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min-gis · 10 months

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A LESSER MAN. — choi san.

pairing. fighter!san x fembodied!reader

synopsis. there's only so many ways of calming san down, especially when it involves him losing a fight.

genre/warnings. angst, san is pissed and gets borderline violent with woo, injuries, swearing, implied mxm towards the end, smut ! mdni .

word count. 4.3k

HE LOST.

It’s always a bittersweet feeling, to receive the text from Wooyoung. It doesn’t happen often, but on the rare occasion that it does happen— oh, is it bittersweet.

The makeshift bed in the back of the van is far from comfortable, you think. It’s not comfortable at all, you realize with a sigh escaping from your lips. Nothing about the current situation is comfortable, really.

It’s about to get a whole lot more uncomfortable, though, you bitterly realize.

Because yes, the makeshift bed and the humid air is uncomfortable — it’s horrible, even — it’s still about to get worse.

Something Wooyoung confirms when his thumb comes down to press send before shoving his cracked phone down the front pocket of his pants. Something Wooyoung confirms when the text comes through on your phone, when Wooyoung confirms what you fear every time San steps foot into the ring.

He lost.

It’s not necessarily the losing. It’s not the fact that he lost that’s the problem, nor is it the loss of money. You don’t care, and while Wooyoung might make it seem like it’s the only thing he’s in for — the money that San brings in every time he wins yet another fight — you know he doesn’t care either.

San, however, does.

Something he makes very clear every time he does, in fact, lose.

Today isn’t going to be any different, you suppose.

‘’You’ll win tomorrow,’’ The back door leading into the building slams open, followed by Wooyoung’s muffled voice. He’s annoyed, you realize. Not that you expected any less.

‘’Fuck off,’’ The voice that follows causes you to squeeze your eyes shut. If Wooyoung is annoyed — you’re not sure just what San is.

Judging by the way he raises his voice and the sound of what you can only make out as a fist colliding with the side of the van, you figure he’s beyond annoyed. He’s enraged, perhaps infuriated, even.

But just like you excepted for Wooyoung to be annoyed — you already knew that this was coming.

Fury. Rage, even.

You don’t have to look at the two men to know just how the current situation is playing out. You already know Wooyoung is running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to calm himself down, in order to calm the other male down.

It never works, you know that. Wooyoung, too, knows that.

‘’Don’t fucking touch the van,’’ Wooyoung’s voice comes out muffled thanks to the walls of the van shielding you, but the annoyance lingering behind his words doesn’t go unnoticed. ‘’Not the fucking van, take your anger out however you please but not the van, you hear me?’’’

It’s the silence that follows that causes you to reach for the door handle. The cold night air happily greets you as the door slides open, and while you’d like to embrace it for just a while longer — the mixture of anxiety and worry that runs through your body prevents you from doing so.

It’s not until your feet hit the concrete ground and you take a step forward to look around the corner of the van that you realize just how bad it is.

And how bad it’s about to get, too.

You can’t see his face from where you’re standing, not that you need to. His disheveled black hair and ultimately ruined white tank top tells you enough. The dried blood that’s forced its way into the once white fabric, though, tell you that it’s worse than you thought.

And if it wasn’t because of the dried blood, it’s the way his fist grab onto the shorter males shirt that tells you just how bad it actually is.

‘’Who paid for that fucking van, huh?’’ San spits as he presses his forehead against his friends. Wooyoung doesn’t respond, instead, he just stares at the man standing a mere inch away from him.

He’s used to it, you think. While it’s horrible, it’s also good, you realize. It’s good that he doesn’t respond, because neither of you knows just what might happen if he would’ve. None of you wish to find out, either. ‘’That’s right,’’ San hisses at the lack of response, ‘’Fucking I did. My fucking blood and sweat paid for that van, so don’t think you have any right to tell me what the fuck to do.’’

Only then do you realize just how bad it truly is.

‘’San.’’

You’re not sure if you managed to conceal the shakiness lingering behind your voice, you hope you did. You truly hope you did. Wooyoung’s eyes flicker over to you, and even though not a single word leaves his lips — you know what he’s trying to convey.

Thank you, and get him off of me before I make it worse.

The silence that follows is almost deafening. You just watch as your boyfriend's back heave up and down, a result of the fight that had just taken place and the adrenaline still running through his body. You’re about to part your lips and call out to him again, until his previously clenched fist relaxes.

You watch as Wooyoung stumbles backward, a result of San using his palm to push him away. A low wince leaves his lips as his back collides with the building, and for a split moment you wonder if you should check up on him.

You don’t. You want to, but the way he looks over at you through hooded eyes tells you not to. It’ll make things worse.

Standing up straight, Wooyoung runs his fingers through his hair before a low hiss leaves his lips. ‘’Get your shit together,’’ He hisses as his eyes land on the man standing in front of him. ‘’Do whatever the fuck you have to do, just get your fucking shit together and then we’ll talk.’’

The air feels heavy as he slips back into the building, sending one last stare your way before slamming the door shut behind him.

Please sort this out.

Suffocating, almost. It feels suffocating, standing in the quietness of the night. Not a single noise besides the sound of people yelling further down the street and San’s heavy breathing, and it feels suffocating.

Fuck.

While you already knew what was coming the second the ping of your phone informed you that he had lost, there is only so much you can do. There’s only so many ways of preparing yourself, because frankly, you have no idea how it’ll play out.

It’s different every time, how it plays out. It’s always the same — the anger, the raised voices — it’s always the same. But beyond that, you have no idea just how it’ll play out.

And while violence isn’t uncommon, it always takes you by surprise. And the lingering fear never changes, either. Not that you expected it to. Nor do San, you think. He knows, and he hates it just as much as you do.

Perhaps even more.

You watch as his gaze meets the ground, and you don’t need to see him to know that he has his eyes closed. The way he clenches his fists tells you that he’s trying to calm himself down. You know it’s not going to work. So does San.

‘’San,’’

It’s not as stern as your first attempt. It’s softer, still stern, but far from angry. You want him to look at you, to let you see him. He doesn’t allow you to.

His gaze remains on the ground underneath him as a small sigh leaves your lips. His gaze remains on the ground even when he hears you walking towards him — even when he feels your hand graze his back — he refuses to turn around to look at you.

Your fingers trail over the spots of dried blood, taking in the small cuts left on his exposed shoulders. You go to touch them, only to earn a low whine from the male and his body jerking in response.

It’s not until your hands gently grab onto his shoulders and slowly turn him around that he allows you to look at him.

And as soon as your eyes land on his face, you understand his anger. And as the realization of what had actually gone down slowly begins to settle in, you realize just why he refuses to look at you.

Dried blood decorates the corner of his lips, accompanied by a fresh cut to his cheekbone. He looks horrible, you realize.

It’s more than just losing a fight to him, it’s about his dignity, as well. His feeling of feeling worthy. Of feeling needed, of feeling wanted. Something winning gives to him. Something losing rips away from him.

‘’Oh, San,’’ You breathe as your hand comes up to cup his jaw, tilting his head to the side to get a proper look at his face. His gaze remains on the ground, refusing to meet your own. ‘’What did they do to you?’’

Your thumb comes up to gently graze his cheekbone, feeling him clench his jaw under your touch. ‘’It’s nothing,’’ He mumbles, so low that you almost don’t hear him. ‘’I’ll win tomorrow.’’

His words cause an ache to spread across your chest. You don’t care if he wins. You couldn’t care less whether or not he walks out of that building with thousands and yet another victory, you care about him.

And this — his eyes low and his voice hoarse — causes your heart to break.

Your thumb runs down the side of his face before pressing it against his chin. ‘’Look at me.’’ You command, tilting his face upwards. You just stare at him as you wait for his eyes to meet yours, and when they eventually do, you feel your heart crumble even further.

Sad, sorry eyes meet your own and you think you might start crying right there and then.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry for not winning, I’m sorry for lashing out.

You don’t care. You don’t care about any of it.

‘’Come here.’’

It’s all you have to say. It’s all you have to say for his arms to come up and wrap themselves around your figure, pulling you closer to him. You let your arms fall down onto his shoulders, your fingers quick to slip into his hair.

He dives into the crook of your neck, his nose brushing against your skin as he does. You can feel his heavy breath fanning across your skin as you gently massage his scalp, his chest expanding into your own with every shaky breath.

There’s nothing you could ever do to stop your boyfriend from fighting. He treasures it, he loves it — he thrives off of it. There’s nothing you could possibly do or say that would ever stop him from doing what he loves, it comes in a package, he once claimed. Him and fighting, you sign up for both when you get him.

You don’t want to, either. You don’t wish for him to stop. Despite how scary and messy it gets, you don’t wish to stop him.

So when it does get messy, the least you can do is comfort him. Make it less scary, even if it’s just for a moment.

‘’It’s okay,’’ Your words come out mumbled, but comforting, nonetheless. ‘’You’re okay.’’

San just breathes against your skin in response. You’re not saying it for him to respond. You’re saying it to comfort him. To soothe the anger still lingering.

‘’I was so close,’’ You barely hear the words as they slip past his lips. They’re mumbled, and you’re not sure if he’s saying it for you to hear or if he’s saying it for himself to hear. To make a point. A statement even. ‘’I was so, so close.’’

You just hum in response. You’re not sure if he wishes for you to respond, yet you do. You hum as your fingers gently thread through his hair, pressing a chaste kiss onto the side of his face. Chaste, but comforting. ‘’I know you were.’’

You don’t know. You don’t know just how close he was to actually winning, but you tell him you do. That you do know. Because despite not being there to witness it, you still know. His anger proves to you just how close he actually was.

And how much he despises himself for not winning.

The feeling of his lips leaving a wet kiss onto your skin takes you by surprise. Your fingers massaging his scalp come to an abrupt stop as he does, his warm lips pressing against your cold skin sending shivers down your spine.

‘’I’m sorry,’’ He mumbles as he presses another kiss onto your skin. ‘’I’m sorry for scaring you,’’ Another one, ‘’I’m sorry for not winning,’’ Another one, this time his hands placed on the small of your back pushing you firm against his body, ‘’I’m sorry for being such an ass,’’

The feeling of his teeth slightly sinking into your skin causes a gasp to leave your lips. Your hands slip out of his hair, your fingers grabbing onto his shoulders in an attempt to stabilize yourself. It doesn’t work, at least not when you feel his tongue running over the spot where he had just sunk his teeth into.

You already know where this is heading.

‘’San,’’ You breathe. His name trailing off your lips causes him to look up at you — only after leaving one last kiss on the skin of your neck — allowing your gaze to meet his.

One of his hands comes up your side, gently squeezing it before grabbing onto the side of your neck. He tilts his head, eyes low as he looks down at you. ‘’Let me show you how sorry I am?’’

You’ll always be there to comfort him. Each and every time, you’ll be there — waiting to console him.

So you nod. And as soon as you do, his lips crash against your own — hungrily, urgently, even. Like he might crumble if he doesn’t get to kiss you right now, right here. You feel the same way as his hand comes up from its previous position at the side of your neck, cupping your jaw as his rough fingers slip into your hair in an attempt to pull you even closer to him.

It’s rough, the way his tongue slips into your mouth and muffles the moan that almost leaves the back of your throat. The taste of the dried blood in the corner of his lips coats your tongue, a taste so disgusting yet so pleasing.

It’s not about how sorry he is. You know it isn’t. The urgency behind his movements and the slight metallic taste lingering on his tongue tells that it’s not about how sorry he is, not at all, really.

It’s about him, him and his disappointment in himself. It’s about him needing a distraction. Solace, even. Something that’ll allow him to escape the burning in his chest — and you — you might be the best distraction of them all.

You’ll always be there to comfort him. And with one of his hands running down your back, nails digging through the fabric of your shirt — you realize that this time is no different.

Rough hands grab onto your waist as they force you back down, and you realize the makeshift bed is just as uncomfortable as it always is.

The flooring is rough on your knees, despite the blanket you had previously laid out to prevent it from being too rough. The thin fabric doesn’t do much, though. You didn’t expect it to, either.

And while the flooring might be bruising your knees with every bounce, it’s far from being as rough as he is, you think.

‘’San,’’ His name barely slips past your lips, your voice giving out halfway through as he snaps his hips forward. His hands force you back down onto his length, meeting his thrust halfway. The harsh snap of his hips makes it hard to speak — and you think he might want it that way.

The leather of his pants sticks to the back of your thighs with every bounce, leaving such a foul and filthy sound to echo through the closed space. The sound of leather sticking to sweaty skin, leather pants pulled down his thighs just enough to allow his member to spring free.

Rough, raw and filthy.

One of his hands comes up to grab the back of your neck, fingernails threatening to dig into the skin of your neck. A grunt rumbles through his chest, a guttural one — an angry one — laced with undeniable lust. ‘’Look at me.’’

It’s a command. A command he follows up by allowing his nails to sink into the skin of your neck, forcing your head back. A command you follow, your half-lidded eyes meeting his own. His clenched jaw and droopy eyes are enough to pull a whine out of you, a whine he then forcefully pulls out of you as he slams your lower body back down.

His grip tightens as the whine trails off your lips, ‘’Such a good girl, just for me, right?’’ His voice is still laced with both anger and lust as he asks, only this time you hear the slight fear lingering in his words, too.

‘’Fuck,’’ He doesn’t give you a chance to respond as he continues slamming his hips into you from underneath, ‘’Don’t even fucking deserve you, do I?’’

Fear that he’s not good enough for you.

Fear that you’re just as disappointed in him as he is in himself.

His fingers slip into your hair, allowing his fingers to intertwine themselves into the strands before forcefully tugging your head backward. The action pulls yet another whine out of you, a painful one. A pain he soothes by diving forward and running his tongue across your now exposed throat, his dry lips leaving a wet kiss behind.

You wish to tell him that you’re not disappointed in him. That the anger he feels deep within isn’t something you reciprocate, that his actions and his losses don’t define who he is.

He doesn’t wish to hear it, though. So you don’t. You don’t lean forward and embrace him, you don’t whisper in his ear about how you love him and how he can’t allow times like this to consume him.

Instead, you force yourself down his length for the nth time — pulling yet another grunt out of him.

He wants you to console him, so you do. You console him in the only way he’ll allow you to.

‘’I hope every single person in that building can hear you,’’ He grunts against your skin, teeth nibbling on your skin, ‘’Let them hear how good I’m fucking you, show them just how fucking good I am,’’

They know, you think. They already know, and if it wasn’t because of the way he had fingered you against the cold metal of the van a few moments prior — the way your movements now slightly rocked the van most definitely told them.

‘’Tell them, baby, show them.’’

The hand that had just been grabbing onto your hip quickly shifts position, sneaking down to place three fingers against your clit. The action causes you to jolt against him, his fingers pushing firmly against you as you do. ‘’Fuck,’’ You whine, desperately rocking your hips against his fingers — something that causes a hum in approval to leave his chest.

He needs more than that, though, you realize. He wants more than that.

Something he tells you by tugging even harder at your hair, forcing your head back even further as his fingers begin to rub quick, harsh circles over your clit. ‘’I said fucking tell them,’’ He hisses against your skin.

‘’San,’’ You whimper, far from what he wants, yet it seems to somewhat satisfy him as he grunts against your skin. It’s all you have left to offer him, your voice hoarse and throat slightly aching from the current position. ‘’Want you to come,’’ He hisses against your throat, almost commanding you, in a way.

A command you desperately nod at in response. A command you’re more than happy to follow.

‘’Want to hear you, too,’’ He continues, his fingers never stopping and neither does the thrusts, ‘’Want everyone to hear as you make a mess all over my cock,’’

You don’t need to be told twice. A broken moan spills past your lips as you sink your fingers into his shoulders, your hips stilling as your orgasm washes over you. While your movements stilled, his doesn’t — his fingers still desperately rubbing circles over your clit and his cock buried deep within you.

‘’Good girl,’’ He praises, ‘’Fuck, don’t deserve to feel you like this,’’

You’re too far gone to even hear his mindless rambling, too busy coming down from your orgasm to even focus on what he’s saying. You know it doesn’t matter, it’s just mindless rambling, after all.

Things he doesn’t mean.

His hand slips out of your hair, pulling you firmly against his chest as he allows you to rest your forehead against his shoulder. Broken moans and whines spill past your lips as he chases his own orgasm, riding out your orgasm at the same time.

You know by the desperate grunts leaving his lips and the sloppy thrusts that he’s close, so you bring your hands up to gently cup his face.

‘’Fill me up,’’ You breathe into his ear, ‘’You deserve it.’’

Three words. Three words is all it takes for a groan to rip through his chest and for his hips to snap forward one last time, cock buried deep within you — so deep that it slightly hurts — before he spills into you.

A pleased hum leaves your lips as he slightly trembles in your touch, his cock twitching as white ropes of cum paint your walls. Your thumb comes down to gently stroke his cheek, the skin sticky from the sweat and the humid air — lips pressing a soft kiss onto the same sticky skin.

One last breathy groan leaves his lips before he relaxes underneath you, hands that had just been gripping onto your hips falling down his side.

You stay like that for a while. Chests pressed against one another, your thumb gently stroking his cheek as your face remains buried in the crook of his neck. He doesn’t pull out — you don’t want him to — and neither does he.

He wishes to stay buried within you forever. Until he psychically can’t anymore.

‘’I’m sorry.’’

He’s the first one to speak up. His voice is hoarse as the words slip past his lips, hands coming up to wrap around your waist. It’s loose, the way he holds you — but still comforting, nonetheless.

You just shake your head in response.

He has nothing to be sorry about, you think. ‘’Don’t.’’ You seal your words with a soft kiss on his throat, a kiss that tells him to stop.

‘’I’ll win tomorrow, I promise.’’

His words cause you to pull away, your hands still placed on either side of his face. The look you’re met with as your eyes land on his face slightly tugs on your heartstrings, his eyes low and a cheap smile plastered on his lips.

Like he’s trying to convince you. That’ll he win tomorrow, that he won’t disappoint you again.

Like he disappointed you in the first place.

‘’You know I don’t care.’’

He hums in response, ‘’I know,’’ He almost whispers.

‘’But I do.’’

You know he does. You know he cares, you know it matters to him. Whether or not he wins, it’s not important to you — he is.

He’s important to you.

You, too, hum in response as your thumb comes up to soothe the red, irritated skin by his eyebrow. ‘’I know you do,’’ You mumble, carefully running your thumb through his eyebrow. ‘’And I also know you’ll win tomorrow.’’

Your words tugs the corners of his lips into a smile. A genuine one, nothing like the cheap one that had just decorated his bruised lips.

You don’t know. You don’t know if he’ll win tomorrow, you never know, really. You never know how it’ll end, and you guess that’s the charm of it all.

Whether or not he’ll fuck you in the back of the van and allow you to praise him for winning yet another fight, or if he’ll walk out of the building with the same anger he had worn today lingering behind his features — it’s all a part of the job, you suppose.

Of never knowing just how it might end.

‘’You think Woo is still mad?’’

The sudden question causes a chuckle to leave the back of your throat. You tilt your head before pressing a small, chaste kiss onto the corner of his lips. ‘’Yeah,’’ You smile as you pull away, a smile he mirrors, ‘’He most definitely is.’’

A sigh leaves his lips, but the playful smile remains. ‘’You think he’ll forgive me if I let him ride me?’’ His words draw yet another chuckle out of you, one he muffles by pulling you back onto his chest.

‘’I doubt it.’’

With a hum leaving his throat, he leaves it at that.

Wooyoung will have to wait, you realize as one of his hands comes up to gently stroke your hair. It’s sticky and sweaty against his chest. You don’t care. Your knees still hurt from rubbing against the hard flooring for a little too long and he’s still buried deep within you, yet you still don’t care.

You stay like that. Silent, his once rough — now turned soft that the anger has slowly faded away —hand stroking your hair. It’s peaceful, you think. You know San feels the same way.

Just like he knows that whether or not he wins the next fight, you’ll be there to either celebrate or comfort him — you always are, and you always will be.

#— ☆ san.#ateez smut #san smut #san hard hours #choi san smut #choi san hard thoughts #san hard thoughts #choi san hard hours #choi san #ateez hard hours #ateez hard thoughts #san x reader #san x y/n #san x you

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as-is-above-so-below · 3 months

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Cardigan - John Price x F!Teacher!Reader

Part 2: Midnight Rain

summary: you get yourself in a pickle a/n: hi! I return again! I'm sorry it's short, but I'm trying a new method of posting. Instead of aiming for a specific word count (which leads to me getting writer's block and not posting ANYTHING), I write until I'm satisfied with what I'm trying to achieve. Hopefully, I've achieved that goal, and y'all like it :) Blessed be! << Previous | Next >>

You drummed your fingers against the notebook in your lap and gnawed on the top of your pen. It was late, even by your standards; the sun had long since set, and dinner eaten hours ago. But you were up, sitting in the dark in your living room, heavy rain pelting your old windows. You were trying to pull together a new lesson plan for the following day. A few curious students had started asking questions about the modern military. Like, key differences between military strategies used in the time they were studying and today. And, of course, yet again, you made promises that you were struggling to keep. And you always keep your promises to your students.

Fuck.

The internet wasn’t helping at all. You didn’t study military strategy in any of your courses. Was that even a thing?

The last thing you wanted to do was call him. You were so confident that you could solve your problem yourself, at nine o’clock. Now, it was past midnight, and you were absolutely desperate.

Fuck.

Before your tired brain can flood with guilt and change its mind, you grab your phone from your nightstand and tap into your recent calls log. Your stomach churned, anxiety bubbling up with every trill. God, it’s so fucking late to be calling. It felt like you were split in two. One half of you was praying that his phone was on silent (you know it’s not) or he’ll sleep through the ringing (he won’t), while the other–the miserable, exhausted half–needed him to pick up.

The latter won out.

“Y/N? Are you alright?”

John’s deep, sleepy voice made you feel guilty and incredibly happy that you’d woken him up. Soft and grumbly, rolling in his chest; it made you feel soft and warm inside…

Not the point of the call.

“Hi, John. I’m completely fine, I just…” You took a deep breath, the heel of your free hand pressed into one of your dry, worn-out eyes. “I know you’re this big important captain, and you have work in the morning, but I’m in a bit of a pickle and need a massive favor.”

There was a slight rustling on the other end like he had turned slightly to check the nearby time. “It’s one o’clock in the morning, love,” he mumbled.

You felt even worse. “I know, I’m sorry. Please don’t hate me,” you begged, running a hand over the top of your head. “One of my kids asked about the military. It sparked a whole discussion in class, and I may have overstated my knowledge. I barely know anything about it, and my brain is turning to mush. I’m so tired I wanna cry, and-”

He quickly cut off your rambling. “Woah, hey. Slow down there. What’s going on?” he asked, suddenly sounding much more awake.

That brought you pause. You honestly hadn’t thought what you would ask if John actually answered the phone through. It was one o’clock in the morning, which John had correctly pointed out, and your brain wasn’t operating at full capacity.

“I was…wondering if you could give me a lesson. Because I’m super tired, and I like to hear you talk.”

“…You do?”

“Yeah. I’ve learned a lot from you just…talking to me? But I’m a history teacher. I’m an expert on wars, not war.”

There was some shuffling on the phone. On the other line, John was leaning over the edge of his bed, searching blindly for his little pocket planner in the pile of clothes on the floor. The rustling stopped when he placed the device on his pillow, rifling through the calendar. He sniffed and was quiet for a moment, while you nibbled anxiously at your pen. Again.

The silence finally broke with a tired sniffle from John. “I can do you better. Why don’t I come to your classes tomorrow?” he asked.

You froze, pen still between your teeth. John? Coming to your school? Spending the day with your students? That would be the equivalent of introducing your boyfriend to your children.

“…Really?”

“Sure.”

Could you even call him your boyfriend? You’d been on a few dates, sure, over the last…two months? No, it was closer to three. Had it been that long already? You did some quick math in your head. You’d gone on about one date a week, with a few canceled due to last-minute commitments. Still, about one date a week, over three months…

Holy shit.

“John, I’m sure you’re busy. I couldn’t-”

“Not at all,” he hummed, cutting you off. “Besides, it would take me ‘til class tomorrow to give you a good enough rundown, and the boss loves shite like this.”

“I thought you were the boss?”

You could practically hear a small smile tugging at John’s lips. The expression was a familiar one. The corner of his mouth quirked up, shifting his beard and creating happy wrinkles near his eyes. His nose would scrunch up a bit, too, especially if you were out in cold weather.

“Everybody has a boss, sweetness. Myself included.”

Christ. Not the pet names. And especially not in the tired, gravelly tone his voice was currently in. John Price was going to be the death of you, even in his unfocused state.

You unfolded your legs from underneath you and moved your notebook onto the coffee table. Your resolve was fading, and you couldn’t be bothered to argue. While you did feel bad about dragging John to your school to fix the problem you created, you weren’t sure you had any other option. Accept defeat? To a group of teenagers? Absolutely not. You’d never live it down. You sighed, rubbing tiredly at your eyes. “If you’re sure…”

“I am.”

A soft smile crossed your face. “Is this just a ploy to meet my kids?”

“Maybe.”

Your sleepy giggles were like music to John’s ears. The sound alone was worth the favor. As if he wouldn’t have done it anyway, just to ease your stress. He would take any and every opportunity to make your day easier or make you happy. What he wouldn’t give to hear that laugh in person, laying beside you in your bed–

No. John’s a good man. A gentleman, he would say. A man who was perfectly capable of not acting on his urges and thoughts. At least, not in person. However, in the privacy of his own home? That was a different story.

“Thank you so much, John.”

Right. You’re still on the phone. He heard a soft click on your end of the call.

“That’d better be you closing your laptop, I’m hearing.”

“It is.”

“Good girl.” You blushed furiously. Fuck. “Get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight.”

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covetyou · 1 month

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the howler monkey

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Dieter Bravo & gn!reader rating: Mature (18+ only!) warnings: no smut but some nudity, implied drug use/addiction, little bit silly, mildly angsty, performance anxiety, screaming, Dieter Bravo's soft cock. basically mild hurt/comfort/fluff with my usual bit of silliness. word count: 2.8k summary: You got him here, he was safely tucked away upstairs and everything was going, mostly, according to plan. So, who the fuck is screaming?

A/N: For the Dieter Bravo Brain Rot Club March Server Challenge - you're unhinged and I love you all. Dieter would be so, so proud of us. Circus mention in honour of Clown!Dieter.

TROPE: Only one bed and forced proximity PROMPT: "You're going to get us arrested." "Oh, I've always liked the idea of you in handcuffs."

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On days like this, getting Dieter Bravo out of the house was more like wrangling an overtired toddler than it was dealing with a full grown man. At least, you assumed it was. You didn't have a toddler for reference, but you did have a Dieter and, sometimes, that felt worse. He stalled and delayed for so long that by the time you finally - finally - got him out of the door, it was quite literally a race to get the the airport.

The flight hadn't been much different, having to practically drag him through the terminal with head down and sunglasses on to cram him into his window seat. Truth be told, you didn't know why you were flying with him anyway, only to fly back later tonight. Still, as long as it wasn't your money on the line, what Dieter wanted, Dieter got.

But now it was done. You got him here relatively unscathed, all things considered, and Dieter had been deposited in his room, ready to get a full nights beauty sleep before the press descended and the festival opened. All that was left to do was check in with his publicist and you'd be on your way back home, where you couldn't wait to crawl into bed and have a few blissful days to yourself.

