotch called up to the two, gaining a nod from Morgan as he went to retrieve Spencer and bring him down as you exited the building.

“Nothing?” JJ tilted her head slightly as the three of you emerged, met with Emily shaking her head with a slightly awkward expression as she met your gaze.

“Nope, gross, but nothing,”

“Gross is right, it smelled like shit in there-” You clear your throat into your elbow like you’d managed to infest your lungs from the smell.

“Where’s Spence and Morgan?” You shrug your shoulders at JJ’s question heading back to the SUV to grab a bottle of water.

“Knowing Reid he’ll be over-analysing something,” Emily chuckles slightly, patting JJ on the shoulder as she follows you past her. “Morgan’ll get bored soon enough,”

“Are we going or what?” You call out from where you’re leaning against the car, water bottle being waved around in your hand as you gesture your impatience.

“Morgan and Reid are-” Emily stops as she spots Morgan walking out of the front door. “—Reid is still inside,”

“Of course he is,” You grumble to yourself with a roll of your eyes.

“He’s refusing to leave until he’s found something,” Morgan shrugs as he reaches Hotch’s side. “He’s adamant that there’s something to be found in there,”

“God seriously?” You groan out your words as you rejoin the group. “It’s an abandoned shit hole, there’s nothing to be found—”

A loud crash from the house interrupts your complaint.

Loud crashes are never good.

Neither is the bright orange flicker of light you can see through the front door. Definitely not when you’re working an arson case and Spencer Reid is still inside the house.

It’s like all the hours of you pondering how best to make Spencer suffer for his actions completely disappear as soon as the flames are in sight.

You couldn’t be angry at Spencer if he was dead.

The way the wooden beams of the door frame collapsed under the heat really cemented that thought in your mind.

“Spencer—”

Your attempt at running inside is promptly stopped by an outstretched arm that collides against your waist, winding you slightly and causing your expression to turn from fear to anger at the person who’d interrupted your attempt to vacate Spencer from the building.

“What are you doing?!” You push Morgan’s arm away from you harshly as you attempt to bypass him, but you don’t even get two steps forward before his arm is again blocking you from running into the burning building. “Get off me!”

“You can’t just run into a fire-” You continue to struggle against Morgan’s grip as he pleads his case to you, causing his voice to strain from the exertion of trying to keep you in one place.

“Morgan if you don’t let me go right now I swear to god-” Morgan withstands your threats with his strength, and you’re becoming increasingly resentful at just how much effort he’d gone through to stay physically fit.

“The fire department are on their way-” JJ’s voice is soaked in concern as she speaks, both hands clenched tightly around her phone as she stares into the open door of the house and the yellow-orange light that is quickly enveloping anything visible inside it. “They’re four minutes out,”

“Four minutes isn’t fast enough-”

“Hey-” Morgan continues to struggle against your writhing, planting both of his hands firmly against your shoulders and shaking them slightly in attempt to get your attention. “He’s going to be fine.” The uncertainty in his gaze tells you the opposite.

By the time you hear the sirens of fire engines rounding the street-corner, you don’t have the mental energy to feel relieved. All you can do is stare into the raging inferno that encapsulates the entire ground floor of the house and pray desperately that it didn’t manage to climb up the stairs. You know you’re being too optimistic.

You barely compute the obvious when a stretcher is prepared in front of the entrance, only coming to when you hear a worried gasp emanate from Emily at your side as Spencer is laid down on it after being recovered from the house’s master bedroom, very clearly unconscious and less clearly still breathing.

“Breathing is shallow, pulse is weak, we need to get him on oxygen,” The EMTs converse between themselves as they rush the stretcher into the fire ambulance, leaving you and your team to stand idly on the sidelines as both the fire and Spencer are taken care of by the firefighters on the scene.

You pace the waiting room on your heels, the sharp contact of your feet on the marbled floor leaving small shock waves to shoot up your legs as you walk. You couldn’t just sit down, you weren’t going to relax in a chair whilst the love of your life was possibly dying of asphyxiation. You were worried, terrified, and you had to release that nervous energy somehow.

If Spencer was here right now you’re sure he’d reprimand you for your nervous habit, rattling on about how heel-striking is dangerous for the health of your legs as it compresses your entire weight into a single point that can have bad impacts on your bones. Thinking about it just makes you feel worse, making you pace more and ultimately creating a self-fulfilling cycle where the more you thought about what he’d say the worse your actions would get.

At least you were actually in the hospital waiting and not back in the station waiting for a call. God knows you’d be more of a burden to the rest of the team than a help right now.

“Visitors for… Spencer Reid?” The nurse checks the clipboard in her hands as she speaks, and the second you hear the first syllable of his name you’re diverting your pacing to walk straight up to the nurse’s side.

“He’s awake but dreary, and he’s refusing any medication to help with the pain in his esophagus,” The nurse explains his conditions to you as she leads you down the hallway, shrugging her shoulders slightly at the mention of his refusal of pain medication.

“He can’t take narcotics, do you have any substitutes? NSAIDs?”

The nurse nods slightly at your explanation, checking her clipboard once more as she stops you at a wooden door. “I’ll have a look and see what I can find,”

“Thank you,” You give her a small nod and a smile as she leaves you at the door, suddenly even more nervous than you were in the waiting room. Not only was Spencer now in recovery for smoke inhalation and minor burns, the last ‘conversation’ the two of you had was an argument. A stupid, petty argument because you were both stubborn assholes who couldn’t agree to disagree on anything.

What if he didn’t want to see you? You were probably the last person he wanted at his bedside right now after everything that’d happened. Maybe you shouldn’t go in and see him.

Your hand is already opening the door. Okay, well, too late to second guess things now.

“Hey Spencer…” Your voice is barely a whisper as you enter the room, door shutting seamlessly behind you as you walk towards his hospital bed, fingers ringing together as a work around to release all of the nervous tension in your body without bursting into tears. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I ate a campfire-”

His words are enough to break the small tension between you, and you laugh softly in a mix of relief and worry. At least he was alright enough to be able to speak properly. The burn on his arm looked pretty bad though.

“You look like you ate a campfire,” You approach his hospital bed slowly, taking a seat on the plastic chair at his side and gazing over him with an entirely pitiful look in your eyes.

“I’m okay…” It was like he could read your mind, then again your sure that most people would be able to see how distraught you were right now, but Spencer was always the first to notice, and he languishly reached his hand out to rest against your knee.

You started crying the minute his fingers made contact with your slacks.

“I’m so sorry-” It felt a little silly to be crying in front of someone who’d just been trapped in a burning building and was probably experiencing an insane amount of pain from the lack of medication, but emotions don’t always follow logical boundaries. “I’ve been so- horrible to you and you didn’t deserve it at all-”

You’re sure you look like an absolute mess by now, tears staining your cheeks from your crying, a blotchy complexion from your stress, wrinkled clothes and ruined hair from constantly messing with them to try and find a release for all of your anxiety, but the way Spencer looks at you would have you assuming you’d stepped right off a runway.

“You don’t have anything to apologise for,”

“But-”

“Nothing.” Spencer shakes his head to the best of his ability as he shuts down your rebuttal, and he shifts his hand upwards to lie over your two hands clasped in your lap. “I shouldn’t have tried to pressure you into something that you’re not ready for, that was my fault, and for that I’m the one who needs to be saying sorry,”

“No I get it-”

“I made you uncomfortable and upset and that was never my intention,” Spencer continues to cut off your attempts to speak, something he’d usually rather die than do to you - or anyone for that matter - but deemed a necessity to stop you from lumping all of the blame on yourself when you had done nothing more than establish a boundary. A boundary that Spencer didn’t respect.

“I love you, and I want to spend every waking hour I have in your presence, I want to sleep with you in my arms and wake with you by my side. I want to experience every up and down with you and keep you safe and loved at every instance,” Spencer gives your hand a small squeeze as he looks at you, your reflection in his eyes one of pure beauty and perfection. “I didn’t do that for you in our last disagreement, and I can only hope that you’ll forgive me and allow me to make up for that moving forward,”

Spencer’s fingers ghost over the back of your hand, pressing small circles into the dips between your fingers and gently massaging your skin. “I want to do nothing more than love you, and a piece of paper and a pair of rings won’t change that either way.”

You swear that you melt with every word that leaves the boy’s mouth, and if he wasn’t currently hospital bound you’d smother his face in kisses until he couldn’t breathe anymore.

In respect for his condition you turn you affections to his hand instead, holding it up to your face and pressing deft kisses against the curve of each of his knuckles, silent tears still sliding down your cheeks. Tears of a different trajectory this time, filled no longer with guilt and frustration and instead replaced with the realisation of just how much you mean to Spencer Reid.

“I love you so much,” Your lips brush the back of his hand as you speak, his fingers dampening with the lingering moisture of your tears as you hold his hand like it’s the only thing anchoring you to the earth. “So much.”

The smile that breaks out on Spencer’s face could cure any ailment in your mind within seconds. “I love you too,”

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

More Than Enough

Pairing: Harvey Specter x Reader

Rating: T

Notes: Not beta-read because when is it ever. Technically part of my Men I Always Meant to Write For non-series series.

Length: 9.9K

Warnings: Angst. Angst angst angst angst, mentions of reader having anxiety, friends to enemies to lovers, has a happy ending

Summary: Mr. Ross (Mike, he’d insisted, but you knew that you had to keep the formalities up for your own sakes) introduced Beth first, giving you a chance to just—look. You’d never bothered to catch up with Harvey once he’d gotten a job in New York. You knew that he was there, of course. The few friends that you had kept in touch with from Harvard had told you. You’d heard his name every couple of months regarding some case that he had tried, some deal that he’d closed. But you couldn’t imagine what you’d say to him if you turned up, and you weren’t sure that you wanted to know what he’d say to you—if he’d have anything to say to you.

There were a lot of things that you remembered about Harvey. You remembered his dimples, and the freckles peppering his shoulders; you remembered the way his eyes lit up when he hit on something good; you remembered the casual, almost bored way that he answered questions in class. Most of all, you remembered how he looked at you.

