#this is not worded well and too long but i had to get these thoughts out | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ponderingmoonlight · 3 days

Note

Hello!! I hope you’re doing amazing!!! I really like your megumi works, so id like to request a fic where him and the reader have a very under cover secret relationship and yuji,nobara and gojo try to figure out why fushiguros been acting so weird. I’d love to see it! And more megumi works 🙏🏽. It’s just a request it’s totally okay if you don’t want to!! Hope you have an amazing week!! 💗💗

Okay, I probably never laughed this much while writing a fic lmao, this right here is ridiculous y'all

Keeping your relationship with Megumi a secret until you can't anymore

Pairing: Megumi x fem!reader; pure comedy friendship with Nobara and Yuji lol

Word Count: 3k

Synopsis: Megumi Fushiguro’s secret relationship with you has been going smoothly—until his friends start noticing his odd behavior. Yuji and Nobara grow suspicious, launching a hilariously relentless mission to uncover what he’s hiding, while Gojo sits back, amused by the chaos. Will the two of you finally confess?

Warnings: y'all, I almost died writing this hilarious piece of work lmao, I never praise my own work but that bonus has me rolling, if you're looking for a bandage for your broken heart there it is, fluff fluff fluff

Please let me know what you think! If this does well, I might write some more about the chaotic trio lol

You never thought keeping a secret would be this much fun.

Your relationship with Megumi started quietly, just like most things with him. There was no grand confession, no dramatic kiss in the rain. It was slow, understated, like the way shadows stretch out under the setting sun. You had been drawn into his orbit naturally, like you’d been waiting for it to happen all along.

Still, it wasn’t exactly planned. One moment you were sitting next to each other in silence, and the next you were sitting a little too close. Your fingers brushed. His eyes lingered. The air between you became charged with unspoken things, and soon enough, stolen moments were the only thing keeping you sane. The decision to keep it quiet came easily: neither of you had any desire to deal with the chaos that would break out if anyone found out. And besides, it was kind of thrilling.

But now it’s starting to get tricky.

It’s a normal Wednesday when the subtle shift in the atmosphere begins. Megumi is acting just a little too normal - stiffer, as if he’s hyper-aware of everything. He’s not good at this, at pretending everything is fine when there’s something simmering underneath. And unfortunately, it doesn’t take long for his odd behavior to catch some unwanted attention.

“Hey, Megumi,” Yuji calls from across the room, his eyes squinting suspiciously.

“You’re acting weird. Are you okay?”

Megumi doesn’t even flinch, though his eyes are literally glued to the ground.

“I’m fine.”

That’s it. Flat, simple, closed. He’s good at short answers. It should be enough. It’s not.

Yuji leans over the back of the couch, brow furrowed in confusion.

“No, you’re definitely acting off. You haven’t been sarcastic all morning. And usually by now, you’ve threatened to hit me at least twice.”

Megumi sighs, fingers twitching in his lap, the only outward sign of his discomfort.

“I’m fine, Yuji. Maybe you’re just imagining things.”

Yuji is definitely not convinced. He glances at Nobara, who’s lounging nearby with her arms crossed, already suspicious. She had been eyeing Megumi the second he walked in, catching onto his strange energy faster than Yuji had.

“Yeah, I’ve noticed it too,” she adds, voice sharp.

“Something’s up. You’ve been... I don’t know, distracted?”

“Seriously, I’m—” Megumi starts, but Nobara cuts him off, grinning.

“You’re not hiding anything from us, are you, Fushiguro?” Her eyes gleam with mischief, and you can tell she’s just playing around.

For now.

“Oh, I think I know it!”, Yuji suddenly announces with his arms stretched in the air.

“Do you really, idiot?”, Nobara remarks.

You almost lose your cool, cold sweat dripping down your neck while waiting for Yuji’s next words. He didn’t catch it, did he? Not when you’ve been carefully avoiding being too close to Megumi while they’re around since you first joined Jujutsu High. He simply can’t know it-

Megumi’s eyes flick to you, a barely noticeable glance paired with his reddened cheeks, but it’s enough. Too much. Your heart skips in your chest, and you quickly look away, hoping no one else caught it. But then-

“Oh.” Yuji’s eyes widen in realization, a slow grin spreading across his face.

“Oh, I get it now.”

Megumi’s spine visibly stiffens.

“No, you don’t.”

But it’s too late. Yuji has already decided he’s figured it out.

“You’ve got a crush on someone, don’t you?” Yuji practically shouts, leaning forward in his seat with excitement.

“That’s why you’ve been all weird lately!”

Nobara sits up, clearly intrigued by this new development. “Wait, what? Megumi has a crush?”

“I do not,” Megumi says, but he’s starting to lose his calm now.

You can tell by the way his hand runs through his hair a little too harshly, as if he’s trying to ground himself.

You bite back a smile. Megumi can be as composed as he wants, but when it comes to things like this, he’s terrible at hiding it.

“You’re totally lying,” Nobara declares, standing up and crossing the room to get a better look at him.

“Who is it? Do we know them?”

Megumi groans, pressing his fingers to his temples as if he’s already getting a headache. You’re trying hard not to laugh because if you do, they’ll turn their attention to you. You’ve been careful this whole time to stay out of the line of fire, just a silent observer to this chaos.

But you know it’s only a matter of time.

“I’m not lying,” Megumi grumbles, clearly regretting every decision that led him to this point. “There’s no one.”

It’s almost convincing. Almost.

Yuji leans back, a teasing glint in his eyes.

“Nah, you’re definitely lying. You’re terrible at it. You get all tense, like right now.”

“I’m always tense,” Megumi shoots back.

“True,” Nobara agrees,

“but this is different. You’re acting sketchy.”

Megumi shoots her a flat look, but Nobara only smirks back. She’s having way too much fun with this.

“Is it the one we’ve met at that pizza place yesterday, the one with a big ass and those nice hair?”, Yuji shouts into the conversation.

“The girl from yesterday?”, you repeat before you can stop yourself, arms crossing in front of your tightening chest.

“You guys are gross.”

Megumi’s gaze meets yours, panic shimmering underneath the surface while he fumbles with his own hands.

“What? No! It’s not that one!”

“Oh, not that one, huh? Who is it, then?”

“Fine,” Megumi says, standing abruptly.

“I’m going for a walk.”

Before they can say another word, he stalks out of the room, leaving you alone with Yuji and Nobara. You let out a quiet breath of relief, grateful they didn’t notice you.

Yuji turns to Nobara, eyes wide.

“This is huge. Megumi’s got a crush.”

Nobara hums thoughtfully, rubbing her chin.

“He’s never shown any interest in anyone before. It must be serious.”

“I wonder who it is,” Yuji muses, glancing around the room as if expecting the answer to jump out at him.

Your pulse quickens. If you stay here any longer, you’re going to blow your cover.

“I’m gonna grab some water,” you announce quickly, standing up.

You manage to make it halfway to the kitchen before Nobara’s voice calls after you, filled with sudden realization.

“Wait a minute. You were with him all morning, weren’t you?”

You freeze, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Weren’t you two on a mission yesterday?” Yuji adds, piecing it together far too quickly for your liking.

“And last weekend, too?”

Panic rises in your throat, but you manage to keep your expression neutral when you turn back to face them.

“We’ve just been on a few missions together. That’s all” you say, voice steady.

Nobara narrows her eyes, scrutinizing you.

“Uh-huh. And you didn’t notice him acting weird?”

“Not really. Maybe he’s just worn-out” you lie, doing your best to stay calm.

Yuji tilts his head, still unconvinced but willing to drop it for now.

“Yeah, maybe.”

But Nobara isn’t so easily swayed.

“You sure? Because you’re looking a little-”

“Nobara,” you interrupt,

“you’re overthinking it.”

For a moment, there’s silence. Then, with a final hum of suspicion, she shrugs and lets it go.

But just as you think you’re in the clear, a new voice cuts through the tension.

“Well, well, what do we have here?”

Gojo saunters in, sunglasses perched lazily on his nose, a knowing smirk already playing on his lips. He must have been eavesdropping because he’s grinning like he’s just hit the jackpot.

“Don’t tell me you’re trying to figure out what’s up with Megumi,” he notes, voice dripping with amusement.

“That kid’s an enigma even to himself.”

Yuji perks up at the sight of Gojo, excited to rope someone else into their investigation.

“We think he’s got a crush.”

Gojo pauses, grin widening.

“Oh, is that so?”

You stand frozen in place as Gojo’s eyes slowly slide over to you, lingering for a beat too long. He knows. You don’t know how he knows, but he knows. He’s always been good at reading between the lines, picking up on things that most people miss. Megumi that traitor, did he really leave you all alone with these two and now even Gojo?

His smirk deepens.

“Well, well, well,” he drawls, leaning casually against the wall, clearly enjoying this far too much.

“I wonder who it could be.”

You’re going to kill Megumi. You’re both dead. This is it. The end of your secret.

But before Gojo can say anything else, Megumi walks back into the room, his expression darkening as he notices Gojo’s presence.

“What are you doing here?” Megumi asks, his voice flat.

“Oh, just catching up with the kids. They were telling me about your little crush” Gojo replies innocently.

Megumi’s eyes dart between you, Yuji, Nobara, and Gojo, clearly calculating his next move.

“There’s no crush,” he replies, exasperation creeping into his voice again.

“Yuji’s just being an idiot.”

“Hey!” Yuji protests, but Megumi ignores him.

Gojo chuckles, pushing off the wall with an exaggerated stretch.

“Well, I think I’ll let you all handle this. Good luck with the investigation.”

He winks in your direction before sauntering out of the room, leaving you tense and trying to avoid Megumi’s gaze.

Yuji and Nobara are still watching him, and you can tell they’re not going to let this go anytime soon.

“So,” Nobara says, crossing her arms. “Are you going to tell us who it is, or are we going to have to follow you around until we figure it out?”

Megumi pinches the bridge of his nose, clearly fed up. “There’s no one.”

“You’re such a bad liar,” Yuji mutters, shaking his head.

Megumi’s about to respond, but then his phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out, glances at the screen, and his expression softens for just a split second before he tucks it away again.

You know who it is. He knows you know.

You’re barely holding back your laughter at this point, trying to keep a straight face. You can feel the heat rising to your cheeks, and you have to look away before anyone else notices.

But Megumi, in his ever-stubborn way, is still trying to salvage this mess.

“I’m going for another walk,” he announces abruptly, clearly done with this interrogation.

“Uh-huh,” Nobara calls after him, grinning like a cat who just caught a mouse.

“Sure, go clear your head, lover boy.”

You can’t help but chuckle quietly as Megumi shoots you a helpless look before heading out the door.

As soon as he’s gone, Yuji leans over to Nobara, whispering loudly.

“Do you think he’s texting his crush?”

Nobara grins, leaning back in her chair.

“Definitely.”

You bite your lip, doing your best to keep your composure while peeking at your phone.

Sorry for the mess. Meet me later in my dorm?

This is going to get much harder to hide.

Later that night, when you and Megumi finally have a moment to yourselves at his dorm, he sighs heavily, dropping down onto the couch beside you. He looks exhausted, and not just from the missions. The day’s events have clearly taken their toll.

“This is getting ridiculous,” he mutters, rubbing his temples.

You smile softly, leaning into his side.

“It’s kind of your fault, you know.”

Megumi groans.

“I know.”

There’s a moment of silence as you both sit there, the weight of your secret relationship pressing down on you. But it’s not a bad weight. It’s more like a blanket, warm and comforting, something shared between the two of you. Something that’s just yours.

Still, you can’t help but tease him.

“You’re really bad at lying.”

Megumi turns his head to look at you, a small, exasperated smile pulling at his lips.

“Shut up.”

You laugh quietly, resting your head on his shoulder, feeling the tension melt away as his hand finds yours, fingers intertwining. For now, it’s just the two of you, and that’s all that matters.

“Maybe we should tell them,” you suggest softly, half-joking.

Megumi’s body stiffens for a second, but then he relaxes, a soft hum escaping his throat.

“Maybe,” he murmurs, voice low.

“But not yet.”

You smile, content with the secrecy for now. It’s your little world, and as chaotic as it is, it’s yours to navigate together.

And for now, that’s enough.

Bonus:

The decision to finally tell them wasn’t exactly well-planned. In fact, it wasn’t planned at all.

It happened after another long day of training. Yuji had been particularly insufferable, constantly pestering Megumi about his “mystery crush,” while Nobara was fuming over how Megumi wouldn’t let her in on the secret.

You and Megumi exchanged looks all day, the unspoken question hanging between you both: Should we just tell them?

By the time the sun set and everyone was lounging in the common area, the atmosphere was thick with anticipation. Nobara was pacing the room, practically radiating with frustration, while Yuji sat on the edge of the couch, watching Megumi like a hawk.

You were sitting next to Megumi, trying not to laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. You hadn’t expected the pressure to mount like this. They’d been relentless for days now.

“Okay, I’m done!”

Nobara throws her hands in the air, eyes narrowing at Megumi.

“I can’t take it anymore! You have to tell us. Who is it?”

Yuji nods rapidly, his eyes wide and pleading.

“Please, man, just tell us! The suspense is killing me.”

Megumi lets out a long, exasperated sigh. He’s been handling this for a week now, and it’s clearly taken its toll. He shoots you a quick, sideways glance, silently asking for your input.

You shrug with a small smile, mouthing.

“Your call.”

With another sigh, Megumi straightens up and clears his throat.

“Fine,” he says, his voice firm.

“I’ll tell you.”

Both Nobara and Yuji freeze, their eyes going wide with excitement.

“Finally!” Nobara yells, nearly vibrating with impatience.

“Okay, okay. Who is it? Is it someone we know?” Yuji questions, leaning in closer.

Megumi looks at you again, and you give him a reassuring nod.

Then, with a small smirk tugging at his lips, Megumi casually slips his hand into yours, right there in front of them.

At first, there’s silence. Complete, deafening silence.

Yuji’s mouth falls open, eyes flicking between your joined hands and your faces, his brain clearly short-circuiting.

Nobara, on the other hand, just stares. Blinks. Then her hands slowly rise to cover her mouth, her eyes growing impossibly wide.

“Wait—” Yuji finally speaks, voice squeaking a little.

“YOU—YOU AND—”

Megumi sighs.

“Yeah. Me and (y/n). We’ve been dating for a while now.”

That’s when all hell breaks loose.

“WHAT?!” Yuji practically screams, jumping up from the couch and pointing at your intertwined hands like they’re some sort of mythical creature.

“NO WAY! This whole time? You guys were dating this whole time?!”

Nobara just starts shrieking incoherently. It’s a mix of disbelief and outrage, her voice a high-pitched wail as she dramatically collapses onto the couch like she’s been personally betrayed.

“YOU HID THIS FROM US?!” she yells, clutching a pillow like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded.

“HOW COULD YOU?! I THOUGHT WE WERE FRIENDS!”

You burst out laughing, unable to keep it in any longer. Megumi pinches the bridge of his nose, clearly regretting every choice that led to this moment.

Yuji is pacing now, running his hands through his hair, still trying to process everything.

“How did I not see it? I mean, I thought you had a crush, but I didn’t think it was… this!” he gestures wildly between the two of you, eyes wide with disbelief.

“Oh my God!” Nobara yells again, standing up suddenly.

“This is insane! You’ve been sneaking around this whole time? That’s it. I demand details! Right now. How long has this been going on?”

“Yeah!” Yuji chimes in, pointing accusingly at Megumi.

“How did you manage to keep this a secret from me of all people?”

You laugh again, raising your hands in surrender.

“Okay, okay, calm down! It’s been a few months. We just didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

“A few months?” Nobara shrieks, grabbing Yuji’s arm like she needs to hold onto something before she passes out.

“That’s practically a year in relationship time! How did you keep this from us? I’m so offended right now.”

“I knew you were acting weird!” Yuji exclaims, throwing his hands in the air.

“All those times you disappeared, Megumi! I knew something was up!”

Megumi groans, running a hand through his hair.

“You guys are overreacting.”

“Overreacting? This is the most exciting thing that’s happened all year and you hid it from us! You’re for the streets, Fushiguro!” Nobara echoes, voice high-pitched with disbelief.

Yuji nods, agreeing way too quickly.

“Yeah, we need details. Dates, first kiss, how did it start, everything.”

Before you can answer, a familiar voice interrupts the chaos.

“Oh, you guys are just figuring this out now?”

You all turn to see Gojo leaning casually against the doorway, a smug grin plastered on his face, arms crossed like he’s been watching this unfold for a while.

“What?” Nobara screeches again.

“YOU KNEW?!”

Gojo shrugs like it’s no big deal.

“Obviously. It wasn’t exactly hard to figure out.”

Yuji’s jaw drops to the floor.

“You didn’t tell us?”

Gojo tilts his head, grinning.

“And ruin the fun of watching you two idiots freak out? Why would I do that?”

Nobara looks like she’s about to combust.

“So, you just let us suffer, while you were sitting there knowing the whole time?!”

Gojo shrugs again, completely unbothered.

“You’re welcome.”

Yuji groans, dramatically flopping onto the couch beside Nobara.

“I can’t believe this. I feel so betrayed.”

Nobara crosses her arms, huffing.

“Yeah, same. This is worse than the time Yuji ate my fries.”

“Hey, that was an accident!” Yuji protests.

Nobara glares at him.

“It was not an accident.”

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pathologicalreid · 1 day

Text

litmus test | s.r.

in which Spencer needs your expertise to help solve a murder, but crime fighting is most decidedly not for you

find more chemist!reader here!

who? spencer reid x chemist!reader category: flangst (like. the end is a little angsty and it has case details) content warnings: typical cm violence, science talk, fem!reader, reader is not built for crime, morgan being an older brother, some fun banter!! death by firework is crazy lmao word count: 1.68k a/n: this is one of my favorite fluff pieces i've written in agessss i missed chemist!reader so much i learn so many things when i'm writing her. this was a request! i hope you like it as much as i do!!

“Do you have a second?” Spencer asks, his voice slightly choppy over the phone. Between his ancient phone and being inside concrete police precincts, some disconnect was bound to happen.

Saving your document to your computer, you rest the lab phone between your shoulder and ear, “If you’re asking me if I have any corrosive chemicals in my hands, the answer is no.”

He chuckles lightly, “I never know with you.”

You roll your eyes in response, even if he can’t see you, “It was one time and I needed a new phone case anyway.”

“You fused the plastic of your phone case to the material of your phone,” he retorts far too quickly for your liking.

“Yes,” you acquiesce, “but I know the exact chemical reaction that caused that phenomenon.” You cross your legs one over the other, maintaining your balance on your lab stool as you speak to Spencer over the phone.

He gave a light hum in response, “Speaking of chemical reactions – I need your help.”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise, “You’re asking me for help in chemistry?” There really was a first time for everything, you suppose.

Spencer was more than capable of navigating a lab on his own, even so, he admits, “You have more applied practice than I do.”

Pursing your lips, you nod to yourself, “Fair enough. What’s stumping you, Dr. Reid?” Your inquiry, while innocent enough, garners a wolf whistle from your graduate assistant.

“There’s something burning a hole in these bones, and I’m not sure what would be causing it to happen this fast,” he explains, giving you minor background information on how long the bones were out and if the medical examiner had treated them with something.

You clear your throat, frowning at the notes you had scrawled down in front of you, “Burning or corroding?” What was seemingly a meaningless distinction would actually allow you to filter through approximately half of the possibilities.

“Corroding,” he corrects himself, “My mistake.”

Crossing off some of your notes, you purse your lips at the new possibilities, “No worries. Did you try flushing it out with water?”

You hear papers flipping on his end of the call before you get a response, “That would destroy evidence.”

“Well,” you raise your eyebrows, “It sounds like your evidence is destroying itself.”

“Baby,” Spencer says in a no-nonsense tone reserved for when he was deep in a case. You could’ve sworn you heard Morgan in the background of the call mocking him for the pet name.

Turning back to your notes, you sigh, “Yeah, yeah, all work and no play. Was the body buried?”

“Partially,” his reply intrigues you, “I can have Garcia send you the crime scene photos if you think it’ll help.”

Wrinkling your nose at the thought, you made an unsure sound, “Right, because nothing says lunchtime like getting up close and personal with a homicide victim.”

“What lunchtime? It’s three pm in D.C. right now,” he caught you, a slight chiding tone in his words.

Ignoring his questions, you ask more of your own, “Was the body near water? Did they test the pH of the soil and water?”

There were more papers flipping, likely someone presenting the results of those tests to him, “Yeah, the soil was a five-point two and the water was a seven-point eight,” he listed off for you.

While your knowledge of the pH of the soil in Iowa was limited, you did know that those levels were pretty on par for the northern Mississippi River. “O-kay,” you say, extending your vowels, “and they didn’t find anything else on the scene that points to corrosive materials. Hydrofluoric acid?” You posit, “No, you know what – maybe you should send me those files. My work email is encrypted, you can give it to Penelope.”

He speaks to someone else in the room with him and you resist the urge to ask him if he’s enjoying Iowa, “It’s sent,” he confirms with you.

Pulling up your email only takes a moment, and once you get over the initial shock of seeing a dead body on your computer screen, you lift your lab glasses to the top of your head in order to get a better look. “I mean,” you think for a moment, “those look like alkali burns to me. I’ve never seen them on bones before, but you should do a litmus test to check either way.”

“So, we rinse it with water?” He asks, seeking instruction from you in a way that makes you feel oddly powerful.

Your eyes widen, “No, no, no. If it’s a metal compound then it’ll be covered in a mineral oil, so rinsing it with water would actually make the burn worse.”

Pausing for a moment, you consider the possibility that Spencer didn’t have the luxury of time – he was trying to solve a murder, not do experiments in a lab.

“Alkali burns can be serious, it all depends on what caused them, and most are helped by rinsing with water. So, unless you have the time to test for metal compounds, I’d go ahead and rinse it. You might want to brush the damage to the bones with a dry brush first. If there’s lime on the bones it’ll foam, which not only will corrode the bones even further but it might release a toxic gas,” you have no idea how the corrosion would interact with bone marrow, but something tell you that you don’t want to know

“Wait a minute,” Derek interjects, being included in the conversation now that Spencer put the call on speaker, “I thought things like alkaline water were good for you.”

You scoff instinctively, “Oh, there’s no definitive evidence that shows alkaline water as having any real health benefits. Especially not the benefits that the internet says it has.” Straightening up in your stool, you continue, “In fact, there is evidence from the NIH that says drinking alkaline water could cause kidney damage. There’s a particular-“

“My bad,” he interjects, effectively stopping your rambling before it really took off, “I forgot whose girlfriend I was talking to.”

Groaning at your new vexation, you huff, “Oh, fuck off, Derek. Go kick down a door.”

Spencer quickly switches the phone back, “Thank you, angel.”

Squinting at the photos that were still on your laptop screen, a crude, disturbing thought came to mind, “You know, sparklers can cause alkali burns. It might be something to consider because of the diameter of the burns.”

Your boyfriend was silent on his end of the call for so long that you had to check and make sure the call hadn't dropped. “Did you say sparklers?”

“Yep,” you confirm, “like the ones you can get everywhere this time of year.”

He says something to Morgan, placing his hand over the receiver so you can’t hear, “There’s only one spot in this town, though. I’ve gotta go, see you soon.”

“Stay safe, please! I prefer your bones unburned,” you rattle off into the phone before it clicks, placing the phone back on the stand and deleting the crime scene photos from your inbox.

The front door to the apartment opens and shuts quietly, with Spencer under the assumption that you already went to bed, he was surprised to find you on the couch, nursing a cup of tea. “Hey, baby,” he chirps, unusually peppy for this time of night.

“Hey,” you say half-heartedly, threading your fingers through the handle of the mug.

Your somber tone gets Spencer’s attention, “What’s wrong?”

The slight panic in his voice causes your eyes to snap up to his, “Nothing,” you murmur. “It’s just… the woman who was in those pictures. There- the burns on her bones, they were signs of torture, weren’t they?”

You’d been thinking about the burns ever since Spencer showed them to you, “Yes,” he answers with a reciprocating softness, sitting down next to you on the couch. “The medical examiner concluded that she was burned antemortem.”

That woman had been burned alive by fireworks, sparklers had seared their way through skin and muscle until it finally met her bones. You blink a few tears from your eyes at the thought, “I like my lab, Spence.”

The confusion on his face was palpable, “I know you do.”

“I like my minimal human interaction and my chemicals, and I like knowing why certain things cause certain reactions. I like it when things make sense.” You take a deep, shaky breath, “Killing someone. Torturing someone with fireworks. That just doesn’t make sense to me.”

You had no interest in hearing the excuses that the killer had provided. You had no interest in hearing the psychological breakdown of that woman’s killer. Spencer knows that, “The photos got to you?”

Taking a sip from your mug, you nod solemnly, “I can’t stop thinking about the way it must have felt. Oh, the smell must have been horrible. That poor woman.” In theory, it was a ridiculous notion, killing someone with fireworks seemed neither probable nor possible. Yet here you are.

“But we got the person who killed her,” Spencer reassures you, resting his hand gently on your knee. “We couldn’t have done it without you,” he adds.

Your face warms at his compliment, “I wish I could have helped before she was killed.” You were grateful that Spencer hadn’t passed on any personal information about the woman, it was easier for you if you kept things in separate storage files in your mind.

Spencer hums, reaching out and sweeping a strand of hair behind your ear, “There’s always going to be another one. I’m sorry about the photos, I should’ve made sure Garcia only sent the necessary ones.”

