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eddieismissing · 2 years ago

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fangs. part two. thursday night. // steddie x reader

part one. || part three. || part four.

plot: eddie wasn’t dead. He could never leave his girl to face the world without him, and he would make sure of it. even if he was a little bit different.

pairing: steddie x fem!reader, eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 10.4k

warnings: 18+, dark!eddie, perv!eddie, stalker!eddie, vampire!eddie, kaz!eddie, porn with plot, dark content, rough sex, p in v, choking, dirty talk, degradation, markings, obsessive behavior, violence, masterbation, jealousy, intrusive thoughts, slapping, hair pulling, cum in v, croptop!steve, daddy!steve, cuck!steve oversharing, spanking, biting. slight cnc. established consent.

a/n: hi guys! i hope you’re liking my series so far. this part is just pure gross smut and the smallest bit of fluff and plot. it also takes place from where part one left off! i hope you enjoy!

i do not give anyone permission to translate or repost my work. minors do not read. eighteen plus only. please be kind and reblog or comment if you enjoyed!

eddie would always go to your house after his hellfire club disbanded for the night. however, tonight was different. eddie had moved this weeks meeting to thursday so it didn’t clash with his band practice on friday. he called the shots so what did it matter?? after all he was feeling a little pent up after watching you in a skimpy skirt all day. he saw the way you blushed when he came to your rescue, and he wanted to see more of that pretty pink color on your cheeks.

he sat outside your window at the perfect time. he knew you would be getting out of the shower soon. a guttural moan left his lips a little louder than he expected when he was peeking through your windows. you walked into the room draped in just a towel with damp hair. he palmed himself as his stomach turned. really he could just jump through the window. take advantage of you. he wonders how you would react. he was indifferent. watching you squirm under him sounded like a dream, but maybe if you somehow reciprocated the feelings he shared for you. eddie would want to make your first time perfect. gracefully, you dropped your towel and slowly got dressed. he pulled his jeans down just past his crotch so he could slide them back on at a fast pace if anyone caught him. the thought excited him. pulling his cock out of the slit in his boxers. his eyes rolled back as he gripped himself. you would be putting on your pajamas soon so his pace increased. desperately trying to get off before your perfect body would be hidden from him. you put on a ugly green hawkins high t-shirt you had cut into a crop top and a simple black thong. if only you knew eddie was watching you a few feet away. he choked back a loud moan and watched you slowly pull the thin fabric over your cunt. he gripped his cock tighter, and slowed his pace. he tried so hard to hold it, but prematurely he finished. ropes of cum decorated his jeans. him imagining how easy it would be to rip those panties off pushed him over the edge. he bit his shirt collar to muffle any moans as you turned off the lights and got into bed. he cleaned himself up with his black handkerchief as he watched you slide into bed.

to his surprise, you turned on your bedside lamp. it dimly illuminated your room.

‘shit, shit, shit, shitshitshit.’

eddie whispered as he cleaned himself up faster. just then, he realized you didn’t seem interested in what was creeping outside your window. you were just softly rutting your hips against your mattress. you wanted to make it quick. to you it was just a little stress relief. for him, you were blowing his mind. and you had absolutely no idea. he gasped and watched you stir. you pulled the blanket off of you. your knees were up and your legs were spread. eddie bit his tongue. hard. he was standing up now to get a better view. his mind raced as he clasped his hands together, he looked towards the sky and said,

‘oh thank you god for blessing me tonight.’ he kissed his knuckle and pointed it towards the sky.

he had just finished. yet, seeing you in such a vulnerable position got him hard again. jeans tight around the waist as he hummed sweet whimpers. he dug his fingernails into your windowsill trying to get a better look. you were so pretty. he wanted to ruin you. wondering what you were thinking about. needing to see your facial expressions as you moaned out his name. desperately wanting to corrupt you. he could touch you so much better. he could really show you how to take care of yourself. he so desperately wanted you to let him show you. his head lolled back while griping his knees. your hand snaked down and touched your clit gently. a moan left your lips. eddie sat back down and pulled his cock out. quicker than he’d like to admit. he felt like such a fucking virgin. hearing your soft voice tremble made his cock unbearably sore. he was still sensitive though. he was quite happy when he watched you set the pace to be slow and steady. following your lead he did the same. studying your movements and watching intently. he could really use this to his advantage. if he ever got the chance. your left hand grabbed your nipples and teased them. moaning a little louder now. eddie’s eyes didn’t know where to look, he was so overwhelmed. thoughts of your pursed lips and how he would kiss you filled his head. listening to you whimper and beg for him to touch you while he played with your soft lips. through breathless kisses, you would beg him,

‘please eddie? need you... please?’ he imagined your soft voice.

he would use his big fingers to slowly tease up and down your wet slit while he softly bit your neck. he wanted to bite hard. leaving marks all over you. knowing very well that being to rough with you would scare you away. he hid that part of his personality away from you. only because the metalhead had a serious soft spot for you. he promised himself that if he had the chance he would be so caring and gentle at first. or at least try the best he could. however, the mental image of purple and blue marks draped up and down your neck, crowded his mind. that would show those jocks not to mess with you. he imagined the look on steve and tommy’s face. that thought really turned him on. you moaned loudly holding your blankets up to your mouth to muffle your moans. like clockwork his legs started to shake. hand gripping the bottom of his shaft. realizing how close he was. he growled as he bit his lip not able to contain himself, and coming to another orgasm. he cleaned himself up while he watched you reach your climax. he would save that as a mental image. cursing at himself for finishing before you. you huffed out your chest and covered yourself up.

‘goodnight, eddie’ he froze.

he turned quietly back to your window, he watched you grab a bear that was missing an eye and had a silly white shirt on. you hugged it tightly and turned off your lamp and went to sleep. the way his name danced off of your lips was blissful.

‘jesus h christ’ his tone was stressed.

he threw his head back and whimpered. a deep sigh left his lungs while he was clutching his chest. in that moment he thought you had caught him. the thrill made his heart flutter before he walked away from your window. he whispered,

‘goodnight, sweetheart.’ he whispered.

•ʚ♡ɞ•

then next thursday came. eddie was gripping his knees through his jeans, just like he had from outside your window. you were sitting in the cafeteria a few tables across from eddie. wearing the cutest outfit he had ever seen on you. he swore by it. eddie fidgeted with the rings on his knuckles. lunch couldn’t keep his already faulty attention span. images of you touching yourself in your bed ran through his head. all damn day. he just watched silently as you at your lunch. his eyes were lustful and his pupils were heavily dilated. he just stared. you took a bite out of your lunch, and his eyes focused in on your lips. the members of the hellfire glanced at him. making sure not to make direct eye contact to upset him. eddie had noticed this of course, but he was to entranced by your posture, looks, and those god damn lips. he could admit though. the snickering and giggles that came from the freshmen sat at his table annoyed him. after he so graciously invited to sit with him and his band of misfits. it was beginning to piss him off.

‘what?’ eddie finally snapped

he didn’t move his eyes off of you and his jaw staying clenched.

‘it’s j-just that you, well, you haven’t mentioned if we were meeting to do hellfire club… and last week you moved the day, s—‘

the boy speaking got cut off by the sound of eddie’s fist hitting the table. the sudden noise coming from the other end of the cafeteria made you jump. you turned your head to face the noise. startled at your sudden movement, eddie dropped his gaze from you. instead he looked towards the boy who just spoke. you didn’t pay much attention to him but you knew how to read his body language. eddie had become obviously very nervous after bringing your attention to him. you gave him a confused look. that was different. eddie never looked away from your eye contact. from you perspective you couldn’t quite place what had changed. god, if only you knew. eddie’s lips moved but you couldn’t quite hear him.

‘oh my dear liege. you’re right.’ he says to the boy.

he uses all the confidence in his body to direct his eyes back towards you while speaking. the dumb look thats all over your face drives eddie up the wall. you were really so precious. his eyes glittered in your direction. you could barely hear what he was saying to the boys on his left but you were so curious in what was being shared now. eddie talked like he was always in theater. frailing his arms around in big gestures to match his speech. you tried reading his lips but got a little distracted when his tongue flipped out against his top lip. you divereted your stare and focused on your food instead. eddie caught that. from the other side of the cafeteria the conversation continued to boom,

‘im sorry but…’ eddie trails off,

risking another glance you lifted your chin. he sent you a wink from across the cafeteria. did he just wink at you? that was new. you blushed but his eyes never left yours.

‘tonight...? well.’

there was a pause. eddie lost in thought trying to come up with any excuse to postpone hellfire so he could be outside your window tonight.

‘im busy!’ he yells so the rest of the cafeteria could hear him now.

eddie jumped on the table and walking towards the edge. the boys awkwardly chuckle as he does his routine. he began with yelling at the jocks, the preps, then the smartasses, and finally those in between. people always viewed eddie as someone that would be bullied in highschool. truth was. he was feared. not by you, of course you knew he was all bark. no bite. growing up in hawkins as a nerdy boy that had different interests than his peers was a problem. it was more of a problem because it turned eddie cold. no one seemed to be interested in the character that he tried to conform to. he had a hard time making friends in junior high. after his freshman year he decided to start dressing how he wanted to. non-conforming to the current times or trends. he would wear dark ripped clothes and large rings and chains. this had it’s own problems though. eddie develop a bad boy demeanor because of his fashion sense. people would blame anything on him just because of his visual appearance. no one ever gave him the time of day. except you. passing notes, freshman year. eddie thought back to that time a lot. maybe if he was less cold you both could’ve really been friends. it was harder for to make friends. that’s why he started his after school club. people that judged his character thought he was ‘mean and scary’ but it really was just self expression. he was the softest person ever. he was good with younger students. not really on anyones bad side, but no one was his number one fan either. well, maybe steve was. he acted like eddie’s existence was gonna be the death of him. was that a good thing? or a bad thing? however, back to the scene at hand. eddie being viewed as a ‘freak’, in the end, turned him into one. he learned to abuse and use his scary façade to his advantage. he would bicker with the popular kids, and always show off. not one of them dared to actually throw a punch or really threaten him. you share a few more glances with him while he parades ontop of the cafeteria table. giggling at his antics. he blushes and sticks his tongue out at you. he makes little horns with his fingers and sticks them to his temples. he looks back towards the club members as he says,

‘harrington has a sweet party tonight and i have to uhh work.’

eddie knows he’s not going to be selling anything tonight. he also doesn’t know steve’s party schedule. he figured he could peak your interest in him if he talked about how ‘busy’ he was with his ‘plans’. eddie he was known as a dirtbag around school for slinging drugs, and needed an excuse for postponing hellfire anyways. he feels your eyes on him as he makes sure to talk louder so you overhear.

‘let’s move it to tomorrow. i’ll be busy till later tonight and don’t wanna be distracted during the big campaign.’ he huffed.

he hopes you heard that. the bell rings dismissing everyone back to their classes, he was walking out towards the hall when you stood up suddenly. he turns around purposefully shoving himself into you. it totally looked like an accident. you’re almost knocked over as he tumbles into your back. he grabs you by the waist making sure to accidentally push his hips up against your ass to catch you. you let out a small whimper, surprised by the sensation. you turn quickly to face him.

‘w-woah, woah, hey.’ he stutters.

he chuckles biting his bottom lip, he wanted nothing more to spin you back around and grind against you till he got himself off. in front of everyone. eddie could tell you were embarrassed. instead, he loosed his grip to make you more comfortable. you jumped at the sensation and turned around with bright red cheeks. to any normal person it looked like you meant to grind against him, but it was an accident. your cluelessness got the better of you when you started apologizing immediately. you were talking in rushes and overthinking the situation. you were so in your head you didn’t notice his evil smirk. you didn’t know why he was grunting while slipping his hands into his front pockets. he took a deep breath. he was adjusting his cock so you didn’t see him pitch a tent in his tight jeans. his heart was fluttering. this was perfect? how did he get so lucky with the timing of it all?

‘sorry. didn’t mean to scare you.’ he giggled.

eddie cut your rambling off as he began to apologize now. he pulled his hands out of his pockets and back onto your hips. the urge to touch you was to strong he couldn’t keep his hands to himself. you look at him in awe. never realizing how pretty his eyes were till now. deep dark chocolate irises and soft white eyes. you could get lost in them.

‘e—eddie im s-so sorry. i just… uhm.. well, i was trying. y—you know get to class? i didn’t mean to uuhm. i mean..’ you stuttered.

‘no it’s okay! really. that was soooooo my fault!’ he put his heart over his chest and bowed to you.

you blush reminded of the feeling of his groin up against you. head bowed in embarrassment. he removes his hands from your hips. he was just as bashful. he didn’t even know what was possessing him right now to talk to you this close. you smelled like strawberries. your eyes were sparkly like you had stars in them. his eyes traced up your neck.

‘pretty necklace.’ he spoke out loud.

‘what was that?’ you asked.

you didn’t catch his comment because you were lost in your own thoughts. his bones jumped out of his skin he stared at you with his mouth open. palms clammy now. the tension between you was rough. this was so awkward. you hadn’t talked to him since freshmen year! what was happening! you clear your throat,

‘so’ you start, ‘harrington has a party tonight?’ you bat your eyelashes at him.

eddie realizes ths is still a very real conversation he has to attend to. all the blood in his body rushed south. shaking out his nerves like a dog he stutters.

‘y-y-yea- sure h-he does, isn’t he always up to no good?’ he makes a jab at him with this small remark.

you smile at his witty comment. eddie begins thinking of ways that he’s going to get himself out of this white lie. keep steve off of your mind. his heart raced. did steve have a party tonight? oh, what to say? what is he supposed to say? he felt like a little kid around you. you looked up at him with your arms crossed now. awaiting an answer. how could he not be nervous? your cheeks looked so kissable. they were all blushed with a cute cherry color and he tries to play it cool but fails miserably. he stutters,

‘m—maybe ill give him a call. im always looking for a reason to talk to my best friend stevie!’ he joked.

you let out a small giggle, everyone at school knew they were enemies. it was quite entertaining for the students at hawkins to watch how the two boys clashed. your soft laugh that you produced listening to eddie’s remarks about the preppy boy sent chills up his spine. it gives him the confidence he needs for the moment.

‘yeah, i was thinking about crashing it? causing some trouble? i can think of better things to do with my time though.’

he was closer to you than before you realized but you didn’t mind. you were just two acquaintances talking about after school plans. you thought. eddie on the other hand was a man that was scheming. he licked his bottom lip like a predator watching his prey. you purr at his comment, smiling cluelessly,

‘what kind of trouble does eddie munson usually get in to on thursday nights?’ you quizzed him.

if only you knew. it’s getting harder for him to keep himself together. his fingers grab the hem of your shirt. following his fingers your eyes watch his next move. he thinks back to last week and the dirty things he caught you doing. eddie starts talking but his voice slowly trails off almost like he’s breathless and embarrassed to say his next few lines,

‘i'm more curious about what you do on thursday nights, any plans tonight? sweetheart?’ he questioned.

sweetheart. there it is again. your cheeks get hot and you're flustered. he moves in even closer. you have butterflies in your tummy. he’s never flirted with you this much before. that’s also new. his soft attitude warms you. you have to say something. say anything.

‘are you asking me to hang out with you, munson?’ you choke out.

he chuckles at your shyness. wits and comebacks were easy for eddie. he always had a smart mouth even when he’s under pressure. it makes his next sentence sound like velvet to your ears.

‘oh sweetheart. i’d love to hangout with someone as pretty as you. you wanna? your place? tonight? say eight works for me.’

he was demanding almost. he has dark eyes and a heavy smirk on his lips. knowing you take a shower around eight. thinking of how he caught you touching yourself soon after. his plan is perfect. you smile and nod. eddie moves close to your ear, it reminds you of how steve would tease you.

‘sure you want to be around a freak like me, pretty girl?’ he whimpered the words into your ear.

your heart jumps into your throat. a beat passes.

‘yeah.. e—eight works for me too, eddie.’ you say.

he moves away from you quickly and seems to disappear into the halls. you shrug, collecting your books. you’re looking forward to hanging out with the misunderstood senior. you swore what you heard about him being a “freak” was all rumors. you had no idea that he had to move away from you so he could adjust himself in his pants before cumming at the thought of you screaming his name later.

•ʚ♡ɞ•

you rushed home in a hurry. quickly you cleaned up your room and your belongings around the house to make things look presentable. eddie was the first boy you had ever invited over. besides that, he was totally eye candy now and so hot. he had really grown into a teenage dream. you were also excited to maybe catch up with him. after freshman year the both of you grew distant due to him building up his walls. giving everyone a cold shoulder. you weren’t sure why he put a wedge between your blossoming friendship. admittedly, when he stoped paying attention to you it stung a bit.

eddie showed up to your house right at eight. hoping that maybe you would be getting out of the shower to answer the door. he knocked and hummed some guitar riff he was just listening to in his van on the way to your house. you didn’t answer right away. rustling though his pockets in his battle vest he located joint. he pulled it out of his vest pocket and held his lighter to the tip. as it danced against his lips he took a long drag. eagerness overtook him and he knocked again. you answered this time,

‘one second!’ your voice was muffled behind the door.

his chest was full of smoke. you opened the door. he made sure to turn away from you. careful not to blow any into your face. you smiled and started talking to the boy with an inviting tone. you were a lot less nervous now in your own home.

‘so what they say is true? you are a pothead.’ you joked.

you looked fantastic. he wasn’t even sure that a little his joint he pre-rolled could calm him down now. he was a goner. he giggled at your snarky remark letting himself into your cozy home. he didn’t answer you yet he just took in his surroundings and took another drag from his joint.

‘you wanna share that, eddie?’ you asked.

chills washed over his body as you said his name, he would never get sick of that. it was sickly sweet falling from your lips. if only harrington could see him now. about to share a joint with the girl they had been fighting over for years. the perfect girl next door. eddie figured he would be fuming.

‘s-sure. you smoke?’ he paused.

eddie watched you become flustered and fidget with your fingers. he thought his heart was gonna explode just watching you twiddling your thumbs dressed in nothing but your pjs. he was on cloud nine. take that, harrington. god, why was he thinking about steve right now?

‘well no, i never have. my friends do! they buy from you a lot and you seem like you know your stuff.’ you rambled.

he smirked, ‘i can show you a few things, sure.’

looking at you he raised his eyebrow before taking another drag. he blew the cloud that sat in his chest in your face. you threw your hand up. swatting the musty smoke out of your face.

‘you don’t seem you sure, sweetheart.’ he teased.

he moved in closer totally invading your personal space. the denim vest he was wearing hosted pleanty of pins and patches. his pretty silver enamel pins clinged together as he walked. the action was comparable to a cat that always wore a bell. eddie grabbed your face gently. he spoke softly to not scare you away before he took another puff from his joint.

‘open up?’ he said.

obedience flooded over you. your jaw extended at the feeling of just his palm against your chin. you were forced out of your daze when he gripped you tighter. needing you to pay attention to him. his grip was a little harsher than he had planned. you didn’t mind. instead you just stood still. awaiting the boys next move. eddie was so eager to get his hands on you. get closer. could you really blame him? he brought your chin to his. he groaned into your throat. you could feel his hot breath mixed with the smoke against your mouth. your cupids bow grazed his top lip. just barely. you couldn’t tell if you had really touched your lips together or if it was just the anxiety. he snaked his index finger between your lips while his thumb brought your chin down lower and he exhaled. he was blowing smoke into your throat with his cute lips in an ‘O’ shape. the burning sensation reeked of weed. as he neared the end of his breath you were more forgiving when the foul smell mixed with a pleasant minty fragrance. was that what eddie tasted like? your tummy turned as he gently let go of your chin, he took a step back and you coughed.

‘oh I'm sorry, sweetheart, was that too strong? we can practice some more.’ he giggled deeply.

‘that really hurt my throat, eddie.’ you cried.

‘uhmm, i—im sorry.’ he said with his back stiffened.

you were choking on coughs. as if he wasn’t already tense from the situation. he was burning up now. you were precious. eddie wanted to get out of his jeans and into yours. his cock grew harder hearing you say those words. you were more of an airhead than he thought. your composure was cool and calm. eddie couldn’t believe it. shrugging it off as normal pothead behavior. but eddie? he was stunned. jaw on the floor. drooling like a dog. completely ran up the wall. those simple words you had said went straight to his chest. his heart beating rapidly and his jeans getting uncomfortably tight. dirty thoughts filled his mind. he wanted to hear you say that while he fucked his cock into your mouth. he wanted to hear you say that when he choked you with his big hands. he wanted to hear you say that after he was done leaving deep purple bite marks all over your soft throat. he promised himself to keep it cool. however, he saw how you twitched under his touch. he heard your little whimpers when he had grazed your top lip with his. did you feel the same way about him after all? he shoved those thoughts down. surely if anything happened you wouldn’t wanna have any strings attached. like he even had a chance. he knew he could take care of you though. he desperately wanted to. after he was done fucking your brains out he knew that soft spot in him would resurface. he would be sure to kiss you on your cheeks and rub your neck softly with the pads of his thumbs. he would need you to promise him that you were okay. you would assure him that he didn’t hurt you. even if your body ached from his grips and bites.

‘that really hurt my throat, eddie.’ it played back in his head.

he wanted to hear you say it again, so desperately.

‘eddie?? ed’s???’ you questioned.

you waved your hand infront of his face and giggled when he apologized for spacing off. you turned away and motioned for eddie to follow you. the two of you moved to your bedroom. you didn't want your family den to totally reek of pot if your siblings came home later. eddie stood in the doorway against the frame as he watched you sit on your bed. his dark visual appearance clashed heavily with your room. eddie walked into your room and acted like he was snooping. truth was, he already knew the layout. every wall he had studied like the back of his hand. really he wasn’t interested in snooping around either. he had snuck in countless times to steal your panties or the pretty necklaces you wore. he especially favored the one you were wearing today. he spun around on his heels and plopped onto your soft bed. instead of prying more he turned all his attention to the bear that sat on your bed. the same one you said goodnight to after pleasing yourself. he took one more drag of his joint before putting it out. he licked his fingers and pinched the tip. the joint made a sizzling sound.

‘doesn’t that burn your fingers?’ you asked.

‘not really? i guess im just used to the pain now. sorry for smoking in your room. just nervous.’ he replied.

you looked at him with soft eyes.

‘you okay? can i do anything to make you more comfortable?’ you questioned.

he tucked the joint into the chest pocket of his denim vest before shedding a few layers. he ran his hands through his hair before taking a deep breath. he now looked a little more comfortable next to you now. he wore a def leppard t-shirt that had cigarette burn holes in it and his token black jeans with rips laid across his knees. the handcuff belt he had on broke up the outfit well. it clashed less this way. your eyes lingered on the cuffs for a little longer than you’d like but you were in a trance. eddie was locating a coat hook in your room to put his vest and jacket onto. he took a mental note of where he left his joint in his pocket. he was saving it for later. his eyes turned back to you. he smirked as he realized you were staring at his crotch. eddie cleared his throat trying to hide his nerves. blush crawled up his face when you both met eyes. he immediately spoke.

‘so… uhhh what’s this guy's name?’ he grabbed your little bear.

rushing to make conversation to get perverted thoughts out of his head. did you like the cuffs? were you intrigued? eddie wondered. eddie was dramatic with his movements when he hugged your stuffed friend tightly. he was just making sure his scent was going to be on it for the rest of the week. you laughed as he tossed the bear into the air. he asked the bear,

‘hey little dude? what’s your name?’

you giggled and he smiled a big toothy grin at you. he looked like a cheshire cat. he loved making you laugh. your giggles were so sweet. he pushed to hear more. awaiting your answer of what the bears name was.

‘oh him? he doesn’t really have a name. i just call him whatever i feel like.’ you said.

eddie’s chest tightened. the words hung in the air for a bit. there was silence. did you call this nameless bear eddie after thinking about him? he stiffed his whole body. while he was lost in thoughts again you huffed.

‘you space off so much! what is your deal!’ you laughed at him pushing his chest so he was laid on your bed. you adjusted your pillows and blankets that were sprawled out on your bed. you looked up at him confused, he was so pale all of the sudden. you spoke softly,

‘what? to harsh?’ you giggled.

his eyes snapped to meet yours. he watched you. there was a dark look on his face now. something was wrong with him. seriously. he could be the first to admit. he was far gone now. you thought of him after he had helped you in the hall when tommy slapped your ass. he was dizzy.