Harvey used to look at you with warmth, and teasing. He used to watch you hunker over your books and notes, stare you down when he was determined to come out on top in an argument. He used to peer up at you as he tried not to fall asleep on your shoulder, sharing the train ride back to spend the odd weekend in New York.

You remembered the way his gaze used to send nervous butterflies swirling through you. The way his smile made your face go hot, and your heart pound in your chest.

You remembered so many things about how Harvey made you feel, things that you held on to for such a long time—and they were in direct conflict with the way Harvey looked at you when you walked into the conference room that morning.

Something funny had happened in your gut when you’d heard his voice, the way he was warning his associate that he would, “Handle this one, and we’ll be outta here in five minutes.”

As you rounded into the room, you could see that his associate wasn’t convinced; you couldn’t blame him. You’d put up a hell of an argument with Mr. Ross a couple of days before, which had no doubt prompted him to return with backup. Now, you felt the first stirrings of panic, faced with a past you'd tried to forget, but you were too close to the conference room to turn tail, and with Beth already two steps deeper inside, it was too late to bail out. You’d promised her that you’d stick to her side through this ordeal. She couldn’t afford a real lawyer, and the few that you’d spoken to about pro bono work just didn’t have the bandwidth to help her case. The rest of your coworkers had been overwhelmingly supportive, your boss included—you couldn’t think of any other employer that would let a lawyer come and speak with Beth at her workplace without raising a stink about it.

Mr. Ross (Mike, he’d insisted, but you knew that you had to keep the formalities up for your own sakes) introduced Beth first, giving you a chance to just—look. You’d never bothered to catch up with Harvey once he’d gotten a job in New York. You knew that he was there, of course. The few friends that you had kept in touch with from Harvard had told you. You’d heard his name every couple of months regarding some case that he had tried, some deal that he’d closed. But you couldn’t imagine what you’d say to him if you turned up, and you weren’t sure that you wanted to know what he’d say to you—if he’d have anything to say to you.

Harvey looked good. Self-assured, confident, wearing a bright, charming smile as he shook Beth’s hand. You could hear Mike introducing you, and had just a moment to brace as recognition his recognition swelled.

It took over his expression entirely as he met your eye.

Harvey’s gaze flickered, brow furrowing a touch. The dimples disappeared as his lips dropped from a smile to a stunned purse. You shook his hand where it had frozen, a quick, firm pump before you let go.

“Please,” You gestured to the small conference table before you set your things down. The space wasn’t at all grand, it was…Homey. Surely not the sort of spaces these two were used to, if the suits were anything to go by.

“I appreciate your persistence, Mr. Ross,” Beth started, tucking a stand of greying hair behind her ear as she tried to steady her nerves, “But my position hasn’t changed since the last time we spoke.”

You glanced from your elderly coworker toward Mr. Ross. Just out of the corner of your eye, you could see Harvey watching you closely. The feeling was at once familiar and foreign; it made your stomach turn.

“Ms. Owens, I recognize that our client has put you in a difficult position—” Mr. Ross started. You had to clench your jaw to keep from rolling your eyes as he went on, “But the valuation that we’ve offered for you to change the name of your LLC and sell the site is incredibly generous.”

You did smile, then. Hell, you couldn’t help it.

“You disagree?”

Your stomach lurched at Harvey’s question, and you looked toward him. Oh—you knew that expression. His eyes were narrowed; his lips were curled into a smirk that dared you to argue with him.

“Isn’t that obvious? If we didn’t disagree, none of us would be in this room right now,” You pointed out.

“We’ve spoken to our client,” Mike cut in, drawing your attention again, “And he’s authorized us to bump the offer up to $100,000.”

You let that hang in the air for a few moments, brows raising when Mike gave a small, encouraging nod.

“That’s it?” You retorted dryly. “You expect me to believe that a pharmaceutical company with a market value of over three hundred billion dollars is willing to drop a whole 100K? How overwhelmingly generous.”

“Do I need to point out that your cash-grab is standing in the way of medical progress?” Harvey argued.

“Oh, please,” You scoffed. “It's a dick pill, Harvey.” You tried to ignore the stunned, slap-shocked look when you used his name, pushing on—“And if you’d read the comparative studies that the company did, you’d know that it works with roughly a third of the effectiveness of the market leaders. This isn’t exactly going to blow the toupee off of Viagra, no matter what your client says.”

“We could bury you under fees and paperwork.”

“Whoa, Harvey,” Mike muttered beside him, casting him a wary look. You could feel Beth shifting nervously beside you as well. You forced yourself to be calm, and to smile a little, even as your stomach flipped. You’ve done your homework; you’ve prepped. You can do this.

“Yes,” You nodded, “You could. But you’d be doing so at the expense of a woman who has owned and operated a company out of her studio apartment under this name since 1995. What Beth has here isn’t just a little stumbling block for your client—it’s an institution, with hundreds of annual customers and testimonials speaking to the way her products have improved their lives. This may be a blip for your client, but it’s a significant part of Beth’s life. And considering the recent, sharp drop in the company’s stock price and the uptick in legal suits, I wouldn’t be surprised if you all need a win right now. If you railroad us, we will go public with your client’s intimidation tactics.”

“Intimidation—?” Harvey snapped.

“Oh, have they not mentioned the non-stop late-night phone calls, the people following Beth to and from home? The private investigators? The threatening letters?”

You watch Harvey’s expression mar with surprise. You can’t help but chuckle then.

“C’mon. You should know better.” You look down at the folder in front of you. “The fact of the matter is, my client has had to endure a mountain of shit for what is only a marginally effective aid for erectile dysfunction—one that’s projected to make your client nearly $18 million in its first quarter on the market. If you need to close anyone, it’s on your side, not ours. You either bump the offer up a mill, or we go to the press with what we have.” You drew two copies of an article out of your folder, sliding it across the table to them. “Just a little taste.”

“Excuse me?” You heard. The four of you turned your attention to the office secretary, who was lingering in the doorway. Right on time, just as you asked. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but you have a call. I can have them hold—“

“No, that’s alright,” You shook your head before turning back to the men on the other side of the table, subtly waving for Beth to stand. “We’re done here. Thank you for your time, Mr. Ross. Harvey, always a pleasure.”

You led the way out, holding the door open for Beth. Vindication shot through you as you just caught Mr. Ross asking, “What the hell was that?”

--  

She was all over the page. Harvey had given the article a couple of passes while he was in the car on the way back to the office, but reading it through again, he felt that even if she hadn’t handed it to him herself, he somehow would’ve known that it was hers. 

The argument that Mike was having with Craig Philbrook seemed almost muted to him as he read it for a third time. It was a concise presentation of the facts, but it hit the exact emotional points that it needed to. It was beautifully balanced. Harvey could almost imagine her curled over her laptop, drawing up a draft, editing it with expert precision. He’d seen her work like that before. Sure, it had been a long time ago, but the sight of her hunkered down in Langdell Hall had never really left him—not even when he’d done his best to push it away. 

“Harvey!” 

He glanced up, brows raising. Craig’s face was the shade of a cherry tomato, and seemed just about ready to pop. His chest was heaving from what must’ve been a spirited bout of argument with Mike. Glancing at his associate, Harvey found Mike wide-eyed and pink-cheeked, at an equal fever pitch. He considered for a moment more before he tossed the article onto the table. 

“We don’t have any choices here, Craig,” He admitted. 

“A million dollars? That’s insane!” 

“Actually, considering what the company expects to pull in almost a eighty mill in the first year, one million is pretty reasonable.” 

“Whose side are you on?” 

“I’m on yours, Craig. Look, if you wanna action your plan, we’ll sic the dogs on ‘em. But the press is never gonna side with a company that’s putting a little old lady through her extreme financial and emotional distress just for a landing page. If we settle outside of court, slap an NDA on top, none of this ever comes out. Keep it clean.” Harvey pushes himself out of his seat, standing and buttoning his suit jacket before taking the article up again. “Talk to who you need to talk to, but do it fast. Every incident that they noted is another ticking time bomb that we may have to worry about diffusing.” He rounded his seat, heading for the door before he paused and turned back. “Oh, and Craig? Quit having her called and followed. You’re just giving them more rope to hang you with.” 

He turned away, tucking his hands into his pockets as he strode down the hall, Mike in tow. 

“You think he’ll cave?” Mike asked. 

“He will. He has to.” 

“Okay—Question.” 

“Is it related to the case?” 

“Yes. What the hell was that?” 

“That was me doing my job. The job you were supposed to handle, and you're welcome, by the way.” 

“I don’t mean back there, I mean this morning.” 

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

“Bullshit.” 

Harvey cast an irritated glance back toward Mike as he walked into his office. It was no surprise that Mike followed; once he got something in his head, he couldn’t let it go. Neither of them could. 

“She said seeing you was always a pleasure,” Mike added as Harvey settled behind his desk. 

“Maybe she was just trying to get under my skin.” 

“Seems like it worked, and I’ve never seen anyone but Tanner do that. How do you know one another?” 

Harvey considered. He didn’t know her, not really. Not anymore. 

“We went to Harvard together,” He finally admitted. 

“She’s a lawyer?” 

“No.” Maybe? He wasn’t sure. He hadn’t checked the bar for her name in a long time. 

“So she…Did what with her degree?” 

“As far as I know, she never got it. She dropped out, middle of our second year.” 

“Why?” 

“No idea.” 

“Come on, you can tell me.” 

“Don’t you have a brief to write or a motion to file.” 

Mike was quiet for a moment, gaze sweeping Harvey’s face before his mouth fell open in slight surprise. 

“...Oh, my god, you really have no idea,” He managed.

“Why are you still standing here?” 

“Does Donna know?” 

“Why would she?” 

“Because she knows everything.” 

“Well, I doubt she would know this.” 

“You’re deflecting. She definitely knows.” 

“Go ahead and ask her.” 