So, as is the natural way with these things, it's when you're just finishing up with his publicist in the back of the bar that it all starts. It's nothing but a few strained looks from the hotel staff to begin with.

Then the phones start ringing. Every single one.

And when the phones can't be answered quick enough, hotel guests start crowding around the lobby, whispering amongst themselves about the screaming.

The screaming.

And your blood turns cold. Because it's not. It couldn't be. He wouldn't.

The publicist pays no attention, continuing swiping through his phone and yammering away. Not your circus, not your monkeys, you try to think to yourself as the lobby just gets busier and busier.

But then the hotel manager rushes in, sickly sweet smile plastered on his face, Dieter's publicist blissfully unaware as he stares down at his phone, looking at schedules and interview times and literally anything but the chaos evolving around you.

"Excuse me? Excuse me," he's saying, wringing his hands together as he approaches the table. "You're with Mr. Bravo?"

His publicist doesn't even bother looking up, simply nodding as you stare, open mouthed, into the lobby.

"It seems we have... a bit of a problem," he whispers with wide eyes. "Mr. Bravo is uh... well, screaming. It's disturbing the other guests. I'm afraid if he doesn't stop we're going to have to ask him to leave or call the police."

Well, shit. This is your circus, and that is your monkey in particular.

You're swiping the extra key card out of his hand and making your way out of the bar and into the packed lobby as quick as you can while his publicist sits there, arguing that Dieter would never (he would), that he was quiet (he wasn't), and so it couldn't possibly be him (it absolutely could).

The elevator feels so slow, the whirl of gears and an unseen mechanism pulling you up and up, as you ascend the many floors of the hotel. Then, in a blink and with another creak the doors are about to pull themselves open, and you swear you can hear it already.

The fucking screaming.

You're running now, the elevator doors barely open before you're squeezing through them, not caring for the noise you make as you thud heavily down the hallway. What would a little extra noise matter when there's someone screaming blue murder inside one of the hotel rooms.

Tapping the card, the lock on room 819 illuminates green and you're throwing open the door, the screams having subsided for a moment, and shutting yourself inside and trying to catch your breath.

Aside from the silence, it's dark. That's the first thing you notice. The second thing you notice is Dieter Bravo is nowhere to be seen, even in the dim light creeping around the window.

"Dee... Dieter?" you whisper into the darkness, hoping beyond hope that he's not here and he hasn't been screaming for the past fifteen minutes.

A small, hoarse voice floats toward you from much further away than you'd expect him to be able to be given the size of the room, "Who is it?"

"Dieter? It's me. What the fuck is going on? Where are you?" you loud whisper into the hotel room, running your fingertips across the wall as you creep forward. From what you can tell it looks the same as when you left him here. Nothing is wrecked or overturned, and he hasn't had another sudden burst of artistic inspiration - the walls look the same as they did when you shut the door to Dieter looking forlornly out of the window to the city below.

"What do you mean?" comes the muffled voice. It's closer now, but you still can't see him. There's no lump on the bed, no one sat in the chair, and he's not lying spread eagle on the floor.

"Dieter, where the fuck are you?!"

He sighs, and you hear a slap, like the sound of a hand hitting a flat, solid surface. "Under here, numbnuts."

You take another step forward, peaking under the desk, seeing no sign of Dieter. Turning toward the bed, you try to find somewhere else to look under to find wherever Dieter has stashed himself when you see it.

Two bare legs sticking out from under the bed, the end of his soft green robe just poking out from beneath the frame.

"Dee... what is going on, why are you under there? There was screaming, they think it's coming from in here."

Dieter's silence is all you need to confirm it was indeed coming from in here, from him. Pinching your nose, you ready yourself for whatever he's going to throw at you this time.

"Why are you screaming?"

"Come under here."

"Dieter, no, it's disgusting under there, they don't clean these -"

"I'll tell you if you come under here."

"No, I know this is a nice hotel, but the floors are still filth-"

Dieter cuts you off, a loud scream ripping out of his chest and rattling around your head at a frequency that makes you feel like your skull is about to burst. It must hurt, is all you can think, his throat must be raw and his mouth dry. Panic sets in - hearing a scream like that will do that to a person, you suppose. You panic not just because it must hurt, but because if there was one thing you knew, despite Dieter Bravo's flair for dramatics, he wasn't a man to scream for no reason. And, as much as you hate to admit it, you can't help but think down to Dieter's publicist likely still sat in the bar - Dieter will be impossible to interview tomorrow if you don't stop him soon, and that's if he's even allowed to stay in the hotel much longer.

So, you do the only thing you know how to do when a metaphorical fire in the shape of Dieter Bravo threatens to burn everything down. You throw yourself over it and hope for the best.

"DEE! DIETER! OKAY, OKAY!" you shout, trying not to grimace as you get on your hands and knees to crawl under the cramped space under the bed, ignoring the grit and dust already on your palms.

"Fuck. Shit, Dieter. Ow." You're wedged under there with him now, ass sticking up in the air as you cram your upper body under the bed frame. You can see the vague shape of him under here, a Dieter shaped profile visible in front of you as he stares blankly up at the underside of the bed.

"What's wrong with you?" you ask, somewhat breathlessly, only to watch Dieter tense up at your words. Shit. You didn't mean it like that, and you certainly didn't say it like that either, but before you can take it back and apologize, he beats you to it.

"Nothing. Nothing's wrong with me," he says in a voice so much smaller and quieter now that your head is right beside his.

"Sorry. Look, I didn't - I meant, why are you screaming, Dee. They said they'd have to kick you out or call the cops. You're going to get us arrested."

"Arrested, huh?" he says thoughtfully, turning to look over at you. "I've always liked the idea of you in handcuffs."

"No, Dieter," you say, and even though you know he can't see you, you roll your eyes in the dark anyway.

Dieter's sigh is so big it picks up errant dust swirls it around under the bed. The urge to swipe at your nose is strong but you resist, knowing from the state of things and the chalky feeling of your palms that it'll only make things worse.

"I'm nervous," he finally says, and that's all you needed to hear.

His face is turned toward the underside of the bed when you crawl backwards. It takes a moment for him to notice, but as soon as he does he's whimpering and taking in a breath big enough that you know he's going to scream again. But you're not leaving, and instead you roll onto your back with an oof and slide yourself under the bed to look up into the nothing with Dieter.

You think back to other times he'd been like this. Too scared to perform, anxiety taking root, frightening him off into some dark quiet corner of a set or his house. You'd found him in his closet once, the only thing apparently capable of coaxing him out was watching you unbutton your shirt a little more because you'd gotten so hot sitting in the stifling little room with him. When he'd finally made his way out, it had been with his eyes glued to the extra patch of skin you'd uncovered and the trickle of sweat dripping down your chest.

Dark as it was, visual distractions wouldn't work this time.

"How many times do you have exactly the same thoughts, and how many times does everything turn out okay anyway? You're good at this, Dieter. You're going to be amazing tomorrow, just like you always are, and I'm not saying that to pressure you to perform, but just because you are. You're amazing."

"Yeah, right," he scoffs, slapping a hand dramatically down on the floor again with a grunt.

"I'm serious. You have a lot to be proud of."

"A lot to not be proud of too."

"Well, you know what to do about that."

"I'm not going to rehab."

"I've never told you to."

Dieter sighs again, because you were right. You had never told him to go to rehab. You never would. It didn't feel like your place to - you were only his assistant. He knows this and you think - know - that sometimes he'd like for you to just tell him to get it together and go, but you don't. "I know."

You don't know how long you both lie there in silence and darkness after that, softly exchanging breaths under the bed. You do know it's long enough for your mind to wander back down to the bar and all the people now going about their evenings. It's not lost on you that no one came in to check on him before you. That now that he'd been silent for several minutes, no one had bothered to knock on the door to see if he was okay. None of them cared, not really. You knew that and, worse of all, Dieter knew that. The people here didn't care about him unless he was being a shiny, glitzy movie star who could say and do the right things in front of the cameras.

Scuffling feet alert you to his movement as Dieter move shuffles toward you, his head colliding gently with the side of yours. You make no effort to move and neither does he, choosing instead to lean his head against yours and rest it there.

The signs are obvious then. The small weave of his head as his eyes track invisible shapes in the dark. The twitch in his fingers, the bounce of his foot. He'd been a mess all day, you can see that now, and whatever he had taken since getting here was somehow making it better and worse all at once.

"How much have you taken this time?"

His breath catches, caught doing something he said he wouldn't do, not here, not this time. But he doesn't lie, not to you. He'd stopped doing that a long time ago, and that was as much progress as you could ever hope for.

"Too much. Not enough. I don't know."

"Okay," you say, even though it isn't, not really. He should stop. You wish you could do more to stop him.

"Will you stay?" he murmurs, even though he knows you have a flight to catch. He'd paid for it when he demanded you come with him, promising you a few days off while he was stuck at the festival answering the same questions over and over again.

"You know I can't, my flight is in a couple of hours, I need to get through the traffic -"

"Please stay."

"There is nowhere for me to stay, Dieter. You don't need me here and I couldn't get a room if I tried. Everywhere nearby is booked." Assistants don't sleep with their employers, assistants don't sleep with their employers...

"I do. I do need you. I'm not asking you to stay anywhere else, I'm asking you to stay here. Stay with me," he mumbles. "I can sleep under here if I have to. Just stay." Assistants don't sleep with their fucking employers...

"You're not sleeping on the floor. And I- I can't." By this point you don't know why you can't, because maybe assistants don't sleep with their employers, but you and Dieter were always a little bit, well... y'know.

"Please."

And your resolve never was that strong where Dieter was concerned. Not really. "Fine. I'll stay. I need a shower and I need to go -"

"You can borrow some of my clothes," he says quickly. "We can shower - separately, I mean - get room service - fuck I'm starving - and then when we sleep, we can cuddle?"

You can't help but laugh, smiling up at the bed at how quickly his mood could turn around, particularly where cuddling and a good meal were concerned. Sometimes, when he was really tired, or high, or sad, or a combination of all three, he'd ask you to cuddle. You'd always settle on stroking his hair instead, watching his face as his jaw relaxed and sleep finally pulled at his features before sneaking away. Today, you had nowhere else to be so, you think, you may as well stay to cuddle.

"Yeah, Dee. We can cuddle."

You talk over room service - fancy toasted sandwiches and warm chocolate chip cookies that weren't on the menu, but Dieter had the audacity to ask for anyway. When you shower, he waits outside the door for you, restlessly stepping from foot to foot. You wait for him too, convincing him to leave the door open a little just in case, and he does so without question. A few minutes later he comes out, flushed red from the heat of the water and totally naked. You don't bat an eye.

Your skin still feels damp when you're climbing into bed, grateful to be on top of it and grit free now rather than under it. Dieter soon follows, crawling naked on all fours before tucking his legs under the sheets beside you.

You talk for a little longer, listening as Dieter sounds more and more slurred with sleep, before flicking the light off. He fidgets, shuffling closer to you until his arm wraps around your chest, resting his hand softly on your shoulder, his nose nuzzling into your neck on the pillow you now share. It's not comfortable, not for you, but the contented sounds coming from Dieter and the way his face twitches against your bare skin tells you he's holding back tears, that he needs this. You can be uncomfortable for one night, you think, just before he hooks his leg over yours, well and truly pinning you to the bed.

"Dee?"

"Yeah?"

"Your cock is on my leg."

"I know."

"Okay, well... G'night Dee."

"Night," he says straight into your ear, smacking his lips as he snuggles into your side, soft cock squished against your leg. And when, somehow, sleep ignores your discomfort and pulls you under barely a few minutes later, you swear you can feel Dieter press his lips to the bare skin of your neck.

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo fanfiction #the bubble fanfiction #coveted fics

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thebiggerbear · 4 months

Text

CJ Braxton x Reader - Prompt Response - "I hate you." "You have a weird way of showing that."

Summary: You had only meant to call once, remaining anonymous while feeling out the whole helpline thing for yourself. Now, you talk to CJ every Friday night around the same time. When you don't call one Friday, CJ is worried and comes looking for you which presents its own host of problems.

Pairing: CJ Braxton x Female!Reader; CJ Braxton x College Student!Female!Reader

A/N: Prompt from @creativepromptsforwriting (#941). I initially wasn't going to write anything for CJ but this idea popped into my head for this prompt and I just had to write it. And I absolutely fell in love with the dynamic between CJ and the reader (and had so much fun with this). Please forgive any timeline tomfoolery or anything time wise that makes you go "huh?"; I was trying to make this work throughout the season from CJ's entry into the show (and his conversation with Jen about the helpline) to the end.

I wasn't much of a Dawson's Creek person back in the day (I still haven't seen seasons 2-5), so I hope this came out alright. I tried to keep it as 2000-ish as possible. I remember back in the day not everyone had a cell phone like Dawson, Audrey, and Pacey (though a lot of people were getting them moving into the beginning of the decade) so that rule kind of applied here so to speak.

This is meant to take place during s6 before Jen joins The Stand.

Warnings: implied sex; panic attacks; implied anxiety

Word Count: 15k+

CJ Taglist: @heartlessdelusions; @nancymcl

"I hate you." "You have a weird way of showing that."

<-->

You glanced at the clock, seeing it was 6:59. One more minute and you’d pick up the phone as you did every Friday night and make the call you always did. Your nerves thrummed in anticipation as you stared down the clock, willing the numbers to turn.

Eventually, you got your wish and as soon as the 7 appeared on the clock face you picked up the phone, dialing the number you now knew by heart. After a few rings, the call finally connected.

“Hello, Helpline. This is CJ.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the sound of his voice. “Hey.”

“There she is.” You could hear his own smile in his tone as he recognized you. “How are you, Jo?”

You winced at the fake name you had given him. At the time, you had quickly scrambled and chose the first name that came to mind. Granted, Joey Potter was in the same school as you so you weren’t too worried about him finding out about either of you seeing as he was from Boston Bay. But as you had talked with him more and more, you really wished you hadn’t given him any name but your own. Even if you were beyond terrified; you felt bad for lying to him.

Why should it matter, right? He was a volunteer counselor for a teen helpline at another college. Why would you care what this one person thought out of you?

Well, unbeknownst to him, you had seen him once and you knew who he was. Thanks to Joey and Audrey’s friendship with Jen, you had come to hear quite a bit about the cute tall guy whose voice made your heart rate speed up way too fast. Jen had even invited him out to a house party and that was when you saw him for the first time. Your nerves got to you and you bounced before one of your friends could make an introduction. Partly because you were afraid he would recognize you from your voice and immediately put a face to the name and possibly be disappointed or worse: he’d know you lied to him. So you avoided him at all costs — well, in person.

It wasn’t like you had planned for this to happen, where you would call a helpline weekly just to speak to a certain boy. That’s not how this started at all.

When you got to Worthington, you were homesick, overwhelmed, and overall terrified. While you eventually eased into the college student lifestyle and Boston was now home, you never really got past the overwhelmed feeling, and terrified had dialed down to being anxious all the time: anxious that you would mess up, anxious that you would fail, anxious that your future wouldn’t turn out the way you planned — all of it. There were days you felt like you were just scraping by, barely making a passing grade (though your final grade usually proved you wrong), and you felt like you were some sort of imposter who was soon to be found out and didn’t really belong. Meeting Joey and her roommate, Audrey Liddell, who lived down the hall from you, helped some, and their introducing you to their group of friends helped even more. But there were still times that you just felt…tightly wound and about to snap. As if you had too many balls in the air and you were about to trip, and all the balls would fall to the ground.

So when Jen mentioned to the group about some guy wanting her to join a teen helpline for the college, you quietly paid attention. She laughed it off — his approach, not the helpline — and she didn’t think she would be right for it so that was that. While everyone else began to talk and laugh about another topic, the wheels in your head slowly started to turn inside your head. A helpline where you could remain anonymous and talk to someone who would listen and could possibly even help. You knew your school most likely had one of those but you wouldn’t even dream of risking it. But a helpline elsewhere where you could talk to someone who maybe understood how you were feeling most of the time, maybe experienced similar things, and you were able to stay anonymous? That you could look into.

After much back and forth in your mind over it, you took the leap and made the call one Friday night after a particularly rough week. You really didn’t think anyone would pick up, it was close to 7:00 and most college kids were either out or getting ready to go out…right?

Before you could answer your own question to yourself, the line connected.

“Hello, Helpline. This is CJ.”

You did what any other person would do; you promptly hung up. You stared at your phone in terror. Someone had picked up. A guy. Just when you were convincing yourself that this was stupid and you needed to take a chill pill and deal.

You argued with yourself in your head for about another minute, hemming and hawing over it all. Wasn’t the whole point of you calling to try to do something about how you’d been feeling? You supposed you could always see a therapist here in town but that could be costly, even with insurance. You also had no desire to tell your parents because they would respond the same way they did the last time you tried to allude to how overwhelmed you were when you had returned home for the summer.

“You should be grateful you got into such a great school, Y/N. Most people would kill to be in your position, going after their degree. You don’t see your classmates moping about, do you? Just because they have classes and homework,” your mother had made sure to prick you with that pin of guilt. “Make the best of it.”

“You know what I think? I think you need to get yourself some friends and then you’ll stop focusing on this so much. If you have nothing to fill your time, of course your mind is going to obsess over what you’re viewing as negative. Try to join a club or a social group. They have keggers all the time. I remember back when I was in college. It was party city every weekend. Maybe let loose a little one of these Saturday nights and things will start to get better. And who knows? Maybe you’ll even make some friends.”

“Thanks, Dad,” you mumbled, tossing your overeasy egg onto its side with your fork, your eyes trained on your plate. You knew he was just trying to help — they both were — but their attitude seemed to imply that you could simply hit an off switch somewhere and you’d stop feeling so overwhelmed. If only.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t tried to take their advice. You had gone to some frat party and it had been one of the worst experiences of your life. You weren’t a big drinker and you weren’t really a party person in general. You didn’t really recognize anyone from your classes or your dorm and the music was so loud, it seemed like a ridiculous notion to try to approach someone and start a conversation. Not something you were very good at anyway. You had no idea how to play the drinking games you saw, other than what you’d seen on TV, and you didn’t want to do something to mess up anyone’s scores if you didn’t do it right. Then some hulk of a guy accidentally knocked into you, deluging you in beer, and he was so drunk, he didn’t even apologize, just kept on going. After about an hour (and the unintended beer bath), you decided to call it quits.

That night, you had gone back to your dorm room which was blissfully empty, taken a hot shower, and then sobbed into your pillow. So much so that when a drunken Audrey accidentally stumbled into your room, she saw your tear-stained face when your head snapped up and immediately asked what was wrong and why you were crying in her room of all things. Despite the back and forth over whose room it actually was and her drunken state along with the slurring of her words, you two actually kind of hit it off. Before long she had you laughing, something you felt like you hadn’t done in some time. She passed out in your roommate’s bed, much to your roommate’s chagrin, but when Audrey’s boyfriend and roommate came to get her the next morning, you figured that had been it. Your one social interaction with someone who didn’t look at you as an unwanted intruder every single day (like your roommate) or like you were some loner weirdo (like most of your classmates). You knew that Audrey would probably either ignore you the next time she ran into you or she wouldn’t remember you at all.

Boy, had you been wrong. The day after her hangover, she had been knocking on your door, smiling and telling you that you were going out with her for the night. Just like that. She introduced you to her roommate, Joey, and their group of friends. You had been inducted into their group of friends, just like that.

Eventually, Jen mentioned the helpline that one night and now here you were, staring at the phone as if it was about to come to life and do a dance or something. You waited a few more minutes, deciding you’d try again and hopefully get someone else. There couldn’t be only one person answering phones at a helpline, could there? That would make for some backed up phone traffic and not a good look for a helpline at all. Maybe you’d be lucky and the guy would have already had another caller he was speaking to so another counselor would have to pick up.

When the clock turned to 7:11, you slowly picked up the phone, took a deep breath, and dialed the number again. You began to jiggle your leg as you waited for the line to connect.

“Hello, Helpline. This is CJ.”

Oh crap. You froze.

“Hello?”

What did you do? You wanted to hang the phone up again but you were unable to.

“Hello?” He asked again.

No. You were going to be a mature adult about this and answer him. Just as soon as you could breathe. You covered the mouthpiece with your hand and exhaled a breath.

“Look, if you’re in trouble or can’t talk, just hit a button. Any button will work.” A minute passed while you were trying to breathe, getting ready to talk. “If you don’t have a crisis and you’re not calling to speak to someone here, then I think you should hang up and let other people who need us call in. No use in tying up the phone lines.”

Another minute passed. You really were trying your hardest to get words out but your chest was tight and you felt like you couldn’t breathe. Your heart was racing yet you were frozen. This happened sometimes but usually you were by yourself, not with someone waiting for you to speak on the other end of the phone line. It also happened a couple of times while you were out with your friends, but usually you hid out in a bathroom stall until it passed and then you left to go back to your dorm with the excuse of a test the next day or a project due, whatever you could come up with on the fly. You didn’t understand why it was happening to you right now, though.

“Alright, I’m going to hang up now.”

You smashed a key on your phone so fast that you heard a loud annoying sound in your ear. Immediately, the guy’s tone changed.

“Okay, I’m here. If you’re in trouble, hit the key again. If you’re not but can’t talk at the moment, don’t hit it.”

You didn’t hit any more keys and gasped for air that just wasn’t coming.

“Good. I’m glad you’re okay. Is someone in the room with you and that’s why you can’t talk? If so, hit the key again.”

You moved over to your bed and laid down. That was the fastest way to get your body to relax when you had the option you’d found out.

“Okay, so you’re alone but you can’t talk but you’re not in trouble. Can you just try to say one word or make a sound so I know you’re really okay?”

You removed your hand from the mouthpiece. “T-Trying,” you rasped out. Holy crap, this was a bad episode you were having. You were completely mortified. Perhaps you really should hang up. You were worried, though, that now he might notify someone or think you really were prank calling the helpline. Either way, you were bound to get in trouble and even more embarrassed, and that just made your chest tighter.

“Okay. That’s good. I’ll take that. Do you have asthma or something similar?”

Great. That’s how bad you’d sounded; he thought you might actually have some sort of breathing issue. Well, technically, you were struggling to breathe right now so it made sense that he would think that but if he only knew the actual answer was something that was beyond ridiculous and couldn’t be explained away as something as serious as asthma.

“No,” you whispered, rubbing at the spot in your chest where a mix of discomfort and a heavy-rock-feeling sat.

“And you’re sure you don’t need to go to the hospital to get checked out?” He sounded concerned now.

“No,” you repeated, staring up at your ceiling, your vision blurring with building tears. All you wanted to do was give this helpline thing a shot since nothing else seemed to be working, and here you had gone and made it so much worse. On top of that, you were frustrated that you couldn’t even do something as simple as answer a person when they said hello on a phone call that you made to them. What was wrong with you?

“Okay. That’s good. Why don’t I talk for a minute so you can relax?” A tear slipped down your cheek when you realized he must have heard your heavy exhales over the phone. “Like I said before, my name is CJ. I’ve been with the helpline for a while now. I’m here four days a week. I try to schedule shifts around my classes and pick up a few extra when I’m able. Before you called, I was doing some reading for my Philosophy class. It’s not my major but I had to take another humanities course. It was that or religion so…philosophy it was.”

You closed your eyes and focused on his voice. It was actually very soothing and it was helping.

“Between you and me, I’m not the best student.” Your eyes opened and you stared at the ceiling, listening intently. “I mean, I do okay in terms of grades, but I’m not exactly a frequent flier on the Dean’s list.” He chuckled and after a moment, he asked, “How about you?”

You swallowed, feeling the slightest bit of easing up on your chest, almost if it was allowing the words through. “I do okay.” You didn’t sound as raspy as before but you still had a faint wheeze at the end. You were coming out of this, slowly but surely.

“That’s good. College sure isn’t easy, by any means. When midterms roll around, I always get a little more stressed. I usually have to blow off some steam to keep it all balanced, you know? Or else I get easily overwhelmed. I have to remind myself to take it one class at a time, one day at a time. But easier said than done sometimes, right?”

“Right.” You knew what he was doing but since it seemed to be helping, you played along. He was getting to the heart of the issue while also giving you time to come back down. You’d only been on the phone with him for close to ten minutes and already you felt much better than you had when the call started.

“How are you feeling? Any better?”

“A little.”

“Good.” He sounded genuinely pleased. “Is my being the one to talk helping any?”

“Actually…yeah,” you breathed out.

“Does this happen a lot?”

You bit at your lip, not really wanting to admit it, but you had called for this very reason, hadn’t you? “Yeah.”

“Around midterms or anytime?”

“Anytime.”

“Even when you’re not in school?”

“Sometimes,” you whispered. “But mostly when I’m here.”

“So school related then?”

“Kind of.”

He was quiet for a moment and you wondered if you had said something wrong or if he was looking instructions up in a pamphlet or something for this sort of thing.

“Hey, did you see Phantom Menace when it came out last year?”

That caught you off guard. You hadn’t expected to switch gears so quickly. “Um, no?”

“You’re not a Star Wars fan, I take it?”

He didn’t sound disappointed so you chalked that up to being a good thing. Most guys you’d met either were completely into Star Wars or weren’t into it at all. “I don’t know if I’d call myself a fan but I’ve seen the original movies.”

“Uh oh, you’re not one of those prequel snobs, are you?” He teased.

“No? I just saw the trailer and I wasn’t interested.”

“Well, a buddy of mine and I went to see it when it came out. The theater was packed. I’m talking bursting at the seams.” A small smile started to creep onto your face at his energy. “And when the lights went down and the opening credits started rolling and the music started up, everyone was cheering and clapping. It was pretty awesome. My buddy ended up loving it. He’s the biggest Star Wars fan you’ve ever met.” A moment later he asked, “So besides anything in a galaxy, far far away, have you seen any other movies that came out?”

“I went to see The Green Mile. My, uh, my dad is a big Tom Hanks fan and a Stephen King fan so he really wanted to go.”

“And you?”

“I liked it. Though it was sad.”

“I didn’t see it yet but I got the feeling that it was going to be a bit of a heavy one.”

“It was, but it was worth it.” You noticed then that you were talking to him normally, you were breathing normally, your chest was still a little tight but that was to be expected, and you were sitting up with your back to the wall. You had gotten through your latest episode and this CJ had helped. Perhaps there was something to this helpline thing after all.

“I’m definitely going to check it out then. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Almost as if he had heard your thoughts, he then said, “You sound a lot better than earlier. Hopefully, you’re feeling better, too?”

“Um, yeah.” You anxiously tucked your hair behind your ear. “Thanks for earlier, by the way. You know, being patient…”

“Of course. That’s what I’m here for.”

“Right.”

“So, you feel up to telling me what’s going on and why you called tonight or did you want to talk about something else?”

You bit at your thumbnail, unsure. “I feel bad. I’ve taken up so much of your time already.” You glanced at the clock and saw that you had been on the phone with him now for almost half an hour.

“Don’t worry about the time and I don’t want you feeling badly.” He sounded completely genuine when he said it and it made you feel a little bit better about monopolizing his time like this. “This is why I’m here. So, if you want to talk, I’m here to listen.”

You still weren’t certain you should take him up on his offer. “Are you sure? What if there’s someone else who needs to call in who is having an actual crisis and you’re stuck on the phone with me? I would feel bad if they didn’t get to talk to you when they needed to because of me.”

“I’m not the only one here so if someone else does call in, they’ll speak to one of the other counselors who can help them. While we’re on the subject, what you’re experiencing is just as valid as what anyone else might be experiencing. I’m not stuck on the phone with you, I want to be talking with you and try to help you in any way I can. And yes, I’m sure.”