‘lets watch a movie?’ you suggested.

he just nodded but your suggestion instantly cut the tension. he cleared his throat. sitting the nameless bear between the two of you. eddie watched you turned on ‘sixteen candles’. both of you watched with purpose as the movie played. well. you did. eddie couldn’t keep his gaze off of you. you wore the cutest and comfiest pj set. the shorts barely covered your thighs when you sat against him. oh my god! you were sitting against him! he huffed. he was going to keep it cool and not act like a fucking loser. a complete virgin. you thought maybe you were leaning on his arm a bit to hard so you shifted your body weight. he watched you adjust and this new angle gave him a view of your perfect tits. you were braless. he was checked out mentally. his whole body was thrown into overdrive as he begged himself not to get harder than he already was. he was going insane. after a few scenes eddie started getting handsy. his fingers gently danced up and down your thigh. he would pull away when you would shiver under him. sometimes you would push your thighs into his hands so he would grip harder. he understood. he moved his pinky so close to the hem of your shorts. gripped hard and then ran his hand back down to your knee. it was antagonizing slow. he whispered in your ear while you watched the movie.

‘like that?’ he giggled.

he watched your ears turn red. your eyes stayed watching the screen out of embarrassment. as soon as the words left his mouth he turned away like nothing had even happened. he wanted you to be comfortable. not forcing anything onto you but part of him wanted to be selfish. your skin was so soft and sensitive. you moved closer now. putting your hand on his shoulder and your pinky brushed against his neck. chills danced up and down his body as he bit his lip to muffle any of his whimpers. you were leaning on him! he wanted to throw himself onto you. if you had gave him any more attention he would have a hard time controlling himself. this was dangerous. a recipe for disaster. you leaned your head on his arm giving him perfect access to your neck. fuck. thoughout the second half of the movie eddie was stiff. you readjusted because he wasn’t as soft as your pillows. for some reason he would turn to you and breathe cold air against your neck too. you weren’t sure why he was doing it other than to be funny. he would laugh to himself and say,

‘what sweetheart? are you cold?’ he asked while giggling.

it really was annoying you. eddie enjoyed himself though. he knew what he was doing. your nipples peeked at him through the fabric of your thin tank top. he grabbed you a blanket to wrap yourself up with. after burying yourself into your pillows your body was shielded from eddie now.

‘stop teasing eddie.’ you gave him a glare.

he couldn’t help but groan.

‘sorry sweetheart. ill be good i promise’ he laughed throwing his hands up.

after you got cozy the both of you were surrounded in comfortable silence. eddie would squirm, adjust his seating position, or fidget with his fingers but you paid no mind. you were wrapped up in the last scene. the movie came to an end with samantha and jake kissing.

‘i’ve never been kissed.’ you confessed.

eddie jumped at the sudden sound coming from your lips. you were sleepy now. the movie running longer than you remembered. you watched the scene with interest. eddie stared at you his eyes locked on your face. you spoke softly,

‘i thought you were going to kiss me earlier, you know?’ you joked.

you had no idea what your words were doing to him. he couldn’t take it anymore. if he had a breaking point this was it. he wanted to ruin you. you were going to be his. he wanted to see you begging him on your knees. needing to show you more of the dark side that consumed him daily. he was going to. right now. he grabbed your cheek softly, turning your head. his eyes were dark. jet black.

‘can i kiss you now? let me have a taste.’ he asked politely.

his tone sounded demanding. as if you couldn’t really say no. not that you wanted to. it was just all very new. you nodded. your eyes fluttered as he cupped your cheeks in his hands. as he kissed you he softly placed his cupids bow between your top and bottom lip. when he pulled away he grunted. he sucked on your bottom lip. pulling it outward and nibbling it with his teeth. you cheeks were flushed red, your eyes sparkled. it was slow but hard. he was a damn good kisser. you had nothing to compare to but you knew this was good. it felt so natural. a knot grew in your tummy as he went back in for more. he was less gentle this time. your teeth clashed a bit and you opened your mouth for him more. submitting to his touch. you were so damn easy for him. his mind was racing. what is happening? eddie shared his first kiss with you. he couldn’t believe it until your lips pulled him in for more. the tension that had been building throughout the night finally having a place to release. he sucked on your bottom lip and bit it again. this time harder. eddie waited to gauge your reaction. his bottom lip was trembling when he pulled away. you moaned and gasped as he teased you with his teeth on your sensitive lip. this kiss was soft and loving. it was so kind and everything you wanted your first kiss to be. eddie enjoyed it too. you could tell that eddie really did care for you. your body released any tension it previously held when he danced his fingertips up your leg to grab onto your hip. he promised he would be gentle. promised himself. however, finally having the opportunity hit him he lost himself. watching your eyes sparkle, eddie groaned. he needed to see them rolled back in your head. he gripped your hip tighter. he wanted you to be fucked dumb and under him in a pitiful crying mess. he would treat you like he didn’t love you. fucking you like a whore before he finally finished and took care of your limp body while regaining your thoughts. he couldn’t do that could he? would you like it? his line of morals blurred as he thought he wouldn’t even care if you liked it or not. he needed you. truthfully, eddie did care for you so much. you were his soft spot. his weakness and the best part of his day wrapped into one. loving you hurt, especially when his longtime crush felt one sided. eddie kissed you harder. his tongue brushing against your swollen lips. he pulled away from you to look into your eyes. not wanting to get ahead of himself. he didn’t know if he could stay as gentle anymore.

‘you’re welcome.’ he said smugly.

he wasn’t done. he knew you were feeling a little high and your senses were heightened by the after effects of the weed. he pushed you against the bed so he was over you. his guitar pick necklace dangling in your face along with his curls. you bit your lip as he looked at you and nodded quickly letting him know you were okay and he kissed you again. this time it was hot and wet, you didn’t care how messy it was. you needed more of him. he was intoxicating. he pulled away from your lips and he kissed your neck.

‘pretty girl.’ he groaned against your neck.

‘always thought about this. you’re a fucking dream.’ he bit your neck gently.

you tensed up at his confession. he thought about this? you felt less guilty for thinking of him last week after he saved you. that was just a one time thing. or so you thought. feelings of desire to be his partner ran through your head. he went to work on the nape of your neck. if it wasn’t obvious now. eddie adored your neck. he would stare at it and imagine burying his face in the soft skin that grazed against your most important nerve endings while in class. imagined how you would squirm if he kissed you there. he loved the cute necklaces you wore and imagined decorating it with pretty, dark, bruises. so he did, he left one, then two, then five, and then six. he was getting close to your chest now. he tried not to be rough with you just yet. getting ahead of himself though he slightly stretched out your tanktop as he tugged on it to desperately get lower.

‘eddie!’ you yelped at the sudden tug.

‘i—im sorry! sorry!’ he gasped.

he moved his hand up the outside of your tank top, it was so slow. almost torturous. he was being good. to the best of his ability. he grabbed your tits and grunted in your ear feeling your hard nipples against his palm. you whimpered sheepishly at the new sensation. eddie paused for just a second. he looked at you with his dark brown eyes to watch you.

‘please. p—please just… say my name again?’ he begged.

he sounded so pathetic. stooping to your level almost. he was surprised when you obeyed. the sounds coming from you was the sweetest music he’s ever heard. he wanted to bottle it up and save it for later. record it on one of his blank tapes so he could play the cassette in his van. blasting it as he drove down the street. he let out a feverish moan and trembled. his touch was so heavy. you could tell he was holding back. he rubbed your body with his hands while he watched your cute lewd expressions. his eyes rolled back as he bit your cheek and his hand dressed in his cold steel rings gripped your throat.

‘look so pretty with my hand around your neck.’ he said.

he growled as you whimpered. eddie wedged himself between your legs. grinding down onto your warm wet spot that was growing at your center.

‘you okay? just say the word sweetheart. ill try to stop.’ he gasped.

ill try. the words danced in your head. he pushed his hips into your clothed cunt. you just nodded quickly and gasped. he tightened his grip around your neck.

‘you’re a mess for me already. i know you feel good right now. i feel good too baby. just let me take care of you. im trying to… fuck… go as slow as possible.’

he was shaking now, every part of him was trying not to bust in his jeans. he had you in his hands and he was trying to last as long as possible. everything moved so fast for you. how did you end up underneath eddie munson on a normal thursday night? was this really happening? you moaned loudly as you felt his rough jeans grind against your thin pajama shorts. your moans let him know he was pleasing you just as much as you were pleasing him.

‘yeah baby? am i making you feel good right there?’ he grunted in your ear.

the last ‘y’ in ‘baby’ was dragged out. the way he said it was so attractive. the hand that was once on your throat slowly moved down your center. his hand grazed the waist band of your shorts. you grinded against his palm. your reaction scared him a bit. he really had no idea what he was doing. he smacked your thigh to warn you. he wanted to take this at his own pace. he got an instant reaction from you. you moaned his name.

‘eddie… please, keep doing that… more? it feels s’good.’ you whined.

he huffed and gripped your thigh hard, you winced at the pain knowing you would be sensitive there tomorrow. eddie froze over you with his head down. you began to think you did something wrong.

‘fuck—‘ his whole body shook over you.

‘you made me fucking ruin my jeans, sweetheart.’ he could barely speak.

he lifted himself up, you were still on your back but not for long, he grabbed your waist and flipped you over so you were on your tummy. he was sitting on top of your legs focused on your ass. he took his shirt off as he pulled down your shorts revealing that same simple black thong you wore last week. he growled,

‘jesus. fucking. christ.’

he leaned down and bit your ass. he left big teeth marks and smirked as you tried to pull away from him. smacking your ass and tugging you closer. he sucked deep into your skin. keeping you still. he smacked your ass and kept his mouth on you putting more hickies on you. he kept at it for a few more moments. he gave you everything as much as he thought you could take. your ass was already covered in marks. he was good at that, he thought. leaving marks on you was his specialty. you whimpered. he pulled away. eddie lifted your hips so your ass was in the air and he placed a pillow under your hips so you’d be more comfortable. your face was almost buried in your pillow. he kissed the marks he left on you and softly spoke,

‘you’re okay, baby. i promise. let me show you. ill take good care of you when im through.’

you gave him an assuring moan that he could continue, you couldn't form words. you were so filled with lust and that gave him so much confidence. his cock grew even bigger at the thought of this being the first time anyone has ever touched you. you couldn’t tell, but this was his first time he had every touched anyone too. it was a sweet sediment, sharing his first time with the girl he absolutely adored. how was this real? he thought. he knew it wouldn’t matter, really. he just liked that he was in control and you both would figure it out together. eddie was a perverted son of a bitch, and he enjoyed using you to fulfill his sexual fantasies. his tongue was then buried against the thin black fabric that hid your cunt from him. he thought about ripping them, but decided against his better judgment that it would scare you. he remembered to go slow and steady, just so he could please you.

‘that.. whatever you’re doing feels… s—s-so good, ed’s’ you moaned.

that encouraged him. he got rougher. his hands gripped your hips as you bucked your hot cunt into his mouth. his tongue flicked against your clit and he spat on your pussy, groaning against you. the vibration made you grip the sheets. he kept a slow pace that you loved. you always dreamed of being touched and teased slowly by your lover, and that’s exactly what he was doing. hearing you whimper made his stomach knot up, his cock pulsed against his jeans and he grabbed the thin black fabric and ripped it off of you finding himself lost in his sexual desire. he should’ve known. his better judgment never won the fight against his desire. that’s why he had been watching you for years outside your window. he unbuckled his jeans and pulled out his cock, he grinded just the tip against your cunt, his hips weren’t moving with a rhythm and it was sloppy but he would bump your clit and the feeling was electric. your body trembled under him, he figured you were close. eddie gripped your hips with anticipation. his right hand slapped your soaked cunt.

‘you’re all wet for me. your pussy wants me now baby?’ he questioned.

there was a beat that passed. he slowly leaned over you. pushing his chest against your back. covered in a thin layer of sweat. he groaned in your ear,

‘or have you always wanted me? pretty girl?’

you moaned. your back arched for him. he grabbed your shoulder. rutting his dick between your thighs just enough to kiss your clit with the head of his cock.

‘tell me. please. tell me. tell me you want me. tell me you think of me while your hands between your thighs. tell me.’ eddie begged.

his pathetic little whines filled the room. a bit or insecurity was laced in that statement. eddie was really trying his best to be good for you. you begged while he teased you. he was doing all the right things. saying all the right words. you were a mess. your head was so cloudy. you thought back to how good it felt to touch yourself thinking about eddie protecting you. how did he know? that was your secret. he couldn’t ever make you confess, but your desperate need to be satisfied was growing more than your embarrassment. the begging continued and you called out for him to give you something, you gasped softly,

‘th—thought about it. i thought about you.’ you confessed.

‘oh yeah, pretty girl?’

‘yeah.’ you gasped.

his next words humiliated you.

‘maybe you can elaborate on that for me? what do you think about when you touch yourself?’

he placed the pad of one of his fingers on your clit and moved it in slow antagonizing circles. he applied just enough pressure. it was better than anything you’ve ever done for yourself. you couldn’t bear it anymore and begged him to take you.

‘ah ahh ah, eager. we need to stretch you out a bit.’

he slowly filled you up with his middle finger and you tightened around him. your breathe hitched and you trembled. you were so warm your gut felt like it was on fire. he was so good at that. how was he so good at that? pressure built in your stomach. you became a whining mess for him just after he had barely touched you. you bucked your hips with the rhythm of his palm. edging you to the finish line. eddie breathless spoke. you looked so pretty with his fingers buried inside you.

‘are you close? cum for me. cum.’

he curled his finger upward hitting a spot you had never reached before. you came instantly at his words. his fingers thrusted inside of you, he held you down as you moaned and screamed his name. you were incoherent. it was embarrassing, but eddie was on top of the world. he didn’t expect to have you already screaming and crying underneath him with just his fingers. tears began to form and fall down your cheeks. he didn’t stop. you never told him to stop, so why should he? he wanted to hear more.

‘baby, don't cry... i’ve got you just let it out. let me hear those pretty pretty moans, sweetheart.’ he pleaded.

he needed to stretch you out so he wouldn’t do any serious damage. eddie didn’t have the biggest cock in hawkins, but he was girthy and slightly above average. your cunt gripped onto his finger tightly. he groaned, he couldn’t wait to have your walls swallowing him. he was going to feel every inch of you pussy wrapped around his cock. pushing another finger in, you tightened. he was speechless. the more he stuffed into you the more your cunt clenched for him. he went on a soft spoken tangent as you tried to recover from your first big orgasm.

‘your … so pretty baby. so tight... all for me? can this little hot cunt be my play thing? i know no one’s made you feel this good before huh, pretty girl?’ he whimpered.

he kept slowly moving his middle and now index finger in and out of you, he palmed himself through his jeans. the top of his rings hit the lips of your pussy. he continued this steady pace, but you moaned like someone was fucking you relentlessly. you both were already so fucked out. drunk with each others looks. each others touch, smell, taste, emotions. eddie was forsure in over his head. he reached over you and shoved your head into your pillow. he couldn’t take it anymore he needed you to shut up, stop whining like a dog in heat or he was gonna take you right there, and fast. he needed to pace himself.

‘sweetheart.’

he growled in your ear deeply, more serious than before. he lifted your head up against his neck using your hair as a nice grip. he pushed his waist into your ass.

‘you’re gonna have to quiet down if you want me to be nice. those sweet noises you make— makin’ m’loose my mind.’

he gripped your hair tighter as you whimpered again. he praised you even more.

‘your moans are so pretty, baby— i wanna hear more… but you don’t want your neighbors to hear how much of a slut you are, do you?’

he had a point. he wanted you to scream, but maybe if your neighbors heard a commotion. they might tell your parents. but really eddie just needed to pace himself and the sounds leaving your lips was to much. he was already close. again? already? fuck, what a loser. he hated that he had to shut you up.

‘god, never stop making those sweet sounds.’ he whispered to himself.

he wanted to be inside you so he had an excuse for busting early again. he struggled with getting his jeans all the way off. his belt buckle was cold against your thighs as it clang together. he finally ripped them off. his boxes going with them. he hopped off the bed to get the fabric unwrapped from his ankles. he positioned his cock at your entrance from behind. he had wet dreams about this moment. pausing to soak it all in a second longer. he slapped your ass, making sure to rub that one into the skin. it was a loud smacking sound that echoed the room and he knew it hurt you. he hit you so he had the chance to slowly push his thick cock all the way into you without you wincing and running from the pain.

‘fffuck– you’re everything i’ve imagined’

he bottomed out inside of you, and you tightened around him. he was going to be ruthless now. poor boy was already pussy drunk.

‘y-your’re such a slut. teasing me all the time. teasing that fucker steve. you know what you’re doing don’t you? you wanted this d—didn’t y-you? wanted it as b—ba-bad as me? baby. say it.’

it was so hard for eddie not to cum with you wrapped around him. he gasped as you tightened again at his words this time. you loved his dirty words. he wrote his own music so he was very articulate with his speech. he knew just what to say to you. not only did he possess that trait, but it seemed like he never shut up.

‘sweetheart, say you want me.’ he begged.

‘i want you ed’s, please.’

it was the first sentence that had left your mouth in the past half hour. he moved his hips slightly letting you adjust. you gave him the okay as your eyes rolled to the back of your head and he began fucking you hard and slow, he was deep and filled you up so good. you both could’ve sworn this was a perfect fit. he smacked your ass a few more times. he was telling you how good you were doing for him. he bent down at the waist to spit on and claw at your back, leaving even more marks on you. your skin burned when his nails broke your skin. he saw that you were flinching at the pain, but he could tell you liked it. you tightened around him when he scratched you, and eddie being the gentleman that he is, leaned down and kissed the broken flesh. his pace began to quicken but he wasn’t shallow. he kept hitting the perfect spot until you moaned louder and louder. he pulled your head up off of your pillow using your hair and you screamed his name. there was that feeling again. your tummy was hot as he thrusted into you faster. he was relentless. hitting that soft spongey spot deep inside of you and in an instant you were cumming all over his on his cock. the sensation of you pulsing around him made him whine. he cursed hoping that maybe steve heard you, hell he was fine with letting all of hawkins know you were his girl. his release came directly after yours. he couldn’t bear it any longer feeling you get his dick wet pushed him over the edge.

‘shit– baby im c-cumm-c-‘ he moaned.

he couldn’t even say the words. he gripped onto your hips harder than before and dug his nails into your skin, leaving crescent moon shaped marks on your sides. he filled you up till you were dripping with cum. you both rolled over in exhaustion and eddie giggled, he grabbed you and brought you close to his chest. you were still unable to speak, there were no thoughts in your head, and your body twitched as eddie’s soft skin engulfed you.

‘my girl… you’re gonna be mine right?’

he growled in your ear, a husky, possessive, tone left his throat. your eyes rolled back and your eyes closed as he began kissing your neck.

•ʚ♡ɞ•

steve walked out of the pool to grab a drink from the cooler. he smiled smugly at a girl that walked by him. his trunks were drenched in chlorinated water and didn’t leave much to the imagination. he was hosting another pool party tonight after he got a call from one of the senior cheerleaders asking what time his party was going to be.

‘party? what party?’

he thought to himself. he still invited people over nonetheless. who was he to turn down some trouble?

he leaned down to grab a drink and a shiver was sent up his spine. he stood up and stiffened.

‘that’s weird.’ he was talking out loud, like always.

he shrugged, shotgunning his beer to impress anyone that might’ve looked his way. he walked back in the direction of the pool before grabbing another drink.

we see the two boys sitting in the trailer together again, the memory eddie was sharing with steve is fading out into the present.

steve was still sitting on eddie’s couch as he listened to eddie talk about your first time together. eddie kept a few things to himself. especially the parts that he thought about steve during sex. harrington didn’t need the ego boost. he was drying his hair after the shower. the remains of water dripped down his stomach and back as the story left his lips. it was so vulgar. steve’s cock twitched at eddie’s words while he stared at the man in front of him. he only had a towel wrapped around his waist and his chest looked colder and pale. his dark inky tattoos contrasted intensely on his pretty pale complexion. eddie’s injuries had been healed almost into complete scars. it was as if he was never attacked by the bats. instead it looked like he was born with some weird birthmarks. eddie pulled on a shirt, breaking steve’s gaze. steve’s face got hot when he realized eddie had caught him staring. blushed at the thought of eddie doing all of these dirty things to you while watching him. it was a lot for him to digest. he loved hearing about the crazy shit eddie was into. it made him curious. maybe steve would like that stuff too if eddie showed him the ropes. steve’s mouth was wide open as he listened to eddie tell him how he used you, again and again. he failed to mention the stalker part. he would soon enough, he had to be able to trust steve.

‘that’s why all those girls called my house, that day, was because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut, munson?’ steve chuckled.

‘i mean it was a good white lie! who knew you’d help me get with that whore.’

eddie said pulling on his jeans. steve didn’t like when eddie called you a ‘whore’ or his ‘slut’, but who was he to judge. apparently. you were into that.

eddie was dressed and ready to head to your house, it had been two days without having you by his side, and he was determined to have you back in his arms soon, and maybe even on your knees. it started to rain, the pitter-patter of the drops loud against the tin roof of the trailer. eddie turned and stuck his tongue out at steve. laughing at steve’s confused look on his face. lighting struck and the thunder rumbled in tune with eddie’s laugh. his new pearly white teeth were very visible to steve. his eyes widened as they were fixated on the boys mouth.

‘fangs.’ steve whispered.

fin.

thank you so much for reading! i really want to continue writing this out and seeing where it goes. if you have any opinions or request please share with me and ill be sure to use and save ideas! thank you!

— peace and blessings, kid!

part three. || masterlist. || taglist.

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beels-burger-babe · 4 years ago

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I Can Be Your Type

***I wanted to write some fluff, and all of my current requests, except for maybe one, have angst in them in one form or another. SO I decided to complete the prompt that @poppi144 and I discussed during a "party time" here. So this is happening. Enjoy a break from the angst.*** Summary: Asmodeus is bored one day and, more importantly, he doesn't think he can stand looking at the eyesore of Satan's clothing choices for a second longer. A makeover ensues much to the amusement of the other brothers and annoyance of Satan...that is until MC sees it. Asmodeus smiled mischievously as he peaked into Satan's room. Sitting in his chair, peacefully reading a book and enjoying his day, was Asmodeus's target. He giggled to himself and skipped over to him. "Oh, Satan~" Asmo began in a sing-song voice.

Satan's grip noticeably tightened on the book, but he didn't look away from the pages. "What do you need, Asmo? I'm trying to read." A glance at the cover told him that Satan was reading "Cultural Traditions and Practices of the Humans Realm". Asmo's smile grew. This really was perfect. He draped himself over the back of his brother's chair. "I just thought that perhaps we could help each other out! You see, I am extremely bored and want something to do. Preferably, giving you a makeover." The blond sighed as he flipped the page of his book. "Why in Diavolo's name, would I agree to that?" Asmodeus's grin widened as he swiped Satan's book from his hand and waved it in front of his face. "Because I can turn you into MC's type." Satan paused as a blush dusted across his cheeks. Checkmate.

Satan looked at Asmodeus with intrigue. "They have a type?" The Avatar of Lust laughed as he turned towards the door. "Oh, big brother, you have so much to learn if you actually want to stand a chance against me at winning MC's heart," he smiled over his shoulder. "Come on. Let me work my magic." Satan gave Asmodeus a skeptical look, but sighed and rose to his feet. If there was even the slightest chance of this working, it would be worth it. *** It was not worth it. Satan glared at his reflection in the mirror, "I look ridiculous." Asmodeus giggled as he straightened out the leather, hooded jacket that Satan was wearing. "Nonsense! I put this outfit together myself which means you look amazing!" He beamed at Satan as he took a step back and admired his work. "You look dangerous, mysterious, enticing, cool-" "Foolish," Satan cut off and groaned as he fiddled with the leather cord necklace Asmodeus had put on him. "There's no way this will actually work. You just did this to make me look stupid." Asmo gasped and put a hand on his chest in mock offence. "Like I would ever do something like that to my favourite brother!" Satan just gave him an unimpressed look and began to take off the jacket. Asmodeus quickly rushed over to stop him. "Wait, wait, wait! This wasn't a prank. I seriously think this is MC's type! Trust me on this. At least let them see you in it."