Mike’s mouth works wordlessly again before he turns his head just a little. 

“...She doesn’t know.” 

“She does not.” 

“Unless she does, and you’re trying to double psychy-psych me into not getting an answer.” 

“Then go ahead and ask.” 

“...She doesn’t know.” 

“Are you asking?” 

“If she does know—” 

“You could be doing this on the other side of the door.” 

“Okay.” 

Harvey relaxed a bit as Mike leaned back in his seat, then smiled as he heard Mike call out, “Donna?” 

He shook his head, taking up a baseball from behind his desk and turning his chair to gaze out of the window, turning the ball over and over in his hands. Mike wasn’t entirely wrong. If there was anyone in the city who may somehow know what happened, he was almost certain it was Donna. Harvey sure as hell didn’t know what had happened. 

Harvey could still remember the shock of it—turning up to goad her into going to get dinner with him, only to find that her half of the room was completely cleared out. Her roommate had told Harvey that she didn’t know where she’d gone, didn’t have a number to reach her. Harvey had chased answers down within his means. He’d gone after phone numbers that he’d used and found them disconnected; he’d stopped by her apartment building and asked the doorman for information, even tried to bribe him, but the man hadn’t let a single word slip. Harvey had waited outside for hours in the hopes of seeing her, but had come up with nothing.

No call, no note, not a word of warning or explanation. Harvey hadn’t been worth saying goodbye to then, and he apparently hadn’t been worth saying goodbye to today. 

His gaze dropped to the baseball in his hands, his thumb sweeping across the stitching as his chest fluttered with bitterness. Mike hadn’t come back in, so he was almost certain that Donna didn’t have the answers. Harvey eyed the article on his desk, frown deepening. 

Maybe Harvey would have to get the answers for himself. 

-- 

“Um—Did you happen to see Gerald’s email?” 

“Nope,” You hardly looked away from your laptop screen as Beth sidled up to your desk. “What’s up?” 

“He wants another SWOT analysis.” 

You closed your eyes in irritation, drawing in a deep breath. 

“Of course he does. Thanks for flagging.” You opened your email, glancing over when you realized Beth was still standing there. “Everything okay?” 

“...Just, I haven’t heard anything yet, from…” She cleared her throat uncomfortably. “I just wonder if we were too aggressive.” 

You nodded a little, offering her a reassuring smile. 

“If anything, they’ll counter, maybe for half a mill.” 

“But…What that other man had said about burying us in fees, and paper—”

You turned your chair, taking Beth’s wizened hands in yours. 

“He’s not going to do that,” You swore. “They’d screw themselves over if they did, and they know it. They’re probably just ironing out paperwork. It’s gonna be okay.” 

Beth’s eyes darted between yours before she finally nodded. You gave her hands a gentle squeeze before you let go, turning back to your laptop as she walked away. You bit your lip, peering at your laptop screen. Your eyes scanned it, but you weren’t really taking anything in. You were just as panicked as Beth was that you hadn’t heard anything from the firm. It either meant something very good, or very bad. But you didn’t dare let Beth know how nervous you were. If it hadn’t gone your way—if the company decided to take Beth down—you would never forgive yourself.

You drew in a deep, shaky breath, curling your fingers into your palms and trying to shake off the oncoming shivers trickling down your spine. You’d always hated this feeling—the fear of loss, the swell of hopelessness. You hadn’t felt either so acutely in a long time. You’d been happy for it; you hadn’t missed them. Arguing with Harvey had brought you back to the contentious moments in law school, the panic of not knowing who the professor would call on next, the fear of tripping over your words in front of a dozen of your peers—

You closed your eyes for a moment, drawing in another deep breath and forcing your mind calm. You weren’t in law school anymore. You were a manager at a marketing firm. You did good work. You liked your job. The life that you led was more than enough. The people that you answered to were satisfied with your results—and whatever happened to Beth could be overcome. You were certain. 

You opened the email from Gerald, reading it through before you CC’d Anne from finance, Jason from legal, and your boss before you typed out your response: 

Hi Gerald, 

Per our contract, we’ve completed the four SWOT analyses that we’ve been contracted for this year. Happy to take this conversation offline to discuss renegotiation.

-- 

“I’m going out.” 

Donna sprang up at the warning, striding to catch up with Harvey. 

“Going out where?” 

“I need some air.” 

“There isn’t enough air in your office?” 

“I like outside air. The exhaust, the cigarette smoke, the waft of salt from the hot dog vendor.” 

Donna arched a brow, folding her arms across her chest as Harvey hit the down button for the elevator. 

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with the woman that Mike asked me about last week, would it?” She asked. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“Oh no?” 

“Nope.” 

“Too bad. Her LinkedIn, Instagram, and Bumble profile were very interesting.” 

Harvey arched a brow, glancing toward Donna before he stepped onto the elevator. 

“Since when are you on Bumble?” 

“I have a few profiles for research purposes.” 

Harvey shook his head, smiling and casting his gaze toward the elevator floor as the doors closed. 

--  

When someone came to a stop at your desk, you assume that it’s Beth, or your boss—someone that you worked with. When they didn’t speak, you glanced up, and realized immediately that it was a mistake. Harvey was standing there, his hands in his pockets as he waited to have your attention. You dropped your gaze back to the screen, clearing your throat.

“I’m assuming if you’re here in person again, it’s bad news,” You commented. Harvey’s lips pouted as he seemed to consider. 

“Depends on what you consider bad news.” 

“I consider Beth getting screwed out of her fair share as bad news.” 

“Well, then I have good news and bad news.” 

“Okay.” 

“The good news is, my client is ready to settle out of court for the requested amount, provided an NDA is signed.” 

“I’d need to see that before she signed it.” 

“Of course.” 

Your brow furrowed. 

“Then what’s the bad news?”

“There’s one more contingency to the deal being signed.” 

“And what’s that?” 

“Get a drink with me.” 

Your gaze narrowed, and you couldn’t help but lean back in your seat, arms folding across your chest. 

“Are you kidding me?” 

“Not at all.” 

“If I refuse?” 

“Beth will still get her settlement. But,” Harvey tipped his head from side to side, “It’ll probably take way longer.” 

“How much longer?” 

“Pff…Anywhere from a few months to a year. To be perfectly honest, my client doesn’t want to pay out. I mean, he will, because he knows that our advice is the right way to go, but I can gum up the works.” 

You pushed out a stunned scoff. 

“You’d seriously do that for a drink with me?” 

“We each have something the other wants.”

“What the hell could I possibly have that you want?” 

“Answers.” Harvey's critical gaze skimmed your rapidly heating face. “So? Are you busy tonight?” 

-- 

You felt out of place. The bar was nice, and everyone seems dressed for it…Except you. Well, your workplace was fairly casual. It was rare that you met with clients in person. You dressed up in those instances, of course, but your day-to-day work wear is jeans and a nice shirt. You were trying not to shift uncomfortably, or fidget to adjust your cardigan, or the shirt underneath. You glanced up toward the waiter, offering a small smile as he set your drink down. 

You picked up your glass, drawing in a long, slow sip. You’d spent the last five hours distracted at work, torn between trying to figure out what the hell you were going to say to Harvey, what sort of questions he could have. You already knew that this was more likely to be an interrogation than a friendly chat. 

He was drawing it out, too. He was taking a slow sip of his own, watching you like his gaze could drill through your skull. 

Maybe it could. He was certainly trying hard enough. 

“So?” You pressed, unable to help the silence. His lips twitched. Ugh, he’d wanted you to cave first, and you had played right into his hand. Bastard. 

“Did you ever finish your law degree?” He asked. 

Embarrassment prickled your skin. The conversation was going to be a roller coaster if that was where he was starting. 

“No.” 

“Never went back to Harvard?” 

“No.” 

“Why not?” 

“I had no reason to.” 

“Not even to visit? Maybe pick up something you forgot?” 

“I didn’t forget anything when I left.” 

“Why did you leave?” 

“Irrelevant.” 

“I find it very relevant.” 

“I disagree.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” 

“Are you?” 

“Not particularly.” 

“Move on.” 

“Speaking of moving on, you seemed to do that very quickly.” 

“I don’t know what you mean.” 

“You disappeared. No one could get in contact with you.” 

“I didn’t want contact with anyone.” 

“So you just dropped off of the face of the earth, for what? Fun?” 

You shifted in your seat a little, fingers pressing into your palms where they were hidden in your lap. 

“Trust me, nothing that happened to me then was fun.” 

“Why should I trust you?” 

Your stomach lurched; your hands tightened in your lap. 

“Take my word for it, then,” You corrected. 

“Your word isn’t worth anything to me.” 

You averted your gaze, jaw tightening as you leaned back in your seat. Maybe you could just slam the drink back and go. You could hear Harvey leaning forward in his seat. 

“Tell me,” He pressed, “What happened.” 

“Why does it matter to you?” 

“This has been a giant question mark for me for a long time. You know I hate loose ends.” 

You drew in a deep breath, leg beginning to bounce beneath the table as your nervous energy swelled. 

“I couldn’t do it anymore,” You finally admitted. 

“What?” 

“I couldn’t do…Harvard Law. That environment, I couldn’t do it. Look, I loved it at the start, I loved the feeling of getting in, but once I was in, it was too much.” 

You couldn’t meet his eye; his look was as heavy as ever. 

“Why didn’t you talk to me?” He asked after a moment. You scoffed a laugh, raising your brows as you finally brought yourself to look at him.

“Are you serious?…Harvey, you were allergic to feelings.” It was a little vindicating to see Harvey shift in his seat as you went on, “If I’d told you that I was struggling, you would’ve told me to buck up, that it wasn’t that hard, that I just needed to put my head down. You don’t respond weakness, you can’t fucking stand it.”

“You did just need to put your head down.”

Your mouth worked wordlessly for a moment, lips curling into a hysterical smile as you breathed, “Oh, my god—” Because there it was. There was the answer you’d expected years ago.

