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heart-of-the-morningstar · 2 months

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✨Dress Up, Part 1: The Proposal✨

IT IS DONE HOLY SHIT! Yeah, I had to change this fic 3 different times, I'm really sorry this one took so long. Hopefully you all like this one and thank you for your patience <3

Consider this a reward for kicking Vox's ass in this poll and declaring our short king the ACTUAL hottest character in Hazbin Hotel lmao

Edit: This is now going to be a multi-chapter story! Look forward to more! Thank you all for the support 💖

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Lucifer x f!sinner reader

Summary: Lucifer takes you dress shopping for a special night out, but for some reason he's been acting a little strange lately...

Warnings: 18+, smut, public teasing, oral (f receiving), fingering, p in v

Lucifer excitedly told you that he wanted to take you dress shopping today. It wasn't out of the norm for you two to go out on the town and indulge on some sort of spending spree together. Plus Lucifer absolutely loved buying things for you; whether it be precious jewelry, beautiful flowers, or brand-new clothes. But you had to admit it's been a while since you've gone out, what with Lucifer spending a majority of time at the hotel assisting his daughter Charlie. You were so happy that they were able to rekindle their bond after so many years of being apart. You were more than happy to help with the hotel as well! You found ways to help Charlie with whatever she needed, which somehow ended up being more than you initially thought. It was exhausting to say the least, but you enjoyed it nonetheless! You were very much looking forward to going out today with your beloved king. And of course he was taking you to one of the most esteemed shops in all of Hell, Vivacious by Velvette. He truly spared no expense when it came to you.

But for some reason, you couldn't shake the feeling that something was…off about Lucifer today.

He didn't seem upset or angry or anything of the sort. More like, he was scared? Or perhaps nervous about something? You couldn't think of anything that could be making him feel this way. The hotel was doing great, Charlie and Lucifer’s relationship was better than it’s ever been, and you and Lucifer have been nothing but enamored with each other. You were just clothes shopping after all. You two had been dating for some time now; you remembered how Lucifer used to be all kinds of flustered during your first few outings. You thought it was adorable the way he stumbled over his words when he brought up the newest duck he had added to his collection or when he complimented every single outfit you’ve ever worn. He still did those things, of course, but he slowly became more and more comfortable and confident around you. But today was something you’ve never seen before. The wary smiles he’s been giving throughout day, the jitteriness of his movements anytime you approached him, his rapid speech patterns…was he hiding something from you? You intended to get to the bottom of it.

You walked down the streets of Hell with Lucifer by your side, his arm linked with yours. You stepped into the lavish shop, dresses of all kids hung from the racks: ball gowns, sun dresses, cocktail dresses; anything you could think of was there! Lucifer told you to take your time and to pick out as many as you wanted to try on while he waited for you by the dressing room. Despite the plethora of options at your fingertips, you only found yourself intrigued by a handful of dresses. Some with more material than others but you'd thought you'd give them a try regardless; you weren't shy when it came to your body.

You grabbed the three dresses that appealed to you the most and made your way towards the changing rooms. Just as he promised, you saw Lucifer standing at the end of the hall waiting for you. But he didn't seem to notice you at first, his attention was elsewhere. Next to the changing rooms was the most impressive collection of wedding dresses you'd ever seen in Hell and even on Earth, each more breathtaking than the last. You noticed Lucifer staring at the wall of dresses with an almost wishful expression, reaching out to touch one of the dresses' lacy sleeve, gently massaging it between his fingers. You smiled and quietly walked over to join him.

"They're really beautiful, aren't they?," you said, snapping him out of his trance and making him jump a bit. He smiled at you, his hand still holding onto the sleeve.

"Absolutely stunning," he beamed. Although, with the way he was looking at you, it didn't seem like he was referring to the dresses. You felt a small blush creep across your cheeks.

One of the employees walked up to you and directed you to an empty changing room. Lucifer waited outside patiently, smiling at you as you closed the sort behind you. The first dress you wanted to try on was a simple black sheath dress. Once you slipped it on, you reached behind of and attempted to grab the zipper. You can only manage to pull it up so far before it wouldn’t budge anymore, causing you to huff in frustration. Slowly, you opened the door to see Lucifer’s eager face staring back at you.

“I need your help, hon,” you admitted. “I can’t reach the zipper.”

Quickly, Lucifer stood up and followed you into the changing room. You turned your back to him and lifted your hair up and out of the way so the zipper couldn’t catch it. Lucifer placed one hand on your hip and the other on the back of your dress. You heard the zipper moving, but it only took you a second to realize it was moving in the wrong direction. Cheeky bastard, you thought to yourself.

“Up, Lucifer,” you said with a smirk, glancing at him over your shoulder. You heard a light chuckle escape him.

“Sorry, darling,” he apologized almost insincerely, peppering kisses down your neck, “can’t help myself when it comes to you.” Lethargically, he pulled the zipper up to the top, finally letting your hair fall back down. If he wanted to play games, you were more than happy to participate. Because you knew how to win. And just maybe, you could get him to admit to whatever he was keeping from you.

“I wouldn’t start something that you’re not ready to finish, sweet pea,” you threatened with a smug grin.

Before Lucifer could get a word out, you spun around and pushed him gently against the wall, eliciting a small yelp from him. You placed both of your arms on either side of his head, effectively trapping him. His eyes widened, sucking in a breath as he realized how vulnerable he was in this new position he had found himself in. His head and hands became flat against the wall as he looked into your now ravenous eyes.

“My love, p-please,” he began to stammer, “I-I didn’t want to-HNG,” you effectively cut off his meek pleas as your one hand traveled down below his belt. You maneuvered your hand up and down at an agonizingly slow pace. Nonetheless, you felt him start to harden underneath his pants almost instantly. You flashed a devious smile, but he didn’t see it, as he had screwed his eyes shut. Baring his clenched teeth, he tried desperately to hold his breath as to not make any lewd noises. You took that as a challenge, of course.

“So it’s only alright if you get to tease me, is that it, Luci?,” you questioned, leaning your head forward with your lips now pressed against his ear. “Now that doesn’t seem fair at all, does it?”

Lucifer gulped as you continued your teasing ministrations. “I’m s-sorry, sweetheart,” he looked at you doe-eyed. “P-Please don’t-mmph…don’t do this, not here. I won’t be able to hold back, not today…”

“Oh, I’m counting on that,” you retorted. “You know you’ve been acting out of sorts all day, don’t think I haven’t noticed. Maybe if you tell me what’s wrong, I’ll show you some mercy.”

Lucifer audibly gulped at your words. "It's…it's nothing, angel, I promise, I just-fuck," you pressed your hand in harder against the growing tent in his pants, silencing his response.

"You hesitated just now," you told him. "If that's how you want it to be, so be it. You don't have to tell me. But you're not off the hook, not by a longshot." You pulled away from him, giving him a chance to breathe normally once again. You gave a quick glance to the mirror to finally get a look at the dress you had adorned. It looked nice! But it came off as something you would wear in an office setting; not really your style. You looked back at Lucifer who was instantly frozen in place from your gaze.

"I'm not feeling this one," you remarked, "help me with the zipper?" You turned your back to him once more, feeling his hand tentatively grab the zipper. "You can only touch the dress, understand? I'm off limits."

"M-mhmm," Lucifer agreed. He behaved and only tugged the zipper down halfway until you could reach it yourself.

"Good boy."

You discarded the dress quickly, leaving you in only your lacy black bra and matching black panties. Lucifer forced himself to look away from you, trying to reach for the door handle.

"And where do you think you're going?," you asked coyly, stopping him in his tracks entirely.

“I umm, just uhh…giving you privacy?” He tentatively went for the handle again, but your arm shot out, keeping the door in its locked state.

“Oh, we’re way past decency here, Lucifer.” You maneuvered him away from the door and sat him down on the large white bench that was affixed to the wall. You leveraged your foot against the area just below his hip and rested one hand on the top of your thigh, the other on your hip. “Besides, you’re not really in any condition to be in the public view” leaning forward and shooting a quick glance down at his crotch, “now are you?”

Lucifer could only shake his head.

"Glad you agree," you smiled and pecked his lips, a pathetic little whine leaving Lucifer's throat. "I have a few more dresses to try on. You can look, but you cannot touch unless I say, alright?"

"Yes, love," he murmured obediently. You smiled and turned around to pick up the black dress you had let fall to the floor. You bent over slowly to pick it up, giving Lucifer a lovely view of your barely covered ass. You heard a deep inhale behind you followed by a shaky exhale.

You hung up the black dress and moved onto the next dress; a beautiful lavender colored Bardot dress with sleeves that hung off your shoulders. Luckily this one didn't have a zipper, you only needed to step in and shimmy it up your body. You adjusted your bra straps and hid them under the sleeves for the time being. You liked this one more than the last, you did as few twirls in front of the mirror checking every single angle.

"What do you think of this one, hon?," you asked, looking at his reflection in the mirror. It seemed as though he was gripping that bench with just a little too much force.

"Ravishing," Lucifer breathed. You had given him permission to look, and he was taking fully advantage of your generosity. He was chopping at the bit, fighting every urge to pounce right then and there. Lucifer's eyes were hungry, his lips curled into a smile to try and hide how badly he needed you at this moment. You admired his will power…but how strong was it truly? You made your way back towards him, chuckling playfully. Without warning, your knees found their way onto the bench, now fully straddling the mess of a man beneath you.

"W-what are you-mmph!" Lucifer tried to ask you but was cut short by your lips suddenly on his. You wrapped your arms around his neck and placed a small peck to his forehead.

"You always say just the right things, Luci," you cooed as you began to shift your hips against him. Hearing the mangled moans coming from Lucifer was nothing short of euphoric. You noticed he had released his grasp on the bench and began to move towards your hips. You gripped the back of his head, his hair firmly between your fingers, and tilted his head back gently. Lucifer grunted softly as you brought your lips to his neck. "Ah, ah, ah, what did I say, love? No touching," you scolded, now sucking and nibbling at his tender skin, desperately needing to mark him.

Lucifer whimpered and reluctantly brought his hands back to their original position on the frigid bench that paled in comparison to the feeling of your warm body that was pressed against him. "I-I can't do this f-for much longer, darling," he whimpered, "I can only h-handle- hnng, so much, I…ssshhhhhhiiittt-" Lucifer's hot breath became increasingly labored as you continued to rock your hips against his painfully growing bulge.

Just then, you heard the sound of a door closing. Someone had just entered the room next to you. With the threat of being heard now looming, you lifted yourself from his neck to see that Lucifer's eyes had turned an ominous red. It felt as if his slit black irises were staring straight into your soul, attempting to burn you from within. He was losing control fast. But you weren't done with him just yet. With a smirk, you placed a finger over his soft lips. "Shh," you whispered almost inaudibly, "you may want to keep your voice down from now on."

A low guttural growl erupted from Lucifer, not of anger, but of pure lust. His obedience hanging by the thinnest of threads as you removed yourself from his lap and stripped yourself of the purple dress. At this point, you couldn’t really care less about the dresses. This was much more entertaining.

The last dress you had grabbed was a form fitting strapless dress decorated entirely in ruby colored sequence with a long slit up the side. You held it against your body in the mirror, but something didn't look quiet right. But then in donned on you, and a devious thought had crossed your mind. You made your way over to Lucifer once more, noticing his claws were now digging into his thighs.

"Can you hold this for just a moment, dear?," you asked innocently. He looked up at you with his still crimson eyes, outstretching his hand silently. Once he was holding the garment, you reached around the back of your bra and unclasped it, letting it hit the floor with a soft thud. Lucifer's eyes became saucers, bunching up the dress in his hand with a clenched fist. Your soft and tender breasts were mere inches from his touch and yet he found he could only sit there motionless, writhing under each new temptation you threw at him.

"You…you are…" Lucifer began, finding it agonizingly difficult to steady his breathing.

You smiled and tugged the dress back from Lucifer's powerful grip. "The dress wouldn't look right with the bra on, silly! I should have brought one of my strapless ones, but oh well, live and learn!" You giggled to yourself and turned away from the fallen angel who's resolve was deteriorating with each passing moment. And with that final move, you had definitely won the game.

Or did you?

While you were mentally congratulating yourself on your perceived victory, you hadn't noticed that Lucifer had moved from his seated position, picking up every article of your clothing that you used to torment him. All you felt next was something wrap around your waist tightly. Was that…his tail?

"What the-AHH!," you tried to question, only to be pulled backwards through a portal that had been summoned, dropping the red dress in the process. The pale white dressing room vanished from sight and you were left standing in the middle of your bedroom. “Lucifer, why did you-" but you couldn’t finish your question. When you turned around, your lover was on his knees behind you, his demonic horns now on full display. He lifted his head, his eyes brimming with tears that threatened to fall at any moment. "Oh, Luci…"

"Please forgive me, I-I'm so sorry, my angel," he cried, "I know I've been acting strange all day and I know that you know I've been keeping something from you. I swear on my immortal life that I will tell you, but I'm begging you…" you kneeled down with him, cupping his face with your hand, "no more teasing. P-please…I-I need you…"

You gave him a loving smile and brought your lips to his. He melted from your touch, grabbing at your hand that held his cheek. "You know I love you, Lucifer," you breathed as you pulled away, "I'm sorry if I took things too far back there, I never want to upset you. You don't have to tell me anything if you're not ready to do so. I can wait. But first…" You stood from your kneeling position and offered him a hand up. The way his demonic form had taken over from just your teasing had you desperate for him beyond belief. Not that your previous bouts of teasing him hadn't worked you up already. You needed him too. Now.

You laid flat on you back against the soft sheets, beckoning him closer with a curl of your finger. Lucifer finally flashed you a toothy grin and in an instant, snapped his fingers, completely removing all of his clothing. Normally he liked to make a show of his undress, but you were both too far gone to care at this point. His tail swished behind him as he excitedly climbed up to join you in bed. He stared down at your crotch, licking his forked tongue across his lips. Without hesitation, he removed your panties and spread your legs apart, taking in the sight of your completely drenched pussy. He leaned down quickly and began to leave sloppy kisses and nips along your inner thighs before stopping right at your entrance.

You chuckled lightly at his eagerness to please you. "Luci, you know you don't have to do this. Especially not after what I put you through today."

Lucifer, in response, let two of his fingers slide against your folds, earning a hardy moan from you. "Trust me when I say this, darling," his voice was low, dripping with lust, "I will never deny either of us this pleasure." You felt his steamy breath against your womanhood as he looked up at you with half-lidded eyes, sending a shiver down your spine. "You may want to hold on, sweetheart."

Without another word, Lucifer ran his snake-like tongue against your cunt like a starved man. You arched your back in pure ecstasy, unable to focus on anything other than the way he was making you feel. He hooked his arms underneath your legs and brought you as close to his face as physically possible, digging his claws into your soft thighs and wrapping his tail around your calf. You realized what he had meant with his last statement and reached out to grip his devilish horns. Your grasp forced a moan out of him as he worked his tongue on your sensitive nub, circling it relentlessly. You knew how skilled he was with his mouth, but it never failed to awe you every time he used it. It wasn't long before you felt a different sensation, that of two clawed finger thrusting into you at a rapid pace.

"Lu-Lucifer, fuck, f-feels so good," you whimpered in between your heavy breaths, "right-SHIT… right there, d-don't stop, please don't stop!" Your pleas only fueled Lucifer’s hunger for you and his desire to make you come undone around him. His tongue and fingers worked in tandem, bringing you closer and closer to your release. Your knuckles were turning white with the amount of force you were using to hold onto his horns. You let one hand drop to tug at Lucifer's hair, another broken moan escaping him as you did. His fingers curled up into you, hitting your g spot repeatedly as his lips sucked on your clit with reckless abandon. That coil in your stomach was on the verge of snapping. "S-so close…gonna c-cum, fuckfuckFUCK LUCIFER!," was the last thing you could utter before your walls clenched around his fingers, feeling yourself pulsate with waves of pleasure. Lucifer helped you ride out your orgasm while lapping up every drop that escaped your body as if it was the nectar of the gods. Once your body finally relaxed, Lucifer removed himself from your thighs, your mess glistening off his chin. He flashed you a wicked grin before using his tongue to clean up the remains of your essence from his face.

The King of Hell crawled up the length of your body until he was hovered directly above you. "I can truly never have enough of you, my queen," he praised. Through your lustful haze, your barely rational mind latched onto what he'd just said. Queen?, you thought, he's never called me that before. Not that you minded in the slightest, you loved it, in fact. Regardless, you clearly weren't in any condition to question his choice of words. Not when you were desperate for his cock to be buried inside you already.

Lucifer caught your lips, his tongue begging for entrance, to which you happily obliged. You could still taste a faint amount of yourself on his lips as your tongues met in a fiery display of passion, twisting and fighting against each other as if trying to establish dominance of the other. You pulled his head closer as he devoured you, saliva dripping down the side of your mouth as his tongue explored every inch of your mouth. His tail refused to recoil as it kept its grip on your lower leg. His hard on pressed against your thigh and you were becoming increasingly impatient. You whimpering against him and bucked your hips up, essentially begging for him to take you completely.

“Please…” was the only word you could force out once you pulled away from his lips. Lucifer smiled, pressing his lips against your ear just as you had done to him earlier.

“Your heart’s desire is my command,” he cooed as you finally felt that familiar pressure between your thighs that you so desperately craved. You felt the head of his cock finally press into your sopping wet cunt, slowing inching himself into you he bottomed out inside of you. You moaned together, now feeling completely whole. Together as one again. Out of nowhere, Lucifer’s wings sprang out behind him once he was fully sheathed inside of you, adding a bright angelic glow to his otherwise hellish appearance.

He was beautiful.

He laughed awkwardly, a hard blush spreading across his face. You reached up and captured his lips once more. He hummed into you, folding his wings around you, completely blocking the outside world. In that perfect moment, the only thing that existed was you and him. After what felt like an eternity, Lucifer finally began to shift his hips, pulling himself out only to thrust right back into you. Slowly at first, relishing every single mewl and whimper you let escape your throat as he rutted into you. But it wasn’t long until his pace quickened, the sound of your slapping skin driving him to the brink. He rested his forehead against yours, refusing to look away from your loving gaze. You felt that coil in your stomach begin to clench once more, making it near impossible to form any coherent sentence, the pleasure his cock was providing was overwhelming you in the best way possible. He noticed this and brough his hand between you two and started circling your already overstimulated clit. You were not going to last much longer. And you could tell his composure was falling apart at the seams as well.

"Hng…fuck…me," Lucifer stammered, his breath hitching on every word "close…I'm close, g-gonna…c-ffffuuucckkk!" He resorted to latching his sharp teeth onto your shoulder, causing small patches of blood to flow out as he came, his hot seed painting your walls white. His wings twitched and spasmed when he finished inside you. His orgasm coupled with his hard thrusts and torturing of your sensitive nub pushed you over the edge for a second time, screaming his name as you clenched around his thick cock. Lucifer lapped up the blood he had drawn from you before he collapsed on top of you, his demonic form finally subsiding, as you both tried your best to catch your breath. You both laid there for a minute or two before even thinking about moving again. Besides, you loved the feeling of his full weight on top of you, it was comforting.

"Remind me to tease you more often," you joked, running your fingers through Lucifer's soft blond hair. He shot his head up and glared at you with a clear 'don't even think about it' look. "I'm kidding! Mostly…" Lucifer rolled his eyes playfully and planted a small peck to your lips. He finally found the strength to pull out of you and roll over onto his side, exhaling heavily.

"That…didn't really go as planned," Lucifer chuckled nervously. Up until now, you had completely forgotten what had even led up to this moment! You guessed you weren't getting a new dress after all, not that you minded, you had more than enough in your closet as it was. "What SHOULD have happened was you were going to pick out a new dress, I was going to take you out on a beautiful romantic candlelit dinner, and then I...I was…" he paused and gulped. "Oh, to hell with it!" He quickly sat up straight and turned to you, using both of his hand to grab onto yours. You sat up as well, your stomach filled with butterflies for a reason you weren't really sure of. "You were right, you know. I was keeping something from you. I am a very bad liar and I'm even worse at keeping secrets. Especially from you. You told me that I didn't have to tell you right now. But that was the problem! I was fighting with every fiber of my being to not tell you immediately! Because I love you with all of my heart and soul and I want to spend the rest of eternity with you by my side and...and..." he exhaled harshly. With a wave of his hand, a small black velvet box appeared. "My love," he opened the box to reveal a ring, "will you do me the incredible honor of becoming my bride?"

You looked down at the precious jewelry before you. A golden snake for the band, with its body wrapped around a beautiful ruby gem in the shape of an apple. Your eyes swelled with tears, you couldn't stop them from flowing down your face. Lucifer panicked and started to wipe them away.

"I-I'm sorry! Please...please don't cry! I didn't mean to-HMPH!" His apologies were cut short when your lips found his. After you pulled away, you laughed, tears refusing to stop. Lucifer's mouth was agape.

"Yes, Lucifer," you bawled, "yes yes yes, a million times yes! Of course I'll marry you, I've never wanted anything more!"

Lucifer sat there in disbelief. But only for a moment before joining you in your crying, wrapping his arms tightly around you, both of your sobs echoing throughout the room.

"You've made me the happiest person in all of Hell, my dear," he cried as he peppered kisses all over your face, clearing away more of your tears. "I love you, from now until the end of time. I promise to be the best husband I can possibly be."

"You're already the best person for me, my King," you smiled. "You don't have to change a thing. I love you, Lucifer Morningstar."