Satan frowned and looked in the mirror. He looked like the stereotypical bad boy in all those animes that Levi watches. He was layered in a white t-shirt with a jacket that appeared to be some kind of leather jacket/hoodie hybrid. The jeans weren't bad. He wore skinny jeans on a regular basis. But these were black and had rips on the knees. His normal dress shoes had been replaced with a pair of black Doc Martins. Asmodeus had even gone so far as to stylistically mess up his hair a little with some gel, and add a very subtle touch of eyeliner around his eyes. Was this really what you were attracted to? Satan huffed and turned to Asmodeus. "Fine. But if they laugh, you will regret this Asmodeus." Asmo let out a cheer as he pushed him out of the door. "Yeah, yeah. Doom and gloom. I get it. You know, you're actually very in character for your look right now." Asmodeus dragged Satan down to the living room where you were supposed to be having a game night with the others. "Oh MC~ I've got a lovely gift for you~" He pushed Satan into the middle of the room and dramatically gestured to him. Only you weren't in the living room. Everyone else was, and they thought this was priceless. Laughter filled the room as the brothers doubled over at the sight of Satan scowling in his bad boy outfit. "Y-You, your look finally matches your sin! Holy fuck!" Mammon howled as he struggled to breathe through his laughter. Belphegor nodded and pointed to Mammon as he cackled. "It's like someone just rained on your black parade! You look like you're about to go kick a bunch of puppies!" Levi snorted and lifted up his phone to take a picture, "This is definitely going on Devilgram." Satan growled and took a threatening step towards Levi. Lucifer chuckled and wiped a tear from under his eye. "Calm down now. We wouldn't you to ruin your eyeliner." The laughter doubled in volume as Satan shouted at Lucifer to shut up. Even Beel was laughing along. "Alright, guys I'm ba-" Everyone went quiet as you entered the room holding a tray of cookies. You froze and stared at Satan with wide eyes and your jaw dropped, a slight blush on your cheeks. "S-Satan you look-" A low snarl came from him as he avoided eye contact with you. "Spare me your pretences and just get to the laughing bit. I've had enough of this." "No!" You squeaked out, causing everyone to stare at you. Your face was quite clearly flushed as you sputtered bashfully. "I-I mean, I wouldn't laugh. You look hot! I-I-I mean good! You look good. Very good indeed," you chuckled nervously and averted your eyes. "Oh Diavolo kill me now," you whispered to yourself.

Asmodeus smiled victoriously while the others gaped at you in shock. Satan merely smirked and walked closer to you. "Oh? Do you enjoy my appearance MC?" More flustered noises came from your mouth as you set down the tray. "I certainly don't not like it. It's j-just a good look for you, th-that's all."

Levi looked between the two of you confused. "Wha- MC! He looks like bullies in every high school anime that we've ever watched!" Satan noted with amusement that you seemed to glance at him with even more interest now. "You mean the ones that tease the protagonist, have a soft side, and nine times out ten builds into an enemies-to-lovers plot with an incredible redemption arc? I'm aware," there was an adorable bashful tone to your voice that made Satan smile wider. He approached you and took your hand into his own. "Then perhaps I should let you get to know my soft side more? Would you care to join me over some tea and light reading library?" he lowered his tone into a seductive husky rumble. "I have a thousand poems that have reminded me of you, which I would love to share." The brothers watched in horror as you became even more of a flustered mess and nodded eagerly. "Eh?! But it's game night MC!" Mammon quickly piped in, throwing in a pair of puppy dog eyes for good measure. You barely glanced in his direction. "Lucifer had just beat me out of the round anyway. You guys enjoy the cookies, I'm going to catch up with Satan." The fourth born led you by the hand as he looked back and smirked at the others. "Enjoy your game night, and thanks for the help Asmo." Silence filled the room after you two left.

"Damn. That worked better than intended," Asmo stated with slight envy on his tongue. Mammon glared at him. "Ya had to give him a make-over and make him look like a hunk, didn't ya?" Lucifer leaned back watching the door. "It's unfortunate. Though perhaps not an entirely negative thing. We can learn something from this," everyone looked at Lucifer curiously. For the next two weeks, the House of Lamentation was full of leather jackets and eyeliner.

*** This was so fun to write. I hope you guys enjoyed it 😊***

#obey me shall we date #obey me fic #obey me asmodeus #obey me satan #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me lucifer #obey me belphegor #obey me beelzebub #obey me demon brothers #obey me fan fic #obey me fluff #my writing #obey me

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wayward-dreamer · 4 years ago

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A Man of Action

Square/s Filled: Intercrural Sex (Kink Bingo), Director!Jensen (AU Bingo)

AO3 Link: Read Here

Pairing: Director!Jensen x Female!Actor!Reader

Word count: 6,516

Rating: Explicit - 18+!

Summary: While directing his episode of Supernatural, Jensen and Y/N, the female guest star of the week, can’t hide their attraction for each other any longer. A little fun in his trailer is nearly over before it starts, but they find ways to keep each other satisfied.

Created for @spnkinkbingo, @spnaubingo

Warnings: Swearing, Dirty talk, Smut: Oral Sex (Male and Female receiving), Intercrural sex, ‘Sir’ kink, Implied protected sex in the future.

A/N: My first Jensen one-shot! *cue nervous laughter*... A HUGE thank you to my sister from another mister, my twin @downanddirtydean for being beta on this one! I love her to bits and she really helped me get over my lack of confidence in this one-shot. I hope you guys like it! Happy reading and enjoy! :)

Dividers by @talesmaniac89

Y/N lightly bopped her head along to the slow melody playing from her earphones, as she flicked the page of the book she was reading. Crossing one leg over the other, she steadied the folding tall chair she was sitting on. Glancing up from her book, she smiled as she looked around at the set, waiting for the signal that they were ready to resume.

Y/N watched the crew, hard at work as they fixed lighting, checked the sound and redressed parts of the bunker. Her eyes scanned over the many people who worked tirelessly to make this show, feeling grateful to be even a small part of it herself.

This was her second time on the Supernatural set. She had guest starred in an episode last season, with Kim Rhodes who played Sheriff Jody Mills. Kim had quickly become a great friend, showing the ropes of the set, as did everyone else. She laughed as she remembered messing up her first scene with the stars of the show, Jared and Jensen, and how they quickly reassured her that she didn’t do anything for them to be mad at. They loved to have a laugh as much as the next person and were more often than not the ones who did most of the messing up of takes on purpose.

The first time was quite civil, but considering this was her second episode, Y/N was no longer off limits from the guys’ antics. Jared in particular was a giant goofball, doing everything perfectly on his coverage, and then purposely being bad on hers. Jensen was a little subdued this time around, as he was the director for this episode, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t had any fun.

There was an attraction between them. She felt it from the moment she laid eyes on him when she walked onto the set the year before. He was incredibly kind and absolutely hilarious, and not to mention insanely good-looking. They had talked and laughed about so many things in those 8 days, and she felt herself beginning to feel things for him she probably shouldn’t have. This time around, he may have been directing, but they still talked a lot. He showed her different parts of the stages during lunch breaks, walked her to lunch every day for the last 7 days, and made her feel so welcomed.

Y/N sensed that maybe the attraction wasn’t one sided as she often caught him looking at her, but she couldn’t be too sure and didn’t want to make a fool of herself in case she was wrong in her assumptions.

Y/N smiled as Frida, one of Supernatural’s assistant make-up artists, approached her. Her make-up bag, as well Jensen and Jared’s, were all hanging off of her as she returned a genuine smile to Y/N. She took out her earphones and closed her book, shifting in her chair to face Frida properly.

“Touch up time, already?” she asked, pushing her hair back slightly.

“Yep, we’ll be good to go in about 5,” Frida replied, taking out a brush and running it lightly through some powder. She applied it to Y/N’s face and then worked a little on the touching up the eye make-up. “Looking forward to it?” she added with a laugh.

Y/N cringed, lightly shaking her head. “Dear god, give me strength to get through it.”

“Get through what?” she heard a familiar voice ask.

Y/N’s eyes flicked up to look at Jared as she sat down in his chair, next to her. “To get through your unrelenting need to ruin my coverage.”

Jared laughed, clapping his hands. “It’s just too easy.”

“I know how Misha feels now,” Y/N laughed, closing her eyes as Frida worked on her eyelids.

Frida laughed along with her, nodding. “And Alex too.”

Trish, the head make-up artist, came up behind Frida and took Jared’s bag, getting him ready for the next scene.

“Pretty sure he’s still scarred from that time everyone was out to get him to crack, even Misha,” Trish added, chuckling.

“We’re up and running in 2!” they heard one of the assistant directors call out.

Frida finished up with Y/N as Trish finished touching up Jared’s make-up, allowing Y/N to get up and walk over to the war room set. She walked past crew members and smiled at them, a quick ‘hey’ to each of them as she did. She loved this set more than any other she had worked on. It was only her second time here, but it felt like home, with everyone always welcoming her back with open arms. She didn’t think she would be back a second time, but she was incredibly glad that she was. She loved her character, Lyla, so much and she was over the moon to explore her again.

Y/N felt the butterflies in her stomach erupt as she spied Jensen, in a deep conversation with Bob Singer as they looked over some of the dailies on the screens in front of them. He looked amazing, dressed as Dean in his black t-shirt and blue jeans, the white and black flannel draped over a chair close by. He was frowning but nodding along as Bob explained something to him, his scowl making him look even hotter if that was possible.

Suddenly, Jensen turned and walked towards her, his frown immediately morphing into a genuine smile as he approached her. She felt her heartbeat pick up, but she tried to calm herself down as she turned to face him.

“Okay, so we’re getting your coverage first, then Jared’s. I know he’s meant to go first, but making him wait tends to make him cooperate,” Jensen informed her, laughing lightly.

“Going easy on me, huh?” she joked, smiling up at him.

“A little, but you’ve handled it pretty well so far,” Jensen said, folding his arms across his chest. That gesture had killed her every time he did in the last several days, and this time was no different.

“Meh,” she shrugged, laughing. “I can throw it back at him if and when I need to.”

Jensen gave her nod, smiling with an approving look. “I won’t even try to stop you.”

She laughed as she shook her head, Jensen’s relaxed laughter joining hers.

She cleared her throat as she calmed herself, looking up at him. “Do I look okay, Mr. Director, sir?”

Jensen looked into her eyes, finding himself getting lost in Y/N’s beautiful features. He certainly wasn’t good at hiding his feelings for her, not the first time he met her and definitely not now. She was stunning, but she was also open and generous, kind and a total badass. He really wanted to ask her out and see where things went between them, but considering they were in their last day of filming, and she was more than likely leaving the next day, he knew he had missed his chance.

“You look great,” he told her, honestly and hoping she’d see how he meant it as more than just a director approving of her look for the episode.

Things moved pretty quickly from there, as Jensen left to sit behind the screens at video village, the cameras turned on and framed Y/N in the shot with the rest of the war room behind her, Jared stood to the side making sure to hit the mark and be in her right eye line. Everyone buzzed around them before José came in with the tail slate and called the take.

“Action!” they heard Jensen call out.

Y/N instantly fell into character, looking at Jared as ‘Sam’ and smiling. “How does Dean feel about this?”

Jared didn’t move considering the camera wasn’t on him, but he delivered the next line. “It took him a while to get used to the idea of Jack, but he got there eventually.”

Y/N nodded, staying in character. “You know what you’re doing, teaching Jack the ropes of this life… that’s amazing.”

Jared scoffed. “It didn’t exactly work though.”

“He’ll come back, Sam. He will. He just has to figure out what’s going on with his powers and he’ll come back to the bunker.” She finished the line but frowned, thinking it over. “Wait, sorry. Is it “come back to the bunker” or something else?”

One of the crew members quickly looked over the sides, and then shook their head. “It’s ‘come back home.’”

“Fuck, okay,” she groaned, annoyed with herself. “Sorry.”

“You’re fine, Y/N. Just take it from the same line,” Jensen reassured her, and she took in the patience in his voice. He was so damn good at this and she felt incredibly safe with him as a director and as an actor. She recalled how many times someone was awful to her just for messing up slightly, and how crappy she felt afterwards. She had never felt that on the Supernatural set, and she was so thankful for that.

“Let’s keep rolling,” Jensen informed everyone. “Y/N, when you’re ready.”

She nodded. Waiting a few seconds, she then continued. “He’ll come back, Sam. He will. He just has to figure out what’s going on with his powers and he’ll come back home.”

“It’s ‘to the bunker’,” Jared said, trying to be serious as he tried to mess her up.

“You’re an ass,” she laughed, shaking her head.

Jared laughed that mad laugh she had actually come to love very quickly, and she joined in. They descended into a fit of giggles, knowing full well it wasn’t that funny, but it somehow got to them anyway.

Jensen watched the screen in front of him, his eyes never leaving Y/N. Her laugh was infectious, and she looked even more beautiful when she did, making his heartbeat wildly in his chest. Knowing he had to break up the laugh fest, regretfully, he stood up from his chair.

“Alright, we’re good on Y/N’s coverage. Let’s move on and then we can break for lunch,” he announced.

The bell sounded as every present crew member hurried around the set, getting set up to shoot Jared’s coverage.

Y/N looked up and saw Jensen glance over at her. He smiled that smile she found herself wanting to see every second of every day, making her feel lightheaded and the butterflies flutter in her stomach again. He truly was a sight to behold and she only hoped that something more came of her time on Supernatural.

They managed to get through Jared’s coverage pretty quickly, Y/N doing off-camera dialogue for him as he had done for her. The bell sounded again, and Jensen called lunch. Everyone walked towards craft services, chatting about different parts of their lives. Jensen was talking with Bob, but after quickly making some decisions, he moved away and walked up to Y/N.

She looked up at Jensen as she felt him next to her, smiling brightly. They walked side by side through the lot, past all the pick-up trucks, SUVs and large trailers that housed the different departments of production. For the last 7 days, this had been a regular occurrence, him walking her to the lunch tent. On the 8th and final day of filming, it was no exception. She could feel the attraction between them, and a part of her hoped that he might ask her out, but she would even settle for a casual hook-up at that point.

“Ah, fuck,” he muttered, as he suddenly stopped short while looking down at his phone. “My phone’s about to die. Mind if we make a quick detour to my trailer so I can charge it up?”

“Lead the way,” she said, smiling as she gestured for him to go ahead. She followed him to his trailer, stepping in behind him.

As he looked around for a charger, she turned to every angle of the trailer, taking it in. It was big and spacious, with a large flat screen and comfortable couch, a bed at the other end and a nice kitchenette, but that was it. There was nothing outlandish and unnecessary in there.

“Nice to know there’s no aquarium in here,” she laughed, folding her arms.

Jensen scoffed a laugh as he shook his head. “Yeah, they really went overboard with that one.”

Finding a charger, he plugged it in and put his phone on charge. He turned to her, arms out as he brought attention to the trailer.

“So, this is it,” he said, his hands coming down and straight into his pockets. “As glamorous as you pictured, right?”

“Oh, much more than I was expecting,” she said, pretending to be serious. They looked at each other and laughed, as she shook her head. “I like it. It certainly doesn’t scream lead of a TV show slash on and off director.”

“What does it scream then?” he asked, looking down at her as she moved closer to him.

“Just a regular guy underneath all that star power,” she replied, her hand coming up and softly grazing his covered bicep.

She looked at him, her eyes never leaving his. It was clear to both of them that there was something between them. The minute she stepped onto set earlier than week, Jensen knew he was done for.

“Can I ask you something?” he wondered, his tongue darting out and licking at his lips, nervously. That little gesture had nearly sent her to her knees so many times that week, and in that moment, she felt like she would if he did it again.

“Shoot,” she told him.

His hand came up and took hers, his fingers intertwining with her delicate ones. “When can I see you again?”

“I don’t know. I’m leaving at noon tomorrow,” she said, moving closer to him and taking in the smell of his cologne.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he whispered, his head dropping forward to rest his forehead against hers. “Tell me I’m not fucking insane, and you feel something for me too.”

“You’re not,” she whispered in return, shaking her head against his. “The only thing fucking insane is that we didn’t do anything the minute we met.”

That was the only in Jensen needed. His hands cupped Y/N’s cheeks and pulled her face up, his lips pressing into hers in a rough but sensual kiss. Her hands roamed his chest, fisting his black t-shirt in her hands, trying to bring him in closer. They pulled away for a brief moment, breathing into each other heavily as they tried to catch their breath. They quickly stripped out of the clothes they were wearing, careful not to tug harshly as they were the costumes they’d have to put back on. Cupping her face again, he smirked as he moved them over to the couch.

“On your knees,” he instructed.

She huffed a laugh as she grinned. “Yes, sir.”

He quickly unbuckled his jeans and pulled them down, sitting back on the couch as she moved down to her knees in front of him. She tugged at his boxers and pulled them down, his hard cock springing free. She gasped as she smiled, her hand slowly wrapping around the shaft.

“Put my cock in your mouth, baby,” he demanded, his hand coming up to her hair and wrapping into it, tugging her closer.

She hummed as she moved closer, her tongue licking a stripe up his shaft. “You gonna direct me, sir?”

He groaned as he bit his lip, smirking. “Yeah, and if it’s anything like it is on set, I know you’ll hit your mark.”

She sucked at the tip of his cock, her tongue circling the head before she moved down, taking his length into her mouth. She bobbed her head, her spit coating his cock as she built up a rhythm.

“Fuck,” he growled. “Your mouth’s so fucking perfect, Y/N.”

She looked up at him, taking him deeper into her mouth.

“Hold still, darlin’,” he muttered in his sudden Texas drawl, his hand gathering her hair into his palm, the other cupping her face.

She stilled her movement, as he began thrusting up into her mouth at a fast pace. His cock hit the back of her throat, causing her to moan each time it did.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, looking down at her. “Look so good with my cock between your lips.”

Her saliva covered his cock, the glugging sound loud as he slipped in and out of her mouth. She looked up at him, her eyes glistening from the pressure of his hard cock against the back of her throat. His hand pressed down on her head, making her take his length into her mouth all the way to the base, holding her in place. She moaned to avoid gagging, thankful she didn’t have a gag reflex. He pulled her up, his cock leaving her mouth with a wet pop, a harsh breath leaving her lips as air came back into her lungs.

“Can’t wait to fuck you,” he said, cupping her face in his hands and bringing her lips to hers.

He lifted her up and carried her to the bed, throwing her down on it. She squealed as she bounced on the mattress, a naughty smile on her face as she looked up at him.

“God, you’re so fucking hot,” she muttered, as her eyes raked over his body.

“I should be saying that about you,” he smirked, getting onto the bed and holding himself up above her.

He leaned down, kissing her passionately, before trailing down her jaw, neck and down to her breasts. His flicked his tongue over her nipple, his hand coming up to roll the other between his fingers.

“Fuck,” she moaned, as his felt his other hand move down her body.

He smirked as he sucked her nipple, feeling the slick between her legs. He released the nub and looked down at her, his fingers running through her folds and finding her clit. She moaned loudly, forgetting where she was for a moment, as she felt his fingers circle the bundle of nerves.

“Shh, baby,” he whispered, as he looked down into her eyes. “Can’t let the crew hear us.”

“Jensen… fuck me,” she whimpered, as she cupped his face.

Taking one of her hands off her face, he pinned it to the bed above her head. A chill ran down her spine as she looked into his eyes, now dark with arousal.

“Say it properly and I will,” he ordered, his voice gravelly and demanding.

She gulped but smiled tentatively. “Please fuck me, sir.”

“Good,” he said, before he leaned down and kissed her lips, once then twice.

They continued their passionate embrace, Y/N’s arms wrapping around Jensen’s neck as one of her hands combed into his short hair at the nape of his neck. Their lips moved against each other’s roughly and sensually, as they became desperate to feel more of each other. He held his cock and ran it along her folds, her wetness slicking his shaft and a clear sign that she was more than ready for him. However, his movements suddenly stopped as an unfair realization came to him.

“Shit,” he muttered, pulling his lips away from hers. He looked down at her as an annoyed expression graced his face.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, suddenly worried she had done something wrong.

“I just remembered… I don’t have any condoms,” he replied, grimacing as he held himself up above her. “I don’t do this… well, ever. So, I don’t have anything.”

Her frown matched his. “I’m not on the pill right now, either.”

He nodded, trying to smile reassuringly and hide his disappointment. She knew that he was though, because she was too. She was desperate to feel him against her and inside her.

“I guess we better get to lunch, then,” she muttered softly, pushing herself up on her elbows. Her face was close to his, causing her to lean over and kiss his plump lips, softly.

“I just want to feel you,” he whispered against her lips, leaning in.

“Me too,” she said, in an equally hushed tone before his lips claimed hers again.

An idea suddenly came to him and he just hoped that she would be okay with it.

“Trust me?” he asked, softly as he looked into her eyes.

She smiled up at him, nodding slowly. “Yes, sir.”

He smirked as he helped her lie down on the bed again, bringing her legs up to rest her ankles on his shoulders. He shifted back until he was standing, her behind now on the edge of the bed.

Jensen smirked as his eyes darkened, taking hold of his cock and slapping it over her mound a few times. He moved Y/N’s thighs closer together, until they met around his cock. Slowly, he began to thrust, sliding his cock between her thighs in a gentle and sensual pace. She moaned softly, the new sensation of feeling his shaft against the skin of her inner thighs awakening something within her. He groaned, biting his lip at this new found arousal as he continued to move between her legs.

“How do I feel, sweetheart?” he asked, looking down at her.

“So good,” she moaned, looking at him. His ‘sweetheart’ gave her Dean vibes, which was definitely something she was adding to her list of kinks.

He picked up speed, his thrusts between her legs now a moderate pace. He gripped her thighs tight in his hands, which would no doubt leave bruises that she would get to admire later.

“Fuck,” he growled, his jaw clenching as he felt the pressure around his cock. “You feel so fucking good, baby.”

“Shit,” she hissed. A small laugh left her mouth as she shook her head. “If this is anything to go by, I can’t wait for you to fuck me.”

He chuckled as he nodded. “Can’t wait to fuck you either, Y/N. Can’t wait to feel you around my cock, taking me so well.”

“Jensen,” she moaned softly. She remembered to keep quiet in case of wandering ears of crew members.

His hand came up and back down on her thigh, smacking her hard enough to make her yelp and get her attention. He looked at her with his darkened eyes, stern and somewhat frightening, which only aroused her more.

“Last time I checked, I’m still your director,” he groaned, grasping her thighs tight. “Touch yourself.”

She moaned as her hands came up to her breasts, her fingers tweaking her nipples as she looked up at him. He grunted as he watched her, one of hands slipping down between her legs. His fingers found her clit, rubbing them in tight circles around the swollen nub.

“Fuck! Jensen,” she moaned, breathlessly. “Make me cum.”

He chuckled as he shook his head, his fingers slowing down to a torturous pace. “Not yet, baby.”

“Please,” she begged, her chest heaving with her shallow breaths.

“You have to ask better than that, Y/N,” he informed her, the smirk still on his face.

“Please,” she whimpered. She moved one of her hands down, trying to touch her clit but he smacked it away, not giving up the control he had in that moment. “Please, sir… please make me cum.”

“Let’s make a deal, baby,” he suggested, an eyebrow raised as he continued to thrust between her thighs. He groaned, knowing he was close to his own release. “Make me cum first between these perfect thighs, and I’ll let you cum… all over my face.”

She moaned loudly, nodding frantically. The idea of his mouth on her where she wanted him most was too much to bear.

Pressing her thighs together firmly, Jensen’s thrusts became quicker and erratic, getting closer to falling over the edge. He growled as the pressure around his hard cock built, feeling it pulse with his impending release.

“Fuck,” he groaned. His hips faltered as he gripped tightly at the flesh of her thighs. He threw his head back, as he let go of her legs, and grasped his cock in his hand. He pumped his hand along his shaft, biting his lip as he looked down at her spread out on his bed. She sat up on her elbows, smiling up at him as she moved his hand away, taking over for him as her hand moved up and down along his cock.