Nodding absentmindedly, you look at him thoughtfully, “This will pass, but for tonight I just feel bad for the victim.”

“I can have Penelope share some of her favorite baby animal videos, if you’d like,” he offers softly, resting his head on your shoulder.

In return, you give him a small smile, “Well, I suppose it really can’t hurt.”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #spencer reid x fem!reader #written by margot #chemist!reader

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verstappenverse · 2 days

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Not Over Yet

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: In the heat of a painful argument, you declare that your relationship with Max is over, leaving him desperate to hold on.

1.3k words / Masterlist

The deafening silence of the Monaco apartment was suffocating. The echoes of the fight still rang in the air long after the words had been spoken. Max sat on the edge of the couch, his fingers gripping the fabric so hard his knuckles were white. You stood across the room arms wrapped tightly around yourself, as if trying to hold everything together.

“We’re over, Max.” The words hung heavy in the room, each one feeling like a stone dropped into a deep well.

He looked up, his blue eyes wide with shock and disbelief. “What?” His voice was low, barely above a whisper, as if he couldn’t believe what he had just heard.

You turned away from him, unable to face the hurt in his eyes. The hurt that mirrored your own. “I said, we’re done. I can’t—” You struggled to keep your voice steady. “I can’t keep doing this.”

The argument had started hours ago—something small, something insignificant that had spiralled out of control like it always did these days. The never-ending travel, the constant pressure. You knew what you were signing up for when you fell for him, but lately, it felt like everything else in your life had taken a backseat. There were always missed dinners, cancelled plans, and nights where you felt like the third wheel to his love affair with the track.

Max’s eyes hardened for a moment, his pride kicking in as he stood up and paced the length of the living room. “You think I don’t give enough to this relationship?” He snapped, his voice rising. “I work my ass off every day, trying to make sure we have everything. I’m always thinking of you, even when I’m on the track. I—”

“It’s not about the money or the success, Max!” you interrupted, your voice breaking. “It’s about us. About how I feel like I’m always second to everything else in your life. Like I’m not as important.”

Max stopped in his tracks, his back to you as he exhaled sharply. He raked a hand through his tousled hair, trying to calm his emotions. “That’s not fair,” he muttered, his voice quieter now, but still laced with frustration.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, feeling the tears threatening to spill over. “What’s not fair is me feeling alone when you’re standing right next to me.”

He turned to face you, the anger in his eyes replaced with something softer. But it was too late. You couldn’t bear to look at him any longer. The weight of your decision pressed down on your chest, and you took a deep breath before you spoke again.

“We’re over,” you whispered. The finality in your voice made it feel real. “We have to be.”

Max’s face went pale. He took a step toward you, but stopped himself his hands twitching at his sides. He looked at you, really looked at you, for what felt like the first time in weeks. “You…you don’t mean that.”

“I do.” You choked on the words as soon as they left your lips. You didn’t mean it. Not really. But you couldn’t keep living in the shadows, couldn’t keep pretending like everything was fine when it wasn’t.

Max’s heart hammered in his chest the fear of losing you clawing at his throat. He had faced impossible races, gut-wrenching crashes, the pressure of the world’s expectations—but nothing compared to the panic that gripped him now. The thought of losing you of truly being without you, was something he couldn’t handle.

He shook his head slowly, refusing to accept what you were saying. “No. No, we’re not over.”

You blinked back the tears, confused by the certainty in his voice. “Max, you can’t just—”

“I’m not letting you go,” he interrupted, his voice firm but low, almost pleading. “I know I’ve been…distracted. I know I haven’t been there the way I should. But you don’t get to decide we’re done. You can’t just give up on us. Not like this.”

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of you moved. The apartment felt too small, too full of emotions that neither of you could control.

You felt your defences crumbling, your heart aching at the sincerity in his voice. But the hurt was still too raw. “It’s not that simple, Max.”

Max closed the distance between you in a few quick strides, his hands coming up to gently cup your face, forcing you to look at him. His touch was warm grounding you in a way only he could.

“Listen to me,” he said, his voice softer now, desperate. “I know I’ve made mistakes. But I love you. You. You’re not second to anything. You never were. I’m an idiot for making you feel that way, but please…please don’t give up on us.”

You wanted to believe him, wanted to let the walls you had built around your heart crumble. But the fear was still there—the fear that things wouldn’t change, that this would be your life forever, always wondering if you were enough.

Max’s thumb gently brushed away a tear that had slipped down your cheek, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hope. “I can’t lose you,” he whispered, his voice cracking just slightly. It was rare to see Max like this, so raw, so open.

You closed your eyes trying to steady your breathing, trying to find the words to say. “Max, I just… I don’t know if I can keep going like this.”

He pulled you closer his forehead resting against yours as he took a deep, shaky breath. “Then tell me what to do. Tell me how to fix it. I’ll do anything.”

His words were sincere, and you could feel the desperation in his voice. It wasn’t like Max to beg, to be so vulnerable, and it only made your resolve weaken further.

“I don’t want us to be over,” you finally admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I don’t want to feel like I’m always competing for your attention either.”

Max pulled back slightly, his hands still gently holding your face as he looked into your eyes. “You’re not competing. I love what I do, but I love you so much more. There’s no competition.”

It was the first time he had ever said it so clearly, so bluntly and it took your breath away.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I forgot about what really matters. You. Us. I swear to you, I’ll do better. I’ll make time for us.”

His sincerity was undeniable, and for the first time in a long time you felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe things could change. Maybe you could find a way to make it work.

You let out a shaky breath, leaning into his touch. “I don’t want to lose you either Max.”

Relief washed over his face and he pulled you into a tight embrace, holding you like he was afraid you might slip away if he let go. “You won’t. I promise you won’t.”

For a long moment you stayed there, wrapped in each other’s arms the weight of the fight slowly lifting as you both began to breathe a little easier. The future was still uncertain, and there would be more challenges ahead, but for now you were both willing to try.

And for the first time in a long time, it felt like the two of you were on the same team.

Max pulled back slightly, his lips brushing against your forehead. “We’re not over,” he said softly, as if he needed to hear it out loud.

You nodded, resting your head against his chest listening to the steady beat of his heart. “We’re not over.”

#max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #f1 x reader #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen masterlist #max verstappen x you #f1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #max verstappen blurb #max verstappen x y/n #max verstappen angst #max verstappen one shot #max verstappen oneshot #f1 x you

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snowballseal · 1 day

Text

How they react to you having a lot of tattoos

LaDS X Reader

Anon Request: I was curious if you would be willing to write the boys reacting to a partner with a lot of tattoos? I feel like MC is pretty covered up and as someone with full sleeves and a large back piece, it’s always interesting to see how people react to seeing them.

Note: Y’all killing me with these fun requests 🥺 I love this. I only have a few minimalist tattoos, but I want MORE. Thank you for the lovely request, anon. The scenarios were fun to think of.

Word Count: who’s to say 🤷about 1000 each

---

Rafayel

The first time Rafayel sees your tattoos is when you go on a date to the beach. You’re not even thinking about it as you change in the bathroom. When you decided to become a hunter, you knew you would have to cover up your tattoos. The policy, while being outdated in your mind, isn’t all that bothersome since you prefer to wear long sleeves anyways.

So it never occurred to you that Rafayel had never seen the full expanse of the ink on your body.

Which is why, when you step out and his eyes go impossibly wide as he looks at you, mouth dropping open, you’re first and foremost confused.

“What?”

Wrapping your arms around yourself, you feel an inkling of insecurity curl in your chest as you look down at your two-piece. It’s nothing immodest, just a blue bikini that you thought was cute and also met your standards for support. It’s a little frilly, but a part of you thought he’d love that.

“Do you not like it? I don’t uh, I don’t have anything else to wear…” Your voice comes out uncharacteristically meek.

That seems to snap Rafayel out of his daze. The artist shakes his head, the tips of his ears going positively red, as he still can’t rip his eyes from the lines decorating your skin. He reaches out, tracing the gentle petals of a flower on your waist.

“How come you’ve never shown me these, cutie?” He asks, voice touched with awe.

Oh. Heat creeps up your neck. So that’s what he was on about. You glance down at your body. You suppose it is a little jarring. It’s not like you’re covered head to toe, but you’re definitely a well covered canvas. Both of your arms have partial sleeves that curl up around your shoulders and continue along your collarbone. A large collection of flowers adorns the right side of your waist, traveling down your hip and turning into a pattern of vines down your leg. You have a few other ones, some silly, some heavy with meaning.

“Sometimes I forget I have them,” you admit a bit bashfully. Rafayel gives a low hum and your breath catches as his fingers continue to trace the lines on your waist, his touch warm and ticklish. “I’ve had some of them since before I started training.”

“I have to say, I’m a bit jealous that another artist has touched your body,” he murmurs, voice dropping to something low. His hand slips around your waist, drawing you closer so he can trace his lips over the intricate ink on your collar bone, ocean eyes glinting up at you with something possessive yet overflowing with adoration. “But even I have to admit this is beautiful work. Befitting my queen.”

Your cheeks go warm. As red at the tips of his ears. There’s something so reverent about his touch and it makes your heart flutter wildly, but you’re all too keenly aware that you’re still in public.

Not that it stops you from poking the fish.

“Would it make you feel better to know my newest one is for you?” You ask, reaching to touch his cheek with a teasing smile.

Rafayel’s face lights up. He draws back immediately, looking over your tattoos like an eager child until he spots the fresher ink on your left leg. You stifle a giggle as he drops to his knees, fingers curling around your ankle to pull your leg off the ground so he can get a better look.

“Rafayel!” You bark out a laugh, balance stolen away. It forces you to lean on him just so you don’t fall over. “Geez, I could have just sat down, you know!”

“This is for me?” Rafayel, oblivious to your complaints, grazes his fingertips tenderly along your skin.

Shaking your head, you give his hair a playful fuss, “Yes, you impatient fish. It’s not done yet, but it’s about us.”

It’s the beginnings of an ocean scene. A beach circles right above your ankle, depicting the silhouettes of two younger kids, their hands clasped in a promise. As the ink continues up your leg, it transforms into what looks like a night sky, but instead it’s water, swirling lines of blue and purple, full of schooling fish, one in particular standing out, bright red among the cool tones. A familiar symbol. And on the back of your calf swims a graceful looking figure, reaching for the light, edges blurred between fish and man and water.

A lump forms in Rafayel’s throat as he touches the red fish, a familiar warmths spreading across his chest as the same symbol glows faintly. Seeing it on you fills him with an emotion he can’t quite explain.

“You do realize what this means, right?” Those ocean eyes flicker up to you. They glint like dark pearls, iridescent and beautiful, yet carry a depth of emotion that makes your breath catch.

“I do,” you answer unwaveringly.

Rafayel’s lips pull into a small smile. He never expected someone to do something like this for him. Though, of course you would. And it’s beautiful.

“It’s a stunning piece,” he murmurs eventually, leaning forward to press a kiss to your knee, right above the ink, his hair tickling your thigh, “Though I still think the canvas is the most beautiful thing of all.”

A snort escapes you and you bite your lip, heat rushing back to your cheeks, “You’re ridiculously corny, Rafayel.”

“I know.” His smile shifts into a wolfish grin as he stands up, scooping you into a hug. You squeal as he spins you around, holding on tightly despite knowing he’d never drop you. It’s only when you’re positively red that he stops, his mirthful eyes watching your face. “It’s worth it if I get to see this face. I swear, cutie, if you do more things like this, I might become unbearable.”

“You never could,” you giggle and loop your arms around his neck, “Though, I was thinking maybe next time, you could come with me?”

Rafayel raises an eyebrow, “Oh? You want to get matching tattoos? I’ll admit, I’ve never considered it…but if it’s with you, I can’t think of anything more fitting.”

“You’ll have to design it, of course,” you hum, tone turning a little more excited, “Oh, I can’t wait! It’ll be so fun! We can do it the next time I take a break, and after swimming season, obviously.”

Leaning in, Rafayel gives you a short kiss, laughing against your lips, “Anything you want, my lady. As long as it’s with you, I’ll enjoy every minute of it.”

---

Zayne

The first time Zayne sees your tattoos is when you reunite at Akso. You’re not sure how long it’s been, having only seen him every so often at Grandma Josephine’s for dinner. All you know is that he’s been busy, and is now one of the most remarkable young doctors in Linkon.

And also your new primary care physician.

“Knock knock.”

You rasp your knuckles lightly against the door to his office, eyes lingering on the nameplate displayed prominently beside it. A strange sense of pride swells in your chest. To think, your childhood best friend would reach such heights.

“Come in,” Zayne calls, voice as aloof as ever.

You slip into his office and let the door shut behind you. The doctor sits at his desk, flicking through a file on his tablet. You hesitate on the edge of his peripherals, not sure exactly what to do or how to act. It’s been a long time since you two have been truly close, not since- But you’ve missed him.

A lot.

“My apologies, my previous surgery ran longer than expected so I am still collecting your records.” You blink, his voice drawing you back out of your thoughts. “You may take a seat if you’d like.”

“Okay.”

Maybe you’re the only one who feels weird about it. He seems completely unaffected, like you’re a normal patient, ever the professional. You awkwardly drag a stool a little closer to his desk, just far enough to not seem weird and so it doesn’t feel like you’re looking over his shoulder.

After the silence goes a tick too long, you can’t help but break it, fingers fiddling nervously with your sweater, “How have you been, Doctor Zayne?”

A faint smile ghosts across his lips. You haven’t changed one bit.

“I’ve been well, thank you for asking. Work has become quite constant, so I’m afraid I haven’t been able to accept many of Josephine’s dinner invitations.” His eyes dart over to you briefly before focusing back on his screen. “You look like you’ve been doing well since we last saw each other.”

“I have,” you chirp, anxiety easing up a bit, “I’m really close to being finished with training and finally joining the Hunters Association. You should try to make it to dinner this week though! Grandma really misses you. She talks about you all the time.” You falter, cheeks warming a little. “...We’re all really proud of you, Zayne.”

Zayne’s fingers freeze against the tablet. An indecipherable look crosses his face, but he schools his features quickly and gives you a small smile.

“Thank you…you both have always been so kind to me,” he murmurs and finally turns to face you, “I’ll try my best to make it to dinner this week.”

Your face lights up, excitement sparking in your eyes. “Okay! I’ll let her know! She’ll probably make all your favorites. They haven’t changed, right?”

Zayne shakes his head, and you can’t help but kick your feet giddily. It’ll be nice to catch up. You have so many questions, and also so many stories to tell from your training days.

“Now that those plans are made, shall we proceed with your exam?”

“Right, right.” You almost forgot that’s what you’re here for. Nerves coming back, you shuffle on top of the stool. “What do you need me to do?”

“First, if you would remove your jacket, I’ll take your blood pressure and listen to your heart,” he instructs, voice settling back into something professional and neutral.

As Zayne turns away to fetch whatever tools he needs, you make quick work of taking your jacket off. The room is a little chillier than you expect. You wrap your arms around yourself to chase away the goosebumps that erupt across your skin. Your eyes stay glued on Zayne though, watching as he pulls a stethoscope and blood pressure monitor from one of his drawers.

“Do you usually do exams in your office?” You ask offhandedly.

“Not usually. As a cardiothoracic surgeon, I don’t often conduct general exams,” he hums, cleaning off the blood pressure cuff with a sterile wipe.

“Am I special or something, then?”

“With the rarity of your protocore syndrome, I thought it would be most effective to handle your care myself, yes. Though if it makes you uncomfortable we can-”

Zayne’s words cut off as he finally looks back at you. Surprise flickers across his face.

You freeze like a deer caught in headlights, though you don’t know why. Is there something on your face? A stain on your tank top? You glance down, finding nothing of the sort.

“What? What is it? Do I have something on me?” Your hands flicker up to your face, but you don’t feel anything.

Zayne blinks and shakes his head as if coming out of a stupor. The lightest blush warms his ears.

“My apologies. I just wasn’t aware you had so many tattoos.”

Oh. Holding out your arms, you look over the expanse of ink on your skin. You guess it’s a lot. It has taken you a few years, but you’ve effectively covered your arms and shoulders in art. Most of it is florals, with small, meaningful symbols or items hidden in the foliage. You also have a few others, though they’re covered by your clothes.

“I guess you wouldn’t have seen them,” you hum thoughtfully, “I wear a lot of long sleeves to Grandma’s dinners. And work requires us to cover them up.”

“They’re quite intricate.” He sets his tools aside, drawing his chair closer to you. His hand reaches for your arm, but pauses, his eyes darting up to yours. “May I?”

“Go for it,” you whisper, feeling a little bashful now that his attention is focused solely on you.

His fingers graze your wrist lightly, as if he’s scared to press too hard. You watch as he silently turns your arm over, taking in every minute detail of your tattoos. He lingers a little longer on the small, anatomical heart at the center of it all, surrounded by gentle jasmines. They’re incredibly well done, even he can see that, and they all look like they were done some time ago.

Something melancholic and sentimental settles in his chest.

“I remember when you were just a little girl, crying over her popsicle…You truly are all grown up now, aren’t you?” His voice is thick with something you can’t quite pinpoint, his touch turning impossibly tender as he traces the lines up your elbow.

Your heart flutters a little too wildly for your likings. “You’re all grown up too, mister chief cardiac surgeon. That’s a lot bigger than some tattoos.”

Another smile pulls at his lips, breaking his impassive facade.

“These have all healed well, though,” Zayne says, a spark of mischief flickering in his eyes as that strange emotion recedes, “You must have taken good care of them, and that alone is an impressive feat for you. That’s how I know you’ve grown up.”

A mock gasp escapes you and you pull your hand away to press it against your chest. If only to break the contact so he doesn’t notice your racing pulse.

“Doctor Zayne, I am deeply offended at your insinuation,” you insist vehemently, “I am a responsible person, soon to be an amazing hunter! I know how to take care of myself.”

“Says the woman who walked on a sprained ankle for a week out of pure stubbornness.”

“How was I supposed to know it was sprained?”

“I told you it was.”

---

Xavier

The first time Xavier sees your tattoos is after a mission that doesn’t go quite right. You come home with a bandage wrapped around your shoulder and chest, and the added instructions to change the gauze once a day. Which, of course, you can’t do yourself.

“Xav?”

Xavier glances up from where he’s sitting in the sun, a book long forgotten in his lap. Those sleepy blue eyes land on you questioning. You shuffle awkwardly in the doorway, a roll of gauze in your hand.

“Would you help me real quick?” You mumble, a soft blush warming your cheeks, “I can’t uh, I can’t change them myself.”

“Of course,” he hums immediately, standing and stretching languidly, much like a cat. “I am at your service, my lady.”

“Thanks,” you sigh, shoulders sagging, which sends a twinge of pain down your arm.

It was a nasty cut. You had been so focused on fighting one wanderer that you hadn’t noticed another smaller one appearing behind you. It was your fault, and thankfully it didn’t hit anything serious, but it was in just the right place to make moving your arm difficult.

Xavier silently leads you back into the kitchen. Taking the bandages from your hand, he pulls out a chair and motions for you to sit. You do so carefully, not wanting to jostle your body too much. The hunter sets the gauze aside and kneels down in front of you, his fingers finding the hem of your sweater and pausing, placid blue eyes turning up to you in question.

Ever the gentleman.

A tiny smile pulling at your lips, you offer him a small nod. That’s all he needs to pull it off, his hands moving slowly, with the utmost care. Thankfully, the room isn’t too cold, the setting sun pouring through the window and warming the space. The fabric musses your hair as he slips it over your head, and you instinctively reach up to fix it.

Completely missing the way Xavier’s eyes go wide as he looks down at you.

There aren’t a lot of things that catch the hunter off guard. But the ink covering your skin certainly does. Even with the bandages, he can tell it’s expansive, curling around your shoulders, dipping down your upper arms, painting the entirety of your back. It’s reminiscent of Starry Night, hundreds if not thousands of strokes forming delicate lines that follow the natural curves of your body, flowing so beautifully that they practically beg his fingers to trace them.

And as always with you, Xavier has a startling lack of self-control.

You blink at the feeling of his fingers grazing your uninjured shoulder. His touch is so light, you could almost mistake it for a breath. Almost like he’s worried he’ll hurt you.

“Is something wrong?” You ask, voice twinged with concern as you try and twist to look at where his touch lingers against your skin.

“Stay still,” Xavier orders gently, and you freeze, brows arching in confusion. Realizing you're panicking a little, the hunter leans down to press a kiss to your forehead, offering a soft explanation, “You never told me you have so many tattoos. I simply want to appreciate them.”

“Oh.” Your nerves fizzle out, replaced with an embarrassed tinge of excitement. So that’s what this is about. “I forgot I haven’t shown you them yet. I guess I’m so used to them that I forget they’re there, especially since I have to cover them for work.”

Xavier shifts behind you, fingers following the lines over your shoulder. They bleed into a wash of color, dark blue and purple and pink splashes across your back. A small planet of light sits between your shoulder blades, numerous stars dancing around it. His touch lingers on the planet, a flicker of light spilling from his fingers as his evol reacts unprovoked.

“What made you choose this?” He asks, voice wavering imperceptibly.

“I’m not sure,” you hum, shrugging your good shoulder, “I’ve always liked space. My grandma used to take me to the planetarium a lot when I was young, and I used to have dreams about it, of floating between planets and exploring the stars. I always felt drawn to this one planet, it was so pretty and it looked like it was made of light, but I could never reach it…”

Philos.

Something twinges in Xavier’s chest. How strange. You don’t remember the planet, that’s for certain, yet some part of you was still connected to it. To your home. To him. All this time…

“It’s beautiful,” he all but whispers.

Heat tinges your cheeks. That’s not usually what people say. It’s not for everyone, you know that. It’s a lot of ink, but you dreamt for so long about getting it. Still, most people usually just make offhand comments, not exactly rude, but not exactly compliments either. Like, oh that must have hurt a lot. Or, you must have saved a lot of money, huh?

Never beautiful.

And yet Xavier traces your ink with what almost feels like admiration. It makes your heart flutter with an uncharacteristic shyness, shoulders jolting up to your neck.

That’s when you remember your injury.

Letting out a low hiss, you drop your shoulder quickly as pain sizzles down your arm. Both of you had practically forgotten about it, caught in the moment. Xavier’s brow furrows again, an apology floating past his lips as he draws his fingers away - much to your disappointment.

“It’s okay,” you breathe, offering him a weak smile, “I just pulled it a little funny. We should probably check it, though.”

“Alright, I’ll be gentle,” he murmurs as he reaches for the edge of your bandage.

“...Thanks, by the way.”

You’re not sure what exactly you’re thanking him for. Helping you or his sweet reaction to the art decorating your skin. Maybe both.

And Xavier must know. He leans down, lips ghosting over your shoulder is an adoring kiss.

“Of course, my star.”

---

Sylus

The first time Sylus sees your tattoos is, of course, on the night you attend the auction. There’s no hiding the ink covering your body when you’re wearing a dress, after all. If anything, though, you think they’ll help you fit in a little better in the N109 Zone.

And you love the reaction Sylus gives you when you step out into the foyer.

For the briefest moment, his eyes go wide. Shock, perhaps the rarest emotion you’ve never had the pleasure of seeing on him, flashes behind those carmine eyes. In an instant, it disappears though, hidden with his usual cocky expression, one of his fine brow ticking up in amusement.

“I’ll admit, sweetie,” the man hums, “You’ve surprised me.”

You flash him a cat-like grin, satisfaction burning deep in your veins, and give a little theatrical spin, “Not what you were expecting, huh?”

Hardly a single part of your body remains untouched by ink. Most of the designs are artistic. Flourishing lines twisting and curling around your muscles, strangely reminiscent of the form his evol takes. They form a network of delicate webs across your body, sometimes forming shapes, sometimes with words written along the fine linework.

It’s hauntingly beautiful. Sylus can’t help but let his eyes slowly rove over your form, taking in every detail. They’re like a map, and his fingers are itching to explore every part of you, to see just how far the ink slips below the hem of the dress. A dress which he bought for you yet can’t be bothered to even notice now, not with such a dazzling sight set before him.

“Who knew the kitten would turn into a tigress at night,” he murmurs, voice going low and teasing as he slowly circles around you, a predatory glint in his eyes.

Your boldness wavers.

Sylus always seems to have that effect on you. Like a lamb straying from the herd and being found by the wolf. Prey before a predator starved, maw open and hungry, as if he could consume you whole. And all you can do is hold your ground, even if your legs shake, like that little lamb’s.

“Careful, Sylus,” you whisper, trying to appear unshaken by not following him with your eyes, despite the unease you feel not knowing exactly where he is, “This tiger has claws.”

You feel more than hear his presence come up behind you. A shiver traces down your spine when his breath skates over your ear, warm and far too intentional. In the same way, his fingers trace reverently down your arm, following the path of your ink, until they can intertwine with yours and draw your hand up to his lips.

“And that’s how I prefer you.” His voice is low, a mere rumble against your skin as he kisses your knuckles. Another shudder. “After all, it would be a shame to declaw such a beautiful creature. Even if she likes to scratch.”

God, you hate him.

You hate that it takes everything in you to rip yourself away from his enticing warmth. You hate that your heart is racing against your ribs, like it’s trying desperately to escape. And you especially hate the absolutely smug grin that plays on his lips (and the fact that you want to kiss it so badly).

“You’re teasing me,” you breathe unsteadily, putting space between the two of you.

Something dark flashes in his eyes, “Whatever do you mean, sweetie? I was merely giving you a compliment.”