“You were top ten!” Harvey argued. “You were this close to knocking me off out of the top five.”

“I was losing my shit!” You lowered your voice, leaning in. “I couldn’t sleep. I was having panic attacks every time I left my room. I couldn’t handle it, alright? I’m not like you.”

“No, you’re not. I wouldn’t have given up.”

It was like a slap. You bit the inside of your cheek before you leaned back, nodding. You could feel your throat going thick as your eyes welled with tears.

“Okay,” You reached into your pocket, drawing your wallet out for a twenty as you stood. “Well thank you for this lovely trip down memory lane.”

“Sit down.”

“Fuck you.”   

You didn’t even care that your language drew the attention of the other patrons. You just strode out of there as quickly as you possibly could, hands fumbling for your phone to get a car. Maybe it shouldn’t have been so surprising that you heard his footsteps behind you moments later. It pushed you to walk faster, to keep him from seeing your watering eyes.

“Maybe it shouldn’t be surprising that you’re turning tail and running,” He sounds almost bored, “You’re so good at it.” 

“Leave me alone, Harvey.” 

“You know, I had the wildest theories back then. Kidnapped by a foreign government, taken by aliens, activated sleeper agent. It’s a bummer to find out that you were just a coward.” 

“Stop it,” You warned, shoving the door open and striding through it. You heard his palm hitting the wood behind you to keep the door from hitting him in the face, and you were desperate to escape it in the city noise. Harvey pushed on as if you haven’t said a thing:

“I used to think we were one and the same, but I would never have done what you did. I never would’ve just disappeared. Why didn’t you trust me—” His fingers curled around your wrist, tugging you to turn to him. His diatribe seemed to falter as he took in the tears slipping over your heated cheeks. You twisted your wrist out of his grip, tucking your arms around your middle and keeping your gaze anywhere but Harvey. 

“...You could’ve talked to me,” Harvey finally said. 

“You would’ve told me then exactly what you said just now, and that was the last fucking thing I needed back then. Frankly, it’s the last fucking thing I need right now.” 

“Look at me.” 

“No, you—You got your answers, alright? Get Beth her settlement.”

“You want me to get her settlement for you?” 

“I want you to get it for her. Because she deserves it. So, get her the money, the money she’s earned, and just…Just leave me alone.” 

You turned away from him again, getting just a little relief from the fact that you don’t hear him following you. 

You spent the night worrying that your answers won’t be enough, that Harvey would go out of his way to bury Beth in paper, screw her over to the point where you had to go back to knocking on the doors of firms willing to take her case on a pro bono basis. 

But when you turned up to work and Beth practically clobbered you with an excited hug, you knew that he hadn’t gone out of his way to fuck you over. You let out a sigh, patting Beth on the back and letting out a relieved laugh as repeated her thanks. 

--  

“Be nice.” 

That had been your boss’s only warning as you’d headed into a conversation with Gerald. And you had every intention of being nice. But you also wanted to be realistic. You glanced from the finance rep to the landline in the middle of the conference table as Gerald groused, “There's no need to be unreasonable.” 

“I don’t think us upholding our end of the contract is unreasonable," You argued. "We’ve done the SWOT analyses that you asked for in the past, and we’ll be happy to do them again. But we need to adjust the contract.” 

“You can’t just do a one-off and bill me extra?” 

“We could, but if we open that door, you’re just going to keep coming in, Gerald.”

“This is ridiculous,” He snapped. “I can cut this contract.” 

“Yeah, you can,” You nodded. “You are absolutely at liberty to do that.” You heard the sound of a door opening to the conference room, but you felt your focus locked-in to the phone. “But if you cut this contract, that’s going to cost you a lot of time and a lot of money. We have a guaranteed pay clause regardless of termination, so if you cut us loose, you’re still going to have to pay us for the full year. While you’re still shelling out cash to us, you’ll have to pay to bring on another firm. You’d be better off negotiating the additional SWOT analyses instead of paying two firms off at once.” 

You were quiet for a moment, brows raising as you and your associate waited in silence. You closed you eyes, holding your breath. Please, please please—

“How many SWOT analyses would I get with the increased cost?” He finally asked. 

“That’s up for negotiation,” Anne hurried to reply. “As it is, you’re averaging one per month. If we push it to a dozen, we could work with you to discount them at 25%.” 

Another pause. Another moment of you holding your breath, of please, please please please please—

“Send the revised contract.” 

“It’s already in your inbox," You admitted. "Thanks, Gerald.” 

“Yeah.” 

You reached out, stabbing the button to hang the phone up before he could change his mind. You sighed, slowly leaning back in your seat and peering up at the ceiling. Christ, you felt dizzy. 

“You can’t keep bullying our clients,” Anne grumbled.

“Our clients can’t keep bullying us. If we keep going the way we’re going, we’ll be the firm that does triple the work for half the pay. We’re too good for that.”  

“She’s right.” 

His voice made you whirl around in your seat, heart sinking into your stomach. Harvey stood just inside the room, his hands tucked into his pockets. Heat prickled along your neck. How long had he been there? Shit, you’d thought your boss had been the one to come in— 

You glanced toward Anne with a guilty smile. 

“Can we get a minute here?” 

“Sure,” She nodded, pushing herself out of her seat. Harvey grasped the door handle, holding it open and shooting her a wide smile as she walked past. You stood as well, folding your arms across your chest before hurriedly lowering them to tuck into your pockets. You wanted to mirror him, look as nonchalant as he did, not all twisted up and shielded and defensive. Oh, you were cool as a cucumber. Definitely no reason to worry here, no way. 

Harvey closed the door, stepping a little deeper inside. 

“What can I do for you today, Mr. Specter?” 

“Thought I’d come see how Beth’s planning on using her retirement check, how you’re going to use your fee.” 

You frowned. “What fee?” 

“You didn’t charge her a fee? Standard in New York is 40%.” 

“I wouldn't take Beth’s hard-earned money.” 

“You earned it, too, considering how hard you defended your client.” 

“Beth was not a client. This was a favor for a friend.” 

“That’s funny, because you called her that during our conversation.” 

“No, I didn’t.”  

“Yes, you did. You said that your client had had to endure a, what was it…‘Mountain of shit’?” 

“Well, that is true,” You muttered. “It was a mountain of shit.”

“Could’ve been two mountains of shit.” 

“But it wasn’t, so. I thank you for that.” 

“It’s only fair. You did what I asked, you answered most of my questions.” 

“Most?” You scoffed, folding your arms over your chest. “What the hell else could you want to know?” 

“You wanna do this here?” 

“I don’t wanna do this at all.” 

“Why didn’t you come to me?” 

“Harvey.” 

“I didn’t have a clue—” 

“I am not doing this here.” You spoke more firmly than you felt. “This is my place of work.” 

“Well when I tried to do this elsewhere, you walked out on me.” 

“And yet you followed.” 

“Because I had a chance to this time. I didn’t get the chance back then."

You shook your head, averting your gaze. 

“Look,” Harvey stepped closer. “I’m just asking for a chance.” 

“Last night wasn’t enough for you?” 

“No, it wasn’t.” 

“Well, it was for me. Hell of a flashback, just like old times. Same old Harvey, not knowing when to back off. Strong, direct, painful line of questioning—all gas, no breaks.” 

Harvey was quiet for a moment, eyes skating over your face. 

“It won’t be an interrogation again.” 

“How can I know that?” 

“I was angry last night.” 

“And you’re not now?” 

“...Not in the same way.” 

“Oh, well. That’s a relief.” 

“I just want to understand. Help me understand.” 

“Understand what?” 

“How one of the smartest people I’ve ever known changed her mind all that time ago, and then flexed the hell out of her legal muscles to get me to close in ten goddamn minutes.” 

“People change, Harvey.” 

“You haven’t.” 

The two of you watched one another for a long, contentious, quiet moment before he said, “You need to come to my office.” 

“What for?” 

“To read over the NDA before Beth signs it.” 

Fuck, the NDA. You’d forgotten about that. 

“Fine," You nodded. "When.” 

“How’s tomorrow work for you?” 

“Tomorrow's a Saturday. You’re gonna do this on a weekend?” 

“Gives us time to turn around any edits you need before you give it to Beth on Monday.” 

You bit the inside of your cheek. Goddamnit. 

“Fine,” You agreed. “How’s seven?” 

“Sure. We can grab dinner—” 

“In the morning.” 

Harvey’s brow jumped, his chin tipping down a touch.

“Are you serious?” He asked. 

“Completely. You wanna get this NDA into your associate’s hands as quickly as possibly, right?” 

“You expect me to be in my office at seven in the morning so you can read something.” 

“You could’ve saved us both a trip and just brought it with you.” 

“It’s still being worked on.”

“Well, you can have someone messenger it over tonight and I’ll drop it off tomorrow morning. Or is it long enough that you’re going to, um…Gosh, what was that neat little threat, again? Bury me in paper?” 

You saw something flash across Harvey’s face. You didn’t know if it was remorse, or what—but it’s gone as soon as it appears. 

“Fine,” He bit out. “Seven. In the morning.” 

“Sounds good.” 

“Don’t be late.” 

“Oh, I won’t. I’m very punctual.” 

“I remember.” 

Your stomach flipped. Of course he did. He turned away, opening the door…And holding it open. 

“What are you doing?” You asked, raising your brows. 

“Are you coming?” 

“Are we camping out outside of your office overnight? You strike me as a glamping guy.” 

“I thought you were leaving the room.” 

“I’m not.” 

“Your meeting is over.” 

“I have a quiet room and a SWOT analysis to work on.” 

“You’re telling me you haven’t done it already?” 

Your face went hot at the accusation, lips pressing to hold in your irritation at the way Harvey smiled. You were relieved when he finally turned away. It gave you a chance to sink down in your chair and parse through what the hell just happened. 

--  

“Oh, wow. You’re early.” 

You raised your brows at the tone of surprise, eyeing the entrance to the building, and then turning your attention back to the young man that had just sprung up in your way. 