“Oh fuck, Y/N,” he let out a guttural moan as her hand picked up speed. Ropes of his cum spurted out of his cock, landing on her stomach. She continued to pump him, making sure he gave her everything he had, relishing in the warmth of his release against her skin.

He breathed heavily, his hand cupping her face as he smiled at her. “Your turn.”

Moving his hand to her shoulder, he pushed her back lightly, smiling as she laughed. He got down on his knees, grasping her hips and pulling her to the edge of the bed. Y/N laughed as she slipped down, moving her hands up to her breasts and pinching her nipples. He smirked as he looked up at her, his tongue licking a stripe up her folds. He moaned at the taste of her, feeling how wet she was already from just fucking her thighs.

“Oh fuck,” she moaned loudly, as she felt his stubble against the inside of thighs. She bit down on her lip, trying to keep herself quiet as he continued to run his tongue along her folds, the vibrations of his moans running through her.

“Taste so fucking good, Y/N,” he muttered against her mound, looking up at her. “So perfect.”

He moved his mouth to her clit, moving his tongue in tight circles around the nub. Her hands came down and grabbed his short hair, clenching tightly as she pressed her lips together. His hand came up, slowly inserting a finger into her wet entrance, moving it in and out of her. He added another finger and began to thrust them back and forth, the pads of his fingers hitting her g-spot every time. She whimpered as he picked up speed, his perfect mouth sucking at her clit as he continued to move his fingers.

He released her clit from his mouth, kissing her inner thigh as he moved up her leg.

“So fucking beautiful,” he muttered against her skin, placing small nips along the inside of her thigh.

He looked at her, the smile never leaving his face. She pushed herself up on her elbow, her other hand still in his hair. Leaning up, he kissed her roughly as he continued to thrust his fingers into her. She moaned into his mouth, tasting herself on his tongue. She felt the familiar feeling of her release approaching, the coil winding tighter and tighter.

“You ready to cum for me, sweetheart?” he asked, his breath fanning against her lips.

“Yeah,” she gasped, nodding as she looked into his eyes. “Make me cum.”

“Make me cum… what?” he asked, his voice gravelly. A deep rumble erupted from his chest as he laughed with a mischievous grin.

She whimpered, gripping his hair harshly. “Make me cum, sir.”

“Good girl,” he praised, moving his head back down again.

Jensen moved his mouth back to her clit, his fingers picking speed as he hit that sweet spot inside of her with precision. Y/N looked down at him, still leaning on her elbow to give her a better view. She held his head in place, fearing he’d move if she removed her hand. He licked at her clit, the sounds of her wetness and his ministrations reaching her ears and causing a string of soft moans and whimpers to leave her lips. His mouth sucked at her, his tongue moving around the nub tightly and his fingers thrusting, faster and faster. She bit down on her lip, nearly drawing blood as the coil in her belly snapped. A harsh, strangled whimper of his name left her lips, as she came hard on his tongue and fingers. He lapped at her folds, taking in her juices before he moved his head away, smiling at her.

With a quick kiss to Y/N’s thigh, Jensen got up and fell back on the bed next to her. She breathed heavily as she looked at him, trying to catch her breath. Turning his head, he looked into her eyes. He turned onto his side, moving closer to her. His lips hovered close to hers, his eyes flicking between all the features of her face. She moved in the rest of the way, kissing him softly. Their lips moved passionately against each other’s, not wanting to let go. As much as he didn’t want to let go, he knew they had a schedule to keep today before they wrapped later that night.

“We only have 20 minutes left,” he mumbled, regretfully against her lips.

She nodded, sadly. “We should go.”

They both got up from the bed, cleaning themselves up and getting dressed again in relative silence. The only sounds were the rustling of fabrics and shoes on the floor of the trailer. Y/N fixed her hair as much as she could in the mirror, her eyes continuously flicking over to Jensen as he did the same, fixing the mess she had made of his short locks. With one last look at each other, Jensen opened the door of the trailer and looked around, letting her out first when he saw that no one was around. They walked to the lunch tent, receiving a few questions on their whereabouts. Jensen was quick to tell everyone he took Y/N to see some of the fan favourite props of the show, and Y/N was glad that people believed him, for the most part.

They ate quickly, both of them silent as they sat across from each other. Y/N didn’t know if they weren’t talking because they are was awkwardness after what happened, or whether it was because he didn’t want to accidentally say something about it in front of the crew. Quite frankly, she was fine with not talking about it just yet. She wasn’t sure where they go from here. Did Jensen want to see her again? If so, would it be just to sleep together finally, or did he want more?

She didn’t think she wanted to know the answers to those questions. Not yet anyway.

Little did she know, the same questions were running through Jensen’s head. He enjoyed what happened back in his trailer, but sue him if he didn’t want more with her. He wanted to go the full home run with her, but if he was being completely honest, he wanted to see her again and again. He wanted to ask her out and see where they go from there.

He knew he had to take a leap of faith and ask her before she left town, because who knew when she would return.

They were back on the bunker set, this time in the war room to shoot the last scene Y/N would be in. It was interesting that Y/N’s character leaving at the end of the episode was the second last scene they were filming, but that was where it happened to land. It was like it happened organically, which was rare for their set during filming.

Jensen was standing at the head of the map table, Jared next to him as Y/N stood across from them. Video village was set up at the other end of the library, giving them more room in the war room for lighting and boom mics. Things were quiet as they fell into their characters, Y/N slinging the duffle bag over her shoulder, as the assistant director called ‘action’.

“Thanks for your help. We really owe you one,” Jared said as ‘Sam’.

She smiled at him, shaking her head. “You really don’t.”

Jensen gave her that signature ‘Dean Winchester’ look, the one that said he was thinking about how to approach a subject. “You know where to find us if we do.”

“You’re buying the six-pack next time,” she said, chuckling slightly.

“Done,” ‘Dean’ said, smirking at her. She smiled at Jensen, finding that her genuine smile to him seeped into the scene.

“See you boys around,” she said, nodding at them. She turned on her heeled ankle boots, walking towards the staircase. With one glance over her shoulder, she gave them a small wave which they returned. She took the stairs all the way up, hearing the AD call ‘cut’.

“Alright, let’s see,” Jensen muttered as he walked over to video village.

Y/N walked down the stairs and over to the map table and placed the duffle bag on it. She waited to hear whether they would have to do another take or not.

“Alright, check the gate! Moving on!” Jensen called out. “That’s a wrap on Y/N Y/L/N!”

He quickly came out from behind the screens, walking over to her and Jared. All the crew around her clapped, as she gave them a small curtsy, laughing as Jared came over and hugged her.

It wasn’t the usual treatment of guest stars, as they usually came in and did the work and then left but considering there was buzz that her character might make a return, they wanted her to feel at home with all of them. They were kind to people with even the smallest of roles, so Y/N always knew she’d be in safe hands with the Supernatural crew.

Y/N hung around to say goodbye as they shot the last scene between the boys. In that time, she sat with her laptop, hoping she could change her flight to leave in a few days. With luck, she managed to find one leaving Vancouver in 5 days’ time, giving her plenty of time to stick around and explore these feelings she had for the handsome green-eyed actor. She couldn’t wait to tell him.

Given that Jared and Jensen had such a great shorthand with each other, they worked quickly to get the work done. Jensen called a wrap on the episode, and they all congratulated him on the amazing work he did. Everyone began to pack things up, the make-up ladies heading to their trailer as Y/N walked with them. She removed all her make-up, freshened up and then got changed into her clothes she wore to set that morning.

Y/N said her goodbyes to Trish and Frida, followed by the rest of the crew and Bob Singer. Jared swooped in for another big hug, nearly breaking her in half with the pressure of his arms around her.

“Jesus, you don’t know your own strength, you know that?” she said, cringing in slight pain as she turned and twisted, trying to get feeling back in her body.

“Hey, not my fault you can’t handle it,” he laughed, patting her back. “Alright, I’m out of here. I hope I’ll see you soon.”

“Me too,” she smiled, as he enveloped her in a softer but still warm hug. She decided to leave out the fact that she wasn’t going anywhere just yet, wanting to tell Jensen first.

Jared walked towards the parking lot, heading for the SUV that Cliff was waiting by. They were no doubt waiting on Jensen, who had been finishing up some paperwork after wrapping the episode. Y/N slung her bag over her shoulder, walking towards his trailer in search of him. Reaching the door, she knocked a few times and waited. The door opened, a tired but smiling Jensen greeting her.

“Hey,” he smiled, leaning against the door frame.

“So… I have some news,” she told him, a smile playing at her lips.

“Oh yeah?” he asked, his eyebrows raised as he folded his arms across his chest. His arms were exposed thanks to his black t-shirt, and she suddenly felt like her skin was on fire. She tried not to show her disappointment when he put on his jacket and grabbed his backpack, shutting off the light in the trailer as he closed the door.

She nodded, stepping down from the stairs to the trailer and turning to him. “I changed my flight. I’m leaving in 5 days.”

Jensen felt his heart skip a beat with that news. He nodded, the smile growing bigger on his face. “Well… you want to come over tonight? We can pick up where we left off.”

She bit her lip, nodding slowly. “I’d love to.”

Keeping up the pretence that there wasn’t anything going on, Jensen went back home with Cliff driving him to his apartment. Y/N called an Uber, knowing that if she had joined them Jared and Cliff would question what was happening. She and Jensen hadn’t spoken about it, but they both knew that there wasn’t anything to say to anyone until they figured it out themselves. For now, she wanted him in ways she’s never wanted anyone else and she was more than ready to see what he was capable of.

Reaching Jensen’s apartment, Y/N went up to his floor and down the hall, knocking on his door, noting that it was the right one from the text he had sent while she was in the Uber. The door swung open, and she grinned as Jensen smirked at her, letting her in. She took in the apartment, with its beautiful view of the city lights twinkling at night, a large screen TV and comfortable couch, and his guitar on the wall closest to her. However, as nice as it was that wasn’t where her mind was in that moment.

Turning around, Y/N looked at him, his eyes reflecting the same things she was feeling. They moved towards each other, their lips meeting in a rough, but sensual kiss as they wrapped their arms around each other. Pushing and pulling at each other’s clothes, their lips continued to move against each other, not wanting to stop.

“Thank god you changed your flight,” he mumbled against her swollen lips. “I can’t wait to fuck you.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” she asked, grabbing his shoulders and jumping up, wrapping her legs around his waist.

His hands immediately supported her as he carried her off to his bedroom.

By the time they came up for air, the sun was rising, and Jensen had to leave to go to work for the first day of the next episode. With a promise of returning later that day, he told Y/N to stay at his apartment, telling her she could use whatever she wanted before he had to leave.

As she stood on the balcony and looked out at the view with her morning coffee, she had never been more thankful to a job she had taken. She made some great friends already, there was a buzz that she may come back for more episodes, and she had met the most incredible man who she couldn’t wait to explore more with.

She found herself repeating Jensen’s words from the night before as she smiled into her morning cup of caffeine.

Thank god she changed her flight.

-x-

If you’re crossed out, I couldn’t tag you :(

Tags: @deanwanddamons @winchest09 @downanddirtydean @jensengirl83 @wonder-cole @that-one-gay-girl @flamencodiva @ellewritesfix05 @roonyxx @akshi8278 @hobby27 @michellethetvaddict @spngirl05 @kyjey @halesandy @440mxs-wife @stoneyggirl @deanswaywardgirl @redbarn1995 @marianita195 @babypink224221 @deans-baby-momma @parinarain @thoughts-and-funnies @mandalou29 @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @superaveng @supernatural-love14 @vicmc624 @prettyboyswow @lunarmoon8 @supernatural-bellawinchester

#spnkinkbingo #spnaubingo #jensen ackles x female!reader #jensen x female!reader #jensen x reader #jensen ackles one shot #jensen ackles smut #jensen ackles fanfiction #director!jensen #actor!reader #supernatural one shot #supernatural smut #supernatural fanfiction

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darwin-xf · 3 years ago

Text

SSSSStakeout

Stakeout. Baltimore. Not an X file. Skinner had assigned them.

He called them in the day before. Immediately, he had Scully’s complete undivided attention. Mulder was predictably peevish. Pouting. God, why was he always like this?

“You have been carefully selected to be part of this team. The human trafficking task force here in DC has been working to get these guys for two years.”

“It’s just that, Sir, we’re the only two agents assigned to the X files. What if a case comes up while we’re on this other thing?”

“Mulder. Last week I found you a mutant in California. Don’t be a pain in the ass. We’re closing in on arrests here. And we need experienced agents. It’s only a couple days. One mistake could make it all go boom.”

Scully was raking him over, pinning him with some serious side eye. Skinner shut up and ducked down to pretend to get something from a bottom desk drawer. Allowing her the space to persuade him with those peepers. God knows they had worked him over once or twice. Maybe three times. Jeepers creepers.

These two. He was something. But she, she, she? She was something else.

Skinner’d gone to high school with a kid named Brett Miller who was a freakishly good athlete. And he played basketball with this guy. Class of 1970 and to this day, he still held a handful of school records. He’d gotten a full ride at Villanova then played a couple of years in the NBA, plus ten more overseas. Their coach was old school, never one for gratuitous praise. He ran their asses off in practice, had them drill on defense ninety percent of the time.

One day they were working on mastering a full court trap press. Nobody was supposed to shoot the ball. An inviolable rule. But Brett, once he quit holding back, he singlehandedly broke the press with ease. Then he skittered out of double coverage with a behind the back dribble and launched a shot from forty feet. When the ball was in the air, everybody gasped. Then it fell through the hoop, nothing but net. Brett fell to his knees and grabbed his head.

“Sorry, Coach. Sorry guys,” he said, and fell down prostrate on the court. “Glad he’s on our team,” their coach quipped. Gruff old guy.

Then had them all run five suicides before sending Brett to the showers and resetting the press. Supposedly it was a punishment, but Skinner knew even then that coach wanted them to practice against normal human boys. They won a state championship six weeks later.

That’s how Skinner felt about Mulder and Scully. They tended to muck things up. But all in all, he was glad they were on his team.

“OK, Sir.” Mulder said, when Skinner was back in his seat and facing them thirty seconds later. He was gripping the arms of his chair.

Scully nodded. She’d won this round. And she’d seemed relieved and pleased, Skinner thought, her pigheaded partner had knuckled under.

Thirty-six hours later, they sat on a squalid block in outside a row of strip clubs. One way street, narrow and dim. Parked in a ‘68 Mustang (special issue motor pool) equidistant from three pertinent businesses demarked by tawdry awnings inked in flagrant fonts: Norma Jean’s, Pussycat, and Club Hustler.

Fifty yards from the front entrance of the Charm City Suites, with a view also of an emergency exit up a narrow alley. Eyes trained on doors, tracking comings and goings. Nothing yet.

Inside, a trio of Albanian bad guys were allegedly holding between ten and twelve women from all corners of the globe against their will. Seduced with promises of opportunity and liberty, then stowed, stashed, and shifted to this small seamy corner of the supposedly free world. They were displaced and disempowered, lacking a common language or a lay of the land. Forced into rough trade.

It was a delicate operation. These guys had reach, and assets, a dozen identities between them and links with organized crime, plenty of cash in offshore accounts. If they were tipped, they’d simply disappear. Never be brought to justice.

Not a X file. But a handful of real assholes who needed to be off the streets. He knew this. Lately, he’d been trying to, you know, grow up. With the new year coming up, hell, a new Millenium in fact, he was considering a resolution. Change is hard.

They had drawn the midnight to 8 am shift. Their cover was, she was a dancer at Norma Jeans, and he was her boyfriend. If the subjects —they had extensive dossiers on all three— took interest or noticed them, she was on a break, visiting with him outside in his car.

She was Scarlett, he was Mulcahey. That was it. They were to improvise from there, as necessary. There were lone agents posted in all three titty bars, plus a pair staying in the hotel, all original members of the task force.

Scully was next to him, an arm’s length away across the bench seat of this seriously sweet ride. Not that he was a car guy, but Gawd.

Two hours in, a silence had settled between them. Not uncomfortable. Scantily clad as per their cover, she hummed as a shiver ran through her. Mulder eyeballed her and turned over the key. The engine roared to life. Soon a weak plume of heat seeped out from the floorboards and pooled around their ankles.

“If we could take her for a spin, I could warm you up properly, Scully.”

She quirked an eyebrow at him.

“What? V eight and all. Kind of irksome, just to have to sit here idling. Makes me feel... impotent.”

Beside him, huddled around her cup of lukewarm coffee procured on the way over, she began to shiver.

“Aw, Scully. Crap.”

He stripped off his black leather jacket and she sat up, allowing him to drape it over her shoulders. He still wore several layers. A long sleeved slub cotton white v neck tee, a chambray dress shirt, slippery and moss green. Stiff jeans dyed dark indigo. Black boots.

She eyed his outfit. Shook her head. Unfair. She wore only a leopard print mini dress. Straight from central casting. Really.

“Thanks,” she said, glad for the warmth. And the masculine creak, the almost alive redolence of hide. She snuffed her nose against the collar, breathed him in. Thought of his sofa.

“Skinner warned us,” he said, imitating him. “This is not a warm body stakeout, Agents.” She smothered a laugh.

This pleased him. He smiled.

Read the rest at Ao3

#msr #x files #msr fanfic #today in fic #xf rewatch #the x files #xfiles #mulder x scully #season of secret sex #mulder and scully #x files fanfiction #the x files fanfic

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jay-and-dean · 4 years ago

Text

Stolen Crown Chapter 1 : Under the hood

By @roonyxx and @jay-and-dean

Pairings : Dean x reader ? Kight!Dean x reader ?

Summary : What happens when she is sent in a world that isn’t hers, but with very familiar faces ?

This, as much as it looks like it, is not ‘technically’ an AU, because your Dean, our Dean, exists too...

Serie Warnings : Smut (please be 18+), Fluff, Angst, Swearing. Mention of physical pain. Each Chapter will have detailled warnings.

Chapter warnings : Swearing for now.

Chapter Wordcound : 3230

Note : This is a collaboration beetween both of us. We can’t both edit the same post, so we decided we would post 1 chapter/2 each, like for Firefly.

We both worked as much on this story and it’s the result of both our brains but also both our hearts.

Please, if you want to show love for this story, don’t forget we were together in this.

Text divider by the awesome @talesmaniac89

Want to read more:

Jay’s Masterlist

Roonyxx Masterlist

Whistling.

Only a shrill whistling in her ears, and her heart pounding hard in her temples…

She holds her head and tries to get up, but the ground seems unsure of where it is supposed to be.

“Dean ?” she tries with a weak voice but, even with the high-pitched sound fading quickly, she can’t hear any answer. “Dean !”

She opens her eyes and they widen right away.

The seedy warehouse is gone, the smell of gasoline and the night are too… But above all, he is gone. Dean is nowhere to be seen.

Instead : A sunny beautiful forest. Shiny rays of lights come through the radiant, high trees and birds are signing. So many birds.

“Shit” she grunts, looking around. “DEAN ! SAMMY !”

But her voice echoes and dies in the woods, only making a few rodents run through the bushes, themselves moving some butterflies and bees. Nothing else.

Where was she sent ? Is it witchcraft or some stupid God ? She had told them that this case seemed more complicated than what they said ! And here she is, probably miles from home.

“Please, tell me I’m still in the United states” she whimpers, taking her phone from her jeans shorts pocket. “No come on ! No signal now ?”

After pacing around to try and find any sign of signal, she gives up and puts the useless phone back in her pocket, regretting her morning choice to wear only a t-shirt and shorts, because if she has to walk miles to find a road, the night might be here before she finds her friends again, and nights are colder out there.

“DEAN ! DEAN !” she tries again.

But he is obviously not with her.

What if he had been sent far too ? What if he was in an indian market now ? Or in a boat on the australian seas ?

“Sammy you have to find us” she mutters, looking around to gather clues.

This forest is not tropical or northern, it’s a temperate one, and it’s obviously still early summer…

Suddenly, hooves disturb the forest’s calm in the distance, rapidly approaching her. The metal clattering with every step the big animal -probably a horse- takes, says it’s not alone…

She quickly moves in the bushes and stills behind a large tree to hide herself from whoever is coming.

“Your highness ?” a deep, oddly familiar, voice calls.

Her back flat against the tree, she turns her head a little to be able to see beyond the thick bark, holding her breath and reaching for the knife in her boot.

A beautiful, massive shiny black horse is nervously stepping on the ground while the owner of the mare pats it on the neck.

“Easy girl” the man says.

She frowns, keeping the dagger in her hand, ‘that voice… I know it.’ When she dares to look between the leaves, her eyes widen.

“Dean?” she says with a confused smile, putting the knife back in her boot, as she steps from out of the bushes.

“My Queen !” he throws his leg over the majestic black horse and steps off, right away going down on one knee in front of her, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “I have been looking for you, my Queen” he says towards the ground, not looking up to her once.

“Queen ?” she huffs, still a little dizzy. “Where the Hell are we, Dean ? And what the fuck are you wearing, is that... a freaking armor?” she asks, pointing at his weird clothes.

Dean finally tilts his head upwards. And when he sees her, his eyes nearly fall out of his head, his mouth is open but no words leave his lips. The more he stares at her like she was naked, the more she starts to feel a little self conscious.

His eyes slowly travel up her bare legs, a confused expression on his face, when she bends a little to make eye contact with him he quickly adverts his gaze.

“Your Majesty, what happened to your robes ? Are you harmed ?” he asks, obviously worried.

“Cut the crap, Dean, what’s happening ? Where are we ?” she asks, annoyed.

“We are in the…” he looks around a little, apparently wondering what to answer. “In the woods… Not far from the Castle, my Queen” he says.

She stares at him, mouth agape, a deep feeling of confusion replacing the annoyance totally. Her tone changes to something colder, more distant.

“Why do you keep calling me ‘queen’ ?” she asks. “And what’s up with the stupid clothes ?”

He dares looking up at her again, a sorry frown on his face.

“My apologies, your Highness. I do not understand… Is there something wrong with my apparel ?” he stands up, his eyes searching her face. “Did you hit your head or have you fallen maybe ? You disappeared, my Queen. I have been so worried” he turns to his horse to retrieve a big grey fur cloak. “What happened to your gown, did someone attack you ?”

His head low, he comes closer to carefully drape the very heavy cape around her shoulders.

“I obviously failed at my duty” his eyes are dark and she clearly recognizes that crushing guilt on his features

She touches the floor length fur coat he put around her with a frown. It’s pleasantly warm outside, there is no need for this...

Everything he does is weird, and why does he look so different ? Was he hit by a spell of some weird stuff like that time he was losing his memory ?

Unless…

She takes in his appearance. He looks exactly like him but he has more scruff, and his hair is a little longer, his clothes are very strange too.

The closer she looks, through the fading cloud in her mind, the more this costume he is wearing really doesn’t look like one. All the layers of leather and metal make him look like he was ready for war, and his shoulders are even more broad under the armor he is wearing.

Everything about him seems heavy and powerful : Between the metal on his chest, the big belt holding several weapons, including the scabbard of that seems to hold a very authentic sword, the real huge grey fur around his shoulder, like he had killed a wolf…

She shivers at how impressive he looks, at how she realizes she doesn’t know anything about him..

“Shit…” she mutters realizing this is not her Dean at all.

This is not the United states of America, and this is probably not even her world… But if the Dean from around here is willing to protect her, that might be her best chance of survival.

She clears her throat, nodding to encourage herself to play along.

“No... I’m…” she suddenly has no idea how to use her voice. “I’m okay and I am your queen, because you are my…?” she leaves the sentence open, hoping he’ll answer it.

“Your knight” he says, uncertain.

Knight, right… She nods and looks around once more.

If this is some kind of fucked up middle age alternate universe, there is a big chance that the forest is going for miles and miles, and an even bigger chance that she starves to death before Sammy finds a way to bring her back to the Instagram century. And dressed like that, she might have to fear more than wolves…

She stares at him for a minute and he seems to be just waiting for orders, his green eyes on the floor.

“Kneel” she says with a corner smile and he just does, with no question, comment or delay.