“Then you give weird compliments,” you fire back, arms wrapping around yourself. “It sounds more like you’re making fun of me.”

Sylus pauses. Those ruby red eyes narrow on you thoughtfully, his lips pressing into a thin line. A tick of silence. Then his expression smoothes into something almost soft, and he takes a few measured steps towards you. Long fingers graze your palm again. A question.

And you give in far too easily, not fighting as he intertwines your fingers once again. His other hand skirts along your exposed shoulder, following the lines of your tattoo as they fade at your neck. You’re frozen under the sudden tenderness of his touch, your pulse racing against his fingertips.

“My apologies, kitten. That wasn’t my intention,” he murmurs, eyes boring into yours with an unnerving genuineness, “I simply meant that your tattoos are...befitting of your character. You are truly…” He looks you over once more, his gaze leaving a tantalizing heat in its wake. That dangerous smile curls his lips again. “Captivating.”

You inhale shakily.

No one has said something like that to you before. Not that you can remember, at least. It would sound cheesy from someone else, but from Sylus? The intensity of his tone leaves you feeling as unsteady as your heart. Lightheaded.

All you can do is blink up at him, eyes wide and doe-ish. No smart retort or comeback. Your mouth, in fact, feels remarkably dry. It fills the man with a touch of pride, rendering you so speechless.

Not one to let you stay dumbfounded for too long, though, Sylus lets out a smooth chuckle and taps your chin, “Careful, sweetie. If you look at me like that, I might just think you’re falling for me.”

Which of course works. Because he knows you better than you know yourself.

“I am not!” You squawk, face going up in flames. “You just surprised me, that's all! I didn’t know you were capable of such niceties.”

Sylus grins, drawing away as you swat at his hand, “Then it seems that we’re even.”

You scowl at him. So not fair.

“Now, would you like to accompany me to this auction, sweetheart?” He offers his arm. You keep your pout up for only a few seconds before giving in and slipping your hand around his elbow begrudgingly. Sylus hums in amusement, leaning in to press a ghost of a kiss against your cheek. “Looking like this, you’ll have no trouble getting the results you’ve been searching for, tonight. You’ll be the perfect distraction, my dear.”

“Well then, let’s not keep them waiting, shall we?”

---

Not gonna lie, Sylus' was probably my favorite. In my head I was kind of picturing the tattoos that Anthony Padilla has (from smosh, yes, sue me), and I just think he would totally call you a tiger since he likes calling you kitten.

Hope y'all enjoyed!

I'm really feeling some angst next possibly...

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justmymindandstuff · 3 days

Note

Can you do Aemond x f!reader? And the reader being a lot like Helaena (I'm projecting lol, I want an autistic reader basically). Just fluff between them, maybe newlywed?

Learn to Love you - Aemond Targaryen x WifeReader

summary: Aemond tries to understand his new wife, but you are too much like his sister. He can't get through to you. One evening he tries it with direct confrontation and is rewarded with a glimpse of you and hope for the future. After this evening his wife is not a complete stranger anymore.

words: 2.818

warnings: softAemond, a bit angst

a/n: based on the request above. Unfortunately it didn't turn out quite as fluffy as it should. I hope you like it anyway :) I'm not autistic myself and don't want to hurt any feelings with the portrayl of the Reader. I based her on Helaena in the show.

Gif not mine// English is not my first language// no use of Y/N // AO3 // not proofread// requests are open

Aemond moves quietly through the halls of his home. The Red Keep slowly goes calm. The sun has already set, and most have retreated to their private chambers. Aemond is tired and longs for his own chambers and his bed. He had spent the evening a little longer than usual talking with Ser Criston. The sworn shield of his mother and he had trained together in the courtyard in the morning. Criston had discussed a few improvements with him. If his sore muscles would allow it, Aemond would try out the improvements tomorrow. But before he can retreat for the evening, he still has a task to complete. He still has his evening visit with his wife to attend to.

His marriage is not really how he imagine it would be. It's been almost a week since you two got married. You've known each other for 10 days. When you arrived at the Red Keep and he saw you for the first time, he had been relieved. A pretty face and a friendly smile had greeted him. Aemond tried to get to know you and realized that you are more than just a pretty face. You are nice, polite, smart, well-read, but strange. Often you drift off into your own world. Captured by your thoughts. You will be in a place where Aemond cannot follow you. And he quickly realized that you can't stand it when he touches you.

During your wedding ceremony, you didn't touch him more than necessary. The touch of your lips almost triggered a panic attack for you. You tore your hand away from his. Aemond would have liked to hold your hand a little longer. On this night, he did not dare to lay with you. This didn´t change over the last week, so you are still a maiden. Not that Aemond has told anyone, and as far as he knows, you haven't said a word either.

Maybe it's because he is a stranger to you? Aemond doesn't really know what to do. He doesn't like the situation. But he also doesn't know how he should change it. His usual solution, Vhagar, will definitely not work here.

He tried to seek advice from his brother. I don't know. With Helaena, it was different. I knew her well before we got married. For your wife, you are just a stranger. Aegon is right but Aemond didn't know how to change that.

So he went to his mother. Give her time to get to know you.

Both pieces of advice only led him to visit you every evening and try to get to know you. However, you mostly sit there in awkward silence and do not look at each other. You still feel uncomfortable in his presence he knows this.

Arriving at your chambers, he takes a deep breath once more and steps inside. The room is still lit by a few candles. He closes the door and watches as you pace restlessly in front of the fireplace.

"You are later than usual." you say, stopping in your movement. Now that Aemond is here, the unrest fades a little. Still, it bothers you that he doesn't come to visit you during his usual time frame. It's actually almost time for you to call your maids so they can help you change and you can go to sleep.

“I apologize for being late.” Aemond says even though he doesn't understand why it bothers you. Have you already gotten your hopes up that he won't come today? You look at him for a moment and then nod.

Without saying a word, you sit down in the armchair by the fireplace where you sit every evening. Aemond takes off his sword belt and places his weapon next to the door. He had considered that it might make you nervous that he carries a sword with him. So he puts down his weapon every evening before he sits down with you. Fortunately, you know nothing about the dagger in his boot.

Aemond even had a dagger made for you as a wedding gift. A beautiful weapon, with a gracefully curved handle and on the blade, just before the hilt begins, is a small dragon embossed that is inspired by Vhagar. Aemond hasn't had the chance to give you this gift yet. He knows that you need to get to know him better in order to understand the thought behind it. You should always be able to protect yourself, in case he might not be able to someday.

He shakes off the thought and sits down in the other armchair next to the fireplace. You don't look at him, but into the flames. Just like every evening. When you start to speak in a quiet voice he almost flinches.

"Why are you later than usual?" your hands are playing with the fabric of your skirt. You haven't changed for the night yet. You´re never when Aemond comes into your chambers. Even your hair is still braided into tight braids. Aemond feels like a visitor in his wife's chambers.

"I discussed my training with Ser Criston. There were a few problems this morning," he replies honestly.

Your face shows no reaction as you respond. “Are you hurt?”

Are you worried about him? No. Why should you? He is a stranger to you. But he still worries about you even though you are a stranger to him. After all, you are married. He wished he could read your thoughts.

"No, I am not hurt. Even though I don't really want it, Ser Criston is always a bit cautious during training with me." he is trying to ease your worries. If you are worried. Again, he tries to read your expression, but your face remains still. Your only reaction is that you turn your head to look at him. The fire in the fireplace casts warm light on your profile and your skin shimmers almost like gold. Once again, Aemond notices how beautiful you are. You look at him, and your gaze prompts Aemond to continue speaking. "I don't want him to hold back because, in a serious situation, my opponent won't hold back either."

"Which serious situation?" you still ask in a quiet voice.

"I don't know. If my family is in danger." and then he adds quietly. "If you are in danger."

The corner of your mouth twitch slightly and you almost smile. Then you turn your gaze away again and look into the fireplace. Aemond suppresses the urge to reach for your hand in your lap. Silence spreads again between you. The uncomfortable silence causes a hot burning sensation in Aemond's gut. Still, he can't take his eyes off you. You seem a bit sad. He decides that it can't go on like this. Aemond has to swallow and gathers all his courage to speak again.

"You are not happy."

This time you turn not just your head towards him but your whole body. He is surprised when your gaze meets him and you look directly into his eyes. Rarely can you hold his gaze. Your eyebrows furrow slightly as you think. It takes a moment before you respond.

"No. No, it's just that it's hard for me. My father brought me here, and this is a strange place for me. All the people around me are strangers. I miss my family and my home. Everything I knew was taken away from me. I was used to everything at home. I had my routines and everything. It's hard for me to adjust to all these new things around me. But it doesn't have anything to do with you."

Aemond is surprised by your words and needs a moment to truly understand what you have said. Guilt overwhelms him. It is his fault that you were kidnapped from your home. Because you had to marry him.

"I'm sorry," he says. Now it is him who cannot withstand your gaze and he looks at his hands.

"I don't blame you." once again, you surprise him your voice is now a bit firmer. "It wasn't your decision to marry me. Just as it was not my decision to marry you. That was agreed upon by our parents." you sigh. "You are not happy either. And that is my fault. I know that I'm weird."

"No! I don't find you weird."

You laugh softly and at the sound Aemond's heart skips a beat. He is looking at you again, he wants to hear you laugh once more.

"You don't have to lie."

"I am not lying. I don't find you weird. You remind me of my sister."

Your eyes start to shine. "Hel. I like her a lot."

He feels a slight tug at his heart. Aemond knows that you usually spend your days in the company of his sister Helaena. He has seen both of you walking in the garden a few times or engrossed in conversation while eating. He would be lying if he said he wasn't jealous of Helaena.

"Yes, I know. Do you spend a lot of time with her?“

You nod. "Yes. I enjoy being with her." "What are you doing all day?"“ Aemond is clinging to every strand. Everything is better than this uncomfortable silence between you.

"Oh, very different things. Sometimes we read together, or she explains something to me about insects. Sometimes I read one of my poems to her. Or I’ll give her one to read."

Aemond is captivated by the sparkle in your eyes.

"You write poetry?" he asks, annoyed with himself for not knowing this about you, but Hel did. Your cheeks are slightly turning red, and for the first time, Aemond feels like he can read your emotions from your face.

"Yes, among with other things. I also enjoy reading poetry. My favorite poet is Marcus Hill. He writes incredibly well. My poems are not even close to being that good. But I don't just write poems, I also write short stories. This helps me organize my thoughts better. But I like most writing poems.“ you speak a little faster than usual, which reveals your excitement to Aemond. He can't help but smile at the sight. Now that you are passionately talking about your interests, you are even more beautiful.

Suddenly you jump up from your chair. Aemond's hand instinctively goes to where his sword's hilt usually is. In the next second, it becomes clear to him that there is no danger, and he relaxes again. You didn't notice anything because you turned away immediately and took a few uncertain steps through your chamber before turning back to him. Uncertain, your hands begin to play with the fabric of your skirt. You take a deep breath and then search for his gaze for a second before looking away again. Aemond leans forward a bit, tense with anticipation. Finally you start to speak. "Would you like to… I mean just if you want? You don't have to." You stop yourself, take a deep breath and gathering your thoughts. "Would you like to read one of my poems?" you ask softly.

Aemonds heart skips a beat and a pleasant warmth spreads within him. "Yes. Very gladly."

You nod, turn back around, and walk to your nightstand. You pick up a book with a leather cover and open it. Aemond notices from his seat that it is stuffed with written pages, and almost every book page is filled with your neat handwriting. You rummage through the loose papers and then pull out a page before you close the book again and carefully place it back in its spot. You are coming back to him.

"I wrote this on the day of our wedding," you say, handing him the sheet of paper. In that moment, your fingertips brush against his. The touch is so fleeting that Aemond is not sure if he might have just imagined it.

He turns his gaze away from you and directs it to the folded paper between his fingers. He wants to open it to read your poem, but before he has really moved his fingers, your hand shoots forward and holds his hand firmly. Aemond skin tingles and he lightly closes his hands around yours.

"No. Please don't read it here. That would be too embarrassing for me. Please read it later and tell me tomorrow what you thought," you say quickly. Aemond looks up again and directly into your eyes. He saw you that close for the last time on your wedding day in the sept. A shiver runs through his body and he can only nod. You also nod and allow him to briefly squeeze your hand before you pull back and sit down again in your chair opposite to him. He already misses the feeling of your soft skin under his fingers.

Aemond folds the paper with your face completely again and then puts it in the pocket of his shirt. Suddenly, this piece of paper is his most precious possession.

"Now you know something about me." you notice. Aemond can't gauge whether the fact bothers you or not. He hopes it doesn´t. Before he can ask, you are already speaking again. "You like sword training. I could watch your training?” you suggest.

Aemond thinks about the training courtyard. About the loud clashing of the swords striking against each other, the sreams of the knights, the swearing and the rough manner of speaking among men. And then he thinks of you, his gentle, fragile wife. Sometimes the gentle background music that plays during dinner is too loud for you. You would hate it.

"No, this is not a suitable environment for you, my Lady. The men do not know how to behave in the presence of a princess." he explains.

"Oh."

Aemond sees how you stiffen a little again and turn your gaze back towards the fireplace. The fire is almost out. Aemond is afraid that the closeness he has found today will slip away from him again, and as a result, he starts to speak a bit too quickly.

"But if you want, I can join you on your walk tomorrow?" he is momentarily afraid that this will disrupt your routine, but you look at him again.

"Yes, that would be nice. I always take a stroll through Queen Alyssa's garden after afternoon tea."

Aemond must suppress a smile. He is, of course, well informed about your daily routine. Even though he hasn't really been able to talk to you until today, he has always kept a close eye on what you're doing. "I am happy to be allow to accompany you." his gaze falls on your hands folded in your lap, and once again, longing pulls at him to reach for your hand. "When we go for a walk. Would you allow me to hold your hand then? I know you don't like my touches. But...

"No. It's not your touches that I don't like.I don't like touches from anyone, regardless of who." you clarify things quickly. "But yes. I will allow it. I know about it know, so I can prepare myself for it. If I´m prepared I can hold your hand.”

This time Aemond cannot suppress his smile. A pleasant anticipation for tomorrow fills him and he feels as if he has made a significant step forward in his marriage today.

The ringing of the bell in the great sept makes you both flinch. Startled you look out the window, then you get up and walk through your rooms. "I have to call my maids and go to bed.It's already past my usual time."

Aemond quickly gets up as well and nods. Bad conscience about the fact that he disrupted your routine today weighs on him. He turns to the door and goes to his sword belt to put it back on. As he just fastens the buckle and turns to leave, you turn to him once more.

"Thank you, Aemond. Our conversation was good for me. I enjoyed it very much. I´m looking forward to our walk tomorrow and I'm curious to hear what you think of my poem." and then you smile directly at him for the first time.

His heart starts to race immediately, and Aemond is sure that he has just fallen in love. Unconsciously, he places his hand on the pocket where he has put your poem. Then he returns your smile.

"Yes, I also enjoyed it very much. Good night, my Lady Wife. I will see you tomorrow."

"Good night, my Lord Husband.” you respond still with a smile on your face.

Aemond nods briefly and then leaves your chambers. His steps are light, and he intends to speak with the steward first thing tomorrow morning so that he can arrange for the poet Marcus Hill to be invited to the Red Keep as soon as possible.

#aemond targaryen #Aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #house of the dragon fic #aemond targaryen fanfiction #hotd #house of the dragon fanfic #request

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hyunjins-orange-slice-too · 3 days

Note

Hi can I request first time with chan with shy reader? 🥺👉🏼👈🏼

i’ll help you through it, yeah?

pairing: chan x virgin reader

genre: smut, fluff, friends to lovers

word count: ~2.6k

warnings: mutual pining, pet names, protected sex, praise.

authors note: i have this request in my inbox for other members as well, so look out for those in the future. i have so many requests (tysm btw) so it’s taking me a little while to get through them. i’m trying to do the oldest ones first because y’all been waiting so long. - not me blushing while writing this. i wish my first time was this sweet. lol

masterlist

"i’m just sick of it, ya know?" you complained. "i’m sick of feeling like this. like im unwanted and missing out on something."

your best friend looked at you, intently listening, but worry starting to mar his features. "are people being mean to you because you’re a virgin?" you could sense the anger threatening to rise up out of him at the thought of someone being mean to you.

"no. this is just pressure i’m putting on myself at this point. im too old to still be a virgin."

"i don’t think that’s true." chris said. "i thought you were saving yourself for someone you really loved? wasn’t that the point?"

he was right, you had always said that since you and chris were kids. you didn’t want your first time to be some fleeting, gross experience. you wanted it to be sweet and full of love. but, it didn’t seem like that was working out and you were tired of waiting.

"yeah well i don’t think that’s going to happen." you said, your voice soft, almost sad. "the person i love doesn’t love me, so im just going to have to give up on that." you chuckled sadly, the sound almost a scoff.

"i understand that. im in the same situation." he confided. "but i haven’t given up. i don’t think you should either."

you looked over at him, the space between you both on the couch was small. you could feel the warmth radiating off of him. that’s just how chris is. he’s warm. he’s warm and he’s safe and.. how could you not be in love with him? your heart longed for him to be the one to take your virginity. your heart ached with the thought of it.

he looked back at you with his big brown eyes, his curly hair tickling his eyelashes. and he thought you were the most beautiful person he had ever seen. why couldn’t you just see how in love with you he is? he hated himself for not being able to confess to you. for not being able to just come clean and tell you how you are the center of his universe. but he was scared. to have you as his best friend and to long for you but never have you was better than telling you and losing you all together. but maybe.. he could try to help you with your current problem? see how things went and then he could decide from there what he would do.

"i could maybe.. help you." chris said shyly, rubbing his sweaty palms together in his lap.

you were shocked. "help me? with this?" why would he offer to help you unless he also wanted to? you felt a small bit of hope bloom in your chest.

"only if you want to." he said quickly. "i’m not trying to push myself on you. i’m just trying to help. we don’t have to."

you thought about it for a moment, your body screaming at you to say yes. but your mind was telling you everything that could go wrong. what if he hated it? found you gross and laughed at your inexperience? you brushed those thoughts off. you and chris has been friends for over fifteen years. he would never do something like that to you. he was kind.

"i would be okay with that.." you said. "but it might not be very good."

"i’ll help you through it, yeah?"

you loved him. god you loved him. this was the right decision,you knew that.

he scooted closer to you on the couch, your thighs pressed against each other. he touched your face, turning you to look at him. he looked in your eyes before saying "if you want to stop, just tell me,okay? i won’t be mad." you nodded as he looked down at your lips. and ever so slowly, not wanting to overwhelm you or scare you, he leaned it. his pillow soft lips made contact with yours and you were done for. he moved his lips against yours, his hand moving to cradle the back of your head. your hands found their way around his neck, tangling in his curls.

this felt so right, but your stomach churned with worry. your body was still tense.

"sweetheart, relax." he whispered against your lips. "you know me." he kissed you again, his tongue grazing your bottom lip. you felt embarrassed. kissing chris felt like the first time you had ever kissed anyone,even though that wasn’t the case.he had you so flustered, your lips weren’t listening to your brain’s commands. you opened your mouth and let his tongue in. he tasted sweet.

he pulled away, admiring your flushed cheeks. "do you want to move to your bedroom?" he asked. you nodded, and he stood, offering you his hand. he led you though your apartment and to your bedroom, knowing the way by heart. standing at the edge of your bed, he pulled you close. he kissed you again, his hands finding their way under your shirt, tickling the skin of your tummy.

"can we take this off?"

your hesitation made him pull away, studying your face for any signs of wanting to stop. "would it help if i took mine off first?" you nodded again, thankful for his suggestion. "you want to help me?"

you grabbed the hem of his black shirt and pulled it up and over his head, discarding it on the floor. you looked at him, at his body. you had seen him shirtless multiple times over the years. summers spent together swimming and early mornings at his apartment after late night study sessions, but this was different. his chest was bare because he wanted you to see it. and that made your skin hot.

"now you.." he said, reaching for your shirt slowly, giving you time to protest. but you didn’t. you let him pull your shirt off, leaving you standing in front of him in your jeans and lacy black bra. his eyes grew wide, his breath catching in his throat. could he do this? you were so beautiful and he hadn’t even seen all of you yet. you were starting to squirm under his stare. his hands were warm and soft as they grazed over your skin, his arms wrapping around your waist as he moved to kiss you again. his fingertips danced up your back, until they unclasped your bra and it fell to the floor. he continued kissing you, not looking at your bare chest right away, giving you time to get used to being bare in his presence. you nipples brushed against his chest, growing harder. arousal pooling between your legs as his kisses moved to your jaw and then your neck.

he took his time with you, slowly placing wet kisses on your skin as he guided you to the bed. he laid you down gently, his body hovering above you. he kissed down to your collarbones, across your chest and down to between your breasts. he looked up at you, his lips still pressed to your skin. your cheeks were red, your mouth slightly open as you tried to draw in breath. he saw no signs of stopping in your eyes. no , they begged him to continue. his lips closed around one of your nipples, his tongue gently caressing the nub. his hand gripped your waist as he sucked on your nipple, your hands balled into fists at your sides.

"you can touch me if you want to, baby." he said, his breath blowing cold against the wet skin of your breast. "don’t hold back."

he kissed his way across to your other nipple as you brought your hands to his hair. he started to move lower, until his lips were against your belly button, and even lower still until his tongue was running along the top of your jeans. "can i take these off?" he asked, fingers grazing over the button and zipper. with your approval, he carefully unbuttoned them and slid them down your legs, revealing your panties that matched your bra. he looked up at you, his face only inches from your center. "you’re so wet, baby." he said. "i can see a little wet patch on your panties."

your face flushed and you turned your head, hiding your embarrassment in your pillow.

"hey.. hey.." he said, his hand finding yours, tangling your fingers together. "don’t hide, baby. let me see your pretty face." you did your best to look at him, trying not to focus on your insecurities, but trying to focus on him instead. you squeezed his hand, his kind brown eyes showing nothing but love. he kissed your hip, and across your skin until he was placing a gentle kiss on your clothed clit. you jerked slightly. "is that the spot baby?" you nodded, biting your lip.

he pulled away, standing up. he chuckled at your pout, your little whines of protest. "just let me take these off." he unbuttoned his jeans, and kicked them to the side. he was only wearing his underwear now, his erection causing the material to stretch uncomfortably. he admired your body from this angle. your arms wrapped around your middle, your legs bending, trying to cover yourself. "don’t." he said, grabbing one of your wrists in each hand and holding your arms out. "let me look at you, baby. god, you are so beautiful."

his hands found their way back to your breasts,squeezing slightly before his fingertips grazed down your skin to the elastic of your panties. he hooked his fingers around them. "can i take these off? can i see your little pussy?" you lifted your hips in answer, helping him slide them off. you were completely naked in front of him now but you didn’t have time to be self conscious about it. his lips were already back on your skin,kissing everywhere he could reach. "fuck you’re so pretty." he mumbled against your tummy. "been dreaming about this."

what did he mean by that? you wondered.

"can i see you too?" you asked, your voice sounding so loud to your own ears, having been silent for so long. but you were starting to feel more comfortable. he made you feel so safe.

"of course you can." he said, straightening again to take his briefs off. and now you got to admire him for a moment. the hard muscles of his chest and abdomen leading down to his hard and leaking erection. the first thing you thought was that he was big. but honestly, you didn’t really have much to compare it to.. so what did you know? "don’t worry baby. we’ll go slow." he said, sensing your hesitation.

he leaned down to kiss your lips once again, his fingers making contact with your wetness. he rubbed soft circles on your clit. you grabbed onto his shoulders, your small whimpers falling into his mouth.

"does that feel good?" he asked.

"yes.." you breathed. "so good."

his fingers traveled down through your folds and teased your entrance. "i’ve got to prepare you a little bit, okay? like this.." and he slid one finger inside of you slowly, pumping in and out. you had done this to yourself before but this was completely different. you had never felt like this before. "there you go, baby." once he felt you had gotten used to the first finger, he added a second. he moved them in and out slowly, his thumb rubbing softly on your clit. you could feel your orgasm building. you were embarrassed by how quickly it had come. but you had been waiting so long for him to touch you like this, you couldn’t help it. he could feel you fluttering around his fingers. "are you going to cum?" he whispered against your neck, his lips pressing soft kisses, his teeth nibbling.

"yes.. yes fuck." you panted.

"go ahead, baby. let go."

and you did, you clamped down on his fingers, his name falling from your lips as your body shook.

he had been fantasizing about you moaning his name like that for so long now that it took everything in him not to bust right then. he took a deep breath, pulling his fingers out of you. you watched as he brought them to his mouth and licked them clean, your pussy dripping and pulsing, begging for more. he leaned over the side of the bed and fished a condom out of his pants pocket.

"are you ready?" he asked, holding the condom up.

"yes please." you said, breathless.

"ooh so polite." he teased, giggling as he tore the foil pack open. you watched as he pumped himself a few times, precum leaking from his swollen tip, before sliding the condom down his length. he leaned down and cupped your face, kissing you softly. "remember, we can stop at any time. just tell me. okay?"

"i don’t want to stop." you said, desperate. "please don’t stop."

he smiled. "i won’t unless you tell me to." he knelt in front of you, his hands on your knees, spreading your legs. he lined himself up with your entrance before slowly pushing the tip in. you gasped and his head fell back, his mouth open. he slowly inched his way inside, giving you time to adjust. you whined under him, your eyes squeezing shut at the stretch. "i know, baby. i know." he said. "you’re doing so good." once you felt his thighs on the back of yours, he stilled. letting you properly adjust to his size. he could feel you pulsing around him, his cock begging to cum. "i’m gonna move now, okay?"

you nodded frantically. "yes. yes please, please."

he slowly pulled out and pushed back in, his pace increasing with each thrust. he wasn’t going to last much longer. he knew that. "fuck— baby you feel so g—good." he stuttered. his hands were digging into your hips as he pumped into you. his mouth open, his eyebrows scrunched together, his hair sticking to his forehead. "are you doing okay?"

