#there are no secrets that time does not reveal. (musings) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ijustmissyouraccenths · 4 months ago

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Venom & Honey

Where Harry, a serial killer, believes he’s found someone exactly like him.

Content warnings: mentions of murder, blood, knives, cutting, and cursing.

Word count: 9.7k

Been working on this for a while and can’t believe it’s finally coming out 🥹

The first time Harry sees her, she's at the bar's far end, tucked into a corner where people vanish. Not literally—Harry knows what vanishing looks like—but in that subtle way quiet people fade when the world ignores them.

She sips wine, fingers curled around the stem, eyes down. Soft. Out of place. She doesn't fit in this town, in this bar reeking of whiskey and salt air.

Yet, there she is.

Something draws him. Maybe it's how she shifts when someone passes, shoulders tensing before relaxing. Maybe it's her parted lips, as if she's about to speak but reconsiders.

She's a doe—unsure, wide-eyed, skittish.

Harry likes that.

He waits, watching her drink, noting how she ignores her phone, waits for no one. Alone. That's key. He can take his time.

Minutes pass. He leaves his stool, approaching. Not rushed. Not eager. Effortless, as if he's just noticed her.

"Hope you don't mind," he says, sliding beside her, smiling. "Bar's crowded tonight."

She blinks, startled. Up close, she's prettier. There's a softness, an innocence most lose in childhood. He wants to touch her hair, see if she shivers.

"Oh—no, I don't mind," she stammers. "I wasn't—um, I wasn't saving the seat."

He smiles. She's nervous, unsure. New to this.

Perfect.

"Good," he murmurs, tapping his glass. "You local?"

She shakes her head. "Visiting."

"Yeah?" He studies her. "Family here, or passing through?"

Something flickers across her face. Unreadable. She tucks her hair back, smiling politely.

"Just... needed new scenery."

Interesting.

People have reasons for coming here. This town isn't a tourist spot—unless you know where to look.

"Funny," he muses, his gaze lingering. "People come here running from something... or looking for something."

She laughs softly. "Maybe I'm taking a break from real life."

He smirks. "How's that going?"

She shrugs, looking down. "Still figuring that out."

Harry watches her. She's intriguing. Not just sweet, not just out of place—but deliberate.

She came for a reason.

She's waiting for something.

And Harry?

He's never been patient.

Harry lets the silence settle between them, watching the way she tucks her chin, fingers wrapped around the stem of her wine glass like she's holding on to something fragile. She doesn't fidget, doesn't reach for her phone, doesn't try to fill the quiet with unnecessary conversation. That's uncommon. Most people scramble to keep up, afraid of pauses, afraid of what they might reveal in them.

But she lets the moment stretch, like she's at ease in the space between words.

That makes him want to unravel her even more.

"You don't seem like the type," he says finally, watching her over the rim of his glass as he takes a slow sip.

She blinks up at him, confused. "The type?"

"To drink alone," he clarifies, tilting his head just slightly. "To slip into a place like this, quiet as a secret, and keep to yourself."

A soft laugh escapes her, and she ducks her head, almost shy. "I suppose it does feel a little out of character."

He raises a brow. "Does it?"

She hesitates, then nods, swirling her wine. "I'm usually not very… spontaneous. I like plans. I like knowing what's next."

Ah. That explains it.

She isn't reckless. Not the type to chase adrenaline, not the type to throw herself into the unknown. She's cautious.

He wonders what made her break the pattern.

"Nothing wrong with a little spontaneity," he murmurs, his voice dipping lower, just enough to make the words feel weightier. "You might surprise yourself."

She looks up then, really looks at him, her eyes searching his face like she's trying to decipher what kind of man he is. If he's harmless. If he's safe.

He smiles, slow and easy. He knows what she'll see.

Harry Styles, the charming stranger. The kind of man people trust without thinking, the kind they never see coming.

A little voice in the back of his mind hums with interest.

She's smart. Cautious. But she's still sitting here, still talking to him.

That means there's something underneath. A part of her that wants to step outside the lines she's drawn for herself.

And that?

That makes things much more entertaining.

"What about you?" she asks, tilting her head slightly. "Are you the spontaneous type?"

Harry chuckles, dragging his finger along the rim of his glass. "Oh, sweetheart," he murmurs, voice all smooth amusement. "You have no idea."

Her lips part just slightly, as if she's about to say something else, but before she can, the bartender stops by to clear away empty glasses, giving Harry a knowing look.

"Another one for you?" she asks, wiping the counter down.

He shakes his head, then gestures toward the girl beside him. "She can have one, if she wants."

Y/N blinks, caught off guard. "Oh—I—"

"Let me guess," Harry interrupts, leaning in just slightly, lowering his voice like it's just for her. "You feel bad letting someone buy you a drink."

She exhales a soft laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Something like that."

Harry grins. "Consider it part of the whole 'stepping out of your comfort zone' thing."

She hesitates for only a second before relenting, giving the bartender a small nod.

"Alright," she says. "Just this once."

His smirk lingers.

She's interesting. A little cautious, a little hesitant, but… something about her feels like a challenge.

The bartender gently slid another glass of wine towards her.

Harry studied her, watching her throat move as she swallowed, her hands motionless when most fidgeted. She excelled at this. Not just playing coy. The practiced kind.

"So, just a fresh start, then?" he asked, feigning casualness.

She nodded. "Something like that."

He dragged his fingers over the condensation on his glass. "Most people pick somewhere exciting for that. A city. A place with distractions."

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. "I wanted somewhere quiet."

"Quiet," he echoed, rolling the word on his tongue. "Yeah, I s'pose this place qualifies."

Silence fell between them. The bar hummed—low conversations, clinking glasses, bursts of laughter. Yet in this moment, they existed in isolation.

She watched him. Carefully. Weighing her choices.

His lips curled into a grin.

"Y'know," he mused, his voice dipping, "I think I like this version of you."

She blinked. "What do you mean?"

"This," he gestured toward her. "The part of you that says, 'why not' instead of 'should I?'"

She laughed, shaking her head. "I don't usually let strangers psychoanalyze me."

He smirked. "I'm not just any stranger, though. I bought you a drink, remember?"

Y/N rolled her eyes, but warmth crept into her expression. Her guard lowered, imperceptibly.

And that's the thing about people like her. They miss the moment it happens.

"Alright," she said, shifting in her seat. "What about you?"

Harry raised a brow. "What about me?"

She tilted her head, studying him. "What's your reason for being here?"

For the first time, she pressed him.

He savored that.

Harry sipped his drink, then set it down, giving her a small, knowing smile.

"Oh, love," he murmured, watching her lean in unconsciously.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Y/N's lips parted. Curiosity sparked in her eyes. She didn't lean away. That's the thing—she should. He'd given her an easy out, an excuse to laugh it off, to steer the conversation somewhere lighter. But she didn't take it.

She lifted her glass, studying him over the rim before sipping. "Try me."

Harry grinned. Slow. Deliberate. All teeth and amusement.

"Alright," he said, settling back, stretching his arms along the bar. "Let's see... I could say I was born here, but that'd be a lie. Could tell you I moved here for work, but that wouldn't be right either." He paused, dragging his fingers along the condensation of his glass. "Maybe I just like it here."

Y/N lifted a brow. "Because it's quiet?"

"Something like that."

She watched him for a beat, and Harry wondered if she knew what she was doing—if she realized how good she was at holding his attention. Most people tried too hard. They flirted, they fawned, they tried to impress. But Y/N? She just existed in a way that made people want to lean in, to hear more, to know more.

"Guess we have that in common, then," she said finally, tilting her head. "We both like quiet places."

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. "I don't know about that, sweetheart. You say you like quiet, but you've been sitting here talking to me all night."

She exhaled a small laugh, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I could say the same about you."

Harry smirked, tapping a ringed finger against his glass. "Fair enough."

For a moment, they sat there, the air between them humming with something unspoken. The bar roared around them—music blared, drinks poured, voices overlapped in a steady, endless murmur. But somehow, it all felt distant.

She hadn't asked the obvious questions yet. She hadn't asked what he did, if he had family here, if he ever planned on leaving. Most people did, within the first five minutes of meeting him. But not her.

And he wondered if that's because she didn't care...

Or because she already knew.

Harry studied her, his gaze sweeping over the slope of her collarbone, the way her fingers curled around her glass. She looked soft. Breakable. But something lurked underneath, just out of reach.

"You always travel alone?" he asked, keeping his tone casual.

She shifted. Not much, just enough that he caught it. "Most of the time."

"Most of the time?" he echoed, intrigued.

She nodded. "Sometimes I meet people along the way."

Harry hummed, dragging his tongue along the inside of his cheek. "And how do you decide who's worth meeting?"

Her lips twitched. "Gut feeling, I suppose."

That made him grin. "And what's your gut telling you about me?"

She didn't answer right away. Instead, she looked at him—really looked at him, her eyes searching his face, like she weighed something in her mind.

And then, finally, she tilted her head and said, "I haven't decided yet."

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. "I like you, Y/N."

She raised a brow. "You don't even know me."

"Maybe not." He lifted his glass, holding her gaze as he sipped. "But I've got a gut feeling."

And for the first time, he wondered if she was the one testing him.

The conversation hung between them, taut as wire.

Y/N held Harry's gaze, unrushed to break the quiet. Most people fidgeted when Harry didn't offer an easy out. They stammered, tripped over their curiosity. But she sat still, unreadable, as if time meant nothing.

Harry itched to unravel her.

"You always trust your gut?" she asked, tapping her fingernail on her glass stem.

Harry's mouth curved. "Never failed me."

Her lips twitched, almost a smile. "You sound certain."

He chuckled, deep in his throat. "That bad?"

She paused, considering. "Depends if you're right."

His grin widened.

"Sweetheart," he murmured, eyes locked on hers, "I'm always right."

She laughed then—soft, genuine. A pleasant sound, but Harry knew better. She slipped from his grasp before he could close his fingers around her.

Clever girl.

"I'll stick around and see," she mused, tilting her wine glass.

That caught his attention.

She planned to stay.

It thrilled him more than it should. Something about her made him want to push, to uncover why she sat here, in his town, his bar, talking to him.

"I'll make it simple," he said, placing a twenty on the counter and signaling the bartender. "Walk with me."

She paused. Barely noticeable, but he caught it.

Harry waited. He didn't backtrack or reassure. He watched her, let the choice weigh on her.

Slowly, she nodded.

"Fine," she murmured, standing as he did. "Don't get me lost."

Harry smirked, pocketing his hands as he led her to the door.

"Love," he drawled, pushing it open, "Where's the fun in that?"

Night air enveloped them, thick with salt and damp earth. Streets lay quiet, occasional headlights cutting through darkness. Y/N wrapped her arms around herself, not quite shivering.

Harry's eyes sharpened in the streetlight glow.

"Cold?"

She shook her head. "I'm fine."

"Sure?"

She glanced at him, something flashing across her face. "You always double your questions?"

Harry chuckled. "When I want truth."

Y/N exhaled a laugh, shaking her head. "I told you. I'm fine."

He believed her.

For now.

They walked, waves crashing in the distance. This town wasn't built for excitement. People vanished into the scenery here. No one asked questions.

Perfect for someone like him.

"Why'd you really come here?" Harry asked, glancing over.

Y/N tilted her head. "I needed a change."

"Mm." He nodded slowly. "You picked nowhere for that?"

Her lips twitched. "I like quiet, remember?"

"Right," he murmured, tongue grazing his bottom lip. "Quiet places."

He wondered if she knew what she did. If she realized she balanced on a blade's edge, toeing the line between harmless and much darker.

She didn't look afraid.

Most people sensed something in him, even unnamed. Their instincts recognized danger. They hesitated, eyes darting to exits, fingers twitching to flee.

But Y/N?

She walked beside him, matching his stride.

That made her different.

That made her interesting.

"You trust strangers often?" he asked casually.

She laughed softly. "What makes you think I trust you?"

That stopped him for a heartbeat.

Then he grinned, sharp-edged.

"Love," he murmured, head tilted, "If you didn't, you wouldn't be here."

Y/N smiled, something unreadable flickering in her eyes before she looked ahead.

Harry's fingers brushed the metal of his rings inside his pockets as he watched Y/N. She moved with a calculated ease, each step measured, her words precise. Not the loose-limbed swagger of the tipsy, but a controlled relaxation that piqued his interest.

"You know," she said, her voice low, "This place isn't as quiet as you think."

Harry glanced at her. "No?"

She shook her head, eyes fixed ahead. "It seems that way. Small town, friendly people, coastal charm. But underneath... there's a story here."

Something flickered in his chest. He smirked. "A story. What, you a journalist?"

She laughed softly. "Close. I write true crime."

Harry slowed imperceptibly, processing her words.

True crime.

"That why you're here?" he asked, voice smooth. "Looking for your next bestseller?"

Y/N hummed. "Maybe."

Her response made his fingers twitch. Not a lie, not the truth. Harry knew how to dissect such half-truths.

"What's the angle?" he mused. "Small-town scandal? Stolen cars, missing cats?"

She exhaled, half-amused, half-disbelieving. "You're funny."

"I try."

She studied his face, as she had all night. "I heard there was a killer here."

Years of practice kept Harry's expression neutral. He blinked, then laughed. "A killer? Dramatic."

Y/N didn't smile. She tilted her head, eyes intense. "You haven't heard?"

Harry shrugged. "Small towns love their ghost stories."

"This one's not a ghost story," she said.

He raised an eyebrow. "No?"

"No," she confirmed. "People go missing here, Harry. They don't come back."

The way she said his name - testing its weight - coiled something in his chest.

He exhaled, amused. "Sounds like conspiracy blogs."

"Maybe," she admitted, watching him. "Or I know how to look for patterns."

Harry smiled, lazy. "What patterns, sweetheart?"

Y/N stepped closer. He saw the glint in her eyes. "People disappear here. Specific people. Tourists. Women. Those without someone looking for them." She paused. "It's been happening for a while."

Harry tilted his head. "That so?"

She nodded. "I've followed the cases for months. No bodies. No leads. Just... gone."

Her words led somewhere. She waited for his reaction.

Harry leaned in, voice low. "Tell me, love. What makes you think you'll find anything different?"

Y/N held his gaze, unwavering. "Because I know what to look for."

The words hung between them, heavy. For the first time that night, Harry wondered if she played him.

And he liked it.

Harry studied her, noting the slight tilt of her chin, her posture—not tense, not afraid, just… waiting.

She waited for him to slip.

He exhaled, chuckling low in his chest. "I thought you were a sweet girl looking for a quiet drink."

Her lips twitched. "I told you I wasn't spontaneous."

"Right." Harry's tongue dragged along his cheek. "You came for a story."

She nodded. "Something like that."

"What if," he mused, head cocked, "you don't like the ending?"

Y/N didn't flinch. "I rewrite it."

Harry grinned, sharp-edged. She intrigued him. Not stupid. Not naive. She kept her cards close, made him want to flip them himself.

"Do you chase ghosts often," he murmured, stepping closer, "or am I lucky?"

Her breath caught, barely. "I don't believe in ghosts," she said.

"No?"

"No."

Harry's gaze raked her face. She stood steady, but he knew how people hid nerves. Tightened fingers, stuttered breath, racing pulse betraying calm eyes.

Y/N knew his presence. She didn't try to escape it.

"What do you believe in?" His voice curled like smoke.

She tilted her head, eyes flicking to his mouth. "Patterns. People who think they're untraceable."

Harry's smirk lingered. His chest tightened.

She excelled at this.

Too much.

She hadn't stumbled into danger. She wasn't lured into the woods, blind to watching wolves.

She came deliberately.

For him.

Yet she stood, challenging him, tempting him. It thrilled him more than anything in years.

"Found someone, then?" he asked, watching her. "This killer?"

Her lips parted, amusement in her eyes. "Maybe. I'm close."

"That so?"

She nodded. "I need to get closer."

His stomach knotted. Her words hung between them, daring him to act—

Fuck.

Harry stepped in, slow, deliberate. She held her ground, let his heat envelop her like a question.

"You're brave," he murmured, silk-voiced, "or stupid."

Y/N lifted her chin, her breath ghosting his lips. "We'll see."

A beat of silence.

Then—

Harry exhaled, amused, and stepped back.

Y/N blinked, surprised for a second. He caught it.

Good.

He'd keep her guessing.

"For someone seeking a killer," he mused, grinning, "you seem fearless."

She watched him, shrugging. "Maybe I don't think he'd hurt me."

"Why's that?"

Y/N exhaled softly, head tilted. "People like that don't hurt people like me."

The words settled, thick and heavy, curling around something unsaid.

Harry kept his smirk, but something sharp dug in.

For the first time in years…

He didn't know which of them hunted the other.

Harry watches her closely, his smirk lazy but his mind sharp, dissecting her every move. The way her breath evens out, the way she blinks just a second too late, like she’s measuring the moment instead of reacting to it. Most people act without thinking.

She doesn’t.

She’s controlled. She’s careful. And yet—she’s standing too close, speaking too softly, dipping into the kind of intimacy that could disarm most men.

Most.

Not him.

"People like that don’t hurt people like you," he murmurs, rolling the words over in his mouth like a sip of whiskey. "Now why’s that, sweetheart?"

Y/N shrugs, her gaze flickering up to meet his. "Because I don’t run."

That? That’s fucking interesting.

Harry huffs a soft breath of amusement, shifting on his feet, dragging his thumb over the silver band on his middle finger. "So, what—this is a test? You poking the bear, seeing if it bites?"

She exhales a soft laugh, tipping her head slightly. "I don’t think you’re a bear, Harry."

That makes him smirk. "No?"

"No," she murmurs, her voice dipping lower, the same way his does when he wants people to lean in. "Bears are predictable. You… you’re something else."

Fuck.

She’s good.

Too good.

This isn’t just a woman poking around for a headline. This isn’t just a curious tourist looking to spook herself with small-town horror stories.

She came here for him.

And she’s enjoying this.

Harry shifts, stepping into her space again, this time slower, more deliberate. He watches for the tells—the flicker of hesitation, the instinct to step back, the part of her brain that should be screaming at her to move.

But she holds her ground.

He fucking loves that.

"You’ve got me all figured out, then?" he murmurs, his breath warm against her cheek.

Y/N doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t tremble. Doesn’t run.

Instead, she tilts her chin up slightly, meeting his gaze without fear. "Not yet."

A beat.

Then, Harry smiles. Slow. Amused.

He steps back.

And just like before—just like he’d hoped—she doesn’t hide her surprise quickly enough.

Gotcha.

She’s been leading him somewhere all night, but she didn’t expect him to lead her right back.

Good.

He wants to keep her guessing.

Y/N doesn't flinch. Doesn't tremble. Doesn't run.

She tilts her chin up, meeting his gaze. "Not yet."

A beat.

Harry's lips curl. Slow. Amused.

He steps back.

Her surprise flashes across her face, too quick to hide.

Gotcha.

She's led him all night, but he's led her right back.

Good.

He'll keep her guessing.

"You wanna know what I think?" Harry slides his hands into his pockets, his rings' weight grounding him.

Y/N crosses her arms, fingers brushing her biceps, piecing him together. "Enlighten me."

Harry grins. "I think you're used to people giving you what you want."

Her lips twitch. "And what do you think I want?"

He tilts his head. "Answers."

She laughs, shaking her head. "That's not entirely wrong."

"But it's not entirely right," he says, tongue dragging along his bottom lip. "If it was just answers, you wouldn't play games. You wouldn't tease it out, dragging this along like you're enjoying the chase."

Y/N's breath catches—barely, but enough.

Harry smirks.

"See," he steps closer, watching her not react—a reaction itself. "You didn't come for a ghost story. You came for a monster."

Y/N holds his gaze. Steady. Unflinching.

Then—she smiles.

"Maybe," she says. "But what makes you think I haven't found one already?"

The air shifts.

Tightens.

Harry's pulse ticks up, thrumming beneath his skin like a song's start.

This is different.

She's not here to dig.

She's here to hunt.

And the best part?

She thinks she's the only one playing.

Harry chuckles, shaking his head. "Sweetheart, you should be careful who you go looking for."

Y/N tilts her head, eyes dark and unreadable. "You should be careful what you let me find."

Fucking hell.

Harry should be irritated.

Most people don't get this close, don't sniff him out before he's ready. He's careful. Deliberate. He's spent years weaving himself into this town, into its routine—just another local boy, just another pretty face with a devil-may-care smirk and easy charm that makes people ignore the static in their minds when they're around him.

But Y/N?

She's not ignoring anything.

She's seeing right through him.

And fuck, he likes it.

"You've got an ego, don't you?" He steps close enough to watch her breathing shift, her pulse tick at her throat's hollow. "Think you're the first to come sniffing around here, looking for shadows?"

Y/N doesn't flinch. Doesn't step back. "No. But I think I'll be the last."

A grin stretches across Harry's lips. "Bold of you."

"Accurate," she corrects.

God, she's good.

Her movements, her speech—calculated. Every glance, every brush of her fingers against her skin, every moment of hesitation that isn't hesitation at all. She's not stumbling. She's testing him.

And he can't tell if she's doing it to prove he's dangerous...

Or to know just how dangerous he is.

Harry exhales, tongue dragging along his cheek's inside. "So, if you're so sure there's a monster here, what's your plan?"

Y/N blinks, and for the first time all night, she looks at him with something soft.

Not nerves. Not fear. Something else entirely.

She tilts her head, gaze flickering over his face, committing every inch to memory.

"That depends," she says quietly. "On whether the monster is stupid enough to let me get close."

Fuck.

Harry inhales sharply, hands twitching in his pockets, fighting the urge to reach for her. Not out of anger. Not out of fear.

Out of curiosity.

Out of something darker.

She's making this a game. Letting him chase her, even as she hunts him right back.

He should end this. Should laugh it off, shake his head, tell her she's got it all wrong and slip back into his role.

But he doesn't.

Instead, he leans in, voice roughening against the air between them.

"And what if the monster is letting you get close on purpose?"

A beat.

Then—Y/N smiles.

Not wide. Not playful. Not the kind of smile people give when they're being charmed into something dangerous.

No.

This smile is knowing.

Like she's already figured that out.

Like she's been waiting for him to admit it.

And that?

That makes Harry's pulse spike in a way it never has before.

"You really want to play this game with me, sweetheart?" he asks, tilting his head.

Y/N exhales, stepping in close enough for him to smell her perfume's faint trace, her skin's warmth beneath the night's cool breeze.

Her lips barely move when she speaks.

"I think we've already started."

For a long moment, neither of them speak. The night hums around them—the distant crash of waves, the low murmur of the wind slipping through alleyways, the occasional flicker of headlights rolling down the quiet street.

But in this moment, there is only them.

Harry studies her, the way her lips hover just slightly apart, the way her pulse thrums steady at the base of her throat. She’s not afraid. That much is clear. If anything, she looks thrilled.

That’s the part that gets to him.

Most people don’t know they’re stepping into his web until it’s too late. They let their guard down, let him in, let him win. But Y/N?

She walked into the dark on purpose.

And now she’s daring him to close the door behind her.

His fingers twitch in his pockets, but he doesn’t move. Not yet.

Instead, he tilts his head, letting his eyes trace over her face, slow and thoughtful.

"You’re playing a dangerous game," he murmurs, his voice low and deliberate.

Y/N exhales a soft breath, not quite a laugh, but something close. "So are you."

Harry smirks. "I don’t lose."

Her lips curve slightly, like she’s heard that before. "Maybe you haven’t played against someone like me."

Fuck.

His chest tightens, something dark curling low in his stomach.

She’s making this a game, but he doesn’t know what kind yet.

Is she just a girl with too much curiosity? A writer with a death wish? Or—is she more than that?

Is she here to catch him?

Or worse—is she here to see if she can be just like him?

Harry lets out a soft, amused breath, rolling his shoulders back, easing some of the tension out of them. "Alright, then," he murmurs. "Let’s play."

Y/N raises a brow. "Just like that?"

He nods. "Why not?"

Her eyes flicker over his face, searching for something. "Because I don’t think you’re the type to give up control."

Oh, she’s good. She’s so fucking good.

Harry chuckles, low and warm. "You think I’m giving it up?"

She lifts her chin slightly. "Aren’t you?"

Harry watches her for another long moment, considering. He should be more cautious. He should be shutting this down, slipping back into the persona that’s kept him untouchable for so long.