"And I you, Mrs. Morningstar."

~~~~

Congrats on becoming the new Queen(s) of Hell babes 😘

Taglist: @alastor-deer-demon @kermitdafroggy @thonethatflies620 @luc1fersducky @a-okay-rj @bat-boness @myhornybrainonlyknowsthis @misfitgirlwrites @animationmovieshipps @orbitinglumps @ramenkitten @blaackbiird @bigfatbimbo @lucisaspen @bvnnyangel @seulace9 (I'm sorry if I missed anyone!)

#hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar #hazbin lucifer #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer smut #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel smut #my writing #IT'S DONE IT'S FUCKING DONE AHHHHHHHHH #beat my word could by a fucking 1000 words lmaooooo #enjoy!!

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cupid-styles · 7 months

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only angel (tattoo artist/plug harry)

in which harry owns a tattoo shop, sells weed on the side, and has a big crush on y/n, a shy virgin who's very much enamored by him.

here is part one of tattoo/plug harry!!! I hope you like it :) please lmk if you'd like more from them <3

word count: 10.2k (!!!!)

content warnings: y/n's parents being unkind people, comments and discussions about weight/disordered eating, fainting (caused by a piercing), smut! (y/n's first time being fingered, dirty talk, harry being a soft dom)

masterlist | talk to me

part two

. . .

Y/N doesn't know why she's here.

If the glares from the employees of the tattoo and piercing shop are anything to go off of, they don't know why she's here either. And it all makes this whole thing even more embarrassing.

In reality, she does have a reason to be here. Mai, one of the few friends she's made in her grad school program, asked if she would drive her down to The Village for a tattoo appointment she had.

Y/N's eyes nearly bulged out of her skull when she asked, especially when she pressed for more details about this tattoo she was getting (it was a strawberry just above her hip, which Y/N didn't quite understand considering she thought tattoos were supposed to be meaningful). But, ever the pushover, Mai ended up convincing her, going as far as getting her to come inside — the one boundary she had — and wait while she got it done.

(Thankfully, her parents had some benefit charity thing going on today, so they weren't concerned with Y/N's whereabouts or where she was taking the car they bought her on a Saturday afternoon.)

The shop, called St. Mark's Place Social Club (aptly named, she supposes, considering it's located on St. Mark's Place), is nice. Unlike what she imagined tattoo parlors would look like in her brain, the spot Mai chose to get tattooed at seems sanitary and actually quite trendy.

It's not wildly crowded with customers hustling and bustling around, but there's a few artists at work at their own small stations. The walls are painted a cozy forest green, all donning frames upon frames of, what Y/N assumes are, sheets of tattoo designs. The receptionist who checked Mai in even offered them some water, which Y/N thinks was very nice.

"Are you nervous at all?" Y/N asks quietly as they sit in the rattan chairs in the waiting area. Mai's filling out some questionnaire on an iPad, but she shakes her head at her question, crossing her legs.

"No, not really," she murmurs nonchalantly, "I have a few tattoos already and I've been here before. The artist that's doing it is really cool and he's so hot."

Y/N's mouth forms around an oh as Mai quickly taps her signature into the tablet. She stands from the rickety chair and walks back over to return it to the front, her heeled boots clacking against the wood floor as she does.

Y/N has her gaze set low in her lap, eyes passing over her fresh manicure (her mother has a standing weekly appointment for her). She doesn't even notice that someone's standing over her — more so, towering over her — until the figure clears his throat, her head snapping up to address them. Assuming she's done something wrong (what it is, she isn't sure), she goes to apologize immediately, but the long haired man in front of her cuts her off.

"You have an appointment?"

Instantly, she flounders. Her mouth drops open as she stumbles over an answer: "I— um, no, I'm not— no, no appointment."

"So you're a walk-in, then?"

"N-no," she shakes her head quickly, his all-black outfit forming a blur in front of her eyes, "No, I'm not getting a tattoo."

The man laughs. He actually laughs at her, and Y/N doesn't know whether she should be embarrassed or pleased that she's made this very attractive man smile.

"You're sitting in a tattoo shop. You know that, right?" the stranger crosses his heavily tattooed arms over his chest, and Y/N's eyes fly to the swirls of black ink covering his skin. They're everywhere; all different fonts and images and numbers and... she wonders if he even knows what they all mean or how many he has.

"Yes," she finally manages out, folding her hands neatly in her lap. It's the default body language she goes to when she's nervous — when she was a teenager, her parents paid for her to go to social etiquette classes, and the instructor told her that this was a good way to show that she was in control of her actions, even if underneath her pastel pink turtleneck, her chest was covered in hives. "No, I'm not getting a tattoo. I'm here with someone getting one."

Thankfully (though Y/N would've preferred it happening about two minutes earlier), Mai walks back over to them, a grin taking over her features when she spots the man talking to her.

"Harry!" she greets excitedly, and Y/N watches as his eyes flicker over to her, flashing a tight smile in her direction.

"Ah. This is who you're here with." he — Harry, apparently — says to Y/N. She doesn't know what she's supposed to say to that (if she's supposed to say anything), but any response is once again cut off. "Hey. You ready?"

She only now notices the gum wedged between his teeth, his jaw moving in a hypnotizing way. His tone appears to be far more clipped with Mai, but Y/N is fast to chalk it up to some fluke. Maybe the other employees mentioned something to Harry and they thought she was in the wrong place or something. That would make sense, she thinks.

"Yeah, all good. I'll see you in a bit, Y/N," Mai nods, swinging her bag over her shoulder, focusing her attention to Harry, "So listen, I'm going to a show in midtown tonight, I was thinking maybe after we finish up here we can—"

"Are you coming back with us?" Harry's eyes fall back onto Y/N, and it's only then that she realizes he's talking to her again.

"Uh... am I allowed to?"

He smirks. Y/N's chest feels like it may concave in simply from the sight.

"I own this place, so yeah, you're allowed to."

Mai's tapping her foot impatiently now, her hip popped out slightly with her arms crossed over her chest. "My appointment started a few minutes ago, Harry—"

"Okay," he says curtly, turning on his heel to face her, "Go in the back and get ready then. You know where my station is."

Both Mai's and Y/N's jaws drop at that, his snappy tone clearly not one to fight back on. Surprisingly, Mai does just that, turning around and walking back to where Harry has his things set up.

"You coming, then? Y/N, right?"

The teasing smirk is still painted over his features, as if he finds humor in outwardly rejecting Mai's advances. Y/N doesn't know why her heart beats a little bit faster at that, warmth spreading from her chest to the rest of her body as he continues gazing down at her.

"Y-yeah," she answers, grabbing her purse and standing up. "If it's not too big of a deal."

"Course not. C'mon, you can follow me."

. . .

Mai's tattoo comes out beautiful.

However, Y/N can hardly focus on the artistry and apparent talent because she's far too busy staring at Harry, who also looks beautiful while he works.

It's distracting, embarrassingly so, that she barely even registers when he's finished wrapping her new tattoo in some sort of clear wrap, sending her back up to pay. Quickly, Y/N scrambles to grab her things, realizing that she's once again left alone with Harry.

"What, running away so soon?" He asks as he cleans up his work station, spinning around to face her in his chair. He has that smirk on his face again — the one that simultaneously intimidates her and makes her entire body burst into flames — and anxiety begins to eat away at her, nervous of saying the wrong thing.

"I just— you're done. So I was gonna go."

"How do you know Mai?"

It bothers her somewhat that he ignores her, but being the subject of his intense glint, she shifts her stance from foot to foot, shrugging her shoulders.

"We're in the same grad program. We've had a few classes together." she answers obediently, clutching the strap of her purse closer to her shoulder.

"Mm," he hums, tossing some paper towels in the trash, "You sure you didn't want any tattoos today?"

Y/N's face erupts into a hot flush for the thousandth time today and she instantly begins to shake her head. "No. No, thank you, I mean. My parents would kill me."

"Your parents?" Harry asks, a slightly stupefied expression on his face. "You're in grad school. Surely you don't make decisions on your appearance based off of them."

He punctuates his sentence by giving her a once-over and she feels nervous under his gaze. She's never particularly felt good about her appearance. She's always just felt... neutral. She grew up with a mother who was constantly dieting, imparting weight loss tips on her every chance she got. When Y/N hit puberty, her father made comments about how grateful he was to finally see her drop the "baby weight". Even now, her mother critiqued her, making comments about how important it was to maintain a good figure; that she'd never find someone to spend her life with if she didn't take care of her looks.

So, all in all, it was safe to say that tattoos were extremely off the table for Y/N.

"It's complicated," she finally replies vaguely. She knows that most people in their mid-20s aren't as deep under the thumb of their parents as she is, but she wasn't lying when she said this — the circumstances weren't as black and white as she wished they were.

However, there was something she'd always been curious about, and she had seen the piercing rates out in the front of the shop.

"But, um— do you guys do piercings?" she follows up before Harry has a chance to question her parents any further.

"We do," he replies slowly, "Well, yeah, I do. Why, are you thinking about getting something pierced?"

She swears his eyes quickly glance to her chest, but just as quickly as she notices it, they're focused back on her face. She clears her throat, willing herself to have an ounce of self-confidence.

"I was wondering if I could get my ears pierced."

Harry quirks an eyebrow and stands from his chair. Her heart rate speeds up tenfold when he walks over to her, his hand reaching outward.

"May I?" he asks, pausing before he makes any movements. She nods, hoping he misses the way her throat bobs in nervousness. Gently, he pushes some of her hair behind her ear, taking a look at the lobe. He does it to the other one and she wonders if he can sense that she's holding her breath.

"Hm, you really don't have them pierced," he mumbles lowly, eyes flitting back to her face. "Yeah, we could do that if you'd like. You sure daddy won't get too pissed?"

He says it with a simper though she's not entirely sure why; she thinks if he understood the dynamic between her and her parents, he'd be more concerned than teasing. Nevertheless, she shakes her head.

"Like you said," she says softly, blinking as they stare back at one another, "I shouldn't make decisions on my appearance based on what they want."

His smirk breaks into a grin, and for the first time, Y/N feels like she's doing something right.

. . .

Y/N didn't think she would be this nervous to get her first piercing, but between the gorgeous man invading her space with a needle and the fact that Mai definitely won't want to be her friend anymore, she's feeling a little tense.

Before getting situated in the chair, Y/N said that she needed to tell Mai she'd be a bit longer, but Harry waved her off and told her he'd take care of it. Apparently, that just meant peeking his head out from his work station and yelling out to Mai that Y/N was busy and wouldn't be driving her home. (Y/N thinks she heard Mai practically stomp out of the shop.)

So now, she's spending her Saturday the last way she thought she would: With her eyes squeezed shot, anxiety making her heart thump far too fast in her chest, with a long-haired tattoo artist hunched over her body. He's so close that she can smell the woody fragrance of his cologne, and she has to resist breathing it in as she inhales deeply in an effort to calm her heart rate.

"Alright, you ready?" Harry asks lowly, his tone a groveled murmur that sends tingles down her spine. She nods, feeling particularly speechless from his closeness and her nerves. "'kay, I'm gonna count to three. Take a deep breath."

Y/N imagines he looks especially gorgeous right now, but she's too scared to open her eyes and see the needle he's about to puncture her skin with. Instead, she simply nods her head again, mentally preparing herself for the countdown.

"Breathe, dove," he says calmly. Her stomach jumps at the pet name but does as he says. "Good. Okay... 1, 2, 3."

She jumps from the bite of pain that stings her earlobe, instantly wedging her bottom lip between her teeth as he shushes her.

"It's alright, that was it," he murmurs, though she can still feel him at her side, carefully wiggling the earring into the newly formed hole. "Y/N? You okay?"

She blinks her teary eyes open and opens her mouth, willing her throat to push out a yes. Instead, Harry's face goes blurry as the images in front of her get hazy. In a panic, she tries to stand, the ringing in her ears sending loud alarms to her brain. She thinks she hears Harry tell her to sit down, his strong arms taking a hold of her own — but that's when everything goes dark.

. . .

Harry's known this girl for all of two hours, and he's never felt panic ravish his body the way it did when she passed out a few minutes ago.

Thankfully, she comes to less than two minutes later (he counted), but he remains by her side the entire time, gently stroking her hair back. As a professional tattoo artist and piercer, he's of course had people faint under the needle, but it's never happened from just a standard ear piercing.

He supposes he maybe should've prepared himself for this. The sweet girl who accompanied Mai didn't look like she belonged at St. Mark's Social Club, but the moment his eyes zeroed in on her, he felt pulled to her. From the pastel pink top that stretched over her chest to the white ribbon tied in her hair, she was the opposite of any girl he's ever been attracted to — and yet, all he wanted was to tuck her under his arm, pull her into his chest, and spend the rest of his life protecting her.

Harry tells himself he's being stupid; some lovesick nerd that just needs to get his cock touched, but as he watches her slowly nurse a cup of water, warmth returning to her complexion, every doubt is thrown out the window.

"I'm so sorry," Y/N pouts, lifting a hand to run through her hair, "I'm... I feel so stupid, I'm so sorry, Harry."

"Why are you apologizing?" he asks through furrowed brows. "It's not your fault. People pass out all the time here, you have nothing to be sorry about."

"Y-yeah, but this is annoying... you probably have another appointment coming up and—"

"I don't."

"Yeah, but—"

"Y/N?"

"What?"

"Stop it."

She huffs, but the apologies stop after that. With his arms crossed over his chest, leaning back against the wall, he watches to make sure she finishes her water. He can tell she's still feeling embarrassed and it bothers him that she thinks of herself as something to feel sorry about.

"Y'know, kinda looked like some kind of badass Sleeping Beauty while you were passed out," Harry says with a smirk, making her eyes widen, "Pretty cute, if you ask me."

Y/N's face warms and he chuckles, deciding that making this girl blush is his new favorite past time.

"You're being silly." she mumbles, finishing off the water with a final swig. He shakes his head and takes the empty cup from her hand, tossing it in the garbage can behind her.

"Would never lie to you, dove. We're going on what, three hours of knowing each other? I wouldn't even dream of it."

"Harry," she whines and it makes him immediately grin, especially as she pushes her bottom lip out in a slight pout, "Shush, stop it."

"Think I should just call you princess from now on, hm? Such a pretty face coming in here, think I got lucky having you pass out on me."

He laughs loudly when her lips part, her jaw slack from the compliment. She doesn't have a comeback for that one, but he assumed as much. He turns to face the cabinets behind him and grabs a paper towel and a pen, quickly scrawling out his number on it before handing it to her.

"This is my number. I'm not gonna do your second piercing today 'cos that sounds like a recipe for disaster, but I want you to text me when you wanna come in and get it done," he explains, "I only work here on the weekend, but I'll come by any day you're free, princess."

She shuffles her feet before nodding her head, stuffing the paper towel in her bag. "O-okay. That sounds good."

"Good," Harry breathes, reaching out to for her hand to help her up, "Do you need a ride home?"

"No!" her eyes dart away from his face, blinking quickly as she focuses on the dark green walls. "Um, no, thank you. You've done enough for me today. I appreciate it, Harry."

"Sure," he says slowly, narrowing his eyes at her, "Okay, well... get home safe for me, alright?"

"I will." she nods and punctuates her sentence with a harsh swallow. "Can I... is it okay if I text you when I get home?"

A gentle smile wiggles its way onto Harry's face, warmth filling his body once again.

"You took the words right out of my mouth, princess."

. . .

To: Harry (St. Mark's Social Club)

hi, im home!! im so sorry again for what happened but thank you sm for making sure i was okay. hope it wasn't too inconvenient!

Y/N's never texted a boy she has a crush on (well, except for Jason Saunders in the 8th grade, but her dad found out within the hour and made her delete his number as he watched). She thinks she must still be lightheaded from fainting because there's no way she can seriously have a crush on someone she barely knows, but nonetheless, she pushes herself to message him to at least thank him for everything he did for her.

She sighs as she throws her phone in her purse and climbs out of her Range Rover. Locking the doors, she crosses her fingers as she walks up the stairs and to the elevator of the luxury garage, pressing the penthouse button on the panel. She hopes her parents are still out — if they're home, she'll be on the receiving end of their badgering for the rest of the evening, and she still wants to work on a paper she has due later next week.

When the sleek elevator doors open, she's met with silence — the only telltale sign that she's alone, with the exception of her parents' private chef and maid. Relief floods her body as she steps out and into the apartment, toeing her shoes off in the entryway and taking quiet steps to her bedroom.

She's exhausted from the day, flopping down on her bed with a sigh. Mindlessly, she feels for her phone in her bag, pulling it out to scroll through Instagram before she commits to doing work for the rest of the night. Instead, she's met with not one, but two texts from Harry.

Remember what I said about apologizing, princess?

Glad you made it home safely. Don't forget to text me about your second piercing — just name the day and I'm there. xx

She wants to let out a squeal, even if there's a large part of her brain that's constantly reminding her to limit her excitement. He's probably just being polite, she says to herself.

Still, it doesn't stop her from replying a mere moment later, promising to restrain her apologies and message him when she's ready to get her other ear pierced.

. . .

"Where were you yesterday?"

Y/N blinks at her father as she sets down the spatula, shifting her attention from the buckwheat pancakes she's currently cooking.

"Studying on campus," she replies easily, even if she had to coach herself all night to lie. She's never one to fib, let alone to her parents — she's always felt some type of fear when it comes to her father, but she knows he never would have approved if she gave him some vague answer about taking a friend to an appointment.

He lets out a noncommittal humph. "You know there's no reason for you to be getting a masters degree when you'll just work at the company when you graduate."

Her stomach tightens. It's a frequent area of contention between she and her parents — their dream for her has always been to work at their jewelry company as soon as she graduated college, but she somehow managed to convince them to entertain her wish to go to graduate school for an English degree. They told her she could do it as long as she starts at their office as soon as graduation comes around.

She hasn't quite yet figured out how she's getting out of that one. If she even can.

"I know, father," Y/N forces out, redirecting her attention to flipping the pancakes on the pan. "It's just important that I get good grades."

"I can't imagine it's very difficult. You speak the language."

She bites her tongue. Her parents have never understood her love for books, always scolding her for having her head in the clouds from a young age. If she's being honest, books have served as a way for her to escape, always wishing she could be the girl getting whisked away by her romantic interest.

Things always worked out in her books. Potentially having a happy ending like the ones she reads about is the only thing that keeps her going sometimes.

Her mother, looking pristine as always even at 9 in the morning, enters the kitchen just as Y/N's sitting down to her eat. Turning stiffly, her eyes narrow at her daughter.

"Those better not be full fat, Y/N." she says, jabbing her pointer finger at her plate.

"They're not." Y/N says softly.

In response, she simply hums. "I don't understand why you don't just have Freya make you food. She's there for a reason."

Y/N quickly stuffs a bite of pancake into her mouth, shrugging her shoulders as she slowly chews. She's never felt comfortable requesting their chef make her anything to eat when she was perfectly capable of doing it herself.

"Don't shrug. It's not ladylike," she scolds, Y/N's posture immediately straightening, "We have a lunch meeting with the Franklin family today. If you're available, you should come. You need to start learning the business."

"I have to work on a paper," the lie rolls off her tongue, knowing full well that she nearly finished it last night, "Finals are coming up. School is getting very busy."

"You know, Y/N, you're lucky we grant you all this freedom." her mother spits, the high heels of her Louboutin shoes clacking against the marbled flooring. "One day, you're not going to have this much of a choice in how you spend your time."

Despite only eating half a pancake, Y/N no longer feels hungry. Instead, she just nods her head and rolls her lips into her mouth.

"You're right. Thank you for everything you do for me."

She clears her dishes and goes back to her bedroom before her parents have a chance to see the tears streaming down her cheeks.

. . .

Y/N spends the better part of Sunday crying in her bedroom.

She's so exhausted of this cycle. Her parents work so hard to tear her down all the time, never once taking into account what her dreams and aspirations are. She feels like she can't do anything right, as if nothing she'll do will ever please them.

In her fit of anger and sadness, she decides she needs to leave Harry behind. He's just a pipe dream, a tiny little sliver of what her life could be if she had less restrictive parents. That night, when she's laying awake in bed, she decides that in the morning, she'll take the fresh piercing out and throw the earring away, delete his number, apologize to Mai, and pretend like this weekend never even happened.

That is the plan, anyway.

Until she wakes up to her alarm at 8 am and she has an unopened text from him, and her heart beats in a way that she's never truly felt before. She doesn't think she's ever smiled this wide after just waking up, the mere appearance of his name on her screen sending waves of hope and happiness throughout her body.

From: Harry (St. Mark's Social Club)

How's the piercing holding up?

After getting home on Saturday, he texted her a series of care instructions for the piercing, instructing her to clean it twice a day, twist the earring, and let him know if anything felt off. She wasn't sure what it was, but she felt particularly giddy when he told her what to do.

To: Harry (St. Mark's Social Club)

good!! no pain or anything and ive been doing what you told me to :)

She has a class at 10 this morning and she knows she should follow her typical routine of a shower, breakfast, and getting ready, but instead, she just lays back in the fluffy tufts of her bedding, smiling to herself as she waits for Harry to text back. A minute or so later, her phone vibrates.

Good girl.

Think you'll come in for your second anytime soon?

Her stomach twists in a delicious way but she's not sure why. There's nothing inherently sexual about what he's messaged her, but it has her craving more, a steady heartbeat forming somewhere deep in her core.

Her eyes read over his question and she bites her lip. She knows that less than 10 hours ago, she was planning to forget Harry, but the feeling he gives her is addictive. She doesn't want to stay away — so she won't.

yeah, if you don't mind doing it :)) maybe today?

In reality, she doesn't want to go under the needle again so soon, but she's craving to see him. He did say he'd come in any day for her.

Harry: I'd love to. What time are you free?

Y/N: i have classes from 10 to 1 today.. would 1:30 work? i can come by on my way home from campus

Harry: How about I meet you at your last class and we walk to the shop together?

Y/N swears her heart is going to beat right out of her chest. Her parents have never allowed her to hang out with a guy outside of anyone they approved of — over the years, they've attempted setting her up with other men of their same financial and social stature, but Y/N was never interested. As a result, they all grew bored of her by the second date, and her parents would yell at her for not being appealing enough.

She doesn't know if Harry will be bothered by the same thing, but she wants — no, she needs — to find out.

Y/N: okay:)

Harry: Great. Can't wait to see you. x

. . .

Harry knows he's pushing it.

This girl may as well have wealthy virgin tattooed across her forehead, but he just can't get himself to stay away. It doesn't seem like she wants him to either, which just makes it harder. And as he's waiting for her outside of her lecture hall on a campus he's never even step foot on, he realizes that they're from very, very different universes.

That doesn't really bother him. He can see the obvious differences — he wears all black, has over 70 tattoos (most of which were impulsive or practice while he was apprenticing), and gives people tattoos and piercings for a living. Y/N is smart and soft; an English major in graduate school, lives with her parents, and drives a car that costs more than his yearly rent.

He's not blind. Although, if he was blind to pretty, innocent girls, he probably could stop walking around with a permanent boner from thinking about how gorgeous she'd look in his bed.

The only thing that can tear him from his thoughts is the sight of her. He watches as she walks through the doors of the building, a slight pep in her step when she notices him, waving her hand with a smile. He licks his lips absently, willing the arousal pooling deep in his stomach to go away.

"Hi," she greets as she approaches him, "How're you?"

"I'm good." he answers, trying his best not to let his eyes wander over her outfit, "How was class?"

"'s okay. Kind of boring. Almost fell asleep once or twice."

"Yeah?" Harry chuckles as they begin to walk towards the nearest campus exit. "Gotta stay awake in those smarty pants classes of yours, princess."

He already knows she's blushing before he turns his head to see the familiar flush flower over her skin. He points to the bag over her shoulder, pausing his steps. "Lemme carry that for you."

"Oh— no, you don't have to, I don't want to be annoying—"

"Why would that be annoying?" he asks with a quirked brow. She swallows, shrugging her shoulders. "I don't have to if it makes you uncomfortable."

"N-no, it wouldn't," she shakes her head and he nods, keeping his arm stretched out. She pushes the strap down her shoulder and hands the bag to him. "Thank you. That's very kind of you, Harry."

"What d'you have in here, a ton of bricks?" he asks teasingly as he slips the pink tote over his own shoulder.

"No! I have to bring books to campus every day so we can discuss certain passages and stuff. I guess I've been doing it for so long I didn't notice how heavy it is."

"It's very heavy, Y/N," Harry says, stuffing his hands into the front pocket of his sweatshirt, "No wonder you're falling asleep in class, you're basically doing an upper body workout on your way there."

"It's not that big a deal," she replies nonchalantly. "It's just— it's what my professors want, so."

He continues grumbling, annoyed that anyone would ask this girl to shuttle all this weight to campus every day.

"Can you start parking closer to your lecture halls, then? I don't wanna find out you dislocated your shoulder one day."

She shakes her head. "I don't drive to campus."

"Oh, is parking that bad?"

Y/N begins to fidget, wringing her hands out in front of her as they walk. Harry glances at her from his peripherals, soaking in the nervousness written all over her face.

"No... my parents don't let me drive to campus, that's all."

He hums, attempting to stay unbiased, even if everything he's learned about her so-called parents has only made anger rise in his chest.

"Do they have a lot of limits on things you can and can't do?"

"Kind of. I don't know."

"Is... is that something that bothers you?"

She worries her bottom lip between her teeth as they stop at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to turn. He shifts his body to face her.

"I've never really told anyone about how they are, but... well, they take care of me. They always have. They just have a very clear vision of what they want for me."

"Right," Harry nods, "Just because they care for you or pay for certain things doesn't mean they're good, though. I'm not saying they aren't— I just don't want you to confuse the two."

"I guess."

He decides to leave it at that, mainly because he can she's growing uncomfortable, but also because they're approaching the shop. He pushes the door open and holds it for Y/N, who sheepishly walks in, Harry close behind.

He doesn't acknowledge anyone as she follows him to his station, but she supposes it's not out of the ordinary for him to do these things since he's the owner. Once they're safely sheltered by the walls of his space, Y/N lets out a breath, sitting down in the chair she was in on Saturday.

After setting her bag down, he washes his hands at the sink. A long-haired guy pops his head in, grinning when he sees Y/N.

"Hey, H," he greets, "Didn't know you'd be here today."

Harry's tone is gruffer towards the man, even though he seems friendly. "Yeah. What's up?"

"I need a favor. I have an appointment that looks like it's gonna take a little longer than anticipated — last minute changes and all that to the design, but Jude is coming in to pickup at 2. You mind dealing with him?"

He glares at the man before assuming what Y/N is starting to call his signature pose — arms crossed over his broad chest, leaning back against some surface in his station (today, it's the tattoo bed).

"None of the other idiots can do it? Kinda busy."

"It's your off day, figured you could handle him," he shrugs, "Unless you'd like to introduce me—"

"Shut up." Harry replies, clenching his jaw. A spark zips up Y/N's body, though she's not sure why he seems to take offense to the man's words. "Yeah, I'll deal with it. What does he want?"

"Just some edibles and a few grams of bud. Nothing crazy."

Again, Y/N doesn't miss the way Harry shoots a glare at him, who simply raises his hands in mock defense. As if speaking through some sort of secret language, he backs out of the room, his Adidas sneakers sounding crisply against the wooden floors as he walks away.

"Sorry," Harry mumbles.

"Oh. It's okay."

He turns back around to look at Y/N, who somehow looks even smaller in the chair since they arrived.

"You have no idea what that was about, do you?"

She shrugs, though it's clear that Harry's right. She doesn't often like showcasing her naive nature, like it's some sort of party trick for people to laugh at. It makes her feel sad, a reminder of the "normal" years she could have had if not for her parents.

He sighs and lifts a hand to run through his messy hair. "A few of us sell weed on the side here. It's not really a big deal, but we just do it for some extra cash on the side. I would've rather told you on my own time, though."

Y/N's palms find her thighs, plucking at the hem of her skirt as she swallows, digesting the information. Weed? Her parents had always taught her that all drugs were bad. In their minds, weed was just as bad as heroin, but when Y/N read about states legalizing the former, she didn't quite understand how that made sense.

"I hope that doesn't make you think any differently of me," he continues. "I'm sorry."

She keeps her eyes set in her lap, "Is weed... bad?"

She's expecting him to laugh at her but instead, when she looks up, she's met with a small, adoring smile on his lips. His eyes twinkle just a bit as he shakes his head.

"No, it's not bad, dove. What do you know about it?"

"Nothing, really. I know it's legal in some places but my parents always told me to stay away from any drugs."

"I think a lot of parents do that," Harry replies with a nod, "But it can actually be really helpful for people. Mentally, physically. And others just like it, they enjoy the feeling of being high."

She swallows before biting her lip. "Do you... do you like it?"

"I do." he says. "Is that okay?"

She thinks he could tell her he's a serial killer and she would be okay with it.

"Yeah. 's okay."

His grin widens. "Alright. Lemme get you settled with this other piercing. I'll have to step out to sell to Jude at 2, but after that, do you wanna grab something to eat?"

She nods so fast she feels like a bobblehead. A chuckle — the warmest, most melodic thing Y/N thinks she's ever heard — sounds from his mouth.

"Just don't pass out again on me, Sleeping Beauty."

. . .

Y/N takes her second piercing much better than her first.

(And by that, she means she only teared up a little bit, and no fainting occurred.)

She's actually more nervous about the whole weed... thing. She feels torn. There's a half of her that feels intimidated by it; the part that still has a foot stuck in her parents' world, she supposes, where they taught her to never even look at people like Harry. The other half of her is intrigued to see what happens. Fascinated by him, maybe, and the way she feels when she's around him, and she doesn't know whether that's a good thing or not.

"Harry!"

Someone calls his name from the main room as he's cleaning up and he peeks his head out.

"Yeah?"

"Jude's here!"

He looks a lot less flighty about it than she assumes he would. Instead, he simply walks back into his station and unlocks a bottom cabinet to reveal a safe inside.

"Know you're watching, princess," he says, turning his head to flash a toothy smirk in her direction. She looks away, blinking nervously. "Don't reveal any of my grand weed secrets to anyone, hm?"

"I'm not," she huffs, making him chuckle, "I'm just... curious."

Harry hums, pulling contents out from the safe. When he's done, he doesn't even bother concealing any of the weed he's just taken out, instead just rising to his feet.

"I'll be right back. We can talk about the curiosity in a second."

Y/N's not snappy enough to come up with a response so she simply watches him walk away. She's only seen drug deals go down in movies and TV shows, where they're dramatic and part of the mob and guns are a necessity. She doesn't think this is one of those drug deals, but who is she to assume?

Surprisingly, Harry returns less than two minutes later with a small wad of cash in his hand. He pockets it, smiling at her when he sees she's still sitting there, the same perplexed look on her face.

"Steal any of my bud while I was gone?"

"Harry!"

He cackles and shakes his head. "Alright, dovie, c'mere."

Hesitantly, she stands, shuffling over to where Harry is back to kneeling on the floor. He looks up at her with an expectant expression, a wordless command to do the same. She does.

"Okay. You said you were curious?"

She nods.

"I've always found that the best solution to curiosity is knowledge. This doesn't mean you have to do anything, but it's good to know about things that may intimidate you," he explains. "So, weed can be found in a few different forms. I only sell flower, which are these little buds," he pulls out a container, showing her the small green nuggets. "And edibles, which is just candy or chocolate, stuff like that, with different levels of potency."

"Oh." Y/N furrows her eyebrows, a small wrinkle forming between them. "That's it?"

He chuckles, "Mhm. That's it."

"And what does it do?"

"Like how does it make me feel?"

She nods.

"It's different for everyone and strains — like, the types of weed — will affect people differently, too. For me, it just makes me a little more relaxed and giggly, more touchy and less in my head. It's nice."

"That does sound nice." she says softly. He hums as he pushes the container back into the safe, locking it back up in the cabinet. "Do you think I would like it?"

It's a question that kind of blurts out without thinking about it. When he turns to look at her, eyes serious and thoughtful, she feels small; the way everyone her age or older has always made her feel. She swallows harshly, immediately regretting it.

"I don't know the answer to that, but if you ever want to try, you can tell me. I'll make sure you have a safe experience."

It's not the answer she's expecting, but instead maybe the one that only exists in her wildest dreams. She looks down to hide her blush and he smiles to himself, ducking down to catch her eyes.

"You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you're a blushy little thing."

Her jaw snaps closed, wiggling uncomfortably at his blatant call out. Her mother always told her that her emotions were easy to read — she said it made her weak, though.

"I like it," Harry quickly amends, throat bobbing, "I like it a lot."

She thinks she notices his eyes zip to her lips, but just as quickly as they dart down, they're back up to her eyes. She swallows when she realizes they've somehow gotten closer, the distance slowly closing between them in millimeters. She doesn't know who's moving in — if it's him or her or both — but suddenly, she's looking up and his face is hovering over hers, blinking in silent permission. When she doesn't grant it because she's too nervous to speak, his tongue peeks out, licking over his raspberry lips.

"Is this okay?" He asks, minty breath ghosting over her mouth. "Can I do this?"

She nods, because she thinks any noise that would come out of her mouth would be just that — a sad excuse of a squeal. Her heart is pulsing in her ears, her hands trembling over her thighs, and then it happens — he presses his lips to hers, so gently it's almost like they aren't even there. The last time Y/N kissed someone, it was in ninth grade in the locker room after school, and she doubts it even qualified as a real kiss. This is different, though. This is Harry.

He feels the nervousness radiating off of her so he breaks away, despite the already addictive taste of her mouth. He's gone too quickly and it makes Y/N's heart rate quicken even faster.

"Need you to relax, princess." He says with his forehead pressed against hers. "Just follow my lead, okay? Promise it's not hard."

Embarrassed, she nods again, willing him to close the gap for a second time. This time, his lips are quick to move against hers, and it initially takes her by surprise. But she does what he told her to, mimicking his movements in tentative paces. With each passing moment, he's kissing her more and more breathless, and she lifts a shaking hand to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. It's a bold move for her and she swears she feels his signature smirk form into their kiss.

Time doesn't feel like it moves much when Y/N's mouth is on Harry's, but she knows it is because she needs a break to breathe. With panting lungs, she pulls away, watching as Harry's eyes flicker open. His lips are pinker somehow and swollen with spit. The image makes her core throb.

"Y'okay?" He asks. Y/N notices his pupils are darkened and he shifts from his seat on the floor, adjusting his lower half.

"Y-yeah," she nods, "Needed to, um, breathe."

He chuckles. "Yeah? Get a little dizzy there?"

"A little bit."

"Cute," he murmurs, lifting his thumb to swipe a bit of spit away from her bottom lip. Instinctively, her mouth opens, and she watches as his eyes flicker to hers. Through labored breath, he slowly moves his thumb along her plushy lip, resisting the urge to sink it inside. She's not sure why something as small as this is stirring her insides, but her eyes widen when he breaks away, pushing the finger into his own mouth.

"Oh." She breathes out.

"I don't wanna scare you," Harry whispers, "But I'm completely fucked when it comes to you, dove. If you don't want this... want me, I need you to go now."

She swallows. Slowly, she rises to her knees and inches towards him, closing the small gap that formed between their bodies. She's hesitant in her movements but pushes herself to straddle him, gently sinking her ass down into his lap. His eyes widen.

"I want this. I want you." She says.

"Good," Harry mumbles, brushing his lips against hers for the third time that afternoon, "Good."

. . .

Y/N thinks she could go pro at lying to her parents.

A month ago, she had to spend hours preparing the perfect fib, coaching herself on how to articulate it just casually enough so it didn't seem fabricated. These days, they come out like nothing.

I'll be home late, I have a group project to work on in the library.

I'm going to a tutoring session for one of my classes, I probably won't be home until dinnertime.

I'm spending some extra time on campus today so I can get a head start on a paper.

In all truthfulness, school couldn't be the furthest thing on her mind right now. Harry is.

Ever since that day they kissed at his shop, they haven't been able to spend more than a day apart. Mostly, they follow the same routine from that very afternoon, where he'll pick her up from her last class of the day and they'll walk back to St. Mark's together. Sometimes, Harry will have deals to do so they sit and talk in the downtime. Other days, he'll have actual work to tend to, accounting and whatever it is he does as a business owner, so she'll do some homework, enjoying the silent companionship. Y/N never stays too late into the evening, not wanting to push her luck with her parents, but Harry always sends her off with a kiss that leaves her breathless, making her promise to text him when she gets home.

And the kissing... yeah.

Y/N likes to think she's gotten better at it from all the practicing they've been doing. She still gets a bit flustered, but it's one of her favorite things to do with him. The second they shuffle into his station, Harry closes the door so they're finally in private, and it's like a switch is turned on. Within seconds, they're wrapped up in each others arms, mouths wet and hot against one another. She's discovered that her favorite place to be is seated in his lap while his tongue explores her mouth, breathy pants parting her lips. He loves to squeeze her ass over the pleats of her skirt, knowing that it riles her up in the smallest forms of contact — tiny rolls of her hips, nails being pressed into his skin, a slight pull of his hair.

She doesn't think things could get much better with Harry until today, during their typical makeout-and-grinding session, when he ducks beneath her jaw, pressing messy kisses to her soft skin. It's then that the words leave his lips.

"Can I feel you under here, dove?"

His hand is fisting the hem of her skirt and the low tone of his voice makes lightning zip through her body. She doesn't know how to reply — she wants to say yes, but her mouth is dry from immediate anxiety.

"N-no one's ever touched me there," she whispers, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Harry hums, unbothered, kissing her jaw once more before backing away slightly.