Dean Winchester obeying her to the letter… If that is not a good side of this whole crap !

“You can get up” she chuckles, letting him stand on his feet again.

But her amusement quickly fades.

Royalty is not really the easiest undercover, and the discretion will be impossible. She wants to ask for help but, even if her whole body and soul tell her she can trust Dean -for it is still Dean-, her eyes travel the thick leather covering his forearms and she remembers she doesn’t know him.

So maybe she better stay silent for now, and follow his lead until she decides if he is an ally.

“Your Majesty” he speaks, with a deference she never heard from him. “If the news of your disparition comes to the Council, there undoubtedly will be trouble. We should head back now. Please.”

“Y-yes” she nods, a lump growing in her throat.

Council ? Trouble ? Castle ? How is she supposed to deal with all that ? People close to the queen will know she isn’t her in a minute…

The knight offers his hand, and she follows, frowning when he joins his wrists to help her get on the horse.

“This is not the best comfort for travel, your Majesty, for that I am sorry” he apologizes again.

“It’s okay Dean” at her words, he frowns again, but she puts her feet on his wrists and jumps on the tall horse, quickly understanding, by the look on his face, that she is not supposed to ride “like a man”.

Her eyes can’t decide where to look, and her hands can’t decide where to hold him.

Gripping his belt tight in this uncomfortable position, she takes in the unbelievable landscapes before her : Untouched forests and large lakes, small villages down in the valley, with all those wood houses that remember her of Braveheart.

All she can think of is when she is going to tell the boys about everything she saw… If she ever goes back to them.

“Put on your hood, my Queen” the knight asks, so she does.

Her unsure hands grasp the heavy hood of the animal fur around her and she hides her face in the huge hood. He probably needs her to not be recognized.

“What animal is it ?” she asks, touching the hair with a mix of curiosity and disgust.

“Animal, your Majesty ?”

“The hood ?” she asks, quickly grasping his belt again when the horse half jumps above a root.

“My coat is made of a bear” he answers.

“Poor animal…”

He lets a silence and clears his throat slightly.

“I had never thought of it that way, my Queen. Your empathy for the creatures of this world is godly.”

But she stopped listening.

Her breath stuck in her lungs, she discovers the huge, beautiful castle coming in her sight.

A gigantic wall surrounds a little city, itself surrounding a huge, elegant castle. The light stone walls seem to be touching the clouds from here, and a vibrant living noise comes from it.

“Wow” she murmurs, looking up the thin sharp towers surrounded by birds.

“My breath gets cut short each time I see your home in sight too, your Highness” he says with a soft voice.

Inside the walls of the city, everything is different.

People are busy, all dressed like they came from a movie, carrying vegetables and raw pieces of meat, sheeps and baskets of fabric… Each and everyone turning their head at the sound of the huge horse’s steps on the stone pavements.

“Sir Winchester !” a kid exclaims.

She keeps her hood low, suddenly very aware of the trouble that could come from the crowd recognizing their queen.

The knight version of Dean stays unfazed, guiding them to the stables where several horsemen are waiting for him.

He gets off of the horse, helping her and closing his coat neatly on her.

“Keep your head down” he murmurs next to the hood and she just nods, determined to let him guide her. “You” he says louder to one of the men here. “Go tell the guards that the wolf hunt is done. My men can gather again peacefully, nothing is to fear.”

She can’t help but very quickly look up at the man giving orders next to her, his remarkable charisma making her feel so small.

She always looked up at Dean with an infinite admiration, but at least, she knows him… This stranger is different.

“Allow me to touch you” he says under his breath and she just nods again while he wraps his strong arm around her.

Under the hood, she can’t see everything precisely, but the little she can distinguish of the inside of the castle he is guiding her in is enough to amaze her.

Huge corridors and busy servants, carpets that seem to come from a museum, gold and flowers decoration the thick stone walls.

“Sir” a guard comes in their way, bending before Dean in respect. “Your men have been called back. The news never spread outside of the Queen’s guard.”

“Thank you” the knight answers.

“Glory be to the Queen” the guard bows again.

“To the Queen” Dean answers.

The knight guides her further into the castle and up an infinite number of stairs, a serious look on his face. With every step up, the coat on her shoulders feels heavier and heavier, and her apprehension does too.

Once they reach the top, he walks to the left, his heavy boots echoing in the spacious corridor. Still holding her, his grip both reassuring and oppressing, he stops in front of a big wooden door that she may be supposed to recognize.

She looks up at the door a little, still not completely daring to stop hiding under the big hood. He opens the door and stands with his back against the wall, his eyes straight ahead.

She hesitates, waiting for him, but when he doesn’t move, she carefully steps inside, not sure what she will meet on the other side of the massive oak door.

Before her, a large room with thick wooden furniture and rich fabric. In the middle, a queen size bed with wooden bed posts that are near the stone ceiling with wolves carved in each of them. Hanging from the posts, a dark red velvet-like canopy that matches the heavy curtains. A big antique closet stands to the left side of the room.

Taking a cautious step, she looks right. Behind a great arch is another room that holds a big wooden tub covered in a sand-white sheet.

Despite the cold stone everywhere, the many carpets with many different colorful illustrations, the curtains, and candles everywhere makes the room somehow warm.

She stands in the middle of what she guesses is the queen’s room, unsure of what to do now. Looking back to the door, she sees Dean’s elbow from where he is still standing against the wall, straight and still.

“Dean, come inside please” she states, using the most authoritative voice she has.

A queen has to be, right ?

“Yes, your Majesty.”

The knight steps inside immediately, his hands behind his back, his gaze fixated in front of him.

“What are... my plans for today ?” she asks him, trying to figure out what to do, to convince them, a whole Castle and Kingdom, that she is the damn queen.

“The Council requested a parlay with you when the sun is at its highest, and after you have your usual walk in the garden before you talk to the People. I think, Majesty.”

“Right, the Council” she says unsure, wondering what the council can be. “Take me to them.”

She holds her chin high, trying desperately to look like the Hollywood idea she has of how royals act.

His gaze finally finds hers, a small frown is on his face, an expression of confusion growing on his hard but still so beautiful features.

“Do you not wish to be dressed first, my Queen?”

“Oh… yes, I-I do wish that” she nods.

She walks towards the closet and opens it, checking his face in the corner of her eye to try and find clues of what she is supposed to do, but all she can see there is worry for her, well hidden on his bodyguard face.

Inside the huge closet, put in color order, are dresses, all of them big and complicated… And on some shelves, smaller white dresses, that may be for inside or summer. She takes them out.

“This will work” she states to herself as she turns around but stops when she hears Dean gasp.

When she looks up he’s stepping towards the door quickly.

“No wait !” she calls out for him and he stops right in his tracks. “Dean...”

He turns towards her, his gaze on the floor, jaw clenched.

She doesn’t want him to leave. She is, in fact; terrified of being without him. Although he is a stranger, his face is the only thing she knows in this weird place she knows nothing about.

What will they do once they find out their queen disappeared ? Is there a king she has to sleep with ? Do they torture people ? Kill ?

She just needs him close.

“I don’t know what to wear” she admits.

Or even how to wear it, she thinks to herself.

“Any gown makes you look divine, my Queen” he says in a husky voice, still watching the floor intensely.

If the circumstances were different her knees would wobble at what he just said… But he is not Dean, and maybe he just says that to not get his throat slit.

“Okay, I will put on this gown” she says as she lifts the small white dress that she is holding, a questioning look on her face.

The knight swallows hard and seems agitated. For a second, she wonders why he is acting so weird.

“What is it ?” she asks him. “Tell me.”

“Pardon me, your Highness, but that is not a gown” he clears his throat and stands up straighter. “That is your undergarment.”

“Undergarment ?” she looks at the little dress, holding it in front of her by the straps.

Her lips open in an ‘o’ when she understands this is her underwear. She has been flashing him her royal underwear this whole time, of course he was acting weird !

In a quick motion, she hides it behind her back and mutters an apology.

“Yes, my undergarment, of course. I-I will get dressed now” she walks towards her closet to retrieve a big gown in a hum of hesitation.

“Let me just call the maids, your Majesty” he says low.

“Yes ! Oh and Dean ?” she starts, waiting for his gaze to meet hers before she speaks again. “Thank you” she kindly smiles.

The knight nods, turns slowly and steps towards the bedroom door with a determined gait, closing and locking it by sliding the metal rod in the slot.

She frowns, seeing him lock himself with her. His back still on her, he clears his throat before he talks.

“My Queen...” he starts.

With that hunter speed her Dean also has, he suddenly unsheaths his sword from his scabbard and holds its sharp end under her chin without touching her

“Would never have said something like that” he finishes his sentence. “Or call me Dean…”

She searches his face, slowly lifting her hands up in surrender.

“That is because I am not your queen.”

__________

Chapter 2 on @roonyxx‘s blog

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the-bau-quinjet · 4 years ago

Text

With you, he wants it all.

Part 2!! You can find all the info about why this is such a mess in Part 1! Also, I totally meant to post this earlier but Taylor Swift’s new album wrecked my plans.

Summary: Reader is a famous singer with a murderous stalker. Spencer has to go undercover to protect her.

warnings: mentions of murder, anxious reader, stalker

Word Count: 9972

The next time you wake up, the room is significantly brighter. You feel around in the cold bed, realizing Spencer isn’t there anymore. You have to force yourself to open your eyes to combat the overwhelming urge to roll over and sleep for another twelve hours. The clock reads 12:07. You can’t help but think you deserve more sleep as you force yourself into a sitting position. Once you finally sit up, you hear someone shuffling around, whispering in the other room. It’s too quiet to try to make out the voice, but you definitely heard something. Without too much thought, you quickly jump out of bed, grabbing the only thing you can find that even remotely resembles a weapon- the bible from the hotel drawer.

Slowly, you push the door open, getting ready to make a break for the door to the hallway at the first sign of danger. Remembering everything from yesterday has you on edge as you move toward the kitchen area, looking for anything out of place. You duck around the pillar separating the kitchen from the living room only to find it empty. As you finally let your guard down, you feel a hand on your shoulder. Without thinking, you turn around getting ready to slam the book into whoever is touching you.

Spencer catches your arms before you hit him. “Hey, hey. It’s okay. It’s just me. You’re safe.” You breathe out a sigh of relief, dropping the book and hugging Spencer.

“I’m sorry! I just heard a noise and you weren’t in bed anymore and I wasn’t sure where you went and I wanted to make sure nobody else was in the room, but I-“

“It’s okay. Just breathe.” Spencer is rubbing soothing circles on your back as you cling to him as if your life depends on it. A few minutes pass, before you calm down enough to pull out of the hug. You run a shaky hand through your hair, moving to the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee.

“I put the coffee on so you can grab some when it’s done. I’m going to get dressed so we can figure out where we want to go for inspiration today!” You wink at Spencer before heading back into the bedroom to shower and change. You throw on a pair of jeans and a light sweater after squeezing the extra water out of your hair. You like to let it dry naturally on days like this.

You make your way back into the kitchen only to find Spencer has already changed into a navy and white plaid button down, khakis, and a navy cardigan. He is sitting at the table drinking his coffee when you enter the room. You immediately put the kettle on, reaching into the cabinet to pull out your tea collection.

“No coffee for you?” Spencer asks, gesturing to the half full pot on the counter.

“Oh, nope. Not for me. It’s only palatable if I add way to much sugar and then I get all antsy. I only have coffee if I have a really good reason to stay up.” You chuckle as you add the teabag to the mug you set on the counter. You sit on the counter, swinging your legs as you sip your tea.

“So, where do you want to go?”

“For what?” Spencer pretends to not know what you’re talking about.

“It’s time to start writing silly!” You grin at his deer in a headlights expression. “Spencer, I told you not to worry. We are just looking for general ideas right now. Anything that could potentially lead to a song. It’s more fun to observe others during this part of the process because the ideas are less specific.”

“I don’t even know where to start!” He actually seems nervous about this.

“Spence, let’s just go to your favorite coffee shop. And don’t tell me that you don’t have one. You’ve already drunk half that pot of coffee.”

“Why my favorite?” He actually looks taken aback at the suggestion.

“Well, for one because I’m not from here, so I don’t know where to go.” You try to backpedal, but you’ve started a list. Something he is all too eager to point out. “And two?” He’s got his brows furrowed, a look of pure confusion adorning his face.

“If it’s your favorite, then you’ve been there before.” You say it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Well yes, but your point?” The confusion is still present, but his words are laced with exasperation.

“You might just be comfortable enough in your surroundings to suggest a song idea.” You shrug as you say it, trying to make it feel more casual.

“You considered whether or not I would be comfortable?” He seems genuinely surprised now.

“Of course. I want you to help me, so I gotta butter you up.” You try to cover up your blush with a joke.

“Thank you.” HIs words seem surprised, but the two of you move on. Spencer grabs his satchel, and you your jacket, as the two of you exit the hotel to head to the café. You opt for walking since the weather is not too hot. You don’t say much during the walk. After the moment in the kitchen, you feel a bit nervous. A few fans stop you along the way for a picture or an autograph, but mostly you just enjoy each other’s company. Nobody pays much attention to Spencer, rather opting to ignore him to get your attention. Every time someone comes up to you; you make a point to say excuse me or smile at him before addressing the fans though. You just don’t want him to feel left out or like he’s not important.

You finally make it to the café. Spencer opens the door before guiding you in, again placing his hand on your back. You thank him as you make your way up to the counter to order. You order a chai latte for yourself, gesturing for Spencer to order his when the barista asks you if you need anything else. You make sure to add two scones to the order before sliding your card into the machine before Spencer has a chance.

“It’s my fault you’re here with me, so please. My treat.” He shakes his head slightly, a small smile forming on his face.

“How many times do I have to tell you, none of this is your fault?” He gives you a look as you two move to find a table after accepting the scones.

“I know.” You don’t sound sure as you take your seat. He doubles down the staring as you continue. “I promise. I know. It was just a joke.” You sound more sure of yourself that time, earning another smile from Spencer.

The barista brings you your drinks as you settle into the corner booth. You set your phone up on the table, pulling up the recording from yesterday. You pass Spencer your headphones from your purse so he can listen to what you’ve already come up with.

You take this time to really study him. The sun’s rays are streaming in through the blinds on the window, causing slight shadows to drift across his features. You take in the sharp lines of his jaw as he turns to look around the café, listening to the various melodies and lyrics you sang for the team. His brown locks appear golden as the sunlight reflect off the highlights. He’s sporting a slight stubble from not shaving for a few days. His hazel eyes drift across the faces of everyone in the room, not settling for long on any one person.

You shift your attention to his hands. He has one draped across the table, lightly tapping along as he listens. His long fingers are mesmerizing. You begin to recognize he is tapping out the melodies as if he were playing the piano. The other hand is wrapped around his coffee cup. You bite your lip as you think about all the things those hands are capable of. Your mind wonders as you stare. You are staring so intently at the way his hand grips the cup, you don’t notice when he removes the headphones.

Spencer clears his throat to catch your attention. “That was incredible. How do you come up with ideas so fast?” He looks like he knows exactly what you were thinking, but is too kind to bring it up. He’s just doing his job, and this isn’t a date.

“Oh, um thanks. I guess the BAU is just full of inspiration. The song writing process is a little different every time, but sometimes I can think of random lyrics and melodies.” You try to smile as you force yourself to focus. “Think back to a time where you felt an emotion really strongly. It can be whatever emotion you want. Then, try to put it into words. I like to use common phrases or metaphors because it can be fun to twist it into something new.” You close your eyes as you think back to how you felt the moment you understood there was a man out there killing people because he is obsessed with you. Maybe it’s a little too soon to write that one out. The idea does give you another way to explain it to Spencer. “It’s kind of like therapy. You can talk out your feelings and share them with people. It’s just a bit more public.” Spencer looks like he’s contemplating his entire life as you sit in this coffee shop.

“Spence,” you say it lightly to draw him out of his own thoughts, “don’t worry about it. You don’t have to share anything you don’t want to. I just wanted to get the ball rolling. Why don’t we try something else?” He looks grateful as he nods. “Great. Pick out someone in the coffee shop, preferably part of a group.” He looks around before his eyes settle on someone.

“Okay, now tell me what they’re thinking about.” He looks confused, like a lost puppy. “It’s called people watching. Just make up a story about what they might be doing here.”

You and Spencer discuss ideas for the next few hours. He picked out a young man, maybe about 19 years old. He was clearly here with friends trying to catch a break from studying if the backpacks on the floor were any hint. Spencer noticed all of that immediately of course, being that he is a profiler.

His story sounded just like the profile Hotch told you yesterday, although much less horrifying.

“White male, late teens to early twenties. He is likely a STEM major. This is the first time he has let loose in a while, normally choosing to forego the party life for studying. He likely has immense pressure on him from his family to succeed and do well in school.” You nod along, not having any idea where this information is really coming from. He sounds so confident, you can’t help but ask how he knows all that.

“You’re incredible. How did you figure all that out?” You stare in wonder at the man across from you. He doesn’t meet your eye, but responds nonetheless.

“His age is fairly obvious to observe. His bag is fuller than the others, indicating a major that requires more coursework. He keeps checking his watch, almost as if he knows he is wasting time that could be spent working toward a goal. The family pressure can be inferred by the other behavior. It is more likely a young adult is studious due to a strict upbringing with a focus on work ethic and goal-driven activities.”

“Amazing.” You sigh as you look around the room. “My turn.” You point to a couple sitting a few tables away from you. “Those two are exploring the possibility of taking their relationship past that of friendship. They obviously like each other and are too nervous to say anything.” Almost as if to prove you aren’t a profiler, the two lean across the table for a kiss. You laugh it off, knowing it’s just a game for you.

“Or maybe not. Either way, their song would be about new love. Something slow and pretty.” You smile as you turn back to Spencer. “Your turn again!”

The two of you go back and forth a few times. His stories were really just profiles, but after a few tries he leaned into the fun, game-like nature of people watching. Of course, his last story didn’t stray too far from profiling, but it was much more dreamlike in the way he presented it.

“The woman sitting by the window,” he said, subtly pointing to an older woman at a table alone, “she’s waiting to see her grandkids for the first time in years. Of course, she’s excited to see them again, but she’s nervous. What if they don’t like her? What if she can’t patch things up with her… I’m guessing daughter?” You smile brightly at the story. Family moments were usually the most inspiring for generic song ideas.

“Good job, Spence! What would the song be about?” The question clearly caught him off guard. For the past few stories, you asked how he came to those conclusions. It was so fascinating to hear how his mind works. This time though, you thought he could really be on to something. You give him an encouraging nod, as you set your phone up to record again.

“It could be about- about family.” He states it so firmly; you know he wants to say more. “She is sitting there thinking about the memories she has with her own parents and grandparents, so the song could be a reflection on days spent enjoying their company. Maybe future memories they can make together.” He smiles, albeit shyly.

“That is a really good idea! It fits with the vibe of the lyrics I came up with for Rossi.” You see the moment it clicks in his head. I don’t know why all the trees change in the fall, but I know you’re not scared of anything at all. Don’t know if Snow White’s house is near or far away, but I know I had the best day with you today.

He actually seems pleased with himself now. “We could work on that one tomorrow. We should get up and walk around though, we’ve been sitting here for hours.” You reach for his hand as you scoot out of the booth, pulling him along with you.

You stuff your hands in the pockets of your windbreaker as you head outside. You feel an overwhelming desire to be close to him, but you don’t want to overstep. The early evening crowd is out and about, bumping into the two of you as you walk back to the hotel at a leisurely pace.

“Why don’t we go order some room service and just hang out for the rest of the night? All that people watching was exhausting.” You turn to grin up at him as you continue walking. He hums in response, looking down at you in return. You swear you can feel the mood shifting, but the moment is broken by a tap on your arm. You turn to examine the source of the interruption only to find a little girl who couldn’t be more than 10 years old.

“Hi there!” You squeeze Spencer’s arm before ducking down to talk to the little girl. “Are you parents here?” She nods turning to look at a couple a few feet behind her, slightly out of breath, as if they just chased her down the street.

“Carly! Honey, you can’t run off like that! You could have gotten hurt!” The man scolds her, but is clearly relieved she didn’t get away from them.

“Sorry daddy! I just wanted to say hi to Miss Y/N! She sings my favorite song ever!” You wave at the parents before turning your attention back to the little girl.

“Hi Carly, it’s nice to meet you! You really do need to be careful though. You should always stick with the adults so you don’t get lost.” Your voice is playful, but your expression is serious. The only way to truly convey that message to a child you have no parental claim to. She nods in response.

“Mommy! Take a picture!” You pose with the girl as her mom takes a picture.

“We’re so sorry for interrupting your date! She just saw you and took off down the sidewalk.” You blush at what the woman is implying about you and Spencer, not daring to look at him.

“No worries at all. I’m always happy to meet a fan. Have a good night!” You wave goodbye, linking your arm with Spencer’s as you start to walk. He gives you a curious look, but you just laugh before joking “What? It’s so I don’t get lost.” He chuckles at your childlike behavior, but shifts so you can hold him closer.

The rest of the walk is peaceful. You don’t see any more fans, which is good because you aren’t paying enough attention to anything at the moment. You keep picturing the look on Spencer’s face right before the little girl interrupted you. What was about to happen?

Before you know it, you and Spencer are back in the room. He steps into the kitchen to call Hotch while you call to order dinner. You change into the FBI sweatshirt from yesterday and a pair of sleep shorts before settling on the couch to wait for Spencer. A few minutes later, he joins you on the couch after he hangs up. “The team has ruled out all the performers. It’s not surprising as the unsub wouldn’t be brave enough to perform for a crowd. They are still working through the lists of vendors and crew members.”

“Good. That’s progress. Progress is good.” You nod to yourself, trying to convince yourself everything is normal.

“Talk to me, what’s going on inside your head?” Spencer reaches out to take your hand while you stare at the ground.

“I don’t know. I guess it’s just hard. It’s hard to have such an amazing day and then think about how it only happened because people are being killed. I guess I feel guilty.” You keep going before he can interrupt you. “I know it’s not my fault that this guy is out there doing horrible things, but I still feel bad for enjoying myself while it’s happening.” You don’t have any tears left to cry. You look over to Spencer to find him staring back at you.

“Y/N, you are such a selfless person. There isn’t anything else you can do right now. We haven’t had any more victims, likely because nobody has posted about how excited they are for your shows since we still have 13 days before the next one. We are going to catch this guy.” You form your mouth into a soft smile before nodding at him. “What movie do you want to watch?”

You smile at his attempt to distract you. “You pick. Anything that will take my mind off things, but not require too much thinking.”

Spencer is racking his brain for a movie that fits your description when you hear a knock on the door. “Must be the food, I’ll get it.” When you return with the food, you find Spencer still thinking over movie choices.

“Okay, how about this. What do you like to watch when you really need a pick me up?”

Again he looks surprised that you would take his opinion into account. “Um, usually Doctor Who, but that’s not a movie it’s a-”

“TV show. Right. Is that the one where they fly around in a telephone booth?”

“First of all, it's a police box, not a phone booth. Second of all, Doctor Who started a quarter of century before Bill and Ted even went on their bodacious adventures. So really, they should just call it Bill and Ted's excellent rip-off, I mean at least then...”

You listen as he rambles about why people always think it’s a telephone booth. You can’t help but smile at how cute he is when he’s talking about something he’s passionate about. You don’t realize he asked you a question until he clears his throat with a confused expression.

“Sorry, I was rambling again.” He looks dejected, and you would do anything in the world to make him smile again.

“No, I’m sorry!” You scoot closer to him to convey your point. “I was listening at first I promise. It’s just, you looked so happy I got distracted. Let’s watch Doctor Who.” You turn to face the TV before you say anything else that makes you feel like a complete moron. He sorts through the food as you find the show online, setting it up to play on the TV. There’s random free episodes on demand, so you end up staring with the 11th doctor.

You are completely captivated by the show. Every so often, Spencer would comment on a theory about what one specific prop could mean only to have you cover your ears and warn him about spoilers. During an episode about creepy angel statues, he goes on a tangent about how Amy could have avoided the whole situation. Once he starts mentioning characters you haven’t met, you actually have to reach your hand up to cover his mouth to get him to stop talking. His words putter to a stop, eyes widening in shock as he stares at you.