But for the first time in years, he feels something like a thrill creeping beneath his skin.

This isn’t a woman who wandered too close to the fire.

This is a woman who wants to see if she can survive it.

And Harry?

He’s just dying to find out how far she’s willing to go.

"Alright," he murmurs, dragging his tongue along his bottom lip. "Tell me, then—where do we start?"

Y/N holds his gaze, her fingers curling around her sleeve as she exhales softly.

"With a question," she says.

Harry smirks. "Ask away, sweetheart."

She leans in just slightly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Do you believe in fate?"

Harry blinks, caught off guard. Not what he expected.

But instead of answering right away, he lets the silence stretch, lets her see the way he weighs the words before he responds.

"Fate," he echoes, tilting his head. "You think that’s what this is?"

She shrugs, but there’s something sharp in the way she does it. "You and I, in the same place, at the same time. It makes you wonder, doesn’t it?"

Harry exhales a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "You’re telling me you came all this way looking for a killer, and now you think it’s fate that we met?"

Y/N’s lips curve into something small, something almost innocent—almost.

"I think fate puts people in front of us for a reason," she says. "It’s up to us to figure out why."

A slow smirk pulls at Harry’s mouth.

"Alright then," he murmurs, stepping just slightly closer, just enough to watch the way her breath hitches. "Let’s figure it out, shall we?"

And for the first time in a long, long while…

Y/N doesn’t waver.

Even with Harry inches from her, even with his voice sinking into something low and dangerous, even with the weight of his gaze pressing into her like a hand at the base of her throat—she doesn’t move.

She doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t shift away.

She holds her ground.

And that is what makes his blood hum, makes his fingers twitch at his sides. He’s used to the thrill of the chase, the way people give themselves away before they even realize they’ve lost. But this?

This is something else entirely.

A game where neither of them have tipped their hand.

A hunt where both of them think they’re the predator.

And fuck—he likes it.

"So," he murmurs, keeping his voice light, casual, like there’s not something razor-sharp curling in his chest. "What happens now?"

Y/N tilts her head slightly, like she’s considering the same thing. "That depends."

Harry lifts a brow. "On?"

She exhales a soft breath, dragging her fingers along the seam of her sleeve. "On whether or not you’re going to answer my question."

Ah. Right.

Fate.

Harry smirks, dragging his tongue over his bottom lip as he watches her, watches the way she’s still standing there like she belongs in this moment, like she isn’t toeing the edge of something dangerous.

"Let’s say I do," he muses, tilting his head. "What would that prove?"

Y/N doesn’t hesitate. "That you believe in patterns. That some things don’t happen by accident."

Harry hums, turning the words over in his mind. She’s fishing.

Not clumsily—not the way most people would, tossing out accusations and hoping something sticks. No, she’s patient. She’s waiting for him to slip.

Too bad for her—he doesn’t slip.

He steps closer, just enough that the air between them tightens, just enough that if either of them took a breath too deep, they’d touch.

"You think that’s what this is?" he murmurs, his voice dipping into something slow, deliberate. "You and me, standing here, playing this little game?"

Y/N holds his gaze. "Don’t you?"

Harry lets a beat pass, lets the tension thrum between them before he leans in slightly, just enough for his breath to brush the shell of her ear.

"I don’t believe in fate, sweetheart," he murmurs. "I believe in decisions."

And when he pulls back, he watches the way her lips part just slightly—not because she’s surprised.

Because she agrees.

Fuck.

She’s so goddamn interesting.

"Decisions," she repeats, tipping her chin up just slightly. "Like the kind that make people disappear?"

A challenge.

A test.

And he could do a lot of things in this moment. He could smirk, laugh, brush it off, tell her she’s reaching, tell her she’s been spending too much time digging into ghost stories that aren’t real.

But Harry?

Harry leans in again.

Not enough to touch, but enough to dare.

"Tell me something, love," he murmurs, his voice so low it barely cuts through the sound of the waves in the distance. "Are you really here to find a killer…"

His lips twitch, just slightly, as he lets his eyes trace over her face, as he watches the way her breath catches, the way her fingers curl slightly at her sides.

"Or are you here to see if you’re just like me?"

That?

That finally makes her react.

Her throat bobs. Not much. Just enough for him to know.

Just enough for him to realize—this isn’t about justice.

This isn’t about stopping someone.

This is about understanding.

About looking into the dark and seeing if she recognizes herself.

And for the first time, Harry wonders if she’s not just the hunter.

Maybe—just maybe—she’s looking for permission.

And that?

That changes everything.

The moment stretched between them, thick and heavy.

Y/N didn't speak, didn't recoil or rush to defend herself. Harry's pulse kicked up, humming beneath his skin. If she was another reporter, another detective chasing ghosts, she'd have denied it. Scoffed, rolled her eyes, called him insane.

But she didn't.

She looked at him.

Deciding if she'd tell the truth.

Wondering if he knew it already.

Fuck.

Harry let the silence linger, watching her throat bob, her fingers twitch before stilling. She masked it well. Kept calm, hid how his words cut through her.

But he caught it.

Now he wanted to see what she'd do.

"You think I'm just like you?" she asked, her voice quiet.

Harry smirked, tilting his head. "That depends," he said, his voice like whiskey. "Are you?"

Y/N exhaled, almost laughing. "That's dangerous to assume."

"Not an assumption, sweetheart," Harry said, stepping closer, watching her breath tighten. "It's a question."

She didn't move. Didn't step back, flinch, or run.

She held her ground, eyes searching his face.

Then—she smiled.

Knowing.

Like she'd realized she was caught.

Like she didn't mind.

"Maybe," she said.

The answer hit Harry like a thrill, twisting into something darker, heavier.

He knew now.

This wasn't about justice.

Wasn't about a story.

This was about her.

How she saw herself. How she'd been looking for something unnamed—undefined.

Something like him.

"Maybe," he repeated, his voice low enough to brush her skin. "Now, that's interesting."

Y/N lifted her chin. "You think so?"

Harry hummed, dragging his fingers along his lip as he watched her.

For the first time in years...

He'd met someone worth keeping.

Not a toy.

Not a victim.

Not someone to lure and break.

Something else entirely.

And the worst part?

She looked at him like she knew.

"Tell me," he said, tracing his finger down her wrist. Feeling her pulse. Feeling how it didn't jump.

"How does it end, love?"

Y/N exhaled. "That depends."

"On?"

Her lips curved.

"On whether you let me in."

The words settled, dark and electric.

This was no longer a game.

This was far more dangerous.

Two wolves meeting in the dark.

Not much. Just enough for him to know.

Just enough for him to realize—this isn't about justice.

This isn't about stopping someone.

This is about understanding.

About looking into the dark and seeing if she recognizes herself.

And for the first time, Harry wonders if she's not just the hunter.

Maybe—she's looking for permission.

And that?

That changes everything.

Harry's eyes narrowed, his gaze fixed on Y/N. She stood before him, unmoving, her face a mask of calm. But beneath that mask, something lurked. Something that made his skin prickle.

He stepped closer, close enough to catch the scent of her perfume. Y/N didn't flinch. Didn't step back. Her eyes met his, steady and unflinching.

"You're not here for justice," Harry said, his voice low. "Are you?"

Y/N's lips curved into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "What makes you say that?"

Harry's fingers twitched at his sides. He wanted to reach out, to touch her, to see if she'd recoil. But he held back. "Because you're not looking at me like I'm a monster," he said. "You're looking at me like I'm a mirror."

Y/N's breath caught, just for a moment. A flicker of something—recognition, perhaps—flashed across her face before disappearing. "And what do you think you see in that mirror, Harry?"

He leaned in, close enough that his breath ghosted across her cheek. "I see someone who's tired of pretending," he murmured. "Someone who's looking for permission to stop."

Y/N's eyes darkened. Her tongue darted out, wetting her lips. "Permission from who?"

Harry's hand moved, fingers brushing against her wrist. Her pulse thrummed beneath his touch, steady and strong. "From someone who understands," he said. "From someone who won't judge."

Y/N's fingers curled, not pulling away from his touch, but not leaning into it either. "And you think that's you?"

Harry's lips curled into a smile that was all teeth. "I think you already know the answer to that, sweetheart."

Y/N's eyes searched his face, looking for something. Whatever she found made her smile, a slow, dangerous thing that made Harry's blood sing. "Maybe I do," she said.

Harry's grip on her wrist tightened, just a fraction. "Then the question is," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "what are you going to do about it?"

Y/N leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear. "That depends," she breathed, "on whether you're willing to show me."

Harry's breath caught in his throat. He pulled back, just enough to meet her gaze. What he saw there made his heart race. Not fear. Not disgust. But hunger. A hunger that matched his own.

"Be careful what you wish for, love," he warned.

Y/N's smile widened. "Oh, Harry," she said, her voice soft and dark. "I'm counting on it."

Harry doesn’t wait for a reply.

Instead, he steps back, tilting his head, letting the silence stretch between them like a live wire. He watches the way Y/N breathes, the way her lips part just slightly, the way she doesn’t hesitate. She’s waiting for him to move, to tell her where to go, to let her in.

He grins, slow and deliberate.

"Come on, then," he murmurs, turning on his heel.

Y/N doesn’t ask where they’re going.

She just follows.

The town is empty at this hour, most lights flickering out, only the occasional neon sign humming in the distance. The only sound is the steady rhythm of their footsteps against the pavement.

Harry leads them off the main street, down past the bar, past the old fishing docks where the water sloshes lazily against the wooden posts. Then, further still, where the town begins to slip away behind them, swallowed by trees and salt-thick air.

The cliffs.

The place where the town meets the edge of the world, where the land drops away into black, crashing waves.

The wind picks up as they step off the gravel road, onto the dirt path that winds its way toward the top. It’s quiet, save for the sound of the tide pulling in and out, a rhythmic thing, steady and endless.

"You bring all your dates out here?" Y/N asks, her voice light, teasing. But there’s something else beneath it. A question. A test.

Harry smirks, slipping his hands into his pockets. "You’re not a date."

She hums. "No?"

"No." He glances at her, his smile lazy but sharp. "You’re something else."

That seems to satisfy her.

At the top, the land evens out before breaking away into nothing. The wind is stronger here, sweeping through his curls, tugging at the hem of his shirt. Below, the waves churn, dark and endless, slamming against the jagged rocks.

A perfect place for things to disappear.

Y/N steps toward the edge, not recklessly, but curiously. She tilts her head slightly, glancing over her shoulder.

"This where you do it?"

Harry chuckles, shaking his head. "Now, that’d be predictable, wouldn’t it? I do it in a small trailer just out of the suburbs."

Y/N exhales a soft laugh, dragging her fingers along the sleeve of her jacket. "Wouldn’t be a bad place for it."

He watches her carefully. The way she says it, the way she toes the edge, the way she tests the space between them.

She’s not just hunting for him.

She’s trying to see if she belongs in this world.

Harry steps up beside her, slow and easy, letting the weight of his presence settle against hers. "You looking for proof?"

Y/N exhales softly, her gaze fixed on the waves below. "I already have proof," she murmurs. "I just wanted to see if you’d bring me here."

Clever girl.

Harry tilts his head, watching her. "And what does that tell you?"

She finally looks at him. "That you’re testing me, too."

Harry smirks. She’s right.

Because this is a test.

For both of them.

A challenge, a question, a line in the sand waiting to be crossed.

"You asked me to prove it," Y/N says, tilting her head slightly. "So tell me, Harry—what would that look like?"

Harry exhales a slow breath, drags his tongue over his bottom lip, decides.

Then, he reaches into his pocket.

Pulls out a small, silver switchblade.

Flicks it open.

The sharp, metallic click cuts through the night.

And Y/N?

She doesn’t move.

She doesn’t flinch.

Her breath doesn’t even change.

Harry smirks. "Still sure you want in, sweetheart?"

Y/N reaches out.

Not for his wrist. Not to shove him away.

She reaches for the blade.

And presses the tip against her palm.

A single drop of blood beads at the surface before trailing down her wrist.

And fuck, fuck, fuck—

Harry has never wanted anything more in his life.

The drop of blood catches in the moonlight, a perfect bead of red against her skin before it slides down, leaving a thin trail along the delicate line of her wrist.

Harry doesn’t move.

Not because he’s stunned—he doesn’t do stunned—but because he’s taking his time, watching, memorizing.

The way she holds his gaze, steady and sure, her breathing still even. The way her fingers barely twitch around the blade, like she’s testing the weight of it, feeling the cold bite of steel against her palm.

Like she’s comfortable with it.

Like she’s done this before.

Fuck.

He shouldn’t like this as much as he does. Shouldn’t feel this pull in his stomach, sharp and deep, curling like something alive.

But he does.

Y/N tilts her chin slightly, watching him. "Satisfied?"

Harry exhales a slow breath, his tongue flicking over his bottom lip. "Depends," he murmurs, voice low and even. "You planning to stop there?"

She hums, turning her hand slightly, watching the way the blood slides over her skin, soaking into the lifeline carved into her palm. Then, lazily, she lifts it to her mouth and drags her tongue over the wound.

Harry’s fingers curl into fists at his sides.

Not out of anger. Not out of anything close to it.

But because he’s never been tempted like this before.

Never wanted to pull someone closer just to see how much further they’d go.

She steps toward him, her movements slow, deliberate, like she knows exactly what she’s doing to him.

Maybe she does.

"So, what now?" she murmurs, tilting her head slightly.

Harry smirks, dragging his gaze over her face, her parted lips, the way her breath ghosts over his skin. "That depends, sweetheart," he murmurs. "How bad do you want to know what it’s like?"

Her pulse flickers at the base of her throat. Not fear. Anticipation.

She lifts her hand, the same one still slick with blood, and presses it against his chest.

Harry exhales sharply, feeling the warmth of it soak through his shirt, seeping into his skin.

"You tell me," she whispers.

And fuck.

He’s never met anyone like her.

Never met anyone who wants it.

Not just to understand.

Not just to chase a story.

But because she sees herself in it.

And maybe that’s the most dangerous thing of all.

Harry lifts a hand, curling his fingers around her wrist, holding her there, feeling the way her pulse thrums steady beneath his grip.

"Alright," he murmurs, voice like smoke, curling slow and thick in the space between them.

"Let’s find out."

Then, he turns, keeping her wrist in his grasp, and leads her away from the cliff’s edge.

The woods swallow them whole, dense and dark, the moon slicing through the branches in thin, silver beams.

Y/N doesn’t ask where they’re going.

She just follows.

Harry doesn’t take people here. Not unless they don’t leave. But tonight is different.

She wants to see.

Wants to know.

And Harry?

Harry wants to see just how deep this goes.

The crunch of leaves beneath their boots is the only sound for a while, the ocean a distant hum behind them. Then, Y/N speaks.

"Who was your first?"

Harry flicks a glance at her, surprised—but only for a second. "You first."

Y/N smiles. Small. Barely there.

"I was twelve," she says, her voice quiet. "Neighborhood boy. He had a temper."

Harry tilts his head. "Accident?"

"Not exactly."

His pulse ticks up. Jesus fucking Christ.

He wasn’t wrong.

She’s not playing at this.

She’s been in it all along.

And the worst part?

He doesn’t know if she’s been hunting him to stop him—

Or because she wants to learn from him.

He smirks, rolling his shoulders back, watching the way the light bounces off her skin. "So, you’ve got blood on your hands, then?"

Y/N exhales softly. "I think we both do."

That makes something sharp twist in his chest.

Because she’s right.

She’s so fucking right.

They step into a clearing, and Harry stops, turning to her, watching the way she blinks up at him, unafraid.

"So," he murmurs, slipping the knife from his pocket again, letting the blade catch the moonlight. "You really wanna see what it’s like?"

Y/N doesn’t hesitate.

"Yes."

Harry breathes deep, tilts his head, watches the way she doesn’t so much as blink when he holds the knife out between them.

"You know," he muses, dragging the tip of the blade lightly over his palm, just enough to let the metal whisper against his skin.

"This might make me fall in love with you."

Y/N smiles.

"That’s what I’m counting on.

Harry turns the knife in his hand, the handle solid and familiar against his palm. The sharp glint of steel catches in the moonlight, the same way the reflection of the ocean had shimmered far below. A quiet, deadly thing.

Just like her.

Y/N stands in front of him, waiting, eyes dark and unwavering. She’s patient, controlled, not flinching as he drags the blade across his palm, slow and deliberate.

The cut is shallow—for now. The skin parts beneath the steel, blood beading up, rich and dark in the pale light. The scent of iron curls into the cool night air, tangling between them.

Her gaze flickers down, watching the way it gathers at the edges of his fingers, threatening to drip onto the earth below.

But before it can—

Harry moves.

His free hand lifts, catches her jaw, tilts her face up.

She gasps, barely, her lips parting on instinct, and that’s when he smears his bloody fingers against her mouth.

The warmth of it streaks across her lips, wet and dark, painting her in him.

Harry watches, his pulse spiking, his chest tightening.

"Open," he murmurs, his voice thick and rough.

Y/N’s breath shudders, just slightly, but she listens.

Her lips part, soft and willing, and he slips his fingers past them, slow and deliberate.

Holy fuck.

Her mouth is warm, her tongue slick as it curls around his skin. She sucks lightly, dragging her tongue over the metallic taste of his blood, her lashes flickering as she closes her lips around him.

Harry swears under his breath.

No control.

No dominance.

Something deeper.

Something willing.

Something hungry.

Y/N holds his gaze as she takes it, her lips sealed tight around his fingers, her breath coming shallow as she lets him feed it to her.

Harry’s other hand tightens around the knife, his chest rising and falling, something dark curling in the pit of his stomach.

"Fuck," he murmurs, his voice nothing but a rasp. "Look at you."

Y/N hums softly against his fingers, her tongue flicking against his skin, tasting him.

It’s fucking obscene.

And he’s never wanted to ruin someone more.

Slowly, he pulls his fingers free, dragging them along her bottom lip, smearing the last trace of red against her mouth.

Her tongue darts out, licking it away.

"Good girl," Harry breathes.

Y/N smiles, just barely.

"Now," she whispers, tilting her head slightly. "Show me more."

Harry exhales, dragging his bloodied thumb over her cheekbone, marking her, claiming her, something twisting in his chest.

Y/N doesn’t move.

Not when Harry drags his bloodied thumb over her lips, not when his fingers slip lower, tracing the delicate curve of her throat, smearing red against her skin.

She tilts her chin, lets him.

She’s not just playing anymore. She’s inviting it.

His pulse hammers against his ribs, a slow, heavy beat as he watches her, memorizes the way she breathes, the way she doesn’t so much as tremble under his touch.

She should.

But she doesn’t.

Harry exhales, dragging his tongue over his bottom lip. "You’re a strange one, love," he murmurs, voice low, thoughtful.

Y/N tilts her head slightly, her lips curling at the edges. "That a bad thing?"

Harry hums, his hand dropping from her jaw.

Then—quick as a flicker of lightning—he presses the blade to her throat.

She gasps.

Not in fear.

In surprise.

Her breath hitches, sharp and unsteady, but she doesn’t move.

Doesn’t step back.

Doesn’t flinch.

And fuck, that should piss him off.

It should break the spell.

Should remind him that she is not like him.

That she’s just another dumb girl, too curious for her own good, one that he could kill right now, here, on this spot.

One cut. That’s all it would take.

She’d bleed for him, go soft in his hands, just like all the others.

Harry leans in, just enough that his breath ghosts over her cheek, his grip on the knife steady, firm. "You shouldn’t trust me," he murmurs, the words curling against her skin like smoke. "You’re just another girl in the wrong place, at the wrong time."

Y/N exhales, slow and deliberate.

Then, she fucking smiles.

Not wide. Not terrified.

Knowing.

Like she’s been waiting for this.

Like she expected it.

Like she wanted it.

Harry’s fingers twitch around the handle of the blade, pressing just slightly deeper into her skin, just enough that he knows she can feel the sharp bite of it.

"You’re not afraid," he murmurs, almost to himself.

Y/N blinks up at him, steady, calm, her pulse flickering beneath the edge of the knife. "No."

"Why?"

A beat.

Then—

"Because I don’t think you’ll do it."

Harry freezes.

Because she means it.

Because she believes it.

Because she’s right.

He should be furious. Should push the blade deeper just to see if she still has that smug little smirk when she’s choking on blood.

But instead—

Harry exhales sharply, drops the knife.

It clatters to the ground between them.

Y/N doesn’t move, doesn’t even glance at it.

Her focus stays on him, her lips parting slightly, her breath still steady, even as the tension thickens.

Harry watches her. Watches the way she holds his gaze.

Then—

"Alright," he murmurs, voice rough, something dark curling in his stomach. "You win."

A flicker of something flashes through Y/N’s eyes. "What does that mean?"

Harry smirks, slow and dangerous, dragging his fingers along her jaw.

"It means you’re not just another dumb girl," he murmurs.

"It means I’m keeping you."

Harry drags his fingers along the side of her neck, just where the knife had been seconds before. He can still feel the phantom weight of it in his grip, the way her pulse had thrummed beneath the blade—steady, unwavering.

Most people, when they realize they’re in the hands of something dangerous, break apart at the seams. But Y/N? She’s stitched herself tighter.

She tilts her chin slightly, watching him, waiting. Letting him touch her.

And Harry?

Harry wants to pull her apart.

But not in the way he does with the others.

Not to ruin.

To understand.

"You ever held a knife like that before?" he asks, voice low, dragging his thumb lazily along her jaw.

Y/N exhales softly. "Yes."

He smiles.

"Used it?"

A pause. A beat.

Then—

"Yes."

Harry’s fingers tighten, curling just slightly against her skin. His pulse ticks up, slow and thrumming.

There it is.

Truth.

She’s not innocent.

Not just a writer with too much curiosity, not just a woman looking for answers.

She’s been in the dark before.

He tilts his head, his smirk lazy, sharp. "Tell me about your first."

Y/N doesn’t flinch.

If anything, she softens.

Not with hesitation—with memory.

She glances down at the discarded knife between them before lifting her gaze back to his, something dark flickering behind her eyes.

"I was twelve," she says finally, her voice quiet, steady. "There was a boy in my neighborhood. A little older. He liked to hurt things. Cats. Dogs. Girls."

Harry hums, dragging his fingers higher, brushing along her cheekbone. "And you didn’t like that, did you?"

Her lips twitch. "No."

"So, what did you do?"

Y/N tilts her chin, her breath slow and even. "I waited," she murmurs. "I watched him. I followed him when no one else was paying attention. And then, one night, when I knew he was alone… I stopped him."

Harry exhales slowly.

Fuck.

"How?" he asks, almost fascinated.

Y/N blinks up at him. "A knife."

His smirk grows. "Like this one?"

She smiles.

"Exactly like this one."

Harry chuckles, low and thrilled. Because this—is something he wasn’t expecting.

She’s not just intrigued by the dark.

She lives in it.

And suddenly, this night shifts into something else entirely.

Because she wasn’t just hunting him.

She was waiting for him to find her.

Harry drags his fingers down, along the line of her throat, feeling the steady, unshaken beat of her pulse beneath his touch.

"You ever done it again?" he murmurs.

Y/N exhales softly, her lips parting.

"Not yet."

Harry grins.

"Oh, sweetheart," he murmurs, pressing closer, letting his voice scrape against the air between them.

"Would you like to?"

She doesn’t hesitate.

"Yes."

The flashing blue and red lights slice through the dark, bouncing off the trees, casting shadows that flicker across the pavement.

Harry is on his knees.

Wrists cuffed. Hands behind his back, shoulders squared, his chest rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths. His hair is a mess, wild curls tangled from the struggle, damp at the ends where sweat clings to his skin. His lip is split, blood smeared down the corner of his mouth, staining his teeth as he snarls.

And he’s looking right at her.

No—through her.

Y/N stands in front of him, feet planted firm, her heart pounding so hard she swears he can hear it.

"You fucking bitch," he spits, his voice ragged, feral, seething. "You set me up."

She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t step back. Doesn’t dare let them see how deep it cuts through her.

Because she was never supposed to get this close.

This was supposed to be a job.

Undercover. Gain his trust. Make him slip.

Find proof.

And she did.

He did slip. For her.

And now, he’s on his knees in the dirt, with officers surrounding him like a pack of wolves, barking orders he’s ignoring, but all of his rage—all of his hatred—is aimed at her.