"fuck yes.." you gasped. "gonna— gonna cum."

he could feel you squeezing around him. he fell down on to his elbows, his arms caging your head, his panting breath in your ear. he continued pumping in and out of you, the wet sounds filling the room. "cum with m-me baby." he said. "fuck- fuck-"

you squeezed him tighter as your orgasm washed over you, you vision going dark. his thrusts got sloppy and then stopped all together as he spilled into the condom. he collapsed next to you, his panting matching your own. he lazily kissed your jaw and your shoulder. "i love you.." he said.

you froze.

"shit- sorry." he said. "i- i didn’t mean to ruin the moment.. it slipped out."

you turned to face him, his brown eyes looking worried. "i love you too.."

his hand caressed your cheek, his thumb rubbing softly back and forth. "really? you’re not just saying that because your overcome with emotion right now?"

you shook your head no. "i’ve been in love with you for a while now.." you confessed.

he chuckled. "i’ve been in love with you for a while. guess we were both too scared to say anything."

you nodded, feeling blissfully happy. you nuzzled into his chest, wrapping your arms around his waist.

"are you okay?" he asked. "was that.. okay?"

"i feel amazing." you said, your voice muffled by his chest. "i’m glad i waited for someone i truly love."

"gahh my heart." he said, squeezing you tighter,

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requiemforthepoets · 2 days

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Would you be interested in writing something for Oscar? I feel like he would be the perfect guy to have your firsts with, so understanding and cute like imagine having your first kiss with him. He would be so understanding and would kiss you with so much care and ugh I need me a man like him☹️ would you be down to write something like that?

in a world full of wrong, you’re the only thing that’s right 𖦹 OP81

PAIRINGS: oscar piastri x female!reader

SUMMARY: the idea of falling in love scares you, but at the same time, you long for it. wanting to experience how it feels like having someone by your side.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: thank you for your request! i’m sorry that this one took days, i had already finished the original version of this one, but i was not happy with it so i scraped it off and decided to write a new one. i had also took some creative liberty if it’s alright with you. i hope that this one is up to your expectations. enjoy! :)

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WORD COUNT: 2.7k

WARNINGS: not proofread, typos, no use of y/n, traditional upbringing, reader is an only daughter, overthinking, anxiety, fear of falling in love, and some fluff

You had never been in a relationship before Oscar. In fact, you had no idea what being in love was even supposed to feel like at all. So when your friends came to you, venting about their partners or asking for some advice, you would just sit there, nodding along, and pretending to understand everything that they were saying. But the truth was that you were clueless. You had never experienced the ups and down that they spoke of. No fights over silly things, no making up with heartfelt apologies, no lingering fear of being left behind. Part of you had always wondered what it would feel like to have someone special, someone to lean on, but another part of you was terrified–utterly terrified of the vulnerability, terrified of the idea that maybe one day, that person you end up with could hurt you.

You had been raised in a traditional household, the kind where dating wasn’t just for fun, but that is meant to last with the intention of marriage. Your parents always told you to be very careful, that relationships were serious and sacred. It doesn’t help that you are an only child as well, so your parents can be really overprotective of you. So, when you found yourself daydreaming about having a boyfriend, the thought would always come with a sense of guilt. You’d see your friends with their partners and wish, even just for a second, that you could have that too. But then again, these fears would creep in–what if he cheated? What if he wasn’t who you thought he was? What if you weren’t enough? The doubts swirled around in your head constantly. But then, everything changed when you met Oscar.

You met him in a way that you never expected you would. It was during a vacation in Monaco with some friends. The week had been loud and chaotic–late night dinners, laughter, and a bit of madness here and there. Needing some peace and quiet, you decided to stroll around by yourself. The streets of Monaco were breathtaking, and you let yourself get lost in the gorgeous scenery, with your thoughts floating somewhere far away. So far that you didn’t even notice the guy speeding towards you on his bike. Before you knew it, he swerved, narrowly avoiding a collision, but you lost your balance and tumbled to the ground.

“Shit! Are you okay?” The voice was concerned but soft, and when you looked up, you saw a pair of worried eyes staring down at you. He had already jumped off his bike and was holding out his hand to help you up. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there,” Oscar said, pulling you to your feet gently. His touch was warm and cautious, as if he was afraid you’d break.

“No, no, I should have been paying attention,” you quickly brushed it off, though your heart was racing for more reasons than just the fall. Up close, he was…well, you weren’t sure if it was the adrenaline or something else, but he was strikingly handsome. You didn’t know if it was love at first sight or from the shock of falling, but something inside you shifted in that moment.

“You sure you’re okay? I feel terrible about this.” He frowned slightly, scanning you for any sign of injury. “Let me take you to a hospital, just in case.”

You laughed nervously. “I’m fine, really. There’s no need for that.”

He didn’t seem convinced at all, but after some insistence, Oscar backed off. “Alright, if you’re sure. At least let me make it up to you. How about some coffee? My treat.”

Well, that’s pretty much how it all began. One coffee turned into another, then into long conversations about everything and nothing. You couldn’t quite believe how easy it was to talk to him. Usually you’d find yourself nervous around guys, but he was kind, thoughtful, and never made you feel uncomfortable and pressured. Slowly, those coffee dates turned into something more, and before you know it, Oscar had asked you to be his girlfriend. Though you couldn’t help but cringe when you thought back to the moment you said yes to him. You had never been so flustered, unsure of how to respond, that instead of a kiss like a normal person, you just gave him a hug. A damn hug. You had felt his arms wrap around you tightly, his laughter vibrating in his chest.

“So I take it that it’s a yes, then?” he had asked, his voice teasing but soft.

You had nodded into his shoulder, very embarrassed beyond belief. But Oscar being Oscar, he didn't care. He hadn’t even brought it up afterwards, as if he’d expect nothing more than that simple embrace–and that’s what you loved about him. Oscar never pushed you, never made you feel like you always had to rush into anything. He was patient and understanding in a way that felt comforting. Sometimes, late at night, you would lie next to him, just staring at the ceiling, wondering how you got so lucky. The fears you once had, the doubts that plagued your mind–none of them seemed to matter anymore every time you are with him.

One evening, after spending the day together exploring the city, you found yourselves sitting on a park bench, watching the sunset. It was quiet, the kind of comfortable silence that you loved and felt like home.

“Do you ever wonder if this is all real?” you asked him, your voice barely above a whisper. Oscar turned to look at you, his expression gentle. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know…sometimes I just can’t believe this is happening. I never thought I’d be in a relationship like this. Felt overwhelming and surreal sometimes.” he smiled, reaching out to take your hand in his. “I get it. I never thought I’d meet someone like you either.”

You blushed at his words, feeling the warmth of his hand in yours. “You really mean that?”

“Of course I do,” he said, squeezing your hand lightly. “You don’t have to worry, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

At that moment, you knew. You knew very well that all the fears you once had, all the time you had spent overthinking and countless anxiety–they didn’t matter anymore. None of it matters anymore. With Oscar, you felt safe, loved, and secured in a way you had never imagined. He wasn’t just your first boyfriend, he was your first in everything–the first person to show you what love really felt like.

Six months into your relationship with Oscar, you had managed to avoid what most people would consider a natural part of being a couple–kissing him on the lips. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to, hell you definitely do want to kiss him so badly, to the point you had daydreamed about it plenty of times, thinking about how his lips might feel against yours. But every time you thought about it, your mind would spin, and your nerves would take over. You’d never kissed anyone before, and the idea of messing up, of completely not knowing what to do, terrified the shit out of you. Sure, you had kissed him on the cheeks, hugged him endlessly, but never once had your lips touched his. You couldn’t help but wonder how Oscar was so patient with you, how he never complained or pushed for more, he was very understanding in a way that made you feel safe. Sometimes, you even questioned how he could be satisfied or survived with just a few cheek kisses.

Yes, you had been raised in such a traditional household, but Oscar was special–so incredibly special–that the pressure you put on yourself to make the moment perfect felt overwhelming. Still, you knew that at some point, you’d have to gather the courage to just do it. But every time you tried to psych yourself up, you’d just freeze, thinking about it drove you crazy. There would be times where you’d hear people joke about you being a prude, or wonder aloud how anyone could go long without kissing their partner on the lips, but the truth was, you were just terrified.

Then came Baku. It was Oscar’s second win at the Baku Grand Prix, and you had traveled to the race with his family to cheer him on. The excitement in the air was evident as you stood by the barricades at the Parc Fermé, anxiously waiting for him to climb out of his car. Your heart raced as you watched him pull into the P1 space, his car coming to a stop, and pulled himself out of the cockpit.

Your heart nearly stopped when he stumbled slightly as he got on the top of his car, and you had to suppress the urge to vault over the barrier to make sure he was okay. But Oscar quickly steadied himself, he then pulled off his helmet and balaclava in one smooth motion, his hair a sweaty mess, but his eyes bright with victory. Oscar spotted you instantly, a wide grin breaking out across his face as he ran quickly towards you, and before you knew it, you were wrapped up in his arms. You held him tightly, feeling the energy and adrenaline coursing through him as he hugged you back.

“I’m so proud of you,” you whispered against his shoulder, the words almost lost in the noise of the crowd. “You were incredible.”

Oscar pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands finding their place gently on your cheeks. His thumb brushed your skin softly, and for a brief moment, the noise of the world around you seemed to fade away. He gazed at you with so much love in his eyes, the kind that made your heart flutter. Oscar had always been patient, understanding, never once pressuring you into anything you weren’t ready for. He knew about your fears, about how you hadn’t had your first kiss yet, but you had never told him why. Even without knowing the full reason, he had always respected your space and waited for you to feel comfortable.

But something was different today. The way he looked at you was different, and you felt it too–a shift inside you, a calmness you hadn’t expected. You weren’t scared at this moment, not with him. Somehow, Oscar seemed to sense that change too. He smiled softly, his hands still cradling your face as he leaned in just slightly.

“Is this okay?” he asked quietly, giving you the chance to back out if you needed to.

Your heart raced in your chest, feeling like it was gonna leap out from your chest, but for the first time in months, it wasn’t out of fear. It was out of love, out of excitement, out of knowing that this was the moment. You smiled up at him, nodding gently. That was all he needed.

Oscar’s touch remained as gentle as ever, his hands caressing your face as he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. It was familiar, comforting, something he’d done a thousand times before. Then, he kissed the tip of your nose, making you giggle softly, your nerves starting to melt away. Then finally, he leaned down and kissed you on the lips.

The world seemed to stop as his lips met yours, soft and warm, and everything you had feared about this moment vanished. It wasn’t awkward or overwhelming like you had imagined–it was simple, perfect. Oscar kissed you gently, not rushing, not pushing for more than you were ready for. It was the kind of kiss that made you feel safe, like he was letting you know that this was just the beginning, and there was no need to rush. When he pulled back slightly, his forehead rested against yours, both of you smiling softly, sharing a private moment amidst the chaos of the race celebrations around you.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Oscar teased you lightly, his voice warm and full of affection. You laughed softly, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “I guess not,” you whispered, hands still resting against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips.

Oscar smiled, kissing your forehead again, and you knew in that moment that no matter how scared you had been before, being with him made everything feel right.

Later that evening, after all the chaos of the podium celebrations, press interviews, and flood of congratulatory messages, you found yourself in a much quieter setting with Oscar and his family. The energy from the race still buzzed in the air, but there was a sense of calm now, a comfortable warmth that filled the room as you all gathered around for a private celebration. You felt so at home with his family, like you were part of the family, and in moments like these, you couldn’t help but think of how lucky you were to have Oscar and this incredible group of people who treated you with so much love.

Dinner was simple but perfect, the conversation flowing easily between stories of the race and light-hearted teasing. You were sitting beside Oscar, with your hand resting comfortably under the table, something that felt so natural now, like an unspoken connection between the two of you. He would glance over at you every now and then, giving you that boyish smile that made your heart skip a beat every time. The moment you shared earlier at the track still lingered in your mind–your first kiss. It felt surreal, but in the best way possible.

After the dinner, Oscar had asked if he can spend the remainder of the night with you alone, to have some private moment. His family agreed and a few teasing had been made as well, but you and Oscar just laughed. By then, you decided to return to the hotel, to have some private and alone time with each other. Oscar sat beside you on the couch, his arms draped casually around your shoulders, pulling you close. His fingers played lightly with a strand of your hair as you leaned into him, your head resting on his chest. The bustling noise of the city seemed to fade into the background as you focused on the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath you.

“You know, I’ve been thinking about that kiss all night,” Oscar whispered suddenly, his voice low so only you could hear him. Your cheeks flushed, and you turned slightly to look up at him, your lips curling into a shy smile. “Yeah? What about our kiss?”

He grinned, eyes twinkling with amusement. “It was worth the wait. I’ve been waiting for that moment since the day I met you. Being it during my win made it more special.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes playfully, though the butterflies in your stomach refused to settle. “You’re just saying that.” Oscar chuckled softly, his thumb brushing gently over your shoulder. “I’m serious. I’m not sure you realize how patient I’ve had to be. But you’re worth every second.”

You felt your heart was about to combust at his words, and you felt yourself melt a little more into his side. There was something about the way Oscar always knew how to make you feel special, how he could say the simplest things and make you feel like the most important person in the world.

You smiled up at him, your voice soft as you said, “I’m really glad it was you. I’ve always been scared of what it would be like, but you made it…perfect.”

Oscar’s expression softened, his eyes full of that warmth and affection you had come to adore. “That’s all I wanted. For it to feel right for you.” Leaning up slightly, you placed a gentle kiss on his cheek, feeling a surge of affection as you did so. “Thank you for waiting.”

“I’d wait a lifetime for you if I had to.” he smiled, resting his forehead against yours for a moment before pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

For the first time, you felt like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

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ariestrxsh · 13 hours

Text

🖤 content warning: 🖤 smut, heavy step sibling kink, brutal face fucking, breath play, dacryphilia, degradation, humiliation, light praise, roughdom!stepbro!chris, bratty!stepsis!reader

🖤 author's note: 🖤 this is not incest!!! the characters are step siblings. i'm aware that it's still morally grey for some people. totally get it. if you don't like the concept, don't read it bc it will literally be impossible for you to forget they're step siblings. 😭 i just need rough dom stepbro chris more than i need air in my lungs. (this joke will be even funnier to you after you read this fic if you do.) and last thing: sorry x100 for writing this lmao. and a super big sorry to anyone who's on my taglist who didn't wanna read this.

🖤 summary: 🖤 after arguing about whose turn it is to do the dishes, you and your step-brother chris decide to have a breath-holding contest, but there's only one way chris can be sure that you're playing fair.

holdyourbreath

"So, are you going to do the dishes before my dad and your mom get home?" Your eyes darted up at Chris, your disgusting new step brother, from across the room while you were curled up on the living room floor next to the dim lamp with a warm blanket and a good book.

"Are you fuckin' with me, kid? I thought it was your turn to do the dishes," Chris replied smugly, glaring at you from his gaming chair as he sat in front of the TV, mindlessly playing some dumb Modern Warfare whatever number they're on now.

"I did them last night," you responded defensively, your voice becoming shrill. "Yeah, and I did them two nights in a row before that. What's the big deal?" Chris snapped back, rolling his eyes at how whiny you were.

You resented how hard-headed he was, especially because you were hard-headed, and there was only room for one stubborn person in this house.

His mom had met your dad about six months prior and three months into knowing each other, they eloped, and now you were stuck living under someone else's roof with an obnoxious, gross, smug step brother who never carried his weight around the place and made everything everyone else's problem.

You weren't the type of person to use the word hate lightly, but you hated Chris.

"Chris, can you please just do the dishes? I'm busy. I'm right about to reach the climax in this book," you responded in an agitated and slightly desperate tone. "Well, I'm busy, too. I'm about to go climax after this game," Chris chuckled at your word choice.

"Ugh, you're disgusting!" You slammed your book shut, shooting him a look of contempt. "Sorry, princess. Did I ruin your climax?" Chris smirked, motioning towards your book and biting his lip.

You almost got up and just did the dishes yourself, because you knew they needed to be done, and despite how much you didn't want it to be true, Chris was perhaps, even more hard-headed than you, but you had an idea.

"Let's settle this like adults. Breath holding contest. Whoever holds their breath the longest doesn't have to do the dishes tonight," you suggested, and Chris gave you a look like you'd given him an offer he couldn't refuse.

You and Chris were both competitive, and contests were often the only effective way to settle arguments between the two of you. Sometimes it would be rock, paper, scissors. Or a staring contest. Or a one-on-one game of basketball. Anything you guys could turn into a competition really.

"Deal," Chris confidently responded, pausing his game and spinning around in his chair until he was facing you. "Okay, on the count of three," you said, setting a stopwatch on your phone, and the two of you both took in a deep inhale before holding your breath as long as you could.

You and Chris stared directly at each other, giving each other dirty looks and sizing each other up, both trying to gain dominance over the other. You didn't really care to stay true to the game and play fair. When you started running out of air, you slowly exhaled through your nose, cycling your breath and hoping Chris wouldn't catch on.

You couldn't let that smug bastard win. After all, it was his turn to do the dishes, and your book was way more important than his stupid video games.

After the stopwatch hit a minute and a forty-five seconds, Chris' face was turning a bit red. He pinched his eyebrows together and scrunched his nose at you in a look of displeasure, and after about fifteen more seconds of this, Chris let out a long, angry exhale. "Fuck you, you're cheating!" He accused you.

"I am not!" You snarked back, but the way your voice naturally raised an octave or two had even you unconvinced of your own lie. "Bitch, you didn't even breathe out before you said that. And you don't look or sound out of breath at all," Chris replied, narrowing his eyes at you and clenching his jaw.

"I wasn't cheating," you said, avoiding eye contact. "You were, and I can prove it," Chris licked his lips maliciously and grinned at you. "You can prove it?" You said in a skeptical tone, testing him. Chris stood up, slowly sauntered over to you while you were still sitting on the ground.

He peered down at you with a darkness in his eyes as he started unfastening his belt and unbuttoning and unzipping his pants. "What the fuck are you doing?" You asked, glaring up at him, but your eyes fell and widened when he pulled out his big, juicy dick. It was already hard and the tip was swollen and shiny with a layer of precum.

Conveniently for Chris, your jaw dropped as you studied the way his veins webbed out across the backside of his shaft, and he took this opportunity to grab onto the back of your head and shove his throbbing cock into your gaping mouth. He let out a satisfied exhale and his eyes gently rolled back as he relished in the wet warmth you provided for him.

He held your head in place and forced every inch down your throat until you could feel the hem of his shirt tickling your nose. He reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone, and he opened the stopwatch function on it. He then placed it into your trembling hand.

"You're gonna hold this for me, you fucking cunt. You're gonna hold it up so I can see it, and we're gonna count together how long you can hold your breath, yeah?" Chris said through gritted teeth before hitting the start button.

Chris' left hand was still tangled in your hair, and with his right hand, he pinched your nose closed between his thumb and pointer finger. "Be a good girl and hold your breath for me," he whispered to you, admiring the way your soft, pretty lips looked keeping his cock warm for him.

"Come on, princess. It's only been fifteen seconds. I know you can keep going since you're so good at holding your breath, right?" He taunted you as he peered down at the tears forming in your eyes.

"Like having your step brother's dick in your mouth? I bet you do. Didn't even put up a fight or nothin', you just let me stick it in," Chris spoke to you in a low, dominant voice that immediately had your pussy drooling for him. "Thirty seconds," Chris relayed, his eyes bouncing back and forth between your pretty little mouth and the stopwatch.

"Fuck, it's so nice to have some peace and quiet around here for once. No bitchin', no complainin', no whinin'. Just the sweet sound of you gagging on me," Chris moaned, gently rocking his hips back and forth and relishing in the soft choking noises that came from you, his belt buckle softly clanking against itself.

"See? Now that's what it looks like when you're actually holding your breath. Forty-five seconds," Chris smirked down at you, noting how red your face was getting from lack of air.

He started to fuck your face a little rougher, still cutting off your oxygen flow, the sound of the metal on his belt getting louder. You could feel his tip grazing that spot at the back of your throat, tickling your gag reflex. You could feel his pretty veins with your tongue as it rested on the backside of his length.

"You like having your mouth used by your step brother? I bet you like when I remind you what I am to you, huh? Does it make you wet? How wrong it is?" Chris teased you, thrusting back and forth, his eyes rolling back into his head as several animalistic moans left his mouth.

You didn't want to admit it, but Chris was right. There was something about it that was so taboo that you couldn't help but soak your panties while Chris used you however he wanted. "One minute. You already look like you need air, princess," Chris taunted you, his jaw slacking as he looked down at the tears rolling down your cheeks. "So pretty when you cry for me," he let out a breathy moan while he threw his head back.

Your heart started pounding in you ears, your palms were sweating, and your eyes felt like they were going to bulge out of your head. You did secretly love choking on your step brother's gorgeous cock, but you really couldn't breathe, and you didn't have the lung capacity for this.

You took your free hand, made a fist with it and started pounding on Chris' thigh to let him know you'd had enough. "Admit you lied and that you like this, and I'll let you breathe," Chris cooed, peering down at you and how desperately you gazed up at him.

You were too prideful. Surely, he'd have to let go of your nose regardless of whether you admitted to it or not, right? You pounded on his thigh again.

"All you have to do, princess, is nod your head when I ask you these next few questions, and I'll let go," Chris said to you slowly as if you were dumb. "Did you cheat during our contest and then lie about it?" He inquired, staring down at your makeup streaking down your cheeks. You couldn't take it any longer. You nodded.

"Good answer. Now does it make you wet? How wrong it is to have your step brother's dick in your pretty little mouth?" He asked in a soft, sweet tone, which didn't match the vile words pouring from his pouty lips. Humiliation welled in you, and you looked up at your step brother in shame as you hesitantly nodded your head.

"That's what I thought," Chris whispered, finally letting go of your nose and pulling his meat out of your throat, eliciting several loud gasping and coughing sounds from you before you started violently panting, desperately trying to catch your breath.

"Fuck, I can't believe you liked that. You're so fucked up," Chris whispered, winking down at you and smiling, knowing he liked it just as much. "You know, while I have you here, I may as well have you finish the job, hmm?" He suggested, searching your face for a reaction.

Desperation filled your eyes while you gazed up at him and slowly nodded. You hated the way he had you submitting to him, and so easily, too, but you couldn't help the way it turned you on to think about your step brother busting all over your tongue.

He grabbed the back of your head again and made his cock vanish behind your lips once more. He gripped onto your hair tightly, controlling your movements and causing your mouth to jounce on his meat. His hips began involuntarily thrusting back and forth while he enjoyed the way you graciously took every inch like you were starving for it.

Your tongue danced around on the underside of his shaft, supplementing the sensations he was already giving into. The way you stared up at him with your lips embracing all his sensitive nerve endings made him melt in your mouth, and his eyes started to glaze over. You could tell he was getting close.

"Fuck, you're such a good step sister. Takin' me so fuckin' well," he whispered in a sultry voice, contemptuously smiling at you. You couldn't believe how much you were looking forward to making Chris finish on your tastebuds, and you felt repulsed with yourself for getting so wet at his words. No matter how much you tried to remind yourself what a disgusting, selfish jerk he was, your pussy was drooling for him.

"What would your daddy think if he knew his little princess were choking on my dick right now while he finishes up at work?" Chris seductictively teased you, feeding your humiliation kink.

You didn't need to use your words to tell Chris how much you liked everything he was saying to you. He could tell by the desperate glint in your eye that lingered as he degraded you.

"Want your step brother to cum on your pretty little tongue?" Chris cooed, his movements becoming more jagged and messy as he fucked your mouth. "You gotta beg for it, princess, or else I won't give it to ya," he snarked back, his lips curling into a devilish grin.

You peered up at him in silence. Of course you wanted to taste his seed as it poured from his tip, but you wanted him to beg you to let him cum, not the other way around.

He roughly pulled you off his cock and leaned down so that his face was only a few inches from yours. "I said beg," he rasped. Fuck, you thought when you realized you'd already lost the power struggle the second you cheated during the breath-holding contest.

Chris wasn't the type to let things go, and he didn't care about cumming if you weren't going to beg him. He'd leave himself unfinished just to spite you. "Please, Chris.." you softly whined while you were on your knees peering up at him, longingly. "Please what?" He inquired, needing to hear you say it.

"Please. I want you to fill up my mouth," you quietly admitted. "Good girl. Say it again. Beg harder," he lustfully stared down at you, hanging onto your every last word, but you thought you'd try one more time to flip the dynamic on him.

"Be a good boy and cum for me," your lips curled into a smug smile, but Chris wasn't the least bit amused. "That's not how this works. You are not domming me right now, fucking bitch," Chris said, taking your hair into his tight grasp again and shaking you around like a doll. "I fucking said beg. And if you misbehave one more time, I'll never let you suck my cock again," he threatened. You hated how effective this was.

"No, no, no. Please. I'm sorry. Please finish on my tongue. Please. I'm dying for it. I need your cum flooding my mouth until it's overflowing. I'd do anything for it," you whined, giving Chris exactly what he wanted.