“Yes, I am. Good morning, Mr. Ross.” 

“Please, call me Mike. Not on the other side of the table anymore.” 

“Well, until that NDA gets signed, yes, you are, so. Excuse me.” 

You made to step around him, but he stepped into your way again. 

“I just wanted to say,” He added, “That I really admire how hard you worked for Beth, and I completely agreed with your assessment of the company’s value.” 

“...Thank you, I appreciate that. Now, if you could just—” 

You side-stepped him again—and again, Mike got in your way, pressing: 

“I honestly didn’t think they’d cave for a million, but you really showed them—” 

“Mike?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Did Harvey ask you to make me late?” 

Mike’s mouth worked wordlessly for a moment, panic marring his features. You smiled sweetly. 

“You know, I’m not sure what Harvey has told you about our past, but he probably didn’t mention that we were in an intramural dodgeball league. I can throw some mean elbows when I’m trying to get what I want, and you look like you bruise easily. So if you’d like to keep your ability to bend comfortably, please step aside and let me in.” 

Mike pursed his lips before he nodded once, stepping aside. 

“Thank you,” You cooed, sliding past him. 

“I really do admire what you did for Beth!” He called out after you. You snorted, shaking your head as you headed to the lobby to get a visitor’s pass. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t more than a little antsy, glancing at your phone as you waited for the elevator, then waited in the elevator. When you stepped off, you found a stunning red-head standing there. Her eyes brightened at the sight of you, and she took a step back as you stepped off of the elevator. 

“Mr. Specter’s office is this way,” She waved for you to follow. You raised your brows, falling into step. 

“Was that a lucky guess, or did you know who to look for?” You asked.

“I knew. I don’t operate on luck.” 

“Right. Did Harvey or Mike show you a picture of me?” 

“Nope. I found pictures myself.” 

“For what purpose?” 

“Curiosity.” 

“Sated?” 

“Very.” 

“Excellent. Do I get to know who you are, or do I have to go sleuthing on the firm’s site after this?” 

“I’m Donna.” 

“And what do you do here?” 

“I just told you,” She stopped, waving you toward an office, “I’m Donna.” 

You raised your brows before you turned, walking into the office. How the hell did he look pristine this early in the morning? Did the bastard sleep in a suit? His brow furrowed at the sight of you, shaking his sleeve back and eyeing his watch. 

“6:59? What the hell did Mike do down there?” 

“He made a valiant attempt, but I got past him.” 

“How?” 

“How did I get past him?” 

“Yes.” 

“Bullshitted him. Told him that we used to play dodgeball together, that I know how to throw a mean elbow. He crumbled like a bran muffin.” 

“Damn.” 

“You really should teach him how to lie. Second I called him on it, he blue-screened.” 

“Trust me, Mike knows how to lie.” 

“Whatever,” You shook your head. “Can I have the NDA so I can go?” 

“Go? Oh, no. This doesn’t leave the office.” 

“...Excuse me?” 

“This document doesn’t leave the building until it’s ready to go to Beth.” 

“You’re kidding.” 

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” 

Your mouth worked wordlessly for a moment before you snapped it shut. 

“....Fine.” 

Harvey took up the document, holding it out. You fought the urge to snatch it from him, instead taking hold of it before you sat down in one of the seats in front of his desk. 

“Need a pen?” He asked. 

“Nope,” You shrugged off your bag, rooting around in it before drawing out a red papermate felt tip pen. 

“You hungry?” 

Yes, you were. You’d been planning on getting breakfast and a massive coffee before going over the damn thing on your own, in your apartment, but no. Harvey had done what Harvey always does: turned the situation in his favor. 

“No,” You answered, uncapping the pen. 

“Let me know if you change your mind.” 

You didn’t answer to that, you just tipped your head into your hand as you settled in:

THE PARTIES: This Non-Disclosure Agreement (referred to herein as the “Agreement”) created on__________, is by and between…

You were quiet for a moment, tipping your head to the side as you skimmed your finger over the pages. 

“Harvey?” 

“Sure, we can do bagels.” 

Damnit, a bagel sounded so good right now.

“Why is this NDA…” You tipped your head to the side, flipping through the file, “Thirty pages?” 

“Because it needs to be.” 

“Ballpark, this should’ve been six, tops.” 

“You’re dealing with a big company. They want to make sure their bases are covered.” 

You shot Harvey a disbelieving look from under your lashes before you looked back down at the file. 

“Besides,” Harvey added, “It’s not the length, it’s—” 

“—It’s the content, yeah yeah,” You muttered. You heard him huff a soft laugh, but you forced the flutter of butterflies in your belly aside in favor of focusing. Hell, you needed to get through this, and fast. If you weren’t careful, your stomach was going to start grumbling. 

--  

“Here we go.” 

You glanced up, doing a double-take at the sight of the coffee tray in Donna’s hand. You looked back down at your work, finishing a note that you’ve been jotting before you turn the page. You went still when Donna held a cup out to you.

“Sugar-free iced dirty chai with a double shot,” She offered. You raised your brows, taking hold of the cup. 

“You’re good,” You nodded.

“I’m Donna.” 

“I remember.” You couldn’t help but smile at her before you took a greedy sip of the iced chai. Oh man, that hit the spot. You’d been there a while, and you were starting to get a headache. You hadn’t tried to parse through legalese like this in a long time, especially not on an empty stomach. 

“So? Are we doing bagels?” Harvey pressed. You glanced at where he was leaning back against an end table lined with basketballs. He arched his brows. “Come on, it’s been an hour and you’re only halfway through. You’re going to run out of steam if you’re not careful.” 

“...You’re paying for them.”

“Of course.” 

“Then yes, please. Bagels.” 

“They’ll be here in five,” Donna warned, striding past you and back to her desk. 

“She’s very good,” You commented, nodding after her as you turned back to your work, making another note. 

“You really are gonna run out of ink.” 

You fought the urge to mimic him, just going on about your business. 

“I’ve got plenty of pens,” Harvey added. 

“Law firm this big, I’d hope you’d have a few pens.” 

“More than a few. Hundreds.” 

“Mm.” 

“Thousands, even.” 

“If you’re not sure if it’s hundreds or thousands, then maybe you should go count them and get back to me.” 

“You just want me out of the room.” 

“I want you to stop watching me.” 

“Why?” 

“It’s creeping me out.” 

“Did it always?”

“Objection: relevance.” 

“If you allow me a little latitude, I can establish relevance.” 

“No thanks.” 

“Why are you going over this thing with such a fine-tooth comb?” 

“I wanna make sure you don’t screw Beth over somewhere.” 

“You don’t trust me?” 

“I don’t trust your client. You work for your client.” 

“I do what’s best for my client.” 

“And I’m doing what’s best for my friend.” 

“Your due-diligence.” 

“I’m just reading, Harvey.” 

“You and I both know it’s more than that.” 

You ignored the comment, turning to the next page of the NDA. 

“Food’s here,” Harvey spoke up after a few minutes of quiet.

“Thanks.” 

You could hear the rustle of bags as Donna unpacked things before leaving again. 

“...You gonna put that down?” Harvey asked. 

“When I’m finished with it, sure.” 

“What about the bagels?” 

“I’ll take it to go when I’m done here.” 

“Come on, I can hear your stomach growling from here.” 

“My stomach isn’t growling.”

“Not at the moment, but it has been.” 

“I’ll live through eleven more pages.” 

“The bagel will get cold.” 

“I’ll heat it back up.” 

“You’re going to reheat a toasted bagel?” 

“Yes, using the same apparatus that toasted it in the first place.” 

“A twice-toasted bagel is gonna be hard as a rock.”

“Oh well.” 

“And if you don’t eat now, I will use all of the scallion cream cheese.” 

“Knock yourself out.”

“I mean all of it. There’s a ton here, and I probably couldn’t fit all of it on a bagel, so I’d have to go in with a spoon. You want me to do that?” 

“Do whatever the hell you want, Harvey. You usually do.” 

Blessedly, that shut him up for a few moments. 

“So did you,” He countered after a moment. You didn't need a law degree to catch that insinuation.

“I didn’t leave Harvard because I wanted to. I left because I had to.” 

“You chose to.” 

“I made a decision that favored my mental and physical health over my career prospects. There's nothing wrong with that.” 

“You ever regret it?” 

You considered for a moment, gaze drifting from the papers. 

“...Sometimes,” You admitted finally, glancing toward Harvey. “When this whole thing with Beth cropped up, yeah. It was a bummer not to have the full force of the degree behind me. But…If I had become a lawyer, I probably wouldn’t have met Beth, or had enough time to help her, so…” You shrugged, looking back down at the NDA. “It’s not as easy as just regretting it or not regretting it.” 

“You regret leaving everyone behind?” 

“...Yeah. I could’ve been better about the way I did it, but at the time, cutting everyone off felt like the right thing to do.” 

“Even me.” 

“Harvey,” You sighed heavily, “I’m not saying that what I did was right for everyone involved. If I had reached out to you, to Scottie, to any of our friends, maybe I would’ve gotten a different answer, but the way that you reacted to me the other day? When you told me that I was a coward?” You lifted your head to meet his eye. “That was exactly what I was expecting. And you know what, it hurt like hell last night, but there is no way I could’ve handled hearing that from you back then.” 

Harvey’s jaw worked for a moment. 

“I shouldn’t have said that,” He admitted softly. “I’m sorry.” 

You hesitated before you nodded a little, turning back to the NDA. 

“If it’s what you felt—” 

“It wasn’t,” Harvey shook his head. “I was mad, and I let it get the better of me.”

“And you’re not mad now?” 

“Not at you for that.” 

“But you are mad at me.” 

“For making me get up to be in the office at seven in the morning? Yeah, I’m outraged.”

You fought back a smile, shrugging.

“Didn’t mean to fuck with your beauty sleep, princess.” 

You turn the page, twiddling the pen between your fingers. 

“You’ll make it up to me.” 