You contemplated it, turning it over and over in your brain. This was why you called. This was why you decided to give the helpline a try, to speak to a stranger who would listen and possibly be able to help you and if not, at least maybe understand where you were coming from. If he was willing (and he had been helpful so far), then why not?

“Would it help if I promise not to make any more Star Wars references?”

You couldn’t help but smile. “Tremendously.”

“Deal,” he laughed. You liked the sound of his laugh; it was warm, inviting, and put you instantly at ease. This CJ seemed to know what he was doing and you could now see why people called in to speak to him and other counselors like him.

You nervously licked your lips and decided to take the plunge. You told him everything. You told him about how it started when you began college, how the classes and workload immediately overwhelmed you. How you struggled to keep from drowning in assignments and tests and projects and papers. How you started to develop these episodes and how badly you felt during them. How you had tried to talk to your parents but they just didn’t seem to hear you, dismissing it as an issue that would be resolved by you being more outgoing and feeling more grateful that you had such an educational opportunity when many didn’t. How you could be in a room full of a hundred people and still feel completely alone, especially when an episode kicked in. You’d even told him about your failed attempt at attending the frat party. He had rarely talked, giving you the floor, but he had interjected a couple of times to either support you or make some helpful suggestions. Other than that, he just listened. By the time you finished, you felt like you had told him your whole life story, but you had to admit that you felt a lot better once you got it all off your chest, which incidentally, was feeling lighter. And this time, someone listened and actually heard you. That made all the difference.

You glanced at the clock for the first time in a long time and noted it was 10:16. Your eyes widened and your jaw dropped, your cheeks immediately heating up. Had you really been talking nonstop for over three hours? “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize it was so late. I should let you go so you can speak to other callers.”

“My shift ended fifteen minutes ago actually.”

Your heart stopped and however much better you’d been feeling, felt like it went right down the drain. How could you have been so self-absorbed and only concerned with your problems that you’d talked his ear off and used up his whole shift? Not one other person got to talk to him tonight and you didn’t even go to that school. Seriously, how selfish were you? “I-I’m so, so sorry. You should have stopped me or told me there was a time limit per call.” You were full on babbling now. “I didn’t mean to— I am so beyond sorry. I’m going to let you go. Thank you so much for your help and I hope you have a good rest of your night. Don’t worry. I promise I won’t call again. Good night.”

You went to hang up the phone when you heard loudly, “Please don’t hang up.”

You put it back to your ear, your brows drawing together in confusion. “But you said your shift was over.”

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “But that’s okay. If I wanted you to stop talking, I would have said something. And did I ask you to stop?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Then I didn’t want you to stop talking. It seems like there’s a lot on your plate at the moment or else you wouldn’t have called, right?”

“Okay, yeah. But—”

“So it’s good that you called and I’m glad I was able to help. And for the record, there’s no time limit on a call.” Someone said something to him in the background and he quietly responded though you couldn’t hear what he said. “I’m actually gonna get going because my replacement is here and they don’t have another place to sit.”

“Right. Of course. Again, sorry.”

“But,” he continued. “I’m going to be here Monday afternoon around 2 so if you want to call back then we can talk again.”

“I have class then.” You truly did but even if you didn’t, you wouldn’t be calling him back. You had taken up enough of his time.

“I’m here until 6:00 that day.”

“I have a study session after that class.” Okay, maybe that was a lie. “But I appreciate the offer. Thank you and have a good—”

“I’m back on again next Friday. Same time. Why don’t you call me then if you’re free?”

“I appreciate it, CJ, but don’t worry. If I need the helpline again, I’ll call, but you helped me a lot tonight and I feel better so…I won’t need to call. Again, I’m sorry I monopolized your shift.”

“Do me a favor and call me again anyway, even if you are feeling better. I’d like to check in with you and the only way I can do that is if you call me back.”

“Right. Being anonymous and all,” you mumbled. Thank God for that. You didn’t think your embarrassment at talking his head off for over three hours while you complained about your life would ever go away.

“Yeah. So, please, if you can call me next week, same time, even if you just tell me you’re feeling better and hang up. That’s all I ask.”

You supposed you could do that, after he’d generously taken the time to hear you out, after he’d helped you through your episode. “Okay.”

“Friday, 7:00. Promise me.”

“I promise,” you whispered.

And so had begun the tradition of you calling him every Friday night at 7:00. You hadn’t intended for that to happen, honestly. But each time you would talk to him, ranging in times from twenty minutes to an hour and a half (you refused to ever get near that three hour mark again, no matter what he said), he would always ask you to call him back the following week, making you promise that you would. Over time, you noticed that your overwhelmed feeling had lessened considerably (though not completely gone) and instead of having an episode (or panic attack as CJ called them) twice weekly, they had now diminished to one every couple of weeks. And even then they weren’t as bad as they had been, thanks to the techniques CJ suggested you try using. Things had gotten better for you and you had to admit, the helpline definitely was a useful service for students, though for your own personal experience, you attributed a lot of that to CJ.

Speaking of which, that was how you two began to get to know one another, moving from strictly counselor and caller into a tentative friendship. When initially speaking to him, he began to feel like a friend you were just catching up with on how your past week had been, and then it actually sort of became that. He started to tell you more details about himself and now you knew what type of music he liked, what he was majoring in, where he had grown up, and why he had joined The Stand. He had even shared his backstory with you and why he didn’t drink when you told him how uncomfortable college parties made you in general. The conversation was no longer one-sided and you’d come to like it that way.

Until the day came when he asked your name.

“My name?”

“Well, yeah, so I know what to call you. It feels weird calling you “you” all the time,” he laughed.

“Um…” You were practically crapping bricks. You didn’t expect this.

“Just your first name. You’ll still be anonymous,” he reassured. “It could be a nickname if you want. Or your middle name. Just something.”

You ran over it in your mind. What if he still somehow managed to find out who you were if you gave him only your first name? Sure, you weren’t going to the same schools, but what if somehow someway…? Plus, your friends weren’t exactly fans of CJ right now. Apparently, Jen had a major crush on him but her hopes were dashed when he told her he didn’t date (something he had told you long before you heard it via your friends) and then hooked up with Audrey the same night. You hadn’t been there that night, opting to stay in and study for a huge test you had coming up in your Lit class, and after hearing that not only had CJ been present but also what happened, you were glad you had made that decision. Audrey and Joey were on the outs thanks to the events of that night and now so were Jen and Audrey once it was revealed that CJ and Audrey had slept together, right before Pacey punched his face in.

When that Friday rolled around, you almost didn’t call him. You were angry and hurt yourself. Angry because his careless actions had hurt more than one of your friends, and hurt because truth be told, you had started to crush on him yourself from afar. You trusted him with the details of your life, very personal details (without giving specifics obviously), and he’d helped you. How could he be this helpful, compassionate guy working at a helpline but turn out to be this scummy, advantage-taking, selfish player? You couldn’t reconcile in your head the CJ you were getting to know with the CJ your friends saw.

“That’s just the thing, Y/N,” Jen told you when you wondered aloud how a helpline counselor could do something like he had with your friends. “Most people who go into those positions to help other people are usually a thousand times more screwed up than the people they’re helping. Audrey’s been hurting, as you know, and she’s been acting out and he saw an opportunity. Case closed.” But it wasn’t case closed for you. Not by a mile. You wanted answers, but how could you get them while remaining anonymous?

So that following Friday at 7:00, as you angrily punched in the helpline number, you had no idea how you would do it but you were determined to get them. And if you didn’t like what you heard, then this would be your last call and you would close the book on CJ and your budding friendship for good.

It caught you off guard, though, when you heard a different voice this time.

“Hello, Helpline. This is David.”

You nearly hung up. You knew David; he was starting to hang out with your group more and more, especially Jack. What if he recognized your voice?

“Hello?”

You forced yourself to ask the burning question on the tip of your tongue, albeit with a slightly higher pitch of voice. “Hi, is CJ there?”

“No, I’m sorry.” You covered the mouthpiece with your hand and let out a sigh of relief. Whether it was because David didn’t recognize you or you didn’t have to confront CJ right this second, you couldn’t be sure. Probably a bit of both. “He called out sick and asked me to fill in for him. He should be back next week, though.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll call then. Thank you.” You quickly hung up before he could ask you anything else.

The next Friday you called, you got CJ.

“Hey,” he greeted, sounding relieved when he heard your voice. “How are you?”

“I’m okay.” You were standing in your dorm room, staring out the window and watching the rain, your arms crossed. You weren’t as angry as last week, the extra time allowing you to let a cooler head prevail, but you still wanted answers. “How are you?”

“Honestly? I’ve been better.”

“I’m sorry. I know you were sick last week. Has it not gotten any better?”

“Uh, yeah, I’m sorry about that. I was feeling lousy and just needed to take a day, you know?” And he didn’t need to be parading around a still-healing black eye that might prompt questions, you bet.

“I get that.”

“God, I wish I had your number outside of this so I could call you.” Your jaw tightened. Perhaps your friends were right; there was a whole other side to him. A side you didn’t really want to get to know. “I really could’ve used a friend to talk to.”

You unclenched your jaw when you realized he wasn’t hitting on you and when you thought about it, he sounded genuinely miserable and he never had in any of your previous conversations, even when your friendship formed. It was unlike him, or at least the CJ you had gotten to know. Just like this behavior your friends had told you about sounded unlike him. “Well, I’m here now, if you want to talk.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to make this about me. You called in to talk, not to hear about my problems,” he laughed, sounding nervous. That was a first.

“I’m sure. What are friends for?”

He told you everything while not naming anyone. He didn’t hold back anything and you realized that while he didn’t know who you were, he was giving you the side that had been missing from the story your friends told you: his side. Every side has a story after all. He admitted he had messed up big time. He had hurt Jen (or Blondie as he called her), he had been an ass to Pacey (or The Guy Who Punched My Face) when he had no right to be, and he should have never hooked up with Audrey (or The Girl That Came Out of Nowhere). Apparently, Jen had said to him the same thing she said to you and it got him thinking, along with some things Audrey had said. He felt like a huge jerk and all he wanted to do was keep his head down and move forward, get back on the right track that his life had been headed in. You stayed silent as he talked and before you knew it, the clock read 9:47.

“Your shift is over soon,” you whispered once he was done.

“Yeah, but I still have a few minutes. So what do you think? Am I a complete jackass or what?” He let out another nervous chuckle.

You briefly pressed your lips together as you thought of how best to answer that. In the end, you were as honest as you could be without giving yourself away. “I think we all make mistakes sometimes. But as long as we recognize them, apologize to those we’ve hurt, and try to do better, then that’s all that matters. So no, not a complete jackass.”

This time when he laughed, it sounded relieved. “Thanks.”

“Of course. That’s what I’m here for,” you repeated his words back to him, teasing him slightly.

A moment of silence passed between you before he asked, “Will you call again next week?”

That made you do a double take. He never asked you to call the following week like that. Usually he asked in the form of making you promise you would call or he’d tell you he’d talk to you the following week. But when he asked like this, he sounded uncertain, vulnerable. You knew then that more than just his face and ego had been hurt by recent events. Perhaps you were a fool but you believed his remorse to be genuine.

“Yeah,” you assured him. “I’ll call next week.”

And when you did, he immediately hit you with the name question.

“Earth to you…” He called, snapping you out of it and reclaiming your attention. “See? It doesn’t really work,” he laughed.

You had to be careful here. Not only because you didn’t want him to find out who you were but also because if your friends ever found out, especially Audrey…you were toast.

You opened your mouth to give him the name of a classmate that couldn’t be traced back to you but “Jo” came tumbling out instead.

“Jo?”

Oh crap. You had Audrey and then Joey on your mind and it just slipped out. Crap, crap, crap. “Yeah,” you lied. “Jo.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Jo.” You could practically hear him smiling, happy to have gotten a name out of you.

You squeezed your eyes shut, angry with yourself. “Nice to meet you, too,” you mumbled before you dropped your head into your hands.

So now here you were, him thinking you were Jo from the college he was attending, and you were calling him every single week at the same time like clock work. You had long ago stopped questioning the morality of what you were doing and it seemed that he didn’t appear to question it at all. He was always happy to hear from you and your conversations were more personal now. You couldn’t deny the way your heart rate spiked every time you heard his voice when he picked up the call or how whenever his name was mentioned in passing by David or Jen (though rare these days), you would specifically tune in, listening for anything that had to do with him. You had it bad and you knew it, but it was also a safe crush from a distance and would be staying that way.

You shook your head, snapping yourself out of your reverie and remembered CJ has asked you a question. “I’m good. Really good. How about you?”

“Really good, huh? I’m happy to hear it and happy to be hearing from you.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, I got that paper back and you were so right, The Writing Center really helped. I can’t believe I never thought to try it before. Thank you so much for that idea.”

“I’m happy to be of service,” he chuckled. “I’m glad it helped. And the club thing? Did you give that a try as well?”

Your smile dropped. He had been trying to urge you to join a club or a group where you had shared interests with other students. His theory was that if you gave a small group of people a shot doing a social activity you might enjoy, that it might help decrease your nervousness in other social settings. Even though you told him you had a group of friends you regularly met up with, he didn’t think expanding your social circles would be a bad thing to consider. “No? I told you, CJ, that’s not really my thing.”

“I get that, I do. How about this? If you want, I could meet you at Student Activities and we could take a look around together, get some info. No pressure, of course, but you wouldn’t have to walk in there alone. I know it can be a bit much sometimes. I remember my first semester here and I didn’t know where to stick my head.”

You froze. That was the first time he’d ever mentioned the possibility of you meeting in person. Perhaps if you were really Jo from Boston Bay College, you could take him up on it or give him your number like he’d asked you for or call his room number like he’d offered up a few times now so you could talk outside of the helpline. But you weren’t and so you had to decline. “I appreciate the offer but it’s not my thing so I’m going to have to pass. Sorry, but thank you, though.”

“If you’re sure.” He sounded slightly disappointed but maybe that was just you imagining it.

“Yep, I’m sure. Uh, so listen, I can’t stay on long. My roommate and her boyfriend will be here in less than ten so I’m gonna go so I can get out of here before I get hit by the clothes hurricane that’s most likely to happen.” It was a complete lie. Your roommate, Stacey, had actually gone to visit her boyfriend for the weekend. You would have peace and quiet and the dorm to yourself for two whole days.

He chuckled good-naturedly. “I don’t blame you. If you get bored later, I’m here at The Stand until 10:00, like you already know, and then I’ll be back in my room. You can call me then if you want to talk. I”ll be up for a while so don’t worry about calling too late.”

“Oh. Thanks. Maybe I’ll do that.” You weren’t going to and he knew you weren’t going to. You hadn’t the last two times he’d made the same offer and the last two times you’d given him the same response.

“Jo?”

“Yeah?”

“If I don’t hear from you… Call next week, okay?”

“Okay,” you agreed, smiling, like always. You said your quick goodbyes and you hung up, letting out a heavy breath. While he had been urging you to contact him personally, he had never mentioned meeting him before. That was different. And it worried you at the same time. Why the offer now? Granted, he was just trying to be helpful to you, given the context, but what if he began to find other ways to work it in like he already had about your phone numbers? What if he continued to push to meet Jo?

You shook your head, telling yourself that you were doing it again, worrying over things that might not happen. You would cross that bridge when you came to it, something CJ had once said to you that you kept for yourself as your own personal mantra. You would wait to see how next week would go.

But unfortunately, the call never happened.

You had been out with Jack and David on Thursday night at Hell’s Kitchen, when Jen waltzed in, smiling and taking a seat. Joey and Emma were working and Pacey was supposed to join you later.

“You worked late today,” Jack commented.

“Training took a little bit longer than expected. We were supposed to be done at 6:00 but then our relief called and said they were going to be late. Of course, since CJ was going to stay, I wasn’t going to just leave him there.” Your ears perked up at the mention of CJ. You knew Jen was training as a counselor and he was the one training her. Jen had begrudgingly forgiven CJ but it was also obvious to you all that she still had a crush on him. While you couldn’t blame her, you also felt for her. CJ told you that he had to make it clear once more to Blondie that he wasn’t looking to date though he was happy she had finally started training at the helpline. He really believed she would make a great counselor once she settled into it.

Talk about complicated. Jen was your friend and you didn’t want to see her get hurt, but you could also understand if CJ didn’t see her that way, he just didn’t. They were both your friends now and you just wanted them both to be happy, whatever that looked like.

“But then, listen to this,” she continued. “Our relief, this guy named Seth, sees me there with CJ and starts teasing him about how he’s racking up all of these beautiful girls through the helpline, not leaving any for him.”

“Jen,” Jack warned.

“No, listen. This is good. You’re going to like this.”

Jack sighed but let her finish.

“CJ laughs it off but then Seth mentions how he has this girl calling him every Friday night, around the same time, and she talks his ear off for hours.”

You were about to take a bite of your french fry when you froze. Your heart dropped down to your feet.

“And so I ask if this is true and CJ says that we’re there to help everybody, time limits aren’t a thing, and it doesn’t matter how many times a caller calls back or they speak to the same counselor. As long as they get the help they need.”

“He’s right,” David chimed in.

“But then Seth starts teasing him again and asks if CJ can give him tips on how to get dates using the helpline. CJ laughs and says sure. I mention how he said he wasn’t looking to date and Seth says he tells every girl that so he doesn’t have to commit but can still get what he wants.” You dropped your fry back into your basket, trying to ignore the rolling nausea in your stomach.

“I don’t know about that,” David chuckled nervously.

“He didn’t deny it, David. He just laughed and walked away. Can you believe it? He’s using the helpline to get girls. Talk about abusing the system, not to mention the absolute lack of morality.” You definitely felt like you were going to be sick. “I quit. If that’s what guys like him and Seth are using that helpline for then I don’t want any part of it. And CJ? Audrey was right. He’s a skeevy player. I can’t believe I didn’t see it this whole time.” Jen shook her head. You were getting that all-too familiar falling feeling again.

“Wait, seriously? Guys are using the helpline to pick up girls?” Jack turned to David.

“No. Jen, I’m sure Seth was just kidding and CJ was just playing along. Nobody is using the helpline to pick anyone up. Everyone that works there knows the rules and they’re there to help callers. How could they pick anyone up, anyway? It’s all anonymous.”

“Yeah, but if they pushed for a date or something… It could happen.” You immediately felt your stomach jolt and like someone had punched you in the gut at the same time.

“It could,” David agreed. “But I doubt it does.”

“He has the same girl calling him every single week at the same time. What would keep her calling like that?” Jen interjected. You glanced away from the table for a moment, not sure if you wanted to hear the answer David would give.

“Is that true? Every week?” Jack asked in disbelief.

“It’s true,” David confirmed. “I actually got her once when CJ was out sick. She sounded nice.” If you could have, you would have given him a smile, thankful for David’s attempt to defend CJ and the helpline and unknowingly you. But right then, you were trying not to hyperventilate. “And CJ appears to be helping her. He said she’s made a lot of progress since they started talking.”

“He talked to you about her?” Jen looked shocked. Oh God. Your chest started to feel tight.

“Only because he was going to be out sick that one day and in case she called and then decided to talk to me, he wanted me to be up to speed in case she needed something. That’s all.”

“I feel badly for this girl. She probably thinks CJ is some great guy and she can trust him but based on what Seth said, he’s simply playing the long game with her. A girl whose trust he’s taking advantage of. I’m telling you, Audrey was right about him and I should’ve seen it.” Jen rubbed at her forehead. It was beyond hot in here and even though it wasn’t crowded, the room started to feel smaller.

“I don’t think that’s true, Jen,” David defended. “I don’t think he’s looking to take advantage of this girl at all. I think he truly wants to help her.”

“Yeah, that’s how it started with Audrey and look at how that turned out.” David dropped his gaze to his food, continuing to poke at it with his fork. There wasn’t much he could say to that though he wished he still would. “And if that’s true, he only wants to help her, then why was he laughing along when Seth talked about her and how she keeps him on the phone for hours? How is that helping her?”

You felt like your feet were locked in cement but your legs were wobbling to and fro. And yet you also felt like a large boulder was now sitting on your chest, making it difficult to breathe. How could any of this conversation be happening right now?

Jack glanced from David to Jen. “Perhaps David’s right, Jen. Maybe he was just playing along. That’s what guys do sometimes. You know that.”

“I don’t think that’s what that was. Either way, I quit.”

Jack and David started to urge her not to quit, but at that point you’d had enough. Your hands were clammy and you felt that feeling on your forehead, too. You needed cold, and air. “Excuse me,” you nearly rasped out and beat a hasty retreat to the bathroom. You could feel your dinner coming back up. Joey stopped you in your trek.

“Hey, Y/N, are you okay? You don’t look so good.”

You shook your head and dodged past her, hurrying to the bathroom. Once you reached it, you locked the door and pushed into a stall just in time. You emptied the contents of your stomach and once you were finished, you made your way towards the sink, splashing cold water on your face. You could feel the panic attack you were having and you tried your best to ward it off but to no avail.

You slid down the wall and struggled to breathe, trying the techniques CJ had taught you. You didn’t want to think about him right now but you also didn’t want to be having this happen while your friends sat right outside. Not to mention, you knew Joey was going to come check on you. You gasped for air and rubbed at your chest. Once it passed, you unlocked the door, made excuses to Joey and your friends, went home, showered, and cried yourself to sleep. For the first time in a while, you’d had a particularly bad episode and ended the night in tears: two things you hadn’t done since you’d started talking to CJ regularly. You felt as if all the progress you’d made was like a house of cards that fell to the ground after one card was pulled out from under you. And all because you’d trusted the wrong person.

So you stopped calling and instead, spent your Friday nights at the library, studying, so you wouldn’t be tempted to pick up the phone and call to confront the guy who’d betrayed your trust.

<-->

A few weeks later, you were sitting on Joey’s bed, watching Audrey unload her closet onto her mattress. Apparently, she was going to rehab, for real this time. She was ready to confront the fact that her drinking was out of control. Joey was helping her sort through everything and handed you things to fold and place in her suitcase. Eddie had already taken one heavy suitcase down to the car, along with a very high Bob.

You all looked up when there was a polite knock on their dorm room door. Joey got up to answer it, most likely thinking it was Eddie, but when she opened the door, it revealed another guy altogether.

There stood CJ, in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt with a jacket covering his tall frame. Your heart skipped a beat before falling into your stomach but then leaping back into place and pounding faster than before for a whole other reason. You immediately grabbed a magazine from the nightstand and began sifting through it, your jaw clenched and you refusing to look in his direction.

Before anyone could say a word, Audrey groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw CJ hold up a placating hand in her direction. “I’m not here for you, okay? I’m actually looking for someone.”

You froze.

“I bet you are,” Audrey grumbled.

Joey crossed her arms. “Who?”

“A girl by the name of Jo who lives in this building.”

You mentally cursed yourself. You knew you had let the name of your dorm building slip once by accident but he hadn’t appeared to have heard you so you thought you were in the clear; apparently, he had heard you. Crap.

Joey tensed. Uh oh. You had a feeling this was going to come back to haunt you at some point. Here it was. “Why are you looking for me?”

CJ’s brow drew together. “You’re Jo?”

Audrey was suddenly at Joey’s side. “Yeah, why are you looking for her?”

“Jo is a girl who called the helpline. I haven’t heard from her in a few weeks and I just wanted to check on her.”

Her distaste for CJ forgotten, Audrey turned in shock to her roommate. “Joey Potter, you called the helpline?”

“What? No. Don’t be ridiculous, Audrey.” Joey then looked at CJ. “I don’t know who this girl is but it’s not me. Good luck in your search.” She went to close the door but CJ stopped her.

“Wait, so you’ve never heard of a girl named Jo who lives in this building?”

“No,” Audrey snapped. “Now, go away.”

“Hold on a second. Because Joanna Martin who lives on the 2nd floor isn’t her and has never heard of her. Now you’re saying you’re not her and you’ve never heard of her either?”

Audrey gave him a nasty smirk. “Imagine that. A girl using a fake name calling an anonymous helpline. She probably knows what a sleazeball you are and didn’t want you stalking her. If she was calling the helpline, she’s probably got enough on her plate. Best of luck, Stalker Boy.”

Audrey went to shut the door in his face but again, he stopped it.

“I don’t really care what you think of me. You want to think I’m the bad guy in everything that happened with us? That’s fine. But I’m actually trying to find this girl to help her.”

“Help her into your bed, you mean.”

His jaw clenched. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh, I bet it is but whatever.” Audrey rolled her eyes and turned back to you. “Y/N, have you ever heard of this girl he’s looking for?”

Your eyes snapped up to them and all three of them were now staring at you, waiting for your answer. Crap. CJ was looking right at you. Double crap. You shook your head and went back to your magazine.

“There you go. No one here has heard of her. Buh-bye now.”

Audrey was closing the door when Joey’s phone started to ring. Joey, who had gone back into the whirlwind of clothes, looked over at you. “Hey, can you get that? Eddie might be calling from his cell phone.”

You nodded and picked up the line. “Hello?”

“Hey, Y/N. Can I talk to Joey? Audrey’s friend, Bob, is getting a little impatient down here.”

“Sure. One sec.” You handed the phone to Joey. “It’s Eddie.” She took it and began rolling her eyes when Eddie was most likely telling her the same thing he had just told you. She came over, zipped up the suitcase you had been working on after dumping more things into it. “Do you mind taking this to Eddie downstairs? He’ll meet you in the lobby.”

“Sure thing.” You tossed the magazine back onto the night stand and grabbed the suitcase handle, picking it up and placing it on its wheels. You slipped your worn paperback copy of your book into the back pocket of your jeans, intent on returning it to your room when you came back up. Now that you knew CJ was trying to track you down and he was in the building, you didn’t feel comfortable having any clues pointing to your identity out in the open like that.

You grabbed the tail of the suitcase and began to pull it along. “Oh my God, Aud. Do you really need this many outfits?”

She looked up from her cell phone and gave you a smile. “Of course. Rehab is bound to be drab so I’m going to make it fab.” She shot you a wink and opened the door for you.

You laughed and shook your head, crossing over the threshold. You made your way to the elevator and pushed the button. While you were waiting, you heard behind you, “Need some help with that?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin. CJ was right there, behind you, talking directly to you. While a part of you wanted to tell him to take a hike, your desire for anonymity was greater. You turned and gave him a wan smile, shaking your head. His green eyes were intent on you and you didn’t care for that one bit. It was like he knew who you were without you even having to say it. Luckily, at that moment, the elevator dinged and the door opened. You went to roll the suitcase onto it when a hand picked it up out of nowhere.

“Let me give you a hand,” CJ offered, not waiting for you to reply and stepping into the elevator. You paused for a moment, considering not getting onto it with him but Eddie was expecting you and Joey and Audrey were waiting for you to come back. You let out a quiet sigh and stepped inside, hitting the button for the Lobby and waiting for the doors to close.

Once they did and you started descending, CJ glanced over at you. “So, Jo, were you planning on ever calling me again?”

Your heart started to pound but you forced yourself to remain cool as a cucumber, hoping he wouldn’t recognize your voice. You arched a questioning brow up at him. “I don’t know who you think I am but my name’s Y/N. Sorry to disappoint.” You turned back to the door.

“The Green Mile book in your back pocket says otherwise.”