"Don't have to do if you don't want to. We can just keep doing what we've been doing if you'd prefer." he replies nonchalantly, his lips swollen. She swallows nervously, perturbed by his frank nature.

"I— I do want you to feel me," Y/N mumbles. It's not a lie — yes, she's a virgin who knows next to nothing about her body besides its reproductive process, but sometimes, when she goes home in the evening, she thinks about what it would like to keep going. She's seen movies and TV shows, but those have only made her even more curious. Sometimes the guy takes it slow and makes it romantic, other times it's painful and uncomfortable. She can only hope Harry would take care of her.

"Where, princess?"

Well, she can only hope that Harry would take care of her in his typical teasing ways.

Huffing, she shakes her head. "I can't say that, H."

"Can't touch you if I don't know where you want it," he murmurs, kissing her cheek lightly. "Wanna hear you say it. Ask me."

"Harry," she whines. "Please? You know... where."

"Here?" he asks, pressing his the warmth of his hand to her thigh. "This where you want me?"

"No."

"Hmm, how about here?" he moves his hand up just a bit further, inching underneath the fabric of her mini skirt to the crease of her thigh. Again, she shakes her head.

"Dunno where you want me then, dove. Thought you were my good girl."

"H-higher." she mumbles, attempting to push her body closer so he gets the hint.

"Higher?" he echoes with a smirk, "Here?"

This time, his fingertips have found the waistband of her panties. It immediately feels wrong, but not because of who's touching her, but rather the act of it. She takes a deep breath and tries to ignore the voice in her head. Slowly, in an act of false confidence, she bunches the fabric of her skirt up at her hips, watching as Harry's eyes widen. They instantly dart down to the small wet patch between her thighs and it makes him groan softly.

"Jesus," he mutters, forgetting about his little game. He gently thumbs at her clit through the material and she jumps. Using his other hand to squeeze her hip, he tries to keep her steady, mumbling out an apology. "Am I allowed to see this cute little pussy?"

She clenches at his question, surprising herself with how turned on she feels from just a few words.

"Yes," she nods, "Please."

"'Please'? Aren't you just the sweetest wet dream, hm?" Harry murmurs. He pushes the width of the fabric to the side, making Y/N shiver from the sudden exposure and being under his gaze. "Are you always this polite or is this just for me, princess?"

She licks over her lips when he parts her pussy with his ring and middle fingers. He hums, dipping a fingertip into her crease and lifting it to his mouth. He looks at her expectantly and she realizes she hasn't answered him yet.

"J-just for you."

"Pretty, swollen pussy just begging for attention. Do you always get this needy when we kiss?"

She nods, her eyelashes fluttering as he runs the tip of his pointer finger through her wetness.

A poor excuse for an answer sounds through her lips, the affirmative tone being the only thing that gives him an idea of what she said. He snickers boyishly, Y/N's jaw dropping when they both feel her pussy pulsate.

"I think my girl is a bit naughtier than I thought," he breathes, moving his finger back up to her clit to form slow, small circles. She gasps from the intensity, a new sensation of overwhelming pleasure that she's never received before. "Is that the truth, dovie? Do you wanna be my naughty girl instead of my polite one? Tell me."

"Harry," she mewls, arching her back to press deeper into his touch, "P-please— feels really good."

"Yeah?" he smirks, a mocking tone to his voice that makes Y/N squeeze her eyes shut. "Yeah, does it feel really good?"

"You're— you're being mean—"

"Oh, I don't think so, dove. I think I'm letting you use my fingers to get off, petting this pretty little clit until you cum all over my hand. I don't think that's mean, do you?"

He stops stroking at her and her eyes snap open. She can feel how warm her face has gotten under his touch, quiet puffs of breath ghosting over his lips as his eyes twinkle, knowing what he's done.

"Why'd you stop?" she asks in a small voice.

"You said I was being mean," Harry replies with a shrug, "If I were really mean, I'd leave you here high and dry. Do you want to learn about edging today, Y/N?"

She shakes her head, her bottom lip pushed out in a pout. He hums and lifts his hand to his mouth, his pink tongue darting out to swirl around the fingers that were just caressing her. She watches him with wide eyes. She doesn't think she's ever been this turned on in her life.

"Do you like when I tease you?" he asks lowly. They both know the answer — her body couldn't lie even if she wanted to, and Harry noticed it the second he felt her pussy clench against nothing at his mocking tone.

"Y-yes." she whispers.

"Dirty girl," he murmurs, moving both his hands down to her hips to give them a squeeze. He tightens his hold on her and gently moves her up to the tattoo bed, helping her lay down. "We have all the time in the world to learn about what makes your pussy wet, but right now, I wanna make her cum. Can I do that, dovie?"

Y/N nods, allowing him to adjust her body however he wants. He smiles at how pliant she is for him, sticking to her good girl demeanor.

"Need you to tell me if I go too far or if something doesn't feel right, okay?" he reminds her as he fits himself between her thighs, "At any point, you say stop and we do, no questions asked."

"Yeah. Okay."

It's apparent to her that Harry is experienced, because it takes no time for him to wiggle his fingers back to their initial position. His thumb is applying the smallest bit of pressure to her clit, still sensitive from when he was playing with it before, but now he's circling over her hole with one of his larger fingers. She gasps at the slight intrusion.

"Have you ever put your finger in here, princess?"

She shakes her head. "N-no."

"Do you want me to?" he asks, though he can already feel the way her hole is all but sucking him in, "It won't hurt. Promise."

She trusts him — maybe foolishly, because she knows her parents would disown her if they knew the position she was in right now — but she pushes the thought to the back of her head, instead simply answering his question with a nod. He keeps his eyes on hers as he slowly pushes in, a gasp instantly falling from her plushy lips. Her immediate reaction is discomfort, but as he starts to stroke at something towards the back of her walls, it feels... good. Overwhelmingly good. So good that a loud moan frees itself from deep in her chest and he jumps up, gently pressing his other hand over her mouth. He ducks down and presses a kiss to the shell of her ear.

"Know I'm making your little hole feel so good, but there's other people here. I wanna keep those moans just for myself, okay?"

Her eyes roll back as he continues to pump his finger inside of her, the assault on the magic little spot never stopping. She can sense the smirk that's likely formed on his face but she can't find it in her to care because she's never, ever felt this good before. She whimpers against his palm and he groans quietly, the sight of his gorgeous girl writhing beneath him nearly too much to handle. He wills his own raging hard-on away, instead focusing on Y/N's need to cum before he can even consider getting himself off.

"H-harry," she sounds beautiful mewling his name even when it's muffled by his hand, "I feel— I'm—"

"I know, dove, I know," he coos, quickening the loops around her clit. She's growing increasingly sensitive from his touch as her hole throbs around his finger. "Let go for me. Let go for daddy, lemme see that pretty pussy soak me."

Realistically, he would've preferred introducing her to the whole daddy kink thing on different terms, but he's instantly reminded of how insanely lucky he is when those are the words that push her over the edge. His jaw drops as he watches her squirm underneath his hands, riding out her orgasm and squeezing him in the most delicious way.

"Fuck, you're so fuckin' beautiful," he groans, unable to stop himself from lightly grinding his covered cock against her inner thigh. He can feel the warmth radiating off of her core and his desperation to feel her grows by the second.

When her orgasm finally subsides, she's panting heavily and he swallows, palming himself over his pants.

"Is this okay?" he asks breathily. Y/N raises up onto her elbows, her eyes growing a bit wide when she sees what he's doing. Despite how exhausted she is, she still nods, the curiosity of what he looks like when he comes steadily building inside her. "'s not gonna take me long — that was the prettiest thing I've ever fuckin' see. Jesus."

She blushes but he doesn't notice as he pulls his cock out from under his pants and boxers. He spits into his palm and starts to stroke himself, his gaze glued to the swollen mess between her legs.

In college, Y/N watched porn once. It was with her roommate and her friends, who found out she was a virgin and asked if she knew anything about sex. She didn't, so they had some sort of debauched education night for her, which was really just an excuse to giggle and make fun of the way guys moan in porn. It made her feel weird, watching this couple have sex on camera, but what she does remember is the girl encouraging him to cum. Once she started begging, it pushed him to her orgasm, and Y/N was pretty impressed with that.

So, she swallows her self-conscious nature and gazes up at Harry as the slick pumps over his length grow clumsy. She can see the pre-cum bubbling at the tip and the way he gathers it with each stroke, using it to further lubricate himself.

"Want you to cum for me," she breathes out, the words sounding foreign when they leave her lungs, "Please. Wanna see it."

Harry's eyes nearly bulge out of his head and she assumes she's done something right by the way he quickly squeezes them shut, a quiet fuck falling from his lips.

"Please cum for me, daddy."

Much like it was for her, the use of his honorific is what finally pushes him to his finish. His jaw goes slack and his chest vibrates with muffled groans as spurts of cum rain down on Y/N's mound, eliciting a small gasp as the feeling. It's messy, but she's enamored by how gorgeous Harry looks when he comes: swollen lips, clenched abs, flushed cheeks, his large hand fisted around his length.

"Shit," he mutters, reaching up with his clean hand to push his curls out of his face, "Are you alright? Was that okay?"

She nods far too quickly for her own good. She'd be lying if she says she isn't slightly overwhelmed, but she wouldn't take any of it back. She never wants to forget how good he made her feel, while the knowledge that she's the one that turned him on like that is a boost to her confidence.

"Lemme clean you up, hold on," he says breathily, reaching over to grab one of the folded hand towels in the cabinet. Gently, he runs the fabric over her sensitive bottom half, shushing her softly. He does the same thing for himself and then helps her shimmy her panties back up. "You sure you feel alright, dove? You're being quiet."

"'m okay. Just tired." She replies truthfully, sitting up to lean back against the wall.

"Yeah? One little orgasm and you're ready for a nap?"

She giggles and buries her head into his shoulder, her limbs feeling particularly jelly-like. He wraps a loose arm around her shoulders and pulls her closer, chuckling as he presses a kiss to her hair.

"That's alright. I'm happy to take care of you however you need, princess."

. . .

"When were you planning on telling me the bookstore is hiring?"

Harry's eyes widen at Y/N's unusually bold demeanor. He glances down at her, following her gaze to where she's staring at the small bookstore across the street. Sure enough, there's a help wanted sign in the window.

"I didn't know you were looking for a job, dove," he replies with a shrug. In all honesty, he's never really paid attention to the business across the street from his own.

"Well... I'm not really, but I do want to start making my own money." she says softly, biting her lip.

He raises his eyebrows, "Yeah? You wanna go see if you can fill out an application?"

Despite her nerves, she still nods her head. Harry smiles and intertwines their fingers together, guiding her across the way to the bookstore. He holds the door open for her and she swallows anxiously, stepping inside the quaint store. With his hand pressed to the small of her back, he gently ushers her to the cashier.

"Hi," she says shakily, "I saw you're hiring people and I was wondering if I could apply."

The woman at the front grins, immediately launching into a conversation with Y/N about how excited she is that someone's interested in working for them. As she pulls a paper application out from a drawer on the side, Harry smoothes his hand over her back, rubbing it gently. He's so proud of her, his heart feels like it could burst.

It's only when she's finishing up filling out her information that someone says her name. They both turn, Y/N's eyebrows instantly furrowing in confusion.

"Y/N," the woman hisses, and Harry glances down to watch his girl's face crumble, "What are you doing?"

"Y/N... who is this?" Harry asks, his possessive instincts immediately taking over.

She swallows harshly, tugging at the sleeves of her sweater.

"Um... this is my mom."

read part two here!

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patrophthia · 9 months

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can u pls right about Theo and the reader. it is like prom night and she looks so pretty and Theo wants a kiss from her but, they aren't official yet so, yeah. but, she gives in the end. ty!! and Congo!!!

first kiss with theo are you kidding me?!? this is so cuteeeee

ditto | theodore nott

pairing: theodore nott x reader

genre: fluff, (kinda) established relationships, first kisses !!!

part of my 1k celebration event !

Coming to the dance with you is a bad idea. Why he even agreed to come is a mystery in the first place. He had never been one for balls or dances a like, with its loud music and crowded rooms; he’d much rather just stay at home with a good book and his cushioned bed.

But you’ve asked of him to be here with you, as your date, and when he’s so so incredibly enamored by you. How could he ever say no?

And now, as he stands before you, with your hands over his shoulders and his resting on your waist. Your eyes shut as you laugh at a lame joke he’d made, the sound resonating through your chest tugging at his heart string as you did so. He thinks that he’s never seen anyone as pretty as you.

And it’s devastating, to think so —to know so, to know that within the last decades of his life, he’s only just now seeing someone like you. And he’s so incredibly lucky to be able to call you his, or at least officially do so in a few minute time.

Your eyes open back up and your nose crinkles as you notice him staring at you. “What?” You ask. “Is there something on my face?”

He tries to stop himself, he really did. He knows how cheesy it’d sound and how much you’d tease him for saying it but he says it anyways. “Just beauty.”

And when you scrunch your nose, face contorting in disgust at his lame pick up line. He finds himself smiling at you. “Boo,” you say first, “stop saying things like that or we might actually have to break up.”

“This early?”

You’ve been going two months top, never having made it officials with labels and such but it’s clear that the two of you liked each other very much. Especially when one of you eyes the others lips for way too long.

Just like how you’re eyeing his right now. “Mhmm.”

He juts his lips out in a pout, and you don’t even bother to hide the fact that you’re staring at him. “That’s way too early don’t you think?”

“Maybe?” You murmur, still swaying to the music. “But I’ve never been one for cheesy pick up lines so you’d have to make it up to me.”

He’s soft when he’s with you, hands rubbing against the plush of your waist through your dress. “How can I do that?”

“Tell me that you want to kiss me as much as I want to kiss you.”

It takes him a second, but then: “ditto.”

And when he leans in his first, lowering himself so you wouldn’t strain your neck as your lips met his, he realizes he’s completely consumed by you; the taste of your lips, the feel of you in his hold, the scent of you, you were quite literally everything to him.

And he’s so so glad that he’s your.

#theodore nott x you #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott fluff #theodore nott headcanons #theodore nott fanfiction #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott fanfic #theodore nott imagines #theodore nott scenarios #theo nott x you #theo nott fluff #🍰: 1k with patro!#🧳: my writing

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wholoveseggs · 2 months

Note

Heyyy gorgeous, another day another request! i was thinking about CEO human reader, she’s super rich, classy and very powerful woman. She also happens to be maybe a friend of Camille? And she catches Elijahs attention. They will meet on galas, auctions, operas etc. And he’s fascinated with her because of how composed and educated she is, they share hobbies, fashion style and so on. Aaaand one day he will pay her a visit in her office and it leads to some very smutty office sex… pretty please 🥹

Paperwork

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

You approach a handsome philanthropist at a charity gala, leading to a stress-relieving meeting high above the city lights.

♡♡ Thanks for the request @msveronicag I loveeee this idea (sorry I forgot to include Cami) ♡♡

5k words - Warnings: smut, slight dom!elijah, lots of banter, little bit of choking, public(ish) sex, Elijah being the relaxed one, a whole bunch of silly business jargon...

It was a part of your job to attend these stupid functions. It didn't feel like a party, a place to unwind, it felt more like a battle ground. Where the weapons were not guns, but witty retorts and carefully calculated smiles. It was all a show.

You hated it.

But the alcohol was good, food was usually tasty, and sometimes you got lucky. Because sometimes, you meet an actual interesting person. They were few and far between, but they were there.

This gala was being held at some museum or another. You couldn't quite remember, you had only been given the information a few hours before you had to be there, and hadn't bothered reading the pamphlet. Its Grecian architecture was impressive, if not a little pretentious.

You leaned against one of the pillars leading out onto a balcony, it was an impossibly warm Louisiana evening, and the breeze was welcome. You were grateful you chose your light silk dress for the occasion, rather than the heavy, floor length gown one of your assistants had chosen for you.

You observed a man standing a short distance away, looking up at a large painting hanging high on the wall. You couldn't quite see his face, but the suit he was wearing looked expensive. You were a little bored, and he at least looked a little interesting.

You walked up behind him, careful not to step too heavily in your heels.

"I don't care much for this style, myself." You said, not looking up at the painting.

He turned his head to look at you. "Is that so?"

He was handsome, almost startlingly so. The way the light hit him made his jaw appear sharper than it likely was. His lips were full and his hair perfectly styled, not a single strand out of place. But what really drew you in were his eyes, dark brown and intense, framed by long lashes.

You smirked. "It's a bit..." You glanced up at the painting, trying to find the right word. "Stiff."

He turned to face you, his eyes wandering up and down your body, before landing on your face again. He gave you a crooked smile that made your palms sweat, oh he wasn't just handsome, he was gorgeous.

"Stiff? I don't know, I think the artist did a very good job at conveying the... passion." He said.

"Where? In the brush strokes?" You said, taking a sip of your drink.

"No." He said, and his eyes moved away from yours and towards the couple on the painting. "There."

You turned your head and looked. A nude woman, her skin pale and hair blonde, laid on her back on a bed, the red covers thrown away and onto the floor. The man, his face hidden, stood at the edge of the bed, his hands moving to grip her thighs, as though he were about to climb on top of her.

You raised your eyebrows.

"You find that passionate?" You asked, looking back at him.

He shrugged. "I do. I think he was quite enamored with her, judging by the detail put into the painting."

"She looks like she's trying to take a nap and this creep won't leave her alone." You said, and he chuckled.

"Thus, the magic of art, my dear. What is interpreted depends on the person."

"Do you often interpret napping women as passionate?" You asked, and his smile widened.

"No, I prefer passion in the form of a willing, enthusiastic partner."

You took a sip of your drink. "And how do you go about finding one of those?"

He gave you a slow smile and reached out his hand, offering it to you. "Elijah, it's a pleasure."

"Y/n." You said, putting your hand in his and shaking it, firmly.

He kept your hand in his, bringing it to his lips, a move you would usually cringe at, but with him it seemed natural. He didn't seem like the usual crowd you had to deal with at these events. His voice, his posture, everything about him was elegant and his flirting was ridiculously smooth.

"Now that we're acquainted, what say you and I go find a little passion for ourselves?" He asked, lowering his voice to a whisper.

Your eyes widened slightly, and you laughed, pulling your hand away from his.

"A little eager, are we?" You asked, giving him a playful smirk.

"I just wanted to dance with you, why? Were you thinking of something else?" He gave you a knowing smile, and it made you laugh again.

"You're charming." You said.

"And you are beautiful." He said, extending his hand to you.

He was an excellent dancer, leading you expertly across the floor, even with the quick tempo of the song, he never faltered, not once. You didn't know how, but he could anticipate your next step, as though the two of you had rehearsed this for weeks.

"I like your dress, what brand is it? Prada?" He asked, leaning in to whisper in your ear.

"Yes, how did you know?" You asked, surprised.

"I own a few vintage pieces, I'm partial to the fall 2012 line." He said, his hands on your hips, holding you close.

"Really?" You asked. "The menswear one? It was villain themed, wasn't it?"

He nodded. "You have a love for fashion, I assume?"

"It can be a great investment if you pick the right pieces. The classics are usually the safest bet."

"Oh, I agree." He said.

You smiled. "So what do you do, Elijah?"

"I'm a philanthropist," He said. "I support local artists and historical projects and such. How about you?"

"I own a commercial real estate company. It's equally boring and stressful." You said. "What I do most of the day is paperwork."

He laughed, a delightful sound, and moved one hand from your hip, to the center of your back.

"Not fond of it?" He asked.

"No, quite the opposite, actually. If I could just get rid of the meetings I'd be thrilled."

He chuckled and spun you once. "You wouldn't be the first person to say that."

"What about you Mr. Philanthropy, how do you spend your days?" You asked, falling right back in step with the music, his movements as smooth as ever.

"Oh, you know," He said, his lips hovering by your cheek. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you,"

You leaned back a little, turning your head to give him a cheeky grin.

"Oh so it's family money then, is it?" You asked, and he hummed, his eyes narrowing playfully at you.

"Something like that. Enough to afford the finer things," He said, spinning you once, your dress billowing out around you like a waterfall.

He dipped you, his grip on your waist tight, as the song came to an end. You were breathing hard as you stood up straight again, letting go of his hand.

"Thank you for the dance, Mr. Mikaelson," You said, giving him a quick bow. "It's been a pleasure,"

"May I call on you sometime?" He asked, his hand still holding yours. "For a dance that is, and perhaps dinner afterwards?"

You looked at him, considering him for a moment, before smiling.

"Perhaps, Mr. Mikaelson, perhaps."

It had been a hellish week. A buyer had fallen through on the deal, costing you a lot of money. After the announcement, several of your employees began asking questions. About profit margins, about future strategies, about the acquisition of cheaper offices and rentals. It was difficult to concentrate, what with their constant stream of questions and their low murmuring at their desks as they talked about the whole ordeal.

Your company was also in the middle of a bidding war, trying to win a lucrative contract with the city to build several apartment complexes downtown. And on top of that, you had missed a shareholder's meeting because of a flight delay, pissing off several of them and creating several more holes in the schedule.

You were up to your neck in work, stressing out about everything.

Your phone buzzed and you sighed. Elijah. He has been texting you consistently ever since the gala, inviting you for lunch, or dinner, sometimes drinks at his place, hell, even just a walk in the park. He was polite, a true gentleman, but also seemed completely unaware of the fact that you didn't really have time for this stuff.

But it wasn't like you didn't want to see him, you did. You hadn't been able to get him out of your head since the gala. He was certainly an interesting person, a quick wit, and good taste to boot, but you didn't think it was a good idea. Your relationships tended to fall apart fairly quickly, most men you dated became intimidated by your success, or found the power dynamic to be a point of contention for them. Either way, it usually wasn't fun.

But god, his lips...

And his smile, you could see the mischief behind it, it made your stomach flutter just thinking about it. The way his eyes lit up when he laughed. It was intoxicating, you just couldn't...

You opened the text.

Free for dinner tonight?

You rubbed your temple, sighing.

Sorry, can't. Too much work. :)

You put the phone aside, only to have it buzz again.

I'm really good at paperwork, some say the best. Could lend a hand,

You snorted. Oh you could totally picture him helping you, leaning over you while you sat at your desk, both of you staring down at the documents, his breath on your neck, his knee touching yours underneath the wood...

God, your hands were sweating. It was almost embarrassing.

I appreciate that, but I have it handled. Just a rough week,

Another buzz.

Surely you've earned a break? I won't keep you for long, just dinner.

You groaned and slid down your chair, feeling your face burn up just thinking about being in a restaurant with him. You knew it wouldn't be a short date, he was entirely too distracting. No, anything he wanted you to do would surely eat up multiple hours, and you didn't have that kind of time right now.

Next time, You texted, then grabbed your sticky notes, writing:

'Please let this guy dick you down,'

And sticking it on top of your to-do pile.

You read the text over and sighed. Dinner with him sounded like absolute bliss right now, it was almost painful how appealing it was. But you couldn't.

You turned back to your work, letting yourself fall back into the sea of paperwork.

Hours passed and you were still stuck at the office. Dark had descended a while ago, and the lights of the city loomed brightly behind your window. You stretched in your chair and sighed, rubbing your neck.

Your phone buzzed again and you reluctantly lifted it up, watching a notification for another text come in.

Dinner at 730 it is, I'll pick you up.

You froze, suddenly confused. Did you agree to something? It couldn't be.

You dialed his number and held the phone up to your ear, sitting back in your chair.

"I don't recall saying yes to dinner," You said as soon as the phone connected.

He laughed. It was a glorious sound. You felt lightheaded just hearing it.

"Alright, you're busy, I understand, how about I come to you?"

You heard keys in the background, he was definitely leaving. Shit.

"Elijah, no, I don't... I can't," You said, scrambling around your office, trying to make it look less... destroyed. You shoved a pile of papers under the desk, along with a few cups and an empty wine bottle.

"I'm bringing take-out and coffee. You sound like you could use the caffeine," He said, completely ignoring you.

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes, dropping back into your chair.

"I don't want you to get bored," You said, weakly.

He laughed.

"Don't worry about me, darling, I have a secret."

You blinked. "Oh? What's that?"

You could hear him getting into a car in the background, then the deep rumbling of an engine as it revved to life.

"Being with you could never bore me. Tell me your address,"

You smiled. "I'll text it to you,"

He hung up and you sunk deeper into your chair, a goofy grin plastered on your face.

You spent the next twenty minutes trying to make your office presentable, mostly just moving papers off the floor and out of sight.

When he knocked on the door, you paused for a moment, before opening it. He was wearing a button up shirt and black slacks, both looking sinfully expensive and sinfully good on him.

The take-out smelled amazing, as did he.

"Your security needs updating, at the very least you should have a keypad." He said as he handed you your meal.

"Thank you," You said, ushering him inside. "I sent everyone home for the day, no need for them to stay late because of me,"

You put the food on a small table and sat down next to him on your sofa in the corner of your office, letting out a long sigh you didn't know you were keeping inside.

"That bad, hm?" He asked.

You looked at him and immediately regretted it, he was so distractingly gorgeous. His face, his lips, fuck his eyes, they had those crinkles in the corners, and that hint of mischief, his perfect jawline, everything about him set you on fire.

You shook your head and smiled. "Yes, I'm afraid so. Thank you, by the way, I haven't had time to eat all day."

"Next time I'll take you out somewhere more pleasant than this," He said, gesturing around to the cluttered office.

Your phone rang on your desk and you got up and scrambled over to answer it, Elijah giving you a confused look.

"Yes? O-oh..." You paused, standing up and pacing around, heading towards the window, looking down at the dark city.

"How long ago?"

Elijah was listening, his eyes fixed on you, the tone of your voice, the way you held yourself. You seemed calm, but the subtle signs were all there. You were upset, no, not upset, frustrated.

"Uh-huh, yes, no, thank you,"

He wandered over to your desk, to the many papers that covered it, some were marked with red, some with black, most of them had scribbles in the margins.

"Well, what is the point of a zoning committee if they can't do their job?" You asked, your voice smooth as silk, he enjoyed hearing you speak, the slight inflections in your tone.

A yellow sticky note caught his eye and he picked it up, smiling at what it said.

‘Please let this guy dick you down.’

He chucked and held the note up to you, raising an eyebrow.

You froze and your eyes widened, a deep blush spreading across your cheeks. You cleared your throat and tried to compose yourself, but were unable to meet his gaze.

"I'll see what I can do." You muttered, feeling utterly mortified that he found your stupid note.

Elijah stood, tucking the note into his pocket and walking towards you. His hands pressing into the glass on either side of you, trapping you.

You gulped, looking up at him, completely forgetting about the person on the phone.

"I.. I'll have that information when the exchange opens in the morning,"

He leaned forward, his lips hovering by your cheek.

"Yes, I understand," You said, your voice shaking.

Elijah grinned, his hands coming down to rest on your hips, pulling you flush against him. You could feel him, all of him, his warmth, the hardness in his pants.

"Okay, I'll, uh, talk to you later, yes, thank you."

You ended the call and let out a long sigh, looking up at him. He took the phone from your hand and threw it over his shoulder, not even bothering to look and see where it landed.

"I'm going to give you some unsolicited advice," He whispered, his hands gripping your waist tightly. "So take it for what it's worth,"

You raised your eyebrows, waiting for him to say something.

"Take a break." He said, taking your hand and giving it a light squeeze, "Let me take care of you tonight, then get back to work in the morning, tomorrow. You're burnt out, you're going to make a mistake and you won't even notice."

"Your concern is noted, but unfortunately..."

"When was the last time you slept?" He asked, cutting you off. "Properly, I mean, when was the last time you were properly rested?"

"If you're about to offer up sleeping with you as a cure, Mr. Mikaelson, I assure you, it wouldn't do any good." You said.

"What makes you think I'm offering anything, other than a little relaxation?" He asked, a grin spreading across his face.

"Well, we're already pressed up against each other, and judging by the hardness I feel against my leg, you're not exactly unaffected." You said, your hand running over his chest, his skin hot under the fabric.

"I think it would do you some good, a rush of endorphins, a change of pace, it could relieve some of this tension you're carrying around," He countered.

You felt your mouth dry up at his words. A whole slew of salacious fantasies flooded into your mind as soon as they left his mouth, and you struggled to think of a snarky response.

"It's been a while for you, hasn't it?" He said, reaching down to the hem of your dress, pushing the fabric up your thighs, his fingers brushing over the skin.

You bit your lip, his eyes were glued to yours, watching every tiny reaction with great interest.

"How long?" He asked, his lips ghosting over yours.

"A gentleman doesn't ask." You whispered, a smile forming on your lips.

"I never said I was a gentleman," He whispered, his hands coming down, hooking underneath your thighs and lifting you up and pressing you against the window.

Your legs wrapped around him automatically, your arms going around his shoulders, pulling him close.

He kissed you and you melted, the warmth of his mouth and the heat of his skin was so comforting, it felt so good. You wanted to get lost in him, feel him all over, touch him, kiss him.

"See? That wasn't so hard was it?" He teased, his teeth grazing your bottom lip.

Your phone began to ring again, and you pushed on his chest, trying to move away from him. He let you go, letting your thighs slip down his body until your feet hit the floor, the phone still ringing.

"I should..."

He grabbed your hips and spun you around, pressing you into the window, his chest against your back.

"You are in a very important meeting right now and cannot come to the phone," He said softly, his hand sliding up your inner thigh, pushing the fabric of your dress up and exposing you.

You moaned as he spread your legs with his knee as he pulled your dress up over your head, the phone finally stopped ringing.

"There, now we can be undisturbed," He said, his lips on your neck, sucking and nipping at the skin. His hands kneading your breasts, tugging at your nipples through the fabric of your bra.

Your breathing was heavy and fast, the cool glass against your skin a stark contrast to his burning skin.

You arched back against him and let out a strangled moan, his hands trailing down your body and his fingers slipping beneath your underwear.

You looked down to the streets below, the street lamps flickering and the headlights whizzing past as you gave yourself over to the pleasure of his touch.

He kissed your neck as he slid his fingers into you. You inhaled sharply at the sensation, his fingers curling and stroking over that perfect spot inside you. Your hand pressed into the glass, desperately needing something to hold onto.

Your hips rolled against his fingers as he worked them over your clit, you were starting to tremble, your thighs closing around his hand, squeezing as you started to come. He groaned in approval as he watched you come undone against the window, your arm braced against the glass and a thin sheen of sweat glistening on your forehead.

"Good girl," He whispered, his arm holding your waist, his lips kissing and sucking on your neck.

He unclasped your bra, splaying his hand across your back and pressing you up against the glass, your breasts squashed against the cold window, a hot flush spreading across your chest.

His shirt was already unbuttoned, and it was quick work for him to take off his belt and slip out of his pants. You turned your head to look at him, and god, he was beautiful. There was a patch of black hair just below his belly button, trailing down into his pants, and thick dark hair lined his arms. But when your eyes dropped down, your mouth fell open, his cock was... Just as excellent as the rest of him.

"Do you like being on display for the whole city?" He asked, enjoying the way you seemed completely enraptured by him.

"No..." You said, a mischievous smile creeping onto your face. "They probably can't see me, just some shadow against the window,"

He grabbed your chin and kissed you hard, a bruising clash of teeth and tongue, driving you to madness with every breath. His other hand was already pressing you up against the window, his hips driving his cock forward and filling you up in one swift motion.

You cried out, nails scratching the window and your chest slamming up against the glass, a chill running through you as the cold pressed into your skin.

"You are so fucking gorgeous," He hissed, his hands gripping your hips hard.

"Fuck me," You demanded, pushing back against him, grinding your hips up into him, moving in a way that caused you to choke out a breathless cry, fireworks exploding behind your eyes.

"So bossy, so demanding, are you like this with everyone or am I just lucky?" He said, his eyes traveling over every inch of your body.

"Maybe I just want you to shut up and fuck me,"

He wrapped his hand around your neck, pulling you back against his chest and holding you firmly as he fucked you.

Your knees felt weak, the grip he had on your throat restricting your airways, the pleasure burning into your lungs like hot lava. It was intense, your eyes began to water and your thighs trembled. Elijah's movements slowed, his pace becoming steady and smooth, rolling his hips gently, caressing you.

"Are you alright?" He asked, pressing soft kisses on your jawline. "You're shaking,"

You gulped and smiled, nodding. "You're just really good at this,"

"It's my favorite way to relax," He said, his lips tracing your ear.

You moaned at his touch, his lips feeling so soft against your skin.

"Look at them, look at all the little ants down below," He murmured, his thrusts increasing in intensity, his hand tightening around your throat. "Anyone could look up and see you, anyone. Your assistants, shareholders, a random stranger, just an anonymous face in the crowd, and they're all going about their night and here you are, above them all,"

It was intoxicating, looking down at the brightly lit city, even from this far up, you felt so high, you could fall into it all and lose yourself in the darkness, let yourself drown in the lights.

You pushed back against him, chasing the high he offered, your breath shallow and panting. His fingers raked down your skin, scraping over the flesh of your ribs, leaving your body covered in a trail of dark marks, claiming you.

His teeth bit into the skin of your neck as he pushed you back against the window, his hands over yours, holding them against the glass. He was rough and hard with you, snapping his hips and driving you up onto the tips of your toes.

"Mr. Mikaelson..." You moaned, struggling to keep yourself standing.

He chuckled and pulled you away from the window, throwing you over his shoulder and carrying you to the sofa. You giggled and kicked your legs, but he kept a strong hold on you, carrying you over to the large leather couch and depositing you on it.

"There," He said, leaning over you and parting your legs, "more comfortable?"

"Very." You said, biting your lip as you gazed up at him.

He knelt between your legs, sliding his hands under your ass and pulling you towards him, his mouth latching onto your pussy, licking a path along the seam.

You breathed out a sigh, closing your eyes and tilting your head back, your hands reaching for him, holding onto his hair, his shoulders, whatever you could reach.

"So, tell me," He said, taking a moment to rest his chin against your thigh, "do you agree that tis is a good way to relax?"

You huffed and sat up, pushing his head back down between your legs. He laughed and got back to it, letting you pull his hair and fuck yourself on his face.

His tongue was warm and wet, his thumb rubbing you, stroking your clit in little circles, teasing you. You wriggled and writhed against him, his mouth, his hands, they drove you insane.

Just when you were about to come he pulled away, kissing his way up your body, licking your nipples, your neck, your ear, trailing soft kisses on your face until you opened your eyes and looked at him.

He kissed you hard, your thighs trembling. His cock was hard against you, pressing back inside you. You moaned into his mouth as you adjusted to the feeling of him, the sensation of being filled up.

You loved it, the way you tightened around him, pulling him closer, deeper. He was breathing hard, the corners of his mouth twitching in a smile, his gaze constantly shifting, flickering from your mouth to your eyes, down to your chest.

His hand brushed against your cheek as he leaned back and began to move, gripping your waist and holding you close, his hips rolling into yours, finding a rhythm that made your toes curl, his voice murmuring your name softly in your ear, encouraging you to let go.

He smiled as you arched off the couch and dug your fingers into his skin, holding him to you. He wanted you close, skin-to-skin, every inch of you touching him, melting together.

You opened your eyes and found yourself staring up at his face, his skin, slightly flushed, his eyes were bright and he was grinning. The sex was turning into something more intimate, an actual bond was developing between the two of you.

"I like you," you whispered, grabbing his arm and pulling him close, your lips brushing against his, "I really like you,"

"Yeah?" He said, kissing you deeply.

"Yeah," you agreed, holding his face in your hands,

"It really like you too," He said, his thrusts growing deeper, stronger, more intense. He was chasing his own release now, desperate to feel you clenching around him, moaning his name.

You gasped and clung to him, your nails digging into his skin, your head thrown back, your eyes shut tight as you rode out the waves of pleasure flowing through you, and he followed right behind you, coming with a grunt, a low, quiet sound that made your stomach flutter.

He pulled out and sat down next to you, pulling you into his arms, your back against his chest. You could feel his breath tickling your neck, his chest rising and falling against your back.

He pulled the blanket that was folded on the back of the sofa over the two of you, wrapping it around you and holding you close.

The room was quiet, silent, save for the muffled noise of the city below, the cars and the traffic, the random sounds of the distant city.

You felt relaxed, actually relaxed, like you were floating. His warm arms around you felt like a cocoon. He was watching you, his eyes tracing over your body, his fingertips featherlight against your bare skin.

"Can I pencil you in for another meeting tomorrow?" You asked with a grin, your fingers grazing along his forearms.

He pulled your sticky note out of his pocket, sticking it to your forehead, a soft rumble coming from his chest as he chuckled.

"Hmm, I don't know, do you want to make a habit of this?" He asked, his hands smoothing down the sides of your body.

"Would that be so bad?" You asked, leaning back against his chest, letting him wrap his arms around you.

"Not at all, it's what I've been wanting since I met you," He admitted, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

"Me too, you've been on my mind constantly," You said, tilting your head back and kissing him.

"I know," he said with a cheeky smile, tapping on the note stuck to your head.

"Oh, very funny," You rolled your eyes, relaxing against him, your eyes growing heavy as the weight of the day's events caught up to you.

"Sleep, love," He whispered, pressing a kiss to the side of your head, his arms tightening around you.

"But I have so much to do," You protested, trying to sit up.

He held onto you, keeping you from moving, you didn't put up much of a fight. You wanted to stay right there.

"Work can wait until tomorrow, I have no intention of letting you go anywhere anytime soon," He said, his lips finding your temple, planting a soft kiss there.