“Will I?” You arched a brow. “How exactly do you think I’m going to do that?” 

“You’ll pay for dinner tonight.” 

“Oh, we’re getting dinner?” 

“I’m fully aware of the vast difference in our salaries, so I’ll pick somewhere with only one Michelin star.” 

“What a generous smug asshole. Time really has changed you.” 

“It hasn’t changed either of us.” 

“I don’t know. I think you’re more of a dick than I remember you being.” 

“I’m blushing.” 

“Sure, Specter.”

“Put the NDA down and have a bagel.” 

“Bossy.” 

“It’s my office, I get to be bossy.” 

“Fine. I’ll take the NDA to a conference room and give us both some space.” 

“Keep your seat, have a bagel, and let me see what you have so far.” 

You didn’t look up until you saw a plate lowered into your field of vision. You arched your brows before you raised the NDA, holding it out to Harvey as you took hold of the plate. You shifted in your seat, sitting up just a bit. Crap, you hadn’t realized how far down you’d slid in your seat over the course of the last hour. You set the bagel aside for a moment, capping your pen and tucking it behind your ear. You twist the top off of the bagel, lapping at the thick layer of cream cheese before taking a bite. You can’t even help the soft, relieved groan that you let out at the taste. 

Damn, you were hungry. 

You glanced across the desk, met by Harvey’s smug smile. 

“Shuddup,” You mumble around the mouthful. 

“Didn’t say anything.” 

“Didn’t have to.” 

You took another bite as Harvey began to flip through the notes that you’d made in the NDA. 

“You’re having fun with this,” He comments. 

“I’m protecting my friend.”

“And you’re having fun doing it.” 

“Sure, Harvey.” 

“You are.” 

“So you’ve upgraded from not analyzing your own feelings to telling everyone else theirs?” 

“Not everyone. Just the people that I know.” 

“Bold claim.” 

“I told you—you haven’t changed. This NDA proves that.” 

“How so?” 

“Because so far, you have marked every single thing that I threw in there to trip you up.” 

You nearly dropped the plate, and the bagel. You completely froze in the middle of your chewing. Harvey’s smug smile widened as he closed the NDA and reached out, taking up another, far thinner file from his desk, holding it out. 

“Here’s the clean one.” 

You reached out, setting the plate down on the desk. You flipped it open, embarrassment beginning to well up as you saw entire passages from the previous NDA—the very ones that you’d spent your time marking—omitted. You nodded for a moment before you muttered, “Okay.” You dropped it into your purse, slung your purse over your shoulder, and stood, taking the remainder of the dirty chai and the bagel with you. 

“Hang on,” Harvey groaned. 

“Nice meeting you, Donna,” You commented, ignoring Harvey as you passed her desk. 

“You too!” She chirped over Harvey’s following, and his call of, “Would you wait a minute!” 

“Why, so you can keep making a fool of me?” You bit out.

“I didn’t do it to make a fool of you, I did it to make a point.” 

“And what point would that be?” 

“That you’re a damn smart person—” 

“I knew that already—” 

“And that you would’ve made an amazing lawyer! You could still make an amazing lawyer!” 

“That doesn’t mean that I want to be one!” You whirled around to face Harvey, face hot and close to his as he comes to a sudden stop to keep from ramming into you. “Just because my goals changed doesn’t make them any less important than yours. I am glad you’re a lawyer. I’m glad you have your corner office, your fancy fucking suits, your title, your position. But I’m glad that I have my life, the way I want it, without all of this. I get that what I did hurt you back then, and I am sorry. But I wasn’t fighting to knock you out of the top five when I was at school. I was fighting for my life. I know that I am smart. I know that I could’ve been an amazing lawyer, but I am happy just being myself as I am, right now. If that’s not enough for you, I don’t give a shit, because it’s my life, not yours.” 

You left Harvey standing alone in the hall, his gobsmacked, stunned expression remaining as you turned away from him and strode to the elevator. He didn’t bother to chase you down this time, which was a relief. You managed to hold it together as the elevator doors slid open, studiously ignoring Mike as he stepped off and greeted you: 

“Hey! Done already?” 

You reached out, jabbing the lobby and door close buttons as quickly as you could. 

--  

Mike’s brow furrowed as she disappeared from sight. He turned away from the elevator, peering around the corner to see who might be nearby. There wasn’t anyone there for a few moments, and then…Harvey, standing there looking stunned and lost. 

“Did she already finish her mark-up?” Mike asked. The question seemed to snap Harvey out of his reverie. He cleared his throat, straightening and turning away. 

“She got halfway. I gave her the clean version.” 

“What? I thought you were only going to give it to her if she caught 95% of the errors."

“She was on track to catch every single one. Spoiling the surprise didn’t seem like such a bad idea.” 

“Is that because this whole endeavor has been a bad idea?” Donna piped up as the two neared her desk.

“I don’t wanna hear it,” Harvey warned as he strode past her. 

“I wanna hear it, but I don’t have time, I have uh,” Mike pointed down the hall, “A 10-Q filing to comb through—” 

“Go,” Harvey nodded him away before he turned, heading back into his office. He reached out, taking up her half-marked NDA. His gaze skated over her notes, and it was as if he was transported back to Langdell, to the notes that she would scrawl in his margins, questioning his citations and methodology. 

“...She’s happy as she is.” 

“Donna."

“She said it herself!” 

“She’s not working at her full potential.” 

“Sounded like she preferred it that way. You’ve seen her at work. Is she bad at her job?”

“No.” 

“Good at it?” 

“What’s your point.” 

“My point is,” Dinna leaned in the door frame, “That success looks different to different people. For you, it apparently looks like rubbing someone's skills in their own face. And I think if you keep harping on what might’ve been, she’ll just resent you for it—and if you lose her again, you’ll resent yourself for that, too.” 

Donna raised her brows pointedly before she pushed off of the door frame. Harvey looked after her for a moment before he lowered himself into his seat, tossing the NDA onto his desk. What to do next? 

Bringing her there hadn’t brought him much luck, but so far, going to her had been far more effective. 

--  

“I’m going to file a restraining order.” 

“May as well do it on a full stomach.” 

“I don’t have the NDA here, I sent it back with my edits.” 

“I know.” 

You glanced between Harvey’s calm expression and the bag of takeout that he was holding up. You sighed heavily. You thought you’d been able to shake Harvey, at least for the day. As soon as you’d gotten home, you’d double-checked the NDA, and hadn’t been able to find a thing wrong with it. You’d sent it back with a messenger, unwilling to step foot in that damn office again that day. You’d been certain that that would be in, but there Harvey is. 

“I promised you dinner,” He adds. 

“I thought you said that I’d be the one paying for it.” 

“I take cash and Venmo.”

“Okay—” You drew your hand back to shut the door, but Harvey pressed his palm against the wood before you could. 

“Wait a second.”

“Harvey, I can’t do handle a repeat of this morning.” 

“I’m not asking you to. This morning, I wanted to understand what happened, I got that.” 

“Then what are you doing here?” 

Harvey seemed to have to brace himself. 

“The woman that I knew at Harvard…The woman that I thought I knew—” 

“Thin ice, Specter.”

“—I had a different perspective of you then. I know we can’t blank slate this, but I’d like to get to know you properly, and I want you to get to know me. As adults. I wanna know what I’ve missed.” 

You considered for a long moment, your gaze dropping to the bag of takeout. Letting him in wasn’t the greatest idea. If it went south again, you couldn’t just storm out—it was your apartment. But there were things about Harvey that you’d missed, too; things that you hadn’t been able to learn about through your mutual friends, and things that you couldn’t just get from googling the guy’s name.  

“What’d you get?” You asked finally.

“Chinese.” 

“Dumplings?” 

“Vegetarian, fried.” 

You sighed, stepping back and nodding over your shoulder with a concession of, “Alright.” 

-- 

There were a lot of things that you had remembered about Harvey. But sitting on the floor of your living room, leaning back against your couch as you ate dinner and drank beer was bringing back so much more. Harvard had held so many bad memories that it had nearly crowded out the good ones, the warm ones. But now, as Harvey busted your balls, teased you, ribbed you as he nudged your knee with his, or your arm with his, or your shoulder with his, was bringing back memories of vicious butterflies. 

Oh, you’d had the worst of crushes on this man. It had only been made worse by late nights spent in his dorm, all-nighters pulled at the library, nights spent dancing with him at parties. You’d been certain that there had never been anything there, and you hadn’t pushed it. Harvey had been your friend, a good friend. But now, with the way Harvey’s smiles softened and his gazes lingered, you found yourself wondering if there had ever been anything more, anything that the both of you had buried. 

“...I was sorry to hear about your brother.” 

Your admission came out of a quiet moment, and it sobered the both of you. Harvey nodded a little, lowering his head and looking at the beer in his hands. 

“I would’ve reached out,” You added, “But I didn’t think you wanted to hear from me at that point.” 

“I didn’t.” 

You nodded at his confirmation, and it was your turn to look at the beer in your hands. 

“You knew more about my life than I thought you would,” Harvey added, leaning back against the couch and shifting to face you a little.

“Well, some of our mutual friends kept me informed on the happenings of the great Harvey Specter.” 

“Why didn’t they tell me about you?” 

“I asked them not to.” 

“Why?”

“Figured you hated me.” 

You bit your lip as Harvey reached out, taking the beer out of your hands and setting it on the coffee table. Your stomach flipped as his hand raised, tucking two fingers beneath your chin to turn your head toward him. You hesitantly met his gaze, stunned by the warmth you found there. 

“I never hated you,” He murmured. “I was upset, sure. I was angry, and confused. But I didn’t hate you.”

“Maybe you should’ve.” 

“Couldn’t if I tried.” 

“Did you try?” 

“Yes.” Hervey’s thumb smoothed along your jaw. “But every time I got angry, I worried, too. I had no idea where you were. I didn’t know if you were alright, if you were at another school or dead in a ditch somewhere.” 