"Should’ve slit your fucking throat when I had the chance," Harry growls, his voice rough, desperate, real.

Y/N’s throat tightens.

Not out of fear.

No—that’s the worst part.

It’s something else entirely.

Because fuck—he looks beautiful like this.

Like a caged animal, all teeth and fury and betrayal.

Like something that was never meant to be caught.

His chest heaves, his rings glinting under the red-and-blue light, his fingers flexing against the cuffs as if he’s imagining wrapping them around her throat instead.

"You were never supposed to get this far," he snarls. "Never supposed to make it out. Fucking stupid bitch."

An officer presses a knee into his back, shoving him forward. "Shut the hell up, Styles."

Harry laughs.

It’s broken. Bitter.

Like he thinks this is funny.

Like he still can’t believe it.

Like he still wants her dead.

Y/N swallows, her hands clenched into fists at her sides, nails digging into her palms.

She shouldn’t feel this.

She shouldn’t feel anything.

But her pulse still skips when he looks at her like that. When his voice drips through her like something warm, something wrong.

She doesn’t want to think about the way his hands felt against her skin, or the way his mouth had hovered against her ear when he whispered things she hadn’t been sure were threats or promises.

She doesn’t want to remember the way he had touched her like he was trying to claim her.

But she does.

And when Harry grins at her, his blood-stained teeth flashing in the night, his voice curling toward her in one final, vicious whisper—

"You think this is over?"

Y/N shivers.

Because she doesn’t know if it is.

369 notes · View notes

calciumcryptid · 3 months ago

Text

The KinnPorsche the Series core three ships headcanons but it is things about their relationships that surprise the rest of the cast.

KINNPORSCHE

KinnPorsche being into each other beyond sex is the main shocker. Obviously, sex is a huge component of their relationship, but it was never the only component. Every time anyone sees them on normal dates, there is a moment they do a double take.

For Kinn, it is him calming down his lifestyle for Porsche. Kinn was born with a platinum spoon in his mouth, and he utilized it to his full advantage throughout his life. The notion he'll abide by whatever lines Porsche establishes with what rich kid nonsense he'll put up with verses which rich kid nonsense he won't makes people think he is possessed the first couple of times they see it.

For Porsche, Kinn is his first genuine relationship so everyone is a little thrown by him acting like someone who is new to relationships. Porsche bribes the staff for information on Kinn's favorite things, favorite places. He tends to blush and giggle when talking about Kinn. He has a hard time with communication, establishing boundaries, and time management with his other relationships. Every time, people get a little surprised and amused this is the same Porsche as charming bartender Porsche.

KIMCHAY

KimChay going public with their relationship in the WiK space surprises a lot of people. After everything they've been through, Kim doesn't want Chay to be a dirty secret, and Chay figured it was better to reveal it on their own terms. Kim's idol persona does take a hit, but it recovers when it's clear Chay is staying around (besides, now that WiK has a consistent muse the release schedule becomes steadier).

For Kim, people are shocked by how peaceful Kim is with Chay. Kim was raised as an assassin, an enforcer, with harsh training and traumatic baggage. Whenever he is with Chay, it all seems to seep out of him as he melts into Chay's touch.

For Chay, people are startled by how intense Chay is about their relationship. He doesn't take slander to Kim kindly, even if he has hurt him in the past. If they are arguing behind closed doors, he'll back Kim up in public. After all, Kim has defended himself enough. Now, Chay is is here to do it for him.

VEGASPETE

In general, VegasPete's existence is enough of a shock on its own, but the main thing people are surprised by is how co-dependent they are. They were both lone wolves in their own ways before each other (Vegas never taking bodyguards with him, and Pete being a lot more closed off and fake with his colleagues). Now, you can barely see one without the other. In fact, seeing one alone is a warning sign because (best case scenario) the other one is probably around the corner or (worst case scenario) Thailand is about to burn.

For Vegas, him listening to Pete baffles a lot of people. Vegas is a schemer with control problems; however, Pete can tell him something won't work for xyz reason and Vegas won't bat an eye. It doesn't even have to be Vegas' plans, it can simply be the minor family needs more bodyguards or they don't have a specific type of cooking oil. Genuinely, someone could point out something and Pete could point out the same thing ten seconds later, yet only one of them is chewed up and spit back out for it.

For Pete, everyone's day was ruined when they realized he liked Vegas for his personality. They figured Pete defecting would be a short-term sexual thing, and Pete would be back once the glow wore off. The reality is Vegas will be an annoying know-it-all petty bitch, and Pete will stare at him with fond eyes. Vegas gets sopping wet and pathetic, and Pete is visibly turned on. The compound wishes it was a sex thing, as it would be easier to wrap their heads around it.

#kinnporsche #kimchay #vegaspete #kinnporsche the series #kpts

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lovebugism · 1 year ago

Note

istg that “just because you’re beautiful and a good kisser does not mean i forgive you.” “you think i’m beautiful?” is sooooo eddie coded.

i'm picturing a sorta enemies to lovers with eddie pulling yet another prank on reader (we all know this boy has the emotional maturity of a five year old when it comes to making a move on the girl he likes) but he really does hurt her feelings this time so he tries to make it up to her and they end up kissing.

from what you've written before i think you could put a great spin on this sorta scenario, if you feel like it <3

hope you like it! :D — you're eddie munson's biggest enemy. and, yes, you're also his soulmate. (enemies to lovers, secret relationship, 0.9k)

bug's one year celebration ♡

You storm into the bustling lunch room, having traded your pretty corseted blouse for a piece of oversized Corroded Coffin merch — definitely not by choice. “Do you have a death wish?” you ask when you reach the Hellfire table at the very back of the cafeteria, zeroed in on its leader at the head of it.

Eddie turns slowly, blinking up at you with innocent button eyes. His chews through the hamburger wadded in his cheek. “Potentially,” he answers, muffled before he swallows it down.

You huff, too easily frustrated. It isn’t any wonder why he likes to mess with you so much. “Where are my clothes?”

“The ones you left on my bedroom floor last night or…?”

“No, you idiot— The clothes you stole from the girl’s locker room. Which makes you a total perv, by the way.”

“Oh, that sexy little number?” he croons, turning in his seat to face you more. “It’s in my locker, actually.”

“Well, get it out,” you say with gritted teeth.

He thinks for a moment, pursing his lips to the side. “Hm… I don’t think I will.”

Your jaw tightens. “Why?”

“‘Cause it’s a little revealing, don’t you think?”

“Well, yeah, that’s kinda the point, Munson.”

He smacks his lips against his teeth, then scrunches the bridge of his nose. He wags a sarcastic, ringed finger at you. “See— Those aren’t the values a nice girl like you should have—”

“God, you’re infuriating,” you groan and stomp off again.

Eddie smiles to himself while he watches you go, cheek tilted lazily to his shoulder. The only thing he likes better than seeing you come (in more ways than one) is watching you leave.

He sighs a deep, contented sigh and turns back to the rest of the table. They’re all wide-eyed and silent, still musing on the sudden interaction with the disbelief that it had happened at all.

Eddie only grins, wider this time. “Ah… She’s obsessed with me.”

—————

By the end of the school day, your blouse hasn’t yet been returned to you. You’re still stuck in the stupid shirt Eddie had left for you — all black, too big, and obviously his. You know it belongs to him because you’ve worn it thousands of times while sleeping over at his place. It smells just like him, like weed and cologne and boy.

You’re heading towards the exits when a hand pulls you into an abandoned classroom around the corner — pale, ringed, and lanky. As if you needed any further confirmation it was Eddie Munson.

You stumble in, and he locks it behind you.

“Don’t you think you’ve bothered me enough today?” you squint.

“Oh, so you don’t want your shirt back?” he teases, waving the thing in his free hand. You reach for it, and he snatches it back, smirking softly down at you. “Uh-uh. What’s the magic word, sweetheart.”

“Give me my shirt back,” you answer in a monotone.

“Not even close, but I’ll give you a kiss for it.”

You sigh like it’s a chore for you and lean in to kiss his cheek. Your lips just barely graze his stubbly jaw. Eddie shrugs. “You missed, but I’m feeling nice today, so—”

You snatch it from him when he hands it to you. “You can’t keep doing this, Eds. We’re supposed to hate each other.”

“Well, one, we do hate each other. Obviously,” he scoffs and leans back on one of the desks. It shifts under his weight, and he stumbles. He decides to sit on it completely while you laugh. “And two, this was, like, a genius prank on my end. I made my arch nemesis walk around in my shirt all day— you’re not giving me enough credit for this, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, except I got called the freak’s girlfriend all day.”

“By who?”

“Who do you think?”

He ponders for a moment. “…Jason?”

You nod, all slow because it’s obvious. The only one who hates Eddie more than you do is Jason Carver. You wonder if he’s secretly in love with the town freak, too.

“Well, it’s about time he knows who you belong to,” the boy says with a laugh. “He’s only been trying to get with you for two years.”

You cross your arms over your chest. “I don’t belong to anyone— I’m not a toy.”

“Well, yeah— only when you wanna be,” Eddie teases, reaching out for you. His ringed fingers curl around your wrist to pull you closer. You sigh in annoyance but walk between his thighs anyway.

“You’re so annoying.”

Eddie grins, pink and boyish. “But you like me anyway. So who’s the real loser?”

“I thought we hated each other,” you quip with narrowed eyes.

“I was kidding— Just kiss me.”

You giggle quietly and lean in to peck his lips. He tastes like nicotine and spearmint, mouth soft like flower petals. You get lost in him too easily. One peck becomes two — then three — then a longer, languid, and more drawn-out thing.

You feel Eddie smile against you, knowing he’s won now that you’re melting for him. You pull away with a smack when you regain your senses.

“Just because you’re pretty and a good kisser, doesn’t mean I forgive you, by the way. You know that, right?”

“Mhmm,” he hums mindlessly, already leaning forward to kiss you again.

You pull softly back. “And that I’m totally getting you back for this?”

“Yep.” He pecks your lips once, with a lot more self-restraint than you’d had. “So… When are you coming over to get the clothes you left at my place last night?”

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things imagine #eddie munson imagine #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #st drabbles #eddie spaghetti drabble #event: bug turns one

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imjustreadinglmao · 1 year ago

Text

BLUE

Paring: Azriel x Reader, Lucien x platonic!Reader

Summary: After Azriel and Elain‘s courtship is revealed, their mates, Lucien and Y/N, are left to deal with the consequences. While fighting against Koschei and for Prythian‘s freedom, Y/N has to navigate her emotions and learn how to live with the heartbreak of a one sided mating bond. But what happens when long kept secrets are revealed and everything turns out differently than they thought?

PART I

word count: 3k

A/N: this is part 1 of BLUE. I changed the beginning a bit to fit the storyline. Please be nice this is my first fic :)

Warnings: light angst, unrequited love, mention of childhood trauma/ mention of ãbuse (not described)

part 2

I stir my black tea as Rhysand files through the report I handed him just seconds ago.

The steam from the tea rises, curling in delicate tendrils, carrying with it a sense of fleeting warmth that I desperately cling to.

Rhysand’s office is both grand and simple.

Bookshelves line the walls, filled with volumes on history, strategy, and magic. A fireplace to the right. Above it, a large portrait of Velaris shows the city bathed in a soft, ethereal glow. Feyre gifted it to him last starfall.

Heavy velvet drapes in shades of midnight blue frame the windows, ready to be drawn shut for privacy.

In the distance I can make out the mountains with their snow-capped peaks and the Sidra winding through the valley below.

“I have to say, I’m impressed you were able to convince Devlon so fast.”

I look up at Rhys and chuckle, the sound hollow to my own ears. “It does help if you threaten to cut his balls off and stake them to the wall for everyone to see.”

Rhys lifts a brow and barks out a laugh. “I see.”

I rarely go on missions anymore, choosing to work as an advisor for Rhysand.

Missions used to be exciting, but nowadays I prefer the comfort my room provides. The sense of security it brings is a balm to my soul, now more than ever.

I take this as a sign to stand up and lift my bag from the floor. I sling it over my shoulder and make my way to the door.

“Don’t forget tonight’s family dinner,” Rhysand calls after me. I don’t look back, just give him a thumbs-up and close his office door behind me.

As I make my way downstairs and through the foyer, I spot Lucien strapping on his sword. Presumably getting ready for training, he has always been an early riser.

“How did the mission go?” Lucien doesn’t need to look up to see that it’s me approaching.

I let out a sigh and rub my temples. “Good.” I stop beside him and flop onto the recamier right next to the front door. “Well, as good as paying the camps a visit can get.”

Lucien cracks a smile at that, his amber eyes twinkle with amusement. He knows exactly how difficult it is to convince Devlon of something he isn’t particularly fond of.

“Are you coming to the family dinner tonight?” I ask, my voice betraying a hint of reluctance.

Lucien sheaths his blade and nods. “Feyre will have my head if I don’t show up. I already missed the last one.”

I cringe at the mention of the last family dinner. The memory alone sends a sharp pang through my chest.

———————

I walk into the dining room, ready to face yet another family dinner. I spot Mor right away, radiant in her blood-red gown. The sight of her is always one of familiarity and comfort.

“Hey, got another one of those?” I point to the wine glass in her hand. She arches a brow and hands me one filled to the brim.

“Are we so exhausting that you need liquid encouragement to get through the night?” she muses. I just roll my eyes, trying to hide my amusement.

Right as she opens her mouth to say something, the back of my head begins to tickle. He is here.

I turn around to see Azriel walk through the door, and he is not alone. Elain is beside him, their hands intertwined.

Even though I was expecting it to happen soon, the sight still hits me like a physical blow. It was always just a matter of time till Azriel and Elain decided to go against Rhys‘s order and make their love official.

I‘m glad, Lucien isn’t here to witness this. I can’t imagine how it would be for him.

Since only my side of the bond snapped into place, seeing how in love they are, is somehow… manageable. For Lucien it would be almost deadly.

I look back at Mor, her expression as shocked as mine. “I didn’t know,” she whispers, her face now bearing a look of worry and pity.

To say the dinner is awkward would be an understatement. Nobody really knows what to say after Elain and Azriel walked in holding hands.

I just shove the potatoes on my plate around, too nauseous to eat anything. The lump in my throat makes swallowing impossible.

Cassian clears his throat and points to Azriel and Elain. “So how long has this been going on?” Nesta jabs her elbow into his ribs, which earns her an “oww”, and throws me an apologetic look.

Besides Mor, only Lucien and Nesta know about the bond between me and Azriel. Their concern a constant reminder of the bond I try so hard to ignore.

“Well…” Azriel coughs, noticeably uncomfortable with being put on the spot. “It all happened very quickly. We spent a lot of our nights up and talking and realized we didn’t want to hold back anymore.”

He gazes down at her, smiling. I recognize that look. The realization twists the knife in my heart.

That’s how I look at him.

—————————

“Are you even listening?” Lucien waves a hand in front of my face to snap me out of my haze. His voice pulls me back to the present, but the ache remains.

I rub my eyes. “Uh… sorry. What exactly were you saying?”

He crosses his arms and looks down at me. “I was asking if you wanted to go training with me. But it seems what you really need is some sleep.”

I roll my eyes and stand up. “You know me so well, Lu.” I pat his shoulder and walk out the door. “See you at dinner tonight.”

Velaris is most beautiful at night, but nothing can beat the quiet and peace of the early mornings.

I walk down the high street, greeting some of my favorite vendors with a smile, until I reach the familiar townhouse.

After I officially became part of Rhysand’s inner circle, he offered me to stay at his townhouse.

It had many perks: no rent, right in the heart of Velaris, and an endless wine supply thanks to Rhysand’s "secret" wine cellar.

There is really only one downside.

“I didn’t think you would be back so soon.” Azriel sits at the dinner table eating breakfast. He has his fighting leathers on, probably on his way to the House of Wind for Valkyrie training.

Cassian and Azriel still train the Valkyries every morning. Sometimes I join, but only when Nesta drags me up there.

“Well, sorry to disappoint.” I laugh awkwardly. “I’m going to head upstairs to rest. Say hello to Nesta for me.” The words taste bitter, a poor attempt to mask the hurt.

I turn around before he has the chance to say something else, the lump in my throat threatening to choke me.

Yes, that is the downside. The constant reminder of what I had lost and could never have.

Him.

——————

The dining room buzzes with conversation as everyone settles in for dinner.

Azriel and Elain sit together, a vision of contentment that sends a pang through my heart.

Across the table, Lucien’s jaw is tight, his gaze fixed on his plate.

“Thank you all for coming,” Rhysand begins, standing at the head of the table. “I have an important announcement to make.”

He glances at Lucien and me, a hint of apology in his eyes. “We’ve decided to support Eris in overthrowing Beron.

Lucien and you,” he points at me, “will lead the mission to the Autumn Court.”

A murmur runs through the room. Lucien looks up, his eyes meet mine.

There is a mixture of determination and vulnerability in his gaze that makes my heart ache.

The Autumn Court doesn’t hold great memories for either of us.

But before I can fully process Rhysand’s words, Azriel stands abruptly, his expression dark and tense.

“Why them?” Azriel’s voice is sharp, a stark contrast to his usual calm demeanor. “Why not send someone else?”

Rhysand frowns slightly, clearly not expecting this reaction.

“Both of them have a unique advantage given their history with Eris and the Autumn Court. It’s a strategic decision.”

Azriel’s eyes flicker to me, a storm of emotions swirling within them. “I don’t like it. It’s too dangerous.”

I feel a surge of frustration. Azriel’s protectiveness, though touching, is misplaced and completely out of character.

“What’s your problem, Azriel?” I snap, unable to hold back.

“I’m more than capable of leading this mission. Or do you think I’m not good enough to do my job?”

His eyes narrow, the tension between us thickening. “That’s not what I meant,” he retorts, his voice lower but no less intense.

“I just don’t think it’s wise to send specifically you two into such a volatile situation. You can’t just throw yourself into danger like that.”

My heart pounds in my chest. “That’s rich coming from you. You’re always in danger, always risking everything. How is that different from this mission?”

“It’s different because—” Azriel stops himself, glancing at Elain, who is watching us with wide eyes. He seems to struggle for a moment before finishing, “It doesn’t matter, just let someone else do the mission. You’re an important asset to this court.”

Before I could respond with something I’d surely regret, Elain’s voice cuts through the tension.

“Azriel, stop.” Her voice is calm but firm, a hint of desperation in her eyes. “This isn’t helping.”

Azriel turned to Elain, his expression softens slightly, but the tension remains. He takes a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. “I’m sorry. I just… I worry.”

Lucien’s gaze hardens, “We’ve faced worse,” he says, a challenge in his tone. “We are capable enough to lead this mission, we don’t need your approval, Shadowsinger.”

Azriel’s jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in his cheek. “It’s not about capability. It’s about safety. I don’t want to see anyone get hurt.”

“Anyone?” I echo, my voice rises. “Or just Elain’s mate?”

The words hang in the air, charged with emotion. Azriel flinches slightly.

“This has nothing to do with Lucien being Elain‘s mate,” he says, though the slight tremor in his voice betrays him.

“But it does, doesn’t it?” My words laced with venom. “If Lucien were to get hurt, it would cause Elain distress, that’s how a mating bond works. And we can’t have that, can we?”

Elain looks down, her face unreadable, while Lucien’s gaze flickers between Azriel and me.

“We all know the risks,” Lucien says more calmly this time, “And we’re prepared to face them.”

Rhysand interjects, his voice low but authoritative. “Enough. We’re all on the same side here. This is a mission we need to undertake for the greater good. Personal feelings need to be set aside.”

I take a deep breath and try to steady the storm of emotions within me. Rhysand is right, the last thing we need is Azriel and me fighting.

Rhysand sits down, his tone final. “This mission is vital. We need to trust each other and stay focused. We’ll discuss this further tomorrow. For now, let’s try to enjoy the evening.”

The atmosphere is strained as we resume our meal. I can feel Azriel’s gaze on me.

Lucien reaches over, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze. It was a small gesture, but it meant everything in that moment.

I don’t say a word throughout the whole dinner. Choosing to stay quiet instead of lashing out.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that this mission would change everything.

---

The garden of the River House is a haven of tranquility. Blooming flowers and lush greenery everywhere Elain truly is a talented gardener.

I find Lucien leaning against a stone pillar, his gaze lost in the Sidra's gentle flow.

I approach him quietly, the cool evening air brushing against my skin. “Mind if I join you?” I ask softly.

Lucien looks up, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Of course not. I was just enjoying the peace before the storm.”

I halt beside him, the tension from the dinner still coils tightly in my chest. “Quite the announcement, wasn’t it?”

He nods, his expression thoughtful. “I knew something like this was coming, but hearing it confirmed… it’s different.

Eris must be desperate if he reached out to Rhysand.”

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “Yes, it’s a lot. I wish Rhys would have told us separately. This topic is already very emotional I really didn’t need Azriel’s… concern too.”

Lucien’s eyes darken at the mention of Azriel. “He’s protective, that’s clear. But he doesn’t have the right to undermine your abilities.”

“It’s not just that,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. “His words, his actions… they confuse me. One moment he’s distant, the next he’s overly concerned. I don’t understand him.”

Lucien’s gaze softens, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. “He cares about you. He might not be aware of it but you’re his mate, bond snapping into place or not, it’s his priority to keep you safe. That can’t be changed, even if he’s in love with someone else.”

I look away, the garden blurring before my eyes. “It hurts, Lucien. Seeing him with Elain, pretending to be something they’re not. I don’t know how to deal with it.”

Lucien reaches out, his hand covering mine. “You’re not alone in this. We’ve all got our battles to fight, and sometimes the hardest ones are with our own hearts.”

A moment of silence stretches between us, the night air filled with the scent of blooming flowers.

“And what about you?” I ask, turning to look at him. “How are you handling all of this? Eris, the Autumn Court… it can’t be easy for you.”

Lucien’s expression grows somber. “It’s not. But I’ve come to terms with my past and everything my father did to me. I knew this was going to happen. Eris has the chance to change things, to make the Autumn Court a better place. I can’t turn my back on that.”

He smiles at that. “And maybe, when all of this is over, we’ll find some semblance of peace.”

As we stand there, the garden enveloping us in its quiet embrace, I feel a sense of calm settle over me. Whatever challenges lay ahead, I know we have each other’s backs.

—————————

The war room in the House of Wind is filled with dread as we gather around the large oak table.

Rhysand stands at the head, his usual easy demeanor replaced by a grave seriousness.

To his right, Amren sits with her usual enigmatic expression, while Cassian leans against the wall, arms crossed and a stern look on his face.

Azriel is on my left, his gaze unreadable, and Lucien sits across from me, his eyes focused and determined.

Rhysand unfurls a detailed map of the Autumn Court, its forests and strongholds marked with meticulous detail.

“Eris has provided us with information about Beron’s movements and the layout of his court. Our objective is to infiltrate the main stronghold, gather intelligence, and support Eris in his efforts to dethrone Beron.”

Lucien nods, his jaw set. Rhys continues. “We’ll enter through the southern border. Eris has arranged for a distraction that will draw most of Beron’s guards away from the main stronghold. This will give us the opportunity to slip in and meet with Eris.”

Amren leans forward, her sharp eyes assessing the map. “And what about Koschei? He’s been a wild card in all of this. His alliance with Beron could complicate things.”

Rhysand nods in agreement. “Koschei is a concern. According to Eris, Koschei has been providing Beron with dark magic. We need to be prepared for any magical traps or barriers.”

Azriel’s voice cuts through the discussion. “I’ll handle the reconnaissance. I’ll fly ahead and ensure the path is clear before they move in.”

I glance at him, he hasn’t looked at me or said a single thing to me since yesterday. If I didn’t know better I would say he was sulking.

Rhysand continues, “Once inside, our main goal is to secure the throne room and neutralize Beron’s guards. Eris will confront Beron directly. You,” he gestures to Lucien and me, “need to be ready to support him.”

Lucien nods again, his eyes meeting mine across the table. “We’ll be ready.”

Rhysand’s gaze softens slightly as he looked at us. “This mission is dangerous, but it’s necessary. Any questions?”

I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the responsibility settle on my shoulders. “What if things go wrong? Do we have an extraction plan?”

Amren smirks. “We have a plan. Azriel and I will be your backup. If things go south, we’ll get you out, girl.”