Crap. You tried to think quickly. “That’s just a book I’m reading for class.” You decided to channel Audrey, the queen of mean when she wanted to be; perhaps that would get him to leave you alone. The doors were opening and you turned to give him a smirk. “NIce try, though, Sherlock. Better get back to Watson before he misses you.” You grabbed the tail of the suitcase and nearly stormed out of the elevator.

CJ was suddenly at your side. “I know it’s you. Why are you trying so hard to act like it’s not?”

You shook your head, choosing to ignore him. Thankfully, Eddie came into sight, rushing to get the suitcase.

“Thank you, thank you.” He picked it up and gave you a look. “About how many more of these are coming down, do you think?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. She has a lot of outfits. Joey’s got her work cut out for her.”

Eddie groaned and then noticed CJ standing next to you. “Good to see you again, man.”

“Likewise.”

Eddie glanced between you and CJ before walking away. Great. He was bound to mention that to Joey who would most likely question you about it later thanks to CJ’s impromptu appearance earlier. You spun on your heel and headed back to the elevator, punching the button.

CJ was suddenly next to you. “What happened? Why did you stop calling?” He quietly asked you.

You didn’t answer him, just kept staring straight ahead, your jaw clenched.

He leaned in slightly, his voice even quieter. “Did I make you nervous by offering to meet you? I was only trying to help. Nothing funny, I promise.”

When the doors opened, you stepped inside and of course, he followed you. The doors closed and your ride up began.

“Are you going to talk to me or just keep ignoring me?”

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

“I know your voice. It’s you.” After another quiet moment, he begged, “Would you please just talk to me? What happened?”

You shook your head.

“Something obviously happened to make you stop calling. So, talk to me. I want to make sure you’re okay.”

You glared over at him. “Again, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Now please stop bothering me.” CJ looked as if you’d slapped him for a moment and you felt guilty but then you immediately remembered what Jen had said that night at the bar.

He gave you a curt nod and turned to face the door. Once it opened, you went to step out when he lifted the book out of your back pocket.

“Hey! Give that back!” He held it out of your reach, opening it to find the note from your dad on the inside page that he’d written after he bought it for you. Why did you have to mention that in your phone conversations? That was a dead giveaway that yes, Jo was indeed you. How could you have been so stupid?

CJ gestured to the note. “Tell me again how it’s not you.”

You snatched the book out of his hands and hurried down the hall to your room. You would’ve gone back to Audrey’s and Joey’s room, but you were afraid he’d out you to them. Even if they didn’t believe him, you still remembered Audrey’s reaction when she thought it might be Joey for a moment and the latter’s response.

“Y/N, wait,” CJ begged behind you. “Please, can we just talk for a minute?” You were unlocking your door when he was right next to you. “Just one minute. Please. That’s all I’m asking. Then, if you want, you’ll never see or hear from me again.”

You mulled it over for a moment. You could do one minute, you supposed, and get this over with. You glanced up at him and nodded, pretending not to see the relief that filled his expression. You opened the door and then held it open wider for him to follow.

You saw your roommate sitting on her bed, talking on the phone to her boyfriend. “Stace,” you interrupted. “Can you give us a minute?”

She frowned. “I’m kind of in the middle of—”

“I need the room.” Your tone brooked no argument. You surprised her; usually, you kept to yourself and never really stood up to her if she got mean or demanding. But you were not in the mood for any of her crap right then. You were at your limit.

Stacey scoffed but got to her feet. “One second, babe.” She glared at you, which you were more than happy to return, and then turned it onto CJ as well. “Boys aren’t allowed to stay up here so make it quick. You know the rules.”

You huffed out a snort. “The rule you break almost every other night? Got it, Stace, thanks for looking out.” You practically shut the door in her scowling face. You turned to find CJ’s eyes trained on you.

“So that’s the roommate, huh?” You shrugged. “Exactly how I pictured her, scowl and everything.”

You didn’t laugh at his joke and instead, crossed your arms. “You wanted to talk?”

He pressed his lips together and thrust his hands into his jacket pockets. “Why did you stop calling?”

You wanted to tell him the truth but it also seemed best to just get him out of there as soon as possible. He knew who you really were now and that was a problem. Especially if your friends found out you were the girl that had been calling him every week. Because sooner or later, they would want to know why and you weren’t ready to talk about that or have them look at you funny. You knew they’d be supportive, especially Joey and Audrey, but you also knew things would change. And you weren’t quite ready for that to happen.

“I’ve been doing better so there was no need. You should know, you made me your pet project after all.” You didn’t mean to be harsh but you were still angry.

His brows furrowed. “What does that mean?”

“You know. I’m the girl who calls you every week to talk your ear off and keeps you on the phone for hours. The girl you’ve supposedly been trying to pick up through the helpline, though apparently I’m not the only one.”

His eyes widened. “Y/N, that’s not true at all. I don’t use the helpline to pick up girls or try to get dates. I don’t date, you know I don’t. I don’t know who told you that but it’s not true.”

“But the other part is?”

“No. Not at all.”

“Because that’s how your buddy Seth put it, the way Jen tells it.”

CJ huffed out a mirthless laugh, rubbing at his forehead and giving a nod. “Jen. That’s who you heard this from.”

“Don’t even,” you snapped. “David also mentioned how you told him all about me and my issues.” You used quotation marks on the last word.

His hand dropped. “Okay, first off, you don’t have issues, no more than anybody else around here, myself included. Second, I only told David because I was going to be out that one night. I wanted to make sure if you called in that you were taken care of. That’s it. David is one of our better counselors, he’s a friend, and I trust him completely.”

Your jaw tightened. “That still doesn’t explain why Seth would even say anything like that. And you laughed! You stood there and laughed as this guy, who I don’t know by the way, is turning me calling you for help into a joke! Is that what I am? The joke at the office? Does everyone there know how I’ve been calling you every week and boring you to death with my problems?”

“What? No! You’re not a joke. And you’re not—”

“Really? Because it sure sounded like it to me based on what Jen said.”

“Okay, let’s get something straight. You’re not boring me to death when you call, you’re not talking my ear off, or keeping me stuck on the phone with you, or anything else that someone else might have said. I wanted to talk to you. I wanted to be there for you and try to help. Then when we started talking about more than that, I wanted to talk to you even more. If I didn’t want to talk to you at all, if you were such a nuisance, then why would I ask you to call back every week or give you my phone number even?”

“But you weren’t trying to pick me up.”

“No, I wasn’t. I wanted to be available to you if you needed to talk to me outside of the hours I had at The Stand.”

“Yeah, because I was your pet project.”

“No, you weren’t and why do you keep saying that?”

“It’s true, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s not.”

“Isn’t that what you do, though? Isn’t that why you tracked me down? Isn’t that why you kept trying to get my number and even suggested we meet though the helpline’s supposed to be anonymous? You look for girls who are messed up and try to be their white knight. It gives you some sort of satisfaction, some twisted sense of purpose… That’s what happened with Audrey, right?” Again, he looked like you slapped him but this time, you didn’t feel guilty. You were only speaking the truth. He had told you how much he wanted to help Audrey and how somehow they ended up in bed together and before he knew it, he really liked her and wanted to see more of her. In the end, he’d admitted to you that it might have been him confusing his desire to help her with his interest in her. That maybe Audrey had been right in what she’d said.

You watched as his shoulders deflated slightly and he let out a heavy breath, hanging his head. You bit your lip and glanced away from him, not wanting to see him look so defeated. You had to be strong, you had to stand up for yourself and not let him or anyone else take advantage of you. That was the silent vow you’d made to yourself after you’d cried yourself to sleep that night you found out how you were being used and made a mockery of.

“I tracked you down because I was worried,” he spoke softly. You turned back to find him staring at you, remorse radiating from him. You felt slightly bad for hurting him but you had said nothing but the truth, from his own lips. “It wasn’t like you not to call so I thought maybe something happened or maybe I made you nervous with that last call. Like I said, I gave you my number because I wanted to be there for you anytime you needed me, even if I wasn’t working. So this way you always had a way to get a hold of me if you needed to. I only asked for yours because I did like talking to you and I thought we were becoming friends. I know that’s not the norm for the helpline and it’s never happened before, to me or to anyone else that I know of, but like I said, I enjoyed talking to you. I only offered to meet you at Student Activities that day because you seemed nervous to try it alone and I didn’t want you to feel like that. I would’ve made that offer to anyone that needed it.” He nervously licked his lips. “I do like you but it has nothing to do with my wanting to help you or make sure you’re okay. I made a mistake with Audrey but I learned from it. I told you that.” He sighed before continuing. “I like you, Y/N, because you’re funny and smart and kind. Even if we didn’t meet through the helpline, I still would have liked you once I got to talk to you, once I got to know you better. That’s the truth.”

He turned to leave when he stopped suddenly. “By the way, Seth is the guy who usually relieves me on Friday nights. That’s how he knew about you calling every week. He always liked to razz me about being on the phone with you since I made him fifteen minutes late for his shift that one time. I only laughed because it was obvious he was showing off for Jen, that he likes her, and I was trying not to embarrass him in front of her. I did end up talking to him later about it, though, and asked him not to mention it again in front of her or anyone else. He agreed; he’s not a bad guy.” He glanced back at you over his shoulder. “I’m sorry this happened. If you call the helpline again and want to talk to someone else, I understand. If you don’t want to call at all, I understand that, too. Just…take care of yourself, alright?”

You averted your eyes, not wanting him to see the tears building in them, and you gave him a curt nod. You only looked up again when the door snicked closed. You pretended a tear didn’t suddenly roll down your cheek and you told yourself that you had done the right thing. Though it certainly didn’t feel like it in the moment, deep within your chest.

<-->

You stared at your phone, pacing back and forth as you chewed on your thumbnail. It had been almost a month since CJ walked out of your dorm room, leaving you more conflicted than you felt prior to his arrival. You had turned his explanation over and over in your mind so much that you had begun to dream about him every night. You had more panic attacks during that time, to the point where you’d finally taken the plunge and made an appointment to see a therapist. You’d told your parents everything you’d been experiencing, making sure they heard you this time, and told them you needed help. Your mother was still annoyed with you but your father was supportive, especially when you told him that you had a group of friends you met up with pretty regularly. He agreed to help with payments for your therapy.

You were doing better, just like you had been while talking to CJ, and the therapist had even more techniques in her toolbox that she taught you how to use. You’d even opened up to her about CJ and everything that happened with him. She was the initial reason why you were considering making a call that you hadn’t made in quite a while.

When you saw the clock hit 7:21, you made your decision. You huffed out a breath, picked up the phone, and dialed the all-too familiar number.

“Hello, Helpline. This is CJ.”

You resumed your pacing, nervous, unsure of how to say what you wanted to.

“Hello?”

You’ve got this.

“Hello?”

Just do it already. Talk to him.

“Listen, if you’re—”

“What are your plans for tomorrow afternoon?” You rushed out before you lost your nerve.

“Jo?” You appreciated him using your fake name. “Is that you?”

“Well?” You asked.

“Uh, tomorrow? I’m free...”

“Would you…want to get some coffee? Maybe?”

“Coffee, huh?” You could hear the smile in his voice. “Jo, you’re not calling the helpline to ask me out on a coffee date, are you? Because that would be a serious misuse of this valuable resource the college provides,” he teased.

“Oh. Okay. Well, I’ll just wait until Seth is on shift then and call him up to ask him instead. Thanks, though. Bye.”

“Don’t you dare,” he laughed. You lifted the phone back up to your ear. “What time and what coffee shop?”

You couldn’t help but smile. “Got a pen?”

<-->

You walked into the coffee shop ten minutes early, intent on getting a table and settling in before CJ arrived. To your surprise, he was already there, waving you over. You approached, feeling your heartbeat speed up with every step. “You’re early.”

“I wanted to make sure we got a good table.” You had a feeling that wasn’t the only reason. The worry shadowing his expression confirmed it. Did he really think you had called him up to ask him to meet you only for you not to show? Then again, you supposed you couldn’t blame him.

“Good thinking.” You gestured towards the line with your thumb. “I’m going to get some coffee. Do you want anything?”

He was immediately on his feet. “I’ll get it. You sit down. You still like lattes?”

You gave him a small smile and nodded; he remembered.

He returned your smile. “Okay. Here, take a seat. I’ll be back in a minute.” You watched him walk over to the line as you did just that.

You would be lying if you said you weren’t nervous, but you were taking your therapist’s advice. You were moving your friendship with CJ away from the helpline and out into the real world. You were giving him another chance while also allowing both of you to start over. If CJ agreed to, that is.

A few minutes later, he returned and placed your cup in front of you. You gave him a smile of thanks and waited for him to join you.

“So,” he started once he was settled. “You called in.”

“Only to ask you to meet me,” you pointed out.

The corner of his lips tipped up in a genuine smile. “I’m glad you did.”

“Me, too.” And you meant it. You were happy he’d said yes. “I actually asked you to meet me because I wanted to thank you.”

His brows drew together. “Thank me?”

You nodded and began to tell him about all of the recent developments in your life, including therapy. You also apologized for how harsh you’d been the last time you saw each other but he waved it off, saying you didn’t need to and he understood. He listened intently and his smile grew when you mentioned how the therapy was helping and your panic attacks were starting to lessen.

“I’m really happy to hear it, Y/N, and I’m glad you’re doing better.”

You bit at your lip, feeling nervous about speaking this next part. “It wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t helped me the way you did, especially that first night. So, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he murmured.

Your heart began to pound against your rib cage but you bravely surged forward and kissed his cheek. When you sat back in your chair, his eyes were wide and you felt your face get hot. “Sorry. I just really wanted to do that for a long time. I hope that was okay.”

He grinned. “More than okay.” You felt relief sweep through you. “I was just thinking—”

“I know. You’re not dating, and we’re friends. Don’t worry, I understand.”

He studied you for a moment before speaking again. “I was going to say ‘I was just thinking what a coincidence because there’s something I’ve wanted to do for a really long time, too.’” His hand gently covered yours and he slowly leaned in, giving you time to pull away or tell him to stop. You weren’t going to do either.

His lips brushed gently against yours and you felt a thrill rush through you at the contact. You had imagined kissing him so many times but the fantasy did absolutely no justice to the real thing. When you broke apart but he didn’t lean back right away, he murmured, “Was that okay?”

“More than okay,” you whispered before pulling him back into you, both of you grinning like idiots before your lips connected again.

<-->

You stopped, seeing the front of the building you were about to go into. “Are you sure we should be doing this?” You asked nervously.

CJ turned back to you and gave you a reassuring smile before cupping your cheek and kissing you. “Yes. We should.”

“But—”

“Everything’s going to be fine,” he assured you. “Trust me. I’m right here with you, okay?” He pecked your lips one more time, tightened his hold on your hand, and began pulling you forward.

“Okay.” You didn’t sound so sure about this and truthfully, you weren’t.

CJ chuckled and led you inside. The Stand office was decorated with balloons and streamers and there was even confetti on the floor. One of the counselors was leaving since she was soon to graduate and a party was being thrown for her last day. You tried not to get overwhelmed at the amount of people filling the small space. It was overly warm in here and you could barely hear yourself think over the din of multiple conversations going on at once. Somewhere music was playing at a decent level. You noted a room in the back where through the window you could see two people sitting, talking on the phone, a closed door in between them and the noise.

CJ intertwined your fingers and moved you both towards a group of a few people that he was intent on talking to, people greeting him as he passed. You remembered the techniques you had been taught and tried to put them into action while reminding yourself that you were with CJ and he wasn’t going to abandon you.

He stopped and greeted the group before he turned to you smiling. “This is Y/N, my girlfriend.”

One of the guys laughed. “Ah, so this is Y/N.” Your heart started hammering inside your chest. “CJ hasn’t shut up about you since you two started dating.” You nearly sighed in relief.

CJ shrugged, grinning down at you. “Seth’s not wrong.”

Your eyes widened before you turned back to the guy. “Oh, so you’re Seth.”

Seth beamed. “Aww, CJ, you told her about me? I just knew we had something special,” he joked.

You frowned. “Hey now. Go get your own CJ. This one’s mine.” You winked up at CJ who laughed.

He let go of your hand to wrap an arm around your waist and pull you into him. “Definitely yours,” he whispered huskily.

Seth pretended to gag. “Ugh. Young love. Gross. You can have him, Y/N.”

“Damn right I do,” you laughed as CJ wrapped himself around you from behind and leaned down to kiss your cheek.

From that moment on, it wasn’t so bad. CJ circulated around the room to different groups, introducing you each time. With him by your side, you began to feel more comfortable and you opened up bit by bit. At one point, CJ took your hand and led you away. “I want to show you something.”

“Again?” You teased. “Didn’t you already show me something back in my dorm earlier? Twice?”

“Ha ha. No, this is something different. Though there will definitely be a third time when I get you out of here and back to my place.”

“Ooo. You sure know how to sweet talk a girl, Mr. Braxton.”

He smirked, wiggling his eyebrows playfully, and pulled you into a kiss that left you breathless. “Just a small preview for later.”

“A small preview?” You panted. You just loved teasing him and couldn’t resist.

He rolled his eyes in amusement. “Come on.”

CJ led you over to a desk and with his free hand, he swiped confetti off of the seat. “This is it. My station,” he told you.

Your eyes roamed over the computer, the keyboard, the notepad and pens, stopping on the corded phone. So this was it. This was where CJ had sat on those Friday nights during your conversations. You smiled to yourself at the memory.

You let out a squeal when CJ quickly sat down in the chair and pulled you into his lap. You wrapped your arms around his neck to keep from falling, glaring at his laugh. You softened though when you looked back over the desk. “So this is where you sat on those nights we talked?”

“Uh huh. Though I much prefer you here on this end with me.” He gripped your chin between his fingers and turned you to him, kissing you sweetly. You snuck your fingers into his hair and tilted your head to deepen it, not caring right then about anyone or anything else around you.

You and CJ had been dating for a while now and it was starting to become serious. He had met your parents when they came to visit. Your dad had liked him right away. Your mom, on the other hand, had given him a bit of a hard time but underneath the harsh exterior she was presenting, you could tell she liked him, too. He had initially planned to transfer to a school in New York, which you more than supported (though you were secretly heartbroken). You reminded him that you had done the phone thing once upon a time and you could do it again, if he wanted. After contemplating it, he decided to stay in Boston.

“Please don’t tell me you chose to stay because of me. I’m not going anywhere. If it’s a great opportunity for you, you should go. I don’t want you to regret not going.”

He’d simply smiled. “I have a great opportunity right here and I would regret leaving.” He’d kissed your nose. “Besides, Boston’s home.”

“CJ, you should go. I’m almost done and I can come visit you. It’s only a few hours’ drive. You could show me things like the Empire State Building or take me to a museum or a play or show me Times Square.” You’d tried to make it sound enticing but inside it was killing you. Everyone knew long distance relationships had their problems and who knew? Maybe he might meet someone new in the Big Apple. But you also wanted him to do what was right for him, just like you’d spoken with your therapist about. You didn’t want him to resent you later on if he didn’t take this opportunity now and you certainly didn’t want him to have any regrets. “We could even visit Jen and Jack, see how her Grams is doing.”

Jen and Jack had transferred to New York. You had been worried to tell her that you and CJ were dating but while she was a little miffed in the beginning, she was more focused on the developing situation with her grandmother who had been diagnosed with cancer. Eventually, she forgave you before she left and gave you her blessing. You had been relieved; Jen was a good person, a good friend, and you didn’t want to lose her friendship. Jack had been worried about Jen’s reaction but for the most part, he had been fine with it. David was happy for you both. Audrey was doing better these days and though she had wanted to know what the hell you were thinking by shacking up with The Sleaze (as she referred to him), she had eventually told you she loved you and just wanted you to be happy. Joey asked you if you were sure when you told her and when you assured her that you were, she pretty much said the same thing as her former roommate and gave you a hug. She gave you a look when you pulled away and you knew that she had connected the dots on who you really were to CJ, but to her credit, she mercifully never said anything. Pacey and Emma had shrugged (CJ had apologized to Pacey at some point after what happened with Audrey and they had resolved things), wishing you well. Dawson…well, you never really got to know Dawson all that well during his brief visits so no conversation needed to be had there really. All in all, your friends were supportive, even if still a little wary of how things were going to work out. You were happy, though. It was strange but shifting from friends into romance proved to be an easier transition then you thought it would be.

CJ laid his forehead against yours, staring into your eyes, as he stroked your cheek with his thumb. “I’m not going without you.” You went to speak, to remind him you weren’t going anywhere, when he cut you off. “I know what I want. I’m okay with my decision. I need you to be, too.”

You tenderly stroked his arm. “Are you sure?” You whispered, worried he was making a mistake.

“More than sure.” He then pulled you to him for a kiss.

“Okay,” you whispered to his lips before kissing him again.

And now you had met all of his co-workers at The Stand and had seen where he worked a few days out of the week. He had offered to bring you several times before, but you had been hesitant to take him up on it, still worried someone might figure out who you really were. It’s not that you were embarrassed that you had called the helpline for help, but your business was your business and you didn’t want to be seen as that girl CJ got himself through the service. You both obviously knew that wasn’t the case but people talked, people judged, and you just wanted to steer clear of both as long as you possibly could. You knew you shouldn’t care what anyone thought or said, just like CJ didn’t; it was something you were currently working on in therapy.

“So,” you teased when he finally broke away for air. “Is there a switchboard somewhere that you have somebody directing all the girls to you when they call? Is that how I got you every single time I called?”

He grinned. “Not exactly. I told everybody that any calls that came in on Fridays at 7:00 were mine.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“Well, how did you know I would call every single time?” You huffed out. “How do you know I might not have gotten held up? Or made plans at the last second? Or got fed up with you?”

He gave you a cocky smirk. “Because you liked talking to me. I could tell.”

You playfully swatted at his shoulder, making him laugh, and rolled your eyes. “It always amazes me that you’re able to make it through doorways with that massive ego of yours. That can’t be how you knew I would call you every time.”

His smirk grew and he nodded.

“I hate you,” you mumbled. You didn’t really mean it and he knew you didn’t.

CJ pulled you closer up against him. “You have a weird way of showing that.” He inclined his head towards your embrace around his neck.

“True,” you murmured and kissed him again.

“Plus,” CJ added when you pulled back. “You always said you would call back and I believed you.”

“Better,” you decided. “Though I will begrudgingly admit that I did like talking to you.”

“Like I said, I could—”

“Hush.” You covered his lips with yours and he chuckled into your mouth. When you pulled back this time, you laid your forehead against his, your eyes closed, smiling. “I love you,” you murmured.

“I love you, too” he whispered back to you, lifting up to press a kiss to your brow before you buried your head into his neck and he discreetly snuck his hands under your shirt to rub your back, just the way you liked.

“Want to get out of here?” He asked you after a few minutes had passed.

“Mmm.” You lifted your head to look him in the eye. “No Fleetwood Mac this time, though.”

He laughed and helped you to your feet. “What have you got against one of the greatest bands of all time?”

“Nothing. It’s just weird to listen to that chorus when we’re about to…you know.” You could feel your cheeks starting to warm.

He grinned salaciously at you. “Oh, I know. Hey, at least it’s not the Star Wars theme.” He snickered at your glare and picked up your hand, kissing it. “No Fleetwood Mac tonight. Got it.” He intertwined your fingers and his grin softened into an affectionate smile before he led you out of there. You quickly made your goodbyes and hurried back to his place where he kept his promise of no rock group music track playing along to your own soundtrack.

Later, as CJ slept, you repeatedly ran your fingers through his messy hair in soothing strokes as you studied him. Who knew calling the helpline that one Friday night would lead you here? Where you were happy, in love, and doing much better than you ever thought possible? You had gone from feeling overwhelmed by your education to feeling a different type of overwhelmed together. Overwhelming love and affection for the special person in your life; overwhelming gratitude for the progress you’d been able to make in managing your anxiety and panic attacks as best you could; and overwhelming contentment with every single moment, no matter the ups and downs that was best known as life. Regardless of whatever happened from here, you knew you’d be okay and you’d handle whatever was thrown your way. Like CJ had once said, one day at a time.

In his sleep, your boyfriend reached out for you and pulled you in closer to him, snuggling into your side and burrowing into your neck, making you smile.

And to think, you almost hadn’t made that call. You laid your head against CJ’s and closed your eyes. You were so glad you did.

#cj braxton x reader #cj braxton x female reader #cj braxton x you #cj braxton x y/n #cj braxton #dawson's creek fanfiction #dawson's creek #prompt response #dawson's creek fandom #cj braxton x female!collegestudent!reader #female!collegestudent!reader #jensen ackles #jensen ackles character #cj braxton fanfiction #thebiggerbear

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pixelmensupremacy · 1 year

Note

May i request a DBH fic? The moment they realized they fell in love with reader. May i request Gavin and the RK bros

A/N: Honestly, I don't why it took me so long to get this out. Either way that's an interesting request, Nonny! Here's my take on the dbh boys realizing they have feelings for the reader.

Warnings: GN!reader, it's implied that reader is shorter, pretty much fluffy stuff, not proof read

Gavin

Being his snarky self, Gavin would be jokingly flirty at first not thinking much of it

Until he began sensing a warmth every time (Y/N) laughed at his silly jokes and sarcastic comments

Before he knew it, he was always spending his free time with (Y/N)

Going into the breakroom, whenever he noticed they were there

Greeting them every morning with a genuine smile on his face

Vibrant morning sunrays hit (Y/N) skin as walked into the building of the Detroit police department. It was quiet except for the usual sound of mouse clicks and the occasional phone ring. A bright smile curled the corners of their lips at the sight of their partner Gavin Reed.

"Morning, Reed!" Enthusiasm was evident in their voice; his attention was immediately anchored to them and their face, which he found absolutely adorable. Affected by their happy expression, he couldn't help but smile back at them.

"Somebody call the cops because it’s got to be illegal to look that good!" He eyed the from head to toe, causing them to shyly look away.

Interestingly enough, it was the colleagues at the department that noticed the change first

His longing to constantly be in (Y/N)'s company was obvious to everyone else but Gavin and (Y/N)

Happy to finally see Gavin break character and soften, his colleagues would tease him every once in a while

While on the other hand (Y/N) would get overwhelmed with questions such as "Did you put him under a spell?"

I feel like Gavin will distance himself once he realizes that his feelings toward (Y/N) are more than just a silly crush

Progressively he will grow colder to (Y/N)

He would find himself in a rabbit hole of repressed emotions and anxieties, connected to his past, which will ultimately lead to avoiding (Y/N)

Hurt and confused, (Y/N) wouldn't give up on reaching out to him but with little to no success

Until they give up, which in return pains Gavin even more

Suddenly he will have to deal not only with the fear of abandonment but also the consequences of said fear taking over him

I like to imagine Hank will be quick to notice the distance formed between the two and will talk to Gavin

Knowing him since his rookie days, Hank is one of the few people who know quite a lot about Gavin, which helps him in advising the detective

Eventually, thanks to Hank's help, Gavin will be able to realize that by avoiding his problems he made things worse

He will want to apologize to (Y/N) for hurting them

“I know I’ve been a total ass the past few weeks, but maybe I can make it up to you. (Y/N) silently gaze at him as if they weren’t sure if this was a dream or reality.

“There’s new restaurant down the block and I thought maybe..” He went on all the while studying their face. “Maybe we could check it out?”

Much to his delight, they agree

The two have the time of their life, catching up like nothing ever happened

And even getting closer

“So,” He spoke up, hot puffs of air escaping his mouth. “Are we even?”

(Y/N) swayed back and forth on their feet, overdoing the time it took them to answer.