“Spence, I absolutely love how passionate you are about Doctor Who. But it doesn’t matter how adorable it is when you ramble on about something. If you spoil one more thing before I can actually watch the whole show through, I will not hesitate to smack you.” You stare right in his eyes the entire time, watching as they widen with each word. You had to get a lot closer to him to actually reach his mouth. He had moved forward, animatedly waving his arms around as he talked about various plot points, so you were basically sitting on his lap to avoid being smacked in the face.

You drop your arm from his face slowly, as if any sudden movement would break the spell you were under. You lean forward, connecting your forehead to his. You take a steadying breath as you close your eyes. Your about to close the gap when his phone rings. Again, the moment is lost. You only move enough so that he can reach into his pocket for his phone. As he answers the call, you shift in his lap to cuddle into his chest.

“Morgan, what do you need?” Maybe you’re imaging it, but he almost sounds the slightest bit annoyed. You can just make out what Morgan is saying on the other end of the phone.

“Calm down, Pretty Boy. We might have a lead, Hotch and Emily are tracking it down now. I’ll meet you at the hotel in the morning to go over it all with you and Y/N.”

“Okay, thanks for the update.” He sounds so normal now, you think you must have imagined the annoyance earlier. He hangs up the phone, tossing it next to him on the couch. He wraps his arms around you before shifting so you’re both laying down.

“Let’s just relax and watch more Doctor Who. Morgan is stopping by in the morning to talk about the case.” You nod in agreement, turning to face the TV. A few episodes later, you and Spencer are drifting in and out of sleep. Neither one of you really wants to interrupt what you’ve got going, instead opting to just fall asleep on the couch.

You hear the faintest knocking noise that pulls you out of your slumber. It takes a few minutes for you to recognize you are on the couch, wrapped up in Spencer’s arms. He must have pulled a blanket over the two of you last night after you fell asleep. Before you can get up to evaluate the knocking, the door opens and Morgan comes rushing in. The concern on his face is quickly replaced with a knowing smirk. You blush, jealous that Spencer is somehow still asleep.

“Hi Morgan. Sorry to alarm you. We must have fallen asleep watching TV last night.” At the sound of your voice, Spencer slowly begins to wake up. He smiles sleepily at you before realizing your attention is elsewhere. He practically throws you off the couch in his effort to sit up when he realizes Morgan is in the room.

“Sorry!” Spencer looks at Morgan, then back to you. “I’m so sorry!” You laugh as you stand up.

“Don’t worry about it.” You settle yourself in the chair, gesturing for Morgan to sit next to Spencer now that he isn’t sprawled across the entire sofa anymore. Turning to Morgan, you ask about the case “What did you want to talk about?”

“We have been focused on going through the people who work for the tour. It makes the most sense for them to travel with you, otherwise it would require a lot more planning.” You can feel the nerves growing in your stomach. “Garcia found a name we wanted to run by you.” He hands you a picture before saying the name. “Ryan Moore. He works-“

“On the instrumentals. I know. He usually runs the sound booth during the shows. I don’t know him that well, but we’ve talked a few times.” You think back over your past conversations. “It couldn’t be him.” You are 100% sure he is not the unsub, and the agents don’t fail to notice the conviction in your voice.

“What makes you so sure?” Spencer is flipping through the case file Morgan brought with him. He doesn’t even look up when he asks the question, too focused on memorizing every detail about this man’s life.

“Well, Hotch told me the unsub wouldn’t be able to talk to me right?” You look to Morgan for confirmation.

“Yes. He wouldn’t approach you or seem confident when talking with you if you approached him.” Morgan confirms what you’re thinking.

“Great. So it can’t be him.” You smile to yourself for actually contributing to the case. “Last week, right after the Columbus show, he asked me out. The unsub wouldn’t be brave enough, right?” The utter joy in your voice startles Spencer enough that he finally looks up from the file.

“Alright then. He’s likely not the unsub, but we’ll finish the investigation into him just in case.” Morgan settles back into the chair he’s sitting in, making no move to leave even though the conversation is clearly over. There is an obvious smirk on his face as he looks at Spencer.

“Well, I’m going to make some breakfast, feel free to watch TV or something.” You smile awkwardly at the two men, unsure of why there is suddenly a strange tension in the air. As you move into the kitchen, you connect your phone to your Bluetooth speaker. Listening to music while you cook has always been calming for you. You honestly prefer baking, but eggs and sausage with toast sounds perfect right now. You pull out the ingredients, humming softly as you dance around the kitchen. You can just barely hear that Morgan and Spencer are talking in the other room, but not enough to make out what they are saying. It just sounds a bit more intense the conversation you just had.

You choose to ignore it and give them their privacy instead focusing on cooking. You end up making scrambled eggs the way your mom taught you, by mixing in some chive and onion cream cheese. You pop some English muffins in the oven under the broiler while you place the eggs and sausages in dishes. After turning the music down, you move all the food to the table. You’re about to invite Spencer and Morgan to have some food when you hear their conversation.

“I’m telling you man. She likes you. You should go for it.” Morgan is clearly trying to encourage Spencer, but he won’t hear it.

“Morgan, it’s not like that. It’s probably just transference because I’m here to make sure she doesn’t get hurt. Plus, you saw the smile on her face when she talked about Ryan asking her out. She was beaming.” He sighs, almost wistfully as you consider what he’s saying. Surely you are capable of separating your feelings for him from the situation. Would you like him if you had just run into him on the street? Plus, what does Ryan have to do with this?

You move back to the stove to remove the English muffins before they burn, putting them on a plate as well. Ultimately, you decide to try to straighten out your feelings for Spencer before making a move. You want to be sure. If there is even a shred of doubt in your mind, Spencer will surely be able to see it on your face. Stupid profilers.

Their conversation died down while you were dealing with the muffins, so you walk back to the other side of the room. You mumble out “I made food, you’re both welcome to have some” before returning to the table. You have a lot to think about and the last thing you want to do is lead Spencer on if you aren’t sure. He deserves better than that.

The conversation over breakfast is nice. Nothing too heavy or serious. The three of you are just talking about your lives. Morgan asks you what it’s like to be famous. You ask him and Spencer what it’s like to be in the FBI. You realize just how different your career paths are. The only thing you can relate to is travelling. Neither Spencer nor Morgan have family in the area, but they mention how hard it is for Hotch and JJ.

“That I can understand. The travelling, I mean. Of course, I travel to perform, not to track down killers.” The room is quiet for a few minutes as you think about what to say. Morgan and Reid being profilers know you haven’t finished your thought, so they give you the time to think it over.

“Thank you.” You say it softly, but firmly at the same time. This is the first time you’ve seen either of them look surprised.

“Wh- for what?” It’s Morgan who speaks up. Spencer has a familiar expression on his face. It’s the same look he got when you asked his opinion for coffee shops and movies.

“For everything. For protecting me. For catching bad guys. For giving up so much to do this job. You two, and the rest of your team, you all sacrifice so much to keep people safe. I mean, I’m sure the people you save and the families you give closure to are grateful, and you deserve that. But, you also deserve to have everyone be thankful for what you do. You get into the minds of these people. It must be exhausting to have to think like that all the time. I’m barely dealing with it now and it’s only be on my mind for 2 days! I just can’t even fathom the number of people you have saved, people that you’ve never even met, by doing this. So, thank you. For being strong enough to do it. For being you.”

You spoke every word with every ounce of sincerity you could muster up. You were looking between them as you said it. The shock on Morgan’s face slowly morphed into a small smile. Spencer’s expression didn’t change, but somehow looked more sincere when you were done.

Neither one of them knew what to say. Morgan rose from his chair to pull you into a hug. Patting you on the back, he uttered a soft thank you before saying he should get back to the office to help the rest of the team. You locked the door behind him, turning to see Spencer staring at you from the table.

“Spence? Are you okay?” You were nervous that your impromptu speech made him uncomfortable. He rose from the table, slowly making his way across the room to you.

“I’m, I, I just… that was… thank you. You amaze me.” He barely says the words, practically breathing them into existence. You reach for his hand, squeezing it.

“I meant every single word. Promise.” There is nothing more you want to do than kiss him right now, but all you can hear in your head is Spencer talking about transference. You hug him quickly before pulling back again. Without some distance between the two of you, you won’t be able to control yourself. “Do you want to go to another café today? Or somewhere with a piano so I can finally see you play?”

“We can do what you want today. You let me pick the café and the show yesterday, so it’s only fair.” You grin, knowing exactly where you want to take him.

The two of you get ready in near silence after that. Both of you want to calm down a bit before spending another day together. After you’ve both showered and changed, you drag Spencer down to the SUV. The weather outside is perfect for where you want to go, but the park is just far enough away that you want to drive. You pull up directions on your phone, hiding the address from him. Spencer protests the entire time. He keeps mumbling about how he would know how to get there if you just told him where you were going. Then something about how mobile phones are a distraction, so it would be safer for him to drive anyway.

You just let him ramble on about the many DC streets. Your grip on the wheel tightens when he starts listing off statistics about car accidents.

“More than 38,000 people die every year in crashes on U.S. roadways. The U.S. traffic fatality rate is actually 12.4 deaths per 100,000 inhabitants. An additional 4.4 million are injured seriously enough to require medical attention. Road crashes are the leading cause of death in the U.S. for people aged 1-54.” With every passing word, your knuckles get whiter, your heartbeat gets faster, and your breaths get shorter. Spencer is too caught up in reciting the statistics to realize anything is wrong until he turns to look at you, his next sentence dying on his tongue. “Seatbelts reduce the risk of dying by…” His brow furrows as he takes in your appearance.

“By what Spence? Don’t leave me hanging?” You try to joke with him to calm yourself down, but he obviously sees right through it.

“45%.” He continues before you can even comprehend the number. “Y/N, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m totally fine. 100% A-Okay.” You try to take deep breaths to calm yourself down. Having arrived at your destination, you pull into a parking spot.

“Y/N, talk to me. What is it?” You take a steadying breath as you turn to face him. Honestly, you are embarrassed more than anything else. You were the one who decided you had to drive.

“Spence, really it’s not a big deal. I just get nervous driving sometimes. I don’t have to do it a lot, and I’ve never felt like I was particularly good at it. It doesn’t matter though, we’re here.” You move to get out of the car, but Spencer reaches across the car to stop you. His face is only inches from yours as the realization dawns on him.

“And I was rambling on about how dangerous driving is.” He says it more to himself than to you. “Y/N, I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you stop me? I really need to learn how to shut up. I just get so caught up in the statistics-“ “Spencer. I love when you ramble. I’ve already told you how calming it is… normally. I’m fine, I promise. You just have to drive us back to the hotel later. Deal?”

“Deal.” You’re both smiling as you get out of the car to walk around the park you brought him to. He doesn’t ask why you picked this place and you don’t offer up a reason. He’ll figure it out soon enough. You talk about random things from childhood as you lazily stroll through the trees. There’s something so calming about wandering through so many trees when you know you’re in the middle of a bustling city.

Before long, the two of you have crossed the park. A few feet away stands an upright piano in front of a park bench. You glance at Spencer as he looks at the piano, realization gracing his features as he discovers why you chose this particular park. You beckon for him to sit down next to you, asking him to play you a song.

He blushes as you whisper pretty please in his ear. The cherry on top does him in. Soon enough, you are hearing the beginning notes of Bach’s Prelude in C. You just sit and listen, watching his fingers gracefully move above the keys. He’s not the most passionate of piano players. You can practically see the gears turning in his brain as he moves his hands efficiently across the instrument, as if he really is thinking about the math behind it all. Still, you lose yourself in the music, swaying lightly. You find yourself leaning on his shoulder, closing your eyes as you think about everything you’ve been feeling.

You studied music for a few years when you were young. That’s how you started writing, with lessons to learn to play both the guitar and the piano. You took to the guitar more than the piano, but you remember learning about the emotion behind every classical piece you were taught to play. You can’t help but think back to those lessons as you listen to Spencer. This song is always reaching forward, yearning for the next note. It plays into the idea that life is simple and pure. Even good at times. But there is something lurking just below the surface. It’s weirdly fitting of your current situation, but you choose to just be glad he chose the major over the minor.

You feel the breeze in your hair as Spencer finishes the song. For a few moments, the two of you sit listening to the leaves rustling in the wind. Eventually, you look around the park once it is quiet again. It’s mostly empty given that it’s 2 pm on a Tuesday, so there aren’t many people around to witness this moment. You slip your phone on the piano to record before you take over, playing that all too familiar melody that reminds you of Spencer. Neither of you say anything as you let the music and your emotions guide you through the song. You can tell it’s not perfect, but it just feels right.

After that, you and Spencer brainstorm lyrics for Rossi’s song for another few hours. The park begins to fill up as school lets out and the workday ends. A few fans recognize you, asking for pictures. After a particularly strong gust of wind, Spencer drapes his cardigan over you as you walk back toward the car, both of you blissfully unaware of the figure watching you from behind the trees.

The next few days pass in much the same fashion. Spencer takes calls about the case, trying to narrow down the massive list of crew members on your tour. You and he work on lyrics for Rossi’s song, as well as JJ’s. She’s just so pretty, the words flow right out of you. You can tell Spencer agrees. You believe him as he swears up and down that the two of them are just friends, but you can’t help teasing him just a bit.

“Honestly, it would be weirder if you didn’t think she was pretty. The woman looks as if she were sculpted by Michelangelo himself. A living embodiment of Aphrodite.” He nods in agreement, a faint blush on his cheeks.

No matter how much you try, you just cannot come up with anymore good lyrics for Spencer’s song. It could be that he is sitting right next to you all the time and knows the song is for him that’s causing the writer’s block, but it’s still frustrating.

One night, he’s working through the case file for the third time in a row when you interrupt his thoughts with a seemingly random question.

“Spence, can you tell me a story?” He looks up at you, brow furrowed and eyes confused. “I just need inspiration for the lyrics. Everything I come up with sucks.” You pout until he finally gives in. “Yay! It can be anything, even a memory. Just make it overwhelmingly happy.”

Spencer stops looking through the file as he thinks back on his life experiences for an overwhelmingly happy memory. The faces of his team members instantly flood his mind as he sorts through the many good times they’ve had. He keeps circling back to one event, ultimately deciding it is happy enough to fit your standards.

“This is actually the story of JJ’s wedding.” You lean forward, a wedding story could be just what the doctor ordered. “Will wanted to marry her for a while, but she was hesitant. She said everything was perfect as it was, she didn’t feel the need to change anything.” You were honestly a little confused as to where the happiness was at this point, but you let him continue anyway. You could listen to this man talk for days on end without complaint.

“We ended up working a case with Will. It was a bank robbery turned hostage situation. It was a rough case for all of us; bombs, secret partners, kids at risk. I won’t bore you with the details,” he chuckles at your thankful expression, “but it all worked out in the end. Will, he could’ve died. When JJ went to see him in the hospital, she told him to ask her again. She wanted to get married then and there in the hospital chapel. Will wanted to wait until he was actually out of the hospital though, and not wearing a hospital gown.” You couldn’t help but smile at the thought of loving someone so much, you were instantly ready to marry them.

“Rossi, he overheard everything. So, he started planning. He called JJ’s mom, told her to fly in and to bring her wedding dress. We threw her a surprise wedding the next day. It was such a beautiful moment, to have such a joyous event after everything that we had been through. JJ looked wonderstruck as her mom walked her down the aisle. The lights were sparkling. It was enchanting.” He spoke with such awe about the whole event. He told you stories about doing magic for Henry and Jack, who you came to know as Hotch’s son. It was so easy for you to picture the fairy lights and purple flowers. The team seemed like such a close-knit family, it only made sense that they would share this memory.

The chorus of the song hit you like a ton of bricks. You didn’t even warn Spencer as you jumped from the couch and ran to the piano. He followed behind you, curious to see what would happen. He watched with wonder as you placed your phone to record on top of the piano and started playing the family melody you first hummed while thinking about him.

“This night is sparkling, don’t you let it go. I’m wonderstruck, blushing all the way home. I’ll spend forever wondering if you knew, I was enchanted to meet you.” The verses didn’t pour out of you in quite the same way, but the general storyline of the song came to you in the next few minutes. You rushed to get it all out, speaking directly into the phone.

“The first verse can be about feeling out of place in a room, faking laughter, forcing smiles. Then it all changes when she sees him. It’s as if they have a conversation with only their eyes as they float across the room to each other. Then the chorus. The second verse can be about her wondering if he felt it to. 2 am who do you love? Chorus again. Then the bridge can be about hoping that the one night wasn’t it for them. That she’ll see him again and hoping he isn’t already in love or with someone.” You’re so pleased with the song idea, you don’t notice the shifting expressions on Spencer’s face. After your explanation, you turn to him, the biggest smile he’s seen yet on your face.

“What do you think?” He’s so shocked he doesn’t know how to respond. After a moment of silence, your face begins to fall. You can’t stop your brain from thinking the worst.

He must hate it. Oh god, he’s just trying to find a way to let me down easy. Why do I have to be so stupid? Sure, go ahead. Write a love song about the man who’s sitting next to you. That won’t be weird at all. Oh god, oh god…

Suddenly, Spencer is pulling you into a tight hug. “It’s beautiful. It will make a wonderful song.” He’s whispering in your ear. The feeling of his lips brushing against you is too much. Everything you’ve been pushing back for the past few days comes roaring to the surface. You can’t stop yourself.

You pull back slowly, only to pull his face to yours so rapidly you’re surprised you didn’t get whiplash. In less than an instant, his lips are moving gracefully against yours. His hands slide down your body to your waist as he pulls you even closer to him. Your arms move up around his neck, your fingers running through his hair. The hunger and passion is slowly taken over by the need for oxygen, the two of you separating just enough to pull air into your lungs.

He kisses your forehead, and you kiss his nose. A few minutes later, and you’re still standing there with your heads pressed together, arms wrapped around each other. Every so often, one of you places a light kiss on the others mouth, just to make sure this is real.

“I know what you’re thinking.” You are still out of breath from kissing him, but you can just tell his mind is moving a mile a minute.

“I’m not sure you do.” He sounds nervous.

“I think I might surprise you.” You can’t help but tease him a little before continuing. “You think its all transference. That I only think I like you because you’re here to protect me. Some sort of white knight bullshit.” You can’t stop yourself from sounding mildly annoyed about it. Although, the look of shock on his face helps. “I heard what you said to Morgan.” He sighs before moving to pull back.

“No, Spence. Listen to me. I heard what you said to Morgan.” You wait for him to follow your train of thought back a few days.

“But that was four days ago?” He looks more confused than ever.

“I know. I wanted to make sure that what I feel is real. I didn’t want to lead you on if I might not actually want this. But I do. More than I’ve ever wanted anything before. Spencer, you are a light in my life and not just because you’re here to make sure I don’t get murdered. Although that certainly doesn’t hurt. I feel like I can tell you anything and you won’t judge me for it. That I can truly be myself without worry of letting you down.”

“Y/N you could never let me down. I just don’t want you to wake up one day and regret anything. I don’t want you to regret me.” He looks crestfallen.

“Spencer Reid.” You move your hands to his cheeks to gently push his head up to make eye contact. “I could never regret a single moment spent with you. I have loved every single one. I loved watching you listen to the songs about your friends. I loved listening to you talk about things you love, like Doctor Who and statistics. I loved sitting next to while you played piano. I loved talking to you about anything and everything. Spencer, I love how I feel when I’m with you and I know for a fact I would feel the same way if I met you walking down the street.”

“Y/N” the way he says your name is music to your ears. “I love how I feel when I’m with you too. I loved listening to you sing about my friends, capturing the essence of who they are. I loved watching you experience the things I have grown so accustomed to doing. I loved the feeling of you leaning on my shoulder while I played Bach. I loved hearing you come up with an entire storyline for one song in a matter of minutes just based on one story. I have loved every single second I have been with you since I first saw you 7 days, 2 hours, and 32 minutes ago. Even if I didn’t say a word to you until after you woke up in the hospital.”

The two of you laugh as you pull him to the couch to cuddle. You put on more Doctor Who, sitting with your legs across his lap and playing with his hands. It’s nice to just be close to him without having to worry. You find yourself getting wrapped up in the show. Spencer is quieter this time. You think he might have something on his mind, but you decide to wait for him to share. Between the third and fourth episode, he speaks up.

“Y/N, are you and Ryan… are you together?” You look up to see a nervous expression once again on his face.

“Ryan who?” You are genuinely confused as to who he could even be talking about.

“Ryan Moore, the sound booth guy.” You look even more confused than before.

“Not even a little bit. I politely declined his offer to take me out. Is that what’s been bugging you for the last three episodes?” You smile at his pout.

“Maybe. You just seemed so happy when you mentioned that he asked you out. You were practically glowing with how big your smile was.”

“Spence, I was happy because I could actually help you with the case. I only have eyes for one guy.” You shift to straddle his lap.

“Yeah, who’s that?” He pulls you even closer.

“Matt Smith” You say it with the best deadpan expression you can manage in the circumstances.

“Wow, your standards must be pretty low to settle for the 11th doctor. He’s not even in the top three best doctors!” He plays along with your joke, although he doesn’t have to act incredulous sat you preference for the 11th doctor.

“Well, my number one doctor isn’t really on TV.” You bite your lip, leaning in until you connect your mouth to his.

Right as you’re both about to take it one step further, your phone rings. “Fuck.” The word is barely a whisper leaving your mouth as you pull back from Spencer trying to catch your breath.

“Hello?” you don’t hear anything on the other end of the phone. “Hello? Anyone there? Hello?” Suddenly the line goes dead. You turn to Spencer. “Well, that was weird.” Spencer frantically moves you off his lap as he stands up, taking out his phone. Without telling you anything, he is frantically dialing a number, mumbling under his breath.

“Garcia! I need to you to figure out who just called Y/N’s phone.” He waits a minute, presumably listening to her reply. “Yes, it just rang and when she answered nobody said anything. Thank you.” He hangs up, swiftly moving back to the couch to pull you into a hug.

“What just happened?” You can feel your heartrate speeding up.

“It might be nothing, but that might have been the unsub. Garcia is tracking down the number that made the call right now. If it’s possible to figure out, she’ll have it done by morning.” He rubs calming circles on your hip with his thumb. “Why don’t you go to sleep? Try to get some rest?” You nod, rising from the couch.

“Spence, will you lay with me?” Your voice is small and scared as you ask the question. He simply nods, both of you changing into pajamas before meeting in the bedroom to lay down. You snuggle up close to him, trying to breathe in the same pattern as him until you fall asleep.

When you wake up, you can hear Spencer in the living room, talking on his phone. You want nothing more than to go back to sleep, but not if you can’t cuddle with Spencer while you do it. Throwing the covers off of you, you get up so you can actually see Spencer. He’s got his back to you when you open the door, so you sneak up behind him. He jumps a little with a surprised gasp when you wrap your arms around his middle.

“What? Oh, uh… I’m fi-fine. Everything’s fine. I was just surprised.” He spins around to hug you, giving you a slight glare. “By, um, a beetle. Yeah, there was a beetle.” The lie is so obvious you can’t help but laugh as you bury your head into his chest.

A few minutes later, he finally hangs up. “What did they find out about the phone call?” You mumble the question into the fabric of his cardigan.

“Less than we were hoping for. It was a prepaid cell, so Garcia can’t trace it back to the owner.” You squeeze him tighter, glad to have him with you through all of this. After a few minutes of standing with him, you reluctantly pull back.

“Well, we should get to work. These songs are not going to write themselves!”

You and Spencer retreat to different parts of the suite to get ready for the day. As much as you would love to jump his bones, it doesn’t feel right to take up his time with that when he could be working. At least if you were working on songs together it was part of the cover.

You ultimately decide to just sit in the park across from the hotel today. Normally, you wouldn’t even leave your room at this point in the writing process. You just don’t completely trust yourself to be alone with him at the moment. At least in public you can control yourself a little bit. Yet, the many people walking around the park do nothing to stop you from grabbing Spencer’s hand and playing with his fingers while thinking particularly hard about a certain lyric.