Azriel nods, his eyes meeting mine. “You won’t be alone out there. We’ll be watching.”

There is a moment of silence as everyone absorbs the gravity of this mission.

Finally, Rhysand speaks again, his voice resolute. “We leave at dawn. Get some rest and prepare yourselves.”

As we all stand to leave, Azriel catches my arm. “Can I talk to you for a moment?” he asks, his voice low.

I nod, following him to a quieter corner of the room. “What is it, Azriel?”

He hesitates, searching for the right words. “I know you’re capable. But this mission… it’s dangerous, and I can’t shake the feeling that something might go wrong. Just promise me you’ll be careful.”

His concern should touch me, but I can’t help and feel angry. “I know the risks, Azriel. And I’ll be careful. But you need to trust me to do my part.”

He sighs, running a scarred hand through his hair. “It’s not that I don’t trust you or your abilities. I just… I can’t lose you.”

Before I can respond, Lucien approaches.“Ready?” Lucien asks, his eyes flicker between Azriel and me. I nod, giving Azriel one last look.

“Ready.”

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mintwithchoco · 9 months ago

Text

What You Need

tripleS Yooyeon x Male Reader

Word Count: 3260 words

Categories: smut, oral, facial, dom-ish!yooyeon (?) idk, she's just desperate to get that d

Inspired from;

“My go— Yooyeon! We’re still filming, we can't do this!”

“Shut up.”

There's nothing that can stop Kim Yooyeon from getting what she needs. She may seem cold and calm on the outside, but once an interest is sparked within herself, she'll do whatever it takes to reach it, no matter the situation.

You know that you’re fucked all around when she sends you that look from afar a few minutes ago. Might as well blame it all on her at first for wearing that pink top, showing off her tight figure so well, forcing you to never peel your eyes away from her. She's bold and relentless, and it shows by the way she’s metaphorically fucking you with her eyes while filming, and you can only curse silently behind the camera, catching the secret message. It can only get worse from here on out (or better actually) as once she gets out of the frame, she walks past you quickly while whispering, “Fuck me, now.”

She slams the door shut as soon as she gets you inside the cramped bathroom. Before you can do anything to resist, she forcefully closes the distance between your lips by wrapping her arms around your neck. If you wanted to, you could just break out of her embrace and run out of the door. Instead, you have been poisoned by the emanating warmth of her body, the softness of her skin touching yours, and the sweetness of her lips, making you fall deeper and harder into her.

“Yooyeon—” She doesn't let you speak in the downtime of the makeout, dragging you back in as soon as she gets air in her lungs. “We can’t—”

“Don’t fucking lie. I know you’re craving for me too.”

You recoil at her undeniable statement—that voice is dripping with way too much arousal. “What if someone hears us?”

“I know, but, please,” Yooyeon’s hands rest on your shoulders. “Just for a while. I really need you.”

Fuck, she really knows how to make you submit. Those bright brown orbs, begging for her needs are crumbling your morals apart, inviting you to commit this wicked act that can potentially end everything you have in life. But if it does come to an end, I guess ruining your career with a pretty lady such as her isn't as bad as it seems, right?

“Damn it,” She shrieks when your hands scoot over her butt and squeeze them gently. “Let's make it quick, and quiet.”

You overlook her cute little smile as your lips crash into hers again. The tides have now turned around with hunger filling you up almost immediately, overpowering the girl’s lust, evident by the way you’re aimlessly caressing every single part of her. Fear runs through your veins due to her moaning resoundingly into your mouth, afraid that the muffled noise would alarm anyone close by. Though, it was quickly diminished by her delicate fingers groping the raging tent on your lower half.

“Mmm, you’re so fucking hard already.” Her tone is now deeper than before, and it arouses you even more.

You try your best to control your ragged breaths as the pressure is building up in your bulge. “You’re the one to blame. God, you look so pretty.”

Another thing’s for certain is that you are addicted to leaving your marks all over Yooyeon. You generously land kisses on her neck nonstop while slowly sliding the straps off her shoulders. She giggles away, but also does the equivalent to you by slipping her hand down into your pants and continues her massage through the fabric of your boxers. Unfazed by this, you yank down her top to reveal a white bra, and you waste no further time to knead the covered breasts. Her soft gasps are like a muse to your ears, enthralling you more. Yooyeon is obviously weakening under your touch as her attempt to pull down both your pants and boxers fails as it only comes off halfway.

Yooyeon’s expressions are fucking up your whole self entirely. You eventually finish off what she wanted to do, letting your cock feel the humid air in the bathroom. She feels the warm shaft throbbing in between her thighs, already leaking out with precum. While you reach behind to release her boobs from its fancy confines, her fingers are quick to wrap around your shaft and stroking it to full hardness. The white undergarment then drops to the tile floor, joining in the built up pile of your clothes.

Her husky voice rings in your ear once again. “Sit down. I wanna taste you.”

The toilet is turned into a makeshift seat as you oblige to her request, sitting down on the cold surface. She quickly kneels down in between your legs, the raging shaft is now right in front of her breathtaking visual. You can never imagine that this innocent goddess would be a vixen in disguise, the one who triggers your hormones into this sexual overdrive. The contrasting thought has been completely erased however, as Yooyeon begins her oral teasing on your tip, drawing small circles while collecting your precum on her tongue.

“Holy shit—” is all you can utter when Yooyeon wraps her lips around the cockhead, finally getting a feel of her warm mouth. She starts slow and small, only taking in your tip momentarily before building herself up to take you in deeper. With her hands stroking your thighs, your sensations are heightened, the extreme pleasure shivering down your spine forces your head to unwillingly fall backwards.

And if that wasn't enough, she draws you in with her words. “Keep your eyes on me.”

You muster up the will to look down, and you have never been more than grateful to witness Yooyeon doing wonders to your cock. Showing no signs of slowing down at all, this girl is filling up her wet cavern with the entirety of your length, her cheeks puffing up whenever she brings it to the sides of her mouth. You find it rather cute somehow, but it doesn’t falter the groan that leaves your lips every time she sucks you hard, and releases you by the tip.

Her tongue rests on the underside of your shaft, vigorously licking it up to the head, and down to the base. She takes you in for the second time, and this time she's not holding anything back. Her head bobs furiously at a gradual pace on your shaft, making it fully covered with her saliva. The way her mouth perfectly envelopes with the shape of your cock is agonizingly pleasurable and mysteriously fascinating, as she never seems to gag whenever you hit the back of her throat, only leaving a great amount of spit when she disappointingly leaves your shaft.

“I can suck on this all day. It's so perfect.” The unexpected compliment compels your cheeks to turn slightly red.

Your eyes are blessed with the sight of Yooyeon’s handiwork; fingers delicately running up and down your lubricated shaft and her oral fixation; swirling her tongue around the swollen cockhead. While your whole soul is tearing apart when her dazzling orbs lock upon yours, pairing it with that small smirk and nose scrunch, her visuals clearly contradicting the sinful work she's doing. It goes to show how much she's enjoying herself, the desire that has been building up for the past couple of days finally breaks apart, thanks to her resilience.

You couldn't handle it anymore, plus your time is getting much thinner. Your hand creeps up to her chin, and you lean over to catch her lips amidst her strokes, sharing multiple kisses. As you suck on her lower lip, you slowly guide her into your lap. Your cock brushes against her midriff, which in return emits a low moan from Yooyeon, realizing that her clothed vagina is in the close proximity of the pulsating length.

“Get this off me please.”

Easier said than done. You’re too busy leaving kisses all over her neck, taking in all of her floral scent and having a hand full from squeezing her tits and tweaking her nipples. Nonetheless, the free hand manages to remove her shorts by pulling down on different parts of it. You didn't bother taking off her matching panties however, as it is deemed essential in her disheveled look.

You let out a satisfied breath. “Fuck, I can't get enough of you.”

With a steady grip on her waist, you dive your face into Yooyeon’s chest and engulf her right nipple into your mouth. Your hardness throbs upon the whine she lets out while your tongue does its best to stimulate the brown nub. The left side deserves some love as well, and a set of fingers playing around it is enough to induce an effect. Her small moans are being played into your ears directly, and it motivates you to worship this goddess to the fullest. You feel her hand pressing your head further in as you switch sides of your gratifying assault, this time attacking her left nipple in a similar way.

“Mmmh, fuck! More, I nee— ohh yes, you’re so fucking good.” God, everything that she does never fails to make you swoon.

The heat in between her thighs could not be ignored anymore, and you know just the right way to deal with it efficiently. By bringing her body closer to yours, your cock makes contact with her crotch, and it drives the both of you to cloud nine. You soon realize how soaked her panties really is—it wasn't hard to make her grind against your shaft. The slickness from earlier’s blowjob really adds to the mixture of pleasure, as each sway of her hips is met with audible squelches. The dopamine courses quickly throughout both of your bodies, and it intrigues you to fall deeper into her sinning.

Yooyeon shrieks when your fingers pull her panties to the side, exposing her glistening pussy to you at long last. Even through the really tight space in between your bodies, your eyes manage to send the image of her lips fully covered in her juices, and dripping down on your cock to your brain. Continuing her hips rhythm onto yours is her breaking point of being discreet, as the skin-to-skin sensation makes her shamelessly spit out every curse words that she knows.

“Please, please, please, just— oh!” Yooyeon’s desperation is cut off when you tease the opening to her hole with your tip.

You really want to break her apart furthermore, but your rational thought comes forward in the heat of the moment, as you automatically place a finger on her lips. “Lower your voice, don’t want anyone to hear us.”

Yooyeon snarls, “Fuck that, let them hear us if they want to. All I need is you inside me. Now.”

There's not a single resistance, let alone purity nor innocence left. Sinners are what both of you are, drowning into the depths of eroticism, unable to rise back up to the risks of reality. You grab the base of your cock steadily, carefully letting it glide on her lips to slightly spread them apart. Holding onto your shoulders, Yooyeon prepares herself mentally and physically to take in all of you, although her body is trembling just from your teasing. It didn’t take long for you to penetrate her pussy with just the first few inches, and it sent both of you to heaven in an instant.

“Fuuuuck…” Yooyeon cries out as her tightness surrounds you the lower her hips descend. Halfway inside her walls renders you to bury your head in her neck, its wetness and warmth is truly remarkable. The pleasure elevates when you feel her fluids leaking onto your crotch once you’re fully buried deep in her.

“You’re so fucking tight, oh my god.” You moan into her ears, before your hands familiarize itself with her slim waist. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

Enchanted by your words, Yooyeon grinds her hips as much as she can, squealing in delight even in the smallest of motions. Her walls continue to constrict you with all its might, yet the pain only drives you into wanting more. And that’s exactly what the goddess did, as she began bouncing onto your lap in a slow rhythm. Gripping on her thighs and planting both feet harder to the floor, your hips began to move in a different wavelength than hers, forcing her to take a considerable amount of your length inside.

“You're— fuck, so big, so fucking big! Harder!”

If it wasn’t for the loudness, it's possible that someone may have noticed the suspicious amount of time this room has been occupied. That thought wasn’t in any of your heads whatsoever—breaking it off right now would be meaningless. The risk of being caught in this moment is rather thrilling, and it certainly helps the pressure that’s been building inside you to grow.

“Yesyesyesyesyes!” Her screams resonate within the tile walls. Immediately, you muffle them with a passionate kiss before she gets even more vocal.

Yooyeon has truly lost herself. She doesn't even notice the way her hips are driving faster and harder, her filled pussy continuously seeping out her juices. It’s a breathtaking view from any angle that you can catch with your eyes. Looking up from her ethereal yet depraved expressions, down to her divine body jiggling with each thrust, to the point of impact on both of your crotches—it would be a shame for you to not let out your deepest groans to make her truly understand how you feel.

A sense of dominance comes across your mind. You own her as a whole, and no one deserves her more than you. “Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop. Fucking cum for me.”

You don’t intend to slow down. As your hips begin pushing up into her roughly, Yooyeon tightens the embrace around your shoulders while profusely moaning into your ears. Eventually, your tip hits deep inside a certain area in her pussy, prompting her body to jerk violently. You stay there for a while before fucking into the same spot once again, this time with much more intensity, sending multiple streams of pure dopamine into the angel who has been tainted with lust.

“Fuck, please, please, make me cum! I wanna cum all over you!”

Your shirt is now soaked in sweat, but that doesn’t deter your adrenaline in the slightest. The force of your thrusts continues to rock Yooyeon’s petite frame, and you gratify her need to reach her climax by latching your lips on her erect nipples anew, the right one being the first. You expertly divide your attention on both tits, and your tongue swirls around them swiftly, letting you taste the saltiness of her sweat. The mix of slick friction on her lower half, the tenacious teasing on her chest and the wordless groans she lets out is enough to lead her into the well-deserved orgasm.

“I’m cumming, oh god, I’m cumming!”

One powerful thrust followed by a high pitched scream, and she explodes on contact. The massive gush of her nectar washes all over your crotch and thighs instantly, while her pussy torturously contracts around your cock, releasing everything that she has. As her body becomes weaker throughout her peak, your thrusts into her haven't died just yet—you’re yearning for the same high that she reached. The wetness escalates, as her squirting prolongs itself to stain your shirt and your seat below.

Still shaky from her climax, Yooyeon struggles to speak up, but her point was acknowledged. “A-Are you c-close?”

You simply nod, and in some way, she manages to come back to her senses to get off from your lap and sink down on her knees, just like earlier. Without any warning, she shoves your cock into her mouth once more, taking away your breath and compelling you to lean against the toilet tank. Her head bobs with precision, not going too deep nor too shallow, but close enough to keep you on this euphoric flow. The unanticipated head is proven to be the consequent snap to your own release, apparent by the excessive heaving of your chest and the twisting tension in your stomach.

“Oh my god, Yooyeon!” You groan out loud just as Yooyeon stuffs you deep in her orifice, her spit drenching you all over and your tip hitting the back of her throat. She withdraws from you with a gasp, and strings of drool trails itself from her lips to your shaft. Her fingers wrap around you straight away, moving back and forth expertly, assisted by the tormenting slurps on its underside.

“Fuck, you look so adorable moaning away like that.” She means it well, given by the increased pace at her strokes, licks and sucks on your member.

There’s nothing that can turn both of you away now. She’s getting what she needs, and you’re on the brink of manifesting it to reality. “Shit, Yooyeon, I’m gonna cum!”

“Cover my face, please? I want it all over me.”

Her gaze full of admiration and wonder is the last thing you see before your vision becomes a blurry mess and your vocal cords let out a shattered grunt, marking it as the last step over the edge to your release. In a split second, long streaks of white cum spurt out of your cock, painting all over the godly facial features of Kim Yooyeon. The hot semen marks its territory on her sharp nose, her flushed cheeks, her closed eyes and most importantly, her slightly ajar mouth.

As the last few drops land upon her chin, you take in the beautiful mess that you have created. You wish that you could save this deep memory—or rather, engrave it into your brain somehow of Yooyeon’s gorgeous look, completely covered in a coating of your semen, and it eventually drips down to her breasts and shoulders. It is truly a magnificent sight to behold, and you can never ask for anything better.

“Wow…” you weakly mutter while Yooyeon sucks the remains of your cum out of your tip. On top of that, she swipes some of the mess on her face with her fingers and licks it off cleanly to get a proper taste of you.

“Delicious.” Yooyeon responds with a hearty giggle. “Thank you, darling. This is what I really need.”

The cleanup didn’t take very long, as the essentials for it are already arranged in the room. Yooyeon quickly settles herself, so in order to avoid any suspicions, you ask her to join in with her members first. She agrees, and leaves you with a sweet kiss on your cheek before going outside.

Although Yooyeon is able to sneak out the door silently, a tall figure creeps up behind her unnoticed.

“What were you doing in there?” Yooyeon jumps in shock and looks behind towards the well-known voice.

Her nervousness was blatant. “Uhh, I had a really bad stomach ache—”

“I saw everything unnie. You didn’t lock the door.”

Yooyeon sighs and facepalms herself for her recklessness. “Shit. Don’t tell anyone please! I’ll do anything!”

“Don’t worry, I won’t.” She smirks. “But you need to keep a secret for me too!”

“What are you— Hey!” She runs off into the bathroom before Yooyeon could say anything further. “Aish, this girl…”

While you take your sweet time in cleaning up and recovering yourself, the door suddenly opens up.

“Excuse me, is this where I get to fuck?”

Your eyes widen upon the unexpected encounter. “X-Xinyu?!”

===========================================

note; now THIS is a fucking BFH. goodness gracious, yooyeon fucked me up in so many ways with these pictures.

i did kept my promise of having a longer story this time, even though this was definitely not in the plans LMAO but yeah, next one will be much more longer, more epic and definitely, more seggs. shoutout to @chunksworld for the quick beta read!

like always, thank you so much for reading, hope you guys enjoyed this one, and have a flawless day! <3

#triples smut #yooyeon smut #triples #yooyeon #kpop smut #kpop fanfiction #male reader #reader insert #Spotify

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heliosunny · 5 months ago

Note

hiii, your work is amazing and I love the way you portrait characters, could I maybe request yan!fyodor with a darling that struggles with self harm? how he would react to it if their darling hurt themselves as a coping mechanism or any other scenario but if it’s too dark you don’t have to write it of course i’ll understand! :)

There's nothing I wouldn't dare to try as long as I find it within reach darling.

Fyodor had always known you were fragile.

It was written in the way you carried yourself, shoulders slightly hunched, fingers twitching when you thought no one was watching. It was evident in the way your gaze would drift, lost in thoughts he could only assume were far darker than you let on.

But he never pried. Not immediately.

Why would he? A master strategist does not rip a secret from its hiding place. He waits, watching patiently, until it reveals itself.

And one evening, it did.

You had been careless. You thought you were alone. A moment of weakness, your sleeves rolled up just a little too far, and he saw.

A glimpse of red, raw skin.

His reaction was not dramatic. There was no sharp intake of breath, no widening of violet eyes in horror. Instead, he merely observed, head tilting ever so slightly, as if studying a fascinating piece of art.

"My love… what have you done?"

His voice was soft. Almost fond.

You flinched. Quickly, you yanked your sleeve down, but it was too late. His gaze had already captured you, held you prisoner in his quiet amusement.

You had seen many expressions from Fyodor, mockery, arrogance, that soft smirk when he was toying with someone before their inevitable downfall.

But this smile? This was different.

"You hurt yourself" he mused, stepping closer, hands still calmly tucked behind his back. "And yet, you try to hide it from me. How cruel, my dear."

"It’s not important."

His head tilted further, as if humoring you. "Not important?"

You didn’t answer. And that was fine. He already knew what came next. He never forbade you from doing it. No, that would be too simple, too obvious. Fyodor was far more patient than that.

Instead, he made you question it yourself.

"Tell me, my love…" he began one evening, seated comfortably in his chair as you stood across from him. His violet eyes flickered with quiet amusement. "Does it help?"

The way he spoke made you hesitate. He wasn’t mocking you. He wasn’t disgusted. If anything, he sounded… curious.

You swallowed. "Sometimes."

His lips curled in a thoughtful smile. "I see. You inflict pain upon yourself, yet the relief is fleeting. A temporary solution for a permanent suffering, no?"

You looked away.

"Then… why not something more effective?"

Your brows furrowed, confused. "What do you mean?"

Fyodor reached for your hand, gently, effortlessly. His fingers traced over your knuckles before flipping your palm upward.

"If pain is what soothes you" he murmured, "why not let me be the one to grant it?"

He did not hurt you, no. He merely suggested, the way a devil offers a deal—so tempting, so logical, that you could almost convince yourself it was your own idea.

"Wouldn’t it be easier, my dear? To leave such things in my hands?" His voice was velvet, wrapping around your ribs, coiling into your lungs.

"I could make it so much simpler for you."

You yanked your hand away.

"That’s— That’s not why I do it."

His laughter was soft. Patient.

"Oh? Then why?"

You hesitated.

Because you couldn’t answer. Not really.

-----

You hadn’t meant to meet him.

It was a brief moment, an accident born from circumstances neither of you controlled. You had merely been outside, alone for the first time in what felt like forever, when the infamous Dazai Osamu happened to cross your path.

His sharp brown eyes took you in too quickly, and you knew—he saw.

"Ah," he hummed, tilting his head. "I know that look."

Your breath caught. "What?"

"The look of someone trying very hard to pretend they’re fine."

It was… strange. He spoke so easily, as if he had known you for years.

For the first time, someone looked at you and didn’t try to control, didn’t try to manipulate. Dazai wasn’t kind, necessarily, but he was familiar. He understood in a way no one else had.

And for some reason, before you could stop yourself—you told him things you never told Fyodor.

You shouldn’t have.

Because Fyodor found out.

"You met Dazai."

His voice was calm.

You turned, heart hammering. He sat in his usual chair, fingers laced together, expression unreadable.

But you knew him well enough to recognize the shift in the air.

A quiet threat, veiled beneath his usual serenity.

"And?" you challenged, forcing yourself to stand your ground.

His lips curved. "And you spoke to him."

You didn’t respond.

"Why?"

A simple question. But one that wrapped around your ribs and squeezed.

"It was nothing important."

His gaze softened, and for some reason, that was worse.

"Ah… my love." He sighed, shaking his head. "You wound me."

He stood, approaching you with unhurried steps.

"I thought we had an understanding."

Your breath quickened.

"Do you not trust me?" he continued, voice gentle. "Do you believe I cannot soothe you in the way you need?"

You shook your head. "That’s not it—"

"Then why turn to him?" His fingers brushed against your cheek, a lover’s touch masking a noose tightening around your throat.

You clenched your fists. "It was a mistake."

"Yes," he agreed. "A mistake."

His gloved fingers trailed down your arm, slow, deliberate—until they reached your wrist. His grip remained featherlight, but you knew he could break you if he wished.

"You understand why I cannot allow that again, don’t you?"

You nodded.

"Good girl."

And somehow, in that moment, you felt guilt.

Not because you had spoken to Dazai.

But because Fyodor had endured it. Had been patient with you, despite your transgressions.

Your lips parted, and before you could stop yourself—the words slipped out.

"I’m sorry."

His smile widened.

And just like that, the web wrapped tighter around you.

Because now, you were the one apologizing to him.

At first, Fyodor’s patience seemed unchanging. He remained soft-spoken, ever indulgent, a shepherd gently guiding you back into his arms. But something felt different. A shadow in the way his fingers lingered when he touched you. A weight in his gaze, as if he were waiting for something inevitable.

You thought you were imagining it.

Until one night, when you woke to find yourself not alone.

A dim candle flickered on the bedside table.

And Fyodor sat at the edge of the bed, watching you with violet eyes that gleamed in the low light.

"Did you think I wouldn’t know?"

Your blood ran cold. "Know what?"

His smile was faint.

"You tried again."

No... You had been careful. You had waited until you were alone, ensured that no trace of your actions could be found. Yet now, beneath the thin fabric of your sleeve, you felt the sting of fresh wounds.

He knew.

Before you could react, his hand latched onto your wrist.

His grip was like iron.

"Shall I see it for myself, then?" His voice was still calm, but there was something new beneath it. Something dark.

"L-Let go."

His fingers didn’t loosen. If anything, they tightened, fingertips digging into your pulse. You felt it. His power.

"You are testing me, my dear" he murmured, thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles against your skin.

"I have been patient. I have been kind. But tell me—must I truly remind you of what happens when my patience runs out?"

You opened your mouth—then froze as he leaned in, his lips mere inches from your ear.

"Shall I break something this time?"

"W-What?"

His grip on your wrist shifted, slowly, deliberately bending it just enough for you to feel the hint of tension.

"If you are so intent on hurting yourself," he whispered, "then allow me to do it for you."

The unspoken implication struck you like ice-cold water.

He wasn’t saying he would kill you.

But he would make you regret it.

"Perhaps a broken bone?" His fingers trailed up your arm, slow and deliberate. "Or maybe I should take something away instead. Hm?"

His free hand moved to your throat, thumb pressing lightly, just a whisper of pressure.

"Would you like to learn how fragile you truly are?"

Terror gripped you, drowning out everything else.

"Stop" you whispered, voice barely audible.

He sighed, as if disappointed. "Then stop making me remind you."

And just like that, his grip vanished. His hands fell away, and suddenly, it was as if nothing had happened at all.