“I’m afraid a single date won’t be enough, Reed.” Their hand reached for his neck, bringing his face closer to theirs; their lips touched his in a soft and delicate kiss that left him wanting more.

“Your wish is my command.” (Y/N) giggled, causing a warmth to spread in his chest, despite the cold of the November night.

Markus

Markus is definitely the type of person, who looks for a friend first and a lover second

So, I expect him to fall for (Y/N) after they have gotten to know each other

His feelings for them will slowly but surely progress into a sensation he's never felt before

Even if the thought of (Y/N) wouldn't leave his mind, he would be reluctant to share that with them

Or at least not verbally

Being the altruist he is, his love language would be one of service

Anyway he could, he would help

Standing on their tippy toes, (Y/N) struggled to reach the contents of the top shelf; even the chair they were standing on seemed to not help much. Passing by the kitchen, Markus’ attention was caught by the creaking of the chair and (Y/N)’s puffs and quiet curses. With a puzzled expression, he walked up to them and took a glance at what they were doing.

Reaching with a hand near theirs, he took a hold of a box of cereal; electrical shock ran through (Y/N)’s entire body at the slight brush of his cold skin against theirs.

“Is this what you were looking for?” They nodded as they got down.

“Yeah, thanks.” (Y/N) took the box with a bright smile on their face that caused his circuits to malfunction, resulting in LED lighting up in a vibrant amber color.

Though he will eventually come to realize that his desire to help (Y/N) exceeded past just his typical friendly behavior

He desired to be by their side at all times

He will absolutely melt if (Y/N) were to compliment him

The enchanting melody filled the space, alluring (Y/N) the source of the sound. Letting the music take over them, their steps were in perfect sync with the rhythm of the song; it almost felt as if time stopped and they have found themselves in a wonderland- one they couldn’t imagine even in their wildest dreams.

The volume grew louder so did the effect of the melody upon (Y/N); seeing a door, they weren’t surprised to see Markus sat before the piano. His slender fingers stroked the snow-white keys, the impact of his firm, yet delicate, touch made for a captivating melody akin to the song of a siren that drew in sailors in the dead of night.

Much like a sailor, bewitched by a magnificent siren, (Y/N) stood and watched as his composition tingled their every sense. Not long after did Markus sense their presence; startled by their sudden appearance, he stopped playing.

“Why did you stop?” Disappointment was written in their expression.

“I didn’t expect to have an audience.” He made a reply in a bashful manner, his colorful eyes avoiding theirs.

“I love it when you play the piano.” (Y/N) began as they neared him. “No matter how many times I hear you play it’s never the same. It’s truly fascinating.” There was a spark in their eyes as they spoke that caused a tingling sensation to occur in his thirium pump. Was he malfunctioning?

Markus will definitely confess once the revolution is successful and he feels safe enough to have another person in his life

Connor

He's completely oblivious

Never in his short life did he expect to feel let alone fall in love

So, he's very confused when he experiences system malfunctions in (Y/N)'s presence

He constantly runs system checks only to get confused when the results show no apparent errors

Despite being a prototype, created to unravel complicated cases with ease, it takes him some time to figure out it's (Y/N) that causes these malfunctions

Of course, not without Hank's help

Enamored by the enigma surrounding them, Connor couldn’t help but stare at them and wonder: why they caused such reactions in him. Coincidently or not, Hank had noticed Connor’s lack of focus on his tasks; following the direction of his gaze, the man had found the reason.

“You know it’s rude to stare right? Or that isn’t in your damn program?” Hank got straight to the point but Connor seemed clueless, for he gave him a puzzled look. The man let out a sigh of disappointment.

“Look, I know you got something towards (Y/N) and you better go talk to them.”

“But I-“

“Trust me. They like you too.” Silently, Connor looked at his partner, processing what he had said. “Come on! Don’t waste your chance.” He urged the android on.

Connor will get flustered if (Y/N) were to compliment him

“Good morning!” (Y/N) greeted; their voice akin to a bell rang in Connor’s ears.

“Mornin’, kid” Hank mumbled under his nose, not quite returning their excitement.

“You’re here early!” They stared in awe.

“Yeah, thanks to him.” He pointed to Connor, who shyly waved his hand; (Y/N) smiled.

“Good job, Connor! Even if I wanted, I wouldn’t be able to bring Hank here before noon.” They joked, causing the lieutenant to laugh, meanwhile, Connor’s cheeks got blue, dusted with deep shades of blue, and amber hues danced on his LED.

If it came to physical touch Connor would probably shut down from how many system errors he gets

Much like in Markus' case, I think Connor will be confident in his emotions after the revolution when he becomes a deviant

It may take him a bit longer to fully grasp the experience of having feelings

Though he will get used to it with some guidance

Sixty

Just like Gavin, Sixty will be flirty but mostly with someone, who reflects the same energy

He may be a bit too daring at times, openly flirting without any shame whatsoever

Heading towards the breakroom with their partner beside them, (Y/N) was eager to get their morning coffee, though it seemed Sixty had other plans.

"Is your phone in your back pocket? Because your ass is calling me." With him being close by their side, his voice- barely above a whisper- caused shivers to run down their spine.

“Haha very funny, Sixty.” They sarcastically laughed, in hopes of hiding the excitement that grew within them.

“You know I’m always at your service.” He winked at them as he opened the door for them.

It may take him a lot longer to get attached and even longer to acknowledge his feelings

He would definitely test (Y/N)'s loyalty for him to fully trust them

Being Connor's successor and the android that almost caused the downfall of the revolution, Sixty is battling his past

An awkward silence had settled upon the two; worried, (Y/N) glanced at Sixty though his blank expression didn’t aid them in understanding what was going on.

“Is everything alright, Sixty?” Their voice were calm and quiet, loud enough only for him to hear; his brown eyes stared back at theirs. A puff of air escaped past his lips.

“It’s none of your concern.” He cut them off, bitterness was evident in his voice.

So, he will fall for someone, who accepts him for who he is and helps him in forgiving himself

His path to deviancy will be turbulent, filled with an explosion of repressed emotions Sixty is forced to deal with

But by being by his side, (Y/N) cloud build a bridge to his heart

The moment he realizes he is head over heels for (Y/N) is when he lets his guard down

When the playful facade crumbles down and what is left is a person, fighting to be accepted and forgiven

Nines

Out of all of the boys, it will take Nines the most time to catch feelings

Being the most advanced android in the world, Nines is less prone to deviancy

Not only it takes him more time to feel emotions but to also acknowledge and accept them

So, romance with Nines is close to nonexistent until deviancy

Though there still would sign in his behavior that indicate a crack in his system

With all of his advances, I feel Nines would want to use his assets for good

And working at DPD gives him such an opportunity

Upon meeting (Y/N) he wouldn't sense anything right away

Though as they work together and get accustomed to each other, Nines will slowly change

His curiosity will grow, resulting in asking (Y/N) questions outside their field of work

Yet what draws Nines in is their tolerance

They never pressure him to open up or to talk when he doesn't want to

It just occurs naturaly

“Detective, may I ask you something?” Nines’ icy blue irises bore into theirs.

“Of course, go ahead.” (Y/N) took a sip of their drink.

“Why did you join the force?” A smear of genuine curiosity was evident behind his enigmatic gaze.

“Well,” A smile curled the corners of their lips as the memories flooded in. “I guess you could say I just want to help people.” Their gaze met his. “What about you?”

He stayed silent for a few moments; bright yellow circled across his light-emitting diode.

“I suppose we have common motives.” He danced around the question, yet they didn’t question him any further.

I feel like a life-or-death situation may bring his feelings to the surface

#dbh x reader #dbh fanfic #dbh imagine #gavin reed x reader #markus x reader #rk200 x reader #connor x you #connor x reader #rk800 x reader #sixty x reader #nines x reader #rk900 imagine #rk900 x reader #requests

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thatsdemko · 1 year

Text

falling in love again - p.gasly & c.leclerc

masterlist

requested: y

pairings: Pierre gasly x fem!reader & charles leclerc x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of cheating + anxious thoughts + established relationship + love triangle +mentions of affairs

a/n: boy oh boy has this been a challenge for me to write. six drafts later and this is the final product! and yes there will be a part two! there was a second part to the ask that’s not yet complete! ☺️ also a Pierre girl thru and thru 🫡 so this PAINED me to write. would really appreciate some feedback on this xx

weddings are supposed to be happy occasions. the joining of two people coming together as one. the day every little girl dreams of, has finally come for you.

except it’s not a beautiful dream. it’s far worse.

for the past six months of your engagement, the man who once brought you so much joy and happiness no longer gave you that same excitement. you blamed the cold feet, anxieties, and stress of planning the wedding, but the moment has finally come and you still feel that way.

Pierre gasly, is your fiancé and the most perfect man on all paper and of any girls dreams. he’s kind, sweet, caring, and so beyond loving you swear you don’t deserve him. and truth be told, he doesn’t deserve you. he doesn’t deserve a wife who won’t love him the same that he feels.

matter of fact, since the beginning of the engagement your eyes began to fall towards a particular groomsman— the best man may you add, charles leclerc. you never noticed him right in front of you all this time until it was too late.

charles was the other man, and probably the worst friend ever, because for six months he was the reason you arrived home late, you held off on picking a date, and took away all your fears. he’s the man you so badly want to be walking down the aisle to, but he’s not.

charles has convinced himself he’s okay with it. in fact, he’s more worried you’ll say ‘I do’ instead of I don’t because he knows for a fact you don’t love Pierre. at least not anymore.

he knocks quietly on your door of the church. the music is faint but the over excited giggling from your bridesmaids fills his ears. he’s been given the task by Pierre to check on you and make sure you’ve been eating and staying hydrated. it’s sweet how much he cares, but all you care about is that Charles is there to do the same, and maybe worse.

convince you to leave the alter.

“is it safe for me to enter?” he pushes open the door a smidge, his accent rings through the room to let the girls know it’s not your fiancé, and he’s pulled inside by your maid of honor quickly.

“don’t linger for too long out there! he can’t see her.” she hisses, making sure the door is locked behind them, “she’s in the bathroom.”

she points to the door that’s cracked open, the only person in there is you. you’re crouched on the floor next to a bottle of vodka and a fan. the train of your dress is fluffed out all around you. he can hear your mothers voice over the phone, she got too sick to attend, and is trying to now calm you down. you’re terrified of what you’re about to walk into, you can’t marry him.

you hear the shuffling of dress shoes, and you’re greeted to a man in slacks, but when you look up it’s like he saves you from the worst phone call of your life, “I have to go, mama I’ll call you later.” you hang up quickly trying to get up from the floor, and he rushes to help making sure to not step on the white dress.

he swallows the lump forming in his throat, he can’t believe how gorgeous you look. there’s no amount of words to describe how he feels because he’s on the worst rollercoaster of emotions of his life right now. he wants to be happy for Pierre, but part of him holds onto that hope that you’ll disappear with him. leave all this behind.

“mon amour, you look breathtaking.” he breathes out allowing a tear to slip down his cheek, you frown wiping his cheek with your thumb. it almost would be better if he wasn’t here, but you know why he had to be. he’s Pierre’s best man, and it’s his job to check on you.

“don’t be this way, charles. you’re making it hard.” you whisper watching his back lean against the cracked door to gently close it all the way. you don’t have time for what he’s thinking about, you’re supposed to get married in an hour.

“do you have to marry him?” he asks, it’s a dumb question, but it’s the right one to ask considering you don’t even want to answer it. you don’t want to marry him, but now there’s thousands of people arriving to France today for this particular day. it’d be horrible to not walk down the aisle now.

“charles,” you breathe out, mouth going completely thick and dry you can’t speak. you’re blinking away tears to try to keep your makeup intact, you hate this. absolutely hate it.

“I think if you really want what’s best for him, you’d call this off. you’d leave with me instead and we can just go anywhere. anywhere but here.” he takes your shaking clammy hands in his beginning to kiss your knuckles. he strokes your ring finger that for the first time was bare to the bone. the big rock that once sat there was about to be replaced with a promise. one you couldn’t keep.

“cha–“

“no, y/n. I love you and I know you love me. you told me at rehearsals you don’t love him. I can’t see you being happy with him.” he drops your hands from his and he’s twisting open the bathroom door leaving it open for the girls to rush in and check on you. there was now thirty minutes left until the wedding bells would ring.

he slips out the room and heads back to where Pierre is nervously pacing with yuki attempting to get him to drink water. when Charles walks in Pierre is relieved, “how is she?”

“nervous but good.” charles plays a fake smile patting his friend on the back before taking the seat next to yuki who had inhaled the after smell of your perfume on his suit jacket, “you sneaky bastard.” yuki just mumbles shaking his head.

the time is a ticking bomb, it’s now ten minutes and everyone is beginning to line up. charles has been given the honor to walk you down the aisle since neither of your parents or close family could attend.

your hand presses against his back, allowing it to linger longer than it should’ve, “so where would we go?” you whisper hoping the wedding planner and photographers aren’t listening. you take the bouquet from him using it as a shield to protect your privacy.

“anywhere you want, amour. just say the words.” you both watch the first bridesmaid and groomsman walk down the aisle, both moving up closer to the door. it’s t-minus 5 minutes until your arrival in the church.

there’s a long pause between you two, he’s beginning to grow nervous you won’t back out. you’re beginning to have reality settle in for the first time. this is real life, not a fairy tail or a movie. there was no redos, but there was a chance to bolt.

“how about Asia?” you offer, eyes flickering down at the white flowers in your hands before looking up at him. he shrugs giving you a nod, moving up one more space now.

“I could do Asia, but where in Asia?” he asks, one more step closer. three more groups ahead of you both now.

“Japan? heard it’s beautiful.” you loop your arm through his, you throw the flowers to the side both of you watching them silently fall to the ground making the wedding coordinator pick them up.

“your flowers, mrs.gasly—“

“it’s miss y/l/n. just tell him I’m sorry.”

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astroboots · 2 years

Text

RED FLAGS ║ PART 4

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Steven Grant x female reader (hints of Marc Spector x female reader)

Summary: Steven disappears and you fall into a rabbit hole trying to decode Marc’s secret message. Or alternatively: Marc needs to communicate better.

Rating: really gratuitous and detailed sex, writers are clearly super horny.

Warning/content: anxiety, spiraling thoughts, worrying about safety of a partner, clumsy sex-shanigans, the writers being way too obsessed with how freakin' beautiful Steven is.

Word Count: 8.1k

Series Masterlist | Astroboot's Masterlist | Thirstworldproblemss' Masterlist

[PREVIOUS] - [NEXT]

You can’t believe Steven’s gone.

Flinging the quilt aside, you leap out of bed and dash into the loo. Against all logic, you’re hoping that he’ll be standing in front of the sink with a spare toothbrush in his mouth, ready to wish you good morning through a frothy toothpaste smile.

He’s not.

There’s no one here but you.

Your home is a cramped studio flat with barely enough space for a bed, small sitting area, and an even smaller kitchenette. If Steven were still here, he’d be in plain sight, but somehow you find yourself turning cushions like some kind of madwoman. Inspecting every corner of the room, as if Steven might be hiding behind your washing machine like a goddamn leprechaun.

There’s nothing. No note left on your kitchen counter. No clothing left behind. No promised breakfast. There’s not even a text message on your phone letting you know that he had to leave early for work.

With shaky fingers and your heart beating painfully loud in your ears, it takes you three tries to unlock your phone and select Steven from the list of contacts. You lift the phone to your ear and hold your breath, staring blindly at the mess you’ve made of your flat as it rings and rings and rings.

Finally, there’s a click and then Steven’s cheerful voice in your ear, and for the briefest of seconds, relief rushes through your veins.

“Hiya, this is Steven. I’m not in right now, but leave me a message, and I’ll ring you back as soon as I can. Laters, Gators.”

You stare at the phone in disbelief. Bile rises until you can taste it, sharp and burning, on your tongue.

Steven going missing out of the blue on you is hardly novel, but his random disappearances have never made you feel like this before. Experience dictates that Steven will come back safe and sound in a day or two (or a week or two). Right now, however, that knowledge does nothing to dull the panic clawing at your throat, and it takes you a minute before you realise why this is so much worse than all the times that have come before.

In the past, the worst case scenario was that he’d ghosted you. One more wanker who’d decided to dump you without so much as a courtesy text. But now you know better. Steven wouldn’t do that. He’s not disappearing on you by choice. He’s gone because someone else, Marc has taken over. And taken him away.

Now, you’re pacing the length of your flat, nearly in tears, the worst case scenario something you cannot even begin to fathom.

For all you know, this Marc person has decided that you’ve gotten too close to the truth. Maybe he came to the conclusion that it’s too dangerous to have you around Steven. Maybe, last night was the last time you’ll ever get to see him.

Back and forth you go across the room, wearing down the carpet pile as your mind spirals with worry. You pop the band on your old wristwatch in and out of place as you go, nails digging into your wrist as you tug at it until you slip and the metal pin jabs your wrist.

Then you spot it: the writing on your hand. The long string of numbers, ten digits in all, that Marc had written on the centre of your palm last night.

In a mad scramble, you dig up a notebook and quickly copy them down for safekeeping. You spend the rest of the day trying to decipher their meaning.

Your first thought is that it’s a phone number, but when you try dialling it, you get an automated message that no such number exists.

Your next theory is that the numbers might be coordinates. But when you attempt to plot them using an online grid reference finder, the results are meaningless. Depending on how you input the digits they point you to a handful of different locations—China, Romania, the middle of the Celtic Sea—none of which mean anything to you. The majority of the number combinations you try do not exist at any known map locations.

Panicked by your failure, your mind scrambles for other possible explanations. Thinking that it might be a mathematical equation or a password of some kind, you pull out your calculator and another notebook, trying to make any sort of sense of the only hint you've been given.

By the time you leave for work Monday morning, your desk is starting to look like a landfill. The wooden surface is littered with crumpled up paper and sticky-notes filled with nonsensical scribbles of numbers and letters that were the results of randomly adding, subtracting and dividing the ten numbers on your hand. If anyone walked in on your flat, they would think you’re a particularly unhinged conspiracy theorist.

In all fairness, they wouldn’t be too far off, because you’re beginning to feel a bit like one. Haring off on one pointless wild goose chase after another, halfway to plotting out your suspicions on the wall with pins and string.

More days go by, and you spend every waking moment (and many moments you should be sleeping) trying to solve the mystery. It becomes a consuming obsession. You’re distracted both at home and at work, your poor coworkers forced to pick up the slack while your mind stays firmly on the puzzle of Steven.

Your lack of sleep leads to increasingly wild theories. You’re convinced that those ten digits are somehow the key to everything. An unfounded belief based on nothing but your own desperate hope that if you manage to crack the code, a congratulation banner and confetti will fall from the sky with a big bow-wrapped present containing Steven as the final prize.

Unfortunately, you’re not the best at puzzles, and the galling irony is that the most qualified person to solve this riddle is the very same person you’re desperately missing.

By the time you leave work on Thursday, you’re frustrated, exhausted from sustaining a near-frantic level of worry, and no closer to finding a solution than you were at the start. Steven is still out there somewhere, and you decide that you’ve waited long enough. Maybe even too long. He could have had his kidney harvested and be half-dead in an alley for all you know. Hurt and dying, while you’ve wasted time grasping at straws.

You’ve decided to finally file a missing person’s report with the police when you exit the tube to find a new text notification on your phone.

+x xxx xxx xxxx He’s safe.

You stare at the message for a long time, too overcome with relief to immediately make the connection between the numbers on your hand and your phone screen. When the epiphany hits, you feel like the dumbest person alive. Ten numbers… It wasn’t a puzzle or some obscure treasure hunt to lead you to Steven. It’s Marc’s bloody mobile number. It’s an American mobile number and he didn’t include the fucking country code

He’s safe. Steven’s safe.

Wiping what is close to the beginning of tears on your sleeve, you pull the phone closer and type out a message in reply.

You Is Steven okay? Where is he?

There’s no answer.

Not that evening or the day after. And the relief you felt at first slowly drains away.

The text is a consolation prize. It’s not Steven wrapped with a bow and wrapping paper. This is not the answer you needed, but, you try to remind yourself, at least it’s something.

Steven is safe.

You repeat it like a mantra in your head, and it gives you some comfort… for a while. Soon it's overtaken by an intrusive voice asking a question that you don’t want to hear.

But what if he isn’t?

Any residual consolation you were feeling gives way, and anxiety overwhelms you as you imagine all the terrible scenarios that could have befallen Steven, each more horrifying and improbable than the last.

You can't shake the paranoia that the matching numbers are just a coincidence. There's nothing in the text itself that says it’s from Marc. Or about Steven. It could just as easily be a timely telephone scam.

Is there anyone who hasn’t received a random automated call informing them that someone they know has been in a car accident? There are thousands of these calls a day in the UK, scammers hoping to find some dimwit waiting for a call from a loved one.

Maybe today, you’re the dimwit.

You can count the hours of sleep you’ve gotten since Steven disappeared on one hand.

You need to sleep, but even as exhausted as you are, you just can’t. Instead, you're having a staring competition with your ceiling, and so far you’re winning.

You’re worrying yet again about Steven. You wonder where he is. If he’s really safe. What he—or Marc—has been doing all this time.

A full week has gone by, and you still haven’t heard anything from Steven himself. You haven’t had any further communication from the unknown number that may or may not be Marc either.

Marc.

Rolling onto your side, you stare off into the darkness of your flat.

The concept of Marc is still an enigma to you. As far as you can tell, he’s entirely distinct from Steven. Not only are his mannerisms different, but he calls himself by another name and talks about Steven as if they’re separate people.

There is another person inside of Steven that is markedly not Steven.

In the complete darkness of your flat, your sleep deprived brain tries to make sense of what that actually means, but you can’t. There’s so much you don’t know.

Rolling back across the bed the other way, you reach for your phone.

Midnight is not the ideal time to do research, but what does it matter? You’re not likely to sleep regardless.

Your first pit stop is Google, but that does you no favours. As always, no matter what symptoms you put into the search bar, WebMD is determined to convince you that it’s cancer.

Instead, you end up trawling through NHS’ homepage well past midnight, ending up in a wormhole of health issues until you land on the symptoms for Dissociative Identity Disorder:

They may feel the presence of other identities, each with their own names, voices, personal histories and mannerisms.

The main symptoms of DID are:

» memory gaps about everyday events and personal information

» having several distinct identities

And there it is, written in plain Arial font. The conclusion you’ve been trying not to jump to. The inescapable reality behind all those red flags Steven’s been waving in front of your nose from the very start.

You stare at the words on the page, reading and re-reading them. You don’t know what to think or how you feel about your discovery. The only thing you do know is that you are wholly unqualified to handle any of this.

As far as you know, you've never met anyone—anyone else?—with DID. Your only previous exposure to the disorder has been through movies like Psycho, Split, Basic Instinct… Movies that depict the character with a mental health condition as a psychotic murderer or one in the making with sensationalist glee.

You don’t believe that of course. You know better than to expect sensitive and accurate representation from Hollywood blockbusters. That’s a bit like reading The Sun and expecting truthful and unbiased news reports.

The problem is that knowing all of this doesn’t solve anything.

All you do know is that you miss Steven. You’re scared—terrified for him—and want him back with you.

Fuck Marc for taking him away.

The devil himself must have heard you, his ears burning. Your phone pings out in the silence at that moment, interrupting your thoughts. The screen flashes, and it takes you a moment to adjust to the sudden brightness before you can read the incoming message.

+x xxx xxx xxxx Steven will be back tomorrow. Don’t mention me.

You stare at the phone as you reread the text once and then again. There’s no ambiguity this time; there can’t possibly be.

Back.

Steven.

Steven is coming back to you.

You barely have time to rejoice over the fact before those last three words hit you. Their meaning settles heavily in your gut, burning at the lining of your stomach until you think you might be sick all over your duvet.

It’s a warning. The wolf is at your door.

And just like that, the curtain’s pulled back, and you see Steven’s disappearance for what it is: a sick display of the power Marc holds over him. Over you both. A demonstration of how your life with Steven continues only at his whim. Those three words are an order and a stomach churning threat all in one.

Mention Marc, reveal his existence to Steven, and he will take Steven from you.

For the first time, you understand why Steven has always been alone, and anger burns in your blood. Steven is being held hostage in his own body, and he doesn’t even know it. And you’re being blackmailed into lying to the man you love.

You want to tell Steven the truth immediately. You want to scream it from the bloody rooftops.

But you don’t want to lose him.

Selfish as it may be, you want to keep Steven in your life for as long as you can. At the very least, if you’re together, maybe you can protect him from Marc. Make sure he’s safe.

Isn’t that better than telling Steven the whole truth only to have Marc take him away from you? The only thing that would achieve is to relegate Steven back to a life of loneliness.

No. It wouldn’t do any good to tell Steven now. You can’t go in blindly when Marc has such a strong upper hand. You need more information, a plan, or at least some kind of strategy before you risk doing anything that might result in Steven being spirited away from you again.

With your ear pressed to your pillow, you stare at the text, struggling to keep your eyes open. You turn the brightness up so far that it’s painful to look at, blinking away sleep until you’re unable to fight it anymore.

A knock on the door wakes you.

Squinting one eye open, you find the room flooded with light, bright and blinding. Your mouth tastes like harsh cotton, and your throat is sore when you swallow.

You don’t know when you fell asleep last night, but it’s five to eight now according to your alarm clock. Your shoulders are stiff and aching, body protesting the lack of rest.

Sleep concussed as you are, you fumble towards the door, relying on memory rather than sight to navigate your surroundings. You don’t even make it to the middle of the room before you trip over your ottoman.

Pain shoots out from the nub of your toe, and you barely manage to stop yourself from face planting. With a curse and a pending bruise forming on your foot, you hobble the rest of the way towards your door and unlock it. In your struggle, you don’t even bother to check the peephole to see who is at your door.

You slide the door open, scarcely paying attention. At first, all you see is a much-too-loud novelty print and flowers wrapped in cellophane in the open doorway. Your brain stalls for several heartbeats, before you drag your eyes upwards.

It’s Steven.

Sporting messy hair and an ill-fitting jumper, at least two sizes too large, he’s standing in front of you, hugging a fresh bouquet of flowers to his chest.

“Hiya,” he greets you with a small wave of his free hand, a besotted smile on his face as though everything in his world is just as it should be.

You blink. For a second, everything slows. You’re not sure if you’re ready to allow yourself to believe that this is real. If this is a dream, the disappointment of waking up with him not here will break you.

“I got us some breakfast,” Steven says and steps inside, clumsily closing the door behind him with the side of his shoulder, “and there were these tulips at Sainsburys. Pink, your favourite.”

He's here. Steven's actually here.

His face beams with pride as he looks up at you. “I know you said to stop getting flowers unless there’s an actual special occasion, but I thought spending the morning together after our first official sleepover is pretty special, and more importantly–”

Your stomach drops.

He doesn’t know. Steven clearly still thinks it’s the morning after. Doesn’t realise that a whole week has gone by since he spent the night here.

Putting the flowers down on your kitchen counter, he turns to face you, holding up a wax paper bag with a delighted smile.

“Et voilà! Croissants au chocolat for the lady. I’ll just pop them in the microwave real quick—I know you like them hot—and then I’ll make us some tea, yeah?”

Steven is in your home, standing in the kitchen, smiling at you and spoiling you rotten, like he hadn't just disappeared off the face of the earth for a week. Because as far as Steven's aware, he’s been here with you all night after falling asleep watching animal documentaries.