A bright flash of light draws you out of your reverie. You already know how the picture is going to look. You are laying across a blanket, knees in the air. Spencer is sitting beside you, reading messages from the team on his phone. His other hand is still between yours as you run your fingers over his knuckles. You are absolutely sure there is look of complete adoration on your face. You can’t bring yourself to care that the paparazzi took the picture. You have nothing to hide.

After the shock of the bright light fades, you notice a familiar face behind the few photographers in front of you. The shock of seeing someone for a second time floods your brain while you try to remember the profile Hotch told you that very first night. Without thinking too hard, you fling yourself into a sitting position. You gather everything you brought with you to the park, dragging Spencer along with you. He clearly doesn’t understand the shift in your behavior, but he’d gladly follow you anywhere.

It’s not until you reach your room that you look at him. He can see the fear in your eyes before you even open your mouth. “Baby, what is it? What happened?” He begins recalling everything from the moment the first flash went off, trying to figure out what made you so scared.

“I saw him.” You can barely hear yourself over the sound of your heart beating in your chest. “I saw the unsub. I mean, I think I did. He held the door open for us this morning when we left the hotel, and then he was in the park when the paparazzi were taking pictures. Hotch… he said to tell you if I saw anyone more than once in a day.” The words escape your lips in a hurry, trying to keep up with your flying thoughts.

“Okay, breathe. I’m right here. I’m going to call the team. Did you recognize him from anywhere else?” You try to picture the face in your mind, and suddenly you are seeing him everywhere. In the coffee shop that very first day. Behind the trees in the park with the piano. If you and Spencer were there, so was he. Just, normally you only caught a glimpse of him for a second. Definitely not twice in one day.

You rush to tell Spencer what you’re remembering. At this point, you don’t even know if it’s true. Maybe your mind is playing tricks on you. Just filling in this man’s face on other people’s bodies to fit the story that he is the one behind it all. Nonetheless, you give him the description of who you saw. White, probably 35ish, brown hair. You didn’t see his eyes, but they looked evil. The expression on his face just screamed serial killer. Maybe that’s in your head too. Who knows?

“I know I’ve seen that face before, I just can’t remember where. God, I’m useless. This man is hurting people and I can’t even remember where I’ve seen him before. Think. Think. THINK.” You’ve started pacing the room, trying to figure out who it could be. Spencer doesn’t say anything else to you until he’s finished the phone call. Even then, he’s more so humming and shushing you than really talking. He pulls you into a hug, trying to calm you down yet again.

“Y/N. You are anything but useless. You noticed he was there. That’s a step in the right direction. We are going to find him, and he is going to go to jail for a very long time.” Somewhere, deep inside, you knew Spencer couldn’t guarantee that, but you also knew it was better for you to listen to him than to force yourself down a rabbit hole you couldn’t dig yourself out of.

A few calming breaths later, and your asleep on the couch, wrapped up in Spencer’s arms.

It’s still dark when you open your eyes. You can hear someone moving around, but it’s too dark to see. Spencer isn’t with you on the couch, so it could be him, but something feels wrong. Why would Spencer be up in the middle of the night wandering around in the dark?

“Spencer?” Everything goes still at the sound of your voice. Yeah, that was not the best move you could’ve made… Before you can say anything else, you are knocked out cold. The sound of a lamp smashing over your head is that last thing you hear.

tag list:

@mac99martin , @wecouldbreakthedistance , @spencerhotchner , @girloncorneliastreet , @itsametaphorbriansblog , @moonshinerbynight , @meowiemari , @justanotherfangirl , @im-so-wonderstruck , @eevee0722 , @raining13lemonade @dilaudidwinchester , @silverdagger69 , @thatsonezesty13

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid one shot #Criminal Minds #spencer reid x you

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sisterspooky1013 · 3 years ago

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Only One Choice, Chapter 7

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

Saturday brings an unexpected heat wave, the high temperatures uncharacteristic even for D.C. Dana has grappled all week with how to explain her Saturday evening plans to Ethan. Her instinct is to lie, to tell him she’s getting dinner with Missy or has to go into work for an emergency autopsy. But lying makes it impossible to tell herself that what she’s doing isn’t wrong; if she has nothing to hide, why would she be hiding it? In the end, she goes with vague truth and tells him that she’s meeting up with a colleague to discuss some interesting new research they shared with her. Never mind that said colleague is a very handsome and apparently very single man. Never mind that she feels a rush between her legs whenever she pictures his cocky smile. Meeting with a colleague. Interesting research. Nothing more.

She and Ethan spend the morning lying around in their underwear, too overheated to do anything else. The air conditioning hums and sputters, trying to keep up, but it's no match for the sweltering heat.

“Do we have ice cream?” Ethan asks, splayed out on his back against the hardwood clad in green boxer shorts.

“Nope, I ate it all when I was PMSing last week,” she replies from the couch, arms and legs draped off the sides so that no part of her body is touching any other.

They are quiet for a bit.

“Wanna have sex?” Ethan asks offhandedly, and she feels a flush of dread.

“Too hot,” she replies with an equally offhand tone, glad he can’t see her face.

They are quiet again.

“Are you okay, Dana?” he asks hesitantly, his eyes on the ceiling. She waits a little too long to answer.

“Yeah, why?”

“You just...you don’t seem like yourself. Since we got engaged, I mean. You seem kind of distracted. Distant, maybe?”

She takes a steadying breath. She knows he’s right. If she were honest, she’d tell him that she feels crushing guilt for being so infatuated with another man. That she feels like a horrible girlfriend, fiancée, almost-wife, for continuing to seek out interactions with him, but she can’t bring herself to stop. That she loves Ethan, so much, but can’t deny the pull that Mulder has on her. That she feels like she’s cheating when they have sex, because Mulder invariably takes his place in her mind. But she can’t tell him any of that.

She rolls to her side so she can look at him.

“I’m sorry, Ethan. I guess I’m just feeling overwhelmed lately, with work and the wedding. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

He rolls his head to the side to meet her eye.

“So you’re not having doubts? About getting married?” The pain and worry in his voice is like a kick in the gut.

“Of course not,” she implores, crawling off the couch and across the floor to where he lays. She gingerly throws a leg over his hip and straddles him, placing her hands on his sweat-damp chest and leaning forward to kiss him on the lips. “I can’t wait to be your wife,” she says with a soft smile, and the twist in her belly alerts her to the fact that this might be a lie.

They make love, there on the living room floor. She keeps her eyes open, not allowing her mind to wander from this moment, this man. Not allowing herself to admit that this is a consolation, an attempt to prove to them both that she is in this, with him, for the long haul. Her orgasm is weak and brief, not the same. Nothing is the same, anymore. Not since Mulder waltzed into the autopsy bay and complicated her life.

————————

The heat has abated only slightly by 5:30 as she’s preparing to leave her apartment and head to Mulder’s. She debates what to wear for an agonizingly long time; the temperature calls for a dress or shorts, but she fears sending the wrong message if it looks like she’s intentionally bearing skin. She finally settles on a black maxi dress, a compromise in coverage and air flow, paired with flip flops. Casual, not trying too hard, but not frumpy either.

As she makes for the door, Ethan stops her with a gentle grasp on her wrist, pulling her to him.

“You look beautiful,” he says with an affectionate gaze, and that guilty feeling in her belly is back. Their impromptu living room floor love-making seems to have assuaged his concerns over her demeanor for the time being, but it only served to deepen her own inner turmoil.

“Thank you,” she replies before kissing him on the cheek and escaping the emotional heat of their apartment for the temperate heat of the DC evening.

2630 Hegal Place is a stately brick building that has been decently maintained. It’s not as nice as her neighborhood in Georgetown, but it’s hardly the slum that Mulder suggested it was. She feels a little sick as she rides the elevator up to the fourth floor, taking in the dark wood trim against the yellowing walls of his hallway. She finds apartment forty-two and pauses outside the door for a long while. She has a feeling that walking through this door is a decision with consequences, one she shouldn’t take lightly. She realizes she’s not wearing her engagement ring; it’s likely sitting on the bathroom counter beside the sink. A simple oversight; she’s not yet used to wearing it. Certainly not a Freudian slip of the mind...she has the sudden overwhelming urge to flee. Perhaps she knows exactly what she’s doing after all. She turns to walk back to the elevator when the door swings open, startling her.

“Scully,” he says with a lopsided smile.

He’s wearing dark wash jeans, his top half bare, a bag of garbage in one hand. Her eyes immediately light on the broad expanse of his chest, smooth and dappled with a light dusting of hair. His abdomen is solid, sleek and defined. A swimmer’s body, she thinks with a sigh.

“I was just taking the trash out, you’re a little early,” he says with a hint of embarrassment, passing her to stuff the bag down the chute at the end of the hall.

“Oh, sorry, am I?” she looks at her watch; it’s 5:55.

“Or maybe I’m just running a little behind,” he replies sheepishly, then lifts his arm and gestures for her to enter the apartment, “please, come in.”

She enters a combination foyer and dining room, the kitchen tucked off to the left and the living room straight ahead. The ambiance matches the hallway, dark wood and yellow walls, the ceilings impressively high. The decor is sparse; nothing on the walls and only small trinkets littering the surfaces, a fish tank burbling near the window. She waits to see where he directs her to go. The dining room table seems like a suitably professional place for two colleagues to review work files. He brushes past her to the living room, the shower-fresh smell of him drifting into her nostrils; Irish Spring and Old Spice.

“You can take a seat,” he says gesturing to the couch, “let me just grab a shirt and the files.” He disappears through a door that must be his bedroom.

She sets her purse on his cluttered desk and sits on one end of the worn leather couch, looking around at his few furnishings. She startles when a black blur springs onto her lap with a high-pitched meow, and Mulder re-enters the room with a bankers box tucked under his arm, his torso now covered by a black T-shirt.

“Jesus, Priscilla, don’t assault the woman,” he says as he sets the box on the coffee table and plucks the cat off her lap. “Sorry about that, she has an affinity for pretty girls,” he continues, then directs his next comment to the cat. “We have that in common, eh, Prissy?”

She feels a flush to her cheeks and he takes the cat with him to the kitchen, returning with two beers in its place.

“I hope your boyfriend doesn’t mind me borrowing you for the evening,” he says as he hands her an open beer.

She looks at him with a mildly shocked expression, his mention of Ethan feeling out of place and somehow obscene. Noticing her discomfort, he changes the subject as he sits on the opposite end of the couch.

“This is all I walked away with, one box of the best, brightest, and weirdest X files I came across during my time. About half are those I investigated myself, the rest were left from the previous agents who started the division,” he slides the box down the coffee table towards her and she plucks the lid off carefully to see dozens of neatly labeled orange folders. She pulls a random one out from the middle and sets her beer on the coffee table, opening the file across her lap.

“So tell me why the X files division was shut down,” she says as she leafs through the pages.

“Well, the official reason is that an investigation into a man with green blood resulted in multiple deaths, which was just the last in a series of...mishaps. But the real reason is that I was too close to the truth.”

She lifts her head from the file to look at him. He has his bare feet propped up on the coffee table, his elbow resting on the arm of the couch. He seems so at ease all the time, so comfortable around her.

“The truth about what?” she asks, working to peel her eyes from his plush lower lip.

He takes a deep breath. “A lot of things, but namely a government conspiracy to conceal the existence of extraterrestrial life, even as they’re conducting experiments and research on said extraterrestrials. Perhaps even working with them.”

It’s that same even, factual delivery. Her mouth blossoms into a slow smile.

“Working with the aliens? To do what, open a KMart on Mars?” she teases, and he returns her smile with one that is so devilish it makes her pelvis twitch.

“Read on, Scully. The more you see, the less crazy it sounds.”

He stands and goes to the stereo, and after a few minutes of fiddling around she hears Radiohead begin to play. “You like Radiohead?” he asks, and she gives a half shrug, half nod. Doesn’t love ‘em, doesn’t hate ‘em.

“So this one appears to be about some kind of tree-dwelling insect?” she asks, reading over details of a dead man sucked dry of all fluids and bound up in a giant cocoon.

Mulder returns to the couch and sits beside her, much closer this time, their thighs nearly touching. The heat of his body on top of the warmth of the air makes new sweat prick at the back of her neck.

“Indeed, prehistoric insects that were released from the inner rings of the tree when they were logged. I nearly got eaten up by them myself,” he remarks, reaching over to turn the pages that lie across her lap. She shivers a little despite the heat.

“And what does that have to do with aliens and government conspiracies?” she asks, keeping her head down, knowing that if she looks up at him he would be close enough to kiss.

“It’s not that straight forward, Scully. There are things, many things, on our planet that are unexplainable, and having control over that which can’t be understood by science and intelligence gives you a certain degree of power. Unfortunately, it’s a power that’s most often used for evil instead of good.”

She does turn to him then, getting an up-close look at the greenish, almost-hazel of his irises, the pronounced bridge of his nose.

“There’s nothing that’s unexplainable on this planet, Mulder. Just because we can’t explain it now doesn’t mean we never will. Consider how much science has progressed in the last fifty years alone. Who knows what we deem unexplainable now that will be perfectly understood in another fifty?”

He tilts his head closer to her and her heart speeds up, her lips parting unconsciously. His smirk is devastatingly sexy, and she suddenly doesn’t trust herself.

“May I use your bathroom?” she asks abruptly, looking away.

“Of course, it’s through the bedroom,” he says, hitching his thumb to the door behind and to their left.

She carefully makes her way into his bedroom, which contains a queen size mattress on a mahogany frame, a dresser, and not much else. He’s a man of simple means, it would seem. The bathroom is clean and devoid of skid marks and stray pubic hairs; the seat is even down. When she returns, he’s placed several of the files in a neat stack on the coffee table.

“These are the ones I’d recommend you read. At least they may be the ones you find most compelling,” he says as she returns to her seat, inching just a bit further away from him than she’d been before.

She takes the first from the stack and opens it. “So how’d you get into all this, Mulder? Have you always been into aliens, or did you see E.T. too many times when it came out?”

He doesn’t answer and she looks at him. He’s considering her, pondering. Deciding whether to tell her something.

Continue Reading here

#the x files #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #gillovny #msr #sculder #x files #xf fanfic #alternate universe

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hualianff · 4 years ago

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Birthday Boy HC

Modern AU with police chief HC who is very dedicated to his job, especially because he grew up in a “bad” area and has first-hand experience from inadequate police service in poor neighborhoods. His co-workers and friends never see him go on second dates or have one-night stands. When HC’s birthday comes up, he insists he doesn’t want a grand occasion.

However, a simple party, he will permit.

Leave it to HX’s partner, SQX, to invite all of HC’s friends and acquaintances to HC’s own penthouse for a surprise birthday party, scheduled for the evening since HC typically works very late. When the police chief arrives home, still in his black uniform pants and red dress-shirt that goes under his suit jacket, the party is on the precipice of a full swing celebration.

HC is a bit put off by how loud and crowded his home is but it’s not necessarily a bad thing. Things are lonely, he will admit. And if this is a once-in-a-blue-moon thing, then HC won’t stop others from enjoying themselves and frankly, spoiling him.

At the height of the party, right when YY is about to present the birthday cake, SQX whistles for everyone’s attention.

“All right, Hua Cheng, time to sit on that chair over there,” SQX says while steering HC from behind, pushing on his shoulder. The chair is placed in the middle of the living room, in the perfect spot to watch the front door open.

The lights are gradually dimmed.

HC is too confused to protest. He cautiously sits down.

The front door pivots open. The person who walks through the door makes HC’s eye widen in surprise. They are dressed in all black: jean-booty shorts, stilettos, and a tight-fitting crop top. A sheer veil is also draped over their shoulders, falling gracefully behind them as they enter the room. They wear a headband with pointy horns and dark, red lipstick.

As the person gets closer, HC’s breath picks up.

“You didn’t-“ he whispers mindlessly, directed at SQX. His best friend’s partner merely holds their hands up in surrender, as if saying they did nothing wrong.

The scarcely-dressed person looks around demurely, aware everyone’s eyes are on them, ogling at their outfit that exposes lots of skin.

And then they set their gaze on HC, who sits frozen in the chair, hands gripping his thighs.

“Are you the birthday boy?” The stranger asks, smirking slightly. HC audibly gulps, not quite believing the sight of his childhood neighbor standing right in front of him, dressed like a demon summoned for punishment for his sins.

(It takes .05 seconds for HC to tent up in his pants.)

HC can’t bring himself to speak without stuttering like a fool. It’s clear that he’s the birthday boy—he’s sitting in a chair in the middle of the room, goddamn it. But for whatever reason, HC feels like he needs to respond to every one of this man’s signals.

So he stiffly nods, managing to maintain eye contact.

XL’s smirk widens mischievously, holding a secret promise behind those glistening lips. He prowls forward slowly, the click of his stiletto heels echoing across the marble floor.

“It looks like I’ve gotten myself into a little trouble,” he says with faux-innocence, slipping the veil off his shoulders. Instead of coming onto HC, XL slinks around him, letting the veil skim across HC’s lap, up to his chest, and over his face.

It faintly smells of peach.

“All right, Mr. Policeman,” XL addresses, pausing to stand behind HC. “What should I call you?”

HC breathes out harshly through his nose, desperately wanting to tilt his head back in order to get another glimpse at the angel- no, minx who has evoked the intensity of desire and lust long-buried under HC’s skin. It steadily rises to the surface, heating HC’s skin, making him feel too hot in a room where too many people remain to watch the show.

“Hmm, will ‘chief’ do? Or perhaps...sir?”

“Hua Cheng is just fine,” HC grits out. He gives in to looking behind his shoulder with curious eyes. XL’s face is startlingly close, amber eyes holding a sultry look that sends pleasure down HC’s spine.

Then, those eyes fixate on him, getting a really good look for the first time. Familiarity flashes across XL’s expression but he quickly wipes it away in favor of connecting their foreheads.

“Hua Cheng it is.”

The click of handcuffs binding HC’s wrists behind the back of the chair makes his heart drop to his stomach. He whips his head around to SQX and HX who stand off to the side. HX raises an amused eyebrow.

Somehow, SQX convinced HX to steal a pair from the office.

These are his own cuffs.

“Is this okay, Hua Cheng?” XL whispers genuinely in HC’s. When HC audibly hitches, he giggles.

“Yes.”

XL unties HC’s low ponytail to card his fingers through the police chief’s hair.

“Does it feel good?”

Fuck, XL is barely touching him, but the light brush of his fingers ignites a flame in HC’s heart, making him feel alive.

XL unbuttons the top three buttons of HC’s shirt.

“There. All ripe for the taking,” XL purrs. He drags the veil up and over HC’s face as he walks away. A strong bass pounds from HC’s built-in speaker SQX has managed to operate.

XL begins dancing for HC, swiveling his hips and rotating in time with the music. HC’s breath quickens up, his police attire also feeling unbearably hot. XL ditches the veil, and then he’s walking to HC, long legs crossing with every step.

HC is certain he won’t survive this.

***

It turns out to be nothing more than a sensual lap dance. There was no kissing on the lips, no groping on HC’s part, and no intimate touches because XL isn’t that kind of dancer. SQX knew this. He also knew HC wouldn’t want anything more than a bit of teasing anyways.

Luckily, SQX contacting a fellow friend who he’d modeled with once has allowed HC to see XL again. When he’s released from the cuffs, HC stands up and approaches where XL picks up his veil from the ground.

“Gege?” HC questions quietly. XL turns to look at him, a pink blush dusted on his cheeks.

“Oh, hello again, San Lang,” the other man greets, nearly the same height as HC with the stilettos on. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Hmm.”

It hadn’t been either of their faults. Or maybe it was both. HC traveled to another part of the country to be enrolled in the most prestigious academy in the nation. XL moved to a different big city to pursue a degree in economics. Years of separation caused them to drift apart from best friends in high school to strangers living very different lives.

“Well, it’s really nice to see you again. The circumstances are a bit... unconventional, but I’m glad it was you,” XL laughs lightly, readjusting his headband with pointy horns. HC tries not to stare at how well they suit the other man.

XL shifts a bit uncomfortably, hugging the sheer veil tighter around his body. HC feels a natural smile curl upon his lips in hopes it soothes XL’s qualms about his state of dress.

“I’m glad it was you too, gege,” HC says honestly. XL’s face lights up like the golden fairy lights he had pinned on his childhood room walls. “If it’s not too much trouble, I ask if gege can stay?”

“Oh.”

“At least for cake-” HC rushes out, praying to whatever bastard up there that XL will say yes. “It’s strawberry,” he adds, softer. XL tilts his head in astonishment.

“I thought your favorite flavor was coconut?” XL asks in surprise.

“It is. But...I asked for strawberry this year,” HC finishes lamely.

Was he being too obvious? Would XL figure him out and be repelled? Sure, it was only a cake flavor, but what are the chances XL’s favorite is still strawberry?

XL takes his phone out of the canvas bag SQX brought to him after the dance. He scrolls for a few seconds, then quickly types something out. Turning the device back in its place, XL meets HC’s gaze with a cheerful smile.

He closes all the distance between them, a certain bounce in his step.

“I believe,” XL starts. “I can keep the birthday boy company for a little while longer.”

HC smiles widely, flashing his front row of teeth–his right canine pointier than the rest.

“Brilliant.”

***

Turns out, “a little while longer” meant talking until every last person called it a night and headed out. They catch up on all the years they missed out on each others’ lives.

Four years ago, XL adopted a daughter, Ban Yue. Ban Yue was a split-second decision when XL was a year out of university, unsure of what direction his life was heading. He says it’s the best decision he’s ever made.

“She brings me so much happiness. It was like I had a Ban Yue-shaped hole and she was the missing puzzle piece,” XL says enthusiastically. He pauses to take one more sip of his baijiu. “Does that even make sense? Hahaha….”

“It does,” HC reassures from beside him. They sit on his plush, velvet couch, holding their respective drinks with practiced form. XL leans back against the cushions, sighing in relief.

“San Lang, I knew you would understand,” he murmurs.

He doesn’t elaborate.

He doesn’t need to. It’s no secret XL’s parents would’ve disapproved of him for single-parenting a random orphan with no known heritage or background. But they were already out of the picture, disowning XL right after high school graduation when he was outed by a family friend whose advances XL rejected.

“Perhaps you can meet her one day,” XL adds as an afterthought. HC matches XL’s position, reclining against the cushions, keeping his body turned towards XL, offering him HC’s full, undivided attention. It’s a simple gesture that means everything to someone like XL.

“I would love to,” HC says.

XL hums happily, then goes on to explain that he’s a telemarketer by day, which allows him to stay home with flexible work hours that fit around Ban Yue’s school schedule. (She’s in the third grade now.)

XL also mentions that he occasionally dances at night for an extra income. Nothing too intense or frequent. Just dressing up and dancing for special occasions, at parties like HC’s. XL typically has MQ or FX babysit Ban Yue during those nights.

The word family echoes in the hollow of HC’s chest.

“Gege’s been leading a very eventful and prosperous life,” HC comments with satisfaction. He leans forward to tug the maple-red coat he lent back over XL’s shoulders, ensuring the other man stayed warm.

“Nonsense, my life is just like anybody else’s,” XL says, waving his hand in a lax motion. “But I am very interested in hearing about San Lang’s life. Police chief, huh?”

“Gege…” HC mutters shyly. Against his will, his mind replays the moment XL asked if he should address HC as “sir.”

Boners don’t get boyfriends; sexy, mature conversations do, HC tells himself.

“Please, San Lang? I won’t force you to talk too much about yourself! I know we don’t...know each other as well as we used to,” XL says, a bit embarrassed. “If you want, we can just end right now and I can leave-”

“No! Not at all, I’ll tell gege anything he wants,” HC says, scooting even closer to XL so their hips bump against one another. XL sets down his empty glass, his unsure expression morphs to contentedness.

As it should always be.

“Well…” HC trails off, taken aback by how vivid XL’s amber irises gleam as they pin HC down. “Actually, there isn’t much to tell-”

“Just tell it is how it is, San Lang!” XL laughs, reaching over to playfully bat at HC’s arm.

“Okay, okay! I’m on it.”