"I can't just stay here," You said, a smile on your face as he ran his hand through your hair.

"Why not? You're the boss, you can do whatever you want," He said, nuzzling your neck.

You sighed, giving in and relaxing in his arms. It had been a while since you'd felt so content.

"Alright, maybe I can spare a few hours," You said, closing your eyes and allowing sleep to wash over you. And for the first time in a long time you fell asleep without a worry in the world.

♡♡ Tag-List ♡♡

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253 notes · View notes

reiderwriter · 9 months

Note

Hi :) I've never requested before and am a little embarrassed to be here. But I'm also in my Spencer Reid Brainrot era and am a fan of your writing! I was thinking something with a virgin female reader who is genophobic (specifically fear of vaginal penetration, in her case) and Spencer helps her work through her fear and try something new? She doesnt need to have trauma, just the phobia. Either BAU or non BAU reader is fine, just as long as they aren't initially dating and there is a slow build up to the intimacy. Also, could it be race-blind? (e.g "I could see she was embarrassed" instead of "her cheeks turned pink") Fluff, smut, and mutual pining. Ack, please it would make my MONTH!!

-❤️‍🩹

A/N: I really hope I did this one justice!! It was fun to research and write and ahhh the slow burn (which was definitely a lot faster than it should have been if I had more time 🫣 sorry). I hope you like it!

W/C: 5k

Warnings: Genophobia (fear of sexual intimacy), panic attack, heavy petting, oral (F receiving), virgin reader, inexperienced Spencer, two idiots in love again, vaginal sex, fingering, contraception actually used! Mainly soft and sweet sex 😊

Find my masterlist here! Get ready for kinktober with me here!

It was your worst nightmare come true.

You’d had a crush on Spencer for the last three years, working with him in the BAU since Elle had left. You’d joined the team alongside Emily and immediately become enamored with the boy genius, and how could you not? He was smart, and handsome, and most importantly, he respected boundaries.

But here he was in front of you, probably saying the words that you most wanted to hear from him, but he was so close, your heart was beating uncomfortably in your chest, your breath short and your eyes hazy and unfocused for all the wrong reasons.

“Just… If you don’t feel the same, I understand and I’ll never mention it again, but if there’s any chance that you.. That you love me the same way I love you, please tell me.” He had you boxed in against the wall, not touching you exactly, but so close you could feel his breath on your neck, could see the desperation in his eyes as he poured his heart out to you.

The man of your dreams was confessing his love to you, and you were on the verge of a panic attack at his attention.

“Spencer, I have to go,” you gasped out, grasping your chest as you begged your lungs to start working again, as you begged your mouth to stay and explain. But the tears were burning in the corners of your eyes and you had to run from the intimacy of the moment. “I have to... I’m sorry, Spencer, I can’t…” You didn’t get any other words out before you bolted out the door, desperate to find a bathroom stall to cry in. You weren’t sure if the tears were from the very real fear you’d just confronted or the realization that you’d probably just ruined your chances with Spencer Reid.

–X–

A week later, and the awkward tension between the two of you hadn’t dissipated. You wanted to explain yourself, of course, you did, but with the hurt look on Spencer’s face shooting through you every time you were at the other end of his gaze, combined with the absolute fear of being known and judged, you had guiltily kept your mouth shut.

The rest of the team had noticed, of course. The two of you were sending pining looks after one another whenever the other had their back turned, even when preoccupied with a prolific highway murderer, the team would be blind not to see it. Unfortunately for you, the members of the BAU weren’t the ones to let the tension go unconfronted, so you found yourself in increasingly solitary situations, alone but for the company of Spencer himself.

You’d been assigned to work the geographical profile with Spencer, despite usually working alongside Hotch, more used to comforting and interviewing families than analyzing charts and maps. The opportunity to explain had been handed to you on a silver platter, and you had to take it.

“Spencer, can we talk?” You blurted the words out after an unbearably long silence, having watched the man read case file after case file while you distractedly bumbled along beside him.

He paused and gave a small nod, bringing his head up, but not quite meeting your gaze.

“When you… When you said those things last week, did you mean them?”

“I don’t say things I don’t mean, Y/N.” The words were tense, but his voice was soft, his eyes holding a resigned look.

“I’m sorry... I’m sorry, shit, everything I say is going to sound like an excuse but I’m so sorry…” you rambled, trying to work up the courage to say what you actually wanted to.

“You don’t have to apologize for not feeling the same way I do. It’s okay, I know I’m not the easiest person to love and-”

“You are. You are, Spencer, don’t even think that you are the problem here, because you are not.” You gasped for breath as you pushed the words out unexpectedly, surprising even yourself with the conviction of your tone.

“I love you, Spencer, I do, I just…” You blinked back the tears again as your voice suddenly became a whisper.

“You know when we talked about our… our fears a few weeks back? And I said that I didn’t have anything specific that came to mind?” He listened attentively as you stuttered out the words.

“I lied. When… people get close to me, and when they get close to me in a way that specifically suggests that… suggests that they like me the way you like me, my chest gets tight, and I can’t breathe. Spencer, I’m… I’m scared of sex.”

You let the confession hang in the air between you, almost afraid to look up and see the sympathetic look in Spencer’s eyes. But you had to eventually, and you were surprised.

The man wasn’t even looking at you, and his expression couldn’t even be described as concerned, let alone empathetic.

“Spencer? Did you hear what I said?” He looked up and smiled at you, keeping his distance still, but opening up to you, facing you with open body language, putting all his attention on you without moving even an inch closer.

“Genophobia. Y/N, you’re describing Genophobia. It’s the fear of physical intimacy that often stems from a fear of pain during sexual intimacy or from physical symptoms, such as Vaginosis. Y/N, you don’t hate me.” His grin widened, and you let out a little laugh at the hopeful look on his face as he breathed out that last statement.

“No, no Spencer, I couldn’t hate you.”

“Good, because I thought I’d taken it too far… Nevermind. Y/N, is… is this something you want to work through?” His tone was cautious, and you were touched by the seriousness he was approaching with. Your previous boyfriends had mocked you when you explained why you couldn’t have sex with them, few as they may have been. You’d never been treated with such gentleness.

“Yes. I really want to work through it, but… Spencer, it might take a long time. Is that okay?” He considered your question for a minute, then replied with his own.

“Y/N, can I lean in and kiss your cheek, please? I won’t touch you anywhere else, I just want…please?” You felt a warmth bubbling under your cheeks at the situation, your tongue growing thick in your mouth, not allowing you to respond. You opted for a small nod instead, watching his every move as he slowly moved in.

Placing his hands on the table, he lifted himself up from his chair, keeping them firmly planted there so you could see that he wasn’t going to initiate anything further. His lips finally hit your cheek, and your heart started beating in that familiar way that it usually did, but you forced yourself to hold still until he pulled away. He did so quickly.

“Y/N, I don’t care how long it takes you to be comfortable with me. I’m just happy you chose me.” He finished, then grabbed a file and exited the room, leaving you alone again to calm your heart and un-fog your brain.

–X–

The case closed a few days later, but you didn’t have another chance to talk to Spencer anymore about your relationship, being so caught up in serving justice to the families of the victims. But as Friday approached, your job was finished, an unsub handed over to the authorities ready for prosecution, and you could finally fly back home.

Which is how you found yourself, on the last evening of the work week, pacing outside of his apartment, freaking out about whether you should knock or not. You’d held your hand up to knock a few times, but ultimately let it fall to your side, cursing your cowardice. It was just a door. He was just a man. A man who really cared about you. A man who wanted you. That thought should have had you jumping into his arms at every given opportunity, instead, it was causing heart palpitations at the thought of knocking on a door.

In the end, you didn’t have to knock.

“Y/N, what are you doing here?” You heard his voice from behind you as you jumped in place, startled by the fact that he was actually there.

“Shit, Spencer, don’t do that, you scared me.” You grabbed your chest and took a deep breath. He stood still, waiting for your answer to his previous question.

“I was just… Can I come in?”

“Oh. Oh, yeah of course, here let me…” His words trailed off as he grabbed his keys from his pocket, fumbling them slightly as he struggled to get the key into the door.

“Take a seat wherever you… Can, I guess? Sorry, I was doing some reading before I left.” He smiled awkwardly as you walked into the space, and you giggled a little at the confession, seeing that there was really only one open space on the couch left for you to occupy without having to perch awkwardly on the arm of the chair.

You took the seat, moving a single book onto a stack on the sofa next to you, and watched the man as he took off his scarf and coat, storing them and then awkwardly turning back to the couch. He looked around for a place to sit, and, coming to the same conclusion as you did, chose to perch himself on the opposite arm of the sofa to you.

“Oh, Spencer, this is your house, you should sit comfortably.”

“No, you’re a guest, it’s fine. I want you to feel comfortable. What did you want to talk about?” He cleared his throat a little and then turned his eyes back to you, signaling that he was ready to listen attentively.

“Oh…. I was hoping…. Spencer, can you touch me?” You saw his face flush at your suggestion, and your eyes widened at your own foolish wording.

“Shit, not like that. Not that I don’t want you to touch me like that, but I think it’s too soon, and I’m still not comfortable with that. I was just hoping that you could, you know, hold me for a while, like a hug or something?” You rambled it all out, and you could hear yourself rambling but you couldn’t stop it. The words dropped from your mouth before you could even think about stopping them, and you felt the blood rush to your head as you cringed slightly at the situation.

“Okay.”

“Okay? You’re…. You’re okay with that?” You asked, looking hopefully up at Spencer.

“Do you want to sit together, or were you thinking something else?” You jumped up from your seat then, and glanced around the room as you considered his words.

“Oh, um, sitting together would be good I suppose?” He nodded and lifted himself up from the arm, moving closer to you.

“I’m going to sit here, you should probably just join me when you want to, okay?” He whispered the words with a tender smile on his face, and you felt some of the tension in your shoulders disappear. It was incredible that he could do that with a simple smile, that with one glance he could relax your whole body enough to let you push yourself to the limits of your fear.

You gained some confidence, and after letting him get settled in the seat you had just vacated, you moved to straddle his lap. You heard his sharp intake of breath as you wrapped your arms up around his neck, nervously wondering if what you were doing was right.

“Is this okay for you, Y/N?” He asked, stuttering through the words as he struggled to stay focused on you.

“It’s okay now. I want to push myself a little.” You ran your hands down his arms, which had so far lain politely still on the sofa beside him before you pulled them around yourself, letting the hug deepen. He was warm, and between the two of you, you weren’t sure whose heartbeat was louder. You could hear both of them, the room totally still except for your breaths and blinks.

“Y/N, can I… can I kiss you?”

“Yes.” You whispered the word in a voice so small, you were sure he hadn’t heard it, as his head crept towards you so slowly you were sure he wasn’t moving. Eventually, you felt his breath on your skin more, and then his lips were softly pressing against your own, the pressure gentle, not demanding any more than what you were currently giving him.

You melted into it, pushing yourself further into his warmth, your chests now pressed together as he languidly moved his lips against yours, claiming them again and again and again. You kept pushing and pushing into him, growing more sloppy in your kisses, grabbing onto the back of his sweater with two desperate fists, needing him close.

It wasn’t until your hips bucked involuntarily in his lap, unconsciously demanding friction that you began to panic once again, immediately pulling your lips and torso out of his reach.

“Shit, I’m sorry, I can’t… it’s… shit it’s not you, Spencer. God, I’m such an idiot.” You pulled your hands over your eyes, embarrassed at the thought of being seen by him right then, but still firmly seated in his lap.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he said, pulling your hands away from your face with a gentle touch. “It’s okay, Y/N. We don’t have to do anything you aren’t comfortable with.” You nodded at his words and took a few more minutes to compose yourself.

“Can we…can we just cuddle for a while? Like this?” You asked, and his smile instantly became bright.

“I would love to. Let’s move some of these books though.” You shifted the books quickly and then fell back into his lap, his body now laying more vertically than before, stretching out into the larger space now available on the couch. You pushed your head into his chest, listening to his heartbeat, following it with your own, and letting it be the soundtrack to your descent into sleep.

–X–

Waking up in his arms was a life-changing experience. Sometime during your sleep, he had carried you to his bed, letting you sleep soundly as he made you more comfortable. He hadn’t taken any of your clothes off, of course, just removed your shoes and made sure you were warm enough in the skirt and blouse you had been wearing.

Your position had changed, too, and it was one of the first things you noticed as you blinked your eyes open, trying to rid them of sleep as you greeted the new day. Instead of being below you, he was behind you, pressed against you with a hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you into him like a child clutching a favored toy.

“Spence,” you whispered through a grin. “Spencer, wake up.” You turned your head around to him, but he moaned in his sleep, not wanting to leave his rest just yet. You giggled at his childlike petulance, trying to shift around to face him, but his grip was too tight. Pushing against him, you felt something, hard, pushing against your back. You shifted again, but it was still there, and it took you only a few more seconds to figure out what it was.

“Shit, Spencer, wake up,” your tone probably sounded more frantic than you felt, as it woke him quickly now, his body releasing yours enough to let him pull himself up, taking stock of the room as he looked around searching for what had panicked you.

“What is it, are you okay?” He returned his eyes to your face, but your gaze had slipped down his body, and through the much looser fitting sweatpants he’d thrown on at some point during the night, you could see the outline of his cock.

Curiously, the very sight didn’t have you bolting, as it had in situations in the past. You had frozen, of course, but you weren’t filled with as much dread as you had been only a few days prior with his confession.

“Fuck, Y/N, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to do that, it’s a biological reaction and… well it’s not purely biological, I do really have feelings for you, but I don’t want you to feel pressured, and… Let me go and get rid of this.” He moved to stand, but you grabbed his arm before he could completely pull away, his hand still resting on your waist.

“Wait… Could we continue from where we were last night?” You looked up at him, the embarrassment of your words sending a rush of adrenaline through your body, almost forcing you to take them back immediately.

“You… you want that?” For the second time in 24 hours, a whispered ‘yes’ was all it took to have him crash his lips into yours. The pressure was the same, but with his body hovering over yours, it felt even more intimate. His hands rubbed small reassuring circles on your hips, as you opened up to him, wanting to pull the full force of his weight down onto you.

His hand fell to your face as he encouraged you to open your mouth to his tongue, letting him explore it thoroughly as he lazily worked his mouth against your own. There was no fight for dominance here, just two people deeply exploring the feeling of one another, so wrapped up in the pleasure that no other thoughts could cross your minds. Not even that of fear.

He pulled away for a breath, and your lips trailed him, trying to capture him again and force him back to you, but he evaded you softly.

“Y/N, can I try something? I want to touch you…more. Is that okay?” You were so desperate for the feeling of his lips against yours again that you moaned out the yes before you even processed his words. His lips fell back against yours, but his weight shifted above you as his right hand trailed down your leg and then back up underneath your skirt.

The touch was so delicate that you shivered under the attention, but you felt your heart start beating faster and faster as he got closer to your center. He asked you once again, and you agreed before he finally touched you through the safety of your panties.

You moaned into the kiss as he cupped you, letting his thumb fall to your clit and beginning to explore you more. He swallowed each and every sound you made with his lips, committing every move you made, every reaction to memory. You grew more pliable under all his attentions, growing comfortable in reacting to his every movement, letting him control the pace and flow of your shared caresses. A heat was growing at the depth of your stomach, and you knew it was coming.

Your brain finally kicked back into gear as your orgasm washed over you, your eyes jolting open as he released your mouth, the breathless moan that erupted from you causing your entire body to tense up. You pushed him away, and clutched your chest, scrambling up into a seated position as he quickly noted the change in your body language, letting you out of his grip.

You struggled to get your breathing out of control, desperately searching for a way out, an excuse, or anything to say to make you feel better, but you came up blank.

“I’m sorry… I’m really…” You couldn’t force out any other words before you jumped out of his bed and bolted out of the apartment, having ruined everything again for the second time.

–X–

Another week ticked by before you knew it, and you still hadn’t talked to Spencer since he’d pushed you over the edge. The fact that he hadn’t tried to talk to you either had you convincing yourself that it meant whatever you shared was over now.

It was a nice feeling to share, but you couldn’t keep it up forever, just like you hadn’t been able to in any of your previous relationships. But there was something about Spencer that you didn’t want to give up on, so you didn’t.

You spent the week looking up advice on how to deal with your fear, booking appointments with Sex Therapists, and, to put it kindly, getting your body used to the idea of sexual interaction. You bought a small vibrator a day or two after you slept over at his house, nothing that would enter you, just something to play with to increase your confidence as you prepared yourself to apologize to him.

But despite all of your efforts, the tension was still running high in the team as they all noticed the sudden disconnect between you and your maybe-boyfriend.

So, with the newly discovered commitment to self-improvement, you found yourself at his door again on another Friday night, this time confidently knocking at the first attempt.

“Y/N, you’re here.” He said, mouth hanging open slightly as his unasked question hung in the air.

“I wanted to talk. About everything.”

“Sure, come in, come in.” He shut the door behind you, and you didn’t bother walking further than the entryway before you started again, not wanting to lose your conviction.

“Spencer, I want you to make love to me. I freaked out last time, and I ran away, and that was so shitty of me, but I think I’m ready now - I went to see this therapist and she gave me some advice, and I’ve been… I’ve been touching myself so I can get myself used to the idea of someone else touching me. And you’re the only person who I want to touch and to touch me, and you’re everything I’ve been thinking about, and I don’t want you to avoid me anymore or think this isn’t going anywhere.” You were almost breathless as you finished, having let your sentences blur into one, not bothering to pause in your exploration.

“Oh, thank god,” Spencer said, wrapping his hands around you suddenly, pulling you to him with a strength you didn’t know he had. “Well, not thank god that you want to have sex with me, thank god that I didn’t push it too far. I thought you hated me after last time, I thought I was trying to selfishly get you to open up too quickly, and I felt so bad about it.” He rambled just the same as you had, not letting go of you for all the world.

“You know, I’ve checked out like 50 books on sexual psychology from the University library this week, I was afraid the librarian was going to call the police on me for creepy behavior or something.” He laughed into you, letting his head drop to your shoulder as he held you comfortably.

“Spencer, that is so sweet.” You felt the sugar in your grin, knowing that this unabashed happiness wasn’t going away anytime soon, any negative feelings at being held this closely dissipating when faced with the love of his actions.

“I’m going to ask again, is that okay?” You nodded at his boyish grin, and he grinned down at you fondly.

“Y/N, may I kiss-” You didn’t let him finish, pushing yourself up on your toes to lock your lips with his before he could.

“Yes. Always yes.” You said releasing him, foreheads resting together.

“I know, but I like to ask.” His lips were on you again then, as he walked you back through his apartment, not stopping once to release your lips. Before you knew it, he was picking you up, and gently returning you to the bed you’d bolted from the week before.

He released you for a breath, and you pushed your top up and off, throwing it to the ground as he stared at you like you had personally each and every star in the sky.

“You’re amazing. I’m so proud of you.” He mumbled the words into your skin, before letting his hands once again fall under your skirt, beginning to massage your ass with a firm but still loving embrace. He pulled you against him again, your kisses becoming more and more needy as you felt him grow against you, with each stroke of his tongue forcing your hips to rub together deliciously.

“You know,” he spoke slowly, letting his lips fall down your neck and chest. “All of the literature I read suggested that foreplay was a good way to combat Genophobia. The more prepared you are for the actual sexual act, the less you worry about the ‘pain’ of it all.”

“What are you saying, Spencer?” You whispered, your heart beating fast, but not in an uncomfortable way anymore.

“I’m saying I want to make you feel good. Can I?” His lips had reached your skirt then, and he said the words as his head rested against your thigh, hands slowly pushing your legs wider and wider.

You nodded, and he dived in, at first licking through your underwear as you moaned and writhed underneath him. His hands worked the panties down your legs as he kissed your inner thighs, pushing your skirt up and over your hips so you could watch his every move.

“Fuck Spencer,” you ground into his face again as he returned his tongue to your now soaking hole, desperately chasing the pleasure of his attention. You’d had the time to explore this week, obviously, but it was nothing like this. Every kiss, every suck, every lick, spoke a thousand words to his devotion to you, his love being pressed into you from between your legs. You didn’t know it could be like this. You didn’t think it would be with anyone who wasn’t him.

“Spencer, I can feel it…. Spencer, don’t stop.” You worked a hand into his hair and shamelessly bucked into him now, you high hitting you just like you knew it would. If the first time had been a surprise, this time had been an inevitability. You felt him keep up his ministrations, letting you ride out the full wave of pleasure. When he finally pulled away, he looked into your eyes for confirmation that everything he’d done was okay. Moving a hand to wipe your arousal from his mouth, you stopped him mid-motion and pulled him back on top of you, wrapping your tongue around his own and delighting in the taste of his success.

“Let’s keep going,” you said softly into his ear, and he moaned his approval, before quickly divesting himself of his pants and grabbing a condom from his bedside table.

“Morgan got me a pack of these at Christmas, as a joke, y’know,” he laughed, kissing down your neck again, paying special attention to the few spots darkening to splashes of red.

“Not the time, Spencer,” you laugh at him, and he squeaks out an apology before lining himself up with you.

“You’re sure this is what you want?” He asks, a concerned look plastered on his face, and you pull him down for one short tender kiss before answering again.

“I have never been so sure of any decision I have made in my life, as I am sure about you.” He pressed a kiss to your lips in thanks and then slowly began to fill you up.

There was a small panic in the back of your mind, but he kissed praise into your skin, replacing all of your negative thoughts with nothing but his words, his actions, his love. You relaxed as he stretched you out, not moving his hips but letting his hand return between your legs to help you further adjust to the newness of it all.

You saw a panicked look fall across his face as he kissed away small tears that fell from your eyes, each a small apology for the pain, the confusion of your mixed emotions, but you just laughed his concern away.

“Happy tears, Spencer. They’re happy tears.” He laughed with you then, and with one last seeking out of your approval, you began to move together. His thrusts were slow, lavishing you with attention, letting you feel all of him as his body sought your pleasure. Your legs wrapped around him, unable to stop the desperate need to buck up, up, up with each of his downward strokes.

You were a mess of limbs and kisses, neither of you experienced enough to know how to do anything past what felt good, what felt natural, and you spent your time together like that, giggling with each chaste kiss, moaning and sighing as you both worked your way up to an ecstatic release.

Falling down on top of you after you came together, Spencer didn’t pull out, holding you somehow closer than before as you both let the oxygen return to your lungs.

“I love you,” he whispered into your lips.

“I love you,” you whispered back.

Yes, it was not going to be like that with anyone else. And you didn’t want anyone else at all, now that you finally had him.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds smut #requested #❤️‍🩹 Anon

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improbable-outset · 7 days

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📄 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐧

↳ 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈

(Part 1)

Francis Mosses x Fem!Reader

𝐀𝐎𝟑 | 𝐌𝐲 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 | 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐧𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐛𝐨𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.5k

𝐓𝐖 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐖: Wife!Reader, lactation kink, breast milk in coffee (lmao?)

𝐀/𝐍: Yes, this is an extended version of Milk Fiend

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: After trying your milk, Francis can’t get enough. But he can’t let you know that.

Like a hawk, Francis couldn’t tear his gaze away as you poured some of your milk that you just pumped out into a flask before storing it in the fridge. Ever since that night you found out you were hyperlactating, you’ve made a routine to pump out the excess milk to avoid the risk of leaking in your sleep.

Francis caught a quick glimpse inside the fridge— there were several flasks full of your milk, all labeled with the dates— before you closed the door. As you left the kitchen, Francis lingered a little longer and eyed the fridge door.

He wondered how much milk you pumped out just now. Was it the same volume everyday? Did you produce more milk on some days than the others? He turned his attention away and followed you back into the bedroom.

Francis tucked himself into bed silently while you went on to ramble about your day. Your hand movements were very animated and your voice carried a lot of energy and emphasis, which Francis would always be enamored by. But tonight he couldn’t stay focused on whatever you were talking about.

“I’m telling you Francis, she’s been acting very strange lately. I don’t want to point fingers and claim she’s a doppelgänger but I’m having my doubts…” you were reeling on about another neighbour again; Francis nodded occasionally to show his engagement.

He couldn’t stop himself from stealing quick glances at your chest, thinking back to the milk you just pumped out in the kitchen. He was grateful that you were too engrossed in your story telling to even notice.

The following morning, Francis was the first out of bed as per usual. He freshened himself up and put on his milkman uniform before heading to the kitchen. His routine always followed the same pattern and it made everything feel mechanical, like he was on constant auto-pilot mode.

However this morning, as he was making his usual coffee, his eyes lingered over the fridge that stored all your milk in. He recalled the night he tasted your milks for the first time. The memory made his heart hammer in his chest with a warmth pooling to his cock.

But it’s been a while since that night and he would be lying if he said he didn’t want another taste.

Something was pulling him closer toward the fridge before opening the door. He felt like he had no motor control over his limbs now as he grasped onto one of the flasks and unscrewed the lid.

He took one whiff, smelling the creaminess of the milk before he glanced back at his coffee mug that was sitting on the counter top. He always liked his coffee with milk so his curiosity piqued as he was wondering what would happen if he added some of your milk in the coffee.

He knew he shouldn’t and he really should ask for your consent before using your milk. But at the same time, he didn’t want to wake you up at the crack hours of dawn. Surely you wouldn’t notice if he used just a splash of milk.

Without a second thought, he started on his coffee and poured some of the ‘liquid gold’ into his mug, watching the dark beverage lighten in colour. After screwing the cap back on, he took a small sip from the coffee and relished its taste.

The subtle bitterness from the coffee blended perfectly with the natural sweetness from your milk. The taste was divine and unmatched. If he wasn’t tight on a schedule, he definitely would’ve savoured it for as long as he could, but he had to leave for an early shift.

The day burned out faster than he imagined. The coffee had given him an extra boost of energy that he didn’t know he could foster.

The evening came and Francis' shift finally ended. He found you in the kitchen holding onto one of the flasks that had your milk in. For a split second, Francis felt a thread of chill down his spine.

You were shaking the flask, feeling how full it was. Francis didn’t check if the content would be a little lighter after he used some of the milk this morning. Were you starting to suspect something? He felt his stomach slowly sink to the floor as your frown deepened.

But the feeling quickly disappeared when you finally locked eyes with him and gave him a soft smile. You put the flask back in the fridge and gave him a quick peck.

“I just put some roast chicken in the oven and it should be done shortly,” you said. He felt you tug on his bow tie until it unraveled. “Take off your uniform and you can tell me about your day at dinner,”

This has been going on for the past few days. Though as the days went on, there was the feeling of guilt that was prodding inside him.

He didn’t know how long he could keep this from you, especially given the fact that the content in the flask was getting less after the previous night of you pumping more of your milk.

But he couldn’t help himself— the taste was too good and had already fallen into this addiction. And on top of that, a part of him wanted to see how long he could get away with this, even if he knew he was going behind your back.

Until one morning where he was finally caught red handed. As usual, Francis didn’t expect you to be up early. He was so caught up in indulging in the taste of his coffee, he didn’t notice the sounds of your footsteps approaching the kitchen until you heard your voice.

“Francis?” Your voice tore through the room, making him freeze in his tracks.

You weren’t normally awake this early so seeing you here threw him off. He hadn’t even heard you come into the kitchen so he couldn’t cover up just how guilty he looked right now.

“What are you doing?” You stepped further into the kitchen towards him. His pulse was throbbing harder with each step you took and he wanted to disappear at that moment.

He tried to come up with an answer without blatantly lying to you. “Just having my coffee. How long have you been standing there?”

“I just stepped in now,” your gaze swept over him until you finally noticed the flask on the countertop beside him. “Is that the flask with the breast milk?”

Francis swallowed dryly.

“Yes…it is,” he said quietly.

“What on earth are you doing with that?”

There was no point lying to you so he spilled the truth. “Look darling, after I tried your milk I really like the taste so I’ve been having more of it. I’m sorry,”

“Is that your coffee too?” You paused with your eyes fixated on the mug. By the look in your expression, he could tell you were putting two and two together and he was dreading how you would react. “Oh my gosh…have you been using the milk in your coffee?”

“Yeah I’ve been doing it a few times now,” he admitted sheepishly.

“So that’s where the milk has disappeared to,” For a moment, Francis expected you to be disturbed by the revelation. However he was welcomed with your warm laugh that shook him.

“Oh Francis—” you said, reaching up to pinch one of his cheeks affectionately.

He stared at you quietly, completely baffled by your reaction. You continued laughing at the situation.

Despite the anxiety he had before, it was slightly relieving seeing your wholehearted reaction instead of you being disgusted with him.

After your laughter died down, you took a few deep breaths before you spoke again. “How long have you been doing this?”

“Uh…every morning this past week now,” it sounded shocking when said it out loud and he couldn’t help but give you a weary gaze.

“Do you think I could get a taste?” You asked. Francis nodded silently. If you were going to forgive him for secretly drinking so much of your milk so willingly, this was the least he could do.

He watched you intently as you took a small sip from the mug. There was something about watching you taste yourself that made his cock twitch slightly.

You smacked your lips, taking in the taste. “Oh…”

“How does it taste?”

“There’s a surprising subtle sweetness from the milk,”

“Heh, there certainly is. It’s quite strange,”

“I can see why you like this so much,” you said as you took another sip.

“I’d say it might be the highlight of my morning,”

“Mhmm. So what time is your shift today?” You asked. The question snapped him out of his trance and brought him back to reality.

“It’s supposed to start at 6 today,” he said with a tired groan. He wanted to stay in this moment with you for as long as he could but he knew he had a job to do.

He felt you reach over to kiss him on the cheek, making his heart stutter in surprise. The affectionate gesture from you was enough to lift some of the weight from his shoulders.

“Well, I’m going to be be making a cherry pie for dessert tonight, so that will be something to look forward to,”

Francis' lips twitched up in a small smile. “Yeah…that sounds lovely…”

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: @haikyuunerdsworld @facelessfionna (lmk if you want to be tagged in my Francis fics)

Btw since you’re here, I am very indecisive on what to choose for my next blog theme. So let’s vote it out!! Here are some navigation headers that I’m planning to use on my pinned post. Very distinctive themes I know !!

#★— ayrus writes #that’s not my neighbor #tnmn #francis mosses #francis mosses x reader #francis mosses x you #the milkman #milk man #milkman #milkman x reader #milkman x you #tnmn milkman #tnmn francis mosses #francis mosses milkman #francis mosses smut #milkman smut #francis tnmn

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storiesforallfandoms · 1 year

Text

i don’t ever wanna see you with him ~ roman godfrey;hemlock grove

word count: 2551

request?: no

description: after he gets jealous of her best male friend, she decides to put him in his place

pairing: roman godfrey x female!reader

warnings: swearing

masterlist (one, two, three)

Roman Godfrey was spoiled and entitled. Everyone in Hemlock Grove knew that. He was the heir to the massive empire in their small town, so it wasn’t a surprise that he had a sense of entitlement. That entitlement tended to extend to his romantic relationships, too. Roman was often very possessive and jealous over his girlfriends. Most of them liked that, most of them viewed it as hot and endearing.

(Y/N) was not one of those girls.

She and Roman had met through (Y/N)’s best friend, Peter. He was enamored with her the minute he laid his eyes on her, and, secretly, (Y/N) had felt the same way. Not that she would ever tell him that. She had been warned about Roman before she met him. She wasn’t about to give into him so easily; she made him work for it - for her. And he really did put in the work until (Y/N) trusted his commitment to her and agreed to date him.

There was one issue about Roman, though, and that was his jealousy towards (Y/N) and Peter’s friendship. He thought he kept it lowkey, but both Peter and (Y/N) knew. They both knew Roman better than he thought they did. They could see when his eyes darkened whenever he looked at them. They could see his jaw tighten whenever (Y/N) laughed at something Peter said. They could see the way Roman always needed to be touching (Y/N) whenever the three of them were hanging out.

It wasn’t that Roman didn’t like Peter. When it was just the two of them, they were the best of friends. It was Peter with (Y/N) that Roman didn’t like. And that was what pissed (Y/N) off. Peter had been her friend long before he was Roman’s, and long before Roman and (Y/N) started dating. And that’s all they were - friends. There had never been any sort of romantic feelings between them, and there never would be.

That’s why (Y/N) was walking up to Peter’s trailer on her own on a sunny afternoon. He was laying in a hammock, his eyes closed as he soaked up the sun. Upon hearing her footsteps, he opened one eye and peered over at her.

“Where’s your shadow?” he asked.

(Y/N) rolled her eyes. “He’s not that attached to me.”

“He may as well be a wart on your ass, (Y/N). Especially when it comes to me.”

“He’s certainly a pain in my ass,” (Y/N) muttered. “Move over, I want some hammock.”

Peter chuckled and shuffled over slightly. (Y/N) got into the hammock, laying with her feet towards Peter’s head and her head towards his feet. The hammock swayed with the motions before it settled again.

“He doesn’t know I’m here,” (Y/N) said as her body relaxed into the swaying fabric.

“What?” Peter asked.

“Roman. I didn’t tell him I was coming.”

“Is that healthy? Like, for your relationship.”

“I didn’t lie to him or anything. He’s busy with some family shit, so I haven’t even heard from him yet today. If he were to ask, I’d tell him I’m here.”

“And then he’d show up and kick my ass.”

(Y/N) sighed and rested her head back against the hammock. “Do you think he’ll ever stop being so...”

“So Roman?” Peter finished. (Y/N) nodded. “It’s hard to tell. His entire life he’s been surrounded by enablers, or he’s been under the control of his insane mother. I think we’re the first people to treat him like an actual person and not like he owns the world. So either we could help him, or he’ll annoy us both to a point where we can’t deal with him anymore.”

The latter option was what worried (Y/N) the most. She loved Roman, other than his jealousy he was an amazing boyfriend who loved and cared for her so deeply. She didn’t want to lose him, but she knew Peter had a point about if Roman couldn’t control that jealousy. She couldn’t live the rest of her life wondering how Roman was going to react to every guy she interacted with, whether it was friends, co-workers, or just random guys she ran into on the street. And she definitely was not going to be made to choose between Roman and Peter when she had known and been friends with Peter the longest.

She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t have to. Peter knew what she was thinking. It wasn’t the first time they had this conversation.

They fell into a comfortable silence. There really didn’t need to be any conversation. This was the first time in quite some time that the two were able to spend time together and actually enjoy it. So that’s what they were doing: enjoying their time.

The enjoyment didn’t last too long, though, as they heard a car pulling up in front of Peter’s place. Peter’s mom’s car was already in the driveway, so there was only one person it could be. That suspicion was confirmed by a car door slamming and Peter rolling his eyes when he saw whoever it was approaching. (Y/N) huffed out a sigh as she prepared herself for the argument that was undoubtably coming.

“You two look comfy,” Roman commented.

“We are,” Peter responded. “Wanna join? you can lay across us.”

Roman glared at him before turning to (Y/N). “I was trying to call you. Why haven’t you been answering your phone?”

She looked down at her purse where her phone was, which she had left on the ground when she climbed into the hammock. She gestured to it. “It’s too far away for me to reach. And my phone is on vibrate, as it always is, and you know that.”

His jaw clenched. (Y/N) felt her frustration reaching its peak.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming here?” Roman asked.

“Well, for one, you haven’t responded to my texts at all today, so it’s not like I’ve even been talking to you today,” (Y/N) retorted. “And two, you don’t own me, Roman. I’m not required to tell you every single thing I’m doing or where I’m going.”

“You do if you’re hanging out with other guys by yourself.”

(Y/N) swung her legs over the side of the hammock and stood up so quickly that Peter nearly flipped out of it. She approached Roman with such ferocity that Roman took a step back before she reached him.

“Let me tell you one thing, Roman Godfrey: I’m done with this jealousy bullshit. I am not your property, I am your girlfriend. You do not control where I go or who I’m friends with. Especially when the person in question is my best friend who I’ve known way before I met you. This dark, entitled rich boy bullshit might work on other girls in this town, but it’s not working on me. If you want someone to put up with that, then you may as well find someone else to be your girlfriend, cause I can’t do this anymore.”

She picked up her purse and put it over her shoulder.

“Where are you going?” Roman asked as she started walking away.

“Anywhere that’s away from you!” she hissed. Over her shoulder she added, “I’ll talk to you later, Peter.”