Right now, in front of you, he’s acting out the morning-after the two of you were supposed to have but a week too late, making you the breakfast he promised.

Your throat closes, and a liquid burn rises in your chest, making it hard to breathe. You can feel the threat of tears behind your eyes.

“Hey, is everything okay?” Steven drops the bag of croissants onto the counter and rushes over to you. “Did something happen while I was gone?”

“No. I just–” You take a shaky breath, trying to collect yourself.

Breaking down now won’t do either of you any good. You can’t tell him what’s wrong. Not without risking him being taken away forever.

“I’m happy you’re here," you say, trying to fake a smile.

You’re a rubbish liar. Always have been. It’s no surprise that Steven doesn’t buy it for a second.

"Those are obviously not happy tears, love. What's going on? Have I done something wrong?"

His hands draw up to cup your face, one thumb skimming gently over the single tear that’s escaped onto your cheek. He tilts your chin up until you meet his gaze, and it’s like something clicks behind those sharp eyes.

"It's because I wasn't here when you woke up, isn't it?" he asks gently.

You bite your lip. It’s such an oversimplification of what’s happened, but you don’t know how else to explain it to him, so you nod. A half-truth at best, but at least it’s only a lie by omission.

"’Course it is,” he soothes. “That would bother anyone, yeah?"

You let yourself collapse against him, hugging him tight around the middle as you bury your face in his chest. He lets out a quiet oof, but you refuse to let go and despite his obvious physical discomfort, Steven doesn't protest. He wraps his arms reassuringly around you, blanketing himself around you in comforting warmth.

“I’m sorry, I should have left a note. Don’t know why I didn’t. I was so sleep deprived that I don’t even remember leaving this morning. I must’ve thought it was only going to take a second, but the next thing I know, I’m in the dairy aisle and this lady with a stroller is looking at me funny."

One large, gentle hand smooths over your shirt at the small of your back, and you shiver pleasantly at the warmth of the doting touch.

"I'm sorry," he says again, voice soft, "I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

Closing your eyes, you take a second to let the comfort of his words and his arms around you seep in. You tilt your head upwards, pressing your nose to the hollow dip of his throat, right below his Adam's apple. He smells faintly of stale air and alcohol, covered up by the unfamiliar scent of cheap hotel soap. Your chest squeezes painfully at the reminder of his double life, one that neither of you know the details of.

Even with Steven here in your arms, you cannot escape the reality that you’ll always have to share him with something you cannot understand.

You don't move, instead, you press your mouth to that same spot on his throat, feeling his pulse beat steadily against your lips.

He's here, the beat says. He's safe, he's alive.

Nuzzling into the delicate skin, you’re rewarded with a keen gasp that makes the small hairs on your neck rise. His fingers flex against your waist with that familiar trademark hesitation, before settling there, hardly even resting against you.

After all this time, it’s like he’s still scared you’re going to tell him no. As if your relationship is some kind of practical joke on him, and if he reaches for you first, you’ll laugh in his face.

He was too afraid to mention the first night in case you’d get upset. He thought you were going to break up with him when you said you two needed to talk. It’s almost funny in a macabre sort of way that Steven doesn’t realise just how deep you’re in it over him. If he only knew of the sleepless nights you’ve suffered. How you’ve been sick to your stomach over missing him. Willing to bargain with the devil just to get to keep him.

You kiss him again, trying to use his closeness to drown out all the things you can’t say. Pressing your lips to that sweet little spot where his jaw meets his throat. You do your best to savour the hint of stubble that tickles against your bottom lip.

Steven shivers and then pulls back slightly, ducking his head to close the distance between your lips. A barely there touch, then Steven’s thumb catches behind your ear, timidly guiding you closer.

That one kiss continues into several small chaste kisses, each press of his lips soft and devoted like he’s thanking you for letting him. It’s so pure, the kind of kisses that have your toes curling in delight and your ears tingling. But it’s restrained in a way that you’ve not got the patience for right now.

Not after a whole week of his absence. Not when you’ve spent those seven days unsure if you would ever get to see him again. You want so much more than this. Can’t bear the fraction of a moment when his lips are not on yours when he breaks up his kisses to allow you to catch your breath.

You want all of him all at once.

Your hand clutches at the collar of his shirt, pulling him in closer. His breath stutters, mouth parting slightly, and you take the opportunity to lick over the swell of his bottom lip before you bite down, trying to be gentle.

It must be the reassurance Steven needs, because he groans into your mouth, his grip on you tightening. His hands dig into the plump flesh above your hips, kneading it with strong fingers, and there it is, that eagerness and hunger for you that you’re heedlessly in love with. The duality of Steven Grant. It's desperate, sweet and almost aggressive. One hand moves to grip the base of your neck, pulling you flush against him, chest to chest, eliminating the last of the physical distance between you.

It’s exactly what you need, and for a long, hot, breathless moment, you’re not thinking of anything except him. When he finally breaks off the kiss, you lean after him, chasing his lips.

“Bed?” he asks, the word a low rasp against your seeking mouth.

You nod eagerly and grab for him, recapturing his lips and giving him a tug in the right direction.

It’s clumsy and desperate as you let Steven manoeuvre the two of you through your flat. You’re blindly walking backwards, guided only by Steven’s outstretched hand fumbling against the surfaces of the wall to make sure you don’t bump into furniture.

You kiss him like you’ve been held under water, deprived of air and his beautiful mouth is oxygen filling your lungs. Every step is an uncoordinated mess that nearly has you tipping over if it wasn’t for Steven holding you upright. It’d be far easier if you only let go. Would only take seconds in your tiny flat to get from the kitchen to the bed. But you’re not willing and Steven is only happy to indulge you.

His mouth is warm and slick, hands large and firm. The warmth of his body against yours, comforting and alive. It’s all you can focus on as you forget your surroundings. Until something heavy and blunt pushes back against the inside of your calf.

The surprise makes you lose your balance. You fall backwards, the whole room tilting as you’re sent sprawling. When things stop moving, you find yourself flat on your back, less than half a foot away from your bed. You’re still staring up at Steven’s shocked face and outstretched hands when you realise what (literally) hit you.

Bloody cockblocking ottoman.

The pitched dark hunger disappears from those brown eyes in an instant. Instead they’ve gone round and doelike with concern as Steven rushes forward, falling to his knees in front of you, and draws your leg into his lap.

“I’m so sorry. I should’ve been more careful and watched where we were going. Bloody stupid of me, I practically pushed you. Are you hurt?”

“It’s fine, Steven. I’m fine. You didn’t push me. It’s alright,” you tell him.

But his eyes are already darting over your lower leg, and his hands quickly follow, gingerly rubbing your ankle and feeling up over your calf with great care, making your skin prickles under his fingers. It’s a credible imitation of Florence Nightingale, but as sweet as it is to have Steven tend to you, it's not the sort of attention you want from him right now.

"Leave off the fussing, please?" you ask him softly.

“Should we–maybe I should get you on the bed yeah? You might be hurt and–”

Leaning up, you place kisses on his jaw, his cheeks, the swell of his lip, hoping to distract him. "I need you, Steven. Don't stop. I don't want to stop right now."

His eyes are still wide and worried, as his hand smooths over the bend of your knee in comfort. “You’re sure you're alright? That I didn’t hurt you?”

“I’m sure.” You grab his collar and lean back, dragging him on top of you as you lie back onto the floor.

Steven follows, letting you pull him down without a hint of resistance, and clambering forward until he’s completely above you. His large frame looms over yours on the floor, thick thighs straddling your waist, and you’re reminded all over again that one of your favourite facets of Steven is how cooperative he is. Always so eager to please you, and you have zero compunction about taking advantage.

“Take this off,” you order, tugging at his jumper impatiently.

He nods hastily. “Right, right.”

Ever so good at following your orders, Steven’s hand immediately reaches for the bottom of the garment. He grabs the hem and pulls, revealing a tantalising sliver of golden skin above the waistband of his trousers. You’re so focused on the slowly widening swath of his bare stomach, that it’s not until he pauses, a clumsy snarl of fabric tangled around his head and shoulders, that you realise he’s attempted to take off his jumper and the shirt beneath all in one go and gotten himself stuck.

Honestly, you’re not even surprised. On any other occasion, you’d be smiling at his adorable ridiculousness, but it's been a week. One hundred and sixty-eight endless hours since you’ve gotten to hold him and touch him like this—uncertain if you’d ever get to—and now each additional second of delay feels like an eternity.

Finally, with another sloppy tug and an impatient groan, the tangled mess of clothing gives, and Steven’s bare-chested on top of you. He’s all strong, sleek muscles, as gorgeous and well-defined as those cut from marble on statues of Greek deities displayed in the very same museums that Steven himself tends to.

It should’ve been obvious from the start. You want to burst out in laughter at your own naivety. Why on earth would a man who works at a gift shop and spends his free time with his nose buried in dusty old books have a body like this? How has Steven never questioned his own physique? Does he think that all men just wake up looking like this without any effort?

The sun from the window shines soft over his shoulder and arms. The thin gold chain dangles from his long neck, glistening in the light. He is all warm and golden, soft for your hands to freely wander over the bare expanse of his skin.

Your hand cups the back of his neck, teasing at those ridiculously soft curls with your fingers, before scraping the base of his scalp with the gentlest strength. You’re marvelling at how prettily his eyelashes flutter and the way he sighs with a blissful shiver makes you smile.

Sliding down, your hand roams over the carved muscle of his shoulder blade, over his back, pressing a line of soft kisses on the column of his neck. They flex under your touch, as Steven keens softly and you take comfort in the fact that if there was ever proof that Steven is here with you, it’s this. The heavy weight of him on top of you. The fast beating pulse of his throat under your lips. The feel of him hardening against your belly.

Reaching for his belt, you fumble with the buckle until it finally gives with a metallic clank. Then you shove one greedy hand under the loose waistband of his trousers, slipping it into his underwear.

He’s hot and hard. Flesh smooth to your touch. Your fingers curl around the thick girth, giving him a firm, indulgent stroke, from base to blunt tip, tracing every ridge. Steven gasps and shudders at your touch, slumping forward like he’s unable to support his own weight and pressing his forehead into your collarbone with a quiet whine.

You close your eyes at the sound of it, feeling him all around you.

This is what you’ve been missing, what you’ve been desperately needing, all week. Immersing yourself in the moment—in him—as fully as possible, you draw in a deep breath and give him another stroke just to hear him make that noise again. You let his reassuring presence wash over you, try to let it convince you that he’s really here.

Wherever he’s been this last week, he’s here, right now, with you.

Then suddenly he’s not.

Out of nowhere, the protective weight and warmth of him is rising away. Alarm crowds your senses, and in a moment of instinctual panic, your hand shoots up, grabbing his arm.

"Don't go!"

You open your eyes to find Steven still right there next to you. He's frozen with one hand outstretched above the open drawer of your nightstand, a look of shocked surprise on his face.

Oh God. He wasn’t going anywhere at all, he was just getting a condom.

Your cheeks flush with embarrassed heat at the realisation.

"Sorry," you mumble, and you duck your chin, "I just–" You don't know how to explain away your massive overreaction, and guilt claws even deeper into your chest as you find yourself offering up yet another half-lie.

"I had a nightmare that you left. Disappeared, and I couldn’t find you.”

You can’t believe it’s your own voice that you’re hearing. It sounds so small. Ugly in its neediness. If this was any other man, you’re sure they’d be running for the hills by now. It’s a miracle Steven hasn’t. “It’s silly. Sorry.”

Steven frowns with sympathy, worry etched all around his beautiful eyes. "You don’t have to be sorry, love." He closes the drawer, condom in hand. Then he's leaning back down to press his lips to your hairline. “It’s not silly.”

"But hey, listen,” he murmurs, resting his forehead briefly against yours. “I’m not going anywhere, am I? No. Not except maybe down to the shops."

One warm hand comes to cup your face, and he’s looking at you with so much sincerity that it takes your breath away.

"I would never leave you. Never. Not ever, I swear. Not so long as you’ll have me.” He says it with such utter conviction that pain washes over you anew.

Because it’s not really up to Steven, is it? He may not be able to stay with you, regardless of what he wants.

“You don’t know that."

The unfairness of the situation, his powerlessness over his own life, has tears pushing hot behind your eyes.

“Then I'll come back, simple as that. No matter what happens. Even if the bloody sky falls down. Even if a fleet of flying saucers brings an army of funny little green men straight out of Mars Attacks to invade the earth tomorrow, I'll still come back to you. Always, alright? I'll always come back to you.”

The lump still sits heavily in your throat, but you choke out an amused laugh at the imagery Steven draws for you. He smiles victoriously in return. It lights the whole room, and you reach for him again, wrapping your arms around his neck because you need to pull him close and kiss him.

In this moment, you allow yourself to believe. Against all flashing red signs pointing otherwise, you choose to believe that he will keep this promise. That whatever circumstances arise, even if Marc takes him away again, Steven will always come back to you.

“Okay,” you say, with a smile stretching wide across your lips, and you can feel the dark weight lifting as you nod at him.

Steven mirrors your smile, returning your kiss and that’s all it takes before the last morsel of doubt lifts.

His hands reach down, shimmying his trousers down his ample hips. You help him, hooking your thumb at the hem to drag them down the rest of the way, and he kicks them off his ankle.

Then finally, the warmth of his bare thighs is against yours, and you both gasp. It’s fucking bliss to feel him like this. Naked and warm, pressed up against every inch of you, his weight holding you down against the floor, the length of him lying hard and heavy against your belly.

He anchors himself on one elbow, as he rips the foil wrapper, lifting off of you slightly.

You miss the contact immediately. It’s like the week apart has left you even more attuned to him, hyper-aware of all the places you’re no longer touching. You watch impatiently as he turns to one side just enough to give himself room, rolling the condom down over his cock with gratifying speed.

His hands are steady, his movements sure, nothing like that first night where both of you struggled to make sense of the stubborn rubber in the near-dark of his flat. By now, the two of you have done this often enough that Steven knows every step of the routine like the back of his hand, clumsy eagerness replaced by practised ease.

Anticipation and longing beat loud in your chest at the sight of him, eyes dark, cock in hand as he positions himself at your entrance. You reach for him, unable to stand the distance between the two of you, and he smiles fondly at you and leans down obligingly, resting his bodyweight on top of yours like a heavy blanket.

It’s fucking perfect. Exactly what you need, and your body opens for him, knees falling outward, hips canting up, heels digging into the floor as you arch up, trying to press yourself closer.

He grinds forward, the underside of his cock sliding slick and wet over your folds. Pleasure rises hot and overwhelming between your thighs at the stimulation, and an unflattering high-pitched noise escapes from the corner of your lungs. It’s like your whole body is strung on a thin line of thread. Overwhelmed by the barest contact after a week of having none. You’re not sure how you’re going to survive having him inside you when this already feels like so much. You wonder if he feels it too.

Opening your eyes, you see the boyish grin on his face, radiating with pride. He does it again, angling his hips to thrust up as the blunt head of his cock glides wetly over your clit and oh fucking–

Your hips jerk up involuntarily, pressing harder against him, and Steven gasps, eyes going wide and dark, that teasing grin wiped right off his face.

“Fuck, Steven–God. I need–” Your fingers dig into the meat of his shoulders, and you don’t know what you’re trying to say—not sure if you want him to stop or do it again—but it doesn’t matter. You never get to finish the rest of your sentence.

The thick ridge of his cock slips wetly inside you, and the sweet stretch of him, white and blinding, crowds out every other thought in your head. Your cunt squeezes around him at the thick intrusion, and you both moan at the tight pressure.

He halts, stilling inside you, and dear fucking god, he’s not even all the way in.

“God, love. You’re squeezing me so tight,” Steven gasps out, “Feels bloody amazing.” The words are soft, but there’s a clear strain in his voice, and his arms are trembling at your sides from the exertion of keeping still.

He still doesn’t move, and you’re not sure if he needs a moment or is trying to give you one. “I feel like I'm going to lose my mind if I can't be all the way inside you. Can I–”

He hovers above you, and you can feel his cock jerking and straining against you, the only part of his body he can’t fully control. You can’t help the way your body clenches and shivers in response, and he groans, resting his forehead against yours for a long moment as you pant heavily against each other’s lips.

“Is it alright for me to keep going?” he asks, eventually.

You try to say yes, but all that comes out is a breathless, choked out sob, as you nod at him frantically.

It’s all Steven needs. His hips push forward, pressing the rest of the way into you in one long, smooth stroke. The feeling is electric, robbing you of the ability to process anything except the way he fills you, stretching you out as he buries every inch of himself inside you. You can’t think. Can barely breathe. He’s embedded so deeply that there’s no space left in your lungs.

After a long moment, he starts to pull out just as slowly, his eyes fixed on yours. The pace is maddening, a thick, glacial drag that makes you feel every gorgeous inch of him. It leaves you gasping and writhing under him as he continues to retreat until only the tip still rests inside of you.

Then he does it all again.

He’s so different when he’s like this. His eyes focused, any trace of timidness gone. Everything else, all his usual hesitation and fear and doubt, seems to fade away when he’s inside you. It’s like you’re the only thing in his world—you and the need to make you feel good.

Drawing two of his fingers to his mouth, he slides them between his plush lips, and you can see his tongue tracing around them before he pulls them out again, glistening with spit for you. It’s entirely unnecessary. You’re so wet it’s leaking down the length of him and onto the inside of your thighs. But the sight makes your heart race all the same.

Steven reaches down between your bodies, hand resting above the apex of your thighs where his cock is still nestled inside you. His fingers slide, ever so gently over the slippery, sensitive flesh where you’re stretched wide around him.

“Feel that, love?” he breathes into your open mouth, “I’m right here. You’ve got me.”

His thumb catches at your clit as he gently presses down, and it has you spasming from the sharp pleasure. He gasps, jerking slightly above you, but doesn’t stop.

“I’m not going anywhere.” He continues to draws small, persistent circles over and over your clit that squeezes the very air out of your lungs, replacing everything, with a needy heat.

Your eyes squeeze shut at the sensation. Tears stinging in the corner of your lids.

It’s still not enough. You want more of him. Need to get closer.

You press your heels hard against the floor, trying to get better leverage, and grip frantically at his back. Nails biting into his skin, you claw at his shoulder blades as though you’re trying to dig your way in so deep that he’ll never be able to tear himself away from you again. It’s selfish, and you know it must be hurting him, but you can’t seem to be able to stop yourself.

Steven doesn’t stop you either. It’s like he knows that you still need more, and he rolls his hips into you, thrusting deep. His hand grips at the underside of your knees, pulling your legs to wrap them around his waist to let you squeeze your thighs around him, heels digging into the curve of his ass.

It feels like another way of telling you he’s here. Yours to use. Yours to have. Just… yours.

“Never gonna leave,” he whispers into your ear, pressing a soft kiss to the lobe as if to seal his promise.

Right now you don’t care if it’s a promise that he might not be able to keep. Not when pleasure, bright and blistering, is surging through you with every roll of his hips. It’s too much, bordering on unbearable. You can’t make out what he’s saying anymore, just soft murmurs and vague shushing.

It doesn’t matter, because his body is telling you all you need to know.

Because for all of Steven’s calm and reassuring words, his actions don’t match. His actions are telling you a different story—a more desperate one—full of grasping hands, deep urgent thrusts, and bitten-off gasps. It’s like his body knows how long you’ve been apart and what it’s been missing, even if his mind doesn’t.

His hand palms at your ribs, fingers digging deep crevices in your flesh, holding you tight like he means never to let go.

Mine, it says. Possessive and hungry.

His mouth, for all its loving dulcet tones and cooing, never seems to leave your skin for long, sliding over your throat and jaw as if magnetised.

Yours, it promises, just as certainly.

He thrusts inside you, his hands find the bare backs of your thighs as he hooks one leg over his arm, and the new angle has him sliding in impossibly deep until it knocks the air out of your ribs. For a long blissful moment, you swear your whole chest cage is going to collapse.

His cock hits somewhere earth-shattering, and you arch up off the floor, curling into him with a shivering gasp. Heat crackles through every limb, swirling and swelling, sweet and insistent in anticipation of your climax. It settles deep in your belly, raw and heavy, soothed only by each insistent thrust.

He’s so deep you swear you feel him everywhere, buried inside you like he’s trying to stake a claim and never leave.

You hope he never does.

Pushing your hips up to him, you chase the feeling of him hitting that perfect spot, as the warm heat of it flutters in your stomach with each deep stroke. It won’t take much, you’re almost there–

But you don’t want this to end. Not yet. You want to keep Steven right here inside of you for as long as you possibly can.

You try to relax the tension in your legs, try to push your hips back down to stave it off. But it’s no good, Steven’s hands are still on you, manhandling you into a position where you can’t escape the perfect, relentless press of his cock inside you.

Not yet, not yet, not yet…

But it’s already there, at the tip of your fingers, so close you can taste it on your tongue. A promise of rapture, whether you want it to or not, and you want to scream and cry and fight the sensation that taunts you as it hangs there. But you can’t seem to do any of those things. It’s like you’ve lost control of your body, your hips lock tight, your throat feels tight and– fuck fuck, you’re–

“Steven, please. Not yet, I’m–” Your eyes squeeze shut, hands clawing at the carpet, searching for something to ground yourself with.

“I’m right here, love,” he murmurs, hand reaching for yours until he finds it and pins it next to your head. He clasps your hand tightly in his, weaving each one of his fingers between yours. “Right here. It’s alright. Let go for me.”

That’s all it takes. The floor underneath gives under, opening up and swallowing you whole. You feel like you’re floating and falling all at once as you clamour for Steven and hold him close as you fall through the cracks off the edge of the earth.

Your legs latch around the middle of his waist as you wring out every ounce and drop of the sensation you can. It rushes through you, ripe and overfull, filling every strand of every vein. You’re disorientated, the world narrowing into nothingness. The only thing that still exists is Steven.

All you can hear is the way his breath is stuttering with effort.

Can feel the way his even pace falters. Can see the way his brows knit in concentration, his face painted with bliss.

God, he’s beautiful like this.

Steven comes with a broken groan.

It’s so much and so deep and somehow you still want more. Want the feel of him raw and bare inside. Even that thin separation of not even a millimetre of rubber is too great of a separator for you to bear right now. All you want is to feel him spill himself inside you, thick and warm.

His body goes still and rigid, and then the strength in him gives under, nearly collapsing over you. He stops himself at the last second with a slam of his fist on the floor next to you, bent arms trembling with strain in an effort to keep himself upright.

It’s a sweet and considerate gesture. He doesn’t want to flatten you with his weight. It’s also completely unnecessary because there’s nothing you want more in this moment.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull him down the rest of the way. It doesn’t take much of your strength, his elbow gives in and bends further, until he’s flush against you, sweaty and heavy limbs entangling with yours.

Despite the unbearable stickiness and heat from your exertion, Steven holds you, chest still heaving against yours. His thin necklace slips delicately down over your collarbone, cool where it rests against your overheated skin. The golden pendant is pressed intimately between your breast and his chest.

The morning sun washes over everything inside your flat in a golden hue. Even the dull white of your walls turns into something warm and amber. The only sound permeating the peace is the sound of morning traffic outside. A busted old moped races down the street. Children shouting over a game of tag. The honking of cars trying to get somewhere fast. Outside it is loud, hectic and chaotic.

But right here, inside the safe bubble of your tiny flat, Steven is warm and heavy over you, the beat of his heart drumming against your chest in a steady pace.

“Can we stay like this for a while?” you ask.

He kisses your forehead, uncaring of the way your skin is sticky with sweat, and you can feel the smile on his lips as he squeezes your hand firmly in his.

“‘Course we can, love. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

~ CONTINUE ~

Once again thanks for everyone coming along for this ride. We're hoping to be posting this on a semi-regular schedule of every two weeks. For anyone who wants to be tagged please sign up to the tag list linked on the series masterlist.

We are beyond grateful for all the comments, reblogs and likes and just interest on this series, and while I can be a bit rubbish at replying sometimes, please know that your words and support inspires us to keep going with this series. 🥰

Dedication & Credits:

It takes a village huh, guys?

All my broken dishes to @the-ginger-hedge-witch because when I told her I wanted Steven to get to rawdog it, she went, "absolutely not, not when Marc is out there whoring around for all we know." (I may or may not be rephrasing but that was the sentiment).

To @radiowallet for listening to my insane and uninformed ramblings about Moon Knight and for giving me a firm guide and steering on how to write our beloved Moon Boys and making sure that everything tracks.

To @write-and-buried for inspiring me with the most absolutely deranged filthy suggestions when my smut inspiration well runs dry. I got really stuck in the sex scene for this one when I decided to in the 11th hour add a sex scene because "it felt right" then proceeding to panic cause I forgot how to write smut and she got me back on track.

And always and forever to my co-writer @thirstworldproblemss who had stayed up endless nights with me discussing the finer details of how twitchy a cock should be, how much it should leak. This series would not exist without her, she turns the rubbish I write into diamonds, she goes through every sentence once-twice-three times and she is always responsible for the best lines in every chapter, her voice for Steven is unparalleled, and I find myself falling more and more in love with this world because of her. I would not be writing this story, and most likely, at all, if it weren't for her and our friendship.

#oscar isaac #steven grant #marc spector #jake lockley #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #jake lockley x reader #moon knight #moon knight fic #moon knight fanfic #marvel #mcu #moon knight x you #cici writes #moon knight x reader #steven grant x you #marc spector x you #jake lockley x you #cici moon knight

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iovetecchou · 1 year

Text

Pairings... Jouno Saigiku x Reader

Contains... hurt, no comfort. angst. toxic!jouno, lowkey yandere!jouno. cheating, getting caught, suggestive themes, strong language

GN Reader.

1,156 words.

Jouno was being… shifty. Coming home later in the evening, leaving earlier in the morning. You were becoming increasingly concerned with his strange behavior.

You were both snuggled up in bed, reading a book aloud so you and Jouno could enjoy it. But there was just one small problem. His phone was ringing off the hook all night. It was beginning to get on your nerves.

You finally reached over for his phone. Curiosity got the better of you. But before you could get so far, Jouno grasped your forearm and harshly, at that. Your eyes shot up to his face in an instant. That gut feeling washed over you.

“Ah, I do apologize, princess. Duty calls.”

That was all he said before he dropped your forearm. Climbing out of bed in the process. He swiftly slipped on his shirt, not bothering to button it up completely as he took his leave. You heard the apartment door swing open, and slam shut.

You didn’t want to assume the worst, but how could you not? He was less affectionate recently, shrugging you off every time you pulled him in for an embrace. Blowing you off when you planned out a whole date night. Not bothering to reciprocate your kisses. Your heart cracked each time.

You wanted so desperately to snap out of this nightmare. Facing the reality of the situation seemed far worse.

He didn’t come back home that night. But he left all his belongings here, and you knew he had work today. You figured bringing him his things would be best before you ran a few errands.

What could go wrong?

“Good morning Teruko! Is Sai here already?” You smiled down at the petite woman. Trying your best to conceal your anxiety. Teruko’s face went pale. “Y/n… what are you doing here?”

You were taken aback. Why was she so stunned by your appearance? Everyone knew you and Jouno were in a relationship. I mean, the Hunting Dogs would come over to your place for the holidays and special occasions. Celebrating alongside you and Jouno.

But the way she was looking at you… it was almost as if you were a stranger.

“I… came to drop off some things Sai left at home today. What’s the matter Teruko? You’re scaring me.” You blurted out. You could feel your heart beating out of your chest. She frowned at your words, averting her gaze before she spoke up once more.