"Fuck. So easy. Such a good girl for me. How could I not reward such pretty words?" Chris cooed, making his wand disappear behind your pretty lips again like some kind of deranged magic trick.

He rocked his hips back and forth, triggering your gag reflex some more and relishing in the lovely sound of you choking on him. His moans became deeper and more urgent as you took him so well. "Good girl. Get ready for me, princess. I'm so close," Chris breathlessly called out, violently fucking your face while he manipulated the movement of your head, still holding your hair in his tight grip.

His guttural moans echoed throughout the house as his dick throbbed against your lips, emitting a hot, thick, sticky substance onto your eager tongue while he pumped back and forth, savoring every last bit of pleasure. "Good girl. Swallow," he commanded you, smiling down at the way you obediently listened.

"Fuck," he whispered when he was done using your pretty little back-talking mouth. As he tucked his satisfied cock back into his pants, he wiped away a tear that was running down you cheek and softly said, "Now those dishes aren't going to wash themselves, princess."

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rs-hawk · 1 day

Note

Beauty and the Beast library smut please? 🙏

Since I'm doing a double upload today, "Day Three" will be a second part to Day Two. If you'd like me to continue this story or anything else for Beauty and the Beast week, my asks are open!

CW: obviously this fic contains smut and graphic depictions. It is intended for an 18+ audience. Slight dubcon/noncon?, breeding, knotting, cum, excessive sizes, pain, overstimulation, biting, blood, etc

It didn't take long for Beast to finish, his cum covering his hand and splattering on some of the books in front of him thanks to his hiding spot of the bookshelf. However, for poor Belle, she was just bringing herself to the edge repeatedly, but unable to push herself over. She was unable to keep up the pace she had set for herself with all of those fingers pushing into herself, as well as play with her clit, but when she stopped either, tears of frustration welled up in her eyes.

Beast continued to watch her as she moaned and cried, trying to set a more brutal pace to stretch herself on her fingers when she stopped circling and playing with her clit. She groaned in frustration and annoyance, it just wasn't as good without the additional stimulation, but she couldn't keep up both. Stuffing her fingers inside of her cunt, she whimpered, rocking her hips down on her fingers.

The scent of her arousal and desperation was so thick in the air that it was already making Beast's brain fuzzy, but when she once again cried out his name, he couldn't control himself. He made his way around the side of the bookshelf, immediately pushing her hand to the side and replacing her fingers with his tongue. She gasped, arching her back as his large tongue found its way deep inside of her sweet cunt, tasting how wet and aroused she was. Beast growled, grabbing her hips and pinning her down when she tried to move.

In seconds, Belle was cumming on his tongue. When she did, her body sagged back slightly, her hole pulsing pathetically around his tongue as if trying to milk him. Beast grinned as he pulled back, his large teeth teasing her inner thighs as he ran his tongue and teeth along the sensitive skin there. His fur was soaked with her juices, which embarrassed her, but he couldn't seem to care any less.

"You didn't have to do that," she said shyly, trying to close her legs to prevent him from seeing just how desperate she was for more.

"I wanted to," he muttered, roughly pushing her legs apart.

She began to squirm slightly in his chair. While she was attracted to him, she still had problems trusting him, and wasn't sure if she wanted him to continue touching her. When she opened her mouth to voice these thoughts, though, he took the opportunity to kiss her, shoving his tongue in her mouth. She groaned against it, tasting herself all over him. His large claws quickly shredded her clothing, leaving soft pink lines that sprung up in places where he had clawed at her clothing too hard.

With the pad of his finger, so as not to hurt her with his claws, he began to circle and play with her clit. She whimpered quietly, squirming again to get away from his touch. It was too much after such an intense orgasm. With his other hand, he yanked her back to him, pinning her down so it was easier to play with her clit. He pulled her tongue out of her mouth, letting her gasp and the sound of her whining be louder, filling the room they were in.

"Beast please," she whined, struggling against his strong grip. "I can't. It's too much."

"Isn't this what you were just begging for? For me to play with you? To use you for my own pleasure?" he growled lowly, his tongue darting out to lick one of her nipples, making her whine again. "Or do you want me to skip to the cumming inside of your pretty pink pussy?"

Belle blushed, her own words being repeated back to her making her feel embarrassed, almost ashamed. She couldn't believe how raunchy she had made herself sound. Granted, she hadn't expected Beast to hear her, but surely she had to have known that there was a chance, right?

While Belle was rethinking her actions, Beast took the way that she was still soaking wet and how her clit was reacting to him as an invitation. Lining up his huge cock with her tiny hole, he slowly began to push himself inside of her. This snapped her out of her thoughts, making her cry out. Even stretching herself with her fingers was no preparation for this. She was being stretched so so slowly, but only because he was moving inside of her slowly. One harsh snap of his hips and she would be wrecked, impaled on his giant length.

She tried moving off of him again, but he pinned her down, his claws digging into her skin. Now her movements annoyed him, making him bare his fangs at her, his tail flicking in irritation as he still made his way slowly inside of her.

"Isn't this what you wanted? To be pinned down and used by a monster?" he growled, having to be more rough with forcing himself inside of her when about half of his cock had been pushed inside of her. "You were just begging me to knot and use you. You went into my library, read my book, sat in my chair, and touched your wet little hole while crying my name, begging for my cock. What, now you don't want it?"

She couldn't respond, crying as she came around his cock again. She was already so close from how he had been teasing her clit again, that between his words and how his cock filled her completely, she couldn't help herself. She felt even more embarrassed, but the gush of it allowed Beast to finally bottom out inside of her.

He roared, biting on her shoulder. Part of him felt bad as the taste of her blood rushed into his mouth, but the way that she was hugging his cock drowned out any voice of guilt. She was pushing down on his cock, grinding against his knot. The things she was saying only came out as incoherent babbles, but clearly she was eager for more. For whatever he could give her, and he planned on just that.

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qwimblenorrisstan · 2 days

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Forgive Me | John Price x Reader

Summary: After a rough day, Price gets home and accidentally raises his voice at you, leading to plenty of apologies, and making up for his mistake.

Word Count: ~ 1.2k

Warnings: price yelling at reader :( angst to fluff to a lil bit of smut, fingering, cuddling, cute snuggly kisses, nothing too bad

Minors, do not interact!

A/N: this was such a cute request from anon, I love price so much…like he’s such a cutiepie y’all don’t even get it, hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

You and your husband didn’t have many arguments.

Sure, the occasional little squabble where you’d only last maybe an hour before breaking and both apologizing to each other, acknowledging your wrongs.

The emotional maturity that both of you shared was something John Price appreciated most about your relationship.

But tonight was different.

He couldn’t even remember what had started the argument.

He’d already been wound up, having driven hours from the base to home after a long day of dealing with annoying recruits while his patience ran thin with their antics and horseplay. It had been a bit entertaining the first few times, but by the 40th time, it was plain annoying.

But they didn’t seem to understand that.

So he’d spent his day yelling at them till his voice was hoarse, some refusing to stop and just continuing what they’d been doing if they were ballsy enough.

And he supposed that instead of reverting into the normal John Price, the Price that was softer and gentler with you, he hadn’t seen the difference between you and those recruits in the moment.

One sarcastic remark, and you were both in the living room, Price pacing around leaving a trail on the floor while ranting in a loud, brusque voice all too similar to a yell. He got so caught up in himself, in his angry tirade of frustration with his day and the current situation, that he hadn’t noticed how he was asking until you muttered a meek little,

“John, you’re scaring me.”

It had floored him completely. Nearly all thoughts shut down at that one little sentence as he stopped pacing, standing stiller than a statue, eyes now observing your red-rimmed eyes brimmed with tears, or the quiet sniffles you were making, trying to hide them as well. He could tell.

Guilt punched him in the gut harder than any enemy had ever done.

He’d never grown up in a bad family, per se. It was just traditional. His father ranted while his mother kept her mouth shut, listening patiently and serving his every need. He could still remember how angry his father had been at his older sister when she’d snuck out with a boy. How his father had screamed at her in the kitchen while she’d sobbed, his mother doing nothing but sitting silently at the table, like a ghost.

He’d been terrified at the time. Promised himself and his future spouse that he would never treat a woman, his woman, that way.

And here he was. Doing the same thing.

“Love,”

He cooed apologetically, eyes crinkling in the corners from worry, brows furrowing as he held both his hands out towards you, watching as your bottom lip wobbled a bit when you took a little step back.

You were afraid.

Of him.

He’d be an idiot to think you wouldn’t have a bit of fear after what he’d done, screaming at you, a small woman, being the large man he was. Of course, you’d be afraid.

“I’m sorry, bird, please.”

He tried again, tone taking on a hint more desperation as he offered you at least a hand. Tears fell freely in streams down your face now, clumping in your lashes and catching in the corners of your lips.

Only when the first sob tore through your body, did you finally relent and fold into his warm, strong arms. His familiar musk, a mix of whiskey, barbecue, and a campfire, enveloped your senses as you buried your head in his shoulder. His hand stroked up and down your back soothingly, large palm gently massaging the tension out unknowingly, while his other hand ran through your hair.

“I know, I was being a right ass, wasn’ I?”

He murmured, the hand in your hair moving to your knees as he gently bent them while picking you up bridal style, your weight barely even noticeable to him as his feet padded against the floor, the door to your bedroom creaking open and promptly shutting behind him before he sat on the edge of the bed with you. The sobs shaking your already-trembling body slowly subsided, leaving you feeling emptier than before.

Now sniffling, tears hardly dried, you replied.

“Yeah, you were.”

His calloused thumb wiped whatever wetness remained on your face away. Your lips were still in a pout, one he tried to erase by gently pressing his chapped lips against yours, pulling away, his eyes gazing deep into yours.

“Really, I’m sorry. Didn’t intend to get carried away.”

He murmured, and you sniffled again before replying.

“It’s fine, I guess.”

He let out a dissatisfied hum, pulling the blankets out from underneath both of your bodies to gently cover you. He was already practically a human furnace, not needing much to warm him.

“It’s not fine, shouldn’t have lost my temper.”

His hands curled around your waist once again, holding you just a bit closer, as if wanting to keep you close. To keep you safe.

You raised a brow, relaxing into the cuddles nicely as you melted into his body, hardly noticing the way his thumbs were rubbing little circles into your hips.

“Yeah? What’re you gonna do to make it up to me, then?”

You teased, voice a bit drowsy already. He let out a small hum of thought, one warm hand slipping down your thigh, slowly making its way in between and rubbing those little circles onto your inner thigh, now.

“I’ve got an idea.”

He mumbled, his hand temporarily returning to him as he licked the pad of his thumb, leaving a bit of spit on it before returning to your inner thigh, the same hand pushing both your shorts and underwear to the side as his thumb slowly grazed through your folds, that bit of spit acting as a lubricant.

A low purr of delight from you, one that only grew more vocal as his thumb began lazy circles around your clit, not teasing or holding back, just slowly working you up until your legs were trembling, hips jerking slightly and little gasps escaping your lips.

“There you go, almost there,”

He cooed as you let a little whimper slip from between your lips, that tight coil in your stomach building and building before your orgasm washed over you like a cool breeze in the summer heat.

“Good girl…”

He murmured softly as his hand slipped out of your pants, adjusting them back into place before going back to holding your body against his, helping you back to reality from whatever clouds your sleepy mind was floating in.

“Mm…John?”

You mumbled against his shoulder, and one hand went back to stroking your hair.

“Yes, pretty?”

He questioned, ignoring the breathy little incoherent noises you kept letting out amidst words.

“I forgive you, really this time.”

An airy chuckle from your drowsy husband as he held you a little bit closer, tucking the blanket in over you as he smiled against your skin, giving your forehead a little peck before he closed his eyes, mumbling one last thing, mainly to himself, before sleep claimed him.

“Don’t know what I’d do without you, love.”

#writers on tumblr #cod fanfic #john price x reader #price x reader #price smut #john price smut #captain john price #john price #captain price #john price fluff #john price angst #light angst #angst to fluff #call of duty #anon ask

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writeriguess · 16 hours

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Could you write something with Love and Deepspace Sylus x female reader, where they are always bickering and reader has a huge crush on him but she thinks he hates her. But one day, after Sylus sees her being tender with someone else, he gets so incredibly jealous of her and they have a makeout session against the wall.

The ship hummed quietly beneath your feet, its distant sounds blending with the ambient noise of the deep space beyond the hull. You sat at one of the control panels, fingers deftly typing in commands. Everything on board was routine—far too routine, considering the heated tension that had been building over the past few weeks.

"Are you even paying attention, or are you just pretending to know what you're doing again?"

His voice cut through the silence like a sharp blade, and you rolled your eyes before turning around, already anticipating the sight that greeted you. Sylus leaned against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, that smug expression of his plastered on his face. His fiery red eyes gleamed under the dim lights, standing out against his pale, almost ghostly white hair that framed his angular face. His lips curved upward, taunting, always taunting.

"Well, look who's finally decided to grace us with his presence," you shot back, unable to resist the usual banter. It had become second nature by now, the back and forth, the teasing, the bickering. Sylus always had a way of getting under your skin, and you hated how easily he did it. Worse yet, you hated how it made your pulse race, how it made your heart stutter every time he was near.

He sauntered over to your side, leaning close enough that you could feel the heat of his body. His breath tickled the side of your neck, but you didn’t dare show how much it affected you.

"If you mess up one more time, I swear I'll—"

"You'll what?" You snapped, spinning in your chair to face him. The space between you was minimal now, the tension palpable. His smirk widened, and those red eyes narrowed slightly, as though he was enjoying how easily he could rile you up.

"I'll take over, obviously. Can't have someone as incompetent as you handling sensitive equipment." His voice dripped with mockery, but there was something else there—something darker, something unspoken. And for a split second, his gaze flickered, betraying an emotion that was neither mockery nor irritation. It was gone as soon as it appeared, leaving you questioning if you’d imagined it.

"I think I can handle myself just fine, thanks," you muttered, trying to ignore the way his presence made you feel. Every time he was near, it was like your nerves were on fire, every word out of his mouth was like gasoline to the flame that burned deep within you.

The truth was, you had a huge, embarrassingly intense crush on Sylus. But he made it impossible for you to act on it—he was always pushing you, always teasing, always acting as if you were beneath him. There were days when you wondered if he truly hated you, and others when you thought, just maybe, he might feel something different. But then he'd pull some stunt like this, and you'd remind yourself that it was probably all in your head.

You stood up abruptly, needing to put some distance between you before you lost control of the situation—before you gave away too much. "If you're so worried about it, why don't you handle the panel yourself?"

His smirk widened, but you didn’t stick around long enough for him to respond. You strode out of the control room, down the narrow hallway of the ship, your heart pounding far too hard for what should have been a simple interaction.

You needed to get a grip. Sylus was nothing but trouble, and you knew it. Yet, you couldn’t help the way your stomach flipped every time he was near. It was pathetic, really, but that didn’t stop the way your thoughts constantly drifted back to him.

Several hours passed before you found yourself in the ship’s common area, trying to distract yourself by talking to one of the crewmembers. He was a newer recruit, younger, eager to please, and he hung onto your every word. You laughed at something he said, a soft sound, but genuine. It felt good to relax, to have a moment where you weren’t constantly on edge.

That was, until you felt the weight of a familiar gaze on you.

Sylus stood at the entrance to the common room, his eyes locked on the two of you, his expression unreadable. But his eyes—those crimson eyes—burned with something dangerous. You could feel the intensity from across the room, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

You tried to ignore him, turning your attention back to the conversation, but it was impossible. Sylus was like a storm, unpredictable and overwhelming, and you were helpless to escape it.

After a few minutes, you excused yourself from the conversation, your nerves frayed by the feeling of Sylus’s gaze still boring into you. As you moved to leave the room, you barely made it past the door before a hand grabbed your wrist, yanking you sharply to the side. You were slammed up against the wall, the breath knocked out of you as Sylus’s body pressed against yours, trapping you between the cold metal wall and the heat of his presence.

"Sylus, what the hell—"

"You think I don’t see what you're doing?" His voice was low, dangerously quiet, but filled with something wild, something possessive. His eyes were darker now, the red burning brighter, and the usual cocky smirk was gone, replaced by something raw and fierce. "You think I didn’t notice you laughing with him? Touching him?"

You blinked, taken aback. "What are you talking about?"

"Don’t play dumb with me." His grip on your wrist tightened, and you could feel his breath against your skin, harsh and uneven. "You think I’ll just stand by while you… while you act like that with someone else?"

Your mind raced, trying to piece together what he was saying. Was he—was he jealous?

"Sylus, it was nothing. I was just talking to him."

"Talking?" His lips curled in a sneer, but there was a vulnerability in his eyes, a fear, even. "That’s not what it looked like."

You opened your mouth to protest, but before you could say anything, his lips crashed down on yours, rough and demanding. Your body tensed in shock, but it only took a second for your instincts to take over. You kissed him back, hard, matching his intensity, your fingers gripping his shirt as his body pressed tighter against yours.

His hand slid up to cup the back of your neck, holding you in place as his lips moved over yours with a fierce hunger, as though he’d been holding back for far too long. The kiss was messy, desperate, both of you pouring weeks—no, months—of pent-up tension and frustration into it.

You gasped as his teeth grazed your lower lip, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue invading your mouth, claiming you. Your head spun, overwhelmed by the sheer force of him, of the way his body moved against yours, pinning you so completely to the wall.

Every touch, every movement was filled with heat, with want. His hand slid down your side, gripping your waist possessively, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t bear to have even an inch of space between you. His other hand tangled in your hair, tugging slightly, sending a jolt of pleasure through you.

You broke the kiss, gasping for air, but he didn’t stop. His lips moved to your neck, hot and insistent, and you couldn’t stop the soft moan that escaped your lips as he sucked at the sensitive skin just below your ear.

"You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this," he growled against your skin, his voice rough, filled with an emotion you hadn’t expected—desire, need, and something more. "No idea how hard it’s been to keep my hands off you."

Your heart pounded in your chest, your mind reeling. Sylus—arrogant, infuriating Sylus—wanted you? You didn’t have time to process it before his lips found yours again, and you were lost in the intensity of the moment, in the way his body moved against yours, demanding, unrelenting.

And in that moment, you realized that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t hate you after all.

Requests are open. Send as many as you like at once.

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hauntedjellyfishwitch-blog · 2 days

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First off your writing is incredible. I was in literal tears reading your Daryl fic.

But I thought I'd send in a request, a jealous Daryl. Doesnt have to be established reader, pretty easy. I just like it when he's all riled up. 😂 Please and thank you

Jealousy

Summary: He could have just told her, couldn’t he? That would have been simple. He’d had to yell at her instead though, because Daryl can never do things the usual way round. Hand down her skirt and about to run away for the second time really was more his style.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader (No use of Y/N)

TW: Nervous!Daryl. Angst. Fluff. Friends to lovers. Alexandria era. Vague, very short smut.

A/N: Thank you for this request and the beautiful compliment! I may have rushed the editing a little so if you notice any errors please tell me!

It’s not that she’s been avoiding him, it’s the complete opposite, she’s absolutely, inarguably, infuriatingly normal. He’s clawing at the walls of his own brain and she’s acting as if everything is fine. Maybe it is, he thinks, maybe she’s over it, maybe she’s been over it since the second he screwed it up and he’s the only one still hanging on to whatever it was in the first place. He can’t even claim he’s hanging on to much, they’d barely even kissed and it was months ago, but he hadn’t exactly been good at this kind of thing before the world threw a damn apocalypse into the mix.

He’d loved her since the moment he’d heard her laugh. He’d found her in a cabin in the woods on a run, just after Woodbury had fallen, back when the prison was still strong. He didn’t want to bring her back, one more mouth to feed, one more person to keep an eye on, but she’d saved him from a rogue walker he hadn’t seen coming, shrugged like it was nothing, like she’d have done it for anyone. She’d offered him food and water, a rundown but relatively safe place to lay low for a few hours, she was kind. The words were tumbling from his lips before he’d really thought about them.

He’d avoided her for a good while, despite her efforts to befriend him, he’d lost so much already he didn’t want to let her in. But then he’d said something sarcastic, something snappy and prissy and she’d laughed; an honest to goodness belly laugh that had her head throwing back and him smiling from the side of his mouth despite himself and something deep in his chest felt warm.

So he’d loved her, quietly and from a distance. Safe. Until she’d kissed him.

He watches as she laughs, the same laugh, big and warm and real. It’s not aimed at him, and he hates it. After he’d run away from her, he worried he wouldn’t hear it again, but he’d been wrong, and this was worse. He taps his fingers against his thigh, trying to keep a scowl from his face. Failing. He thinks steam would come out of his ears if it were within the realm of possibility.

He’s always too late. Always takes too long to get comfortable. Always spends so long waiting that he misses out on the thing he wanted, and she’s not a thing but his blood is fucking boiling. At the man she’s talking to, at himself, at her too if he’s a little honest.

The man, who’s name he doesn’t know and now never wants to, is handsome. If you’re into that suburban, well groomed, boring kind of thing. He has a punchable face. Daryl is not allowed to punch people unless its necessary anymore, Rick has told him that explicitly but surely flirting with his…flirting with the woman he’s in lo…flirting with her makes it necessary.

He can’t stand the thought that he might not be the last person to kiss her lips. He can’t stand looking any longer, but he doesn’t mean for his knife to clatter loudly on the floor as he tries to flee. He doesn’t dare turn around, but he’d be able to tell she was looking at him even in pitch black. Knows she’s watching the solid, tense set of his shoulders as he retreats.

She startles at the sight of him sitting on her porch, quickly schooling her face into the nonchalance she’s been practicing around him since they arrived. It was easy enough, on the road, to pretend he hadn’t hurt her. They were so busy trying to survive, so busy being busy that she could avoid an inevitable conversation where she’d had to apologise for getting their wires crossed.

But since they’ve been behind the walls of Alexandria? She can’t stop herself from searching him out, finding excuses to be near him, trying to act like they were back at the prison. Friends. She can do friends. She has been absolutely nailing being just friends, as long as she can ignore the tightness in her chest and the way she feels like she’s going to cry every time she walks away. Friends.

She flips the knife in her hand with ease, shielding his hand from the blade as she passes it back to him. He nods his thanks as he squints up at her.

“What crawled up your ass tonight?” She asks, but there’s a teasing smile on her face as leans against the railing to her house. The porch light is dim, warm golden yellow illuminating them. Daryl hasn’t been one for a lot of words in a long time, but he intends to bat the question away, distract her with something funny, something acerbic but good natured. Friendly, he can do friendly. He can’t, could barely do it on the road after everything happened. Now though, when she’s showered and brushed her hair and dressed up, lit up by a damn porch light? He doesn’t stand a chance.

“Dun’ kiss him”

“What the fuck?”

Fists clenching to calm himself down, unfurling them when he feels more grounded, he looks up at her again, daring to lock his eyes onto hers.

“Ya like him…tha’ guy?” He tries to keep his voice steady, hopes she doesn’t understand he’s begging her to say no, begging for her to give him a chance, but how many can one man have?

“Why are you asking me this?”

“Dun’ kiss him, please” He asks again, with a shake of his head, knocking his hair in front of his eyes as the ground in front of him becomes the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. She sighs quietly, but the sound reverberates in his brain, he can hear the disappointment that weighs it down, the disappointment he’d hoped to avoid by avoiding talking about this thing between them entirely.

“I’m not having this conversation with you on the porch” She pushes herself off the railing, turning to open the front floor. She means for him to leave but he follows her inside, tapping his fingers nervously against his thigh as he closes the door behind him. Every part of his body is telling him to run.

“I know I ain’t got no right t’ ask”

“No, you don’t. Why are you asking?”

“‘cause I can’t stand it”

“Why do you care?”

“’cause ya shouldn’t be wit’ him!”

“Who should I be with then, Daryl? Huh?” He doesn’t respond, not that she expects him to, head hanging low toward the ground “You have no answer, because it’s not you, is it? You didn’t want me!”

“I didn’t-what?”

He’d tried to make it obvious, had given her extra food, had nudged her shoulder with his, had talked to her more than anyone else. But she’d tried to kiss him and he’d fled, had retreated safely back into the comfort of his walls. Then he’d come back. He’d kissed her and again he’d fled. Daryl Dixon is the human embodiment of emotional whiplash. He knows he’s not easy, but he thought at least he’d been clear, he can’t imagine the way he looks at her has ever been subtle.

“I did want ya”

Her mind thinks over the weeks he’s been standoffish, the time he’s spent avoiding her touches, thinks back the first week they’d arrived here and he’s barely spoken a word, all the while watching her with an intensity that would have been uncomfortable if she hadn’t wanted his attention.

“I can’t do this, you can’t play with my head because you’re jealous all of a sudden”

“Ain’t jealous” He argues, knowing they both know he’s lying, but he still, even now, won’t let himself be vulnerable. “I know I fucked up, ‘kay? I know, but I’m ‘ere now!”

He snarls, frustrated and bordering on vicious, practically diving towards her as his hands grip her hips tight enough to bruise. He smashes his lips against hers, unpractised and clumsily before his brain catches up and he goes to pull away. Her response is so fast he doesn’t get a chance, dragging him back in as his brain shuts down.

The kiss is hard, angry and fast, all hip bones pressing into hip bones and teeth clacking against teeth. It’s not the romantic, affectionate start she was hoping for. It’s not the gentle steady and slow he was. She’s angry, he is too she can feel it in his body as he presses it against her.