~~~~~~

(Y/N) was home by herself that night. Her parents had gone out to some kind of function, and had asked if she wanted to tag along, but she told them to go on without her. She felt like she needed some time alone to come to terms with what had happened that day.

Peter had texted her asking if she was okay, but she hadn’t responded. She wasn’t upset with him by any means, as he didn’t even do anything wrong, but she just felt like she didn’t want to talk just yet. When she did respond, it was going to be to tell him she wanted to forget everything that had happened that day and to move on as if everything was normal, minus the fact that she and Roman were no longer together.

Roman hadn’t texted or called at all. She wasn’t sure if it hurt more that he hadn’t, or if it had hurt less.

She was sat in the living room, half paying attention to some movie that was playing on TV, when a knock came at the door. The sudden sound startled (Y/N). She wasn’t expecting anyone, and she knew her parents weren’t either as they weren’t even home. She figured it might be a door to door salesman, or someone trying to talk to her about the Lord, although it seemed too late at night for any of that. Either way, she stood from the couch and went to answer the door.

Standing there, leaning against her doorway, was Roman Godfrey.

“What are you doing here?” she asked him.

“Can I come in?” he asked in return.

“Not until you answer my question.”

“I came to talk to you.”

“You have a phone, which I know you know how to use because you were blowing mine up before you came to attack me and Peter.”

“I wanted to come talk to you in person. You’d be more likely to answer the door if you didn’t know I was coming than to answer your phone if you knew it was me calling.”

Okay, he has a point.

(Y/N) reluctantly stepped aside and gestured for Roman to come in. She closed the door behind him and led him towards the living room. She had been sat with all the lights off before Roman knocked and hadn’t realized just how dark the room had become. She switched on a small table lamp and muted the movie before sitting back in her spot on the couch.

“Your parents aren’t home?” Roman asked.

“No, they’re gone to some gala for dad’s work,” she responded. “Don’t get any funny ideas. We’re not together anymore, remember?”

Roman winced, as if her words had physically harmed him. “Yeah, I know. That’s what I came to talk about.”

He sat down next to her on the couch, but left a respectable distance between them. She appreciated that it seemed like he wasn’t trying to be too pushy towards her or anything, at least not yet.

“Go on then,” she said, waving her hand at him. “Start talking. What was so important that you had to come down from your castle to speak to the commoner?”

Roman scowled at her. “You know you’re not a commoner.”

“Compared to you and your wealth I am. But that’s not the conversation we’re having right now. Whatever it is you wanted to say, say it, and then I’ll decide whether or not I want you to leave immediately.”

Roman sighed and ran his hands through his hair. (Y/N) quickly glanced at the dark brown strands that were between his fingers. His hair was always incredibly soft. (Y/N) always loved to run her hands through his hair and seized every opportunity to do so. She had to look away just as quickly and shove down those painful memories. She couldn’t let herself break and go back to him just because of something so trivial.

“I’m sorry.”

The words shocked (Y/N) so much that she almost physically jumped when he said them. They were words she had very rarely ever heard said with such sincerity coming from Roman’s mouth. She had heard it in sarcastic mutters under his breath whenever his mother chastised him for something stupid, or said to defuse a situation that was getting a little too heated, but this wasn’t in either of those ways. This time, he actually meant it.

“Can you say that again?” (Y/N) asked.

Roman chuckled and rolled his eyes. “I said I’m sorry.”

“One more time.”

“(Y/N), I do have more to say.”

“Yeah, but this is what I want to hear.”

Roman shook his head at her, a smile threatening to break out across his face. “Look, what you said earlier, at Peter’s, you were right. You are my girlfriend, not my property. I shouldn’t have been so possessive and attempting to control your friendship with Peter. I just...every time you two are together, I’m reminded about the fact that you and Peter are close, and that you’ve been close for a very long time. I know that Peter isn’t as much of a prick as I am, some would say he’s an actual nice guy I guess. I know there’s nothing between the two of you, but there’s always been this fear in the back of my mind that maybe...maybe that could change. That you would want Peter more than you want me.”

There was hurt in his big green eyes. His confession surprised her because Roman always seemed so confident in himself. It was one of the first things she had ever heard about him, about how cocky he was.

“Why did you never tell me before?” she asked.

Roman shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t want to seem like a crazy, possessive boyfriend. I didn’t realize I had already been acting like that. I actually thought I was hiding it well.”

“Yeah, because showing up to Peter’s place because I didn’t answer my phone is totally not a crazy, jealous boyfriend move.”

He chuckled. “Okay, touché. That was not one of my better moments.”

“None of how you were acting was one of your better moments,” (Y/N) said. “I would’ve much preferred you to have told me how you were feeling instead of bottling them up and allowing yourself to treat your best friend like garbage whenever we were hanging out.”

Roman cringed. “I did treat Peter pretty terribly, didn’t I? God, he probably hates me.”

“You’re definitely not his favorite person right now, but I’m sure you can get back in his good graces by acting like an actual person and not like a jealous piece of shit.”

“What about your good graces?”

(Y/N) thought to herself for a moment. He had come to apologize in person. He knew the way he had acted was wrong, he actually apologized for it, and it seemed like he was willing to make a change. That’s what she wanted, wasn’t it? For him to work on the jealousy and actually change it.

“I think you can get back there,” she said. “You’ll just have to work for it again.”

“I’ll do whatever it takes.”

(Y/N) smiled. She moved closer towards him and unmuted the movie. “You can start by cuddling me and finishing this bullshit movie with me.”

He smiled back at her and put his arm around her shoulder. “I can do that. But why are we finishing the movie if it’s bullshit?”

“Because I’m invested in the bullshit.”

Roman chuckled and pulled (Y/N) towards him. She rested her head against his shoulder and he put his head on hers. He tested the waters by placing a kiss on the top of her head. (Y/N) didn’t argue. Instead, she turned her head to kiss his cheek before settling against him again.

#Roman Godfrey #roman godfrey imagine #roman godfrey x reader #bill skarsgard #bill skarsgard imagine #bill skarsgard x reader #hemlock grove #hemlock grove imagine #imagine #one shot #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom

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tibbythetiger · 7 months

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Okay, so what I’m thinking is that Mike is a BoyFailure™️, he’s probably worked at every single place in town, or at the very least tried. I’m imagining, in his large job pursuit, he had a brief stint working at Sparky’s. This is how he and Ness meet, I imagine at first they start Mike out as a server, so he’s being trained by Ness. Ness, who yes, Mike thinks grudgingly, is kinda cute, if not mostly annoying (the guy never stops talking) and meanwhile, Ness is just enamored with someone who just lets him talk (again, he never really stops.) Over the course, of his training, Mike decides that maybe Ness is a little more cute and funny, than annoying, but decides not to bother even trying anything. He knows he’s a mess, and he has Abby (not to mention, he’s pretty sure he’s not going to be a server here for much longer, because as nice as Ness is, Mike cannot seem to pick up an ounce of that when he’s speaking to customers). They eventually do decide, that Mike cannot handle being around customers, and decide to put him in the kitchen, much to everyone else who works at the diner’s chagrin, because at this point, Ness has decided he also thinks that Mike is cute and kinda funny when he lets himself talk to people. A Ness with a crush is loud, flirty, easily flustered, and always in Mike’s space. This means Ness is always in the kitchen, and his service starts to slack, coupling that with the fact that Mike cannot seem to cook anything without starting it on fire (or worse, injuring himself) Sparky’s sadly lets him go. Ness is devastated, as Mike is cagey about personal details, and won’t give out his phone number so he’s sure he’ll never see him again. Because he’s overdramatic, he’s moping around the diner for weeks afterward; then he walks out one day to serve a table. It’s a cute little girl, sitting by herself drawing a picture. Ness is great with kids, and it’s obvious she’s probably waiting for someone in the bathroom, so he strikes up a conversation with her, even making her laugh when lo and behold, who sits down but his long lost love, Mike. At first, Ness is shocked, because surely this means that Mike was kinda shutting him down before because he’s straight, or maybe in a long-term relationship. But still, he bucks up, takes their order and as the two are leaving he tells Mike he makes a pretty cute kid. (Mike and Abby react pretty similarly to this as they did when Vanessa thought they were parent/child) From then on, Abby and Mike end up becoming regulars, and Abby adores Ness. He’s one of the few people she’ll talk to, and once she even draws him a picture of him, she and Mike (Ness and Mike both try to act like this is not a Big Deal, despite Ness framing it in his apartment) Mike and Ness still lowkey flirt, and even exchange phone numbers (for Abby, is Mike’s reasoning, but Ness is so overjoyed he just brushes away the very flimsy excuse) As the events of the movie take place, and with Mike’s new schedule, they’re unable to stop in, and only exchange a few phone calls. (Ness does overhear the conversation with Jan, Max and her brother, he leaves vm, after vm for Mike but he never sees them, and then Jan deletes them when she’s at the house) I also am assuming that the diner is 24hrs, and Ness is one of the few servers, so he’s unable to watch Abby to keep the original plot of the movie progressing the same.

That’s what I got for now!! I’m coming to visit this again and add some more for post-movie development, or maybe write this out as an actual fic!! If someone decides to write this themselves, please feel free to, just credit me and tag me in it so I can read it!! <3

#securitywaiter #ness the waiter #mike schmidt #mike x ness

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yanderecrazysie · 3 months

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Hiii!!! I haven’t really requested anything before so I hope I’m doing this right, but could I please request the training camp with manger reader, character of your choice bc I really couldn’t decide lmao😭😭😭

I really wasn’t sure what to do for this, so I just chose Bokuto because… well, because. XD

Title: Enamor

Pairings: Bokuto Koutarou x Reader

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, manager! reader

Summary: Bokuto develops a crush on the Shinzen High manager.

enamor

/verb/

be filled with a feeling of love for

Bokuto’s attention was easily won, but just as easily lost.

His attention was fleeting, bouncing from one person to another like a volleyball. Until it stopped.

On you.

Bokuto had already met Kyoko, but he had no real interest in her. She looked beautiful, sure, but she didn’t have much in the way of personality to hold his attention. You, on the other hand, were beautiful and energetic.

You were the manager of the Shinzen High Volleyball Club. You stood on the sidelines of every match and cheered your heart out for the team. Where other managers clapped or just watched silently, you jumped up and down and hollered out praise.

When each match was finished, you would fling yourself onto the group of boys- high fives if they won, hugs if they lost. Shinzen High wasn’t exactly the best team there (though they were no Karasuno), so there were quite a few losses and quite a few hugs.

Bokuto pouted every time you gave a round of hugs to them, eyes narrowing whenever you lingered a little too long. He found himself wishing he could be on the Shinzen High team, just to get a hug or high five from you.

Akaashi noticed something was wrong when Bokuto went into “emo mode” before the next match even started. His eyes surveyed the gym, surprised to notice where Bokuto’s attention was.

The broccoli-headed guy had an arm around your waist as the team talked. You didn’t seem bothered by it, merely talking casually as though it weren’t there.

“Bokuto,” Akaashi warned, “We have to start the next match.”

“Just play without me, Akaashi,” Bokuto said dramatically, “I have a broken heart, I can’t play.”

Akaashi closed his eyes and tried to think what would cheer him up, “But, Bokuto, don’t you want to impress her with your volleyball skills?” Bokuto perked up, but only a little.

The next few matches were torture for Fukorodani. They were good at playing without Bokuto, but they needed him to get over his emo mode at least at some point in the match. Instead, he spent the entire time moping around- not trying to spike or receive and serving half-heartedly.

The coach was furious and, in the next match, he didn’t even put Bokuto in. “Deal with it or don’t play,” he had said.

Bokuto found himself walking up to you in a daze. You turned to him and gave him a polite smile, “Yes? Can I help you?”

“What’s your name?” Bokuto asked.

“Oh, it’s (Y/n),” you said, looking a little confused, “And you’re Bokuto, right?”

Bokuto’s emo mode disappeared instantly, “That’s me!” He puffed his chest out in pride.

“Why aren’t you playing?” you asked, confusedly looking over at his team.

“I wanted to talk to you!” Bokuto said, “I love you!”

You stared blankly at him, “You just learned my name, how do you love me? Or is that, like, an over exaggeration?”

Bokuto gave you a look like a kicked puppy. Didn’t you understand that he had fallen in love at first sight? That he was enamored with your very being?

Apparently you didn’t understand, because you turned back to your team, cheering as they made a point. You turned back, looking surprised that Bokuto was still there.

That was okay, he’d find a way to show you how much he loved you before training camp was over. Whether it was through bubbly praise or confronting you in the locker room, alone… he would have you.

He’d never been this enamored with anyone else before.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere one shot #yandere haikyuu #haikyuu!!#one shot #yandere bokuto #bokuto koutarou

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wheels-of-despair · 4 months

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Three Days Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: Three days after Eddie and Evil Woman met for the very first time… there was a jock encounter they'll never forget. Contains: Switching POVs, nerds in love before they know they're in love, jock slander, snark, feels, hand-holding for the very first time. Words: 900ish

Three days.

Eddie Munson had a good thing going with the new girl for three days before the jocks swooped in.

He should've known this would happen. Should've known someone would warn her away from him before he could completely win her over. That she'd see what a freak he was and run screaming into the arms of some handsome meat-head in a letterman jacket.

He'd done a great job so far, at sprinting through the halls between classes to be there waiting for her when she came out of hers. Intercept her before the jocks or the cheerleaders could show her what life could be like as Hawkins High Royalty or whatever.

He just… he thought this one was different. She was funny, and pretty, and smart, and liked teasing him, but not in a mean way… as far as he could tell. He thought maybe she would see him as Eddie, the funny, passionate, metal-loving Dungeon Master. Not Eddie the Freak, the filthy, no-good devil-worshipper from the trailer park.

He'd been held back by Mr. Miller when he tried to leave his last class before lunch. A minute and a half was all it took for them to swoop in and steal her away. When he finally got to the hallway where her classroom was, hoping she was waiting for him… she was with them.

She leaned her back against a row of lockers and stared up at some jock asshole whose name was probably Biff. Who knows, it's not Eddie's job to keep up with them. But he felt his heart sink into the floor when he saw how intently she was studying the big blonde's face. It was over for him. It was nice while it lasted. Add another name to the long list of people who wouldn't be caught dead associating with the town freak.

And then her eyes drifted between the two meat-heads and met Eddie's. Something flashed through them. What had they told her about him? Was she scared now? Or was that… was that a smile twitching at the corner of her mouth?

Eddie took a cautious step closer, and caught some of the speech that was being delivered to her.

"…he lives in a nasty trailer park with his drug-dealing dad," one of the jockstraps claimed. Eddie had mentioned an uncle, but not his dad or where he lived. Like any of that was his fault, even if it was true.

You'd only known Eddie Munson for three days, but you were obsessed with him. You'd met him in your first class of your first day at Hawkins High and become immediately enamored. You wanted to know everything about him. And he didn't seem to mind. He met you outside after every class, and you could tell he'd gone out of his way to get there. He was winded half the time, which was kind of adorable. You only got to see him for approximately one minute between each class, but it made your days bearable.

You'd been waiting for him so you could walk to the cafeteria together for lunch, but two jocks had cornered you to warn you away from him. Did they choose today because Eddie wasn't there to ward them off? Were they afraid of him? Or is it because you were wearing something a little more low-cut than usual today?

You smiled awkwardly and nodded as the duo delivered their sermon, wondering where the hell the subject of it was. You stared at a zit on the big blonde one's forehead until someone rounded the corner behind him and caught your eye. Eddie! You were so happy to see him. But he didn't come rescue you. He just stood there. You could see the blood drain from his face. Does he know what they're saying about him? Is this standard operating procedure at Hawkins High? Warn the new girls away from the freak?

"…and his freaky little 'club' is totally a cult." You have to fight to hide your smile. You were its newest member, and were really looking forward to your first official meeting with The Hellfire Club on Friday night. Eddie had even told you that you could come early, so he could explain things while he set up.

"Oh, wow," you say with fake fascination, trying not to laugh. Which is hard, because you're staring into the wide eyes of Eddie, who stands frozen a few feet behind the preachers. "Like a sex cult?"

Eddie's deer-in-headlights eyes widen, then crinkle as he smirks.

"Well, not at present, but we're always open to trying new things."

The two jocks whip their heads around and spot him standing behind him. He crosses his arms and fixes them with his most devilish grin.

"Excellent," you grin. "Do you think we could discuss it over lunch?"

"Hell yeah," he smiles, emphasis on the hell.

"Thanks for the warning, boys," you say, clapping each of the jocks on the shoulder as you step between them.

"M'lady." Eddie bows dramatically and offers you his hand.

You take it.

He looks almost surprised, but recovers quickly and closes his fingers around yours. You set off toward the cafeteria together, swinging your clasped hands between you and leaving two very confused jocks in your wake.

You're not sure which one of you is grinning harder.

#writings of despair #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x evil woman

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funficwriter · 8 months

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A Wolf and A Snake (Wriothesley x Reader)

Letters' Interlude - 1

A/N: So these aren't official chapters per say, just an extra to the story that explores the yandere dynamic I'm trying to put forth! Also, I love listening to romantic music while writing for this 🩵 Until I finish Chapter 2, enjoy!

Synopsis: Being a noble meant that marriage was a chess game, not an affair of love. Unfortunately for the pristine Balthazar family of Fontaine, Y/N has long been enamored with love and sought it out before their priorities. After her grey, boring time of courtesy and fake niceness, she meets Duke Wriothesley, who makes her yearn for the first time in her life, and it's the same for him. Threatened by the idea of losing this first, it seems they'll stop at very little to be together...

Warnings: Obsessive yandere language, graphic details in Wriothesley's.

Tag: @yue-caelum

From: Lady Y/N Balthazar - Balthazar Vacation Manor, Belleau Region, Fontaine

To: Duke Wriothesley of Meropide - Fortress of Meropide, Liffey Region, Fontaine

Dearest Duke,

I am not quite sure how to begin or structure my thoughts, so I hope you forgive me if this letter turns out messy. It's barely been 24 hours since our fateful meeting and I finally got some privacy. I should interest you in the fact that today's tea is Earl Grey. I'm having it right now, accompanied by a chocolate and strawberry mille-feuille. If you're ever feeling bold, I'd recommend this combination. Quite the contrast on the taste buds.

I realized that even with our cadence and how we enjoyed chatting together, there's still so much to know. How have you been doing? I'm presuming you're at the Fortress. How is life there? How do you spend your days there? Is it a lot of work? You told me a bit of the nurse. Sigewinne, if I recall correctly. Does she have a lot of patients? And what tea do you drink when you're feeling so tired and done with the world? (I'm partly asking this one for myself. Some days are like that.).

Though I must say, since Liffey is a bit far from Romaritime or the Court's region, you must have a good teleportation waypoint. Belleau is far, too, but by Focalors' name it is enjoyable. It's quiet, lush and lovely. The water is so nice to swim in too. I find that regular swimming is one of the most beautiful parts of my day. I might be heading into more dangerous territory saying this, but I believe you'd enjoy it a lot if I took you with me. If you had a day off and I showed you around, we could then swim in one of the lakes. It's so refreshing and fun, and a good break from the city.

Don't get me wrong; I love its bustle and life. But I know when we return, I'm going to have to look over these boring nobles' declarations, and meet with them more often. Speaking of which, I'm sorry to sound so forward, but... Well, are you interested in carrying this further?

I'd like to tell you something about my worldview. As you know, I read a lot, but last night I couldn't get into the 'why' due to mother's timing. As a child, I felt strangely bored with existence, maybe to a worrying point. That would explain my parents' fretting. I liked the dance and violin lessons, but there was something about my books that gave my gray life a bit of color. Unfortunately, having to come back to real life was a painful must. There were times where I thought to myself: "Is this really life? Boring, plain, and feeling wrong for watching everyone's intense reactions while I derived joy from so few things?". I didn't even want to think about my future as I become a woman. This was all before we met.

Ah, Wriothesley! I've been imagining it over and over in my head! I even stood outside in the cold and closed my eyes and pretended you were right next to me... Imagine my pain when I confronted reality, mixed with the excitement I felt remembering you! Even now, I can't stop kicking my feet as I write this. For the very first time, I was proven wrong. I was mistaken about life, and who said mistakes were bad? After years of chasing perfection, believing it was beauty and goodness... Why, I might have committed the most beautiful fault in existence!

Will you please prove me wrong again? I know I might get greedy and stick to my old worldview, just for it to happen again. But I swear, I'll be good and I'll stop. I just want to feel my entire body and soul rattling in excitement once more. And you're the only one that happens with.

Mother and Father are planning another social, soon after we return to the Court's region. My understanding says you're not often social, so if you don't want any part of it (or even, if I'm being too intense), discard this letter. I must go now, but if you're as invested as I, I will be awaiting a response. And if Celestia is kind, I will be open for more. I'll be open for anything if it's with you.