“Y/n… Jouno told everyone that you two broke up. He said that two weeks ago. I’m sorry.”

As rapid as your heart was beating was as quick as it stopped. A lump formed in your throat. You couldn't wrap your head around what Teruko confessed to you.

“Y/n… he’s in his office… with another person… If I knew what was really going on, I would have beat his ass long ago.”

You could barely breathe. It felt like you had just been punched in the gut. This could not be fucking happening right now. After everything you’ve done for him?

You sacrificed so much for Jouno. He molded you into the perfect little partner. Tailored you to meet his needs, keeping you in the dark, and isolating you from your friends and family.

He claimed you only needed him. That he was the only person in the whole world that would ever love you.

You felt the tears welling up. You couldn’t think straight. You could hardly even function. You fumbled down the hall towards Jouno’s office. “Y/n wait- don’t do this to yourself-!”

Teruko shouted, following you in tow. But it was too late. You pushed the door open, and the sight in front of you left you speechless.

Jouno had another person pinned to his desk. They were both half undressed, kissing all over one another. The sound of the door swinging open startled both of them. They were quite literally caught in the act.

The stranger who was receiving all the love and affection from the man who was supposed to be yours abruptly stood up. They hurriedly fixed their clothes. Pushing past you and through the door without a word. Causing you to fumble slightly.

Jouno emitted a deep sigh. Shaking his head slightly as he began buttoning up his work uniform. “Teruko, give up some privacy.” He deadpanned, taking slow strides toward your frame. You were so heartbroken, your face losing any semblance of life as the tears freely rolled down your cheeks.

“Jouno, you fucking asshole. How could you?” Teruko spat out. She shot you a look of apology before she shut the door. The fear began to creep up on you.

Your blood ran cold, and your fingertips went numb. Jouno now stood in front of you. He craned his neck down, bringing his hand to cup your chin. Tilting your face up in his direction. The moment you scanned over his features, you couldn't control the sobs that wracked through your whole being.

He was smiling widely, no trace of love painted across his features. Jouno was enjoying your pained cries and irregular heartbeat. You could tell, and it hurt. So fucking bad.

“You sound so pathetic right now. What, don’t tell me you actually thought I… loved you?”

His voice was laced with amusement. How could this be happening right now? You had been with Jouno for years. Was it so wrong of you to assume that… he did love you? You felt so hopeless. All you could focus on was that wicked fucking smile.

“You really are a pathetic little thing. You were nothing more but an easy fuck to me. You see… I only kept you around for so long because I didn’t want anyone else to have you. It was so easy— no, you’re so easy. You fell right into my trap. I mean, how stupid are you?”

Your legs gave out. Jouno retracted his grasp on your chin as you fell to your knees. All light was lost from your eyes as you hiccuped through your body jerking sobs. Jouno let out the most maniacal laugh at your pathetic state.

“Ah, can you leave already? Your turbulent emotions are starting to give me a headache. I’ll be home around seven, so work dinner around that time. Are you even listening to me, mutt?”

He kneeled in front of you. Gripping your jaw harshly with his thumb and index finger. He was pressing so hard into your cheeks. You winced out through the pain. Causing Jouno’s smirk to grow wider.

“Oh, and princess… if you so much as think of leaving me… I will know, and I will kill you.”

His face fell entirely at the end of his sentence. Completely devoid of emotions. It struck fear in you. How was it possible that you truly knew nothing? Especially about the person you’ve spent the past few years with? Jouno was right. You really were stupid.

You reap what you sow.

“If I can't have you, no one can.”

yummy! i love pain! anyways... im sorry... i just had this cute lil idea. i had to share...

special tag: @win-writes

#jouno saigiku x reader #jouno x reader #saigiku jouno #bsd jouno #jouno saigiku #saigiku jouno x reader #bsd imagines #bsd x reader #bsd #bsd angst #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs imagines

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altheasmeadow · 6 months

Text

The Change In You

WC: 1.4 K

Pairing: S.Coups X fem reader

Warnings: Body Image issues, mean mom

Choi Seung Cheol, The man was the definition of husband material. So when he finally settled down into a relationship you can only imagine both his and his members' excitement, especially when they saw his partner. She was the perfect mix of grace and chaos. The days spent watching her bickering back and forth with Minghao, Jun and Jeonghan were some of his favorites, or when she’d join in on the teasing of Mingyu and Dino, but his favorite thing about his love? She was so self assured, she had nothing to be insecure about of course, but usually women on the fluffier side of things in his experience tended to lean more towards the reserved side about their bodies.

The day he proposed he spent the night worshipping her beautiful curves, and he couldn’t think of a better way to spend the night honestly, he’d have spent the rest of his life in that moment if he could. He didn’t know if the high of being set to marry the love of his life would ever die down, until of course her mother had to start inserting herself where she didn’t belong.

It started small, miscellaneous things he would have never noticed if he didn’t know her inside and out. Her usual cropped tees and joggers were switched to baggier sweats and his large hoodies, her hair that was once always tied up to reveal her face started being worn down, looking dull and lifeless. He pulled her aside and spoke to her about her habits, but she denied everything; not trying to fight he stepped back to allow her to deal with her own issue, because she is in fact an adult who could make her own choices. It gradually got worse though, and his temper was flaring, trying to find any and every way to fix this situation without overstepping, But first he needed to know what was causing the situation.

“Hyung, It could just be pre wedding stress.” Wonwoo advised, trying to reassure the frantic male.

“There’s no way! She’s excited and planning it seems to be the only time she feels alive, the rest of the time she looks so drained.” Seungcheol gritted out frustrated about the situation.

“Look how about you call her and we all go out tonight, maybe we can pull her out of this together.” Minghao offered, feeling sympathetic toward the elder man who was usually very composed, this level of discomposure was a new form of tension nobody was prepared for.

“I think she’s having lunch with her mom, today I don’t want to disturb.” Seungcheol sighed, brows furrowing in thought.

“You know she’s been spending a lot of time with her mom since this all started happening.” Mingyu noted, face stuffed full of chips, oblivious to the look of horror crossing Jeonghan’s face.

The second oldest might be the only one who knows how bad her mother can get, while Seungcheol understood things weren’t the best he was still always optimistic and encouraging her to have a bond with her mother, meanwhile, Jeonghan absolutely refused to allow her to put effort into such a toxic relationship, anytime she was tempted to meet with her mother, Jeonghan “coincidentally” always had an emergency, but recently he had been way too busy with a comeback and hadn’t really noticed her going out. God was he annoyed.

“Call her hyung.” Jeonghan demanded, everyone looking towards him with confusion. Everyone was so used to the man being pretty much a tease 24/7 so the sudden narrowed eyes and the pull of his lips was strikingly stunning.

Realizing the severity, Seungcheol grabbed his phone and dialed his fiancee’s number.

One ring

His anxiety spiked a little as the second rang through and then the third, and finally on the fourth the call was answered and a familiar voice emitted from the call.

“Hi Love.” She sounded tired, and breathless, making Seungcheol even more confused about the situation.

“Hey Bub sorry for interrupting your lunch, I just wanted to know if you’d be up for dinner tonight with the guys, they really miss you!” He offered, pulling his thumb nail between his teeth, a horrible habit truly.

“Ah I don’t know, we had a big lunch today.” She responded softly, taking a deep breath.

“How about a game night then?”He tried again, only to earn a hum of indifferent in return.

Just as she was about to respond, he heard a door open and close behind her and the fumble of a phone, “Get back inside if you want to find a wedding dress that’ll fit you.” He heard his future mother in law’s voice chime, making his heart swell, they were wedding dress shopping?

The smile on his face dropped almost immediately after though as she continued speaking, “We can’t have you look like a cow, get back in there and run off those calories, then I’ll get you another salad after maybe if you work off enough.”

He heard the door open and shut after his fiancee asked for just another moment and received a scoff in return, before picking up the phone again.

“Baby…” He tried to speak but only heard her rushed words of “gotta go I love you.” before the call was ended, leaving Seungcheol in disbelief.

“Hyung?” Dino asked, carefully leaning towards his leader who looked like he wanted to punch someone, there was some shuffling and a door opening before everyone heard a stern, “Let’s go Coups.”

Everyone turned and saw Jeonghan standing at the door with Cheol’s keys in his hand ready to go, and before a breath passed Seungcheol took off, Jeonghan following shortly after.

–

A few broken speed limits later the two were outside the gym, of course there are many gyms in Seoul, however, only one was owned by his partner’s family.

“Are you ready?” Jeonghan asked, trying to make sure his leader wouldn’t completely lose his temper.

“I am.” Was all that came through the gritted teeth, before he pulled the door open.

It didn’t take them long to find the mother-daughter duo, seeing his partner panting with a red face as her mother taunted her almost set him off, however he kept his composure and approached the two, Jeonghan following behind with a deadly glare.

“Cheol? Hannie?” She asked, looking embarrassed at getting caught.

“Hi honey.” Jeonghan smiled sweetly towards hisbestfriend before returning his eyes to glare at her mom.

“Well hello boys, how can we help you?” Her mother smiled sweetly at the two, only to receive deadpanned expressions in return.

“You’re the reason she hasn’t been herself in months.”Cheol simply stated, causing the duo to look at him in shock.

“Ah no need to thank me.” The mother teased, turning back to her daughter with a grin as if to say ‘I told you so’

“There is no thanking happening here, you body shamed the most beautiful and confident woman I’ve ever met. You tore down her strong beautiful self for your own benefit. She and I have discussed her weight before. It is absolutely normal and healthy, she will not be continuing these stupid diets, atrocious workouts and enduring you projectiong your own god-awful insecurities onto her. If she doesn’t want to work out she shouldn’t.” He spoke with dominance, not allowing her to believe she had power in the situation for a second.

“And how do you know this wasn’t her idea?”

“Because if it was, she wouldn’t be hiding her efforts, she’d be proud of it, you might’ve birthed her but you don’t truly know her if you didn’t see that you were quite literally draining the life out of her, so what's going to happen is. If she wants to work out she’ll do it at her pace, she’ll also choose what to eat herself and not try to function off of small salads. She’ll rest properly, eat properly, and even exercise properly if she wishes. And it’ll all be of her will. Do not mess with the love of my life again, I’m not as friendly when I’m crossed a second time.” He basically spat at the women, as Jeonghan helped his lover up off of the floor, helping stabilize her shaky legs from the intense workout.

The three turned, leaving the stunned elder, who frowned upon hearing, “do you think we could get some food?” uttered from her daughter followed by a round of fond laughter.

#svt angst #svt scenarios #svt x reader #svt fluff #svt #seventeen x reader #s.coups #s.coups scenarios #s.coups imagines #s.coups fluff #s.coups x reader #seungcheol x reader

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supercriminalbean · 1 year

Text

Jail Bird.

Aaron Hotchner x GN!Reader.

Okay so this is my first every fanfic, I’m not entirely happy with this but fuck it. It's been sitting in my drafts for 6 months so I’m now posting it. Um, enjoy. I hope Thank you.

Do not repost this on other sites thank you.

Summary: Night out with Garcia goes south so what happens when you have to ring Hotch to pick you up from Jail one night. What could happen between you two.

Gender Netural reader, they/them pronouns.

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, alcohol, assault, being drugged, jail, police assault, fighting, kissing. (If I forgot anything let me know)

Words: 2.9k

“We really messed up this time, didn’t we (Y/n)” Penelope groans resting her head on your shoulder. You are both resting on the benches in the holding cell, your eyes scan around the room, there are five other people in the cells. Three drunk men asleep on the floor leaning against the walls and Two younger girls, leaning against each other on the benches opposite you, looking scared, cold and alone. Glancing down at Penelope, you see her left eye is starting to swell. Her hair she had up earlier, now a complete mess, along with her lipstick and mascara all smudge. Realisation hits that you must look similar if not worse.

“Yeah we fucked up, but the worst part is we now need someone to bail us out” Letting out a breathles sigh. Regret fills you up, letting your head drop onto hers, for some rest. You really fucked up this time, wondering to yourself why do you go out drinking tequila with this women. Your head is pounding, with the alcohol in your systems, the lights in here making it so much worse.

“We can ring Derek, he will tease us but that's better than Emily's teasing” Garcia suggests, closing her eyes, exhausted.

“I wish we could, but he's in California doing a conference with Reid and Emily, remember?” You groan out.

“What about if we ring JJ?” Shaking your head in response, as you remember she's gone on holiday and with that, it only leaves you with two choices.

“Nope, JJ went on a romantic weekend with Will.” Rubbing your hands over your face, sitting up straight.

“So that leaves us with…” She trails off, her eyes opening slowly.

“Yep” sighs “Hotch or Rossi”

“We are screwed” Garcia goes quiet, coming to the same realisation as you.

“We still have a couple more hours before we are allowed to call anyone, Pen, try to get some rest, you are going to need it by the time we get out of here” Looking down at her head on your shoulders noticing her eyes are already closing. After a while her breathing evens out as she falls into a light sleep.

A couple hours pass by slowly, as you get to watch the sun coming up through a small window across the room. Glancing at the clock, noticing that it is only 5:23am, giving you 7 minutes left until you can finally get a phone call, and hope to leave. Glancing down at Garcia, you see that she's now awake, and staring at the clock. Her left eye is still swollen and a bruise is slowly forming. Looking around the room, knowing that no one else has joined you throughout the night. The two girls across from you are finally asleep. During the night, you had given one of them your jacket to keep her warm, as she was starting to shake. Soon one of the police officers walks over, unlocking the cell and gestures to you and Garcia to stand up.

“One of you two come here, you get the first call of the morning” He holds the cell door open.

Turning to Garica you speak quietly, your body filled with exhaustion and anxiety.

“Pen, you go, ring Rossi he's got a soft spot for you, and less likely to yell this early”

She nods as she gets up and walks out quietly, just as nervous as you.

About ten minutes goes past, when she walks back in looking even more depressed than before, if that was even possible right now. Sitting down beside you she speaks, her voice sounding strained, from dehydration and stress.

“He didn't answer and they wouldn't let me ring anyone else” She rested her head against the wall.

“I really do not want to ring Hotch right now” Groaning with dread as you stand up. Your legs feel like jelly, being uneasy on your feet, moving slowly forward feeling light headed from the alcohol and the lack of sleep.

“Oi hurry up, i'm not holding this door open all day” Rolling your eyes at the officer as you walk out, following him to the phone.

“You get two attempts to call, better hope they answer” The officer leans against the wall watching you, giving you an uneasy feeling.

“Right thanks” Sighing as you pick up the phone and punching in Hotch’s work number, knowing he's most likely to answer that one, rather than his personal. It rings five times, your heart is pounding as you fear he won’t answer, or worse that he will.

“Hello Hotchner '' His voice sounding heavy with sleep,

“Um hey Hotch it’s me, (Y/n). I'm sorry to have to ring you but” Taking a quick breath, as your voice shakes with anxiety.

“(Y/n)? Are you okay? Why are you ringing me so early on a saturday?” His voice filled with concern. You can't help but to imagine, his eyebrows narrowing in confusion.

“I messed up Hotch, I mean it, I really really messed up. I need your help please?” Tears springing to your eyes, realising how bad the situation could have ended up being.

“What happened, where are you?” His voice is groggy but starts to sound more awake.

“Down at the police station, in the holding cells with Garica” Your voice trailing off, closing your eyes, waiting for his response. The other side of the line goes quiet for a short moment.

“Are you hurt?” His voice was soft but you could almost hear a harsh tone coming through.

“Not really.. We had too much to drink, we got in a fight, we need someone to bail us out, please.” You sigh tiredly, hearing him huff angrily,

“I will be there soon” is the last thing you hear before the line goes dead.

“Hotch is on his way” You let out a long breath, sitting back down beside her. “I'm so sorry Penelope, I got us into this mess” Rubbing your hands over your face, something you do when you’re stressed.

“This is not your fault, you did what anyone would do, it's just your luck you would punch the wrong guy” She smiles gently, trying her best to make light of this situation. You can't help but smile weakly at her.

“I'm just sorry they got away and that you got hurt” Glancing at her black eye.

“You got hurt, more than I did, my eye hurts but I'll be okay, how are your ribs? They seem to punch you hard” Her voice filled with concern.

“Yeah they got a few good hits in, definitely going to bruise” Placing your hand gently on your side, wincing slightly. “You know Hotch is going to kill us right?” You smirk slightly.

“Oh he won't, you know we are his favourite in the team” Giggling slightly, she adds. “Plus we know Hotch can't stay mad at you for long” Rolling your eyes up at her remembering what she let slip last night, about a bet the team had.

The officer walks back over, unlocking the cell watching them.

“You two really do work for the FBI?” He questions.

“Yep that's us” You slowly stood up, your body feeling even heavier than before.

“Huh, I thought that was, just drunk talking last night”

Following the officer back out to the front, you see Hotch finishing signing off some paperwork at the front desk. Sending Garcia a quick nervous glance, as you look at Hotch, who has his disappointed boss face on.

“Let's go” He walks over to the door, holding it open for you both.

As you three start walking out to his car. Your arms are folded across your chest, rubbing your arms gently trying to stay warm. You regret wearing shorts that only go halfway to your knees, and a low, thin top. It starts raining, the sky covered in stormy grey clouds. Garcia pulls her jacket tighter out herself, only wearing a thin dress, she looks like she is freezing as much as you. As you walk over, towards his car in complete silence. He shrugs off his jacket and wraps it around your shoulders, helping slide your arms in. He is standing extremely close to you as he opens the front passenger door of his car for you. You glance over at Garcia and see her smirking at you, raising your eyebrow at her in confusion. Wondering how she's finding this so amusing, as you get into the car.

“What the hell happened?” His eyes narrow as he starts driving.

“Um Garcia, want to take this one?” You look beggingly at her.

“No, (Y/n) you tell me. Now” his eyes glance at you, his face filled with anger.

“Okay look, it's not that bad, okay we did what we thought was right, with a few too many drinks in us” You try to reason.

“Oh a few to many drinks, really, because they said you punched a cop”

Your hands run over your face feeling stressed. “I did do that, but that was an accident, I didn't know he was cop”

“Right and that makes it okay, you are a FBI agent (Y/L) you can not be getting into fights, and you can not be dragging Garcia into trouble as well”

“Sir can I just say something please” Garcia begins, Hotch goes quite watching her closely, in the rear facing mirror.

“It wasn't their fault, another guy started it, we were sitting at the bar, doing some shots, and this older guy, like he was older than you and he started flirting with some girls beside us, these girls who are barely of age they were clearly uncomfortable” Garcia talks quickly mumbling some of her words. She still seems a little bit drunk, and nervous trying to explain herself to her boss.

“Yeah so I was watching him, I thought maybe we might need to help them, but then I saw his friend on the other side of the girls slip something in one of their drinks, so I kind of pushed my way though the first guy to talk to the girls and told them what the other guy did”

“Yeah he did not like that” You nod along with Garcia.

“So let me guess he got angry?” Hotch sighs, his face relaxing slightly.

“Oh extremely, next thing I knew I was being pushed to the ground, so I got up and we started fighting, I was soon fighting like three grown ass dudes, I was doing well until this guy grabbed me by the hair”

“So I may have jumped on his back and pulled him down” Garcia adds “Then the Police turned up, and tried to break up the fight”

“I didn't see that, they were Cops, so I accidentally punched him in the face, and broke his nose, and then the other three guys got away” Slowly lifting your head up to look at Hotch.

“Did you tell all this to the officers?” His voice softens, glancing at you, his expression is hard to read, before he's back looking at the road.

“We did, they said if it is true they won't press charges on me, so they are checking the cameras today” Hotch nods, listening, we go quiet. As we pull up outside Penelope place.

“Garcia” Hotch sighs slightly “Get some rest today, and I’ll see you at work tomorrow”

“Yes sir, thank you” she smiles as she goes to get out.

“Wait, Garica, remember to ice your eye and get some cream on it” He adds, with a small smile.

She smiles “I will do that, thank you Sir” she closes the door and walks inside.

As you both make the way back to your apartment, it's completely silent for the first few blocks.

“Are you going to say anything to me at all Aaron?”

“What do you want me to say (Y/n), huh?, you ring me, 5:30 in the morning, to come get you and Garcia out of jail, after you cancelled our plans last night to go get drunk” Hotch snaps angrily.

“You said you were okay with us changing our plans, seeing as Jack had a sleep over any way I figure movie night was cancelled, it is just a movie Aaron” Snapping slightly, closing your eyes tired

“This isn't about the movie, this is about you drinking too much.”

“Me drinking to much?, Hotch, I had a couple to many, yes, but this was not my fault, I wasn't going to let those girls get drugged and who knows what else, we see what can happen to girls like that everyday, there was no way we were going to let that happen” You argue loudly.

“You could of gone a different way, keep those girls safe, and yourself”

“I am fine Hotchner and so are those girl”

“NO (Y/L) You are not fine, you have blood on your face, and bruises going down your arms, and you smell like a nightclub” He parks his car outside your apartment building. You turn to him surprised.

“Did you just (Y/L) me?

“You Hotchner me” he crosses his arms, you huff as you undo your seatbelt and open your door.

“See you at work Aaron” Getting out of the car, slamming the door closed. Hotch gets out and walks towards you. “What are you doing Aaron?”

“I am walking you inside, this conversation is not over”

“Whatever” Rolling your eyes, again. You two make your way inside and up 4 flights of stairs and finally, unlocking your door after a long night. All you really want to do is have a shower, but first you have to deal with whatever lecture Aaron wants to give you.

Walking inside you head straight over to the kitchen to turn the coffee pot on, Aaron following behind you closely, watching you silently.

“I know I'm great to watch but can you stop going silent. It's really annoying.” You look up at him. Instead of answering he walks away into the bathroom, walking back out holding a cloth.

“Take my jacket off and sit. '' He stands by the table and pulls out a seat at the table for you. Sighing as you pull his jacket off as you make your way to him, placing it on the table before taking a seat. One of his hands reached up to your face gently holding your chin, keeping you in place.

“Aaron I can clean myself up” Your words come out quietly, exhausted.

“Do not try and argue with me agent” A smirk plays into his voice. Gently he cleans the dried blood and dirt off your face, wincing slightly as he cleans the blood off your bottom lip.

You can’t tell if it's the alcohol still in your system, or if you're just so sleep deprived. But you can't stop staring at his face seeing how handsome he looks when he's concentrating. How the brown in his eyes seems golden in the lighting. Your check starts burning as you realise how close you are to him, and how all you want to do is melt into his arms as he holds you close.

His hands move slowly and gently, washing the blood and dirt off your skin. You watch his hand move, biting your lips as you stare at them. What you say next to him, you want to blame the alcohol.

“Hey Aaron, did you know the team has a betting pool on us?”

He looks up a little confused, a smirk on his beautiful lips. “They do?”

“Yeah Pen told me last night that they all think we are secretly dating, and that's why we are always watching movies, or why I'm over at your place teaching Jack how to bake.” You laugh slightly.

“Huh, they really think we are dating?” he chuckles weakly, shaking his head.

“It's not the worst idea in the world” Biting your lip looking him in the eyes.

“Well I mean I am your boss, that would be highly inappropriate” He smirks, shaking his head slightly.

“Maybe, but I think inappropriate went out the window after we started cuddling on the couch watching movies with your son.” Your words come out slowly, watching for his reaction. He smiles softly, his eyes filling with hope and love, he looks up at you, placing the cloth down.

“You know, both of us are profilers, yet we are so oblivious aren't we” You blush softly as he takes your hand.

“We are, Dave keeps calling me an idiot for not telling you how I feel” You can’t help but laugh along with him.

“We really are idiots, aren't we Hotchner” Biting your lip softly, leaning closer to him.

“That we are” He smirks. “I think I'm supposed to ask you on a date now?” Shaking your head, a laugh still on your lips.

“I'm pretty sure we have been on plenty of dates, we just never realised” You tease as he leans forward.

“That means I can do this then” He chuckles softly as he closes the gap between them, his lips capturing yours softly. His arms coming up wrapping around your body pulling you close you can’t help but melt into his touch.

#criminal minds #criminal minds one shot #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fluff #reader in jail aaron bails them out #aaron hotchner x gender netural reader #Penelope garcia #penelope garcia x reader

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lilacliquors · 3 months

Text

pairing: johnny cage mk1 x reader

sweet or spicy: sweet

word count: 872

prompt: [ RELIEF ]: upon reuniting with the receiver, whom the sender briefly believed to be dead, the sender emotionally embraces them, and says “i love you” in the spur of the moment.

notes: here's day nine! i've been saving the mk1 men ffluff or last bc those are my babies, i love writing fluff for mk1 men <3

learning that johnny was off to help defend earthrealm, whatever that meant, made you more nervous than anything ever had before. it wasn’t just the fact that he didn’t know how to explain it, it was the fact that there was no promise he’d come back to alive, or even at all.

you’d been friends forever, as long as you could remember. you were his rock when he was trying to break into the film industry, and he was your anchor during the roughest points in your life. he’d needed you more than ever through the rough patches, his crumbling marriage, but you couldn’t stand by and not tell him what you really thought: that his behaviors were what caused the marriage to fizzle out. his self obsession with fame and the reckless spending, living beyond his means to the point where it was grotesque what he was buying, and he didn’t want to hear it, not from you. and after that argument, when you went by his home the next day to apologize, he wasn’t there. and you had no idea where he could have even gone. there was no note, no missed phone call or text, no voicemail. he was just … gone.

but then, he was at your door, trying to explain where he’d been all these months. but before you could ask any questions, he told you he had to leave again, and he looked guilty. that was when you found out he couldn’t promise a safe return, that everything was at stake, including the timeline … whatever that meant. to you, he was speaking gibberish, but you listened to every word. some part of you hoped that listening you bring him back safely, that understanding what this was all about would keep him healthy and alive.

you paced your apartment over and over, glancing at your phone time and time again, hoping it would buzz, ring, do anything to help you retain your sanity. but there was nothing. and it drove you up the wall. johnny had told you that someone named liu kang would come to deliver any news, but everything was making your head spin. all the names, liu kang, shang tsung, quan chi, who were these people and why were they trying to take over the world? where did they come from? what did johnny have to do with any of this? why was this called ‘earthrealm’, wasn’t it just earth?

you sat down on the couch and rubbed your face with your hands, sighing quietly. you were dreading a ring of the doorbell, a knock at the door, however this liu kang would contact you. nothing made any sense, it all made your head pound. and when the hours ticked by with no contact, no alleged god of fire at your door, you began to fear the worst.

what if they had all died? what if they had failed the whole mission, failed the whole world? how would you know? would everything cease to exist, or would you be under someone’s tyrannical rule? the thought alone made your stomach churn, and you forced yourself to get up.

you were about to head into the kitchen to get some aspiring and some water when the doorbell rang. immediately, your stomach dropped. you always feared the worse, you anxiety never let you do the opposite. you almost didn’t want to move from where you were standing. but you did, you forced yourself to walk to the door. you didn’t even bother to check out the peephole like you normally did. you just grit your teeth and wrenched the door open, your eyes squeezed shut.

“did my face get that fucked up?”

your eyes shot back open, and your jaw dropped slightly. johnny was on your front porch, a little bruised, a little cut up, but he was there. he was alive. you couldn’t believe your eyes, but you threw your arms around him in a tight hug.