“I’m sorry—” 

“I know,” Harvey nodded, hand smoothing around to your nape. “But I’ve gotta say, if you ever disappear on me like that again—” 

“You’re done?” 

“I’m gonna send a hundred fucking Pinkertons after you.” 

You scoffed a laugh, brows raising.  “That a threat, Mr. Specter?”

“It’s a promise.”He shifted closer. “I’m not losing you again.” 

“You did fine without me.” 

“I would’ve done better with you.” 

“You didn’t need me! You had Scottie, you had Jessica, you have your career and your suits and your—” 

Before you could say another word, Harvey pressed his lips to yours. Your eyes went a touch wide at the sudden unexpected contact. It was a moment before you let yourself lean into him. You raised your hand hesitantly, resting it on his chest as he drew you closer. Your knees knocked against his as you cuddled against him, humming softly as Harvey sucked your lower lip between his. You leaned back a touch, smiling as he rested his forehead against yours. 

“I want you around,” Harvey murmured. “Can’t that be enough?” 

You nodded, sweeping your thumb gently under his collar. 

“It’s enough. More than enough.” 

Taglist: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ;  @paintballkid711 ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight; @recklessworry ; @amneris21 ; @ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage​​​ ; @lorecraft ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; @nolanell ; @millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa​ ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices​ ; @missswriter ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ; @20th-centu-fairy-girl

[eymie]

Hello! Can you write a Billy the Kid x fem reader smut where they're friends but she works at the brothel or something. He hates the fact that she works there and one night when she's moaning about how none of the guys know what they're doing, billy shows her that he knows exactly what he's doing? Maybe some cocky billy?

BETTER THAN THEM !

warning: smut, fingering, unprotected sex (wrap before you tap it), grinding, choking (kinda but not really), prob more but im tired

You’d known Billy for a few years now, meeting as young teenagers. He had a few friends but you were his closest. His free time was spent with you, he watched other men fall at your feet. Begging for just an ounce more of your attention.

He hated when you got a job at the brothel in town, he could've found you a job or his mother could've. You had heard from a few girls in town that it's the easiest way to make quick money and you had jumped at the chance. Your family wasn't well off and you knew you needed this.

He heard men in the saloons talking about you. The wat you writhed under them, whining their names. He knew it was so you'd get a tip but he couldn't help but feel his body tense up. A few of those men leaving with bloody nose and black eye.

Billy couldn't escape the echoes of saloon gossip about your actions at the brothel. The visceral reactions of those men stirred conflicting emotions in him – a mix of discomfort, protectiveness, and an unsettling tension. His response, defending your honor with fists, became a silent testament to the depth of his feelings for you.

He knew he could please you better than any of those grimy men paying for your attention. He had your attention for free. Now here you were sitting in his room complaining to him about these men.

"Billy, they don't even feel good." You groaned, shoving your face into your hands. "At least the money is."

Billy's hands clenched into a fist as he tried to process your words. His voice barely above a whisper, he asked, "What do you mean?"

"None of them have ever made me... you know." You admitted, looking down at your hands. You fidgeted with your hands, looking back up into his pale blue eyes.

His eyes bore into yours.

You continued, pacing around your room frustrated. "They're all so sloppy, and aggressive."

He swallowed hard, taking a step closer to you. "I can make you cum." His voice was low and husky, filled with desire and determination.

"What?" You asked, furrowing your brows in confusion.

Billy held your gaze, his eyes burning with passion and conviction. "I can make you feeling things that none of them ever will."

"But Billy--"

"I'm the only one who knows how to touch you just right." His heart was racing as he took another step closer, their bodies almost touching now.

"Billy." You tried again, barely knowing what to say.

"I promise you won't regret it," he whispered, reaching out to brush his fingers against your cheek. The touch was gentle but electric, sending shivers down his spine.

"We're friends." Best of friends, you didn't want to ruin it one bit. You didn't want to break the bond of the closest friend you've ever had, as bad as you needed him.

"We can be so much more than that," Billy replied, his voice barely above a whisper. His heart pounded in his chest as he leaned in closer still, his lips mere inches from yours now. "Tell me you don't think about me."

"Wait." Your hands pressed against his chest but you didn't push him any further away. Your fingers clenched in the fabric of his shirt, almost pulling him in with intense urge.

Billy took a deep breath, his eyes locked onto yours. He could feel the heat rising between them as they stood there in silence. Finally, he couldn't hold back any longer; he closed the distance between them and pressed his lips firmly against yours.

You lips moved against his, tongues sliding against each other. You ignored any other concern invading your thoughts as you pulled him closer. His hands slid under your dress, nothing underneath.

"I didn't--"

He ignores you, hands finding the flesh of your ass. His hands groping at your ass, squeezing your flesh. You lips part against his, letting out a soft gasp. His hands so close to your shamefully wet folds.

"What pleases you?" His voice was a low whisper against your ear, wetness pooling in your undergarments. Your breath hitched as your mind raced trying to think of an honest answer.

You took a breath, then asked him. "What do you mean?"

"What makes you feel good, pleasures you." His lips brushed against your ear, hot breath fanning against your flushed skin. His hands traveled to your wetness, brushing his finger tips along it.

You hid your face in his neck, squinting your eyes shut as his fingers spread your folds apart, wetness coating his long fingers. Your chest heaved, your body begging to be released from it's clothed restraints.

"I-I don't know..." You stuttered, your was voice low and barely audible. You didn't know what pleased you, what you needed to feel good. His lips pressed against your neck, teeth grazing skin.

His words were hot against your skin, "How do they fuck you?”

In the intense moment, your astonishment mirrored in widened eyes as you gazed at him, his expression remaining stoic, a genuine sincerity cutting through the bluntness of his words. You slowly began to utter, “Billy I-“

He pulls his hand from underneath your skirt, pushing his long fingers into your mouth allowing you to taste yourself. Your tongue pressed along his fingers, your taste invading your taste buds.

HIs inquiry hung in the air, “It doesn’t matter, does it?” Yet, his fingers in your mouth rendered you speechless, creating a moment where words were stifled, leaving the question unanswered.

He withdrew his fingers from your mouth, unveiling a momentary pause that echoed.

His hands travelled to your corset. His fingers deftly worked at the laces of your corset, each gentle movement unveiling a layer of intimacy and revealing a vulnerability that seemed to heighten the intensity of your tension.

Your dress fell to the floor along with the rest of your clothing, undergarments including. His gaze bore into yours, cold air causing goosebumps to your skin, worse under his touch. You closed yours eyes as his hand slid back down between your thighs.

He slowly pushed you down against the bed, hands spreading your thighs. He ran his thumb down your slick folds, collecting your wetness on the tip of his fingers. A sharp breath coming from your parted lips as his rough thumb pressed into your sensitive clit.

"Do they touch you this way?" He asked, pressing your clit harder under his thumb. You shook your head, knowing they just paid to fuck you and not foreplay.

A sense of confidence surging through him, he couldn't help it knowing he was the one making you feel this way. Knowing not another man could make you feel like this one just his fingers.

His finger pressed past your folds, pushing through your gushing entrance. Your hips rose off the bed to meet his hand as he slipped a second finger inside you.

"Moaning on just my hand?" He teased, thrusting his fingers back inside you. You wetness coating his thick long fingers. Your mind raced, never feeling like this by just a mans hand before.

Soft moans leaving your part lips, thighs clenching around his hand. His fingers curled inside you, pressing into your g-spot. You let out a gasp, bucking your hips. His hands were relentless, thrusting his fingers back inside you faster than before driving you towards your orgasm. The wire inside you had tightened, begging to snap.

"Billy-- I'm gonna--" You whined, your hand grabbing his wrist in attempt to stop him. His free hand and pried yours away, pinning it to the bed beside you. Your fingers twisted in the sheets as his hands fucked you closer to your orgasm.

"Do it, cum on my fingers." He encouraged, continuing his thrusts until you writhed under his hands, crying out his name. He kissed along your neck, trailing down to your collarbone leaving purple blemishes. "I bet they don't have you whining like this, crying out my name like it's not just my hand."

His thumb continuously rubbed your clit, fingers curling inside of you. His fingers fuck you through your orgasm, your body sensitive with overstimulation. He felt a sense of satisfaction knowing he could brink you over the edge with just his fingers. He couldn't just stop there.

His fingers were relentless, the way they continuously thrust into you. Moans slipping from your lips, begging for him to slow down just for a second. Your whines falling to deaf ears. His teeth grazed your erect nipples, slowly running his tongue around them.

"Billy, oh--" You hips lift off the bed, his fingers thrusting inside you in attempt to draw out another orgasm. His hands pressed against the fat of your breasts, groping them as he sucks your nipples into his mouth. "Gonna--"

His other hand helps you arch your back off the bed, hips grinding into his hand as you juices coat his fingers. Your jaw going slack as he takes you through yet another orgasm, slowly pulling his fingers from your slick.

"None of those men could make you cum?" He asks again, spreading your thighs apart. You shake your head in response, leaning back on your elbows. You watch as he sucks his fingers into his mouth, groaning at your taste in response.

"Not one of them, Billy." He pulls his fingers from his mouth, wiping his saliva off on his pants. Your legs clench shut watch his fingers slowly unbutton his pants, sliding down his zipper.

"What a shame."

Your lips part as you watch him pull down his pants, an evident bulge in his underwear. Your felt your cunt clench around nothing, watching as he unbuttoned his shirt revealing his chest.

His strong hands turned you over onto your stomach, helping you up onto your hands and knees. His hands found purchase on your hips, pulling you closer to him. His bulge pressed into your wet cunt, hips slowly grinding into your cunt.

"Do you want it?" He asked, thumbs rubbing at your flesh. Your slick soaked through his thin fabric, bulge pressing harder into your wet cunt.

You nod, pushing your hips back to try and get more friction. You whine at the way his bulge presses harder against you, fabric rubbing against your sensitive nub.

“Say it.”

“Yes, I want it.” You begged, overstimulated and out of breath. Your hands clench into the sheets wishing he'd just fuck you.