Yours truly,

Lady Y/N Balthazar

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

From: Duke Wriothesley of Meropide - Fortress of Meropide, Liffey Region, Fontaine

To: Lady Y/N Balthazar - Balthazar Vacation Manor, Belleau Region, Fontaine

To my cherished Lady,

I would like to start off by expressing my most feverish thanks, for reasons beyond enumeration. You taking the time to send me this lovely letter is the least of them. It is generally good form for a Duke to answer quick when he can, but I was so overjoyed with your letter's contents, I re-read it many times to take in all the joy you graced me with. I was also very touched with your personal confiance in me, so I'm also writing to return the favor.

First off, do you know how much I yearn to hear about your day, down to the little details? You talked a good deal about Belleau. I didn't care much about that region before, but now? All I've been thinking about is those fresh waters and woods you praised so highly. The only imagination I entertained was you, holding my hand, whispering that there were no nosy gossipers or greedy parents. Just the two of us, and the lake was all ours to swim in until we couldn't.

If it makes you laugh, I thought about it so much, I almost mistakenly wrote some prisoners' region tab as Belleau. Had Sigewinne not been near, the administrative mistake would have been a pain to fix. Are you laughing? I hope for it with all my heart.

And I want to know more. I want to know whether Earl Grey is your favorite, or you're only taking it because it's been brewed at that time. I want to know which chocolate you like best. Which books you're currently reading, and why you're so interested in lycanthropes without a hint of discrimination. Will you tell me more? If we get the chance to talk with less barriers, will you enlighten me with you?

After getting to know your old worldview, I question just how alike we are. It's easy for two people to share superficial interests. But when one feels so dissected, so naked knowing about another's deeper life and secrets, you can't help but question whether Celestia really does link souls. Whether you once knew them, or whether fate can be so perfect to send such a person your way. I'm sure you felt terrified writing it. Your mailbox may be private, but who knows when your family feels nosy and reads it? You know of the risks that come with such correspondence, especially as a maiden. Despite that, you didn't throw it into the trash. You wrote it, and sent it to me, letting me know about you. You may have just intoxicated me, and now I feel like I might die if that is all I know of you.

As respect to this, I'll confide in you, only it may be a little graphic. "If you feel queasy after this, feel free to end our correspondence here."... Is what I wish I could say with full honesty, because after that night, I'm not sure whether I can really be okay with that outcome.

I used to commit crime, both petty and serious. Such was the life of an orphan at the time. Being little fish wasn't an option; You had to be the top dog or get eaten alive. I opted for the first, even if it landed me in prison later on. My convictions range quite a bit, but once I grew up, I renounced crime. Even insignificant things. I wanted to leave that behind me.

Forget the obvious stealing sweets from the kitchen. When I saw that slimy Duke Arya talking to you, touching your shoulder, acting as if he always knew you and your wedding was tomorrow, I never felt the urge to murder as much as I did that night. The reasons behind my old violent crimes felt so small next to the ugly sight in front of me. You clearly didn't want him, but he kept going, as if you'd magically change your mind and be into slimeheads like him. How dare he be the reason you were pulled apart from me? Where does he get the gall to take you, act like you're owed to him if your parents decided?

How I wanted to end his pathetic standing, laughing, breathing. How I wanted to use my vision and punch his head out into an ice block, then freezing his wrangling body so he wouldn't mess up the carpet. How I wanted to lunge at him, bite, claw and make a bloody mess out of him. What did it matter if I perpetuated half-wolf stereotypes, when he was doing this? Which would hurt him more? Only one idea stopped me: You might not react to a show of violence so well. Oh, if I traumatized you, I'd never forgive myself. Being sent back to jail would be too light a punishment for a beast like that.

Please don't worry about transport, or ask about my attendance. I'm determined to attend that social. I'm so happy you told me about this in advance; I'm going to be seeing you, in all your radiance and beauty that make the world pale. So long as that happens, all is well for now. In the meantime, I'm adding some final touches to my declaration, and eagerly waiting for our next meeting, and hopefully the time I can freely take you into my arms, kiss you and prove the both of us wrong about everything.

With all the love I can hold,

Duke Wriothesley

#genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin x reader #yandere wriothesley #yandere wriothesley x reader #yandere reader #yandere fontaine x reader

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heart-of-the-morningstar · 1 month

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Brand New One Shot - Last Preview

Last preview before I post the full thing either later tonight or tomorrow! No active warnings but the cliffhanger is suggestive~

"Stay...please..." you managed to respond. You made your way over to your bed and gestured for him to follow. You sat down crossed legged near the edge of the bed, Lucifer mirroring your actions. You took a deep breath before speaking once more. "I'm not angry with you, you know."

A strange mixture shock and confusion flashed across Lucifer's face. "Y-You're not?"

You smiled wearily. "No, I promise. I mean, I'm a little taken aback..." Lucifer winced. "...but not in a bad way! If anything, I feel...flattered, you know?" Your face burned at your own candor. A quick glance at him showed he felt the same heat in his own cheeks.

"R-Regardless," Lucifer cleared his throat, "it was still wrong of me. I could try to give excuses about...my ex-wife being gone for more than 7 years now, or tell you that watching you from afar just sparked something in me that I hadn't felt in God know how long, or..."

"You've been watching me?" you teased, flashing him a small grin.

"Shhhhit, well, I uhh...only sometimes!" Lucifer tried to reason. "A-And not for very long! I just, umm, I just noticed how kind you are with everyone you come into contact with, and you're extremely helpful when it comes to the hotel! And your smile...I MEAN, uhh, C-Charlie absolutely adores you with the way she goes on and on about your progress! We both wonder how you even ended up down here in the first place. And well, you...you're," he gulped, "you're the most beautiful creature I've ever laid my eyes on..."

You sat there frozen, your body trembling slightly. Your mind raced a million miles a minute. You tried to get your mouth so form any sort of words, but nothing. Lucifer started to panic.

"I-I'm sorry! That was really forward of me! I shouldn't have-I uhh...God, this is the worst fucking apology imaginable!" Lucifer brought his hands to his face, covering his eyes and lowering his head. "Maybe it would be best if I just g-MMPH!"

You don't know what came over you, but somehow your lips crashed into Lucifer's. His hands flew from his face, now gripping the bed sheets beneath him. He sat perfectly still, but only for a moment. He couldn't help but give into you, letting his eyelids flutter closed and melting under the kiss. You pulled away after only a few seconds, Lucifer leaning his head forward slightly, still needing more. His crimson irises had grown into saucers, his face hot as the sun. Having the literal King of Hell flustered beyond belief from a single kiss was a sight you absolutely wanted to see more of.

"If you think I'm beautiful, then you are someone who is beyond beauty, your majesty," you cooed. You weren't completely sure where this sudden burst of boldness had sprung from, but you liked it. And from what you were witnessing, all signs pointed to Lucifer being completely enamored with it as well.

You went back to your seated position, but now Lucifer was on all fours, crawling ever so slowly towards you. "P-Please..." he begged, "I-I need more..." His face was now mere inches away. He rested his forehead on yours, waiting for your lips to touch his again.

"You want me to kiss you again?" you asked playfully. "Then you need to tell me something, darling."

Lucifer's breathing had picked up at the sound the pet name you'd given him, his eyes screwed shut. "A-Anything!"

"Tell me then," you said as you began to stroke his soft blond hair, "what were you thinking about when you were touching yourself to me?"

#hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar #hazbin lucifer #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer smut #lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel smut #my writing #preview #hehehehehe get cliffhangered losers!!#jk i love you all <3

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sprinkler-ashes · 1 year

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gorgeous // aaron hotchner x reader

gorgeous

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

in which you’re jack hotchner’s teacher, and you are utterly enamored of his dad. loosely based off of taylor swift’s song “gorgeous.”

words: 2.4k

warnings: everyone thirsting over hotch lmao

a/n: thank you all soooo very much for 600+ notes on my last fic!!! here’s another small taylor-inspired fic. It’s short, sweet, and i left it open for a part 2 in case i want to write it – we’ll see. i really wanted to get more out for you guys, but spring semester started, i fell back into constant work, and now am getting over the flu, which totally sucks, but is giving me a slight break to write. thanks for reading <3

you make me so happy, it turns back to sad

there's nothing i hate more than what i can't have

you are so gorgeous it makes me so mad

On most days, you loved your job. You were a first grade teacher and truly loved all the kids you had as if they were your own.

However, on some days – you really despised your job.

Dealing with the parents was sometimes your least favorite part of your job. It was usually mind-boggling to you at how some of these people had the sweetest and smartest kids, but they, the parents themselves, could be absolutely awful. It wasn’t all of the parents. In fact, there were some you really liked, but there were definitely a couple bad ones.

As much as you didn’t like dealing with some of those bad parents during conferences, you weren’t a fan of days like today – a Saturday bake sale at nine in the morning to raise money for an end-of-the-year field trip coming up at the end of the school year in just a couple months. The PTA was over the bake sale, which meant you had to deal with some of the most insufferable women you had ever met on what was supposed to be a day off.

“I told you, Stef, she’s just with him so she can get that life insurance check when he finally kicks the bucket – you watch and see if I’m not right,” the woman next to you, Kelly, said. “Poor Charlie, I hope he gets away from her before she snatches every penny he’s got.”

You wanted to scream. You weren’t sure how you were going to deal with this for another – you checked your watch – two hours and thirty-eight minutes even though the bake sale was only supposed to be three hours long. How had it only been twenty-two minutes?

Kelly was the resident gossip while Stefanie, Stef, was her best friend and head of the PTA. Kelly’s son wasn’t in your class, but Stef’s twins were both in your class. Even though you didn’t even teach Kelly’s kid, you saw her often because she was always at every single school event.

“Stef, are you listening to me?” You heard Kelly ask.

“Did you know Mr. Hotchner is here?” Stef asked excitedly.

Your head perked up at hearing that. You pretended to fiddle with the homemade brownies wrapped up in front of you while you listened.

“That man is so beautiful. I just want him for myself,” Kelly replied. “I’m glad he made it today, so we have something nice to look at.”

You couldn’t disagree with Kelly there. Aaron Hotchner was the dad of one of the kids in your class, Jack, and a member of the PTA. He was the Unit Chief of the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit and was often gone on cases. Jack’s mom had died a while ago, close to two years prior, and Jessica, Jack’s aunt, was usually the one who would drop him off and pick him up.

In fact, you had only met Jack’s dad a couple times – three, to be exact. The first time you met Jack and Aaron was at the school’s open house event right before school had started. The second time was the first parent-teacher conference of the year. The last time you had seen him was purely by luck in the grocery store one evening.

Kelly wasn’t wrong – Aaron Hotchner was insanely attractive and every woman in the PTA knew it. It honestly seemed like everyone knew it except for Aaron himself. You watched as he helped Jack give change back to a man who was buying a cookie at the booth he was at. You couldn’t help but smile as you watched him give his son a high-five after the man had left.

Truthfully, you hated him. Not because he had ever done anything to you – actually, it was because he hadn’t done anything to you.

“Do you think he’ll ever remarry?” Kelly asked Stef. “If so, I hope it’s one of us.”

“You, me, and every woman here,” Stef said with a laugh. “Oh my goodness, Kelly, he’s coming over here. Fix your hair! It looks like a bird’s nest.”

You felt your pulse start to race as you glanced up to find that Stef was, indeed, right. Aaron was coming over, his eyes trained on you with his hands in his pockets. He was dressed casually in jeans and a crewneck sweatshirt. It was different from the usual suits you saw him in. Seeing him without a tie felt almost criminal.

“Good morning,” he told you, not paying attention to the other women near you, his eyes trained solely on you. “I’m sorry to bother you, but Jack wants to know if you’ll come join his booth for a moment. It won’t be long.”

You silently it wasn’t obvious that his gaze on you was affecting you the way that it was. His job was literally to profile people – you just hoped he wasn’t profiling you right now. “Yeah, I’d love to. Do you mind taking over this booth while I go over for a bit?”

“Go right ahead, honey,” Kelly told you. She lowered her voice, “I’d go anywhere with him, too.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m just going to see Jack’s poster.”

Kelly grinned. “Whatever you say.”

You shook your head, avoiding eye contact with Aaron and watching as both the women gave him a smile and little wave while you maneuvered from out behind the table you were standing at. “Lead the way.”

He gave you a small smile as he removed his hands from his pockets and led you over to the table him and Jack were assigned to. “I know you’re miserable, so I thought I’d help you escape.”

You were about to ask how he knew you’d rather have been doing anything else other than Stef and Kelly gossip, but you closed your mouth as soon as you opened it. “Really? You were profiling me? Here?”

That earned you a laugh out of him, which you now claimed as your favorite sound you’ve ever heard. “I don’t think it would’ve taken a profiler to see that you weren’t enjoying yourself.”

“Did you guys not get assigned with anyone else? It was supposed to be three to five people per table,” you mentioned as you two had finally reached the cookie booth that Aaron and Jack were over.

“We did, but they didn’t show,” Aaron replied to you, his hand lightly touching your lower back as he guided you behind the table where Jack was awaiting, causing you to elicit a sharp intake at the contact. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” you said in your best attempt at a nonchalant tone. If he doubted you, he didn’t press further. “Do you want me to ask around and see if I can get someone to come work the cookie booth with you guys?”

Aaron shook his head. “We’re holding up fine. Right, Jack?”

“Miss Y/L/N!” Jack shouted coming towards you as he held out his poster board that was just about as big as he was and filled with hand-drawn pictures of cookies. “Look at my sign! Daddy let me stay up late to make it.”

You crouched down to his level. “It looks awesome, Jack!” you told him excitedly, gaining a smile of your own as you watched his spread wide. “You did a great job!”

“Thanks! Can you put it back in front of the table, please?” He asked you politely. You nodded and took the poster back from him and placed it back in its rightful spot in front. “Daddy, can I go talk to my friends? I’ll be really quick, I pinky-promise.”

“Yes, but don’t be too long. We have cookies to sell,” Aaron told him.

You both watched as Jack’s little legs carried him just right in front of the table you were at. He was only a couple feet away, but you noticed Aaron’s eyes watching him, making sure he got there safely and that the adults working that table saw him.

“He thinks the world of you. I think you’re his favorite person,” Aaron told you.

That made you grin. You weren’t supposed to have favorites as a teacher, especially with kids as young as the ones you taught, but Jack was definitely one of your favorites. He was a sweet kid and was even reading on a fourth grade level. He caused no trouble and was a friend to everyone.

“He’s a great kid. I think the world of him also,” you said, your eyes locking with Aaron’s. Your breath hitched. How was someone this gorgeous? “But I actually think you’re his favorite person. He tells everyone about you and what you do. You’re his hero.”

Aaron grinned, and it was a sight you hadn’t seen before. You’d gotten smiles from him before, but never anything this big. You refrained from quite literally melting onto the floor. To be honest, you weren’t sure how you were going to last another minute standing here with him. He was so attractive you could barely even look at him.

If you said you didn’t have a teeny, tiny crush on Jack’s dad, you would be lying, but he was off-limits. For one, you were his son’s teacher. You’d really convinced yourself that there was no way he would want someone like you. There was nothing wrong with you, but you two were supposed to have a strictly professional relationship.

“Have you tried one of the cookies?” Aaron asked you, motioning to the cookies that laid on the table in front of the two of you.

“I haven’t,” you replied. “Did you bake all of these?”

“I had some help,” he sheepishly admitted. “Penelope, one of my co-workers, she helped me. As soon as we got back from a case last night, she came over. I knew I wasn’t going to be able to bake this many cookies by myself.”

“You made all of these last night? And after a case?” you asked incredulously. The entire table was covered in cookies of various different flavors. You were seriously impressed.

“Yeah, but it was no big deal,” he brushed it off. “I didn’t want to miss the bake sale. Plus, like I said, I didn’t do all of it.”

Was there anything this man couldn’t do?

You laughed. “I’m sure you’re probably wishing that you did miss the bake sale.” You gestured around the school parking lot that was set up. “I can count on one hand the number of things we’ve sold. I told Stef that a chilly February bake sale wasn’t a good idea, but she doesn’t really listen.”

“No, I’m glad I’m here. I really wanted to be here,” he said, looking directly at you.

This man knew how to take your breath away without even touching you or really even saying anything. You really understand now why all the PTA moms spent so much time gossiping about him.

“We’re glad you could make it,” you said breathlessly, offering a smile. “Really, Mr. Hotchner, I know how busy you are, so all of us are thrilled that you could find the time to help out.”

“Call me Aaron.”

This man was genuinely going to drive you crazy. You were an adult, so why did talking to Aaron Hotchner almost make you drop to the ground?

Before you could say anything else, Jack was back. “Did we get any more customers?”

“Not yet, buddy.”

Jack frowned. “Ah, man. But the cookies are so good!” He turned to you. “Miss Y/L/N, why is no one buying anything?”

“I’m not sure, Jack. Hopefully, we’ll get some more customers later.”

“I hope so,” he said sadly. “I really want to go on the field trip.”

You once again crouched down to his height – something you did often when talking to any of the kids. “We’re working really hard to make the field trip happen, so don’t give up hope, okay?”

Before Jack could reply, you noticed people coming towards your table, so you motioned for Jack to look. “Look! There’s some customers coming. You ready?”

Jack nodded excitedly as he turned around and eagerly started to await the arrival of the people nearing. You smiled at his excitement and took a step back, letting him take control, but you were going to keep watch to make sure he was doing everything correctly.

“I can see why Jack likes you so much.”

You smiled. The greatest compliments you could receive was from parents telling you their kids – the kids you spent more time with than your own family — liked you. Some days were tough, and it would feel like you weren’t in the right profession, but that feeling would go away any time a parent was able to confirm that their child really enjoyed you teaching them.

“Thank you, Mr. Hotchner, but I should probably get back to helping out Stef and Kelly,” you told him as you looked around to see more people filing in. “It seems we’re starting to get a little busy.”

“Yeah, of course, sorry to keep you busy. Jack just wanted you to come over.”

Jack turned around. “Yeah, I did. Daddy wasn’t happy that we didn’t get to work a table with you. He called Miss Stef a-”

Aaron’s eyes went for a split second before he said, “Jack, turn back around and sell your cookies.”

Jack did as he was told and Aaron awkwardly ran a hand through his hair as you replayed what Jack said back in your head. Aaron wanted to talk to you. He wanted to work with you today. It could’ve meant anything, but you were currently feeling like a kid on Christmas morning.

Aaron cleared his throat. “I guess Jack wasn’t the only one that wanted to talk to you.”

You suppressed a grin, gaining the courage to look Aaron in the eyes. “And I guess Jack wasn’t the only one I came over here for.”

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner one shot #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner

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asimplearchivist · 6 months

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‘ 𝓪 𝓶𝓪𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓸𝓯 𝓽𝓲𝓶𝓮 . ’

𝐂𝐇. 𝐈𝐈𝐈 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒.

[𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽] [ 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐊𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 ] AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST summary ☾ ⤏ jake struggled to decide whether you were a blessing or a curse to the system—his personal feelings about you didn’t matter. they never had. ⤏ until they suddenly did, that is.⤏ now he had to fix the mess he caused before he ruined everything for the two he’s trying to protect most as well as you. pairing(s) ☽ steven grant/reader | marc spector/reader | jake lockley/reader word count ☾ 15.6k a/n ☽ ⤏ this chapter was certainly a challenge to write! I have such a particular interpretation of jake in my head influenced by such lovely headcanons and fanfics in the mk community that I had a bit of stage-fright trying to portray him with justice to my vision of him. having very little on-screen material from which to go off of certainly doesn’t help—steven and marc’s voices are so clear to me, but jake’s is a little more subtle and stepping out to develop it on my own was a little nerve-wracking because I wanted so badly to do him justice!⤏ I also apologize that this chapter came late—I had a busy weekend on top of homework and I was wrestling with jake’s characterization. but here he is, now! let me know if y’all like how I wrote him! :) ☽ MASTERPOST ☾ ☾ PREVIOUS CHAPTER ⤎ ☥ ⤏ NEXT CHAPTER [TBA] ☽

The first time Steven had met you, it had been strictly by happenstance.

The first time Marc had met you, officially, it had been an accident.

The first time Jake met you, it was an inevitability.

Steven and Marc were wrapped around each of your pinky fingers. Completely enamored with you. Nearly worshiped the ground that you walked on. You had lodged yourself inextricably into their gravitational pull, orbiting them as though you’d always been fixed to their collective side—present almost as often as Jake was.

Jake found it inconvenient at best. Dangerous at worst.

Because despite his near slip-up, fumbling just a bit at the suddenness of stepping in that fateful night Marc had decided to swoop in and rescue you (not that you’d really needed rescuing—you were owed credit for holding your own better than most women with whom they’d ever interacted in such scenarios), the two had not been particularly watchful for him.

Sure, they discussed it more—never around you, of course, worried that you would worry about their unease, being unable to properly identify the source of their combined blackouts. The outlier. But they were doing little else than that, and Jake had almost been concerned about them trying to draw him out by force. Biding their time, maybe. But that was fine—Jake was patient. He waited them out every other time he slipped to the front while they were unaware, save during emergencies, and this would be no different—eventually they’d drop their guard, start to doubt their suspicions, and put the idea to the back of their mind where he dwelt and he could comfortably resume his work.

…That was, provided you were removed from the equation altogether.

London loomed in the height of winter, several months later. They had gotten over themselves long enough to enter full and individual romantic relationships with you, and Jake had to admit that he had never felt either of them as happy as they were around you. Marc had loved Layla dearly, still did, and Jake knew she had been integral to keeping him steady and for some of his healing—but you were different. You were an unknown variable, and yet Marc was putting in his every effort to make it work, not looking to repeat his past mistakes in order to ensure your mutual and assured trust: you knowing the brutal nature of Marc’s past and Marc entrusting you with the intimate knowledge of it.

It had taken time, of course (an excruciatingly long period of it, in fact), but you hadn’t flinched once even when he’d told you of the blood staining his hands, both innocent and villainous, during his time as a soldier and mercenary. You had stayed, hadn’t run, hadn’t treated him like the killer he’d always convinced himself that he was. Marc had been relieved.

Jake had only grown frustrated. The situation was rapidly getting out of hand.

Because Steven’s infatuation with you was one thing. He’d had a few crushes here and there, had been laboring in the dating scene for weeks by the time Marc had inadvertently revealed himself to his alter, and Jake had even tried to help the pobrecito* catch a break once. (Jake couldn’t lie—he’d almost hoped that he could’ve caught a break, too, since Marc had left Layla high and dry and Jake had been pent up with all the mounting stress Marc had only been internalizing instead of dealing with in a somewhat healthy manner—but Steven had deserved to be doted on by a pretty woman at least once in his oblivious, lonely life, and Dylan the tour guide was a very pretty woman.) Steven was a romantic at heart, had sought a meaningful relationship more than anything for the longest, so it was to be expected that he’d eventually fall in with some unwitting little thing ignorant to the myriad problems riddling the inner depths of his psyche—that, Jake could have dealt with, hypothetically, if things had escalated to that point. A quick misunderstanding carefully orchestrated leading to a break-up would have been a simple solution, and while it would have hurt Steven greatly for a while, it would have been ultimately necessary for both the long-term safety of the system and for the security of Jake’s continued, secretive role as Khonshu’s fantoche*.

But Marc getting involved threw an entirely new wrench into the gears of Jake’s plans. Because Marc Spector operated in black or white. All or nothing. Always had and always would. Either he didn’t trust you as far as he could throw you or he’d carry you through the depths of hell barefooted on red-hot coals and have the nerve to apologize to you for stumbling on his bleeding blisters.

Marc’s trust came two-fold, also, now that he was in full cohesion with Steven—he still didn’t readily trust anyone, but if Steven did? He was sold soon after just on the principle of the matter. Steven’s judgment of character was, admittedly, as keen as any telepath’s, despite his naïveté and optimism—and Marc trusted Steven more than he trusted anyone else in the world. Even Layla. Even you.

Even Jake, though it had been entirely subconscious up until very recently.

Because he’d fought Jake the last time he’d forced himself to the front to save his life (and yours, by extension, loathe as Jake was to admit it), whereas before Jake had always managed to blindside him. It was a close call—one that Jake could not afford to make again.

And it would be so much fucking easier if you weren’t around so damn often.

Any bit of spare time the boys had that happened to coincide with yours, they were trying to see you: from snack breaks between your classes or on your shared lunch breaks to movie nights featuring home cooked meals and set tables and lit candles because you were just as much of a romantic as Steven was (God help them). You dried one bloom from every bouquet of flowers they ever brought you, keeping them all in a pitcher you used as a centerpiece more than once. You had even started packing them lunches, for Christ’s sake, with plentiful options that either Steven or Marc would enjoy depending on who ended up fronting. Even when either (or both) of you were too tired to go out on the town for a date (which happened so often Jake wondered how Marc hadn’t depleted his bank account already), the long evenings you weren’t obligated to work or study were spent cuddled up on the couch in your apartment or theirs, oblivious to the outside world as you indulged in each other’s company.

The winter brought worsening weather with it, which meant that you were spending more time at home with them. You’d even started spending the night, which was treading on Jake’s very last nerve—his one assured bastion of being able to take the body surreptitiously without Marc or Steven realizing it was put into jeopardy because while you were a heavy sleeper (almost like a fucking corpse, really—he’d had to check to make sure you were even breathing, once), you hadn’t yet gotten used to sharing a bed with someone, which resulted in you rousing slightly any time the body so much as shifted. Marc still had night terrors occasionally, and you’d never fail to comfort him back to sleep, even at the cost of your own rest.

Jake should be thankful, really, if he thought about it for too long. Marc had managed to keep sober long before he met you, but his cravings had dissipated almost entirely since you’d gently steered him towards sodas instead of beer—meaning no more black-out drunk episodes from which Jake had to nurse the body back from the brink. The body rested better with you there to anchor their unsteady mind at the times it decided to bring back the bad memories. You were feeding them better than they’d eaten since living with Layla, hearty and savory dishes that had packed a few pounds onto their lean frame, helping to negate Marc and Steven’s combined forgetfulness towards even the most basic practices of self-care. You had even started buying them groceries in thanks for the dinners they bought you, keeping their fridge and cabinets full and their personal products stocked up throughout the apartment.

You were doing the brunt of his job for him—making sure the body was taken care of and that neither of them spiraled nor regressed. He should be happy that he didn’t have to pull so much weight anymore, that he got to kick back and relax.

So why did it all piss him off so damn much?

You were pretty, he supposed. Not the most stunning bird he’d ever seen, but you were a decent pull on Steven’s part. You got along with the little nerd, and you got along with Marc—which was a feat in and of itself. You had an incredibly dry sense of humor on top of a quick tongue that drew inadvertent chuckles from even the surliest of Marc’s moods. You kept up with Steven’s intellect effortlessly, and the pair of you could talk hours upon hours on the most mundane of topics—oftentimes earning a scolding from Marc whenever the conversation would carry on past midnight (which would only make you both giggle and apologize sheepishly and rarely actually curbed your shared enthusiasm). You mediated their occasional disagreements with utmost diplomacy, always playing devil’s advocate even on their most childish of squabbles, never played favorites even when they’d playfully compete for your affections—you stood resolute in your stance of loving them equally in their own unique relationships with you.

You made them completely, perfectly, incandescently happy. That should have been enough.

It wasn’t.

Because Jake was getting…distracted.

He’d always been strictly about business—the sole reason he existed. He protected the body, no matter the cost. Now he had Khonshu to answer to, and that was difficult enough, trying to balance enough time at night to do the old bird’s bidding while Marc and Steven slept—blissfully unaware thanks to Jake’s skill in repressing them both to the work he’d been doing the last several months trying to cull out the vestiges of Harrow’s cult.

Because of course that bastard hadn’t taken all his people with him to Cairo to hunt for Ammit’s tomb. Of course he’d left pockets of his followers scattered all over London—assured by his own success, he’d planted them there in order to divide and conquer the city once he’d freed Ammit. And of course they had to be skilled enough at hiding to require him to painstakingly construct an elaborate underground network of people keeping their ears to the ground for any signs. That’s what was taking so long to eradicate them all, and it irritated Khonshu to no end, having to sit and wait when he constantly hounded Jake to ‘execute his justice’. Jake was patient. The god of the moon was most certainly not.

Now add the stress of keeping you unaware of his goings-on? With your infuriatingly saccharine smile and fawn-like fluttering lashes and easy affection that haunted the back of his mind when he did find precious little time to front? He could hardly concentrate on prowling the streets anymore when your detergent of choice had wormed its way into the clothes he kept packed away in the back of Marc’s closet, well away from view (because you even did their laundry for them sometimes when Steven ended up working late on inventory—like a little housewife or something), the scent trapped under Khonshu’s armor nearly smothering him.

Jake knew, deep down though he’d done his best to ignore it, that his ruse would come to a head eventually—Marc was keen on his interiority now that he was no longer in denial of his issues; and Steven was, too, since Marc had let him in on all of it. Jake just didn’t anticipate having to deal with you and your unnervingly observant perception on top of it.

Ultimately it was of little surprise that the scouts for the rest of Harrow’s carroñeros* had put a flag on you, since Jake’s alters spent so much time with you in plain public view. At the very least, it had allowed for that one slippery bastard to finally be put away after somehow surviving Jake’s wrath with him ever having realized it, even if it had put you in danger. The hijo de puta* had played a calculated risk to come after you, trying to cover it up as a robbery rather than a hit to get back at the spectre picking them all off one by one—one that hadn’t paid off in the slightest. He was lucky that Jake hadn’t had the time nor privacy to do exactly what he’d wanted to—a fractured temple via blunt force trauma, hopefully with an added concussion, would have to suffice for the time being. He’d better pray that he wasn’t released anytime soon.

Especially since he’d had the audacity and the gall (and the balls) to target you. Jake wasn’t cruel enough to wish you any harm, don’t get him wrong. You hadn’t done anything wrong, necessarily, just…frustrated him to no end. They were lucky that you’d had the foresight to text them, or else that would’ve been the last that Marc or Steven would’ve ever seen of you.

Jake knew that would only have resulted in disaster.

You had crossed over the threshold of being a danger to the system to being a necessity for their safety and sanity—because if something happened to you now, Jake doubted sincerely that he would ever be able to pick up the pieces of Marc or Steven’s hearts and minds. And so Jake was forced to resolve himself to add one more individual to his list. For the betterment of the system.