The only evidence of his warning was the lingering ghost of his touch and the way your pulse thundered in your ears. Fyodor straightened, brushing nonexistent dust from his coat.

"I do hope," he murmured, "that I won’t have to repeat this lesson."

And with that, he was gone, the flickering candlelight casting shadows on the walls.

And you sat there, heart hammering, mind spinning, body frozen in place, realizing just how close you had come to something you could never undo.

You had seen patience. Now, you had seen the edge of it.

#yandere x reader #yandere #bsd x reader #bsd x you #yandere bsd #bsd fyodor #bsd fyodor dostoevsky #fyodor dostoyevsky bsd #bungou stray dogs fyodor #fyodor dostoevsky #fyodor x reader

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honeydippedfiction · 2 months ago

Text

Quarterback Chaos {JB9}

Part 3.

Navigation

Synopsis: Sometimes the press is right, sometimes they're wrong but what happens when their words spark a possesive streak that somehow leads to a secret becoming revealed that flips Joe's and Y/N's arrangement upside down.

Warnings: Suggestive/Spicy Scenes, Strong Language, Alcohol Use, Mature Themes, Mild Public Attention, Angst, & Betrayal.

Themes: Situationship, Jealousy, Possesiveness, Fame & Performance Pressure, Flirtation & Tension, Modern Romance, Group Dynamics, Female Empowerment, “No Strings” Situationship, & Luxury Lifestyle.

WC: 10.7k

A/N: y'all finna hate me for this?😅

Join my Taglists here or message me

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

Previous Part Next Part

Y/N sat cross-legged on the bed in nothing but her robe, staring at the message from Carmen. Her phone lay in her palm, but her mind was racing a mile a minute.

Billboard wants a digital cover.

And they know who the song’s about.

She flopped backward dramatically, the oversized robe riding up her thighs as she groaned toward the ceiling.

From the bathroom, Joe’s voice floated out. “You good out there?”

She called back. “Define good.”

The door creaked open, and there he was — towel gone, now in black sweats and still toweling off his damp hair. His chain glinted against his chest, skin still dewy from the shower. And of course, smug.

He leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “What happened?”

Y/N held up her phone like it was a fire alarm. “Billboard knows the song’s about you.”

Joe blinked. “Wait, for real?”

“Carmen just texted me.” She sat up, tossing the phone onto the bed. “They want a digital cover and promo stuff. And if they know, the rest of the industry is about to connect the dots the second the single drops.”

Joe walked over, plucked the phone up and read the message. His brows lifted slightly. “Damn.”

“Yeah.” Y/N exhaled and looked up at him, one brow raised. “So, Mr. QB1, how does it feel to be a muse?”

He shrugged one shoulder, grin creeping in slow. “I mean... can’t say I’m surprised.”

Y/N threw a pillow at him. “You’re unbearable.”

“And yet,” he said, leaning down and planting a kiss to her cheek, “you’re still letting me stay.”

Before she could fire back, ding! — another message.

Kayla 🧨:

Sooooo… when can I leak the BTS footage of you making out with him in your jersey? Asking for the timeline. 😇

Y/N stared at it in horror.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t record anything… obvious,” Kayla added immediately when Y/N didn’t reply fast enough.

Joe peeked over her shoulder and burst out laughing. “She’s a menace.”

“She is the worst.”

But Y/N was grinning. Because underneath the chaos, the teasing, the slightly unhinged energy of her best friend and the very shirtless man beside her — something felt right.

Her phone buzzed again.

Carmen 💼🔥

Cover shoot rollout starts tomorrow. I want a promo photo. Something real. Something intimate.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

The studio space had been transformed into a moody, sexy dream: low lighting, sheer curtains filtering the sunlight, a king-sized bed set in the middle of the room like a stage, draped in white and gray linens. The camera crew moved efficiently, setting up angles while the glam team added final touches.

Y/N stood in the center of it all — legs long, confident, commanding the room in nothing but an oversized football jersey and thigh-high stockings. Her hair was tousled, makeup sharp and sultry, the gloss on her lips catching the light every time she moved.

And Joe?

Joe was sitting on the couch just off set, arms crossed, jaw tight, doing a terrible job of pretending he wasn’t watching her like she was the main event at the Super Bowl.

Kayla plopped down next to him, sipping her iced matcha with a straw and way too much glee.

“Your face is screaming,” she whispered.

Joe didn’t look at her. “What?”

She leaned in like they were courtside. “That ‘I know what’s under that jersey and I wanna start a war over it’ face.”

He exhaled through his nose. “She looks good.”

Kayla’s eyes widened. “Good? Sir. That woman is out there looking like a dangerous decision wrapped in a highlight reel.”

Joe finally glanced over at her, fighting the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Kayla kept going. “Like, I know y’all said this was casual, but the way your eyes just followed her when she turned around? That wasn’t casual. That was national security threat. I saw a twitch.”

Back on set, the photographer called out, “Y/N, give me that ‘you know I’m the one they warned you about’ energy.”

And she did.

One hand resting at the top of her thigh, chin tilted down, lips slightly parted. Her expression said: I’m not the fantasy, I’m the reason you stopped sleeping.

Joe shifted in his seat, clearly fighting for composure.

Kayla clocked it immediately. “Oop. There it is. That was your 10-yard penalty for unsportsmanlike thoughts.”

He groaned quietly.

Y/N glanced over between takes and caught his eye for a split second. Her smirk said she knew. Her fingers played with the hem of the jersey — the one that looked suspiciously familiar — and she winked.

Joe was done.

Kayla cackled. “Go ahead. Fumble. She’s gonna break your whole playbook.”

The photographer called, “Last setup! Just lean forward on the bed, one knee up. Make it intimate but still powerful.”

Joe leaned back, dragging a hand over his face like it would ground him.

Y/N did as directed, her knee sliding up the bed, fingers tangled in the sheets, gaze smoldering straight into the lens. Every flash lit up her silhouette like a dream that didn’t come with a warning label.

Joe muttered, “She’s gonna be the death of me.”

Kayla grinned, raising her cup. “Cheers to that.”

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

A few weeks later…

Y/N sat cross-legged in her dressing room, scrolling through her phone as her glam squad touched up her makeup. Her new single had dropped just two days ago — and it was already climbing the charts. TikTok edits, fan theories, thirsty reaction tweets, and memes were everywhere.

The promo shot of her in the jersey? Iconic. Ubiquitous. Dangerously reposted.

And Joe?

Still silent online.

Still in her phone.

Still in her life… in the quiet, complicated, dangerously casual way they’d agreed on.

“Okay,” Carmen said as she stepped into the room, tapping her iPad. “You’re up for Billboard in fifteen. It’s not a live shoot — just the digital cover and feature interview. Keep it sexy, keep it vague, keep it... you.”

Y/N smirked. “So basically don’t admit who the song’s about.”

Carmen grinned. “Exactly. Let the internet keep guessing.”

Kayla popped into the room, sunglasses on indoors — like a true menace — and dropped onto the couch dramatically. “The internet doesn’t need to guess. They know. Every shot of your thighs in that jersey had Joe’s fanboys punching air.”

Y/N gave her a look through the mirror. “You’re not helping.”

“Oh, I’m not trying to help,” Kayla said, propping her feet up. “I’m just here for the tea and to make sure Mr. QB1 doesn’t go ghost when this interview hits.”

“He won’t.” Y/N said it a little too fast. A little too firm.

Carmen raised a brow. “You sure?”

Y/N paused.

The truth? Joe had been around — not as much as before, thanks to off-season training picking up again, but he checked in. Late-night FaceTimes. Random selfies. One-word texts that made her laugh in the middle of a studio session.

She hadn’t seen him since he left her hotel bed two weeks ago… but he never really felt gone.

Still, something about this next step — the Billboard interview — made it all feel very real.

And maybe that scared her a little.

Before she could spiral further, Carmen’s assistant knocked on the door.

“They’re ready for you on set, Y/N.”

She stood, smoothed her jersey-dress combo (again with the subtle nod), and took a breath.

Kayla smirked and whispered behind her, “You’re giving heartbreak with a touch of ‘he ain’t going nowhere.’”

Y/N chuckled under her breath. “That’s the goal.”

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Meanwhile…Joe sat in the lounge of the Bengals facility, headphones around his neck and Y/N’s single quietly playing through his phone as he scrolled.

The Billboard teaser post hit his feed.

Y/N. In that damn jersey again. Posed on the bed like she owned it — like she knew he was going to see it. The caption was simple:

"No names. All feelings." — Y/N for Billboard Digital Cover.

Joe let out a breath, shook his head.

This girl…

His phone buzzed.

Y/N:

👀 Don’t choke.

He smirked.

Joe:

I already did. And it wasn’t from football.

His phone buzzed again seconds later.

Kayla 🧨:

I KNOW you saw the jersey. And yes, she still has it. You’re welcome.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

The Billboard feature dropped that Friday morning.

Y/N was mid-latte, sitting in her robe at the edge of her hotel bed, when Kayla burst into the room holding her phone like it was a detonated grenade.

“WE HAVE A PROBLEM.”

Y/N blinked. “Is this a ‘the internet’s on fire’ problem or a ‘you left the straightener on and burned your hoodie again’ problem?”

Kayla shoved the screen in her face.

Big bold text at the top of the Billboard article read:

“Y/N’s Breakout Single Has Everyone Guessing… But Fans Are Convinced It’s About Ja’Marr Chase 👀🔥”

Y/N’s jaw dropped. “I—what?”

Kayla was already pacing. “Girl. They pulled up the game footage from that Ravens vs Bengals matchup — the same one you sang at — and now they’re convinced you and Ja’Marr had a moment.”

She kept scrolling.

“There was definite chemistry in the photos after the game,” one fan tweeted. “I’m just saying… #ChaseHer.”

Another theory connects the lyric “watching from the sideline, but he still got a front-row seat” to Ja’Marr’s injury that week. The internet was running with it — TikToks, memes, and fancams galore.

Y/N’s phone buzzed.

Carmen 💼🔥:

Tell me you didn’t write this about Ja’Marr. Please.

Then another.

Ja’Marr 🏈👟:

LMAOOOO why am I trending?? Did I miss the part where we’re dating???

Kayla was practically cackling now. “This is so messy. Like A+ mess. But also… iconic.”

Y/N dropped her head into her hands. “I can’t. Joe’s gonna see this.”

Cue: another notification.

Joe 🧊🏈:

Cute interview. Didn’t know you had a thing for wide receivers.

Y/N: paused.

Then came the follow-up.

Joe:

Should I be jealous? Or are you just trying to get me to break our ‘casual’ rule?

She stared at the text for a second too long.

Kayla peeked over her shoulder. “Ooooh, he’s pressed. That’s a lil possessive for someone who said, and I quote, ‘let’s keep it chill.’”

“I didn’t even say anything in the interview!” Y/N argued. “I kept it vague! The fans ran wild on their own.”

“But your eyes were screaming Joe the whole time,” Kayla said smugly. “And now he’s having a lil ego bruising moment. Honestly? I like this timeline.”

Y/N tossed a pillow at her.

Her phone buzzed again.

Joe:

I’ll be in your city tomorrow. Don’t worry, I won’t bring Ja’Marr. Unless you want him. 😏

Y/N smirked, fingers flying.

Y/N:

You’re hilarious. But you should know — the only one who got me out of that jersey… was you.

Kayla screamed in the background like the ghost of chaos incarnate.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

The set was minimal but sexy — warm-toned lighting, sleek white couches, and gold accents to match the gold-certifiedenergy that surrounded Y/N these days. She looked the part too: soft glam, overlined lips, oversized jersey dress (a different one, not the one), and heels sharp enough to cut through the tension in the room.

The interviewer leaned forward, legs crossed, iPad in hand. “Y/N, this single… whew. You’ve got everyone talking.”

Y/N smiled, legs crossed, hands in her lap. “That’s what we want, right?”

“We have to ask—who was the inspiration?”

Y/N smirked. “You know I can’t answer that.”

“But you can tell us this,” the interviewer said with a wink. “Was he an athlete?”

Y/N tilted her head. “Maybe.”

“Was he at the game where you sang the national anthem?”

“…Maybe.”

The interviewer leaned in. “Fans are connecting a few dots. That Ravens-Bengals game? You were spotted in photos after the anthem with Ja’Marr Chase, Tee Higgins, and Joe Burrow.”

Y/N just smiled. “I meet a lot of people.”

“Ja’Marr Chase, though…” The interviewer grinned. “There was a picture floating around — you two looked close. One of the lyrics is, ‘He didn’t say a word, but the way he looked at me said more than enough.’ Fans are convinced it’s him.”

Y/N gave a single, low laugh. “People see what they want to see.”

“Are they wrong?”

That was when she slipped — just for a second. Her gaze flicked off-camera. Her smile twitched. Not at the mention of Ja’Marr — but at the memory of another set of eyes. Cold, blue, unblinking. Joe’s.

The interviewer didn’t miss it.

“That look right there,” they said playfully. “There’s something behind it.”

“I’ve said too much already,” Y/N teased, shifting in her seat. “Let the lyrics do the talking.”

“Speaking of which,” the interviewer continued, “That line — ‘front-row seat even when he's benched’ — fans think that’s about Ja’Marr being out that week.”

Y/N blinked. “Oh… was he?”

That little slip-up? Chaos. Because that meant it wasn’t about Ja’Marr. Or maybe she was just deflecting. The ambiguity was delicious.

The interviewer grinned like they knew they had gold. “So you’re saying—”

“I’m saying,” Y/N interrupted smoothly, “it’s a song about a feeling. About someone who got under my skin at the wrong time… but left a mark anyway.”

And boom. That was it. That was the moment that Twitter took and ran like it was 4th and goal.

Later that night, as the internet burned…

Kayla threw her feet up on the hotel ottoman, scrolling TikTok.

“She blushed when they brought up Ja’Marr,” one clip said.

“No, she hesitated when they asked about the anthem. It was Joe. You can see it in her eyes,” argued another.

Kayla shook her head and looked over at Y/N on the bed. “You’re a menace.”

Y/N didn’t look up from her phone. “I said nothing.”

“Exactly,” Kayla said, grinning. “And the girls heard everything.”

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

The rumors hadn’t died down — if anything, they’d gotten louder.

Fan edits were everywhere. Headlines spun daily.

“Is Ja’Marr Chase Y/N’s Mystery Muse?” “New Pop Starlet Might Be Fumbling the NFL’s Finest Wide Receiver” “Y/N’s Song About a Bengal… But Which One?”

Even sports blogs had started dissecting her lyrics. It was out of control.

So her team did what any smart team would do: book a high-profile appearance with a built-in audience and just enough playfulness to control the narrative. Enter: Jimmy Kimmel Live.

Y/N walked out in a stunning burgundy leather two-piece — a cropped jacket and matching mini skirt that screamed I’m expensive and unavailable. Her heels clicked with confidence, her hair framed her face in soft waves, and that same smirk she gave Joe before walking away from him weeks ago? On full display.

The crowd cheered wildly.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Jimmy grinned, “it’s the woman who broke the internet, broke the charts, and apparently broke half the Bengals’ locker room—please welcome, Y/N!”

The crowd lost it.

Y/N laughed as she sat down, crossing her legs with practiced ease. “Y’all are messy already.”

“Oh come on,” Jimmy said, flipping through his note cards. “I had like seven questions about your music and thirteen about who the hell that song’s about.”

Y/N shook her head, teasing, “You better ask the music ones first.”

They bantered, joked, laughed through a few light questions about her rise, her upcoming acting role, and how she balances both careers. Then… Jimmy went for it.

“So, this single—huge hit. Gorgeous vocals. Lyrics that cut a little deep,” he said, leaning forward with a knowing smile. “And obviously the fans have questions… Are you dating a football player?”

Y/N smiled — smooth, radiant, and untouchable.

“I’m dating my career,” she said, crossing her arms gently. “That’s the only relationship I’m focused on right now. Music, acting, creating things I love. That’s it.”

“Oh come on, not even a lil sideline crush?”

She tilted her head. “I mean… football players are cute. But no. It’s not about that for me. Not right now.”

Jimmy grinned. “So you’re saying the entire internet is wrong?”

“I’m saying I’m enjoying my life,” Y/N said with a shrug. “And people can enjoy the music without turning it into a dating show.”

Cut to: the internet immediately turning it into a dating show.

Meanwhile, back in Cincinnati…

Joe was on the couch, phone in hand, watching the interview replay from a clip on Twitter. His lips twitched when she said football players are cute, and again when she dodged the dating question like a pro.

But that last part?

“It’s not about that for me. Not right now.”

He leaned back, dragging a hand down his face.

Then picked up his phone.

Joe 🧊🏈:

Cute interview. Liked the part where I don’t exist.

A minute later:

Y/N ✨:

I didn’t say that. I said “no relationships.” You and I are… whatever we are. No label needed, right?

Joe:

…So not even a lil sideline crush?

Y/N:

You’re more like a halftime distraction. A very enjoyable one.

Joe:

You’re gonna be the death of me.

Y/N:

That’s the goal.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

The Bengals practice field was buzzing — late morning drills, cleats hitting turf, coaches shouting over whistles. But over on the sideline? The real action wasn’t on the field.

It was between Joe, Ja'Marr, and Tee.

“Yo,” Ja’Marr jogged up, towel slung over his shoulder and a grin wide enough to be disrespectful. “You saw Billboard’s follow-up post, right?”

Joe didn’t even look up from his stretching. “Which one?”

“The one with my face on it,” Ja'Marr said, smirking. “Caption was, ‘Still think she’s not talking about him?’” He pulled out his phone and showed it to Tee, who barked out a laugh.

Tee leaned over. “Yo, you tryna tell us you were just chillin’ in the background and accidentally bagged the hottest rising star in the game?”

“Man, I was just standing there,” Ja’Marr grinned. “The vibe did the rest.”

Joe arched a brow, unfazed. “So you think a five-second interaction got you a charting single?”

“I mean, the footage don’t lie,” Ja’Marr said, patting his chest. “Apparently, I got that stare.”

Tee snorted. “Y/N saw his stats and said bet.”

Joe finally stood up, rolling his shoulders. Cool as ever. But the smirk tugging at his lips? Lethal.

“Cute,” Joe said. “But last I checked, she didn’t leave your hotel room in the morning wearing your shirt.”

Ja'Marr's mouth dropped open. Tee just let out a “DAAAAMN” loud enough to make one of the trainers look over.

“Nah,” Joe added, grabbing his helmet. “But keep enjoying your little fan theories.”

Tee wheezed. “You didn’t even deny it with your chest, bro. You said that like it’s classified intel.”

Joe shrugged, slipping his helmet on. “You know what they say… game recognizes game.”

“And yours is on the field, huh?” Ja'Marr teased.

Joe turned back over his shoulder, eyes glinting. “It’s everywhere, baby.”

They lined up for drills, but the jokes didn’t stop there. Every time Joe dropped back to pass, Ja’Marr muttered something about “writing another verse,” and Tee kept humming Y/N’s single under his breath like it was his own personal theme song.

And Joe? He played through it all. Laser-focused. Locked in.

But under that helmet?

He was thinking about that interview. About her.

And the fact that no matter what she told the public, she was still texting him under the table.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Two weeks later. L.A. heat. Cameras rolling.

Y/N was back on set — not for music this time, but filming for a lead role in a buzzy, soon-to-be-everywhere streaming series. Something sexy. Something serious. And just like everything else she touched, she was nailing it.

She was mid-scene, dressed in a sleek jumpsuit and heels, eyes locked on her scene partner — another actor from the industry’s rising elite, a known heartthrob with just the right amount of charm.

And Joe?

Joe was standing just outside the soundstage doors. Hat pulled low. Hoodie up. Arms crossed.

Watching.

Unannounced.

Uninvited.

Exactly how he planned it.

“You’re really out here playing roles with Mr. Movie Star?” he muttered to himself, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“Damn right she is,” came a familiar voice behind him.

Joe turned to see Carmen, Y/N’s manager, arms full of coffee and her sunglasses pushed up in her curls. She raised a brow. “You stalking or supporting today?”

Joe smirked. “Both.”

She snorted and handed him a coffee. “At least be hydrated while you pine in silence.”

Inside, the scene wrapped. Applause. Y/N gave a gracious little smile and walked off toward her dressing room. She was halfway through unzipping her jumpsuit when Carmen stuck her head in.

“You’ve got a visitor.”

Y/N blinked. “Kayla?”

“Nope. The other quarterback in your life.”

Y/N groaned and fell back dramatically onto the couch. “Lord, give me strength.”

Carmen cackled. “He looks like he’s ready to fight that scene partner of yours.”

She stepped out of her trailer in bike shorts and an oversized hoodie, hair pulled back, makeup only half gone. Joe was leaning against the wall like a Calvin Klein ad come to life. His arms folded. His eyes on her.

“You didn’t say you were filming love scenes now.”

Y/N smirked. “Didn’t realize I owed you my call sheet.”

He didn’t move, but his jaw flexed. “Just interesting. You can play lovers on camera, but you can’t admit you have one off it?”

She stepped a little closer. Close enough to smell his cologne.

“We said no labels,” she reminded him, voice soft but sharp. “You made that rule, remember?”

Joe didn’t respond. Just looked at her. Long. Intense. Unblinking.

And damn, if that look didn’t do something to her.

“Relax,” she added, playful now. “You’re the only one who’s seen me without my wig glued down. That’s gotta count for something.”

He cracked a smile at that. “That’s… fair.”

She turned to walk back inside, but paused.

“And for the record? The song was never about Ja’Marr.”

Joe raised a brow. “No?”

“No,” she said, biting back a grin. “But keep getting jealous. It looks good on you.”

Then she disappeared into the trailer.

And Joe? He stayed there a little while longer.

Just long enough to know this thing between them wasn’t cooling off anytime soon.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

It was mid-afternoon when Kayla stepped out of her rideshare, iced coffee in one hand and sunglasses sliding down her nose. She was dressed like she owned the lot — which, in her mind, she kind of did. Being Y/N’s ride-or-die and unofficial bodyguard-slash-dance-captain had its perks.

She was halfway to Y/N’s trailer when she paused, squinting.

There he was.

Mr. QB1. Leaning against the production truck like he was about to drop the hottest verse on a Drake feature. Hoodie pulled up. Hands in his pockets. Eyes glued to the door Y/N had just walked into.

Kayla blinked. Then smiled. Slowly. Like a villain in a romcom.

“Oh, this is good.”

She pivoted hard, sneakers squeaking on the pavement as she changed direction and strutted right up to Joe.

“Well, well, well,” she sang. “If it isn’t the emotional support quarterback.”

Joe side-eyed her, smirking. “I thought I had at least ten more minutes before you started.”

“You wish. Boy, what are you doing lurking like a boyfriend with no press pass?”

“Just watching,” he said smoothly.

Kayla sipped her coffee with a dramatic slurp. “Oh, you watching alright. Watching her co-star touch her arm in that scene. Watching her kiss him on camera like she meant it. Mmm. I know your little competitive spirit is trembling.”

Joe’s smirk dropped just a little.

“She’s an actress,” he said, too even.

“She’s also the girl you’re fake not catching feelings for,” Kayla teased, stepping closer. “And yet here you are. Pop-ups, surprises, mysterious man in the shadows energy.”

“I’m supporting her.”

“Oh, is that what we’re calling it now?” She leaned in with a smirk. “'Cause it’s giving boyfriend-lite.”

Joe didn’t answer right away. His jaw flexed again.

“Relax,” Kayla said, patting his chest. “I’m not judging. I’m proud of you. You’re out here pretending not to care while being fully in your feelings. Growth!”

“I’m not in my feelings,” Joe said, straightening up.

“Sure,” Kayla said sweetly. “And I’m not about to go inside and tell Y/N her quarterback’s out here looking like he wants to throw hands at her co-star.”

Joe gave her a look. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me,” she grinned. “But only because I love chaos.”

Before he could respond, the trailer door opened — and Y/N stepped out in leggings, an oversized tee, and a top knot. Glowy. Barefaced. And completely oblivious to the standoff that had just happened outside.

“Hey!” she called to Kayla. “You bring my smoothie?”

Kayla turned, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Better. I brought drama.”

Y/N blinked, looked over Kayla’s shoulder… and saw Joe. Still standing there. Still watching her.

That damn smirk tugged at her lips again.

“You still here?” she asked.

Joe tilted his head. “Guess you're hard to walk away from.”