The room spins, air thick and foggy with months’ worth of frustration, tension so thick it could be cut, it’s only when he swallows a heady, deep moan from her that he realises he needs more. Tongue sweeping into her mouth he grips the fabric of her skirt in his hand, bunching it up until he can reach an insistent, rough calloused hand inside her underwear, ripping his lips away from hers to heave a breath in. She’s soaked, dripping around his fingers and he’ll have time to be absolutely fucking floored by that when he recounts this later. His forehead sticks to hers as she moans.

It’s not that he hasn’t had trysts before, it’s just that they were short and unimportant, he’s barely been confident enough to use his hands. He wants to touch her in the right way, wants to know what he’s doing but she’s snaking a hand into his trousers and wrapping her fingers around his cock so thinking isn’t the top of his priorities right now.

It feels incredible, and in the vague recess of his brain he thinks he should have done this at a pace he'd be more comfortable with but he hasn’t done this in years, and barely successfully then so its not long before he comes all over her hand, whining as his head dips down to pant heavily against her collarbone. His fingers still, embarrassed and suddenly full of crippling self-doubt. She knows he’s going to remove them about a second before he does.

A thud echoes through the suddenly too big room as she tips her head back to hit the wall behind her.

“You leaving?” She lets out an incredulous laugh, hurt, betrayed, surprisingly unsurprised. The zip on his trousers seems louder than anything she’d yelled at him less than an hour before. It feels like an eternity before she lowers her head to look at him, doesn’t bother to mask the absolute disappointment on her features.

“I-uh-yeah-I”

She can practically see the walls slamming back up around him, the walls she’s been watching for weeks. A tear rolls down her cheek as he turns away from her, heading towards the front door.

“You don’t get another chance with me, Daryl” the finality in her voice makes him pause, hand on the doorknob. She sighs, hating that she’s about to give him the grace she is “You need to make up your mind, because I’m not waiting for you, not again. If you’re not certain by tomorrow you need to leave me alone”

The shaky nod from him is so small its almost imperceptible.

She’s not expecting the knock on her door as soon as the sun is up, really she isn’t. The whole night has been sleepless and filled to the brim with dread, knowing for sure that he wants her but fully believing he will never be able to let himself have her. She isn’t unaware of Daryl’s tendency to self-destruct. Maybe this is it, she thinks, maybe he values her enough as a friend if nothing else, to tell her face to face, but he’d never been able to before and the tiniest hint of hope lights her up as she treads carefully down the stairs.

Daryl stands there with a small, nervous but hopeful smile on his face. The hope hasn’t missed him, either. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, so out of his depth he might as well be drowning, but the knowledge that she wants this too means he’d rather fumble his way through this with her than do well without her.

“I’m a’ idiot”

“Yes you are” She laughs, setting him alight on the inside. The laugh that started al of this, almost. Doubt underneath her voice is the thing that finally settles it for him, makes him pull her towards him, gentle this time, the way he’d wanted. He’ll never let her doubt his feelings even when he doubts himself.

“I always wanted ya” he murmurs against her lips before closing the distance.

“You’re not going to run away again?”

“Ain’t runnin’, ain’t ever runnin’ again”

154 notes · View notes

kumkaniudaku · 11 hours

Text

Stay A While (3)

Summary: Terry get's a lesson in love and shares it with Patrice.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 5,049

Part: 3 of ??

Warnings: Smut (18+)

One. Two.

"Well, James, how you been?"

"Honestly, Pop. I don't know where to start."

Wooden spoons banged and scraped across pots on the stove while Marvin scooped red beans and rice into a small ceramic bowl. He'd long shed his work coveralls for an open flannel shirt and khakis to spend some quality time with his only son.

James was their shared middle name in a long line of Richmond men dating back to their family migration from New Orleans to Fayetteville in the 50s. Marvin was a proud, honorable man. He never said a bad word about anybody, and no one had a bad word to say about him. He taught Terry how to play football, make a pot of dirty rice to perfection, and the importance of ensuring a lady never touched a doorhandle in his presence. He was the reason Terry joined the Marine Corps after a career in the NFL looked unlikely. He was the reason his boy spoke softly and carried a big stick. And he was one of only two people Terry trusted with his heart.

With two bowls and spoons on a serving tray, Marvin made his way to the kitchen table. He stopped short to get a good look at his son with blue green eyes even more captivating than Terry's. He noted the new frown lines developing on his brow and the lone grey hair sprouting in his goatee. His boy was stressed and confused. He didn't need a conversation to tell him that but welcomed it anyway.

After sliding one bowl across the table, he took a seat with his signature grunt. "Start at the top. Plenty of time still left in the day."

Terry quietly thanked his father for his generosity and avoided the question by eating the first bite of his meal. They ate in silence for several seconds until Terry took a deep breath.

"I think I've been okay. More ups than downs lately, but the downs are pretty damn low. I'm having a tough time sleeping. I'm barely working. I feel like a burden for Treece more than I feel like a man who can actually do something for her."

"Being a man is about more than what you can do."

"Yeah, but…" Terry trailed off, trying to gather his thoughts. "It's just - things weren't supposed to be this hard. I gave this country a lot of my time, and I guess I expected to say my goodbyes and roll into my next chapter. Now, my plan b needs a plan b, and I'm out of options."

"You're not out of options. You don't like askin' for help. Proud like your grandaddy."

"And you too."

Marvin chuckled and shook his head as he took another spoonful of food. "This ain't about me."

The two men shared a laugh, their voices sounding nearly identical as they bounced off the walls. He was the spitting image of his father, both in stature and moral compass.

"What do you need, James?" Marvin had grown serious again, making Terry avert his eyes to focus on his food. "I'll save you the stress of asking, but you gotta tell me what I need to offer. Is it money?"

"Not much. Enough to pay some bills until the end of the month, and I can have it back to you. I think I have a shot at this job on base if I can get through the second interview."

"How you getting back and forth? I know y'all do the Lyft and Ubom thing these days. Ridin' around with strangers like we didn't spend a whole decade tell y'all not to."

Terry laughed. "It's Uber, Pop. But, no. Treece is out for the summer, so I'm…using her car when I need it. I don't wanna take advantage of her."

"Those some of the bills you need help paying?" Marvin's question was answered with a silent head nod and eyes filled with shame. He softened his voice as he reached into his wallet for the cash he had on hand. "It's what you're supposed to do. Ain't no shame. That money is for yourself. Give me til tomorrow afternoon to have more. Five grand enough?"

"Ah, Pop, I don-"

"We didn't work as hard as we did for nothing. Plus, it's your college fund money we never withdrew. You're lucky your mother hasn't used it for renovations. She's been eyeing your sister's old room for an indoor she-shed or whatever the hell it's called."

Marvin sounded exasperated by the concept of his wife's latest project, which amused Terry. They hadn't changed since the day he left. They were just two people who had been in love since the day they met and remained committed to supporting each other through the ebbs and flows of life.

Standing from the kitchen table, Marvin shuffled around the corner to the garage entrance and returned with a ring of keys and a pile of mail. He tossed them at Terry and returned to his seat.

"What's this?"

"Keys to GMC outside. Take it. You might need to run it for a little bit and change the oil, but it works fine. The rest is your mail." Terry opened his mouth to protest and received a glare from his father in return. "I gave you my best speech about askin' for help, and here you go ruining things. Take the truck before I tell your mama."

"Alright, alright," Terry laughed as he raised his hands. "I love you, Pop."

"Love you, man. I'm proud of you." Not ones for the warm fuzzies of hugs, the two extended their arms across the table for a quick fist bump before returning to their meals. Marvin let his son eat in peace for a few moments before the corner of his lips curled in a knowing smile. "So…Patrice Ellis, huh? That little love letter you wrote in 10th grade finally coming true?"

"Pop."

"Ah, come on. It's alright to be in love, son. She's a good girl. Got good folks, too. What's the holdup?"

In love? The more Terry attempted to negotiate the gravity of the phrase within himself, the more he had to reckon with the idea that his father may not be that far off base.

Terry slowed his eating and looked at his father for help. "You think I'm in love?"

"Oh, I know you are. You didn't come back to Fayetteville for me, did you?"

"How would I know, though? How did you know?"

Marvin stopped eating to sit back in his chair. A fond smile crossed his face as he thought of his younger years.

"I knew I was in love when I wanted to show up every day and do the work to be with her. It didn't matter if she pissed me off or if we disagreed about decisions. At the end of every day, I can look at her and know I'm where I want to be forever. Plus, I still get a little fired up when she walks through the door all these years later. I ain't much to look at, but your mother is…"

Marvin let his sentence drop to whistle at the mention of his wife. Terry pretended to take exception but eventually laughed at his father's antics. He quickly relaxed into a contemplative state.

"I wanna be the best I can for her," he spoke softly. "I get…sad when she's gone for too long. Sometimes, I find myself forcing conversation just to make her look at me because the light in her eyes is the only thing keeping me grounded most days. What does that mean?"

"You don't need me to answer that, son. Go with what you know."

Before Terry could seek more advice, the mechanical roar of the garage door made Marvin nearly spring out of his seat to greet his one true love.

Outside, Patrice was nearly doubled over from laughter in the front seat.

Diedra "DeeDee" Richmond was the quintessential Southern black woman. Like a prim and proper belle, she wore her color-treated blonde hair big to match an even bigger personality. She wore heels with every outfit and never left the house without earrings, but she could also drink and cuss like a sailor.

When she offered Patrice the chance to tag along for her monthly Sister Circle meeting, there was no chance she'd miss the opportunity to ditch Terry and kick it with the upper crust of Black women.

"And, girl, Rita thinks we can't tell that she took every one of those appetizers out of the damn freezer section. At least go to the Publix bakery. Finger sandwiches ain't that expensive."

Amid their gossip session, the garage door's chime caught Dee Dee's attention, effectively ending her one-woman show in favor of giving her husband the eye. Behind him, Terry stood with a nervous smile and puppy dog eyes that he directed at Patrice.

"Marry a Richmond, child. You'll never lift a finger for the rest of your life. Lord knows I love me some him. Hey, baby!" DeeDee advised as she watched Marvin nearly float to the driver's side to open her door.

Patrice watched Marvin and DeeDee fawn over each other like teenage lovers until the faint pop of her door opening brought her back to life.

Terry stood in the gap with his hand out to offer assistance. She accepted without protest, letting him gently pull her from the passenger side with her bags in tow and close the door behind her.

"I missed you."

Terry's admission came in a sweet voice as he dipped his head to place two chaste kisses on Patrice's lips. Only the knowledge of his parents 10 feet away kept her from turning an innocent display of affection into something vulgar.

Patrice chased his lips once he pulled away, earning a deep chuckle that vibrated her chest.

"We kissing in front of the parents now?"

"Too much," he asked, suddenly embarrassed.

She used her thumb to wipe lip gloss from his bottom lip before rising to her tip toes to kiss his nose. "No. You're perfect."

Dee Dee and Marvin watched the young couple giggle at nothing in particular with broad smiles and full hearts.

"Treece, when's the last time you had some of my red beans and rice?"

Marvin's question made both of them jump like children caught in the act with the realization that they weren't alone.

"Way too long," Patrice answered, her stomach almost growling at the mention.

"Then have dinner with us. We'd love to have you."

Patrice looked toward Terry for confirmation, making Dee Dee cackle as she started up the stairs into her home. "Child, forget him. Terrence don't run nothing 'round here! Come get this food."

Terry's eyes grew wide at his mother's dismissal while Patrice dissolved into an uncontrollable fit of laughter at his expense on her way into the house.

"Oh, that's funny," he asked, following her lead. "That's the last time I let y'all hang out unsupervised."

Three extra hours at Terry's parents' house wasn't enough for the tandem to abandon their new night routine.

Patrice stood at her bathroom sink, scrubbing the day from her face while Terry made himself comfortable on her closed toilet lid. Sometimes, he read something from Patrice's bookshelf, both preferring to simply exist in the same room. Other times, he watched baseball on his phone and attempted to provide color commentary despite Patrice not showing interest. This time, though, he sat with relaxed shoulders and low eyes while she moved through her beauty routine.

Something about the sleepytime body wash had him laser-focused on how her legs looked a mile long beneath her nightshirt, oiled to perfection and glistening under the warm vanity lights. He wanted to reach out and touch her. Maybe pull her closer by her thighs and whisper every single nasty thought on his mind below her navel until she promised never to leave his side.

But, he shook his inner man loose and leaned forward to re-engage with her as she called his name.

"You know you should use a gentle exfoliant every once in a while. It'll help your breakouts. Use some of my sunscreen, too. It's dangerous for you to let the sun hit your face with no protection."

Blah, blah, blah. Everything she said sounded like a chorus of 1000 angels to him. She could've revealed the cure to cancer, and he would be too lovestruck to notice.

Knowing his restraint was dwindling, he stood abruptly and stretched his arms above his head with a yawn as she added moisturizer to her face.

Patrice watched him take up space behind her through the mirror, shifting so he could leave something to remember him by on her shoulder and neck.

"Good night," he spoke between kisses, the words muffled against her skin.

"Already? It's not that late, is it?"

"I promised Corey I'd help him with football practice at Francis tomorrow morning."

"He'll run you ragged if you don't speak up."

"I'll speak up. I promise."

Using what little space she had, Patrice turned to rest her backside on the counter and face Terry. She used her index finger to hook his gold herringbone chain and bring him down for a kiss. Or kisses. It'd been so long since they could have each other in this way. Time and experience, both together and separately, had them maneuvering like professionals. Each kiss was teasing and sensual in equal measure. A tangible mastery of retreating and aggression made the pursuit of one another worth the wait.

They'd lost track of their exhibition until Terry's phone buzzing against the toilet seat jolted them back into reality.

Patrice flattened her palms against his chest to create some separation and end what would surely turn into blurred lines if they weren't careful. "Good night, TJ. Grab that exfoliant out of my shower before you leave. It's in the caddie."

Terry took the gentle redirection in stride, smiling at her through the mirror before turning to do as she had asked. Patrice used what little focus she could muster to secure her headscarf to her head, desperate to extend her box braids for one more week.

"What's this?"

"What's what?" She didn't bother to look away from her task until the low hum of her vibrator caught her attention. She whipped her body around, too stunned to reach for the bright pink toy that had Terry smirking as he examined its buttons. "That is my personal property for personal and private use."

"When's the last time you used it?"

"It's been a while. A month or so." Mostly true. She couldn't say she hadn't thought about it more recently.

"Since I've been here?"

She shrugged. "Kinda hard to get comfortable when there's a person on the other side of the wall."

The mere sound of the only thing to touch her in two years made the hair on her arms stand at attention. Her eyes darted between the toy and Terry, who made himself familiar with each speed and pattern, cycling through dirty thoughts and intrigue as he held the device against his arm to get a feel for the intensity,

Setting one? Bearable. A softball. Setting three? Maybe she'd call out his name from the pleasure? Setting seven? Surely, she'd hang on to him like a wet t-shirt on a Playboy model while she rode the crest of her orgasm.

The possibilities excited him to no end. He needed to test each and every theory.

In two clicks, he returned the toy to its original setting and then off completely, holding it in one hand while taking slow steps to close the gap between him and the only person on his mind.

She shifted her weight nervously as he approached, unsure how to respond until he towered over her with a look she knew all too well.

Desire.

Their senses were heightened. Everything felt surreal, almost as if one misstep could send them flying through a portal back to a more disappointing reality.

Terry could smell the faint hint of mint on Patrice's breath before dipping his head to nip at her bottom lip with his teeth. She responded like he knew she would by making him work for his prize. Patrice never let him intimidate her. Not for their first time together all those years ago, certainly not now.

He chuckled before leaning in again, this time leaving a trail of short kisses from her jaw to her clavicle. He inhaled deeply, breathing in vanilla and the subtle spice of his cologne from moments earlier.

Suddenly, Patrice felt weightless. Her feet dangled briefly and without warning as Terry took her from standing to sitting on the cold, hard counter before she could protest.

Patrice fought for stability, using the peaks and valleys across the expanse of his muscled arms as her anchor in the dizzying experience that was his affection. Her lips parted to draw in sharp breaths and release airy sighs of approval in a feeble attempt to remain present. At the same time, he kissed his appreciation wherever his lips saw fit. Her legs acted under their own power to spread wider and make room for whatever came next.

Her hands left a trail of tingles as she dragged them from his arms to the back of his head, down the sides of his face, over his tank top, between his pecs, and, finally, into the waistband of his shorts.

Surprised by her touch, he lurched forward to grab her wrist. "Not this time," he whispered, unsure he meant what he was saying.

Patrice nodded in understanding, earning a sloppy kiss for her obedience.

There was no discerning where his mouth ended, and hers began. They were on one accord, hungrily tasting, exploring, and consuming each other without holding back.

Then, the low hum returned. This time, it was closer than Patrice remembered.

Cold silicone soon caressed her inner thigh. A low whimper escaped past her lips as she made eye contact with Terry. He leaned close enough to speak against her mouth.

"You trust me?"

"Mhmm," she answered, fighting to keep her eyes open as he moved further up her leg.

"Let me take care of you, then. Take these off for me."

Trembling fingers latched onto her boyshorts, pushing them to mid-thigh for Terry to take care of the rest. As quickly as he was gone, he'd returned for another taste of her tongue. Languid and unhurried, he used the time to relax her while slowly inching the vibrator to her center.

Initial contact made her hips buck forward, and her head softly hit the mirror behind her. Terry chased her with sloppy kisses at the base of her neck.

The slow and steady setting was enough to get her wet and sticky. Terry'd be lying if he said the thought alone didn't have him wanting to renege on his early statement and dive in with reckless abandon. But, he remained steadfast in his pursuit of her pleasure.

Once the initial shock had worn off, Patrice ground her hips slowly, making small circles while the vibration worked to settle her nerves. Terry took a break from leaving praises in the form of kisses on her throat to smile at his girl.

"You're beautiful. You know that?"

She gripped his chin and pulled him closer for a fiery kiss that he let her lead. "Yeah. But, I love to hear you say it."

"Good," he answered, grinning at her confidence as he upped the intensity on her vibrator. Her eyes clamped shut as her entire body tensed. "Stay with me."

A deep, steadying breath turned into a silent scream as Patrice gave in to the natural urge to hold her breath. Terry used his free hand to sneak up her tank top and grope one breast while pressing his lips to her ear.

"Breathe, baby. In and out." He modeled the behavior until she found the strength to match his tempo. "There you go. You feel good?"

"Yes, yes," she whisper-chanted to the ceiling, her head thrown back in unimaginable euphoria.

"I want you to feel this good every day. You deserve it, right?"

A twisting, turning feeling at the pit of her stomach forced her to draw in a deep breath to steady herself. Her answer came in a soft moan. "Right."

"Damn right." Pressing his forehead to hers, he zeroed in on each of her features twisted in unthinkable pleasure.

She kept her mouth open to sigh and moan as she saw fit. Her nostrils flared in a rhythm as she tried to force herself to breathe through every peak and valley of the moment. Her brows were knitted, and her eyes closed as if she were too afraid to look at him. He wondered what she was thinking.

Did she want him inside of her as much as he wanted the same for himself? Was she yearning for more pressure? Could she feel how much he loved her?

"Don't get quiet on me. I want everything. Let 'em hear you. You need more?"

A quick glance down helped him reposition the vibrator on her already sensitive bud, earning a guttural curse as appreciation for his good deed.

"Fuck! Don't move. Please don't move."

Terry obliged for the moment, too entranced by his view of her flower on full display for his viewing pleasure. Glistening. Wet. Beautiful. Appetizing like nothing he'd ever seen before. He pulled the toy away and replaced its presence with his thumb. Slow circles and firm pressure made her want to close her legs to escape the overwhelming stimulation, but her attempt was futile. She was at his mercy.

"Damn," he whispered to himself, enamored by the way her body reacted to his touch.

Every revolution around her clit brought with it more wetness at her entrance and indentations in his arms from her nails gripping for dear life.

It wasn't enough to touch her. He needed to taste.

Using his middle and ring fingers, he teased his introduction with gentle brushes against her inner lips. She keened for more against his mouth as she held his face close. He granted her wish and pushed into her slowly, immediately feeling her warmth envelop his long digits.

Their mouths hung open, breaths being traded between the two as he set a slow pace. Not enough to bring forth a release. Just enough for Terry to get what he came for.

Removing his fingers left him with a coating of clear arousal nearly dripping to his knuckles. Patrice watched him as he smirked at the sight, examining it like a jeweler appraising precious diamonds.

When he'd seen enough, he put both fingers into his mouth and closed his eyes to savor the taste. Patrice's mouth hung open as if waiting for her turn to experience the wonders of her juices.

Had she closed her eyes for even a second, she would have missed Terry extending his tongue from his mouth to allow a mixture of his saliva and her essence the chance to slide from his tongue in anticipation of a new host.

Something profound and hungry within her made her lean her head back and hold her tongue out to receive all that he had to give. It excited her, delighted her, and aroused her like never before.

Like a lewd work of art, spit connected their tongues in what would otherwise be seen as an infraction among more proper circles. But fuckin' wasn't proper, and all forms of affection were welcomed in their home.

Almost immediately, Terry rushed to reward her with a wild and frenzied kiss that nearly surprised him.

Primal. Carnal. Intense. Fucking disgusting. He loved every minute of it.

The race was on. Terry kept their lips connected as he returned the vibrator to her clit, dialing up the settings to a level below their max.

Patrice's moans and his couldn't be distinguished from one another. Her hips bucked wildly. Her fingernails left marks in their wake as they scratched at his arms and back. Her body twitched and seized in anticipation of the inevitable.

"Oh my - fuck!" Satisfied tears slid from the corners of her eyes and down her cheeks to her man's awaiting lips. "Terrence!"

Terry remained locked in. A man possessed. A one-track mind focused on nothing other than completing the mission.

The first stage of her orgasm came without a warning. Heat washed over her as if she'd stepped outside at high noon, making her skin almost unbearable to live in. Her toes curled, her voice caught in her throat despite the intense desire to release a scream from the depths of her soul into the atmosphere.

She thanked Terry and God in Heaven for blessing her with the opportunity to touch the moon and the stars without ever leaving her home. Terry used his free hand to grip and massage her thighs, knowing that the best was yet to come.

Patrice's voice began to climb as the main event approached. Shallow breaths gave way to loud gasps for air, which came rapidly while she did the same. She was suspended in a beautiful bliss and already sad about the prospect of coming down.

Her lover reveled in the opportunity to see her unraveling at the seams.

"I'll always come back to you, beautiful. No matter what, okay? Look at me." His request earned intense focus from Patrice under hooded eyes. "You're so pretty. Say it back to me. Tell me you're pretty."

"I'm so pretty!" Impending release sent all her words out in one breathless sentence.

He smiled at her compliance. "I know you're close. Hold my hand."

Her fingers scrambled against the counter, filling the spaces between his fingers and gripping with enough force to turn her knuckles a lighter shade of brown.

"That's my girl. I love you," was all he could manage before Patrice let out something akin to a squeal, turning his declaration into background fodder.

Sensitive, overstimulated, and completely spent, the after-effects of her release had her panting to recover. Her ears rang with a heady feeling that could only be compared to a few puffs of homegrown bud.

Terry held her through it all, propping her up while her body sagged against him for stability. He put aside the vibrator to run his palms up and down her legs while he showered her temple with whispered praises and sweet kisses.

He waited until her breathing was even before gingerly pressing his forehead to hers. "You good?"

His smirk was incredibly smug. He was proud of himself, and for good reason. She was open to giving credit where credit was due.

"You can never leave this house without me again. I hope you're happy."

"That's the whole point. My granny taught me some things during them summers down in New Orleans, you know?"

"Oh, so this is some magic shit?"

"Family business, baby. Gotta have the last name to find out." A playful glint in his eyes and a squeeze to her waist made Patrice's stomach feel butterflies that she thought would never return. Terry tapped her nose with his index finger and stepped back. "Stay put. I'll clean you up."

Patrice scoffed. Stay put. As if she could go anywhere. As if she wanted to go anywhere.

Like the perfect gentleman, Terry was tender with his care. A warm towel to soothe sore muscles and ensure a thorough cleanup was mandatory. The extra loving was complimentary for only his favorite lady.

"Stay with me tonight," Patrice requested as he slid her panties back up her legs.

He shook his head and smiled while prompting her to lift her hips. "I don't know if that's a good idea, Treecey."

"I just wanna be next to you. Nothing more."

Terry regarded her doe-eyed plea with a small smile as he helped her off the counter. He pulled her into an embrace, fiending for one more kiss. She obliged happily until he'd had his fill.

His hands slid from her sides to her ass for a generous squeeze before answering.

"Okay. Whatever you want. Let me handle something real quick, and then I'll meet you there."

Patrice accepted her victory with a silly happy dance before turning to make enough room in her bed for an extra person. Terry sent her on her way with a light tap to her ass, amused by how something as simple as sleeping next to each other was exciting for her.

Once she was safely out of the bathroom with the door shut behind her, he finally found time to take a deep breath and compose himself. The actual test of his strength was in the next room, and he couldn't risk the trust he'd worked so hard to build.

After adjusting his shorts, he picked up his phone and sat on the toilet lid, hoping that watching dog videos or Nationals highlights would clear his mind.

He had every intention of opening the web browser on his phone until he noticed a series of messages from an old friend.

From: McBride

You check your mail?