Joder, pues claro.*

…It wasn’t as if he didn’t like you. He had to admit that much to himself, at least. You were pleasant enough to be around. You did tell good jokes, well thought out ones that made Jake have to think about them a little while before he got them. He appreciated how rational you were about things, rarely letting your emotions impact otherwise simple miscommunications or misunderstandings over which most women would have a conniption, choosing to talk out your problems while also being honest about how you felt rather than giving them the silent treatment or some shit—it was a necessary balance to Marc’s precarious internalizations of his own complicated feelings and his ever-present struggles to express them in a concise and healthy manner. Jake didn’t mind listening in on your tangents all that much, even if the topics didn’t interest him in the slightest—your passion and thought process kept him hooked enough, as did the dimples bordering your smile and the creases crinkling the corners of your glittering eyes. You were a damn good cook, to boot—Jake had snuck your leftovers on those late nights more often than he’d ever readily admit out loud. Neither still were you hard on the eyes.

So…yeah. If Jake found himself co-fronting, lingering in the back of the headspace well away from Marc and Steven’s reach, as Marc watched you gape at the street performer juggling flaming swords while balancing on a unicycle…that was between him and the soft smile tugging at the corners of their host’s mouth that Jake would likely have reflected despite himself.

The early evening had plunged the city into a nose-numbing one—but you’d been itching to revel in the cold, misty air and to venture out into London’s brimming nightlife with the bolstering safety you’d confessed to feeling while in their presence. The entire plaza was thrumming with music and noise and laughter, light and fire mixing to highlight the angles, curves, and planes of your disbelieving face. You were bundled up to the nines to fight the cold, still unaccustomed to the weather in contrast to the south US’ comparatively mild winters, but you refused to tuck one hand into your pocket in favor of clasping Marc’s firmly. Seated on a bench wedged so closely together that even Jake could feel the tremors in your limbs, you remained glued to his side as though to sap the warmth from the body—evidently, it wasn’t working, because you let out a shuddering breath as your teeth chattered when the performer paused to take a break. Another stepped up to take his place, and the loosely gathered crowd clapped to welcome him.

“You’re going to freeze if you don’t let me take you home,” Marc rumbled into your ear, covered by the toboggan he’d insisted you wear to spare yourself from frostbite.

“Just a little longer, honey?” you pleaded, turning your head to gaze up at him with those infuriatingly fawn-like eyes. “It’s supposed to ice over tonight and I just know I’m going to get cabin fever tomorrow.”

Marc huffed out a wry chuckle, unthreading your fingers to coil his arm around your shoulders and to tug you closer, keeping his mouth tucked close to your ear. “You’re a homebody, baby. I don’t think you’ll have any more trouble staying inside cuddled up with us for the weekend than you normally do.”

You pouted at him playfully, jutting out your bottom lip, and Marc’s gaze was fixed on it until you smoothed your expression. “All right,” you bemoaned, tilting your head away in faux dejection, “I suppose I’ll allow you to coop me up for the next couple of days…” You fluttered your lashes at him. “...as long as you promise to keep me warm, that is. Won’t you, honey?”

“As if you even had to ask.” Marc dipped his head to skim his brow against yours, peering directly into your eyes. “But that’ll require thawing you out first. It’s not getting any warmer.”

“I can think of a few ways to solve that,” you murmured, half-lidded, and slanted your mouth over his—the breath’s breadth between your lips and his was quickly stolen by Marc with a low, knowing chuckle.

Jake rolled his eyes. Metaphorically, of course. He’d even facepalm if he could. You two were hopeless—and he’d thought Steven had it bad.

Can it, Casanova, remarked the Brit as though summoned by Jake’s internal musing, she’s still shakin’.

“I know, I know,” Marc mumbled, pulling away and shaking his head at your amused expression. It had taken a while for both of them to get comfortable enough to vocalize their seemingly one-sided conversations around you, but you treated it as normally as if you could hear the third party, too. Marc patted your hip and stood, grumbling under his breath at the stiffness of his muscles, courtesy of Jake’s last bloody brawl a few nights prior—unbeknownst to either of his alters, of course. “Come on, I bought hot chocolate. We’ll start with that, and then a hot shower.”

You gasped in delight, lurching up to your feet and latching onto his hand once more. “Why didn’t you say that earlier?” you demanded, tugging eagerly at his arm toward the direction of the bus stop. “You could’ve gotten me home hours ago!”

“I wasn’t going to stop you from enjoying all this,” Marc returned, allowing you to guide him in the wrong direction only to see the excited sway of your hips. His eyes cut over the plaza on reflex, but locked onto a couple of guys lingering near the fountain that started to move in the same direction at the same time. His brow furrowed. “Let’s take a shortcut—don’t want to miss the bus.”

He folded your hand over the crook of his arm instead, winding his way through the crowd in an attempt to lose his tail. Jake could feel Marc’s mind crowding with alarm—who they could be, what they would be doing, which group he had once pissed off that now had decided to try to ruin his night—and he edged just a touch closer to the front to peer through Marc’s periphery.

Ah, yes. The bastard with the scar that had come after you had a handful of lackeys, and these cabrónes* were two of them. Twins, big and ginger and mean as hell. Marc was none the wiser to the reason why they were after the body, however—no recognition passed through his racing thoughts—and Jake inwardly cursed.

Steven noticed Marc’s growing apprehension, likewise. What’s wrong, Marc?

“Nothing,” he muttered, causing you to glance up at him questioningly.

“Everything okay?” you asked quietly, glancing around the thinning people as Marc herded you towards the end of the plaza where it was quiet and dark. He ushered you into a narrow alleyway that broke out onto the main street, and while your brow was furrowed, you followed him without resistance. “We haven’t gone this way before.”

“We’re being followed,” he muttered to you, glancing over his shoulder towards the retreating lights. “Remember what I’ve told you?”

Your expression morphed from shock to grave in an instant. It was a discussion Marc had reiterated multiple times—being in a relationship with a wanted man always entailed a certain amount of danger, and Marc had hammered emergency protocol into your head in the event that something like this ever happened. He had hoped that it wouldn’t, for your sake, and the fact that you were schooling any signs of fear in all but your eyes only reinforced the reason why Jake hadn’t wanted you involved at all in the first place.

Jake pressed in closer. Marc’s ears were straining in lieu of ample light, eyes trained on the end of the alleyway—which became shadowed as another pair of silhouettes hemmed the both of you in.

Marc, Steven breathed, tone tight with worry, what now?

“Fuck,” Marc hissed, jerking you against his chest. He whipped around to dart back out from whence you’d come, but the twins had caught up. Heart pounding, he cupped a hand around your head and whispered urgently, “I’m going to take these guys down first so you can run back to the plaza where it’s lit and there’s other people. Call the cops and stick with a group and do not go anywhere by yourself, all right? Not until I come get you.”

Your hands were vices around the collar of his jacket, eyes shining in the dim. Your voice quivered. “Marc, I am not leaving you here alone.”

His fingers tightened around your shoulders. Their footsteps were picking up in speed from both directions, echoing off the dampened brick. “We talked about this—you promised you’d listen to me,” he growled. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me. Us. We’ve faced worse odds.”

“What if—” you started, but didn’t have enough time to finish.

Marc shoved you behind him as the first giant reached out with mitts for hands towards you. Marc latched onto the bulky limb, twisting his wrist and pinning him onto the concrete in seconds. He pressed and jerked and the unfortunate soul’s arm popped out of place—a wet, skin-crawling pop that resonated far more loudly off the narrow walls than it should have. The man cried out in pain.

“Marc!” you gasped.

Jake leaned in as Marc took a blow to the side of the head—the other twin’s paw clapped against his ear and sent him careening into the wall, discombobulated as his hearing rang like a siren. His shaken equilibrium buckled his knees, but he pushed himself upright to land a series of resounding punches along the brute’s side and back, targeting the sensitive places sure to bruise at the very least. The ribs gave under the combination of Marc’s strength and expertise, and like a tree the second twin was felled with a well-timed hook to the chin.

“Go!” Marc snapped over the ringing in his ears, hooking a hand around your waist and shoving you in the direction of the exit between the two groaning gingers. “Get out of here!”

You turned back to look at him, utterly terrified. “But—!”

“Damn it, baby, please just—”

The latter pair of cultists didn’t give him as ample a warning as the former—and they were smart enough to pull the guns from their holsters rather than rely on their hands. The shot flashed like lightning, muffled by its silencer.

Marc staggered back, the burning in his side stealing the breath from his lungs. The tinnitus increased twofold, to the point that your startled shout was drowned out entirely. The pounding of their pulse roared in their ears, and Jake thought he heard Steven hollering over the din trapped in their head.

Marc’s control slipped in his shock and pain. Steven grappled for it in terror wholly driven to protect you. Jake seized the opportunity and yanked them both back into the headspace to block them off as he lunged forward—so suddenly that the body folded in half from the strain. His knees buckled and his shoulder struck the brick, jarring him.

“This is the guy that’s been giving us so much trouble?” gloated one of them. “All it takes is one bullet?”

“We’ve shot this one more than a dozen times and it’s never stopped him before,” the other said warily. “Where’s all that get-up?”

Jake muttered under his breath, gritting his teeth as he closed his eyes and concentrated.

“What’s that?” crooned the fool, gesturing lackadaisically towards him with the smoldering muzzle. “Have something to say before we rid the world of your chaos, asshole?”

“Sí.” The avatar raised his head, glowing eyes casting his assailants' suddenly wan, fallen countenances in a spectral hue. “Dije,” he growled as the familiar ragged bandages coiled around his limbs while he straightened to his full height, “te vas a arrepentir, pendejos.*”

The bullet clinked against the damp asphalt as he was fully enveloped in the armor.

“Ah, shit,” they said in unison.

The shock on their faces precluded the terror that followed his swift movement. The crescents whistled as he slung them in their direction—the cocky one caught it in the throat, plunging through his jugular. Blood splattered in a wide arc against the ground as he fell. The cautious one managed to tumble to the side to avoid it, however—just barely.

A heavy hand grabbed his padded shoulder and whirled Jake around—only to be struck across the temple with an errant piece of pipe. Mierda. The twins were back up on their feet, tag-teaming to make up for their missing mobility.

Jake jerked his head back to avoid another swing, summoning a truncheon from the small of his back and shattered the first’s wrist with a well-timed parry. Two more strikes upon the man’s solar plexus and skull sent him crumpling to the ground, totally unconscious at the very least. Two to go.

He didn’t have time to pause. The gunman fired thrice at his back, but the slugs passed right through him. Jake exchanged blows with the twin for a moment, finally propelling himself off the brick wall and swinging over the expanse of his mountainous shoulders to lock and twist his neck between his knees and bring the behemoth crashing down face-first. He didn’t move again even as Jake leapt back to his feet and pitched another array of darts at the gunman’s retreating back. Sliced flesh, a gurgled curse, and the clatter of metal preceded the heavy tumble of his body.

Jake stalked further into the shadows, tucking the truncheon back into its holster and flexing his fists. He grabbed the collar of the gunman’s jacket and hoisted him upright, pinning him to the wall with his forearm against his throat. Blood dribbled from the corners of the man’s mouth onto the woven gauntlet.

“Tell me where the rest of your amigos* are and I’ll consider letting you go,” he growled.

“Funny,” the man spat viciously onto Jake’s mask near his shielded eyes, “how you think I’ll talk after you murdered them!”

“Just like you attacked a bunch of innocent kids, yeah?” Jake snarled. “Said their scales wouldn’t balance just ‘cause they were picking on someone else? Even though your fucking goddess is dead and you don’t even have the power to read a single palm? Child murder isn’t going to get you where you’re wanting to end up, pendejo, and a little bullying isn’t enough to condone ritual execution!”

The gunman roared and tried to grapple with him, but Jake only pinned his wrists into the mortar with a dart over his head before jabbing him in the ribs. He only noticed the panic button clasped between his fingers once the indicator began to blink a rapid crimson.

“Mierda,” Jake hissed, clocking his elbow across the bastard’s face and snatching the device once he slumped over. He dropped and smashed it with his heel, grinding it into bits.

“...Baby?”

Jake stiffened, head whipping towards the sound of your small voice. You had cowered against the wall, plunged mostly in shadow, but your hunched shoulders and quick breaths fogging against the shafts of light that the street lamp at his back cast tipped off your apprehension. He didn’t have time to react, save to open his mouth, before the distant squeal of brakes, the heavy slam of vehicle doors, shouting, and rapid footsteps at the far end of the alley interrupted him.

He marched over to you, the armor receding with every step. He glimpsed your eyes in the dark, round and anxious, even as he gripped your arm and tugged you in the opposite direction. “Come on,” he muttered gruffly. “Better scram.”

“What’s wrong?” you breathed instead, resisting him. You were sturdy, he had to give you that, even as the heels of your boots skidded against the rain-slickened pavement.

“Other than having a bunch of madmen with guns on our tails? Nothing at all.” He pulled a bit more forcefully this time. “Let’s go.”

Your protesting noise was drowned out by an ear-ringing report of a gun, and the air near Jake’s ear whistled with the near miss of a bullet. It ricocheted off the brick and had mortar showering the ground.

“Por el amor de Dios,” Jake hissed. “Corres, chaparrita!*”

He pulled you along behind him into a full sprint. The pair of you broke out of the alley towards the crowded plaza once more. You stumbled a couple of times on the uneven concrete due to the awkward mobility afforded by Jake’s unforgiving grip on your wrist, but he was not going to let you go for fear of you falling behind and getting snatched or worse. His scowl and speed drew bemused glances from the bystanders, but their expressions morphed into shock when their eyes passed over his shoulders.

So the bastards were pissed (or desperate) enough to give chase in broad moonlight. They had balls, he had to give them that—and while it made them stupid, it didn’t make them any less dangerous.

He headed towards the far side where the plaza merged onto the main road littered with vendors on the broad sidewalks. People buzzed along the blocked off street—for the entire event would last all weekend and force all the normal goers to circumnavigate the grounds—in tight throngs, along which he had no doubt he could lose the zealots. The tactic has served him well countless times before—and not just in London, or while under Khonshu’s directive. Merging and camouflaging with oblivious civilians and letting one’s hunters pass one by altogether often worked better than trying to outrun them or to hide outright.

The gateway was narrow, and Jake shoved a man twice his size out of his way to hook a sharp left. The man’s curses were drowned out by your profuse, breathless apologies, and Jake growled out a tense, “Callate!*” before narrowly dodging a street lamp since he’d cast a glare over his shoulder at you.

People’s attention only grew as the street funneled into a narrow crosswalk connecting to a broader street. Jake hooked a right that time, darting past families and couples as he went. You were keeping up with him surprisingly well, but your panting was getting too loud—your stamina would give out soon. He had to figure out a way to blend the both of you in without drawing attention so the zealots would go on and he could double back to lose them completely.

Another right at the end of the block revealed another market street, though the middle was undulating with dancing couples as a busking band was playing a lively, energetic tune.

“Mierda,” he growled, “las cosas que hago por vosotros, hermanos.*”

Jake hauled you to a brisk walk instead, melting into the ring of onlookers clapping along with raucous chatter and laughter. They would provide good enough cover, but Jake knew he could show neither of your faces or else the ruse would be for naught. That necessitated unbearably close proximity with the bane of his existence for the last few months—and you had clocked him instantly. It wouldn’t fly for long.

Jake broke through the wall of people nearest the booths, thankful for the partial shadow that would aid to your obscurement. He hastily tugged the collar of Marc’s jacket up, ruffled his fingers through their hair to conceal the majority of their upper features, and hooked an arm around the middle of your back to tug you against his chest. You scarcely caught yourself on his shoulders to keep your nose from bashing into his sternum. With his free hand he pulled the toboggan from your head and stuffed it into your pocket before tugging the back of your scarf up the back of your head and over your forehead, overlapping the tails to cover your chin and mouth—which opened as your brows furrowed in protest.

Jake ducked his head, pressing his lips against your covered ear. “If you want to live long enough to see the end of the night,” he hissed, hands slipping to your waist and beginning to sway you in time with the music, “you’ll do exactly as I do. Me entiendes?*”

You pursed your lips, but the indignant flare behind your eyes didn’t flicker once—even as exclamations of shock caught his attention. Jake pulled you further back into the shadows, but to his luck a couple of other dancers swung between the pair of you and the zealots squinting down the street for any sign.

Jake began to match the others’ movements to appear more natural, the quick tempo dictating the shuffle of his feet—forward, scuffle, back, ad nauseam, faster than he could breathe. He could hardly concentrate on that as well at the moment, unfortunately, given he hadn’t danced in years.

You were hot under your clothes from the running spree, seeping through yours and his shared layers where the weight of your torso was pressed tightly against his. He kept his face tucked close to the sweep of your neck and shoulder, angling his broad shoulders towards them, winding carefully behind more and more couples while keeping careful rhythm. Your panting came harsh and high next to his ear, your breath warming his chilled shell and lobe. Your hands slipped from his shoulders to rest more convincingly on his chest, a firm press to keep your balance.

Although you didn’t seem to know all the specific steps to this dance, you were obviously familiar with the form and rhythm of it. You were a natural, the shimmy of your hips almost smoother than his own—you didn’t stumble once, light on your feet as you (reluctantly) allowed him to guide you without a single glance behind you to confirm he wasn’t about to walk you into a wall or another person. No, your eyes stayed fixed on what you could see of his face the entire time, forehead perspiring and cheeks darkened from exertion, mouth slightly agape to pull in much-needed air. You were studying him, it seemed like, scanning his features as though dissecting every crease and stretch.

Jake didn’t like it, not one bit. You already knew too much—the last thing he needed was you committing any of him to memory.

Instead of stopping, the band shifted into an entirely new song with a different beat altogether, but when Jake adapted to it, you did so, too—seamlessly, in fact, perfectly in tune to the body’s movements. (Ew. He didn’t need to think about that shit.) The two of you were so close that your knees would have knocked together if your feet weren’t offset. You were used to it, to him, even though you’d only learned the body while the others were using it. You knew him, even though he was a stranger.

Shit, shit, shit. He was so fucked.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of Marc’s sweatshirt over his thrumming heart, anchoring yourself as the tension finally drained from your form—he felt it before he saw it, watching your shoulders loosen as you lost yourself to the music. You almost seemed to be enjoying it, and Jake almost lamented the fact that you were only able to indulge in it under these very dire circumstances.

Almost.

“Are they gone?” you ventured breathlessly, chin brushing against his clavicle as you tilted your head forward so he’d hear your low tone that caused each hair on the nape of his neck to stand on end.

Jake blinked, then looked back up to the street corner with a deep-set frown. “Me distraiste jodidamente,*” he growled under his breath, shoving the visceral image of your chapped lips to the very back of his mind. “Yes, they’re gone.”

Your expression relaxed, then, into one of relief. The song tapered into an end, allowing both the dancers and the musicians a breather, and Jake finally peeled himself away from you as though your warmth had scorched him. He grasped your elbow again, tugging you through a narrow passage between booths to the mouth of a quiet side street with outdoor diners clustered around tables set out despite the weather.

He expected questions. He expected you to demand answers, like any other person in your situation would. ‘Who were they? Why were they trying to hurt me? Who the hell are you and why are you not Marc or Steven?’

He did not expect, however, for you to drop your gaze to his abdomen and to fish your hand under Marc’s jacket. He flinched back, but you’d already hooked a finger into the hole torn into the sticky, blood-soaked material of Marc’s shirt, fingertip grazing the smooth, whole flesh underneath and searing your fingerprint there in the process. He pushed your hand away, taking a half step back to distance himself from the mix of concern and confusion in your eyes.

“Are you hurt?” you asked him quietly, not venturing further into his personal space (to his relief).

Jake clamped his jaw shut and shook his head.

You hesitated. “What’s…what’s your name?”

Fuck his lack of luck, honestly. He half-turned away so he wouldn’t have to look at you.

“...Thank you for saving me.”

He scoffed under his breath. “If you’d kept your promise to Marc in the first place, I wouldn’t have had to.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Your tone instantly sharpened with indignation. “I know what I promised him, but he—you got fucking shot! I wasn’t about to leave you to die!”

“Wouldn’t have died. Just a scratch,” he groused, contorting and tugging the hem of the shirt up to show you the unblemished skin there, smeared with tacky blood against his knuckles. “See? Missed.”

“They did not miss,” you told him matter-of-factly. “I saw Marc fall. There’s fucking blood all over you—I’m not stupid. Do not lie to me.” You stepped closer, then, pointing that same bloodied finger at him and poking him in the sternum. He bared his teeth at you, cornered with the alley wall at his back. “All that back there was something that you’ve got going on, wasn’t it? Marc hasn’t told me about anything like this.”

You were too goddamn smart for your own fucking good. “There’s a lot that Marc hasn’t told you,” he growled, “and for good reason.”

Your eyes flashed. “And I bet you’re the authority on all of that, aren’t you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he snapped.

“I’ve noticed them being vigilant lately, but they won’t tell me what’s bothering them. Lots of private conversations—and no, don’t look at me like that, I didn’t listen in on them—and they get anxious when they’re tired or spacey. It doesn’t take rocket science to figure out why they’ve been walking on eggshells ever since you popped up in the coffee shop that night—”

Jake’s jaw dropped open. Things were rapidly escalating out of hand, faster than he could hold them together. “How on earth do you—?”

“Marc is many things,” you said lowly, “but he is not a man who glorifies in violence. It bothers him still to touch me on his bad days, much less brushing up against a stranger. He wouldn’t smirk when he knocks someone out cold—with the pommel of a knife, no less. Neither would Steven, for that matter.”

Jake squared his shoulders and folded his arms over his chest to brush your hand away, glowering down at you. “Why haven’t you said anything to them?”

“Because they haven’t brought it up. I don’t push them for answers that they don’t want to give me. I know it’s already hard enough for them to be open to communicating their thoughts and feelings between themselves—I don’t want to pressure them any more by adding myself to the mix.” You jutted your chin. “But if you’re going to keep putting them in danger, you need to let them know what’s going on so they don’t get caught off-guard again.”

“You need to keep your nose out of my business and let me do my goddamn job,” he ground out.

“It becomes my business when both of our lives get put on the line!” you returned. “And what exactly is your job, huh? Circus performer with a specialty in knives?” You tugged on the hem of the jacket, ignoring how he went rigid. “Where do you keep that costume so they don’t realize they’re wearing it, too, by the way? Because I know for a fact that Steven would’ve mentioned cosplaying as the fucking Mummy if he knew about—”

He gritted his teeth. “It’s not a costume.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” You raised a haughty brow. “Do they know you’re running around like an albino version of London’s Daredevil?”

He was not about to explain all of Khonshu’s business to you. You knew too much already, and if Marc and/or Steven even caught wind of the old bird still hanging around, Jake was done for. “They don’t know about me for a reason, chaparrita, and I’d like to keep it that way. They can’t know about me—it’s better for all of us in the long run—so if you’d very kindly just keep your trap shut—”

“You have to tell them about you,” you told him firmly, eyes blazing, “and about whatever vigilante shit you’ve got going on. It’s not fair to them—they think they’re free from Marc’s old merc work, and here you are using the body against their consent to do whatever it is that you please. Do you realize how much danger you’re putting them in carrying on with shit like this?”

“I am protecting them,” he bit back, a snarl building in the back of his throat.

“By getting them ambushed in a fucking alley?” you snapped. “Your involvement in this could’ve gotten all three of you killed!”

“That costume is the only thing that can keep them alive through anything!” Jake returned sharply. “They would’ve been fine!”

“And what about me?” you demanded. “What about my safety? I know I chose my lot once Marc told me about his past, but this is adding a whole new level to all this that I wasn’t prepared for! What if you hadn’t been there, lingering in the background, or—or however you knew to step in? Do I need to live my life looking over my shoulder just in case there’s someone tailing me, waiting to catch me off-guard long enough to hurt me to get to them thinking they’re you? How do you think they’d react if something happened to me out of the blue, just by my being around them and whoever it is you’re fighting, thinking you’re the same person because you share the same face? Even then, they’d try to get to the bottom of it, and they could get shot, or stabbed, or—or whatever, just by trying to clean up your fucking mess!”

“If you weren’t around being seen with our face in the first place, you wouldn’t be involved to start with,” he growled, “and I wouldn’t have to concern myself with keeping you out of harm’s way all the time! You’re a liability to them—if something happened to you, they’d lose their shit, and I can’t have that happen. You’re as much of a danger to their wellbeing as these fucking cabrónes are!”

You retreated then, hurt flashing across your features so fast he almost missed it, before you schooled your expression into something frigid enough that it sent a chill down Jake’s spine. You floundered for words, lips moving without a sound, and Jake’s fuse shortened by the second. You swallowed, then, and roughly tipped your chin up—in defiance, certainly, but Jake didn’t miss the shine of moisture welling along your lash line. “…Do they feel that way, since you do?” you finally ventured. “Somewhere deep down? That I’m just a burden to them?”

“No,” he sighed, tucking his head and scrubbing his hand down his face. “There’s not a thing in this fucking world that they wouldn’t do for you, chaparrita, or kill themselves by trying. That’s the problem. That’s what makes you so dangerous. They care about you far too much.”

“And you don’t, I take it?” you supposed tightly. “Is that your job? Not to care?”

Jake ground his jaw so tightly his temples throbbed. “Don’t put words in my fucking mouth.”

“Then tell me why, exactly, you’re so hellbent on hiding yourself from them when they’re already trying so goddamn hard to heal and work together? What gives you the right to opt out and do whatever you damn well please, spilling more blood on their hands at the same time they’re trying to wash them clean?”

“There’s nothing special about me,” he bit out, “and they don’t need me—because if they knew what I’ve had to do to keep them alive they’d never forgive themselves!” Your brows twitched up, and Jake snarled under his breath. “Mierda. Just stay out of my fucking business, will you? The less you know, the better. And do not tell them about this, or about me, me entiendes?”

“I am not going to lie to Marc or Steven, and it’s stupid of you to think that I would,” you told him resolutely. “Either you tell them, or I will.”

“Did you miss all of what I just fucking said?” he spat. “If they know about me, it’ll do far more harm than good. They have a hard enough time reconciling what they’ve gone through, I don’t need to add all my shit to it!”

“You’ve helped them survive what they’ve gone through,” you pointed out, and Jake’s breath stopped short. “I’m not stupid, despite what you may think. I can tell even now that your primary concern is their well-being. But don’t you think telling them that you’re here, and that you’re a—a what, a superhero?—wouldn’t that be better than keeping them in the dark?”

“I am not a hero, chaparrita,” he told you darkly.

“Well, you’re certainly not a villain,” you responded evenly—as if you were stating fact.

Jake scowled. “Did they tell you what happened in Egypt? What really happened?”

Your eyes flashed. “They don’t have to, it’s not really any of my business. I know it was hard on them and they don’t like to talk about—”

“We got shot. Twice. We died! And it was only that armor that brought us back!” Jake flashed his teeth. “Marc let the bastard that did it go, but I killed him. That’s the difference between Marc or Steven and I, chaparrita: I hurt those who deserve it and feel no remorse for it.”

You blinked, then, eyes rounded. Realization dawned behind your gaze, and when you looked sharply off to the side, a stray tear slipped over the curve of your cheek. Your expression tightened, and Jake could imagine that you were finally putting together all the fragments of what Steven and Marc had mentioned offhandedly about their time in Egypt.

Jake squeezed his eyes shut, sinking against the wall and dropping his head back against the brick. He dragged a hand down his face with a harsh sigh. He’d completely fumbled this entire situation. “...Mira.* If something were to happen to you, mis hermanos* won’t take it well.” He looked down at you, eyes half-lidded—meeting fire with fire obviously didn’t work with you. Even when Marc was being surly, you only listened when he stopped and lowered his voice. It didn’t take rocket science to figure out that you shut down when you were shouted at, based on the way you’d stared at him like a doe caught in headlights. “...Do you really care about them?”

Your head recoiled to stare at him critically. The vessels in your sclera were an agitated crimson. “Of course I do!”

“Then you’ll listen to me, all right?” He straightened and stepped closer, fingers flexing at his side while he repressed the urge to reach out to you. Seeing you upset was doing funny shit to him. (He didn’t like it. Not one bit.) “After what happened tonight, I can’t afford to wait any longer. I need to finish up my business as soon as possible—I spent too long investigating and biding my time to see when those guys would crawl out of their nest. They are dangerous, and I’m going to do my damnedest to tie up all those loose ends. All right? That means I can’t have you caught in the crossfire. And once I get done with that…” He shook his head, casting his eyes upwards briefly. “...then we’ll talk—you know, about…everything else. Do you understand?”

You glared at him for a long moment, lips pursed as you considered him. Finally, you nodded curtly, once.

He raised a brow. “Can you say it for me?”

Your temples flexed. “Yeah. I understand.”

“Buena nena.*” He peered around the corner just to ensure that the zealots hadn’t doubled back, then moved to the edge of the street and flagged down a cab. When they stopped, he gestured you over. You watched him warily all the while, glancing both ways. He reached for the door and grasped the handle, but you laid your hand over his. He froze.

“Please,” you murmured, pleading him with your gaze, “be careful. Keep taking care of them. Let me know if…if you need any help. If there’s anything I can do...” You squeezed his hand, then let it go. “I’d prefer you three to come back in one piece, you know.”

He swallowed roughly, then nodded. He opened the door, and as you stooped to climb inside, his hand curved around the back of your head. You glanced up at him in surprise, but once you were seated, he abruptly retracted his touch.

“I’m trusting you,” you told him. “I don’t want this to be the last time we meet.”

Jake gave you a rueful, wooden smile. “If you’re lucky, cariño*, you won’t ever have to see me again.”

He shut the door, waved off the driver, and shoved his hands into the pockets of Marc’s jacket. He watched the cab round the corner out of sight, closing his eyes briefly, and turned to start walking in the opposite direction.

Jake only had a limited amount of time to get his shit together before the other two became aware of the lapsed time or strayed too close to the front. Jake prided himself on his control, his ability to have kept Marc and Steven completely unaware of his goings-on for years at that point, but he had always operated in short bursts of time—never longer than a handful of hours unless both of his alters completely checked out, which happened so rarely that he could count each instance on one hand.

He prowled the city throughout that entire night, his armor shielding him from the cold that only worsened with every passing hour. He checked Steven’s phone and saw that you sent a text to notify him that you’d made it back to your apartment.

‘Let me know when you get home, too.’

Jake had pocketed it, too distracted by his internal debate on how to handle the shitshow that had escalated from an unfortunate bit of timing to respond to you, even when he did let himself back into the flat and showered off the sweat and blood caking their skin in the wee hours of the morning. He didn’t dare to sleep, just in case he oscillated back into the headspace, but there hadn’t been enough time before dawn had broken out to do so anyway.

He set back out shortly thereafter, deciding to hit up his usual haunts to gather any new information at all on the cult skulking around the gutters of London.

Nothing. Not a damn thing.