Kayla groaned loudly. “Lord, if y’all don’t go somewhere and kiss in a janitor’s closet already.”

“Janitor’s closet?” Y/N repeated with a sharp look at Kayla. “Girl, what is wrong with you?”

Kayla just smiled sweetly and sipped her coffee. “Nothing. I just believe in locking people in tight spaces until they work out their unresolved sexual tension.”

Joe coughed, trying not to laugh, but that smug grin was fully back on his face now. Y/N caught it. And she hated how much she liked seeing it.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she warned him.

“Like what?” he said innocently, but his eyes were already undressing her again.

Kayla fake-gagged. “I’m gonna leave before y’all start making heart eyes and pretending you’re still just ‘friends who have fun.’”

She turned on her heel and walked off, but not before calling over her shoulder:

“Y/N, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do—which means you’ve got, like, two options. And Joe?” She tossed a wink. “Keep it light-skinned romantic, okay?”

“BYE, KAYLA,” Y/N and Joe both yelled at the same time.

The door clicked shut behind her.

Silence.

The kind that wasn’t empty—it was loaded.

Y/N turned slowly, arms crossed over her chest. “You really just pulled up to set without telling me?”

Joe stepped closer, eyes steady on hers. “Didn’t think I needed an invite.”

She tilted her head, unbothered on the surface, but her heart was thudding beneath it. “You usually that bold, Burrow?”

He took another step. “Only when I know it’ll work.”

Y/N blinked, but didn’t back up. “This whole possessive energy you’ve got going on today? Kinda funny for a guy who says he doesn’t want anything serious.”

Joe’s voice dropped, smooth and edged. “I don’t want anything serious. Doesn’t mean I like people thinking someone else is touching what I—”

He cut himself off.

Y/N raised a brow. “What you what?”

Joe looked at her. Really looked. His jaw set. His eyes flickered from her lips back to her eyes like he was calculating whether to say it or show it.

“I’m not used to sharing,” he said instead.

Y/N tried not to let that hit too deep. She’d built a career out of discipline, focus, knowing when to walk away. But the heat radiating between them right now?

It was impossible to ignore.

“So what do you wanna do about that?” she asked.

Joe stepped in again. Now they were toe-to-toe. His voice barely above a whisper.

“Tell me where the nearest closet is.”

Y/N laughed, soft but breathless. “You’re unbelievable.”

He leaned in just enough that she felt his breath on her skin. “But you’re not walking away.”

“No,” she said, cheeks flushing. “I’m not.”

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Meanwhile…

Kayla sat outside in a folding chair, sunglasses on, watching the door like she was waiting for fireworks. She scrolled Twitter absently and muttered to herself:

“Five minutes. I give them five minutes before someone’s shirt comes off.”

A voice from behind startled her.

“Talking to yourself again?”

It was Y/N’s co-star. All tall smiles and magazine covers and just enough swagger to set off exactly the wrong alarms.

“Oh,” Kayla said, standing slowly. “You again.”

He smiled. “Just finished ADR. You waiting on Y/N?”

Kayla tilted her head. “Always.”

His eyes lingered a little too long on the trailer door.

And suddenly, Kayla’s instincts kicked in.

Something about his tone. The way he looked at the trailer. Like he knew who else was inside.

Like he wanted to know.

Kayla narrowed her eyes.

“Oh, this just got interesting…”

Kayla narrowed her eyes behind her sunglasses, watching Co-Star Boy lean a little too casually against the side of a production cart. He was scrolling, but his eyes kept darting back to Y/N’s trailer.

Twice now.

And Kayla caught both.

She slid her phone from her pocket and fired off a text to Carmen: “Tell me why Mr. Netflix is hovering like he knows who inside that trailer. We watching him now too.”

No sooner had she hit send, the trailer door swung open. Joe stepped out first, hoodie still on but tension clearly in his shoulders. His eyes flicked across the lot—immediately clocking the co-star nearby.

His jaw ticked.

And of course, Co-Star Boy just happened to glance over and offer a half-smile.

Not a hello.

Just a smug little “oh, it’s you” nod.

Joe stared for a beat too long. Then walked off without a word.

Kayla stood and met him halfway. “Soooo…”

“She’s inside,” he said simply.

Kayla lowered her glasses. “And Co-Star Boy’s been giving whole villain arc vibes since you walked out.”

Joe gave her a look. “You watching him now?”

“Watching everybody. My girl’s a prize, and I don’t trust Mr. Tall and Touchy.”

Joe’s lip twitched into something between a smirk and a warning. “I’m starting to feel the same.”

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Inside the Trailer…

Y/N was finishing a touch-up in the mirror when Kayla walked back in.

“Your walking dildo made eye contact with your scene partner like he was about to call an audible and drop him on the concrete,” she said casually, kicking off her shoes.

Y/N snorted. “Why are men like this?”

Kayla shrugged. “Because men. But also, I don’t like the way Mr. Co-Star was looking at the trailer.”

Y/N paused. “Wait, for real?”

“Mmhm. Not he-likes-your-music looking. Like he-knows-something-he-shouldn’t looking.”

Y/N frowned, the edge of tension coming back. “I’m not about to do a whole scandal just because I look good on screen with someone.”

Kayla nodded, then smirked. “Well, you do look like you’d ruin lives in that jumpsuit. So, yeah. Be careful, sis.”

Y/N bit her lip, already reaching for her phone.

To Joe: You good?

From Joe: Fine. Watching. Still not sharing.

The tension in the air was palpable as Joe’s message hit Y/N’s phone, and she couldn’t help but feel a slight smile tug at her lips. Still not sharing? That one line felt like a challenge — like a spark was being lit. And he was clearly watching.

But as the minutes ticked by and Y/N finished up her prep, the soft buzz of the door opening snapped her back to reality.

Kayla sauntered in, her eyes dancing with mischief. “So, are we still pretending this whole thing isn’t about to turn into a full-blown soap opera?”

Y/N glanced at her phone, reading Joe’s message one more time, and then put it face down. "I’m not pretending anything. I just want to finish this session and get the hell out of here."

Kayla raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “And you’re not about to call Mr. QB1 to handle whatever drama’s brewing with your co-star? Because that look he gave you earlier? Very I’m ready to run some interference energy.”

Y/N let out a breath, her gaze flicking back to the mirror. “I don’t need anyone to handle anything for me. I’m good. And the last thing I need is more heat on me right now.”

Kayla grinned, clearly enjoying the chaos. “You’re acting like you’re not into the heat.”

Y/N gave her a side-eye. “Just keep it cute, Kay. We have a show to get ready for.”

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Outside the trailer…

Joe was still lingering, eyeing the scene with her co-star and a few others. His phone buzzed in his hand, but his eyes were focused on the subtle interaction he was witnessing.

There was no mistaking it now — Co-Star Boy was definitely stepping into that territory. His posture, his words, everything about his vibe was just a little too much.

Joe didn’t respond to the message that just came through. Instead, he pocketed his phone and took a few more steps in that direction, his jaw tight.

"Yo," he called, getting the attention of one of the production assistants who was walking past. “Tell me, who’s the one in charge of keeping the boundaries around here?”

The assistant raised an eyebrow. “You talking about the co-stars? Or the cast?”

Joe grinned. “Both. Preferably the ones who think they can cross a line.”

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Back in the trailer…

Y/N was in the zone now, headset on, earphones in as she tested the sound for the upcoming session. The world outside felt distant as she got lost in her own head, humming lightly along with the beat.

But as she opened her eyes and looked up to check the mirror again, there he was — Co-Star Boy, standing in the doorway, a smirk playing on his lips.

Y/N froze.

He leaned against the frame, crossing his arms. “You know, I think we need to have a real talk about how much time we’re spending together. Can’t have you getting too cozy with your other favorite guy.”

The words hung in the air. And for a split second, Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. She didn't know if it was his bravado or if it was the fact that he seemed so sure of where her focus was.

Before she could even respond, Kayla was at her side. “Excuse me,” she said with a false sweetness, “You’re gonna need to leave her alone for the next hour. It’s time for work.”

Y/N shot Kayla a grateful glance as Co-Star Boy took the hint, looking a little too cocky for someone who was about to be shut down.

“Whatever you say,” he drawled, turning to leave. “Just don’t forget who your real competition is.”

Y/N didn’t even flinch, though her mind was racing. She felt a rush of adrenaline at how easily the tension could snap between her and him — just like that.

Once the door closed, Kayla shot Y/N a look. “He’s got some nerve.”

“Maybe,” Y/N replied, shaking her head. “But I’m not about to entertain it.”

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Later that day…

Joe was waiting by her trailer door when she stepped outside, looking like he hadn’t been there long. His smirk was back, more dangerous now, and it made her pulse race.

“You good?” he asked casually, stepping toward her as she walked to him.

“Fine,” she said, matching his tone. “Just… work stuff.”

Joe didn’t seem convinced. “Work stuff?” he repeated, his voice low. “Or ‘another guy trying to pull a stunt’ stuff?”

Y/N stopped and looked him in the eyes. “It’s not that deep.”

He stepped even closer, closing the space between them. “I don’t like the idea of anyone trying to push you around, Y/N.”

She swallowed, feeling the weight of his words.

Before she could respond, he leaned in slightly, his breath just brushing her ear. “So, what are you gonna do about it?”

Y/N stood there, her heart pounding in her chest, and before she even knew it, she was pulling back just enough to look up at him. “I’m not your problem to fix, Joe.”

He smirked, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “We both know that’s not true.”

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Later that night…

Kayla couldn’t stop laughing as she flipped through Y/N’s phone, watching the messages come in. “Girl, I know you’re about to lose your damn mind with all this tension.”

Y/N tried not to look too amused. “No. I’m good. We’re good.”

“Uh-huh,” Kayla said, her eyes glinting. “And that text I just saw? Definitely not ‘friends with benefits’ territory. That man is hanging on by a thread.”

Y/N’s phone buzzed again.

From Joe: You need anything tonight? Just say the word. I’m waiting…

Y/N stared at the screen for a moment, a part of her heart skipping. But her mind remained sharp, refusing to let the lines blur… for now.

Kayla looked over, sensing her moment to strike. “Tell me you’re not going to text him.”

Y/N looked up from her phone and gave her best friend a wicked grin.

“I’m just playing the game,” she said softly. Then, to herself, added with a knowing look, “And it’s a hell of a game.”

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Y/N was sitting comfortably on the plush couch in the dimly lit, iconic studio of The Graham Norton Show, the warmth of the spotlight hitting her as the crowd eagerly awaited her arrival. She had her game face on—smiling, poised, answering questions about her latest song and the buzz around her new series. The promotional circuit had been a whirlwind, but she was used to it by now.

The camera flashed, and the host, Graham, leaned in with a grin that could only mean one thing: he was about to ask her something she wasn’t prepared for.

"So, Y/N," Graham said, leaning forward with his trademark cheeky smile. "We’ve been hearing a lot about your new music, your new show, and let’s not forget, the little bit of controversy that seems to be following you around. But there’s something that has really got the internet buzzing lately. A picture that was shared—"

Y/N’s stomach dropped, and she knew immediately what he was referring to. She’d hoped it wouldn’t come up, but of course, it did. The picture. That damn picture.

Graham clicked a button on his remote, and suddenly, the giant screen behind him lit up with the image: Y/N and Co-Star Boy locked in a passionate kiss. They were on set, caught in the heat of a scene, but the fans had no idea—it was just a scene for their show. They didn’t know that. All they saw was a snapshot, and the internet had run wild with speculation.

The crowd gasped in reaction, some of them giggling, some murmuring with curiosity. Y/N’s eyes flicked from the screen to the audience, and she could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. The last thing she wanted was for people to misinterpret this as anything other than work.

Graham chuckled, his voice playful but with a hint of mischief. "Now, Y/N, can you shed some light on this for us? Is Co-Star Boy your new man? The internet seems to think so. You’ve been pretty private about your relationships, but this—well, this tells a different story."

Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest, the tension in her shoulders rising. She knew this was coming, but she didn’t expect it to hit so suddenly. The last thing she wanted was to be dragged into a headline about her personal life. She wasn’t ready for this kind of exposure.

Taking a deep breath, she smiled and leaned forward slightly, trying to maintain control. "Look," she said, her tone measured but with a subtle edge of annoyance. "That picture is from the set of my new series. It’s a scene between two characters. Just two actors doing their job, okay? So, no, I’m not dating Co-Star Boy. It’s all part of the role."

The crowd quieted for a moment, and Graham raised an eyebrow. "But you can see why people would get the wrong impression, right? I mean, look at the chemistry in that picture!"

Y/N laughed, but it was a little forced. "Well, we’re actors, Graham. That’s our job—creating chemistry, making the audience feel something. But off-screen, it’s just business."

She didn’t miss the way Graham’s eyes flicked to her, his expression a mix of curiosity and amusement. He didn’t seem entirely convinced, but he let her slide by with it for now.

"Fair enough," he said, flashing his trademark grin. "But you’ve got to admit—there’s something going on, right? I mean, look at you two. The way he looks at you—"

Y/N shifted in her seat, feeling the weight of the question hanging in the air. She couldn’t quite escape the feeling that Graham was pushing her into a corner, trying to get a reaction out of her. She was determined not to give him one.

"Again," she said, leaning back and crossing her legs with a graceful motion. "It’s just a part of the job. And as for my personal life, I’m very private about it. I don’t need to share everything with the world. I’m just focused on my career—my music, my acting. I’m really proud of the work I’m doing right now, and that’s all that matters."

Graham gave her a knowing smile. "Of course, of course," he said, though his eyes twinkled with mischief. "But you can’t blame us for wanting to dig a little deeper into the mystery that is Y/N, can you?"

Y/N laughed, but it was tight, controlled. "I’m not a mystery, Graham," she replied, a playful yet pointed edge to her voice. "I’m just a woman who’s trying to make it in this industry, and I’m doing my best to keep my personal life private."

The tension was palpable, the crowd waiting for more, but thankfully, Graham moved on to the next topic.

As the interview continued, though, Y/N’s mind was still racing. The picture. The kiss. Her heart ached a little at the thought of how quickly the world would assume things. Her fans didn’t know the context—hell, she barely knew how to handle the situation. She was just doing her job. She wasn’t ready for this kind of drama.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Later that night, as the interview wrapped up and Y/N was back in her hotel room, her phone buzzed incessantly with notifications. She glanced at the screen, seeing dozens of tweets, Instagram posts, and articles tagging her in the kiss photo. Among them, a tweet stood out:

“Y/N and Co-Star Boy: New Couple or Just a Publicity Stunt? 🤔”

Before she could process it, another message came through.

It was from Kayla. “So… did the world just confirm your new relationship? Because, babe, I swear if you don’t call me right now…”

Y/N groaned and grabbed her phone, dialing Kayla’s number.

"Girl, I’m gonna lose it," Y/N muttered when Kayla answered. "This whole damn thing has spiraled out of control."

Kayla’s voice was practically vibrating with excitement on the other end. "Tell me about it. I’m already seeing the memes. There are thousands of them."

"Shut up!" Y/N replied, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. "This is a mess."

Kayla’s laughter filled the line. "At least it’s a fun mess. I’m sure Joe is having a blast watching all of this unfold, huh?"

Y/N’s stomach tightened at the mention of Joe. She hadn’t heard from him since the interview earlier, and she wasn’t sure how he was taking all of this.

“Kayla, please don’t even bring up Joe right now," she said, trying to avoid the inevitable conversation. She didn’t need the added stress.

But Kayla wasn’t having it. “Look, I know this whole Co-Star Boy thing is messy, but the real tea here is Joe. What’s his take on all of this, huh?”

Y/N bit her lip, glancing out of the window. Joe. Her mind wandered back to their last encounter, to their heated moments in her hotel room. The tension between them had only grown since then. But this situation, with the public eye on her and the press creating a narrative about her and Co-Star Boy… it felt like everything had shifted.

"I don't know, Kayla. But I’m not thinking about Joe right now," Y/N replied, though the words felt like a lie as soon as they left her lips.

Kayla chuckled knowingly. "Right. Sure you’re not."

Y/N rolled her eyes at Kayla’s teasing, her phone still buzzing with notifications about the kiss. She knew she’d have to deal with it at some point, but right now, she needed to focus on something else. "I’ll call you back, okay?" Y/N said, trying to keep her cool despite the turmoil of her thoughts. "I have to take this."

Kayla’s voice was muffled with amusement on the other end. "Uh-huh, sure. Taking him call, huh?" she said, before Y/N hung up, already knowing her best friend was probably laughing her ass off.

The phone screen lit up, and it was a FaceTime notification from Joe.

Y/N hesitated for only a second before swiping to answer. She didn't want to deal with more chaos, but seeing Joe’s name pop up had her stomach flipping in anticipation, even though she was trying so hard to keep it casual. He was probably watching the same mess unfold online, and she wasn't sure if this conversation would be another tension-filled one or something more... comforting.

She took a deep breath before answering.

The screen flickered as Joe’s face appeared, grinning as usual, but there was a noticeable glint in his eyes. "Hey," he said casually, his deep voice sending a rush through her. "How’s it going, beautiful?"

Y/N let out a breath, trying to keep her expression neutral. "It’s been better," she replied, a little quieter than she intended. "You saw the interview?"

Joe’s smile faltered for a second, and Y/N couldn’t quite place what she saw in his eyes—something between concern and amusement. "Yeah, I saw it. That picture, huh?"

She scoffed and leaned back against the bed, running a hand through her hair. "I didn’t think this would happen. Of all people, why Co-Star Boy?"

Joe raised an eyebrow at her, his smile creeping back in. "You think I’m worried about that? Nah. It’s whatever." He looked like he was about to say something else but paused, taking a deep breath. "But, Y/N, I need to ask… do you want me to, I don’t know, clear the air or something? Let people know they've got the wrong guy?"

Y/N blinked. That wasn’t exactly the direction she thought this conversation would go. "Honestly, I don’t think I need you to do that. I mean, we’re both grown, right? I don’t need anyone to explain my personal life for me." She crossed her arms over her chest. "Besides, I don’t know what the hell this is anymore with Co-Star Boy, so I can’t expect you to play PR for me."

Joe chuckled, shaking his head. "I don’t care what they think. I mean, you’re definitely not with him. You know that, right?" His eyes softened slightly, his playful tone now carrying something else—something more intimate, like he was reminding her of the truth they both knew.

Y/N chewed on her lip for a moment, trying to decide if she should address the obvious tension between them that no one could ignore. Before she could respond, there was a knock at the door.

She froze.

It was late. No one was supposed to be stopping by. Her heart skipped a beat, and she wondered if it was another interview request or—

"Hold on," she muttered, standing up and walking cautiously toward the door, eyes glancing back to Joe on the screen.

She cracked the door open, expecting to see a hotel staff member or someone else she didn’t recognize, but as soon as the door opened, her breath caught in her throat.

There, standing in the hallway with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie, was Joe.

A small, teasing smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Thought I’d drop by and see if you needed some company," he said, his voice laced with playful confidence, the way he always said things that made her heart race.

Y/N stared at him for a moment, her mind spinning as she tried to wrap her head around the fact that Joe had shown up in person, out of nowhere. She’d been half-expecting this conversation over FaceTime, but now that he was standing there in front of her, the energy shifted completely. The tension that had been simmering between them since last night seemed to bubble to the surface, and she couldn’t ignore it.

"Joe," she said slowly, looking back at her phone. He was still grinning at her through the screen, watching the whole thing unfold. "What the hell are you doing here?"

He leaned casually against the doorframe. "What? Didn’t you miss me?" His tone was teasing, but his eyes were more serious than usual. "I figured we could talk... face to face."

Y/N quickly pulled Joe inside before anyone could spot him, slamming the door shut behind them with a sharp thud. Her heart was racing as she stared at him, her pulse quickening at the realization that Joe Burrow had just flown across the globe to be here, in her hotel room, at the exact moment when everything was spiraling out of control.

“Joe,” she breathed, still trying to wrap her mind around it. “You seriously came all the way here?”

He gave her a smirk, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “Wouldn’t miss it,” he replied, stepping into the room and standing a little too close for comfort, his presence as overwhelming as ever.

Y/N took a deep breath, her mind reeling from everything that had happened over the past few days. The kiss with Co-Star Boy, the mess with the media, her private life being scrutinized—now Joe was here, standing in front of her, adding to the chaos.

Her gaze flicked back to Joe on the phone, a part of her wanting to back away from this situation altogether, but she couldn’t deny the pull she felt toward him. "Kayla's gonna have a field day with this," she muttered under her breath, but Joe heard it.

"Let her," he said confidently, his voice low. "This is between us."

Y/N stood there for a moment, trying to decide if she was really ready to dive into whatever this was between them. But when Joe’s eyes softened, and his playful expression shifted into something more intense, something that made her pulse quicken, she found herself stepping aside and letting him into her room.

The door clicked shut behind him, and as Joe closed the distance between them, the air thickened with unspoken words. The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them, their tangled emotions, and whatever this thing was that had been building between them since the moment they met.

Y/N didn’t know what was going to happen next, but she did know one thing: with Joe here, things were about to get a whole lot more complicated.

And yet... maybe that was exactly what she needed.

The tension was undeniable.

Y/N crossed her arms, trying to keep her cool, but she couldn’t ignore the rush of emotions swirling inside her. “Why are you here, really?” she asked, narrowing her eyes. “You’ve been busy with the season. You didn’t have to drop everything for... this.”

Joe’s smile faded just a little, and he stepped closer, his gaze locking with hers. “I don’t like sharing, Y/N,” he said, his voice low and intense. “Especially when it comes to you. So, I’m here to make sure that this whole ‘Co-Star Boy’ thing doesn’t get out of hand.” His eyes bore into hers, searching for any sign that she would deny whatever was between them.

Y/N couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her lips, though it was a little more nervous than usual. She rolled her eyes, trying to ease the tension. “Co-Star Boy?” she repeated, shaking her head. “There’s nothing between us, Joe. I’d rather swim with jellyfish than let that situation get any deeper. Trust me.”

Joe raised an eyebrow at her, clearly not buying it. “Jellyfish, huh?” he teased, a smirk dancing across his lips. “Guess that’s one way to get stung.”

She met his teasing smirk with a playful shrug. “I mean, I’d survive it. Probably get stung a few times, but I’d come out fine.” She stepped back slightly, trying to keep her distance, but it was hard with him standing so close, his presence so commanding.

Joe’s eyes softened, but only for a split second before the playful teasing returned. “You’re stubborn, I’ll give you that.” He took a step closer, lowering his voice just enough to make her heart skip a beat. “But I think you’re enjoying this tension a little too much. You like the chase, don’t you?”

Y/N felt her breath hitch, but she tried to keep herself composed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, but the slight tilt of her lips betrayed her. The tension between them was palpable, a thick, electric buzz in the air, and she could feel it building again.

Joe laughed softly, his eyes flicking down to her lips for just a moment before looking back up at her. “You’re good at pretending, Y/N. But not that good.” His fingers brushed lightly against hers, the touch almost innocent, but she could tell it was anything but.

Y/N swallowed hard, trying to focus. “I’m not pretending anything, Joe,” she said quietly, but there was a vulnerability in her voice that she couldn’t hide.

Joe’s smirk faded again, replaced by something deeper, something more genuine. “You don’t have to pretend with me,” he said, his voice dropping a notch. “I know what’s going on between us. We both do.”

For a moment, the air was thick with silence. Y/N stood there, torn between wanting to keep up the banter and not wanting to let the conversation get too real, too quickly. But the pull between them was undeniable, and as much as she hated to admit it, she was caught in it.

She finally broke the silence, her voice softer than before. “I’m not ready for all that drama right now, Joe,” she said, though she knew he could probably see right through her. “I’m focusing on my career... not a relationship.”

Joe nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving hers. “I get it. But that doesn’t mean we can’t have fun, right?” he said, his tone a little lighter now, though there was still that undercurrent of intensity.

Y/N was taken aback by how easily he was slipping back into their usual rhythm. But she wasn’t ready to go down that road yet. Not in front of the cameras, not with all the noise around her personal life. Not yet.

“I’m not trying to complicate things,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

Joe stepped back slightly, giving her some space. “I’m not either,” he said, though there was a slight edge to his words. "But I'm not just going to sit around and pretend like there’s nothing between us. I want more than just… what we have. Even if it’s just for now."