Trial against chief starts in two weeks. Gonna need you to testify to take him down

Know you said you weren’t coming back

Do it for Mike

---

TAGS: @planetblaque @wvsspoppin @thatone-girly @oniccah @avoidthings @slutsareteacherstoo @eilujion @amyhennessyhouse @yaachtynoboat711 @jenlovey @pinkpantheris @blowmymbackout @deja-r

#terry richmond #terry richmond x oc #rebel ridge #aaron pierre

98 notes · View notes

sonotpattismith · 2 days

Text

My Lost, Fearless Leader.

(Yuta Okkotsu x Reader)

As the men masqueraded, I hoped you’d return with your feet on the ground, tell me all that you’d learned, because love’s never lost once perspective is earned.

word count: 9k

warnings: angst, me never making it easy for poor Yuta

a/n: inspired by Peter by Taylor Swift. Lowkey a self-insert as I too am a therapist, tee hee. I hope y’all enjoy it, I absolutely love writing for Yuta even though I make him suffer every time 🥹🫶🏻

masterlist.

Dear Okkotsu,

I know you only landed last week, but you left me with so many questions when you said goodbye. At the risk of sounding too forward, I thought for a moment that you would kiss me before you left. You had a look in your eye, one I’d never seen before, and I even thought I saw you square your shoulders like you were about to charge into battle.

Inumaki offered to give me your number when I asked about you, but I feared too quick of a response if I were to text you. After all, I love to torture myself. Somehow a letter felt safer, more disconnected. Still, I hope you have the time to write back to me while you’re out there growing as you so desperately wanted to.

You still have me in your corner here in Tokyo.

With kind regards,

L/N.

Dear L/N,

I hope this letter gets to you soon, though I know it has some way to go— I don’t want to leave you waiting again. I wondered if I should just text you, but you’re right, maybe this is best for wimps like me who were too scared to kiss the girl they like before traveling oceans away. There’s more courage in me hiding behind a pen than I ever had standing in front of you.

No matter how badly I wanted to show you how I felt, I didn’t feel worthy enough when I looked at that scar on your face— one I should have been able to prevent. There’s so much for me to learn about this world, and Gojo-Sensei says Kenya is where I need to be. I trust him implicitly, and I only hope here I’ll be able to grow into someone worthy of coming back to all of you at Jujutsu High. Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself, but I hope to become someone worthy enough to indulge myself in you as well.

I hope you can find it in you to wait for me all the way in your corner of Tokyo.

Respectfully,

Okkotsu.

Dear Okkotsu,

You were right, your letter did travel far, and after two weeks, I feared I may not ever hear back from you.

What happened with Geto Suguru wasn’t your fault, and, if I remember correctly, you were the one that saved all of us that night. It breaks my heart that you feel you don’t have a place here with us. I never thought you needed to prove yourself, and if that’s the only reason you went thousands of miles away— then you should board the next flight back over.

If I had known it was the scar on my face that stopped you, I would have covered it just for you. No one else around here is willing to take the blame for me when I break one of Maki’s spears— that alone should earn you a spot right beside me over here. Speaking of, I hope the bump on your forehead has gone down.

Luckily for the both of us, patience is my best virtue, but I do hope you don’t make me wait terribly long. You don’t have to be the strongest.

Holding my breath,

Y/N.

Dear L/N,

Maybe eventually I’ll work up the courage to call you, but our weeks of waiting in between will just have to do for now.

I think you’re beautiful— regardless of your scar, and I hope I didn’t send the wrong message when I said it’s what stopped me. I only meant that it reminded me of the kind of guy that deserves your attention, one that has brought about more good than he has bad in his life.

I’ve hurt so many people, and it wouldn’t be right of me not to try to make up for the wrongs I’ve caused. It’s only been a month, but Miguel has taught me so much, and I’ve seen so many wonderful things. I’m not sure if you’re interested, but I’m sending you some pictures of all my favorite parts.

I hope Maki has been merciful to you, and, yes, my bump is gone. Still, the little scar there reminds me of you each time I see it. So, I suppose I should thank her.

We’ve been talking so much about me, but I want to hear how you’re doing back in your corner of the world. How have your classes been going? I almost miss hearing everyone arguing with Gojo-Sensei every morning.

I don’t want to be the strongest, but I want to be strong enough to be worthy of you. The last thing I want is to keep you waiting too long, but however long it takes for me to be able to make a mark on those who have shown such faith in me.

Thinking of you,

Okkotsu.

Dear Yuta,

Surely that’s not you in that picture beside the giraffe? It’s only been two months— what are they feeding you over there? I had to do a triple take. You look well, Okkotsu.

I’m starting to wonder if it’s really you behind that ink. You were never so bold when you were here. Do you have a ghostwriter? I have my doubts, but I still hope all those thoughtful words really are coming from you.

I can see how hard you’ve been working, and I hope you’re beginning to find in yourself the pride I and all us here at home have always had in you. I don’t think anyone blames you for the unfairness that’s clung to you thus far, and no one expects you to make up for any of it— at least I know I don’t. If you really insist on doing so though, maybe you can start by giving me a call every once and a while? I’m sure you're busy, but I’d love to hear your voice again.

Classes have been going well. We’re almost going into our second year now, and everyone still talks so fondly of you. We wish you were here to start the year with us. I certainly miss having someone who was equally as clueless when it came to this world— it felt like you were the last shred of normalcy I was hanging onto. It’s okay though, I suppose I have some growing to do too.

Also, you don’t need to be so formal with me, I think you’ve earned the first name basis. Unless of course, you need to build up the courage for that, too.

I only felt it was fair to send some pictures of all of us here as well— though they’re nowhere near as badass as your safari photos. Please keep sending them— I’ll cherish the ones I have here for now though.

Still waiting for you,

Y/N.

Three months following Yuta’s departure from Tokyo, you first received an actual call from him. You had just turned in for the night, muscles aching from the mission you and Maki had just returned from only an hour or two prior. Truthfully, you were having a difficult time with the added responsibility that was accompanying your new year at Jujutsu High.

Last year, at the very least, you had Yuta there who seemed on a fairly level playing field with you. Still, he held more of a determination to move forward in his life as a sorcerer than you did. After your encounter with Geto Suguru that had left you partially blinded in your right eye, it was difficult for you to find that gusto you had when you first arrived.

The deep lulls of slumber had just begun to penetrate your exhausted mind, and you could swear a more pleasant dream was just beyond your reach. When your phone began vibrating underneath your still cool pillow, your brows furrowed at the intrusion. The sound caused an electric-like jolt in your body that had you shooting up as if someone had just pulled the fire alarm. Calming your racing heart, you reached down to snatch the device up. Your eyes squinted to adjust to the blue light emitting from the screen, and you saw a number you didn’t recognize. Under the caller location though, it indicated that it was coming from Kenya.

Sitting up with a gasp, you gaped down at the device, uncertain excitement bubbling in your stomach and up your chest. Without a second thought, you swiped to answer the call. Amidst your anticipation of who you thought might be on the other line, you forgot to greet the caller.

“Um… uh- hello?”

A smile spread across your cheeks at the sound of his timid voice.

“A call from Kenya,” You began teasingly, your voice still hoarse from sleep. “I wonder who it could be.”

There was an abrupt shuffling on the other line, and you could already picture him pacing around whatever space he was currently occupying.

“You got me!” Yuta quipped nervously, quickly checking the time on his phone upon hearing the sleepy tone that laced your voice. It wasn’t too late over in Tokyo, and he figured if he didn’t call you now while he still had the nerve to do it, he never would. Okkotsu had determined during his time in Kenya that his confidence somehow peaked right after a successful mission. Naturally, this was when he calculated it would be the best time to call you with the lowest possibility of making a stuttering fool of himself. “Di-Did I wake you? I can call back another-”

“After you took three months to gather all that courage up?” You joked with a fond smile, reaching down to toy with the corner of your pillow. Despite the fact that he couldn’t see you, you shook your head. “I think I can stay up for a few minutes.”

He was grateful, so eternally grateful that you couldn’t see the way the blood rushed up his neck and into his face. Pressing a cool hand against his cheek as if it would make the heat die down, he forced himself to sit on the edge of his bed, bottom lip caught between his teeth. It had been too long already since he last spoke, and the silence on the call was becoming overbearing as he thought of anything to say.

“You there, Yuta?”

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m, uh-- still here.” The boy chuckled pathetically, pounding his balled up fist against his thigh, willing himself to quit being such a loser. Shooting up to begin his short trek around his room once again, he took a deep breath. “I-I wanted to thank you. You know, for writing to me the past few months. I think they’ve been kind of motivating me, actually.”

“Yeah?” You smiled, lying back down on your pillow to stare stupidly up at the ceiling of your dorm. In hearing that shy voice that you had been missing for so long, you had forgotten about the aching, abused muscles that had been assaulting you just minutes prior. In its place was the rushing endorphins of your child-like crush on the boy on the other line. “So, when you come back strong enough to beat Sensei’s ass, I can take partial credit, right?”

His soft laugh filled your once silent room, inciting the overwhelming butterflies in your stomach to erupt in a fluttering haze.

“It’ll all be you.” Yuta joked halfheartedly, rubbing the back of his neck in relief that he’d gotten past the awkward silence unscathed. He flopped back down onto his bed and looked out the window at the slowly setting sun. “Uh… speaking of Sensei, how is everything over there? The exchange event is coming up soon, right?”

This made your smile slowly wane.

“Yeah, it’s next month. There was some drama with the first years, but everyone else seems to be pretty excited.”

“Everyone else? It sounds like you’re not including yourself in there.”

You sighed gently. Yuta was always so determined about growing as a sorcerer, so these types of events were always right up his alley. Not to mention the manner in which he absolutely wiped out the sister school at last year’s event. It actually caused a bit of second-hand embarrassment to watch the whole ordeal play out— no matter how quickly it concluded. After the atrocities of the past few months though, you couldn’t find it within yourself to be excited for the goodwill event.

It wasn’t that long ago that you watched all your friends meet near death at the hands of Suguru Geto, and you weren’t too far behind. They had all seemingly moved on from it all so fast— all of them except for Yuta Okkotsu. It seemed that all it had done was given him more ammunition to spark his journey of self discovery. You wished it had had the same effect on you. In truth though, all it sparked was a fear that your life, along with your friends, was constantly at the mercy of a crueler fate than most your age would be subjected to.

It felt wrong. Yuta shouldn’t have felt the need to bear the weight of you and your friends’ injuries all on his own. He shouldn’t have needed to go off to search for some unknown answer to all the insecurities his grueling life had thrust upon him. Still, it was so important to him. You could see the way it gave him purpose, a will to keep going despite all that he’d been through. It wasn’t his fault, but you always wished you could have found that same purpose within slaying curses and putting your life on the line.

A soft call of your name on the other line pulled you from your self-depricating thoughts. Shaking your head, you attempted to lighten the mood.

“Last name again? So formal. I thought we were past that, Okkotsu.”

“Oh-- right, sorry.” He stammered out before trying your first name out on his lips. It was delicate in the way it rolled off his tongue, sending warmth straight through your chest. Recalling your sudden silence once his nerves subsided, his lips pulled pensively into a thin line. “Um, have you been doing okay? You know, since…”

Brows rising just a hair, you were shocked at how easily he read through your sudden change in tone. Your lip quivered into a slight frown. A deep breath was suddenly pushing down that biting urge you had to tear up.

“Yeah, I’ve been okay. Just… wish you were still here is all.” You confessed into the dark, lonely dorm room. “I think you were the only one who understood how overwhelming this all was.”

Yuta felt his chest constrict at your earnest confession. Part of him felt guilty for not being there, but he knew deep down that he was doing the right thing by building himself up before he allowed himself to come back— especially to you. Still, the boy knew where you were coming from. It wasn’t easy being the newcomer in a world where your peers had a fifteen year head start on.

The two of you understood each other—empathized with one another. You both strived to make sure the other was doing okay; whether that be sneaking out late at night to practice with one another in hopes you both wouldn’t make fools of yourselves in training the next day, or just being someone that the other could glance knowingly at when one of your classmates mentioned something it seemed that everyone else was privy to, except you two.

“I’m getting stronger everyday.” Yuta offered earnestly, a soft, empathetic smile playing on his lips— the kind you could just hear through his gentle tone. “And I know you are too. We’re gonna kick some major butt one day, y’know?”

The boy was relieved when your glittering laugh filled his speakers, and he found himself laughing along with you. A comfortable silence blanketed over you two, and for a moment it felt as though you were laying right beside him, your gentle breaths lighting a fire within his soul. The courage that he thought he had lost upon hearing your voice for the first time in months was slowly flooding back to him, and he began pensively rolling his bottom lip between his fingers.

“Hey,” Okkotsu called out feebly, resting his hand down on his chest and feeling his heart pounding against his fingers. Reaching down to your discarded letter beside him, he picked up the picture you’d sent along with it. It was of all the second years, and he wondered with a smile if you had Gojo-Sensei take it for you all, and, if so, how much he complained about not being included.

You stood in the middle of Inumaki and Maki, Panda standing proudly and towering behind you. His thumb reached out to graze softly over your face. In the photo, one of your hands was teasingly covering your right eye, and he blushed as he remembered your earlier conversation about that scar. You hummed in acknowledgment on the other line. “Did you mean it? You know… when you said you’d wait for me?”

“Did you mean it when you said you were gonna come back for me?” You countered quickly.

Yuta exhaled nervously, the churning in his chest making him feel as though he might pass out. Staring back at your smiling face in the photo, he nodded breathlessly.

“Of course, I meant it. I meant every word.”

“Then so did I.”

Yuta Okkotsu’s reassuring promise helped ground you in your studies of jujutsu for a while longer, but you could still feel the aching insistence in the back of your mind that told you this wasn’t where you were meant to be. Your friendship with the sorcerer continued to grow even over the thousands of miles that separated you.

He’d call you whenever he had the chance to, and you’d text him about updates on what all his friends had been up to without him. Although both Inumaki and Maki kept up with him regularly, he allowed you to retell stories he’d more often than not already heard from them.

He could tell that you were struggling to find and hold your place as a sorcerer. You always listened enthusiastically when he’d tell you about the new techniques he was learning or the missions he’d been sent on, nodding along on the other line and hanging onto every word he said. Still, when he’d await to hear the progress of your training or how your latest mission had gone, you didn’t have the same enthusiasm in your tone.

It had been almost a year since he’d been gone. The two of you had never implicitly discussed the nature of your relationship, but your lingering promise to each other seemed to be enough to keep your hearts locked safely away for the other’s return. As the months dragged on though, you couldn’t help but wonder if it was worth staying in the world of jujutsu that seemed to so expertly traumatize you and your peers.

You insisted on video calling him for once, eager to once again put a face to the voice that had been filling your every night for the past few months. Maybe, you thought to yourself, if you saw those warm, inviting eyes again paired with that timid smile, you’d find it in you to hold out just a bit longer.

“Ca-Can you see me?” Yuta’s ever anxious voice filled your quiet room once again. The palm of his hand briefly covered the camera before it was moved away, and it appeared as though he had propped you up on a dresser of some sort. He stepped back, hunching over so his face was still in the frame, staring hesitantly into the screen.

A brief exhale of disbelief left you at the sight of him. He had changed so much over the past year; from the inches he’d sprouted up, to the new broadness of his lean shoulders, right down to his more maturely parted hair as it swayed in his face.

His features appeared sharper than when you’d last seen him, a testament to how much he’d grown physically as well as mentally. The dark circles you remember being everpresent under his long, midnight-blue eyes seemed even more pronounced now, and you wondered just how hard this Miguel character had been working him. Despite his apparent lack of sleep though, he grinned cheerfully upon seeing your face.

Forgoing your previous concern, an ecstatic smile of your own lit up your face as you took him in. You had always thought he had a sort of innocent, gentle cuteness to him, but time and knowledge seemed to have morphed those characteristics into the sharp, hauntingly striking ghost of the boy you once knew presented before you. For the first time since knowing him, you thought you felt more nervous than he did at the moment.

“Wow! You look--” He paused, a slight flush filling his face, and suddenly he was that timid boy again, staring down at you with the false promise of a kiss. Your heart melted at the sight. Yuta was still looking nervously back at you, mouth hanging open as if his mind was running faster than his tongue could process. You raised your brows expectantly at him, hiding your amused smile. “Uh—pretty! You— you look really pretty.”

A soft blush fell across your cheeks.

“Thanks, Yuta.” You laughed softly, eyes fluttering across his face admiringly. “You look like you’ve… grown.”

“Oh, me?” He laughed skittishly, hand coming up to rustle through his jet black locks. His brows were furrowed slightly as he looked down at his own appearance as if he was only just now noticing the growth spurt he’d had in the past year. “Yeah! I guess—”

“Is that blood on your shirt?” You suddenly noticed, leaning forward so your squinting eyes could get a better look at the dark matter that clung to his white top. His eyes shot up to meet yours, and in an instant, his fumbling hands were working to unbutton his uniform shirt. It was no use though, the white t-shirt underneath was also stained through.

“Sorry, I just got back from a mission.” He admitted dejectedly, grabbing the phone and sitting on the floor, resting his back against the bed behind him. “I would’ve showered, but I didn’t want to keep you up too late.”

You sat back against your headboard tentatively. It was incredible to you how he was never phased by the violence and bloodshed that shrouded this lifestyle. There were so many nights that you lay awake, eyes unblinking as you tried to forget the horrors you’d witnessed just long enough to get some sleep.

“How do you do it, Yu?” You asked timidly.

Yuta took in the way your wide eyes glimmered with the threat of unspilled tears. There it was again— that underlying fear in your tone and demeanor that told him that something wasn’t quite right, and it hadn’t been right since you came so close to death.

“What do you mean, love?” He wasn’t sure where that term of endearment came from, maybe from the concern that had been pooling in him for months and had now suddenly burst upon seeing that broken look in your eyes. Either way, it was too late to take it back now.

“Act like everything’s normal when you come home covered in blood and guts and watch people die— watch your friends—”

“I’m doing this for my friends.” His response had a defensive edge to it, but his wide eyes were gentle, taking in your vulnerable state carefully. “And for the people I’ve had to watch die. Bad things will happen whether I’m a part of them or not. How can I sit back and do nothing when that’s all I’ve done my entire life?”

You suddenly felt small in your corner of the world. He was selfless, fearless, purposeful in his mission as a sorcerer, and you couldn’t fault him for it. Moreso, you faulted yourself for lacking that same drive.

“I just– sometimes I feel like this isn’t for me. I’m not like you, Yuta. I don’t think I’m strong enough for this. I’m not strong enough for this.”

Yuta continued to insist upon believing in your growth, just as you had believed in his. His persistence in your strength of character only served to break your heart more. You knew the deeper his faith in you ran, the more crushing his disappointment would be when you inevitably let him down.

In the weeks following your dismayed conversation with him, you weren’t answering his calls as often, afraid he would be on the other line hoping to hear of your growth and the things you’d overcome— but you had none to show for. You usually texted him with false excuses that you were on a mission, or that you were simply too tired to talk that night. No matter how hard you tried to pride yourself in your little victories, your faith in your abilities as a sorcerer was waning quickly before your eyes.

He had always said that he was the one undeserving of his place in this world— of his place beside you. The stronger he grew though, the more you only noticed the opposite.

It was a month after your phone call that you received a small package from Kenya, recognizing the stamp immediately as one of the various animal themed ones Yuta seemed to keep stockpiled just for you. Chewing at your bottom lip, a sense of guilt washed over you, knowing you hadn’t been keeping up with him as much as you once did. Despite this, he continued to try, desperate to get through to you somehow before you slipped from between his fingers all together.

Ripping open the orange, padded envelope, you overturned the contents onto your bed. The wooden beads of a bracelet clacked softly against one another as they fell upon the comforter, a letter landing gently atop it. You ran your fingers along the thin bracelet, thinking maybe if you concentrated long enough, you’d be able to feel the warmth of his fingers lingering from when he’d carefully placed it into the envelope for you. You picked up the accompanying letter.

Dear Y/N,

It seems like they’ve been keeping you really busy over there in your corner of the world! I had so much I wanted to tell you, but I thought maybe it’d be best to put it all into a letter so you could read it at a time that’s best for you.

Gojo-Sensei says that I’ll probably be coming back soon, maybe in the next couple of months even. If all goes well, I hope to be joining everyone for our final year. It’d be nice to all be together again. It’d be nice to actually see you again.

You don’t have to tell me everything, but I know you’ve been going through a hard time recently, and I’m sorry I’m not there to help you. You were wrong the other night on the phone— you are stronger than you think. This life isn’t easy, and I don’t want you to feel like you’re not fit for it just because it hurts you right now.

When I felt I had no strength left in me to keep going, it was you who lent me some of yours until I could stand again. I’m sending it back to you now, so please use it to keep moving forward until I can lend you some of mine. Please, keep waiting for me.

The beads on the bracelet I sent you represent all the things I wish for you. The red represent bravery and strength, the kind I know you have in you still. Until you find them though, let these be a reminder. The yellow are for growth, and until you can see it coming your way, let these motivate you.

I got one just like it for myself, so I can be reminded everyday of the things I love about you. I’ll keep it on me always, and I hope as you’re waiting that you’ll do the same.

Still yours,

Yuta.

Tears were streaming freely down your cheeks and staining the precious letter before you. With wobbling lips, you bit back a quiet sob as you carefully slipped the thin bracelet onto your wrist. Strength. Bravery. Growth. They were all pillars that seemed so far away from you, but Yuta was convinced you held them just within your grasp. If anything, the beads would serve as a reminder that someone important was counting on you, and you’d rather suffer the uphill battle than disappoint him.

The next morning, you woke early to speak with Gojo. He was lounging lazily in his large, plush chair, laptop sat carelessly on his lap when you came in. As if expecting you all along, he looked up from his bored typing to offer a sly smile— the type that told you he was always steps ahead of you.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Gojo greeted, closing his laptop and setting it haphazardly on his desk. Leaning back, he laced his fingers casually in his lap, jutting his chin toward the seat in front of him.

Hesitantly, you sat down. Your posture was rigid as you stared back at his half-covered face. Although your sensei had never given you a reason to fear him, you couldn’t help but feel anxious at the thought of how he might react to your request.

“I… I don’t know how to say this.”

He stayed silent, allowing you to collect your thoughts. The small smile tugging at his lips said he already knew what was plaguing your mind. Fiddling with the bracelet on your wrist, you were reminded of the importance that you stand your ground here.

“I’m not sure I’m cut out for being a sorcerer.” It was out there, and it hung heavily in the air around you. Looking down at your twiddling fingers, you felt that familiar lump building in your throat. Your sensei was silent before you. Glancing up at him through tear soaked eyes, you shrugged your shoulders in defeat. “I’m not like the others. I can’t bounce back like they do. It scares me; the death, the fighting, the loss— it terrifies me, Gojo. I can’t do it anymore. I-I just—”

“You’ve been struggling for a while now, haven’t you?” It was more of a statement than a question— an observation he’d been holding onto for some time. The older man wasn’t oblivious, he could see when his students were beginning to slip away; physically and mentally.

“How did you know?” You briefly wondered if Yuta had mentioned something to him during their regular check in calls, but you doubted it.

Standing abruptly from his chair, he strolled leisurely around the room, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

“You remind me of someone, is all.” Gojo’s cryptic message left more questions than answers. Though you had grown used to his dodgy answers and coded messages, now was really not the time. Before you could express your annoyance, he continued. “You’re not stuck, you know.”

Your mouth hung open as you stared at him in disbelief. Standing up to face him as he stared out the window, your mind was racing at the possibilities.

“You mean— I could leave? Just like that?”

“Just like that. I’d talk to the higher ups today for you if that’s really what you want.” Still, the edge in his tone indicated that he wasn’t about to let you off that easily. As if sensing your apprehension, he tilted his head playfully toward you, a fond smile on his face. “I’ve seen what this gig can do to people. I don’t need to see you fall victim to it too.”

“I mean— I…” You were stumbling over your words. For the past few years, you were sure that your future was set for you— one you were apprehensive about living, but one that was secure nonetheless. Where would you go from here?

Gojo hummed pensively— invitingly. God, how you wished he would just spit out what he clearly wanted so desperately to say. Of course, he always wanted his students to come to their own conclusions, set their own fates.

“The Night Parade of a Hundred Demons.” The sensei announced dramatically, taking another lap around the room. You shivered at the mention of that night. He leaned toward you with a raised brow. “That’s when this all started, am I right? You almost died, if I remember correctly.”

“I would have if it hadn’t been for—”

“Yuta Okkotsu.” He cut you off, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips, and for a moment you thought you saw his head tilt down as if to look at the bracelet you were currently rolling between your fingers. Nodding softly, he continued. “Still, you cut it pretty close. Must have been traumatizing. Partially lost your sight, almost lost your friends, your life.”

You nodded silently, unsure of where he was going with this long winded rant. Of course, him giving you a simple out was just too easy for Gojo-Sensei’s ‘everything is a life lesson’ style of teaching.

“Tell you what, why don’t I set up a meeting for you to meet with a counselor? Someone who specializes in all our creepy-crawly problems?”

“Like… like therapy?” You questioned with furrowed brows. A therapist for sorcerers? You didn’t even know such a thing existed. Still, the prospect sparked a certain hope in your chest, one that the six eyes saw instantly. He didn’t bother to conceal his victorious smile.

“Yup. Nice, comfy couch and everything.” He advertised as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. His long fingers began typing purposefully against the screen before he looked up at you again. “Of course, she’s kind of running a one-man show, so her schedule is pretty tight. I can pull a few strings for you though.” His words rang in your mind with a faint echo. That suggestive, underlying tone in his voice, it was beginning to seep through, and your gut was telling you his suggestion was a lot more calculated than you would ever give him credit for. “That kind of work is in high demand, you know— what with all the new curses popping up since Itadori came along.”