The coffee at his favorite diner did nothing to alleviate the heaviness of his eyelids—the body had started to wear down from how frequently Jake’d had to take it out while Marc and Steven slept, just like it had months prior while Marc tried to maintain the facade for Steven. It was getting more and more difficult to manage. He wouldn’t be able to keep up for much longer.

…You were right, honestly. He couldn’t keep his presence a secret anymore—the boys were too hypervigilant, too aware of the lost time they both couldn’t recall. They’d pieced all the clues together now that they were in sync, and his anonymity was compromised. It was only a matter of time.

It didn’t make the idea any easier.

Even as he patrolled the streets in the heavy wool overcoat he kept folded in the passenger seat of his limo, his cap tugged down low over his forehead with a beady eye peeled for any sign of being pursued, the thought of their inevitable nuclear meltdown made him clench his teeth. If they knew about him, they’d never let him front again if they could help it—they wanted nothing to do with violence, and Jake was the epitome of it, its very last resort. They would do their damnedest to repress him, even though they still faced danger from Marc’s past—they would never truly be safe so long as those skeletons continued to linger in their collective and proverbial closet—and he’d lose what little autonomy he’d clung to by the skin of his teeth for decades.

So Jake made it his goal to at least clean out one of those skeletons before he was locked away into the recesses of the headspace—never again to experience those late night glimpses of freedom; to drive around in his own damned vehicle that he’d bought with his own damned money; to dress how he wanted in tailored and flattering garb that he knew made the body look as fine as hell; to indulge in the occasional drink, either his favorite merlot or a good old fashioned, since Marc didn’t keep alcohol in the flat anymore save to cook on special occasions…usually with you dictating the recipe and menu.

You, with your chirpy enthusiasm and unfettered smile and glittering eyes. You, with your impossibly soft hair that left the cloying scent of your products lingering on the pillow that you’d claimed as yours long after you left. You, with your unfathomable warmth and gentleness and kindness. You, tending to his brothers like a servant would her king with all the love of the wife you weren’t, your acts of service ceaseless and selfless and never asking for anything in return. You, who had interwoven yourself inextricably into their life without a clue as to the turmoil it would cause, all to make them feel less alone and lonely.

You, who, within minutes of meeting him, had not only called him out on the sole reason for his existence, but had also wanted to know his name, whether he was okay, and for him to be fair to his alters.

You did care about them—that much was obvious. Jake recognized it in your every single action and word and expression. You loved them, endlessly and without condition nor exception. You gave them your all, always. It was something Jake had doubted that they’d ever be able to find after Layla—unquestionable and unflinching devotion and loyalty. The fact that you had refused to lie to his alters, as frustrating as it had been for him to accept that lack of control slipping further from his fingers with one more loose, unpredictable end, only cemented that. They needed you—as an anchor, as a scale, as a haven—without him adding chaos back into the mix.

He spent the rest of the day stalking the lower ends and outskirts of the city, keeping his ear to the ground in effort of catching any signs of where the zealots had reclused themselves. By the time the sun descended behind the lines of skyscrapers, he could scarcely keep his eyes open. In a last ditch effort, he visited the underground bar on the docks where he used to frequent more often to gather intel—and luck finally found him.

“Yeah, had a few skulky bastards come through a couple days ago,” rasped the grisled barkeep, three knuckles deep into a bear stein with a rag too stained to do much good in the realm of cleaning. “They thought they were being quiet, but I don’t think they realized the walls are designed to be reflective. Kept messing with their tats, talking about their ‘lady’—they’re lucky I didn’t toss them out of here for scaring off a few of my customers.” He raised a wiry silver brow. “Ought to be on some freaky shit to get their bluff in with all these blokes.”

The clientele of that particular establishment were indeed among the roughest bunch whom Jake had ever orbited—London was a central point for all sorts of illegal shit to take place, and under-the-radar dives like The Silver Scale brought them flocking in like flies to roadkill. Jake had known about it, but Khonshu had become particularly fond of the bounteous amounts of information that could be gleaned there—though the old bird never did help lessen the dents to Jake’s wallet.

“They mention where they went?” Jake inquired quietly, rolling the rounded ice in the crystalline tumbler through the cognac winking in the watery amber lighting framing the mirror mounted behind the bar. The myriad bottles of liquors and spirits cast stained glass streaks across the polished mahogany under his folded arms. The place was virtually empty at so comparatively early an hour, save the janitor sweeping off the stage further inside, but one could never be too careful when it came to Jake’s line of work.

“Suburbs, east side,” rumbled the older man. “Abandoned factory across the river. They were complaining about the rail being bumpy on the way here.”

“Gracias, Grizz,” smiled Jake, drawing his wallet to slap an impressive note upon the countertop. “I owe you one.”

“You owe me more than one, coming in wanting whiskey this early,” griped the barkeep, but his eyes glittered as he pocketed the bill. “Watch yourself, amigo. Those bastards didn’t look the friendly type.”

“It’s not often I run into lawful citizens doing what I do,” the younger man returned. He finished the glass before heading for the door, sending him a two-fingered salute, and ascending back into the grimy alleyway above the place.

The air had grown colder in the scant ten minutes he’d spent inside, so Jake flipped up his collar against the salty wind racing past him and nipping at his ears. He turned to make his way back to the bus stop, whistling to himself. The day hadn’t been for naught, after all. Small mercies.

His stomach rumbled as he boarded the bus and retreated to the rear well away from the curious eyes of his fellow passengers. He sat, crossed his ankles, and folded his hands over his stomach while tipping his head against the chair. He closed his eyes briefly, biting down the yawn that tugged at his jaw.

Grabbing something to eat wouldn’t hurt before he scoped out the location—he’d need a plan of attack, so determining the zealots’ schedule would take first priority. There was a decent Thai place on the way, if the directions held true, and he could undoubtedly find a secluded rooftop to observe without issue.

So he did just that. He spent the majority of that night eating takeout, sprawled under a shadowed eave watching the fools with guns go about their business. They were disorganized, to say the least—putting their ringleader behind bars had obviously thrown them for a loop. It would play to his advantage, springing a surprise attack on them during their patrol change. If he played his cards right, he might even be able to infiltrate and take them down one-by-one without even notifying the whole lot.

Khonshu was pleased, nearly puffing his nonexistent feathers when he dropped by to check on Jake’s progress—the satisfaction in his tone only belied by his impatience.

“Why not strike now?” Khonshu growled, pointing the end of his staff towards the complex. “They’re clueless.”

“Because I’m half-asleep,” Jake responded mildly, “and you always get pissy when I have to use the armor longer than necessary. Don’t complain that I’m trying not to get riddled with bullets, pájaro viejo. Give me a nice long nap and I’ll have this all taken care of before you can click your heels three times.”

The god of the moon scoffed. “You’d best be thankful I possess the patience to allow you such creature comforts, Jake Lockley. I don’t always grant such privileges to you puny humans.”

Jake shrugged a shoulder and stuffed the empty carton into the sack at his side. “Don’t make me remind you just why you have to rely on us ‘puny humans’,” he responded dryly. He made a shooing motion. “Go on, I’ll see you back here later.”

The deity bristled at his insolence, but popped back into non-existence nevertheless, leaving a shower of dust to descend in his wake.

Jake roof-hopped all the way back to Steven’s apartment, opted to climb in through the fire escape rather than wait on the elevator, and took a five minute shower before collapsing face-first into the unmade bed without bothering to put on any clothes. He scoped the headspace as his eyelids drifted shut, relieved to find that Steven and Marc were both still secured and blissfully unaware.

He slept, hard and deep, unperturbed for hours. He awoke only when the orange sunset spilled across his eyelids.

He roused, groggy and disoriented, but still in the same position in which he’d drifted off. He scratched his temple and rose with a yawn, shuffling over to the closet to dig out the clothes buried in the very back that Marc or Steven had forgotten ‘they’ even owned. The scent of your detergent hit him like a wall, causing him to wrinkle his nose as he rubbed the pad of his thumb over the softened material. With a scoff he dressed, cleaned up, and gathered his things piled onto the rim of the sink—Steven’s phone included.

He picked it up with half a mind to place it on the charger, but his brow inclined when he spotted the condensed stack of notifications glaring up at him in the dim of the apartment’s shadows.

“Ah, por el amor de Dios,*” he muttered, tapping on it to expand them. He had intended to respond to your first message, truly—but once he zoned into his work, he often forgot about anything else going on around him. ( Nevermind the fact that he didn’t have anyone with whom he had to check in on his whereabouts. ) “Chatty thing, aren’t you, chaparrita ?”

‘Let me know when you get home, too.

‘Just checking on you.

‘Made it home okay?’

All within the same couple of hours the night before last. He figured you fell asleep, because the timestamps skipped to the previous morning.

‘I’m guessing you fell asleep, too.

‘Good morning.

‘Make sure to eat something.

‘Do you need anything?’

No wonder Steven’s phone plan cost so much, if you talked to him this often. Jake scrolled down, lips thinning as his eyes skimmed through your sweet, if misplaced, little prods into his well being. As the hours progressed, the more urgent in tone they grew, and he supposed he ought to have felt guilty about worrying you.

With a blustering sigh through his nose, he swiped the device open and opened the app to return a message of his own, directly after your obviously distressed, ‘Please tell me you’re not dead!’ sent during your lunch break.

‘Not dead yet. Long day.’

He watched the bubble ascend, then waited for the ‘delivered’ tag to appear before shutting it off and plugging it in to charge.

He rummaged around the fridge for some grub, stomach rumbling all the while, and discovered a pair of containers for meals you’d labeled as ‘vegan’ for Steven and as ‘beef’ for Marc. You’d gotten into the habit of, while cooking, making the majority of the dishes compatible with both their vegan and kosher preferences, cooking suitable animal products separately so Marc could get his choice of protein and so Steven didn’t have to worry his conscience. Jake could only imagine how much of a hassle it was, thinking about you having to research foods that could be altered in such a tedious, if thoughtful, way.

He ate half of both portions cold and arranged the leftovers to appear mostly untouched.

Clothed to combat the chill with suitable mobility and fed well enough that he’d be able to concentrate for the time being, Jake locked up the apartment and picked his way down through the complex onto the ground floor. The vendors had all packed up and headed home already due to the rapidly darkening evening, so he thankfully didn’t have to deal with them hawking their wares at him.

Jake wandered onto the street that would lead him to the train station, whistling as he stuck his hands into his pockets, and realized that he’d left Steven’s phone.

He didn’t need it. He didn’t use one at all—even the old burner Marc still kept ‘for emergencies’. But…he didn’t know if you had responded to his text.

He wasn’t about to make a round trip back, already several blocks away, but…he could afford to take a quick detour—even if it was the last thing he wanted to do.

He made his way onto the next bus instead, meeting the skeptical glances of the other passengers with a level, challenging gaze of his own. It was enough to deter their scrutiny, and he thought he heard several sighs of relief as he stepped out of the vehicle at the entrance of the museum district.

While he hadn’t fronted but very briefly in the spot, Steven—and, more recently, Marc—had frequented the address enough that it may as well be imprinted into their brain. He knew you usually worked evenings, so he figured he should at least pop in so you wouldn’t attempt to file a missing person’s report (again) in the event that you hadn’t seen the message.

The coffee shop was virtually empty, not really a surprise given it was the start of the week and most people were eager to return home after work. The music muffled the low chatter of the loose clusters conversing scattered around the floor, and only one barista stood behind the counter cleaning some of the equipment. She glanced up from her work as the doorbell jangled to signal the arrival of a newcomer and smiled when she spotted him.

“Hey, Marc!” she beamed, setting down the pitcher and waving him over. “You just missed her—the boss sent her home early since it’s slow. She’s been antsy all day and we figured she was stressed out about uni.” She gave him a once-over, grinning. “Dapper ‘fit you got there. Trying out something new, are we? I’m sure she’ll love that.”

“Oh, it’s just something I had lying around,” he returned smoothly, slipping into the Chicagoan drawl as easily as the fitted gloves on his hands. “How long ago did she leave?”

The girl glanced at her watch. “Oh, about half an hour ago. She mentioned something about seeing you this evening.” She waggled her brows. “Is that why you’re all dressed up?”

“Something like that,” he responded, although his first reaction was to sigh. What part of ‘once I get done’ did you not understand? “Thanks for letting me know.”

“No problem!” she chirped, waving as he departed.

Jake should really head out towards the location Grizz had given him, given the sun was almost gone. If he didn’t get there soon, Khonshu was liable to hunt him down and nag him until he did. But he’d already gone this far, and your apartment was actually on the way, so…

He was fortunate that he’d had the foresight to at least memorize the way to your residence—only on the off-chance that he’d have to go there. For emergencies. (Of course.)

He didn’t run into any of your neighbors on the way up. The hallway was empty, dim, and silent due to the late hour. He whistled to himself as he wandered down to your door, mentally girding himself for the onslaught that were certain to follow—you would interrogate him for his lack of updates, no doubt, if you weren’t expecting Marc or Steven to be the ones showing up. He’d have to break the news that he still had to borrow the body for a while longer. You would wonder why he had even bothered to come.

Why had he bothered to come?

The boys would have wanted to check on you, regardless of the situation, and that would serve as a suitable enough excuse—to make sure you weren’t falling apart without clinging to their arm for several hours a day to the likes of which you were accustomed.

…Yeah, who was he kidding? Who was he even trying to deceive anymore? What was even the point, and what was he trying to prove? You’d seen through him within minutes of meeting him—the decades, now, of building up such a careful veneer…fractured in moments.

You really were too good for them.

Jake lifted his gaze from the atrociously patterned carpet (because who in their right mind would pair navy and chartreuse?) and lifted a hand to press the bell mounted next to your door, but his eyes caught on the sliver of light snaking over the curve of his polished, leather shoe. His eyes rose higher, higher, taking in the narrow gap in the doorway until they settled on the door knob.

Or what used to be the door knob.

The jamb was fractured, the lock broken, and Jake’s hand flew to the holster beneath his coat resting against the small of his back.

The door groaned its grievances as he pressed it in, eyes trained on the interior as it was slowly revealed to him. Vague, secondhand recollection of the layout informed him that things were most certainly not set to rights. The couch was askew, partly dragged away from the wall. The vase you always kept the flowers the boys gave you on the coffee table lay in shattered shards scattered across the rug beneath the sitting arrangement. The television still flickered with whatever you’d been watching, casting flashes of blue and white across every surface.

Jake’s teeth twinged and he forced the clamp of his jaw to release as he investigated the rest of the apartment with methodical sweeps, the barrel of pistol trained directly ahead of his every slow, silent step. The bedroom and bathroom were untouched and empty. The kitchen was the source of the light, and he had to turn off the burner beneath a boiling pot of water—ingredients for some variation of pasta littered the counter, abandoned without warning.

Jake had managed to remain calm until he rounded back into the main room for a second look and spotted a smear of blood on the opposite end of the coffee table that he had missed the first time—on the corner, having dripped onto the rug, already congealing and oxidizing.

“Esos hijos de puta se van a arrepentir de haber hecho esto,” he hissed, stalking out again.

He was lucky—so fucking lucky—that he’d gotten the location for the zealots’ compound before he’d relented to see you.

He couldn’t recall a time that he had hopped rooftops so quickly (usually preferring to travel on his own terms, much to Khonshu’s perpetual frustration, despite the traffic that always slowed things down), using the tattered cloak to glide over the longer distances and across the river. Most of the city had settled in for the night, but he couldn’t care less if he was spotted tonight. The moon was a cold presence at his back, wordlessly observing the seething predator rapidly closing in on his prey.

It was one thing to attack you under the guise of petty theft. It was another to ambush you with Marc there—he couldn’t blame them for that, trying to kill two birds with one stone was far more efficient. But to track you down all the way to your home and to kidnap you when you weren’t even involved, just as a cheap shot in an attempt to get under his skin? That was another fucking thing entirely. (He couldn’t say that it hadn’t worked.)

He spent just enough time on the same balcony as before, observing the front of the compound. There were no signs of lookouts or guards, and the sinking feeling in his gut told him that it was not a fortuitous turn of events.

Jake rolled as he leapt to the ground, slipping into the shadows and using the blade of a crescent dart to slice through the barbed fencing linked around the exterior of the warehouse. He had no luck jimmying the chain lock keeping the doors shut and had to scale several rotting crates to climb in through a crumbling window. Bits of glass clinked against the scaffolding beneath his feet, the only sound indicating his presence other than his pounding heart.

A group of armed men stood talking in hushed tones in the center of the cluttered floor. Shipping containers, barrels, crates, and dilapidated, rusting equipment kept them mostly hidden without giving ample enough room for him to guarantee killing shots. He would have to engage them directly, but that would risk alerting the rest of the compound.

He crept along the railing to scope out the place further, assured that they hadn’t noticed his entry.

A gaping garage door at the back of the warehouse opened up to a series of sheds that had evidently been converted into their base of operations. He peered through a fractured window to see even more people armed to the teeth, not as mindful of the noise they made. Their conversations told him exactly what he needed to know.

You were being kept in the furthest building, crouched low under the awning of another empty factory looming over the wrinkled sheet metal. You were still alive. They weren’t keen on keeping it that way for much longer.

There was no way for him to get any farther without someone spotting him.

Mouthing a curse beneath his mask, Jake glanced back into the warehouse behind him for a distraction of some sort. Some vehicles were parked in the corner, surrounded by equipment…including gas cans.

He’d have to act quickly.

Jake summoned two darts, clamping one between his teeth and using the other to cut a strip from his cloak. He tied it tightly around the gleaming metal, then reached under the folds of the armor to dig out his lighter. He took the first dart, found his target, and sent it whistling through the dark with a snap of his wrist.

The sound of it sinking into the plastic and immediately causing the fuel to dribble freely onto the floor drew the attention of the first group. They couldn’t see as well as he could, however, and were forced to use their flashlights to try to find the source of the noise.

He only had seconds to act before their alertness turned outward.

Jake flicked the lighter to life, ignited the ancient gauze, and flung it after the first.

The eruption of flame and smoke rocked the entire building on its foundation. Smoldering debris rained down upon the zealots, sending those furthest from the blast scurrying away from the fire despite their varying injuries. Jake picked them off one by one using their disorientation to his advantage.

By the time the rest of the troop arrived, shouting and bearing their weapons like teeth, enough fabric and melting plastic had covered the vehicles to cause a secondary explosion. This didn’t kill any of them, unfortunately, but several were felled and incapacitated by projectiles of glass and metal and wouldn’t pose much of a threat until he could give them their due attention.

Jake dropped down behind the brunt of them, more crescents in hand, and was able to cut down two before the others grew wise to his sudden appearance. A peppering of bullets sunk harmlessly into the armor, the muzzle flashes only aiding him in locating each cultist.

All thoughts save those pertaining to your safety faded by the wayside as the majority of his faculties focused on combat and survival. This lot was sloppier, less skilled, than all the others he’d faced before (probably because he’d picked off all their good fighters over the last few months). Their efforts to gang up on him were admirable, but they were simply no match for the advanced strength and agility Khonshu’s armor afforded him.

By the time he emerged from the warehouse, his armor was speckled with blood seeping into the aged gauze. Cursory glances into each shed as he passed them informed him that they were lifeless. It wasn’t until he approached the farthest that any more movement stalled him.

Those bastards that had tried to chase the pair of you down nights before met him in the doorway, and past their brawny shoulders he could see you tied to a chair in the center of the room, a sack slung over your head with coarse rope binding your limbs.

“Last chance to back out alive, pendejos,” Jake growled, fingers tightening around the dripping blades.

They only smirked and raised their automatics towards him.

Jake smirked. “Good. I wasn’t really looking to let you go after pulling this shit anyway.”

Despite their size, he made quick work of them. As the last one collapsed, Jake kicked aside the limp corpse and whirled on his heel to hurry over to you.

You stiffened as he knelt in front of you, resisting his investigative pat-down to make sure you were still in one piece with a tense sound of protest.

“Hey, hey, it’s me,” he said, reaching up and snatching the sack from your head and chucking it vehemently over his shoulder. “Calm down. It’s over.”

Your pupils, blown from the dark, didn’t adjust properly to take in his concealed face. Tacky blood had dried in a trail down the arch of your cheek from your temple, crusting some of your hair to your skin. Bruising was already darkening the half-circle beneath your eye. There was a cut on your lip and your skin was reddened on the opposite cheek—damning evidence of an unrestrained, backhanded slap with a ring if he’d ever seen it.

The ringleader had one shaped like an alligator skull on his pinky.

He allowed you a moment to regain your bearings, cutting away your bindings and grasping your elbows to bring your stiff arms forward. He gritted his teeth at the sight of your wrists, chafed raw and oozing fresh blood, but forced himself to focus on the task at hand. He raised his eyes back up to your face, watching you blink away tears under his scrutiny.

“You okay?” Jake demanded, cutting your ankles free before tugging you up onto your feet. You wobbled as your knees gave out, but his grip on your waist anchored you against his front. He pushed the sweaty strands of hair off of your drawn, grimy face, then snapped his fingers inches from your nose to pull your haunted gaze away from the bleeding bodies littering the concrete just outside. “Hey, look at me. Yeah, that’s it. There she is—good job.”

You sank into him at his soothing tone, relief finally bleeding into your features as you gradually slid back into lucidity. “Marc?”

He willed away the mask, offering you his grim expression. “Try again, chaparrita. Marc’s still not home.”

Your brow furrowed, and some apprehension returned to your frame—much to Jake’s chagrin. “I…you’re…you.”

“The one and only.” He jerked his chin to the side. “Tell me what they did.”

You swallowed roughly, sucking in harsh breaths, trembling all over—but you still tried to speak for him, even as your shaking hands curled into the ragged bandages interwoven over his chest. “They…they kept talking about a sacrifice to their goddess—Ammit? I think they said Ammit? To try and bring her back to them.” You dropped your uninjured temple against his clavicle, squeezing your eyes shut. “They—they had these weird tattoos on their forearms and kept grabbing my wrists and chanting something—something about ‘the scales’, and ‘balance’, and…a ‘paradise on earth’? And—and nothing would happen and they’d get pissed and—they knocked me out. I don’t know what they wanted, and—” A sob finally tore itself from your lips, and the tears spilled over your cheeks. “I tried to—to tell them that I didn’t have anything, or knew what they were talking about, but they—they wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t listen, and—”

“Hey, hey,” Jake said, reaching up with one gauntleted hand to pat your bruised cheek lightly—a grounding touch against your racing mind and snowballing panic. “Tranquila*. It’s over. Let me get you out of here.”

You nodded hesitantly, but went rigid when he stepped back from you, reaching for him again seemingly on instinct—Jake bit back his grimace, offering you a hand for some modicum of comfort. You took it without complaint, squeezing hard enough that his knuckles ground together. He didn’t utter a word against it—didn’t have the heart to.

Not when all this was his own damn fault.

Jake tugged you close to his side as he went, shading your eyes like a horse’s blinders whenever he’d walk you through the carnage he’d wrought tearing his way to get to you. You kept your eyes resolutely forward, only daring to glance up at him out of the corners of your peripheral when he’d grumble curses in Spanish while having to step through puddles of blood and viscera. He almost pitied the city officials who would have to clean it all up—because for as much racket as they’d made once they’d discovered his presence (not counting his own method of distraction), he was surprised the cops hadn’t already showed up.

Once he got back to the warehouse, now openly engulfed in an inferno unfit to approach, he bundled you up into his arms in spite of your squeak of surprise and glanced up towards the moon with a glare.

“You made quite the mess of things.”

Jake glanced over to the top of a neighboring building discerning the moon god’s silhouette against the background of the celestial body he represented. ‘Later,’ he mouthed. ‘Get us out of here. Now.’

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you that she would end up involved,” Khonshu growled, but a flick of his wrist resulted in a draft of wind strong enough to scoop the pair of you up into the air and into a current high above the city.

To your credit, despite your petrifying fear of falling (confessed with some embarrassment to Steven while going down a set of grated metal steps that reduced your knees to pudding), you didn’t scream for it to stop or beat at his shoulders to put you down. You only shut your eyes tight, clung to him as tightly as you could, and gasped as the unpredictable turbulence would jostle him.

Landing on the fire escape was no easy feat, and prying the window open with you petrified was made even more difficult by the fact that he’d forgotten that Marc religiously kept them all locked like the paranoid prepper he was.

“Come on,” he muttered, rearranging you to stand next to him on the narrow, creaking platform. “Give me a minute. Need to jimmy this.”

You pressed your back against the brickwork and kept your stare fixed resolutely on the cityscape sprawling out before you, eyes glazed over. The shock had definitely set in.

Jake got the window open after a few moments with a blade and steadied you as you climbed inside, following suit and finally allowing the armor to dissipate. You sank onto the bed, propping your elbows on your knees and dropping your face into your hands with a shaky sigh. He moved wordlessly to the bathroom, fetching the first aid kit that Marc kept well-stocked with all his remaining military supplies. You flinched when he set it down next to you, popping the lid and fishing through the various packets and ointments.

“Here,” he murmured, kneeling at your feet and patting your hands. “Let me see.”

You glanced down, still mostly absent, as your tone was distant. “Your gloves are cold.”

So they were. The fine leather did well to keep his hands warm, but the exterior didn’t fare so well. Jake stripped them off and tossed them onto the duvet on your other side, scrubbing his palms together for friction and blowing into them for good measure. Only faint green blotches of his earlier brawl remained under his knuckles after the armor had done its work.

You didn’t complain as he tended to your wrists first, applying antiseptic lotion as carefully as he could manage while ensuring an even coating, wrapping them in gauze, and studying the similar bruising on your own hands. You must’ve perceived his bemusement because you whispered, “I tried to fight them off. I did. Marc’s taught me a lot of stuff I didn’t already know before.” You swallowed and glanced away. “Didn’t do a whole lot of good.”

Jake’s glower seemed only to cause you to retreat even further inside of yourself, and that was the last thing that he wanted. “You did good,” he told you firmly, squeezing your hands with contrasting gentleness. “Saw the shiner on that bastard with the ring. Proud of you.”

Your lashes fluttered shut and you shook your head.

Jake set about cleaning up your temple and face, wiping away the blood with a warm, damp washcloth before patching up the laceration and blotting your lip with more ointment. There wasn’t much he could do for the hemorrhaging, but when he asked if you wanted an ice pack, you refused. He suggested that you change into something different—something clean, something warm, something untouched by those horrid caricatures of so-called peace-seeking humanity. It gave him enough time to hole up in the bathroom (with the divider cracked, just slightly, in case you needed him), to put away the first aid kit, and to recenter himself by splashing his face with cold water at the sink.

The two sets of umber eyes staring back at Jake—baleful and shellshocked, respectively—from the folded mirror’s parallel surfaces certainly did not assist in calming his thrumming blood pressure.

Finally decided to show yourself, didn’t you? muttered Marc darkly. What in the hell did you get involved in?

“Only taking care of the rest of Harrow’s cult,” Jake returned evenly, stomach pitching towards the floor. He braced himself on the edges of the sink and hunkered down, eyes shifting between his host and his fellow alter. “Since you two were too busy playing house to clean up the rest of the mess you started.”

You’re the one who finished him, aren’t you? Steven ventured quietly. Harrow. You did that.

“Neither of you had to dirty your hands,” Jake responded, “and the world is rid of that crazy son of a bitch. I see it as a win-win.”

They’re our hands, too, you know, Steven murmured despondently, looking away.

The same hands you’re using to touch our girl, Marc growled. Stop it. If you hurt her, I’ll—

“I just saved her life,” Jake bit out, “no thanks to the both of you turning a blind eye to everything going on right under your noses. Why do you think that she got attacked at the coffee shop, huh? Or that you both got ambushed? People didn’t miraculously stop recognizing our face after what went down in Cairo. It was inevitable that she got roped into all of our shit.”

Why the hell would you even get involved, anyway? Marc seethed, bristling. I don’t see how it’s any of your business.

“It became my business when you put all three of us in danger time after time just because you were so desperate to hide from your problems,” Jake shot back. “Or need I remind you why exactly you two had to have a literal goddamn heart-to-heart after you got us shot?”

Both of their faces blanked with surprise, suspicion and confusion, then dawning, horrified realization. The second sarcophagus hadn’t been a coincidence.

“We can finish the rest of this later,” Jake sighed heavily, dragging a palm down his face. “‘Your girl’ is shaken up all to hell and I need to make sure she doesn’t succumb to her concussion.”

Give me the body, Marc demanded, right now!

You can’t keep us trapped in here, Steven said tersely, but Jake could easily perceive the underlying apprehension in his tone.

“Give me until the morning and you can have her back, all to yourselves,” Jake said, turning to the divider and curling his hand around the handle. “I never meant to get involved in your little domestic fantasy anyway.”

So wrapped up in the ordeal of finally interacting face-to-face, as it were, with his alters was he that he hadn’t even realized that you’d been standing just on the other side. You flinched and stepped back half of a step, but the resolution on your face didn’t waver.

“Thank you,” you told him.

Jake frowned. “It’s our fault you ended up like this in the first place, chaparrita.”

“No, not this,” you replied, wringing your hands. “I mean…for talking to them.”

Jake stared at you, lips parting.

You gazed up at him, gauging, shifting between his eyes as if you could see past them into the paracosm of their jumbled mind. You reached up, slowly, expression easing into something tender as you cupped his cheek and stroked the pad of your thumb over the high arch. Jake’s skin scrawled, at first, from the unfamiliar sensation, but the ghostly echoes of that same touch pressed heavily on the back of his inherited memory.

“Marc, be kind to him,” you said softly. “And don’t fret, Steven. He doesn’t mean any harm. He’s taken as good care of me as you two have. He can stay for as long as he wants, as long as he learns to share and to take turns, too. He’s just as welcome as you two are.” You tilted your head and studied his features once more, memorized yet brand new. “It would help if we had a name to call you by, though.”

They were still co-fronting, if the weight of their presence on his consciousness was any indication.

…She has a way with that, Marc said quietly. Like she can see right through us.

Stops bein’ frightenin after a while, though. You get used to it, Steven added thoughtfully. It’s kind of refreshin’, actually, not havin’ to worry about keepin’ up appearances.

And all at once, the tension drained from Jake’s body, and he sank into your caress and shut his eyes. The stifled warmth in his chest crescendoed into frissons breaking out across his skin, sending shivers ricocheting all over him. You weren’t afraid of him.

“Name’s Jake,” he muttered under her breath. “Lockley.”

“Jake Lockley,” you repeated, sending his heart beating wildly against his ribs. “Completes the set, doesn’t it?”

He cracked his eyes open, brow furrowing.

“Oh, you haven’t heard?” You smiled. “All good things come in threes.”

Maybe…just maybe, this wouldn’t turn out so bad after all.

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