Y/N swallowed, her heart pounding in her chest. Was she ready for this? To let the lines blur even further? She wasn’t sure.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone, Joe,” she said, her voice almost breaking. “Not you. Not anyone. Not like this."

Joe stepped forward, his hand gently brushing against her cheek. “You’re not hurting anyone, Y/N. You’re just living your life, and so am I.” He tilted his head, his voice softening. “But when it comes to you, I’m not backing down.”

Y/N felt her breath catch in her throat. She didn’t know where this was headed, but the way Joe was looking at her, the way the tension between them was thick enough to touch—it was impossible to ignore.

And just like that, she felt everything shift.

“You should stay,” she said, her voice barely audible, but it was enough for Joe to catch the underlying invitation.

His eyes lit up, and for a moment, there was a flicker of something else—something more than just playful teasing. Something deeper. “You sure about that?” he asked, his voice low, almost like a promise.

Y/N nodded slowly, not trusting her own emotions in that moment, but giving in anyway. The chemistry between them was undeniable, and maybe, just maybe, she didn’t want to fight it anymore. Not tonight.

And so, as the tension finally snapped between them, they both knew that this was just the beginning of whatever it was they were about to dive into.

The questions, the drama, the back-and-forth—it would come, but for now, they had this moment. And neither of them was about to let it slip away.

Joe stepped closer, his fingers brushing hers once more. “Then let’s not waste any more time,” he murmured, as he leaned in to kiss her, the room filling with the tension that had been building for weeks since the last time they seen each other.

But for now, neither of them was thinking about anything but the here and now.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Y/N stood in front of the mirror, adjusting her outfit for the night, her mind still preoccupied with Joe's text from earlier. The flirtation was still fresh, but her and Kayla had made plans for a much-needed girls' night out, and Y/N was trying her hardest to focus on the fun ahead instead of the inevitable tension she and Joe had been dancing around for weeks.

Kayla was lounging on the couch, scrolling through her phone with a wicked grin plastered on her face. Y/N couldn’t help but roll her eyes when she heard her best friend snicker from behind her.

"What now, Kayla?" Y/N asked, her tone half-impatient, half-amused.

Kayla looked up from her phone, her grin only widening. "Girl, you are ridiculous," she said, sitting up and tossing her phone onto the coffee table. "Joe is literally insatiable. And you’re playing hard to get. Come on, what did he say in that text? You still haven’t told me." She waggled her eyebrows, nudging her best friend with her elbow. "I bet it was something hot, wasn't it?"

Y/N scoffed, but the tiniest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "It’s just him being himself," she replied dismissively, as she grabbed her bag and started to head for the door. "He sent some stupid thing about me keeping him on his toes. But you know how he is. He thinks he's funny."

Kayla wasn’t letting it slide, of course. She stood up, trailing behind Y/N as she headed for the door. "He is funny, but that man’s got some serious need for you. I mean, come on, you can’t tell me you don’t feel it."

Y/N rolled her eyes again, not wanting to get too caught up in her own feelings—or the fact that, deep down, she did feel it. She was just too busy juggling everything—her career, her acting, her music—to get wrapped up in whatever Joe was trying to offer.

"Okay, enough," Y/N said, practically dragging Kayla out the door. "Let's just get to this girls' night and forget about all that for a while. I need a drink."

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Hours later, after plenty of laughs and drinks with Kayla and a few others, Y/N found herself back at the hotel, attempting to decompress after the whirlwind of the night. She was about to change into something more comfortable when she felt her phone buzz on the bed. A quick glance told her it was a message from Joe.

Her fingers hovered over the screen, curiosity getting the best of her. She typed a quick reply, something casual—“What’s up?”—and tossed the phone aside. But her heart skipped a beat when she heard it vibrate a few minutes later.

This time, the text was different.

"Still thinking about you... I’ll make it worth your while next time we’re together."

A smirk tugged at Y/N's lips, but she had learned by now not to get too attached to these types of conversations. She casually sent back, “Maybe, but I’m not sure you deserve it yet.”

She set the phone down again, finally sinking into the plush hotel chair with a sigh.

That was when the phone rang—FaceTime, the screen flashing with a familiar name.

"Joe?" Y/N answered, expecting his smiling face. But instead, her heart nearly stopped when she saw a woman’s face pop up on the screen.

Her smile was wide, almost too wide, and her eyes glittered with a mixture of confidence and something Y/N couldn’t quite place.

“Hello, Y/N,” the woman said, her tone smooth as silk. “It’s so nice to finally talk to you.”

Y/N’s stomach dropped. She blinked a few times, her breath caught in her throat as her mind scrambled for answers.

“Uhm… Who are you?” Y/N managed to get out, her voice shaky despite how hard she was trying to sound cool.

The woman smiled again, her lips curling slightly as if she had anticipated this reaction. “I’m Michelle,” she said, her tone laced with an almost polite mockery. “Joe’s fiancée.”

The room seemed to shrink around Y/N as the words hit her like a punch to the gut.

"Fiancée?" Y/N’s voice came out barely a whisper as her heart stuttered in her chest. "Joe… is… engaged?"

Michelle’s smile didn’t falter, but there was something cold in her eyes. "Yes, we’ve been together for a while now," she said smoothly, her voice like honey, but there was an edge to it. "But I’m sure he’s told you we’re very open about... certain things."

Y/N’s blood went cold, and her fingers tightened on the phone, a mix of confusion, anger, and disbelief swirling inside her. She had no idea how to respond, her mind racing.

Michelle seemed to be enjoying the uncomfortable silence. "Don’t worry," she continued, her tone almost amused. "I’m not here to cause drama. Joe and I have an understanding. He enjoys… his little distractions. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t come back to me at the end of the day."

Y/N's mind spun, trying to process everything, but one thing was clear—this wasn’t just some casual situation like Joe had led her to believe. She had been used for something more than what she was told, and that sting was like a slap across her face.

Before she could respond, the screen flickered, and Michelle’s face disappeared. She was left staring at the dark screen, her heart pounding in her chest.

The room felt suffocating now. She didn’t know whether to be furious, heartbroken, or just utterly disgusted.

Y/N stood up abruptly, the phone slipping from her hands as her mind swirled with confusion and emotions. What had she gotten herself into?

Meanwhile, Kayla, who had been texting a certain someone back and forth all night, had been watching from the other side of the room, and she’d noticed the sudden change in Y/N’s demeanor. Her teasing smile faltered, as she picked up on the tension in the air.

"Girl, what just happened?" Kayla asked, standing up from the couch, her voice low with concern. "That wasn’t Joe, was it?"

Y/N looked up at her, still reeling from what she’d just heard. She didn’t know what to feel anymore.

“Yeah, that was Joe’s fiancée.” Y/N’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I guess I wasn’t the only one he was playing with.”

Kayla froze for a moment, the gravity of the situation sinking in. "Wait… what?!"

JB9 Taglist: @lilfreakjez, @dasia21, @superanastasia1981, @gg-trini, @wickedfun9, @irishmanwhore

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1donoow · 2 months ago

Text

APRIL FANFICS RECS (2025)

[x reader]

Give this lovely people some love!!

......

♡ - smut

......

STEVE HARRINGTON (stranger things)

- Show-time♡ - @hungharrington - For a Good Time Call!♡ - @chestharrington summary: In the Summer of 1985, Steve's social standing is at an all time low. In an act of sheer, pathetic desperation, he calls a phone sex hotline. Little does he know, his dream girl from the hotline is just an escalator away. - Obsessed - @keerysfreckles summary: the five most recent times dustin henderson has been a "cockblock" - (steve's words) during steve and y/n's relationship

CHO HYUN-JU (squidgame)

- My little artist - @sucodegoiaba88 summary: hyun-ju dating a reader who is very talented at art related things, and who undeniably uses her as their muse. - HEADCANON: Yours to taste. - @lesmiix summary: You LOVEEE to spoil your girlfriend with sweet desserts. - Love sewn into every stitch - @squidsquidsquidsquidsquidgame summary: hyunju takes a strong liking to the hobby of sewing, and she makes you the cutest jacket

KLAUS BAUDELAIRE (asoue)

- Attention - @agaypanic summary: Klaus wants to read, Y/n wants attention. They have to come to a solution.

SIMON "GHOST" RILEY (cod)

- ___ - @heavenbarnes thinking about your older bf!simon that cannot cope with being far from you. - ___ - @amaranthinespirit husband!simon riley follows you around like a lost dog 24/7.

ROBERT FLOYD (top gun)

- Colbalt Eyes and Sweet Smiles - @withahappyrefrain summary: In which a certain shy, quiet WSO catches your attention one night. - The quiet ones - @callsigns-haze summary: You surprise the Dagger Squad by revealing your secret to Bob, who shyly but lovingly melts into your kiss as the others watch in shock, as shy guys are your type.

LUKE CASTELLAN (percy jackson)

- ___ - @too-deviant The three weeks it took for Luke Castellan’s wounds to heal. - Oh he looks so cute, wrapped around my finger! - @moneyndior - True luck's kiss - @atlabeth summary: luke is stuck with a streak of bad luck. what better way to get rid of it than with a child of tyche? - The perils of love pt.1 pt.2(clarisse la rue endgame) - @rose-pearls summary: being in love with Luke seemed to be a bad idea as you realise that he doesn't seem to be interested. But as you get ready to move on from love entirely your father decides to appear and two people fall for you.

WILLIAM AFTON (fnaf)

@spr1ngbunnypvrin - Headcanon: William Calls You "Bunny - Silly Headcanon: A Day with Steve Raglan (a.k.a. William Afton) - 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭, 𝐕𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐞-𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐏𝐬𝐲𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐜 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 Headcanons - Sweet, Silly Coquette Moments w/ William Afton

FIVE HARGREEVES (tua)

- Affection - @awriterinthenight summary: Five has never been one for affection, but when it comes to you he does his best and loves to have you close.

MISTY QUIGLEY (yellowjackets)

- Dating Misty Quigley Headcanon - @bumblesimagines - Surviving The Wilderness (yellowjackets) - @wandas-darling summary: With how much effort you had put in trying to look after the group as the seasons start to change, you get dubbed the unofficial mom of the team.

WEDNESDAY ADDAMS

- Soft spot - @ajortga summary: the only thing wednesday can tolerate is you, and she feels something when she sees a side of you that is rarely shown.

DIN DJARIN (star wars)

- Pretend - @djarinmuse You have a sleep disorder, Din is helpful -The Experiment - @dameronspector summary: You test your new make-up on Din. But, in a unique way. - Sleepy time for papa and grogu - ^ summary: You help your favourite boys get adjusted in your new house. - Helmet Logic - @dinodaweeb summary: You ask Mando what would happen if you kissed his helmet. (Personal fave for this month💚)

JOEL MILLER (tlou)

- Stiches - @pedgito summary : You've patched up Joel countless times before, but this is different. - Have A Good NIght - @punkshort summary: Every week like clockwork, the same devastatingly handsome man comes into the grocery store where you work to buy flowers. It's not until he asks you out when you realize the flowers aren't for his wife or girlfriend. - ___ ♡- @daryltwdixon Joel Miller meeting your parents - Sunlight & sawdust masterlist - @pandapetals summary: For two years, Joel Miller has done nothing but scowl at you from across the room, barely tolerating your warmth, your kindness, and your ever-present sunshine. And for two years, you’ve told yourself his gruffness doesn’t bother you... - ___ - @goldenlikedayl1ght cute joel miller flirting blurb - You came? You called. (feat. Sarah miller)- @cavillscurls - Baker!joel miller masterlist - @bibli0thecary In a world with no outbreak, Joel Miller runs a popular bakery—grumpy, flour-dusted, and way too serious about sourdough. His daughters, Sarah and Ellie, are either helping or causing chaos behind the counter.

PEDRO PASCAL

- Reunion Interview (platonic!)- @dumbbitchenergy17 Plot: A reunion of our two favorite actors following their crazy lives after the ending of the fan-favorite show: The Mandalorian - To Build a Home (platonic!) - @afictionaladventure16 summary: Your mother decides it is time for you to meet her boyfriend of six months, you are defensive at first, but you think you could get used to the idea of having this one around more often. - Until the end - @lazysoulwriter - Front row husband - ^ - Wearing her heart - ^ summary: Pedro Pascal is dating you — the most celebrated fashion designer at the moment — and he never shuts up about it. Whether it’s on a red carpet or in a talk show chair, he’s always in something you made, and he always makes sure the world knows it. It’s more than fashion. It’s devotion. - No takebacks - @unsuperingyournatural

xoxo

#din djarin x reader #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal x reader #hyun ju x reader #klaus baudelaire x reader #simon riley x reader #robert bob floyd x reader #Luke castellan x reader #william afton x reader #Five hargreeves x reader #Misty quigley x reader #Wednesday addams x reader #fic rec

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pamwritessometimes · 8 months ago

Text

Tuesday’s Gone — Chapter 2

Russell Shaw x reader

Summary: When the police does little to no help to find your missing daughter, you are forced to contact Colter Shaw. What you don’t expect is how his investigation will reveal secrets about both your past and your daughter’s, in ways you never imagined.

Warnings: missing child trope, description of murder, very light smut.

Title’s based on Tuesday’s Gone by Lynyrd Skynyrd.

Read Chapter 1 here

Tuesday’s Gone masterlist

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The October wind chilled through Colter’s jacket as he made his way inside Mitchell’s. Meeting up in a diner–he certainly felt a sense of deja vu. Though, this time, they opted for one with roof. It was fall, for god’s sake.

Once he stepped inside, he scanned the area for the familiar chestnut-haired face he was looking for. It didnt take long to find it–in fact, it found him, waving at him with a nod.

Russell looked pretty much the same as he last saw him a couple of months ago. Maybe his hair got slightly longer.

Colter approached the table and slid into the booth across from him. “Thanks for meeting me.”

“Didn’t leave me much of a choice” Russell chuckled as he munched on the burger in front of him. “You said it was important. What’s this about? Not that I’m complaining. Working together from time to time. Kind of like a family business” he mused.

Without addressing his last words, Colter reached into his jacket and pulled out a manila folder. He placed it on the table between them, pushing it toward Russell. “You need to see this.”

Russell eyed the file, a slight suspicion crossing his face as he put his burger down. He then flipped the folder open. As he started to skim through its contents, his brows furrowed. The file contained pictures, reports, details…everything about a missing girl.

“Who is she?”

“Her name’s Emma. She’s been missing since yesterday. Abducted from her house. No leads yet.” Colter said and then after a few moments of silence, he added. “I think the people responsible are connected to something you were involved in years ago.”

Russell froze mid-page turn. “What the hell are you talking about? I haven’t been involved in anything for a while. You know that.”

“I’m talking about The Horizon Group, Russell.”

At the mention of the name, Russell’s face hardened. “What does this have to do with them? I told you, I cut ties. I can’t give you intel or anything like that on them.”

“Look closer.” Colter said and nodded towards the file.

Russell frowned but flipped through the file again, but this time even more carefully. It was when he hit a particular page that he stopped cold. His eyes locked onto a name he hadn’t seen in years.

Y/N Y/L/N.

The file listed Emma’s mother as Y/N. Russell’s heartbeat quickened, his mind racing through memories that rushed back to him about the woman he’d left behind long ago.

“What’s this about?” Russell asked, still trying to sound neutral. “Y/N. I, uh… Yeah, I knew her. A long time ago.” he admitted. “This— uh, this is her daughter?”

Colter nodded slowly, watching as the realization began to hit Russell. “Yeah. Emma’s her daughter.”

Russell’s hand shook slightly as he flipped through the file again, looking more closely at the girl’s picture this time. She was small. Had wide, innocent eyes and an undeniable resemblance to Y/N. Her eyes were shaped just like her mother’s, same with her lips… But her iris–pale green–and her nose… It wasn’t her. They seemed eerily familiar, though.

“She’s… four?” Russell asked, doing the math in his head, suspicion rising in his mind.

“Yeah” Colter confirmed. He could see the wheels turning in his brother’s head.

Russell leaned back in his seat, his face paler than usual. “Colter, why the hell are you showing me this? Why does this have anything to do with me?” he asked, but he already knew the answer.

“Because I think you need to ask yourself if there’s a chance… that you’re Emma’s father.”

The words hit Russell like a punch to the gut, leaving him reeling. His mind scrambled to piece together the timeline.

The last time he’d seen Y/N. It wasn’t a peaceful break-up, not in the slightest.

“Are you saying—” Russell’s voice cracked, but he forced himself to stay calm. “Are you saying that I might be her father?”

“I don’t know” Colter said, but in fact, according to your own words, it was more than a possibility. “But the timing fits. And if you are, this isn’t just about a missing kid anymore, Russell. They didn’t just take any girl…they took your daughter.”

Russell stared at Colter, the weight of his heavy words sinking in. He had spent years running from his past, trying to bury it. But now, it was staring back at him right in the face in the form of a little girl he hadn’t even known existed.

His hands gripped the table, knuckles going white. “I… didn’t know” he said quietly. “I didn’t know she existed.”

“I believe you” Colter said. “But if Horizon took Emma, there’s a chance they’re using her to get to you.”

Russell’s heart almost skipped a beat. “They’re using her…because of me?”

Colter nodded. “It’s possible. It’s leverage. You were involved with them once, Russell. You know how they operate. They think they can use Emma to force your hand. And if they’ve gone this far….”

“...they’re not going to stop until they get what they want” Russell finished his sentence. He leaned forward, burying his face in his hands. It was too much, all at once. The realization that he had a daughter, that she had been taken because of his past…he had never felt so powerless. “I–I have a daughter” he whispered.

After a few moments of silence, he spoke up again “I never wanted this” he added, his voice laced with emotion. “I left so Y/N could be safe.”

Colter reached across the table. “I know. But now we need to focus on finding Emma. This isn’t just about the past anymore. It’s about finding her.”

Russell lifted his head, his eyes as determined as ever. “What do I do?”

“We start by figuring out what Horizon wants” Colter said. “You need to think. Are there any old connections, anyone from that time who might have known you were still around? Anyone who could’ve tipped them off?”

Russell thought back, his mind racing through the faces and names of people he had cut ties with long ago. “I don’t know. I kept my distance. I thought I was careful.”

“Well, someone wasn’t” Colter said. “They found Y/N and Emma, and now they’re making their move. We need to be one step ahead of them.”

Russell nodded, the knot in his chest tightening. “We’ll find her. We have to.”

Colter stood, signaling to the waitress for the check. “We will. But it’s going to take everything we’ve got.”

As they left the diner together, Russell couldn’t shake the image of Emma’s face from his mind. He didn’t know her, didn’t even know if he had the right to call himself her father.

But one thing was clear: he was the reason she was in danger.

And that meant he would do whatever it took to bring her home.

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“Fuck, Russ” you murmured against his shoulder while he relentlessly pounded into your deepest parts. His thick, veiny arms held you steady, his soft grunts and curses going from your ears straight to your core.

The bedroom was a mess, sheets tangled and clothes scattered around the floor. You were lost in the moment, completely. But then, the bliss was shattered.

A loud crash echoed through the house, making you both freeze. Your heart raced as the sound of shattering glass filled the air, and a surge of adrenaline shot through you.

“Russ!” you gasped almost in a whisper, pulling away to look at him. Panic flickered in his eyes, and in an instant, he was off the bed, putting on his pajamas in record time. You never saw him like this before, this…focused.

“Stay here” he commanded, his voice low and serious.Where did this tone come from?

You nodded, but fear gripped you. You couldn’t just sit back and wait.

You slipped out of bed, instinctively grabbing one of his discarded shirts and pulling it on as quickly as your trembling hands allowed. You peered into the hallway, your heart pounding as you heard footsteps echoing through the house.

“Russ!” you called softly, straining to hear him over the rush of blood in your ears.

Then you heard it— a loud bang followed by a deafening silence. The next moment, you saw him move down the hallway, his expression set and focused, a stark contrast to the intimacy you’d just shared.

“Get back!” he shouted as he rushed toward the sound, and you felt a chill run over you.

Something was terribly wrong.

You stepped into the hallway, heart racing as hell, when suddenly, you saw the flash of a figure moving quickly toward him. Instinct kicked in, and you were about to scream when Russell pivoted, drawing a weapon you never knew he had.

In a split second, he fired. The sound of the gunshot echoed like thunder in the small space, making you jump.

The intruder stumbled, and then collapsed to the floor in a heap.

You stood frozen, eyes wide, as the realization of what just happened hit you. YOu just witnessed a murder. There’s a dead body. In your house.

The body of the intruder lay motionless, and a knot of horror tightened in your stomach.

“Russ…” you breathed, struggling to process what you’d just witnessed. He turned to you, his face pale but his eyes dark, filled with an intensity that was absolutely foreign to you and terrifying.

“I’m sorry” he said, breathless. “I–” he stammered. “I didn’t want you to see that.”

“Who was he?” you asked, voice, hands, body, trembling. “W–Why did you shoot him? We could just... we should have just called the cops!”

Russell stepped toward you, his gun still in hand, his breath coming in quick bursts. He contemplated what to say. But the months of keeping you in the dark… it was enough. It was time to finally tell the truth. Even if it hurt like a son of a bitch.

“He… He was here to kill me. Kill us.”

Your heart sank, and the pieces began to fall into place. You had known Russell had a past, but this? You had never imagined he was mixed up in something this dangerous.

“I didn’t want you to find out like this. I wanted to keep you safe.”

“Safe?” you echoed. "From what?"

“From Horizon... From... all of this." he said motioned to the now blood-soaked carpet. "I didn’t choose this life” he sighed, frustration creeping into his voice. “I wanted to leave it behind. But they won’t let me. They never will.”

The gravity of the situation pressed down on you, and you felt your world tilt on its axis. You couldn’t comprehend the reality of what was unfolding before you.

The man you loved, the man who had shown you such tenderness, was also a part of something dark and deadly. The man you thought you knew— he killed a man. He shot a man right in front of your very eyes. And he did it precision. Without any hesitance. And it scared you. No, it terrified you.

And… what the hell was Horizon?

“We need to go” Russell said urgently, glancing at the still body on the floor. “They’ll come looking for him, and we can’t be here when they do.”

“What? Where?” you asked, feeling the panic rise in your chest.

“Anywhere but here” he said, taking your hand and leading you toward the back door. “Trust me, Y/N. I’ll keep you safe.”

“No” you said stopping in your tracks as you pulled your hand out of his hold. “Why would I trust you? I– I won't go anywhere with you.”

“What?” Russell stopped in his tracks to turn around and face you. “Y/N, we don’t have time to argue right now, I–”

“No, Russell. You fucking lied to me, kept secrets from me. I won’t go anywhere with you. I–” you trailed off. “Get the hell out of here.”

“Y/N”

“I said get the hell out of here!” you shouted.

“There’s a body in your house. I won't leave you here like this. At least– fuck, at least let me take care of it” he said frustratedly. Though her words stung, he knew he deserved it all. Still, he got her in this mess… the least he can do is to try to get her out of it. “Then… I’ll take you to your sister’s” he added reluctantly.

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You were in the middle of scrolling through social media on your couch. All of your friends, mutuals and family members had shared the news of Emma’s disappearance. It was desperate, you knew, but all means necessary to find your daughter. You were about to share the post in another Missing Persons Facebook group when the doorbell rang.

You opened the door, expecting only Colter standing there. But he wasn’t alone. It was the man behind him that made your heart skip a beat.

Russell.

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Next on Tuesday’s Gone (Sneak peek from Chapter 3):

“Why are you here?” You spat, your voice trembling with anger. “Are you actually worried about her… or are you just feeling guilty?”

“Because I didn’t know” Russell replied, his expression softening. “I didn’t know what I was missing until Colter called. He told me about Emma, about how scared you must be. And hell yes, I feel guilty. I— I wish I knew about her” he sighed. “Maybe I could have protected her from all of this.”

Just as you were about to answer him, to tell him another wave of fuck yous, Colter marched into the house. “I think you should see this.”

Both you and Russell turned to the younger Shaw, and you eyed him warily. “What?” you asked, still heated from the argument you and his brother had.

“There are new footprints on the front porch.” Colter said and motioned for you to follow him outside.

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Aaand the plot thickens.

Thank you for reading Chapter 2 of Tuesday's Gone, I hope you liked it!