Gojo was continuing to drop hints, but you had already heard him loud and clear. This was something he thought you could do— somewhere he knew you would fit within this hectic world. As a teacher, it was his job to train the up and coming sorcerers for the perils that lay ahead of them. In the same prospect though, he had also become incredibly adept at discovering their potential and nudging them toward it— even if it wasn’t as gently as he thought.

The following week you met with the therapist Gojo had supposedly pulled so many strings to get you in to see. She had a small office just minutes away from the school, and you wondered why she wasn’t on campus. She hadn’t suggested it to you first, though she was well aware of what Gojo was trying to do when he set up this meeting.

So, amidst your explanation of everything you had been experiencing since that night, you dropped in questions. How did she know this was the right path for her— how closely did she work with Jujutsu High— how did she get where she was?

By the gentle and encouraging manner in which she answered all of your questions, you had a gut feeling once again that Gojo had already been three steps ahead of you. You were set to transfer out of Jujutsu High the following week.

Your sensei funded your education through an outside university, who’s higher ups had connections with the school. Kaori, the god-sent sorcerer counselor who’d seemingly fallen from the heavens right when you needed her, was more than happy to take you under her wing as well. In truth, she was relieved to have some help around the office given the influx of referrals she’d been receiving recently.

Everything had been falling into place, yet there was still one last loose end you had yet to tie up from your life as a sorcerer. You looked down at the box of letters you’d kept over the past year or so from Yuta.

Following his last letter, and how determined he seemed to be that you would make it as a sorcerer— you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him that you had given up. After everything he’d done to grow himself into the man he was now, a fearless and loyal sword to his friends and the innocent— and you had given up. In the end, despite his insistence that it was him not worthy enough to stick around, you realized it had been you all along.

You weren’t worthy of Yuta Okkotsu.

Your trembling finger hovered over his contact, but you couldn’t do it. Clicking your phone off, you stared up at the ceiling of your now empty dorm room and allowed the hot tears to burn your cheeks, dripping down your neck and into the hem of your shirt. He was still finishing up his training, growing into a man he could be proud of, experiencing the things that made him feel alive. It would be selfish of you to drop this on him now.

Setting down the box on your desk, you pulled out a spare sheet of paper and sat down to draft your last prose to Yuta Okkotsu.

Dear Yuta,

By the time you’re reading this, I’m sure you will have already heard about my departure from Jujutsu High. I wanted to call you and tell you everything that’s been on my mind, to give you a proper goodbye, but I didn’t want to interrupt your progress overseas.

I wanted to thank you for the kindness you’ve shown me over the years. I’ll cherish each bit of it as long as I live. You kept me holding on through my lowest points, even if it wasn’t the life of sorcery that I was holding onto.

I know I’m cowardly, but I just couldn’t look you in the eyes and tell you that I had given up. You’ve worked so hard and sacrificed so much to hold your place here, and I suppose a part of me feels foolish for giving mine up so easily.

Your passion for undoing the wrongs in this world is so beautiful, and although I couldn’t share it with you, it only ever made me love you more. Please never take it for granted. Continue to fight to hold your place here, because you hold more power than you could ever come to know. I can feel it, even when you’re not here.

I’m sorry that I couldn’t wait for you.

Forever yours,

Y/N

When Yuta Okkotsu arrived back at Jujutsu High three months later, he had already been sitting on the news of your departure for two weeks. His friends thought it best to at least prepare him for when he returned, but he figured so much when you stopped responding to his calls and messages. No amount of preparation could have stopped the hole from opening up in his chest upon reading the letter you’d left in his dorm room. It sat neatly on his untouched pillow— a ghost that haunted him the second he stepped in.

He tried with fervor to be excited for his return, smiling along half heartedly when his friends shoved a party hat on his head and insisted upon celebrating all the birthdays they’d missed. Those haunting blue eyes only stared lifelessly at the cake before him, his soul still sat on the edge of his bed where he’d read your letter.

Forever yours.

Yuta wondered if those simple two words meant the door was open for him to swing in and come find you as he so ardently promised he would. Gojo-Sensei said you were happy though— working toward your place in the world. It was one he no longer felt he had a place in— not when his life consisted so wholly of the very things you were running from.

Months passed, and the both of you tried so desperately to move on. Despite being content in the roots your lives had sprouted, there was always a missing piece that stopped the both of you from blossoming. You always held your breath in hopes he’d come back to you like he said he would, and he always hoped you were still waiting for him despite his insistence that you were happier without him. The both of you were only kids when you’d carelessly thrown out such a vow, after all.

Gojo felt whole-heartedly confident in his whim to have Kaori train you. There was a spark in you, one that wanted to heal those that this world had so carelessly wounded, even if that meant you having to heal yourself first. In the end, it was the right decision, and he prided himself in the fact that there was a happy medium to keep your talents within the jujutsu world still while also fulfilling your purpose. There was a missing piece of the puzzle that lingered ever present though, and that was the infuriating case of you and Yuta Okkotsu.

It was getting depressing— watching the boy mope around pretending to not have the very obvious chip on his shoulder all the damn time. Your old sensei still kept up with you and your progress often, seeing as the school worked closely with Kaori to refer in need sorcerers on a regular basis.

Each time he’d pop in for a visit or called unexpectedly, you’d always ask how everyone back at the school was doing. Sure, you really did hope your old friends were doing okay, but you were really holding your breath for when he’d mention Yuta. Gojo always spoke of him so highly, and you couldn’t help but smile fondly each time, thinking of how proud you were at how much he’d accomplished— just as he said he would. Still, the six eyes never missed that morose glimmer in your eye as you’d nod along to his stories.

“Have you ever tried sleeping at night, or are those dark circles just a part of you now?”

Yuta was snapped from his stupor when his sensei dropped unceremoniously beside him as he looked on at his friends ahead of him. As if having just been reminded of his perpetual exhaustion, he reached up subconsciously to rub at those aforementioned dark eyes.

“Oh, haha,” Yuta’s halfhearted attempt at a laugh only served to drive Gojo’s purpose right home. “Yeah, guess my sleep schedule never really adjusted back to normal, huh?”

“You aren’t performing like you should be, Okkotsu.”

He gaped exasperatedly at his sensei, blinking a few times as if maybe he just hadn’t heard him correctly. Frankly, he had been kicking ass lately, and everyone around him knew it too. Still, if Gojo-Sensei was telling him he was falling behind, it was seemingly the only opinion that mattered. Even if it wore him down till only his skeleton remained, he would keep getting better until he could prove himself to the man who took a chance on him.

Already picking up on the look of determination on the boy’s face, Gojo put out a solemn ‘slow your roll’ hand in front of him. Sighing in amusement, the sensei thought the boy would crush a semi-truck between his hands if it’d make him grow— meant he could prove himself.

“Your mind isn’t here. Hasn’t been since you got back. I can tell, you know.”

Okkotsu’s shoulders slumped dejectedly. No matter how much he worked to train physically, to learn to control his cursed energy and techniques, there was always that one lingering barrier that seemed to keep him from reaching his potential. Of course, he knew he had been more distracted since your departure, but he figured— hoped— it would pass eventually. He thought maybe if he ignored it long enough, pushed down that frenzy to rip his hair out by the roots and bellow out every frustration he’d held in for allowing you to slip away, each day as the urge melted away into dreams of you at night that woke him with a crater in his chest— maybe eventually it would fade just as you did.

“Try to get some rest, clear your mind. Do what you gotta do.” Gojo emphasized, leaning down to tower over his apprehensive prodigy with a knowing smile. His covered eyes flicked down to where Yuta’s fingers were rolling the beads of his colorful bracelet pensively. He hummed in amusement. “You know, I know someone who has that same bracelet.”

His student perked up ever so subtly upon hearing this. The prying man quickly moved to grasp his wrist and inspect the bracelet closer. It made Yuta feel exposed, wanting to crawl under his covers and not come out again if it meant no one else would lay their eyes on the one connection he still had to you. Gulping thickly, he snatched his wrist back, covering the wooden jewelry protectively under his other hand.

“Oh, you know her, don’t you?” Satoru feigned remembrance, snapping his fingers dramatically. “She used to go here.”

The stunned boy stammered out your name in question. It still felt so natural, so effortless rolling off of his tongue despite the prolonged period that had passed since he’d uttered those syllables.

“Yeah! Saw it on her just last week.”

All the blood seemed to drain from Yuta Okkotsu’s face. His wide, haunting eyes suddenly transfixed hazily on the smiling man before him in a manner that would have been terrifying had it been directed at a stranger. You still wore the bracelet he got you? The prospect had his mind spinning, and his stomach churning anxiously. The poor guy looked as though he would short circuit at any moment; brows twitching into a deep furrow, the corners of his lips fluttering in uncertainty. He blinked a few times before looking up at his sensei with a new sense of determination clouding his eyes.

“Where did you say she went?”

Bingo!

The clock’s ticking mocked you menacing as you raced to finish your assessment notes within the hour. Kaori was always merciful with you, understanding that you were still learning and would likely take more time with things, but you couldn’t help but urge yourself to do better.

It had been almost a year that you had been studying while working alongside the counselor, and you had blossomed in a way you never thought would have been possible. Granted, you weren’t able to do any of what you had lovingly labeled as ‘the fun stuff’ yet, you had adjusted surprisingly well to the countless intake assessments and documentation your mentor had entrusted you with. Of course, it wasn’t the same as having a second counselor there with her, but anything helped ease the weight of her overwhelming caseload. She knew it was good experience for you too.

Despite her hectic schedule, Kaori still found time to meet with you often to check in regarding the struggles that brought you to her in the first place, insisting it would be a crucial step in your training as well. Slowly but surely, you were beginning to rebuild that confidence in yourself and your own purpose in this monstrous world. It felt cathartic, being a part of the process of healing for those torn down by the very things that hurt you so long ago as well. It was meaningful— fulfilling.

You wondered if this was how Yuta felt when he was out there, helping people as well, just in his own way. A sharp pang struck you each time your mind wandered too far though, and you were always quick to reel it back in.

Your bottom lip was caught ruthlessly between your teeth, and it seemed the clacking of your keyboard was fighting against the ticking of the clock for dominance. A small spark of defeat struck you as you heard the door of the office creak open. Looking up at the time, your brows furrowed in confusion. You were sure that you had already completed the last intake Kaori had scheduled for you today. Scrambling into the drawer beside you to pull out a new form, you hoped you would at least look somewhat prepared whenever the unexpected patient came to your desk.

“Hi, there!” You called out from your tucked away cubicle, fumbling to save the document you were working on. “I’m back here, you can come on in.”

Slow footsteps approached closer and closer before pausing in front of your desk. Pushing the hair from your eyes, you looked up with a warm, inviting smile.

Oh.

The smile on your face slowly faded as Yuta Okkotsu towered over your desk. It wasn’t the version of him you once knew; this one was taller, more refined, more calculated with the manner in which he held himself. His wide, midnight-blue eyes regarded you carefully, but his face revealed nothing. Your mouth opened and closed pathetically, your mind desperately trying to catch up with the way your day had suddenly progressed. Stepping forward, he calmly sank down into the chair in front of you, hands gripping the arms casually.

“Yu—”

“I heard you offer counseling for sorcerers, right?” He was suddenly smiling sweetly at you, but there was a controlled glint in his eyes— holding him back. Not allowing you to respond, he continued. “Well, I have some things to get off my chest, so it’s lucky I found you, huh?”

You sank back into your chair, allowing the papers in your hands to slip from your fingers and swoosh softly onto the desk. Nodding gently, you urged him to go on, anxiety balling up in the pit of your stomach. He launched off on a long-winded story, one you already knew like the back of your hand— you lived it, after all. Your already knowing the climax didn’t stop the furious blush that overtook you as he recalled the letter he’d found in his dorm upon his arrival back to Tokyo.

“She always had this sweet way of signing off all her letters to me.” Yuta recounted with a soft smile, eyes glimmering as they looked back at you. Yours, on the other hand, were holding back the dam of tears that had been building up for countless months. As the first tear slipped down your cheek, you saw his resolve start to crumble, gaze chasing the drop as it raced down your skin. His bottom lip trembled. “She signed that last one— she signed it off ‘forever yours’, but I never saw her again.”

“Yuta—”

“Why didn’t you just tell me you weren’t happy?” He finally snapped, his own tears swimming in his eyes. Bracing his hands on the desk, he leaned forward desperately. “I would’ve understood, I would’ve—”

“I tried! I tried to tell you, but you were so sure that I was going to get through it. How was I supposed to look you in the eyes after you gave up so much of your life to train to be better? How was I supposed to tell you I was giving up?”

“You promised me!” His cry rang out in the quiet office, shoving his chair back to stand over you once again. You heard Kaori’s office door open abruptly, likely startled by the perceived altercation. Despite his dominating presence and lingering stance, you couldn’t find it in you to be intimidated by him. You shook your head softly toward your mentor, letting her know you were fine. As the door hesitantly shut once again, Yuta was sinking closer to you despairingly. “I would’ve come back for you— I wouldn’t have cared where I had to look, okay? I wouldn’t have cared that you left everything— but you weren’t supposed to leave me.”

His wounded tone finally caught up to you, and you let your head fall down onto your crumpled hands as you cried. Yuta sighed softly, almost regretting his stinging confession. Quickly looping around the desk, he settled down on his knees in front of you and turned you to face him.

“I’m sorry, Yuta.” You cried, falling into him as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you from your chair. He was stronger than you last remembered him being, but his touch was just as delicate. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. Hey, it’s okay. We’re here now, right?” He assured gently, pulling you away from his chest so he could look at you with a smile, tears still clinging to his lashes. His cool hand ran down from your shoulder to your wrist, and he traced the bracelet that hadn’t come off your wrist since you received it. A soft flush covered his cheeks. “You kept it, huh?”

“You kept yours, too.” You laughed breathlessly, wiping at your cheeks with one hand and grasping his bracelet with the other.

“I told you, I always meant everything I said to you. I still do.” His words almost made you break down again, but you worried if you started boo-hoo crying again that Kaori might just burst through the door with more determination than she had last time.

So instead, you took a moment to glance over his matured face, shaking your head in amusement upon seeing those familiar dark circles still hanging under his eyes. Your heart clenched as your eyes ran across the small scar that Maki left on his forehead. When you met his gaze once again, it gave you pause. Yuta had that look in his eyes— the same one he had all those years ago before he left for Kenya. The rapid patter of your heart could be felt in your throat.

Despite your nerves, your lips twitched up into a knowing smile. You reached up tentatively to place a hand over your right eye, covering the scar that had stopped him all those years ago. He pursed his lips at this action and shook his head. In an instant, his long fingers were wrapping around your wrist to pull your hand away from your face.

“Don’t.” Yuta said simply before leaning down to capture your lips in his, more assuredly than his sixteen year old self ever could have dared to, but just as sweetly as the boy who promised to come back to you would have.

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wiltedflowerpetals · 2 days

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John Price is a lot of things. A soldier. A leader. The captain of Task Force 141. And, of course, (Y/N) Price's husband. They are so much in love, in fact, that after a year of dating, John asked her to marry him. But even lovers have secrets... Because John's lovely wife wasn't just a sweet wife with a boring office job. No. She was a killer. A hitman. One of the best...

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It's my first cod fic... I hope it's good. Thank you for reading and I wish you all a great day! x3

Words: 2259

Warning: fluff, a bit angsty

You wiped a bead of sweat from your brow as you entered the quiet sanctuary of your home. You placed your weapons carefully in your hidden compartment beneath the floorboards of the closet, where John would never think to look. It was almost laughable, really. Your husband, John Price, a man who had dedicated his life to fighting criminals, had no idea that his wife was one of those killers.

You closed the closet door and took a deep breath. This was your life, your choice, long before you even met John. He didn't need to know about your job. All he needed to know was that you were here, waiting for him, just like you always were. You took another deep breath and needed to switch gears, to become the version of yourself that he knew and loved.

After you took a shower and put on some comfy clothes, you decided to cook your husband’s favorite food. You moved around the kitchen, preparing it as the aroma of simmering stew filled the air.

Your phone buzzed on the kitchen counter. A text from Kate Laswell. A good friend of yours.

You smiled before swiping the screen to answer the call.

“(Y/N).” Kate greeted you. She sounded professional, as always, but with a bit of warmth.

“Kate.” You replied. “How did it go?”

“Smoothly. The target is dead, and our friend is safe for now. You did a good job out there.”

“Thanks.” You said, leaning against the counter, watching the stew. “What’s next?”

“Next?” You heard her chuckle. “Next, I’m coming over.”

You raised your eyebrow, stirring the pot. “You're sure about this, Kate?”

“What, afraid to see me in broad daylight?” You rolled your eyes at her. “Yes, John invited me. He’s been telling me for ages about how good your cooking is. How could I refuse?”

You sighed. “I’m a great cook… But, Kate, you know how important it is that John doesn’t find out about… you know.”

“I know.” Kate reassured you. “I won’t say a word. He has no idea we know each other, and it’ll stay that way.” Silence filled the conversation. “But he’s bound to find out. You have to talk to him one day.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “I know and I will do it… One day. It’s just… I don’t want him getting involved in my shit. If he knew what I really do…”

“I understand…” Kate said softly. “And I promise, your secret’s safe with me.”

“Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow then.” You sighed and rolled your eyes as the line went dead before you could say more. You placed the phone back on the counter.

“You could have said bye, Kate.”

It wasn’t that you didn’t trust your husband; it was that you couldn’t bear the thought of him being in danger. You’d lied to him for years, all to protect him. And so far, it had worked.

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

The front door opened. John was home. You turned, wiping your hands on a towel as he entered the kitchen, his face lighting up when he saw you.

“Hey, love.” He greeted, his voice gruff but full of affection.

“John.” You smiled, walking over to him. He pulled you into a tight embrace, burying his face in your hair. The scent of sweat, gunpowder, cigars and earth clung to him, a reminder of the world he lived in, the world you knew perfectly well…

“Missed you.” He murmured against your neck.

“I missed you too.” You replied, your voice soft. You kind of did. Can you miss someone that you see so often? Even when your husband went on missions, you were there, watching his back and saving his life more times than you could count.

You always went there to safe him. For Kate and for yourself.

You pulled back, giving him a soft kiss on his dry lips. He was safe. That was all that mattered.

“You’re just in time for dinner.”

John watched you with a smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You spoil me, you know that?”

“Someone has to.” You teased, setting the plates on the table. “Sit down. I’ll get everything.”

He obeyed. You placed a steaming plate in front of him and joined him at the table. You two ate in comfortable silence.

John leaned back in his chair, looking at you with a satisfied grin. "You’ve outdone yourself, love."

“I’m glad you liked it.” You replied, gathering the dishes. He grabbed your hand, stopping you.

“Leave it.” He said. “I’ll do it later.”

You smiled, but shook your head. “Let me help then.” John offered, but you shook your head again.

“No, you go take a shower. I’ve got this.”

He didn’t need much convincing. “Alright, but only because you insist.”

He pressed a kiss to your temple, before you watched him head towards the bathroom.

The next day arrived too quickly…

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

You woke up early and ready to prepare breakfast. John was still asleep, his arm draped over your side of the bed, the peaceful expression on his face making your heart ache with affection.

You moved quietly, not wanting to wake him just yet. He needed his rest, especially after the mission he’d just returned from. You poured yourself a cup of coffee and sipped it slowly, savoring the moment.

As you finished up, John stumbled into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“Morning, love.” He mumbled, reaching for you. You stepped into his embrace, pressing a kiss to his chest.

“Morning.” You replied, your voice soft. “Breakfast is almost ready.”

“Smells amazing.” he said, pulling back to look at you.

You two sat on the table, eating your delicious food as John intertwined his fingers with yours.

“Soo…” John started, as you finished your food.

“Soo?” You glanced at him, squeezing his hand.

“A friend of mine wanted to visit us. You, know the friend I’ve mentioned a couple of times? Kate?” You nod your head, feeling a slight twinge of anxiety in your stomach. “Yeah, she will come… Is it okay? Or should I call her back and-“

You shook your head. “No, no, honey. It’s okay. She can come.” Despite her promise, there was still a small part of your that worried, that he will find out about your job.

John smiled at your, happy that you were fine with it and finally could meet his friend.

And due to your nervosity, you start to cook early on for dinner. For the time Kate will come into your home. You prayed and hoped that everything will work out…

John noticed your nervosity, of course. He always did. “You’re fussing too much.” He teased as he leaned against the kitchen counter, watching you.

“I’m not fussing.” You rolled your eyes, but could hear the tension in your own voice. “I just want everything to be perfect…”

“It will be.” John assured you, moving to wrap his arms around you from behind. “Kate’s going to love you. She’s always been curious about the woman who managed to snag me.”

You laughed, though the sound was a bit strained. John kissed the side of your neck, his beard scratching gently against your skin. “Don’t worry, love.”

The doorbell rang and you felt your heart leap into your throat. This was it…

John released you, heading for the door. “That’ll be Kate.” He said.

You quickly wiped your hands on a towel, trying to steady your breathing as you followed him. When the door swung open, there stood Kate Laswell, dressed casually but with her usual air of quiet authority.

“Kate, good to see you.” John greeted warmly.

“Good to see you too, John.” Kate replied with a smile, glancing over his shoulder at you.

You stepped forward, a perfectly practiced look of curiosity and friendliness on her face. It was time to act. Something that you always had to do during your missions. Acting or more likely… lying…

“You must be Kate. I’ve heard so much about you.”

“And you must be (Y/N).” Kate responded. “John wasn’t exaggerating when he said you’re beautiful.”

You rolled your eyes at the false pleasantries, but at least your friend had some fun. This was the game you two had to play after all. “Thank you. Come in, please.”

As Kate stepped inside, John closed the door behind her, looking pleased. He had no idea that the two women had known each other for a long time already.

They moved to the dining room, where you had already set the table. The conversation flowed easily, John and Kate reminiscing about old missions, with you chiming in here and there, careful to keep up the facade of being just a supportive wife with no real connection to their deadly world.

As they ate, John kept looking between the two women. “It’s funny.” He remarked. “I’ve always thought you two would get along great. Glad to see I was right.”

You forced a smile, hoping it didn’t look as strained as it felt. “Well, Kate’s easy to get along with.” You said, but kept your eyes rather on John than on her.

Kate returned the smile, her expression giving nothing away. “And I can see why John speaks so highly of you, (Y/N). You’ve got a real knack for this - hosting, cooking… you’re a natural.”

“… Thank you.” You replied, you were counting down the minutes until this tense dinner was over.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of small talk and laughter, with John completely oblivious to the undercurrent of tension between the two women. As far as he knew, it was just a pleasant evening with his wife and a close friend.

When it was finally time for Kate to leave, John walked her to the door, thanking her again for coming. You followed, staying a step behind, happy that the day has finally ended.

“Thanks for having me.” Kate said warmly, giving you a meaningful look as she shook your hand. “I hope we can do this again sometime.”

“I would love to.” You replied, your voice steady despite of all the emotions you were feeling right now. “It was lovely meeting you.”

With that, Kate left, and you closed the door, leaning against it for a moment, eyes closed as you let out a slow breath.

John came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. “See? Told you it’d be fine.”

You leaned into his embrace. “You were right.” You admitted, turning in his arms to face him. “It was nice and went better than I thought.”

John smiled down at you. “You did great, love. I knew Kate would like you. But then again, what's not to like?”

You chuckled. “You give me too much credit. But I’m glad she came over. It was… good to finally meet her.”

He kissed your forehead, his lips lingering for a moment. “You know, I think she’ll become a good friend of yours. She’s got a lot of interesting stories, and I’m sure you two have more in common than you think.”

You swallowed hard, forcing a smile on your lips. “Yeah… maybe.”

John’s smile softened as he looked at you. “Are you alright? You seem… distracted.”

You hesitated, your heart skipping a beat. He was always so perceptive. But you couldn’t tell him the truth… Not now, not ever. So, you did what you had done countless times before. You lied… Again.

“Just tired.” You said, resting your head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. “It’s been a long day.”

He held you close, his hand gently stroking your back. “I understand. It’s been a lot. Why don’t we call it a night? You need your rest.”

You nodded, feeling now tired from this day. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

You locked up the house and headed upstairs. As you got ready for bed, you couldn’t help but glance at John, wondering what would happen if he ever found out the truth. How would he react? Would he be angry, hurt, betrayed?

Once you two were in bed, John pulled you close, his arm wrapped protectively over you. He kissed your temple, whispering a soft “Goodnight, love.” before closing his eyes.

You lay there in the darkness, your eyes wide open as you stared at the ceiling. The evening had gone as well as it could have, but the anxiety was still there. Kate’s visit had been a stark reminder of your real life. Your real job.

You turned slightly to watch John sleep; his face peaceful in the light. He had no idea how many times you’d been there, watching over him from the shadows during his missions, making sure he and his team got out alive. You were always just out of sight, never letting anyone know where you were. It was your way of protecting him.

You weren’t sure how long you could keep this up.

But for now, John was safe. He was home, with you, and that was all that mattered.

You reached out, brushing a hand over his cheek, feeling the rough stubble under your fingers. He stirred slightly, but didn’t wake, just leaned into her touch.

“I love you.” You whispered.

It was both a vow and a plea. A promise to keep him safe, and a silent wish that he’d never have to find out the lengths you’d gone to do so.

Eventually, you fell asleep in the arms of your husband.

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