”Will you quit?” His voice was stern, yet you knew he had no sense of anger. He was needy, he needed you and needed to prove himself. He needed to convince you that he was more than anyone else, more than any amount of money.

“What?” You asked, voice cracking. You turned your head back trying to catch a sight of him. He leaned back, hands still holding your hips against him.

“If I can prove I’m better, then you quit.”

“But—“

He was quick to cut you off, “You don’t need that money, let me show you.”

You close your eyes, the sound of his hands pulling down his undergarments filling the silent room. Your fingers grip the sheets, preparing yourself for the stretch.

The tip of his cock pressed into her cunt, swearing her slick around. He slides his cock down to press against your clit making you jolt.

“Don’t tease—“

He cuts you off by pushing his tip past your folds. A moan leaving your lips, whining at the way his cock stretched you open. His large hands pulled your hips back as he slides himself inside you.

“Shh, taking me so well.” He praised, cock breaching as far as it can inside you. He watched as your pussy is spread wide, embracing his cock.

Small whimpers fell from your lips as he pulls back, thrusting back in. He promised himself he’d start off slow, he couldn’t.

“Billy—“ You whined, his thrusts were relentless. Constantly thrusting back in faster than before, unable to hold back your loud moans.

As much as he wanted to hear your noises, the walls were thin and you were loud. His large hand clasped over your mouth muffling your moans.

Your eyes rolled back, moaning into his hand as he brushed your cervix. His free hand slid to pinch your nipples and fondle your breasts. Your cunt stretched wide, insides bullied by his thrusts.

You cried his name but it was silenced by his hand. Your legs shook, holding up your weight as you were overtook by pleasure. His fingers slid from your breast to your clit, overstimulated and sensitive.

His finger pressed into your clit, eyes rolling back in return. Your walls closed around his length, a groan escaping his lips. The wire inside you once again tightening signaling your soon to come orgasm. Your arms giving out under you, your chest and face pressed into the cheap sheets.

His hand released your mouth, silent moans now all that came from it. His hand pressed down on your back, pulling your ass up into the air.

“That’s it, cum for me.” He felt the way your cunt clenched around, drool smearing into your pillow case. The loud sound of clapping skin filling the room, along with muffled moans and Billy’s held back groans.

One harsh thrust sending you into your impending orgasm. Mouth falling wide open as your cum coated his thick cock. His hands pulled your hips further onto his cock, hips grinding into yours as he pushes you through your orgasm.

“Billy— too much!” You whined, pushing your hand behind you against his abs trying to push him back. He grabbed your wrist, holding it tight before thrusting in quicker than before.

“No, not enough.” He argued, letting go of your wrist that fell back beside you without any fight.

He was holding back his own impending orgasm, hoping to fuck you into another one. His hand wraps around your neck, not too tightly but just enough force to pull you back. He pushed his face into his neck, teeth grazing your skin.

"Better?" He asked with a sense of cockiness in his tone. His tongue pressing over your deep purple marks decorating your skin. The way he thrusted into your made your head spin, his finger rubbing your sensitive clit making it worse.

"What--" You moaned, he was quick to cut you off again.

"Am I better?" Billy asked again, this time his tone more annoyed, annunciating his words. You knew what he meant, better than the other men at the brothel.

"Yes," You assured, placing your hand over his own that decorated your neck. Your nails pressed into his hands, scratching his skin as the pleasure overwhelmed you.

"All of them?"

Your cunt squeezed him, his breathing got heavier as he neared his own high. The way your soft warm walls fluttered around his length, spasming as it neared your orgasm.

"Yes, all of them"

Your fourth orgasm ripped through you, your cunt clenching him like a vice. His name falling off your tongue, loudly being moaned into the room.

Your words came out in a jumble of words, stuttering mess. "Billy... please-- inside!"

His brows furrowed, already too late before he understood your begging pleas. He pulled his cock from your tight entrance, seed spilling from his red tip coating your plush skins. Your cunt was raw and used, clenching around nothing.

"Sorry," He mumbled, out of breath. He grabbed a nearby rag, wiping down your skin from his hot seed. Your body collapsed onto the bed, out of breath and tired.

"Billy?" You asked, turning onto your back. Your chest heaved, soft breaths leaving your parted lips. You felt his weight beside you on the bed, the mattress sinking down next to you.

"Yes?"

"I'll quit."

[hugsandchaos]

Seeing Double

Part One, Part Two, Part Three

Summary: A ghost who looks a lot like Phantom comes to him in search of protection, and their newest member instantly agrees. He calls her his little sister, and sooner or later, Phantom also might end up with a new brother.

*bangs pots and pans together* @vixen-uchiha, @starlightcat04, @blueliac, @lenacraft, @admiralwidow, @fuckingfaraway, @little-apricot-orchard, @sithlordchimchnga, @buymeanewlaptopty, @deeterzz, @jaylaxyart99, @phant0mc1d3, @idiosolcrasy, @dehydrated-bread, @rubber-ducky-your-the-one, @randomenglishmajor, @mushroomymoss, I MADE MORE JUICE!!!

For the past few weeks, Danielle had been staying in the Cave. After explaining the full story to Red Tornado, some of the details unknown to them for some reason, and he spoke with Batman, their friend’s clone had been given permission to live there. As long as she trained and or some sort of education. This was definitely acceptable to both ghosts. Danielle had started training, and not just with Phantom, and her brother would teach her a thing or two when they weren’t training.

Most of his lessons consisted of scenarios where she’d need to try to patch herself up incase she needed to, which she apparently didn’t know as well as he did. It was interesting how similar ectoplasm was to blood when it came to wounds. She wasn’t allowed on missions, though. That should’ve been obvious, but it actually surprised Danielle. It took a bit of arguing and convincing from Phantom to get her to understand, but she reluctantly stayed behind. She was bitter for a while and took her training a little more seriously after that. Overall, she was a great addition to her friend group.

At the moment, it was around 8:02 PM and Danielle was helping Megan cook dinner. Phantom was doing some kind of assignment on the couch with Conner sitting on the opposite end of the couch. Danielle moved around to catch the items and put them on the counter as Megan used her telekinesis to pull them from the fridge and pantry. Danielle nearly missed grabbing the glass jar of sauce, but caught it and placed it down carefully.”And, that’s all we need!” Megan said. She turned around and smiled seeing the ingredients neatly placed on the island counter.”Thanks for your help, Danielle.” She said.

The young ghost smiled.”No sweat off my back. Now how is this one made?” She asked. She enjoyed watching Megan cook, as odd as the Martian thought it was, and she hadn’t seen her use this recipe yet. Megan took another look at the tablet.

She used her telekinesis to open a cabinet and pulled a medium bowl out of it. She set it on the table as she also got a measuring cup.”We need to stir the ricotta cheese, 1/2 cup parmesan cheese, and eggs in this bowl and then set it aside.” She said. Both her and Danielle started on that first step.

On the couch, it was pleasantly quiet. Both boys left each other to their thoughts. Phantom had a notebook in his lap and a textbook set on the arm of the couch. Both the textbook and his handwriting were in a language that Phantom just settled on calling “ghost speak” since he didn’t know what else to call it due to the actual name of the language being surprisingly difficult to translate to English. Megan took a really wild guess and said that it could be a difference between being dead and being alive that made the translation difficult.

Right now, he was focused on that while Conner took the time to think. He had some conflicted feelings about the situation. On one end, he was happy. He had someone to relate to a little better. He saw that there were actually people who had good relationships with their clones, even taking them under their wing. He was more convinced that there was a chance that if his original saw the way they interacted, he might do the same.

On the other hand, however, he was jealous. Conner didn’t want to admit it, even to himself, but it was unfortunately true. He couldn’t even relate to Danielle on a level he wished he could because Phantom didn’t practically ignore her existence for her being his clone. It made him feel a little more alone than before. He also didn’t think that letting Superman meet Danielle was a good idea because Phantom was already mad at him because of what he said last time he was there.

He made the room’s temperature drop by around 20 degrees in a matter of seconds and didn’t take his eyes off the league member until he left. It was probably best to avoid both the argument that would undoubtedly happen between them and what he might say to Danielle if he found out she was also a clone.

“Are you okay?” Phantom spoke up. Conner blinked and turned to him.”Are you okay?” The ghost repeated. Conner nodded. This earned a look of suspicion from Phantom.

Oh. Right. The whole “smelling emotions” thing.

Conner briefly glanced back at the two girls chatting away, sharing stories about their experiences on Earth, then leaned in closer.”Are you going to let her meet Superman?” He asked in a hushed tone. Phantom’s gaze hardened.

He shook his head.”Absolutely not. I’d like to avoid it as much as possible.” He whispered. Conner was a little relieved to hear that. He opened his mouth again to tell him that he’d help him do that, but he was cut off.

“Hey, big bro? What happens if Megan eats ectoplasm?” Danielle called.

Phantom immediately shot up from the couch, knocking both his books and his pencil onto the floor.”No!!!” He instinctively shouted. He quickly flew over to Danielle and Megan to see if he needed to snatch anything from them. Megan laughed at him as he checked the counter. Conner couldn’t resist a small smile, either. It was pretty funny.

Danielle also laughed at him as Phantom realized there wasn’t any in the food or in their possession. He crossed his arms.”Ha, ha, very funny.” He said, obviously unimpressed. Danielle calmed down enough to speak.

“I know it’s funny! I wouldn’t actually give her ectoplasm.” She said. Phantom gave her a pretty disapproving look, but her smile didn’t falter.”I just wanted to annoy you.” She said. Phantom’s eyes widened and seemed more irritated than before. Danielle did her best not to laugh at him.

“You have five seconds to start running.” He said. The younger ghost quickly fled the room and Phantom waited, counting down from five out loud. Once he reached one, he went invisible and vanished from Megan’s and Conner’s sight.

Soon enough, they’d hear the pleading screams of a younger sibling being mercilessly chased by their older brother.