Read Chapter 3 here

Xx Pam

#jensen ackles #russell shaw fanfiction #russell shaw x reader #jensen ackles x reader #russell shaw x you #russell shaw #tracker fanfiction #tracker cbs #colter shaw #jensen ackles fanfiction #jensen x reader

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mistydeyes · 2 years ago

Note

hiiiii I LOVE YOUR WORK!!!!!!!! Can you please do 141 with a model reader who does Chanel,Versace etc and she gets an invite to do Victoria’s Secret runway and they see her down the runway how would they react

she’s not any model shes and icon,sex symbol,brains,she is the moment

big inspo for me ( I want to become a model)

AHHH I LOVE THIS! anon i feel you tho, every time i look on pinterest i just want to be a model! thank you for requesting <3

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summary: The 141 has always had an odd connection of friends, allies, and connections. However, they can't deny that they don't enjoy your luxurious life as a model and the perks that come along with attending one of your shows.

pairing: Taskforce 141 x fem!reader

warnings: swearing

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A series of events in Milan allowed the 141 to cross paths with you. Staying in a lavish French penthouse was far from what they had expected on a mission dictated by Laswell but her connections with your retired INTERPOL mother had brought them the extravagance of your home and lifestyle. Laswell had to threaten to have their court marshaled if they delayed their arrival home any longer. You thought of that brief moment in summer fondly as you left Gaz a voicemail. "I have a runway in New York coming up, let me know if you'll be on leave," you spoke on the phone, examining your manicured nails, "accommodations and champagne are on me."

"This is nice," Price said, dropping his duffle onto the marbled tile of their hotel room. "Are you kidding, Cap?" Gaz said as he opened every door into the massive suite, "This is fucking amazing." When they got off the plane at JFK, they had not expected a private driver who brought them to the ornate hotel. The room itself had four separate bedrooms with two bathrooms filled with the best amenities. Soap had taken the opportunity to run over and open a bottle of champagne while Ghost pilfered the small shampoo and conditioner bottles. While the men explored the vast rooms and fought over the beds, there was a knock at the door. Price opened it to reveal a well-dressed bell-hop boy, holding a tray with an envelope. "Four tickets sent by one of the models," he spoke and Price handled the black envelope with embossed pink lettering. "Hell of invitation," he muttered before he looked at the runway time and shared the details with his team. "Wonder what she'll be wearing," Soap mused as he turned to take over one of the bathrooms.

Behind the stage, there was organized chaos with models running around in their silk robes in between the stations. The chatter roared as they chatted with the various hair stylists and makeup artists. "First VS show?" your makeup artist asked as she applied glitter delicately to your primed lids. "Yes, but not my first modeling gig," you smiled as you felt the pressure on your closed eyes, "Versace was beyond a mess compared to this." The artist laughed as she continued to prep your look. You could see mixes of pink and gold applied to your lips and the apples of your cheeks. "We think an olive green liner would look stunning on you," she said before holding a green eyeliner pencil in hand. You nodded in response as you shifted a bit in your robe. You gently closed your eyes again as you envisioned your latest outfit for the night.

Weeks prior you had visited the city to see your outfit for the night. A sage green bra and panty set decorated with pink and glittery flowers to resemble a meadow. Your wings were made of a delicate rose pink chiffon that was reminiscent of a fairy. "Do you like?" the designer asked as you walked around the stand and examined every stitch and detail. You smiled as you nodded happily, feeling the soft fabric under your fingertips. "Any particular inspiration?" you questioned as you made sure to feel the weight of the wings. "The newest line of Victoria's Secret," she spoke dreamily, "the delicacy of nature."

With your makeup and hair done, you walked over to change and receive the final touches from the design team. The group walked rapidly around your figure, assuring every detail would shine when the lights hit your walk. "Have anyone special here tonight?" one of the designers asked as he cut a few loose stitches. "Just a few friends from Europe," you spoke, hoping you didn't sound too entitled. You wanted to talk more but your odd friendship with a small special forces group would definitely reach some tabloids. "You look perfect darling," another designer spoke and you nodded before beginning to walk in your heels. "You can mingle with the others. Your collection is after the classics set," she reminded. You took a deep breath and made some facetious conversation with the other women. They were in awe at your previous shows but you just simply talked as if each was a mediocre experience. "Alright ladies, walk begins in five," a voice called over the comms and you lined up accordingly. As you watched the excited group in front of you, you wondered what you would treat the 141 to for dinner. You were sure if someone knew this is what you thought of before a show, they would laugh.

"Move up, Y/N," the stage manager directed, pulling you out of your food-related musings, "almost time for you to go on." You moved forward, getting into the comfort of your model walk you had done so many times before. You took a deep breath as you heard the live music stream through the curtains and the ethereal light peek through. You looked down at your attire one last time before the model ahead of you returned and it was your turn to awe the show. "Go, go, go," you could hear the stage manager command as the bright lights and menagerie of faces met your gaze.

"I think this is her!" Gaz commented, leaning forward in his chair. "You've been saying that for the past four models," Ghost corrected before he turned to see who was coming out next. As the men directed their gaze to the stage, you confidently strutted onto the platform. They were glued to your figure, perfectly accentuated by the flirtatious lingerie set. The details were delicate and encapsulated your aura. "Fuck." Soap whispered under his breath as the glitter and flower additions to your ensemble shimmered underneath the light. Your wings bounced and looked like they flittered in the air as you made your way in front of the watching crowd. "She's a natural at this," Price commented as he watched the way you walked in a straight line with an air of elegance in each step. He also couldn't deny the way you shined on stage and how the cameras clicked in rapid succession. As you reached the end of the runway, you took an opportunity to look over at the seats you had picked for the 141. You gave a small wink before blowing a kiss in their direction.

Upon your exiting, there was a clamor amongst the group as to who the kiss was directed to. Primarily, Soap and Gaz were at odds thinking you made eye contact with them as you puckered your glossed lips. Price attempted to put a stop to them before Ghost spoke up. "I'm sure that was for me," he spoke quietly, leaving everyone to shelf the conversation and bring it up later over dinner.

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gghostwriter · 11 months ago

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Hiya! :D

Since askbox is open, may I please order some slight hurt-comfort based off of "From Eden" by Hozier? Harnessing the pure longing this song emanates to me fr.

Something like non-BAU!reader getting hurt by an unsub during a case (non-lethal but it does require a stitch or two) and spencer gets abnormally worried about this one person among the group of victims (maybe serial bank robberies) and when the team notices it and ask him about it he reveals to them that they're actually his roommate?

something romantic-leaning; I just like the idea of him standing outside the hospital room door [OMG LIKE THE SONG] because the doctors told him to wait before he could go inside sitting there like 🥺 "My roommate :(" and getting embarassed when the team calls reader his partner; "You're so worried it's almost like you're dating." sort of feel

Sorry if this is long btw! I tend to go all out on ideas! Pronouns are up to you though, feel free to change anything to your liking as well! :]

Thanks for reading! :D

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader Trope: Roommates; Comfort, Fluff, Angst w.c: 1.2k A/N: There's so much interpretation for 'From Eden by Hozier' and I had a challenging time trying to capture which meaning I wanted to encapsulate. This is also by far the longest request I've written and honestly this took a life of its own but I still hope you like it! Main masterlist

Eden. // Spencer Reid

The monotone droll in the bank was white noise in your life that you learned to slowly hate. Day in, day out it was the same thing—customers withdrawing, depositing, and claiming loans. You liked numbers, that was how you ended up as a manager, but the cookie cutter business smile you had to keep on your face was a con you wish to part from.

You sighed. Your roommate turned secret crush, Dr. Spencer Reid, had warned you about the serial robberies that had happened within the state of Virginia and Washington. He advised you to be vigilant and if possible, to keep your phone within your reach and you easily agreed having heard some of the macabre cases he’d been involved in.

You just didn’t think it would happen today.

“Get down on the ground!” A man’s voice echoed throughout the lobby, followed by a series of gunshots.

Spencer’s voice played in your head as if he was a lighthouse guiding you out from the panic. Hide. Don’t panic. Press the hidden alarm and dial my number.

You thanked your past self for programming his contact on speed dial. Volume down and no words uttered, you hid the phone inside your blouse hoping to not get caught.

“You there!” One of the masked men caught sight of you. “Outside. Now!”

You nodded, averting your eyes to show submission. Another tactic from Spencer.

Wishing the call picked up the trio of robbers voices, you stayed facing down on the lobby surround by the rest of the hostages.

Spencer, please. Please, get my message.

Just a few miles away, tension was high in the BAU conference room. The round table littered with folders and cooling coffee mugs. The team was running on a mixture of caffeine and sheer will to solve the serial bank robber case, tagged as priority by Strauss, that had been terrorizing states for a span of months.

Spencer raked his already unruly hair. So far, the profile was incomplete. They knew there were three in the team but with varying heights and builds in various crime scenes, even that was shaky. What they were sure of was the sick game of Russian roulette they would play with their hostages, always with one bullet in a revolver and who ever is unlucky, dies with a hole between their brows and the remaining hostages are pistol whipped to unconsciousness.

He knew he should stay objective. He knew that but how could he, when who he considers as his secret flower was at risk every second the unsubs were at large? It was his mission to keep you safe and the chances of you being caught in the line of fire heightened each second.

Vibration from his pocket brought him out of his musings.

It was you. Right there and then, Spencer knew it was anything but good. You never called during work hours and with the last conversation between you having been about safety, it had settled in his stomach that the worst reality had come to fruition.

He picked up without saying a word, straining his ears to hear any distinguishable background noise. That was when he heard it—the authoritative, cocky voice yelling at you to come outside. His heart dropped.

No. No. No. Anything but this.

“Sir, we just got a call,” Penelope rushed into the conference room. “There’s a live hostage taking at—”

“—Commerce Bank. 125 Independence Boulevard,” Reid interjected.

The profilers shared a look.

“That’s right,” Penelope muttered.

Morgan raised an eyebrow at him as he hurriedly stood up and collected his belongings. “Wait Reid—” causing him to stop in his tracks and turn to face back at the team. “—How’d you know?”

“Because Y/N works there,” he promptly exits the room, hightailing it to the elevator.

Emily looked at JJ. “Who’s that?”

She shrugged, lost too on who you were.

———

The team had split into two vehicles. Hotch, Rossi, and Reid in one while Morgan Emily, and JJ in the other.

Rossi glanced at Hotch, communicating the tension Reid was releasing from the passenger seat. In turn, Hotch sneaks a peek via the rear view mirror and profiles Reid’s ticks—hands clasped tight together, right leg shaking up and down, eyes shifting from left to right, and deep breaths through the nose and mouth.

“Reid,” he called out.

Blown wide doe eyes meet his. “Hm?”

“We need you to stay focused. If you can’t do that, I’ll pull you out of this case.”

“I—I can do it!” His voice cracking.

“Are you sure, kid?” Rossi clarified.

He nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s just she’s my—” roommate but that singular title wasn’t fitting to describe who you were to him. No classification was good enough, really. “—I can focus,” he declared.

There was a series of looks exchanged between the two senior agents. They didn’t need to be seasoned profilers to understand that their youngest is one slip away from panic.

Hotch sighed. “Alright, Reid, but you follow my orders. Got it?”

“Yes.”

———

Einstein’s theory of special relativity was what came to mind as he paced outside your hospital room. The physicist implied that time moves relative to the observer. An object moving very fast experiences time more slowly than in rest and that was exactly what he felt as he paces back and forth outside your room, desperately waiting for any update—the good or the bad. Everyone seemed to be moving at a leisure pace while he, Dr. Spencer Reid, hangs on the precipice of elation and despair.

The team had sent him away, to you specifically, when it was obvious that his otherwise objective mind was of no help in finishing up the case. Was it dreadful of him that he felt relief course through his veins when it wasn’t you that got the short end of the stick during the unsubs’ Russian Roulette? Yes, possibly but he was only human. A being filled with conundrums and good vs evil.

The impact of today was eye opening. He could no longer deny to himself that you were more than just a roommate or an acquaintance or a friend. Oh, how hard he tried so hard to push away any thought that seemed any less innocent or chivalrous, but the idea of seeing those beautiful eyes broken and in pain made him want to face the truth. The truth being how deliriously in love Spencer Reid was with you.

His phone rang, disturbing his mind-altering revelation thoughts.

“Hey kid,” It was Morgan. “How is she?”

Reid licked his lips, eyes trained on the still closed door. “I—I haven’t seen her. The doctors are still inside and I’m still here—outside.”

“I know this isn’t the time but should we know who she is?” A pause. “Girlfriend?”

“No. No, she’s my roommate,” his sigh coated in despair, murky and sad enough for Morgan to notice.

“You sounded so worried. It’s almost like you’re in love with her or something.”

“I am—” your door opened. “I have to go, Morgan,” he hung up before another word could be uttered.

“Are you Dr. Spencer Reid?” The female doctor asked.

He nodded.

She smiled. “She’ll see you now.”

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

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babextoken · 11 months ago

Text

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Things We Buried Low

Tags/Warnings/Head’s Up: Vessel x fem!reader, reader has tits and a pussy, gn pet names, newly established relationship, bit of a slow burn, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff that becomes smut, checking-in, fingering (f receiving), 69, cum swallowing (I don't shame but for sleep's sake don't do it if you don't want to or if you don't know their history)

A/N: this could be about anyone’s fav, but vessel is seriously my muse right now.

MDNI 18+

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

“And who is this one about?” You ask softly as you look up from the leather bound journal.

Vessel barely meets your gaze and sighs. The newness, and frankly, the rawness, of this relationship and your attraction to one another has reduced you both to nervous teenagers. But tonight isn’t one of those filled with soft giggles and kisses under the throw blankets on your couch; no, the evening has been spent sharing secrets…baring souls…revealing flaws. You know he’s hurt. You know there’s a past and an inner monologue behind those eyes you could never begin to imagine, but he said he wanted to let you in. So here you are…on his bed, cross-legged reading his poems and lyrics. Finally he closes his eyes and shakes his head.

“Who it’s about…doesn’t matter much to me anymore. What matters is that I’ve left that part behind now. And that I’m here with you.”

He locks eyes with you and caresses your cheek. You’ve learned to appreciate his vagueness, a stark contrast to your need to overshare. Before he pulled out his notebook, you had just finished telling him 5 years worth of trauma with tangents that made you both laugh and cry a little. You were embarrassed…but he held your hand the whole time…making contended hums when you’d remember something happy and then kissing your knuckles during the hard parts.

“Well,” you say putting the notebook on his nightstand, “it sounds like it was a difficult time.” You squeeze his hands in yours and take a deep breath. “I understand better why you…hesitate to open up. But…thank you for letting me in.” You lift his chin gently so he looks at you. The dim bedside lamp and filtered moonlight from the window cast long shadows on his features, but instead of tortured he looks ethereal.

And in that moment…your breath catches. And so does his. Your thumb gently rubs his cheek until his lips part. Instinctively the pad of your thumb circles his pouty lips. It’s not overtly sexual. No. It’s reverent. At this point in your relationship you’ve only made out to the point of frenzy, grinding against each other and exchanging breathless sweet nothings between hot, soft kisses.

“You’re safe with me, you know?” You whisper, you voice caught in your throat as your heart swells for the man before you.

His face finally betrays the emotion he’s been harboring. His breath shudders and he nods slowly…jaggedly, almost like he wants to balk at you.

“Don’t take this wrong way, Ves, but…” you begin, but you’re distracted by his eyebrow cocking with some amusement. You chuckle softly and shake your head. “Just hear me out. Sometimes when we touch…you remind me of a stray…a rescue…who’s never felt a loving touch.”

“Am I that pathetic, little love?”

“Tsk. No. I just mean…”

“No, I understand. And…you’re right. To feel love…at least the love you give me…it chills me to the bone.” He gently tugs at your arm to pull you into his lap. You’ve never sat in his lap before and suddenly find yourself painfully aware of your weight. He sighs. “I want all of it.”

You relax just a bit more. Just a fraction.

“All. Of. It.” His spidery hands grasp your hips and presses your ass firmly onto his thighs. “If you are going to touch me…to pleasure me…to love me…I need it to the highest degree, darling. I crave everything you can give me.”

Of all the things that could be on your mind (like the heat forming in your center and rising into your belly, the way you’ve dreamt of being intimate with him, how delicious he looks right now, etc) what you’re focused on his word choice. What you “can” give. Not what you “will” give. He means to coax it all out of you. And you are beyond willing. But you know this is a big step so you broach your next words with tenderness.

“Ves, you set the pace, love. I don’t to overwhe—“ your lips are suddenly trapped against his. One hand holds the back of your head and begins to grasp at handfuls of your soft hair while the other gently guides your ass to grind in his lap. Eventually he pulls you away from the kiss by the nape of your neck.

“You’re so kind, little love, to want to protect me. But after tonight, I don’t want a fragment of dignity between us.”

With that he moves swiftly to pin you on your back. His lips find the crook of your neck…where your pulse and natural scent is the strongest. “So warm. So soft. Baby…” Wet, open mouthed kiss cover your neck and throat. You writhe underneath him, already surrendering to his need and affections.

His kisses are rough and feverish. He’s been starved of this. There’s no denying it. His lithe waist presses you firmly into the bed…and for the first time you feel his bulge against you. You have done this to him. You have driven this man to near madness as he works quickly to remove your shirt. Gazing down at your naked torso for the first time, he lets his warm, skilled hands trail over your body with reverence.

“Is this mine?” He asks, his eyes glued to your stiffening nipples as he gently cups your breasts.

Your breath catches. “Body. Mind. Soul. Flesh. Blood. …it can all be yours, Ves.”

With that he presses his face into your breasts and peppers wet kisses and small nibbles along your soft mounds. You whine softly as his nose gently nuzzles one of your nipples.

“Please….” He whispers. “Please?”

You nod with wide eyes. He started so confident, so aggressive, but now he was begging for permission just to suckle from you.

Pathetic moans fall from his pretty mouth as his kitten licks and soft kisses cover your nipples. “Love…my god…” His hand trails down under your shorts. “May I? Please?”

Your breath shudders with a sharp moan. He isn’t even touching your pussy yet, but it clinches as if he’s already bottomed out inside you.

“Love…may I? Yes or no?”

You find your voice and push his hand to your throbbing clit… “yes.”

He lets out a deep, satisfied groan as his index and middle finger scissor your sensitive bud. You let out a slutty yelp as his firm fingers work to, basically, jack off your clit.

“Fffffuck….oh my god…Ves…” you bite your lip and a shrill, pathetic moan cuts through the darkness of his bedroom.

“Oooh…look at you, little love. Eager for my touch. Eager for my fingers,” he coos as he looks down at you with reverence and lust. “But what if…what if I…ahh…” he leaves you hanging momentarily and then presses his fingers firmly on your clit, massaging in big, slow circle. You hold onto his shoulders as your mouth clamps shut and your eyes cross from pleasure. You imagine you look like a dumb little slut but you wouldn’t know from how Vessel is looking at you. His eyes trail down you like you’re a work of art. Marble carved for him to touch. To taste. To behold. “Don’t you dare close that perfect mouth. Let me hear you.”

“Vessel…please. Please I need you.”

“Darling…am I not knuckle deep in you?” You look at him confused for a second but then he plunges his middle finger into your heat. The pad of his finger explores your wet, gummy insides and settles happily on your sweet spot. “Do I not have you already gushing on my hand?”

Oh how he teases you… You whine and a hot blush covers your cheeks as you realize you have to verbalize your fantasy. “I want your mouth.”

A dark look crosses his face. “Then we have something in common.”

He takes his finger from your cunt and brings it to his mouth. You watch, mouth agape and eyes glazed over, as he cleans your essence from his digit. You’re still watching him with a lovesick gaze as he stands up and removes his clothes. You’ve felt his abs through his clothes, but seeing them in the flesh is a revelation. You imagine kissing his stomach. Grinding your needy cunt along it. But it’s not until you see his cock for the first time that you feel a ravenous desire propelling you forward. You roll to the edge of the bed closest to him, looking up at him, asking for a treat. He chuckles and caresses your face, saying, “if I’ve been starved of loving touch…then you, my dear, are starved for cock.”

You bite your lip and lean closer, hoping for a taste, before he holds your jaw, making your lips pucker. “Did I say I was ready for that,” he asks with dry condescension, “greedy fairy.”

You pout and roll ever to let him lay back on the bed. He makes himself comfortable, and you slip off your shorts and panties. He licks his lips as you strip—seeing your soft, squishy parts for the first time. “Fuck,” he whispers emphatically.

He beckons you toward him, mimicking the same finger motion he did inside you moments ago. “Have a seat.” You prepare to swing your leg over his hips but he stops you.

“Ah ah ah… how can I taste you if your cunt is down there?”

Loud and clear. You move slowly, your waist level with his face now; he nods and motions for you to turn. He wants your back to him. He wants your mouth taking his cock while he makes out with your perfect, squishy pussy. You settle with your thighs around his pretty face. You can hear him whispering praises and expletives as he kisses and nips at your thighs. “Ves…”

He stops suddenly, worried that he’s somehow upset you. “Yeah, love? Is everything ok?”

You chuckle softly at his concern and lean down on his body…your hand magnetized to his twitching, desperate cock. “Everything is perfect. I just…” You want to finish your sentence but he’s already lapping at your folds. “Fuck…fuck oh my god…”

Your hand pumps his length as he lifts his head to bury his face in your pussy. He doesn’t even have to push your hips further into his face because they’re moving on their own. You find the strength to prop yourself up on your elbows to take his cock between your plush lips. He moans raggedly as his tongue fucks your tight hole, your slickness marking his face as yours. The feeling of his warm body against your curves and breasts encourages you to take his cock deeper into your mouth, the head gently grazing the back of your throat.

For the first time in ages, your brain is empty. The only thing you know is giving Vessel pleasure and receiving it in turn. Your hips move to grind your clit harder on his tongue, a movement he not only loves but also encourages. The friction from his mouth is made infinitely more delicious as his moans reverberate against your cunt like a human vibrator. You disengage your mouth from his cock and let a long stream of spit fall onto its throbbing head. As you take it in your hand and fuck it the way you dream of riding him, you hear his moans turn into the prettiest whimpers and whines. You're encouraged by his noises…empowered.

“That’s right sweet boy…you like getting stroked with a pussy on your face? Hmm? Is that good?”

You could swear he’s crying at this point. He has his arms wrapped your hips and his mouth stuck to your wet cunt. You laugh softly as imagine your lower half is a pillow and he’s screaming in it. “Oooh,” you coo “he's just so excited.”

Your teasing gets to him. He bucks into your hand and lets out a feral groan as he takes your clit in his mouth and sucks like his life depends on your orgasm showering his face. You let out a shriek in surprise and pleasure. “FUUUUCCKKKK. Aahhhhhhh yes….that’s a good boy. Fuck yes…make me cum…”

He whines back at you, hips bucking wildly, desperate to feel your warm mouth around his cock once more. You let another stream of spit glaze his cock before taking it whole and letting him fuck your throat as he sucks your tender clit. Just when you think you’ve gotten ahold of yourself, he lets a finger trace your entrance. The gentle tickle and pleasure pushes you over. You’re not surprised that something so small made you cum. You just knew he’d have that effect on you.

You moan loudly around his cock as your pussy throbs and clenches out a powerful, toe curling orgasm. His own moans sound gravely and crackly. Just then, his hips buck, and you feel the hot stream of his cum fill your mouth. Oh to have his spunk in your mouth. Oh to taste his essence just as he tasted yours. You pull off and swallow thickly. Swinging your leg over, you lay your head on his stomach and look up at him.

“Love…little fairy…I am…so sorry for just…right in your mouth…”

You wipe the corner of your mouth, nary a mess to be found. “It was an honor.”

He chuckles softly and closes his eyes. “You’re both the death of me and my reason for living.”

His verbose description, even after cumming his heart out, makes you smile. You lean up and pepper sweet kisses on cheek.

“You know what I think?”

“Hmm?” He answers sleepily.

“We should see if any pizza places are still delivering…and curl up on the couch.”

He looks at you with hazy eyes. Finally…he feels at home. At peace. Safe.

#sleep token #sleep token fanfiction #vessel #sleep token vessel #vessel smut #vessel fanfic #vessel x you #vessel x reader smut #fem!reader #afab reader #wolfie muses #wolfie's scribbles #woofie's situations

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