“johnny! oh my god, i was so scared … i thought i was gonna lose you and i can’t lose you because i love you and if you had died out there before i could ever tell you because it took me forever to figure it out but now that i have i wouldn’t have been able to live with myself …”

your ramblings continued until johnny pulled back from your hug, cupped your face, and pulled you in for a kiss. you were caught by surprise, but returned it, feeling the desperation of the moment. all uncertainty washed away, and all you felt was him, his hold, his lips …

“it’s okay, i’m here now,” he whispered as he pulled back from the kiss. “i’m here, and i’m not going anywhere ever again. we’re okay.”

“we’re okay,” you murmured back, and he smiled, pressing his forehead to yours.

“come on, i have so much to explain. and you’re gonna wanna sit down with a snack and some wine for this one.”

you let him come in, and as the door shut behind you, you had a sense of calm wash over you. he was here, alive and well, and now, it was time you heard the truth.

#johnny cage x reader #johnny cage fluff #johnny cage #johnny cage mk1 #johnny cage mk1 sweet and spicy special #lilacliquors

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fortheloveofwonderland · 6 months

Text

Rusty | Chapter 5 | SR

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Summary - Once you sober up, you and Spencer start to learn a little more about each other. But when things get heated between you, Spencer becomes distant.

Paring - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - strangers to friends to lovers | angst | smut minors DNI

Warnings - this chapter goes into some gritty detail about a past sexual assault / rape in form of forced oral sex (please tread lightly), blood, injuries, hangovers, talk of sexuality, talk of break ups, past death of a parent, past physical abuse, swearing, tears, making out, brief suicidal thoughts, rape statistics, PTSD, brief mentions of past drug addiction, Maeve and Cat Adams, vomit.

WC - 6k

Chapter 5 - Gunpowder and Led

When the phone rang for a fourth time, Spencer felt himself relenting. It was sitting in the open palm of his right hand, vibrating against his skin.

The first three times he’d seen the flash of his name on the screen he’d quickly looked away, ignoring the sound, ignoring the vibration.

But it just kept ringing.

By this time it was dark, nearing ten pm and to say he was exhausted would be stark understatement.

After getting you back to the ranch he went straight to the stable. It took somewhere in the region of a half hour to get down from his horse given the amount of pain he was in from riding to and from town.

When he’d finally gotten down and freed Willow of her saddle and gear, he’d limped back towards his lodge where he’d left you with the key and told you to go sit down.

He expected to find you on the couch or maybe even on the porch still. Instead he’d found you curled up in his bed, sheets tucked up to your chin as you snored quietly against his pillow.

A cursory glance at the room and the clothes strewn around the floor told him you no doubt wore little more than underwear beneath the sheet.

It probably shouldn’t be such a big deal, but Spencer’s mental hang ups had only gotten worse due to his social isolation. He was more of a germaphobe now than he’d ever been, at least with regards to humans.

Horses, he didn’t mind. It didn’t phase him at all when Willow or Frank or Wilbur ate from his hand and left behind their saliva. He didn’t even blink at having to scoop up their faeces or clean out piles of urine soaked hay.

But humans were another thing entirely.

The most physical contact he’d had in two years was at the hospital this morning when the nurse had fitted his cast. She wore gloves of course, which alleviated some of his anxiety towards the situation.

But now there was a person in his bed. His sanitised safe place for which no one else had ever breached. His cleanliness extended to the point he made a habit of changing his bedsheets every couple of days and he had planned to change them tomorrow in any case.

He would certainly not be able to sleep between those sheets now another body had inhabited them. It played on his mind as he left you to sleep. He briefly considered waking you but the damage was done now.

He tried to occupy his mind by going about his daily routine, which was made much more arduous given his incapacity. He started by taking the three horses out to their pen so he could clean out the stable. Usually he could take all three at once but his limited movement and use of only one hand meant he had to take them one at a time.

He hitched up their reins and one by one led them up the hill towards the large, fenced off area which was located at the edge of the ravine which ran the length of the northern side of his land.

Willow first. Then Wilbur. Finally Franklin.

The ache in his knee and the throb in his thigh multiplied with each trip up and down that hill and by the time the stable was empty he barely had the energy left to clean it out. But he pushed on, despite the pain and despite his lack of motivation.

It took well over an hour for him to successfully clean each of their paddocks but at least it meant his three horses had longer to strut around in the field because there was no way Frank and Wilbur were to be ridden today.

Once he’d cleaned it out, filled their troughs and replenished their water, one by one he led the horses home. By this point he had to go and pop another couple of Tylenol and sit down for ten minutes with a mug of honey and lemon tea.

After he did much the same with his six cattle. Their own barn was part of their enclosed area, they had access to come and go as they pleased through the open door as they spent most of their time eating the grass.

All six, four cows and two bulls, were already outside which made his job a little easier. He cleaned the barn, replenished their foods and water while they meandered of their own volition.

When he was finished he leaned against the fence and watched them for a while, smiling a little as he thought back to that conversation with JJ.

“And what would you do with cattle?”

“You know, look at ‘em, pet ‘em…I hadn’t really thought about that. But I’ll figure it out.”

Looking at them and petting them was pretty much all Spencer derived from his cattle after all. He did take advantage of their milk supply every once in a while but didn’t particularly relish the milking process so it wasn’t habitual. Mostly he just liked to watch them.

If he had a favourite it would be Cupid. She was the runt of the group, much smaller than her companions. He had named her such for the heart shaped black splodge around her left eye. Cupid’s brother Sampson was damn near twice her size and they fought like cat and dog.

His other girls, Daisy, Annabel and Jasmine were also much bigger than Cupid but they were all amicable with each other. His final bull, Duke, was the biggest of them all, broad and thick and the darkest of blacks in colour. He looked terrifying and Spencer had been extremely reluctant in purchasing him.

But then Duke had looked at him with large, doe eyes and licked Spencer’s hand in such a calming manner that Spencer had instantly fallen in love with the older bull.

He stood leaning against the fence for some time, just watching them roam about, munch on the grass, interact with one another.

As companions he preferred horses but to just sit by and watch he favoured the cattle. He found them mesmerising for reasons unknown to him.

They were inquisitive creatures, majestic in their own right. And something about them just utterly fascinated Spencer.

He missed another call from Penelope throughout the day and received another text from Luke which was much the same as the other.

He would contact someone, eventually. He just wasn’t in the head space to talk to any of his old team after the past few days.

After completing his chores he checked in on you and found you still asleep. Not wanting to wake you he grabbed a change of clothes before limping back up to the other lodge to clean himself up.

He could tell you’d used the shower and so had to clean and sanitise the tub before he dared use it. He’d hold off on changing your bedsheets in case you decided to stay for longer but he did feel compelled to make the bed again to his standards.

Once clean, he ran a bath, not having the energy to shower. While the tub filled he stripped out of his clothes, groaning in pain when he had to shimmy his pants off.

Not entirely unexpectedly, the outside of the gauze was coated in blood as was the inside of the pant leg of his jeans.

He sat on the toilet and unravelled the soiled bandage cautiously. He had another first aid kit in this bathroom so at least he’d have a clean alternative once he was bathed.

He used a wad of wet tissue to clean the wounds before his bath so as not to be soaking in a pool of his own blood. It smarted and he ground his teeth in response.

Lowering himself into the tub wasn’t an easy thing to do but he managed. And once he was down he relished the feeling of the warm water caressing his limbs.

He kept his casted arm hanging over the side and lolled his head back against the porcelain, letting his eyes flutter closed and trying to force relaxation upon himself.

It must have worked because when he opened his eyes again it was two hours later and the bath water had long turned cold.

He checked in on you once more after his bath, ate a small bowl of cereal for dinner and made another mug of honey and lemon tea which he sat drinking on the porch with his phone in his hand as it rang a fourth time.

He inhaled sharply through his nose, slowly exhaling as he counted to ten. His hand shook a little as he raised the device, pressed the button to answer the call and put it to his ear.

“Hi,” he croaked out the word and awaited their greeting whilst a throb pounded at his temple.

There was a small stretch of silence on the other end, or maybe he just perceived there to be. But soon enough a voice he hadn’t heard in months flitted its way to Spencer’s ear.

“Oh man, it’s so good to hear your voice, pretty boy.”

***

You awoke with a start, your heart hammering diligently against your chest and gasping for air. You felt like your lungs had been filled with water, deprived of oxygen.

Your eyes shot open as you sat upright in the unfamiliar bed. You blinked into the dark room, trying to focus yourself, find your bearings.

Taking deep breaths to try and return your breathing to normal, shapes started to form. After a minute or so ascertained you were in Spencer’s bed.

You rubbed your eyes, an almost gentle thrum in your head and the lingering taste of whiskey on your tongue reminded you of your precious activities.

Images of the 11th Street Bar, of Cole and Boone and Butch came back to you. Spencer on Willow’s back, yelling, swearing, fighting.

You groaned and let your hands fall back to the bed. You’d said some things to Spencer that would be hard to retract. You’d called him out on his medication, asked him about his mental health issues, trying to pry into an area of his life which was absolutely none of your concern.

You’d called him a jerk, a self righteous asshole, told him no one wanted to know him. You’d projected your own anger and frustrations onto him, the nice, handsome man who in spite of his injuries had mounted his horse and come to get you when you were drunk and a danger to yourself.

“You want to be a petulant child, fine. I offered you a place to stay. I can see you’re running from something, whether it be real or imagined I don’t know. But I was trying to help you because god knows I’ve been there. And no one helped me.

“I know what it’s like to feel as though the world has turned its back on you and I thought, hey maybe we can be of assistance to each other. But if you’re going to be like this then you’re on your own.”

It was becoming clear that you and Spencer had a lot more in common than it would seem at face value. He wanted to help you because he’d seen himself in you. You had no doubts that whatever he was running from was far different to your own demons, but nevertheless there was a kinship between you.

And you’d gotten drunk and belligerent and potentially ruined what could have been a budding friendship.

You got out of bed in the face of your growing headache. You noticed as you got to your feet you were wearing nothing but your panties and bra. Your clothes were thrown around the room in a very haphazard fashion and you scrambled to collect them and redress.

Padding your way out of the room, there was a light on but no one to be seen. You went to the kitchen and poured yourself a glass of water which your dry mouth was thankful for. It went some way to extinguishing the taste of whiskey left behind.

The kettle was on the stove and judging by the steam rising from its spout you could only assume Spencer wasn’t far away. Hugging your arms around your body, preparing yourself for serious grovelling, you headed over to the door.

Through the glass pane in the wood you could see him sitting in one of the rockers on the porch, cradling a mug in his good hand, a cell phone balanced between his shoulder and ear. You held your breath, stayed extremely still.

“Thanks for calling Morgan, it was good to talk.” Spencer sighed into the phone, not sounding as though he meant his words at all. “You can tell Penelope that I’m okay and I will try and call her as soon as I can. Yeah sure, thanks. Bye.”

You watched his shoulders slump as he hung up the phone, sitting back in the rocker and closing his eyes. The moonlight bathed his skin, illuminating the slight sheen of sweat on his pinched brow.

Swallowing thickly you gripped the doorknob and opened it before stepping out onto the porch. His eyes quickly opened again and he turned his head to the side, regarding you with what could only be described as disdain.

You hesitantly walked closer, dropping down into the chair next to his.

“Who’s Penelope?” You couldn’t help but ask.

Spencer let out a dry chuckle, clearly not at all surprised to find you’d be listening into his conversation.

“A friend. An old friend.” He brought the mug to his lips and sipped the tea.

“The same friend who’s text got your back up this morning?” You sat forward, leaning your elbows against your knees.

“No,” he shook his head, looking out into the darkness instead of at you. “Part of the reason I ended up out here was because of an ex of mine. I was in a bad place and I was, uh…not good…not good. I pushed them away, I forced their hand. It wasn’t a shock when they walked away but it still hurt. And I knew if I hung around I would never get over that heartbreak and so I came out here, partially due to wanting to put distance between us.”

His eyebrows were furrowed in his own confusion. He didn’t know why he’d offered that information so readily to you and in a strange way it felt something akin to nice to get it out. But it also made his stomach coil, hollowing his chest.

He brought the mug to his lips again, not being able to look to see your reaction because he didn’t want to know what you were thinking.

“So your ex is who texted you?” You drew the conclusions, watching the side of his face as he nodded gently.

“Yeah, that was him.” He exhaled shakily.

“Him?” Your eyebrows pinched together. “Huh, I totally missed that about you.”

Spencer slowly turned to you, your lip curled up in a wry smile. He puckered his own lips, wondering how much of himself he was willing to give to you.

“I’m not…I mean I am, but I'm not?” He pulled a face. “I don’t really like defining myself. I guess if you had to put a name to what I am, the closest thing would be bisexual or pansexual I suppose. But I don’t really like to categorise it.

“Sexuality is just a spectrum, right? Some days I’m at one end and some I’m at the other I guess. He was my only serious relationship but I’ve had encounters with women too. It’s funny really, as someone who usually likes to have a name for things, to put into words exactly what things are, this is just one area of my life I’ve never felt the need to define.”

You listened intently, nodding in agreement and offering him encouraging smiles. He took another sip of tea when he was finished speaking and rolled his lip between his teeth.

“What’s his name?” You asked softly but then followed it up with, “only if you want to tell me of course, I don’t mean to pry.”

Spencer nodded with a deep inhale, chest puffing out as he did so.

“Luke. Luke Alvez.” He spoke wistfully.

Your brows pinched together as a strange familiarity accompanied those words. It was the same feeling you’d had when you’d seen the latino man in Spencer’s photograph.

“Uh, is he one of the ones in the photograph on your desk? Dark hair, goofy smile?” You croaked.

“Yeah that’s him.” Spencer nodded sadly.

Interesting.

You couldn’t place the feeling, couldn’t tell what it was about that face and name that was so familiar to you. But there was certainly something to it. For now you would park the idea, circle back to it another time if needed.

“I’m sorry that you broke up. You wanna, uh, talk about him?” You leaned further forward on your elbows.

Spencer took another sip of his tea before bending with a small groan and putting the mug on the ground next to his chair.

“Not especially, no.” He spoke as he sat back up but then… “We dated for about two years I guess, all in all. Truth be told I thought he was the person I was going to spend the rest of my life with. On our third date he told me he was gonna marry me one day. Being with him was the first time I’d ever felt safe in my entire life. I loved him, I have no doubt about that but I sometimes wonder if my feelings for him were partially formed out of trauma bonding.

“He was an ex army ranger, most definitely still suffering some residual PTSD. I have suitcases full of my own baggage and I guess we became closer because of it. I was the first person he ever told about his nightmares he had about his days in Iraq. He was the first person I actively and freely talked to about my addic…that doesn’t matter.

“He was like a bandaid in a way. I thought we were fixing each other's broken pieces back together but in reality we were both too far gone. And then something happened to me and there weren’t enough bandaids in the world to hold me together. And I probably destroyed the best thing that ever happened to me because of it.

“I have no idea why I’m telling you all of this. I hate talking about myself and my past. But I guess you should know, if you were planning on hanging around or whatever at least you have a little glimpse into who I am. I’m not going to lie to you and say I’ll open up more in time if you do stick around because I probably won’t. But you’re the only person I have ever spoken to about Luke and I hope that’s enough.”

You could see the slow swell of discomfort blossoming on his features as he spoke and you knew it had nothing to do with his physical pain but a mental one. Your heart was thumping against your rib cage, taking in each word with precision, mulling it over and storing it away.

It was a nice feeling that he trusted you enough to tell you all of this. His confession was like a warm mug of tea on a snowy day, the sunshine at the end of a rain storm. You wanted to return the favour, to let him know how much you appreciated his candour. But much like him you kept your cards close to your chest and needed to pick your words carefully.

“I, uh, I’ve been on my own since I was sixteen.” You sharply inhaled. “My dad died when I was a little kid, I barely remember him if I’m honest. And then my mom remarried when I was ten. The guy was a douche, a drunk, and beat my mom six ways to Sunday. As I got older I started standing up for her and in retaliation he turned his anger on me. I protected my mom from his beatings but had to pay the price of taking the brunt of them myself.

“It was what it was, you know? It was never gonna change. A few weeks after my sixteenth birthday I ran away from home, never looking back. I got the hell out of dodge before I did something dumb like fight back. It was what I needed to do for myself but in doing so I’m sure he turned that aggression back on my mom.

“I still feel the guilt every single day of my life even all these years later. Few years back I found out my mom had passed away. Supposedly she suffered a brain aneurysm after falling down a flight of stairs. What a load of bullshit. He pushed her, I know he did. He killed my mom. If I’d stayed it might never have happened. That son of a bitch murdered my mom and I blame myself.”

By the time you were finished a couple of tears were spilling down your cheeks. And despite his aversion to touch, despite his germaphobic tendencies, Spencer found himself leaning closer to you, cupping your cheek in his good hand and brushing at the tears with the pad of his thumb.

Much like Willow did, you nuzzled your face against his hand, closing your eyes as you succumbed to the pain.

You briefly thought over his own confession, specifically the part when he said, being with him was the first time I’d ever felt safe in my entire life and understanding in that moment exactly what he meant.

As Spencer held your face and continued to wipe your tears as they fell, this was the first time in your life you'd ever felt safe.

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that.” He whispered and your eyes fluttered open.

“You’re the only person I’ve ever told.” You confessed. “Maybe it’s true what they say.”

“What’s that?” He regarded you curiously.

“About misery loving company.” You chuckled dryly and Spencer did the same, hand still on your cheek. “If it’s okay, I think I might hang around a while. And I promise to be of help around here, I’m not looking for a hand out.”

“Sounds good to me. My misery for one is certainly enjoying the company.” His hand was still cupping your cheek, he couldn’t seem to bring himself to tear it away.

All of his aches, pains and gripes had faded away, both the physical and the mental. The only thing on his mind was how beautiful you looked and how he wanted to do everything within his power to make all of your own pain go away.

When his eyes flitted over your lips it had been an entirely subconscious action. But once they had, he found himself chewing his own lip and inching his face closer to you. You mirrored the motion, leaning further forward in your chair as your eyes started to close.

Within seconds you felt his chapped lips ghost over your own, barely touching you as though he was testing the waters. For a moment you thought he might pull back, not dare go any further but you were grateful when his lips then crashed heavily against yours.

A moan escaped your mouth and Spencer was quick to edge his tongue between your parted lips. You wrapped your arms around his neck, holding him close to you as he deepened the kiss.

He tasted sour like lemons and a hint of mint. You imagined you tasted like the remnants of whiskey but he didn’t seem to mind. He hungrily explored your mouth with a desperate neediness and you allowed him to. You’d allow him to do whatever he wanted.

His hand that was on your cheek snaked around to the back of your neck and pinned you against him. His lips were rough and dry but you didn’t mind at all. His fingers threaded into your hair at the base of your neck and you moved even further forward until you were practically between his thighs.

A muffled moan left his lips and was swallowed down in your own mouth as tongues and teeth messily moved together as the kiss grew more heated by the second.

You sat back a little suddenly but kept your lips connected. You moved your hands to his shoulders and helped the both of you to your feet. Once standing he pushed you back up against the door to his lodge. His body flush against yours you could feel a hardness in his slacks pressing into your thigh.

He caged you against the door with his hips, rutting into you slightly for the friction. He was hard, harder than he had been in a long time, not quite fully erect but he was certainly getting there.

He washed his mind of any thoughts that didn’t directly pertain to you and how your lips felt as you kissed him. He didn’t want his intrusive thoughts to ruin this, he wanted the freedom to claim back something he’d lost in -

- Prison.

At the same time that thought washed over him, one of your hands manoeuvred between your bodies, over his chest, down his stomach and then finally pressed against the outside of his slacks.

“It’s not…stop it, please? Please? It’s n-normal.”

“He’s enjoying it! Hah!”

“It’s a-adrenaline. It happens when we-we’re excited or scared. S-sexual arousal and fear a-arousal have many of the same bodily f…please stop!”

You felt him going limp in your hand almost instantly. And then he tore himself away from you, taking a shaking step backwards on the porch and slapping his hand to his forehead.

You were still up against the door, panting from the lack of oxygen as you watched him start to pace, limping as he went.

“Uh, is everything okay? You weren’t, uh, enjoying that?” You asked, rolling your swollen lip between your teeth.

“What’s wrong, Spence? What’s happening? Why aren’t you, uh…aren’t you enjoying this?”

“I, uh, I just…I’m not ready.”

“It’s okay, we don’t have to do anything. I’m sorry if I rushed you.”

“Spence? Did something…did they do something to you in prison?”

“Fuck,” Spencer whined, shaking his head violently. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

You pushed yourself away from the door and came to his side, grabbing his shoulder to try and stop his pacing. His eyes shot up at you and he stilled, a look of terror in his eyes from your uninvited touch.

“Don’t touch me! And don’t talk to me about that place.”

“Spencer? You know you can tell me anything. This is a safe space, baby.”

“Don’t touch me,” he whined, stepping out of your hold. “Please, don’t touch me.”

“Did I miss something? What is happening?” You let your arm fall to your side.

“I’m so much more fucked up than you will ever know.” He winced at his own words. “This is…I can’t…Friends. We can only ever be friends, okay?”

It wasn’t strictly a question, you knew that. And even if it were it only had one feasible answer. You chewed on the inside of your cheek, wondering what on earth had happened to this man for him to react in such a way.

You had your suspicions, it didn’t exactly take a genius to figure out why one might be so touch averse unless he was the one controlling the situation, why someone might panic when they were touched in such an intimate way.

You would never ask though, and he would probably never tell. So instead you started to nod, taking a step back so as to give him the space he needed.

“Friends, Spencer. Friends is just fine.” You agreed.

He looked at you as though he didn’t believe your words but after a few moments he nodded too.

“I should…sleep. I’m exhausted. Tomorrow? I’ll…tomorrow.” He struggled to get out a full sentence but you understood anyway.

You stepped aside so he could get to the door and watched him open it and close it again behind you. You heard the click of the lock and within seconds the light was shutting off, leaving you standing on his porch, bathed in darkness.

***

In spite of his mental and physical exhaustion, Spencer couldn’t sleep. How the hell could he sleep after that?

He didn’t even try because he knew it would be fruitless. Instead he did what he normally did when he couldn’t sleep: he cleaned.

He started by stripping the bedsheets and tossing them in the corner of the room to be washed tomorrow. He replaced them with clean ones and made the bed so neatly you’d be able to bounce a quarter off of it.

He got a bucket of bleach water, a scrubbing brush and some rubber gloves. On his knees he meticulously scrubbed every inch of his wooden floors with his one useable hand.

The pain in his leg was excruciating from his knee to his thigh. It hurt so much he barely registered the ache in his back or the throb of his broken arm.

But pain had been his goal. It was his own form of punishment to himself for his earlier actions. You’d been vulnerable and he’d taken advantage of the situation, almost letting himself fall over a ledge he swore he’d never go over again.

Intimacy was not on his agenda, not now and not ever again. He didn’t need sex, he didn’t need the closeness of another body, not anymore. Not after what he’d endured in prison.

By definition, he had been raped. By the FBI definition of the word, that is what he’d experienced.

Oral penetration by a sex organ of another person without the consent of the victim.

Two inmates had pinned him by each shoulder to a wall whilst he was forced onto his knees. A third had forced Spencer to perform the act of fellatio on him.

And in his abject terror, Spencer had gotten an erection which was noticeable to them all after the third man pulled away from his mouth and ejaculated over Spencer’s prison scrubs.

They’d laughed and jeered at the obvious tenting in his slacks which he tried to hide behind his hands whilst stuttering out his logical explanation.

“Are you…oh my god he’s fucking hard! He’s enjoying this!”

“It’s not…stop it, please? Please? It’s n-normal.”

“He’s enjoying it! Hah!”

“It’s a-adrenaline. It happens when we-we’re excited or scared. S-sexual arousal and fear a-arousal have many of the same bodily f…please stop!”

Two nights later they’d returned and one of the men holding him down the first night had forced himself on Spencer, using Spencer’s mouth as a means by which to get off. Again he also hadn’t finished down his throat but, like the other man, all over Spencer’s shirt.

A week later, it was the third man’s turn to force himself upon their weaker inmate.

The first time he’d considered biting the man’s phallus. But of course he knew that would cause greater retribution and he would no doubt be killed.

But by the third time a part of him wished they would kill him instead.

In his years at the BAU he’d had to deal with hundreds if not thousands of these types of offenders. The act of one man assaulting another man in such a manner was a way to assert their power by putting other weaker, beta males in their place.

He knew the profile, he knew the statistics. He could recite them verbatim. Fourteen percent of reported rapes were committed against men. In the US, one in seventy one men are victims of sexual abuse. Thirty percent of gay or bisexual men had reported experiencing a form of rape in their lifetime.

For the first time in his life, statistics didn’t help him. The autonomy of being just a number didn’t stop the nightmares, the eventual PTSD. His life had forever been changed by those three men who had made the conscious decision to inflict sexual violence upon another human being.

He could still smell them, the musky scent of sweat that filled his nostrils, making it hard to breathe. He could still taste them on his tongue, feel the frantic thrusts as they hit the back of his throat.

The tears that had seared down his cheeks as he was forced to comply, the ache in his chest of knowing he would never bounce back from this.

They used him for their own sexual gratification and display of dominance. They’d ruined his life for some sick and perverse power play.

Because of this ordeal, Spencer was no longer able to achieve or maintain erections without the guilt and confusion sucker punching him in the chest. When Luke had tried to initiate intimacy after his release, Spencer had panicked, dissociated and grown violent.

And it didn’t get any better over time.

Luke tried to help him despite the fact Spencer wouldn’t tell him what he’d dealt with in prison. But Luke knew, without having to hear it from Spencer’s lips.

It was obvious in the way he wouldn’t let Luke touch him unprovoked, and if Luke did touch him, specifically his genitals, Spencer froze and whatever tumescence he’d been able to achieve instantly vanished.

Eventually Luke couldn’t take it anymore. He wanted to help Spencer but Spencer didn’t want his help. And after the younger man had grown violent, Luke didn’t think there was anything he could do for him anymore.

Spencer had almost grown content in the knowledge he’d probably never be able to have sex again. It didn’t really bother him that much, not until now anyway.

Your kiss had reminded him what it was like to feel close to someone, to have an intrinsic connection with another person. It had made him feel wanted and not used. It made him feel worthy of human affection for the first time in a long time.

Your touch had not been unwanted, not at first anyway. The simple gesture of your hand outside his pants had sent a wave of pleasure coursing through his body, like a jolt of electricity.

But then he saw their faces. Those three men who had caused irreparable damage to the very fibre of his being. Those men who had used his mouth, the same one he was kissing you with.

His walls had gone flying back up so fast he’d gotten whiplash. But he knew now, beyond all shadow of a doubt, that he was never going to get over what happened to him at Milburn. And the pain of that realisation was more crippling than any physical ailment.

Over the years little pieces had been torn from his psyche. His fathers abandonment. Gideon’s abandonment and later his death. Tobias Hankel and his subsequent drug addiction.

Maeve. Cat Adams. Prison. Rape.

Piece by piece it fell away. Little by little until there was barely anything left holding him together. The string had frayed and weathered over the years and now it has snapped entirely.

He continued scrubbing the floor through the pain. At some point tears started hindering his vision, rolling down his face and mixing with the bleach water.

The longer he kept it up the more pain he was in and his stomach started to coil with the extent of it. Out of nowhere a wave of nausea hit him and he was suddenly vomiting all over his newly cleaned floor.

He continued this vicious cycle for hours: scrub, cry, vomit, repeat.

Eventually it must have gotten too much for him because the next thing he remembered was waking up on his bedroom floor to the distinctive smell of bleach assaulting his nose.

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