#tgcf #heaven official's blessing #hualian #hualian au #xie lian #hua cheng #modern au #cerdrabbles #slice of life #fluff #they're flirting your honor

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phykios · 3 years ago

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honesty and promise me, co-written with @darkmagyk [read on ao3]

“I’m in love,” Piper tells her when she shows up for another fitting. “Have you seen the new Beyonce video?”

“I heard the song.” Annabeth says, “isn’t that enough?”

“God, your whole play-acting thing is too far if you’re pretending to not like Beyonce.”

“I never said that.” Annabeth holds up her hands, “I like the song. But I did not see the video.”

“Well, when you see it, you’ll be in love too, but I will fight you.”

Piper could be scrappy in a fight. But Annabeth had been a champion fencer in high school.

“Kidding!” Piper says at her look. “There’s plenty of them to go around.” She didn’t even start to drape fabric over Annabeth, pushing her onto a muslin covered couch, and then pulling the video on the TV. She didn’t have one of those voice control devices. Because she was friends with Leo, and he was pretty firm on them being evil. “But I do call dibs on the main guy. The CALVES. The thighs. He’s unreal.”

“That good?” Piper went all ways, though as of late she gravitated towards women more often than not, so this was some high praise indeed.

“Unreal, I am telling you. Like, the hand of God came down and sculpted him personally out of marble.”

Already in her recent watch history, the thumbnail of the video greets them, the song title splashed across the TV screen, weaving between a very, very familiar set of legs.

Like, intimately familiar.

In something of detached horror, she watches the camera pan up, lovingly lingering on every inch of bare skin, following the muscles of his calves (which were unreal) to his knees then his thighs (which Annabeth had spent almost too much time between now), up his torso and his chest (which she knew made for an excellent pillow) to Percy’s face, set in a firm, hard stare.

And that fucking blue lipstick again.

She can’t even focus on Beyonce herself, too distracted by the way her hand traces the length of Percy’s outstretched thigh held in perfect arabesque as she gracefully drapes herself over him, crooning softly into his ear.

Annabeth should do that next time. That’s her spot, after all.

Tearing her eyes away from the screen even as Piper watches, enraptured, she slips out her phone, sending a quick, furious text.

annabeth: BEYONCE???????

A minute, then he responds.

percy: oh lol i didn’t realize that came out today 😁

percy: what’d you think?

annabeth: i think im going to kill you later

“Just look at him,” Piper says, pausing on Percy’s form, his arms outstretched, fingers placed delicately around a bar. “I mean--look at him!”

“Yeah,” she chuckles, maybe a little uneasy. “He’s alright I guess.”

Incredulous, Piper swivels her head. “Alright? Alright? Do you need your eyes checked?”

She just shrugs.

Why is she being so weird about this? It’s just Piper. She’s trained to find symmetry and beauty in bodies. They’ve happily shared crushes and fixations plenty of times before, so why is Annabeth being so weird about Percy? It’s not like they’re… you know… dating or anything. Just hooking up a bit.

Piper squints at her, then shrugs herself. “Fine. I don’t have time to get an answer out of you anyway. Come on.”

“Speaking of time,” Annabeth says, following Piper back into the kitchen studio, “I have to head out by 6:30.”

“Oh yeah?” Piper’s head is buried in her belt box, searching for the perfect accent. “What for?”

“I’ve got a show to catch.”

“Kind of early,” she says, pulling out something thin and silver. “Don’t you usually meet Thalia at the ass crack of midnight?”

“Well I kind of want to eat first.”

“Okay.” She cinches the belt around her waist, tight. “Then you’re going to have to help me with this skirt.”

***

Hands aching from hours of macrame, Annabeth walks up to the box office window at the Koch Theater at 7:46, having a handful of second thoughts.

Old, uppity white couples keep shooting her some particularly intense passive aggressive glares, some of them even venturing into actually aggressive territory, which usually wouldn’t even register on her very short list of things to care about, except that she is feeling woefully out of place. The lady in front of her has ten pounds of diamonds hanging off of each old, wrinkly ear, and the best Annabeth could do was fish out her least-ripped pair of jeans, pairing it with one of her nicer black shirts, the sleeves long enough to cover most of her tattoos. The macrame kept her longer than she had meant, so she didn’t have time to change before dinner, but fuck it, right?

She did also take out most of her face jewelry on the way. But she left the nose stud, obviously. And the tongue piercing. And the industrial, because Percy really likes those, so she doesn’t feel that bad about it. And he hadn’t even told her about this until after she had already given herself the half-undercut, so it’s not like she could do anything about that either.

“Can I help you?” At least this box office worker isn’t giving her the stink-eye.

“I’m here to pick up a ticket? Should be under ‘Jackson.’” He’d offered to leave it under her name, but this was safer. She doesn’t think her mom is a big ballet person, but she isn’t about to risk it, either.

She slides the ticket towards Annabeth beneath the glass plane. “Enjoy the show,” she says, with a quirk of her mouth that is surprisingly sincere for someone in customer service.

She’s pretty sure she’d enjoy the show more if she weren’t panicking thinking about getting dirt on their fancy carpets. Her boots are clean, of course, and she doesn’t really care, but she doesn’t want to, like, embarrass Percy or whatever. She’d asked him if she should dress up, but he’d assured her otherwise. “No one’s going to care, I promise,” he’d told her the night before, her lounging in his bed while he did some pushups. “And if anyone says something, let me know and we can kick their ass after the show together.”

“Great. Guess I don’t have to break out the Chanel, then.”

He’d paused, frowned, then huffed a laugh, shaking his head. Like the idea of Annabeth wearing Chanel was hilarious. Like what she’s wearing tonight really is the best that she can do.

Self-consciousness isn’t really a feeling that Annabeth has anymore. She’s spent so many years chafing against expectations, shucking them off when she inevitably failed to meet them, desperate for a place, a crowd where she could just be. In her scene, she doesn’t have anything to prove to anyone, and when Percy is out with her, he doesn’t need any convincing. He likes her. He likes her a lot, she thinks. He likes her enough to let himself be dragged out to every shitty dive bar and shittier rock show in New York City, laughing and cheering and holding her close the whole time. He likes her enough to cart her to his apartment at 4 AM, inevitably waking Nico up from his undead slumber, and leave her with nothing but a glass of water and a kiss on the forehead. And she likes him, too--a lot. Annabeth likes Percy enough to ditch her band t-shirts for a night and track mud on the carpet of the Koch Theater and willingly sit through a performance of fucking Swan goddamn Lake of all things, and it’s only a little scary how much she is willing to do for him after only a few months of fucking him. Because this really isn’t her scene, not anymore.

The weight of everyone’s stares bears down on her, threatening to crush her beneath them, a feeling she was so sure she’d left behind.

At least Percy had been thoughtful enough to get her a ticket out of the way in the back of one of the balcony sections. It’s a bit of a hike, but the audience members aren’t dressed quite as nicely as the ones downstairs, and she feels like she can breathe a little easier.

She pulls out her phone, checking her text messages on instinct. There’s a selfie from Percy in his stage makeup (and she’s not going to lie… he looks fucking pretty), with his standard accompanying three blue heart emojis. She can’t help it, her heart skips a beat and she can’t help but smile, even as she rolls her eyes. She’s just about to send him something appropriately sarcastic when another text notification slides in. It’s from her father.

Hi Annabeth… I was talking to a friend in Boston who said he's looking for a new

prospective in his architecture firm. Passed your information along.

Love you, dear

She swipes it away. Deletes the whole text conversation, for good measure.

Forget about him. This night is about Percy.

A few minutes later, so engrossed in Percy’s program bio (it’s about all she can focus on right now), she doesn’t even notice everyone around her leaning forward in breathless anticipation, until the warm, honey-like sound of the oboe draws her head up.

Roughly two minutes in, she’s really wishing she had attempted the synopsis. The extent of her knowledge of Swan Lake is a few half-remembered orchestra rehearsals in her teens and reading the Wikipedia article on that Natalie Portman movie a few months ago, and she definitely doesn’t recall there being anything about any Men-in-Tights looking motherfuckers prancing around. They’re sort of bobbing, back and forth, elegantly stepping from one side of the stage to another. Even from back here, she can see the delicate, precise placement of their hands, fingers curved just so, moving through space as though they aren’t bound by the laws of physics.

The fingers, she remembers. She could never get the hang of the fingers. Her old ballet teacher had given up on them after a week, and that had been the beginning of the end for that particular extracurricular.

Now her fingers tap on her jeans, impatient, far faster than the easy going music on stage. She’s just about to give in to the millennial instinct and pull out her phone, maybe play a round of sudoku, when the dancers motion as one to the back corner, and Percy comes stepping out. His hair is perfectly slicked back, gelled down, any hint of curl beaten into submission, and his smile is small, but white, gleaming against the tanned brown of his skin. She can’t help but smile back, like he could somehow see her. Finally, she thinks, relaxing a little more into her seat. Something to watch.

On his off days, her off days, any day when she would spent the night at his (always at his, never at hers) and wake up wrapped in his comforter and the smell of seawater, she would take the blanket with her and steal into his living room, curl up on his couch with her feet tucked under her legs, and watch him dance. She’s seen him drill these sequences over, and over, and over again, counting furious sequences of sixes and eights beneath his breath in duet with the thuds of his feet on his floor. Most times he would notice her and shoot her a grin, granting her permission to observe the artist at work. Sometimes, though, he would be so caught up in his body, the shifting of his feet and the music in his head, that it was like he couldn’t see her at all. Seemingly alone, he would dance, uninhibited, and she would be struck by a feeling that she usually reserves for specific monuments. Watching Percy dance in his apartment, in his brown tights and black tank top, lost in his own world, is like looking at pictures of the Gateway Arch, or the Hoover Dam, or the Parthenon.

She searches for that feeling now, leaning forward in her seat, eyes hungrily raving his form, but she just doesn’t see it. It’s… honestly, it’s a little boring. She won’t lie. He had warned her it would be something of a slow start, but this isn’t exactly an ADHD friendly medium, and she is losing her patience, just a bit. He’s so reserved, like he’s holding something close to his chest, impersonal as he takes the hands of the female dancers and lets them twirl around him.

Personally, Annabeth thinks that he looks kind of lost. Maybe he’s just nervous--it’s a big role and he’s a young guy. But he had seemed fine when he’d kissed her goodbye just after lunch.

The court jester is killing it though. Feeling just the slightest bit guilty, she lets her eyes drift over to him, deciding to watch him for a while instead.

On some level, she does appreciate the skill on display here. Percy can raise his back leg in a perfect ninety degree angle that would make her architecture professors sweat. The girls drift back and forth across the stage on the tips of their toes, weightless and ethereal. It’s mesmerizing, and she lets herself be mesmerized.

Time must slip away from her, because she blinks and all of a sudden the stage has gone from sunny yellow to cool blue, the crowds of dancers having vanished. He is alone on stage. Percy kneels in a deep lunge that makes her thighs ache just looking at him (and for… other reasons), his arms and his attention pointed to the wings, with a… Annabeth squints. When the hell did he get a crossbow?

But everything is swept to the sides when the White Swan tiptoes her way on stage, impossibly graceful, and all of a sudden, Annabeth gets it.

It feels a little cliche to say, but the way that woman moves on the floor really does remind her of those old, vintage jewelry boxes, suspended in animation, moved by some otherworldly force. It’s amazing. It’s a little terrifying. Sublime is the word that comes to mind as Annabeth watches her. Her arms move with fluidity, perfect curves, her fingers trailing behind her like wings.

And Percy is just as mesmerized as Annabeth is. As the audience is.

A few things hit her, in rapid succession. First, that Percy is, actually, a really good actor. His reticence before--he’d been playing a character. He’d been playing aloof and reserved and unmoored, because Percy--Siegfried--whatever--has been waiting his whole life for something to fulfill him, until this singular moment, the moment he laid eyes on this beautiful creature. Second, that she doesn’t need words to understand what’s going on. It’s all there, in every look and gesture and step, as the two characters circle each other, slowly but irrevocably falling in love. And third, that she recognizes the look on his face. It’s the look that Percy gives her when she has been talking for too long and he can’t get a word in edgewise, or when she screams along to the god awful underground bands, three beers in and missing every single fuck she’d ever had, or when she wakes up after him to Percy’s arms around her waist, her hair in his mouth and her head resting against his collarbone. She recognizes it, because that’s the look that Siegfried has for Odette. Because that’s the look that Percy has for Annabeth. Because he loves her.

And fourth, that that doesn’t make her as happy as she wishes it would.

There’s a cold pit in her stomach for the rest of the show, a turning screw that twists in deeper, minute by minute, with every turn of the dancers. She wastes the next hour trying to puzzle this out, not even pretending to watch the drama unfolding on stage, because it makes no goddamn sense. (Her situation, not the ballet--she managed to skim the synopsis during intermission, her foot tapping incessantly against the blessedly empty seat in front of her.) Things are great between them. It’s been a heady, intoxicating four months, full of bubbles and butterflies, sweet, soft mornings, and some really, really phenomenal sex. This should make her happy. This should put her over the fucking moon, and she cannot, for the life of her, figure out why it doesn’t.

The prima ballerina comes back out as the Black Swan, just as poised and precise as her counterpart, but she’s a great actress as well, because there is something undeniably different about her. Her arms move like rubber, like joints are just an afterthought, wrapping themselves around Percy’s neck and shoulders. She misdirects his attention, drawing his eyes to her wrists, her clavicle, the curve of a leg or the point of her toe. Seducing him. Tricking him.

Like Annabeth.

Because try as she might to run from it, Annabeth isn’t who she says she is. She wants so desperately to be this fuck-the-rules, fight-the-power, punk rock princess that she took every part of her that didn’t fit that image and tried to rip it out of her, bloody and struggling. Her trust fund, her two (two!) Harvard degrees, her enriched childhood and her bright and shining future; she took it all out back and shot it, and prayed that would be the end of it. She’s a phony, just like that goddamn Black Swan. Percy is in love with a phony.

Her sweet, wonderful, devastatingly kind and handsome Percy--she tricked him and made him fall in love with a mishmash of archetypes and aesthetics, distracting him with nose piercings and ripped t-shirts and ugly, deafening noise.

She’s not surprised that she’s crying when the curtain falls. She’d never known that Siegfried and Odette both died at the end.

When the cast reunites for curtain call, Percy is given a standing ovation, and Annabeth enthusiastically joins in, wiping the tears from her eyes, smearing her makeup.

She doesn’t wait for him at the stage door, but sits on the steps of the theater, plucking at her sleeves, aching for a drink and wishing she had had the presence of mind to wear something a little nicer. Percy finds her there almost an hour after the show ended. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

In the dark of night, illuminated only by streetlamps, she can’t read his face--but she can read exhaustion, in every part of his body. “I was waiting for you by the stage door.”

Something in her stomach goes cold. “I… wasn’t sure if I was allowed,” she offers, weakly.

He smiles, a light in the dark. “Of course you’re allowed,” he says, offering her a hand. “Shall we?”

She knows what will happen next. She’ll take his hand, and they’ll walk to the subway together, fingers intertwined. They’ll get on the 1 train headed north, and Percy will let her rest her head against him, tilting his head back against the window, eyes closed, almost asleep. The doorman will nod at them as they walk up to Nico’s apartment, barely batting an eye at his sweats and her ripped jeans, the two of them sticking out like a sore thumb in a sea of impeccably dressed rich New Yorkers. Nico will wave at them distractedly from his office, gulping down his sixth coffee of the night, and they’ll tiptoe into his room, falling asleep in each other’s arms with little more than a good night kiss.

Which, of course, is exactly what does end up happening.

Almost.

Annabeth crawls on top of him in his bed, kissing him soft and senseless. She doesn’t know where he’s getting this energy from, but she is not complaining as he slips up inside of her, the two of them rocking each other gently to orgasm, their foreheads pressed together. Shuddering as he comes, he captures her mouth in another kiss, pouring every ounce of love he has in him into her.

A waste, honestly.

But as far as goodbye sex, it’s pretty damn great.

She needs to end this, before either of them get hurt. It’s the least of what he deserves, after all. To put yourself out there, to offer yourself up like that, that might be the bravest thing Annabeth’s ever heard of, and surely, Annabeth can find the courage to do what needs to be done.

#whomp whomp!!#ballet au #pjo fic #my fic #percabeth #the rivalry ends here #darkmagyk #perseannabeth

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noctis-noctua · 4 years ago

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I, Kaeya Alberich, Take Thee

Pairing: Kaeya x Fem. Reader

Count: 1976

Description: Kaeya knows that be does not deserve anything he desires. There is nothing he can do to make you his, but so badly does he wish there was.

Content: Unrequited love, angst, bittersweet ending, marriage.

Warnings: Slight spoiler for Kaeya's backstory but an addition of (non-canon!) Prince Kaeya.

In another universe, maybe I am not cursed so by the Gods. Kaeya resists the urge to nibble on the tail-end of his quill. It was unbecoming for a man of his stature to succumb to unsanitary habits. Plus, this particular pen hailed from a crow’s feather, hunted by the hands of a childhood friend. The intricate quill had not been put to use for a substantial amount of time, but it fits into Kaeya’s hand as if it came to shape its spine based on the curvature of his own grasp. He could get used to signing off documents and organizing civil affairs if it meant succumbing to such mundane sensations. The morning sun dripping onto his mahogany desks and floors, a faint scratch of keratin against ivory paper filling the empty space… It has been a long time since he’s made the decision to take over petty bureau duties. Today is a special day. Kaeya needs to focus on the satisfying echoes of paper and pen, on the sunlight heating his back, or he might just go insane.

The clamor of bells tugs Kaeya from his mechanical performance. Each ring is a song of desperation, a performance begging for his attention. Come out and celebrate! Indulge in the pain. He is not a man that falls prey to anger, but he cannot help that frustrated itch in his stomach as he hears the iron reverberating. Please just be quiet, Kaeya thinks. Let me forget. The hesitant croak of his door alerts Kaeya to the presence of the Acting Grand Master. She dons an outfit unique from her usual uniform - a cream-colored dress, embroidered by floral lace, a single azure ribbon tying at the waist. So even the straight-edged Jean has taken time off today?

�� “Kaeya, you can’t make these excuses forever.” He knows from how Jean closes the door with unperturbed silence that this is not a conversation regarding hilichurl nests or Fatui diplomats. He can tell from the way Jean drops the mature title of ‘Sir’ in favor of his childhood nickname, that it is a conversation Jean feels must be approached with gentleness as if Kaeya is a stray cat that claws at feeding hands. The Grand Master releases a heaved exhale because both of them dread this discussion as much as the other. There is an inherent wrong in seeing Kaeya distressed. He may not be shedding tears in solitude or resigning himself to the dormitories, but he is hiding, and that is enough for Jean to observe that he is not functioning as normal.

“Please, come for a little while. I know it’s not… something you want to see, but he’s your brother. Offer a small congratulations at the least.” Her heels tap on the polished hardwood.

“I was planning on coming by later this evening. Tell them I’m sorry for not being able to attend the main event. How could I? Just look at all this paperwork.” Kaeya’s signature chuckle follows, putting up a front of careless flirtation. It is not uncommon for Jean to rope the Cavalry Captain into his desk chair. Lord knows he’d never do it otherwise… yet now he claims servitude to the dulling labor. How ironic.

“I’ll tell them of your apologies… but both of us know that paperwork isn’t the reason you can’t make it.” Jean turns around, blonde hair trailing in the breeze left behind before Kaeya can quip up a rebuttal. She’s right. Jean is always right. The papers piling on his desk are from the drawers of his subordinates, filed away to be completed in another five months' time. There is no reason they had to be done today. He is hiding. He is a coward and a pathetic one at that. The thought alone provokes Kaeya to tug on his studded gloves and push out his chair. His sights are set on leaving because to be seen as a frail child is to fail at the sole thing he succeeds at. Being the chivalrous Cavalry Captain renowned for his beauty and failsafe charm is the one thing he cannot lose because he cannot let Mondstadt see how fragile he is behind the visage.

Mondstadt’s avenues are bustling. Oak tables identical to the ones across local taverns have been dressed in linen tablecloths and topped with miniature feasts. Children run between tables, tugging at each other’s shirts in a feisty game of tag as festive music tempts the adults to a dance. The tell-tale strums of Mondstadt’s No. 1 Bard’s lyre lead the crowds to the statue of Barbatos. Behind it, trails of petals line the paths leading to the limestone Cathedral. Couples, singles, and families alike make haste to enter through the carved doors. No one wants to miss this. Kaeya tugs on the collar of his fur coat, gazing at the entry before him. He can hear the music of an organ, romantic and rich, ricocheting from inside.

He steps into the Cathedral. The ceremony has yet to start and the pews continue to fill. Citizens scoot as close as possible to allow for more onlookers to take a seat. He finds a spot next to Huffman and a few other Knights, squished on the outer edge. It is three benches from the front. Too close for Kaeya to be comfortable. The croaking benches have long since met their capacity by now. Not a soul is missing, Kaeya reckons. Diluc Ragnvindr, the wine Tycoon, Mondstadt’s famous magnate, is marrying after all. It is no small occasion. Diluc’s brazen hair is a torch amidst fog, its perk hue garnering the eyes of all in the Cathedral. He is dressed in a suave black suit. It boasts minuscule gold embellishments followed by a hefty crimson cape draped on his shoulders. Even dressed in the furs and fabrics of royalty, one could sense a distinct awkwardness from him. If you’re going to marry her, at least look confident, brother.

It hurts. He cannot lie to himself - not that Kaeya was trying to in the first place. There is a pain associated with seeing the woman he loves marrying the brother that no longer desires to even speak to him. Now, Kaeya regrets standing up from his busy work. These thoughts won’t stop their festering, and it punches a hole through his stomach. Kaeya is all-too-aware that tonight, you will climb into Diluc’s sheets. He’d treat you kindly, of course. He grew up with Diluc and has seen his rigorous nobility tutors shape him into the gentleman he is today. There is no doubt that you will live a lavish life of luxury. A life Kaeya could never afford to give you.

In Khaenri’ah, Kaeya’s title of ‘Prince’ holds as much merit as it does in Teyvat. His people are dead or suffering. His city has crumbled into dust and shards of a forgotten legacy. Kaeya himself serves one purpose, and that is to bring glory back to the Eclipse Dynasty. It is in these times that Kaeya regrets being born royalty to a lost nation. In the solace of his chambers, Kaeya would stare at the painted ceiling and ponder. If I were born someone else entirely, would you give me a chance? But who is he kidding? Kaeya knows he’s handsome. It’s stupid and unreasonable to be so self-deprecating. He isn’t the one marrying you because he wasn’t Diluc Ragnvindr. He wasn’t from a line of Mondstadtian heroes; he was from the ashes of sinners and embers of civilization. He was Kaeya Alberich, Cavalry Captain of the Knights of Favonius, caught between familial loyalty and a stinging betrayal. Of course he wasn’t marrying you.

The Cathedral doors groan as the nuns heave them open. Light floods in and frames the feminine body of the lady of Mondstadt. In your hands, a bouquet of calla lilies. On your body, a silken robe of pearls and diamonds. It flows at your back, fluttering in the blessed gales of Barbatos’. Kaeya swore that as a Khaenri’ahn, he would never see the Gates of Celestia. But this… this, he thinks, might be the closest glimpse he gets. No one dares to speak. She is beautiful. She has always been beautiful. Time slows as Kaeya lets himself take in the sight of you pledging your livelihood to his brother, and his brother’s livelihood to you.

Then, as if he is an innocent child once again, Kaeya closes his eyes as you two kiss. Clapping and cheers fill the atmosphere.

“To the Ragnvindr’s! Oley!”

“Say, Kaeya, do you ever wanna get married?” The girl questions from Kaeya’s backside.

“Maybe. Then I can show off in front of my lovely wife! That would be cool, wouldn’t it, Diluc?” Kaeya jests, elbowing his step-brother’s chest. Diluc rolls his eyes, ever the prodigy.

“We’re still young. There’s no use thinking about such things. Shouldn’t you focus on training?” He grumbles. Kaeya knows that he will never have a lucky wife. He will never have a healthy family, or a thriving home, or a genuine relationship. Those are nothing more than dreams to Kaeya.

The girl grabs Kaeya’s arm and begins running into the fields of grapes and firs. There is a childlike giggle dispersing for all in the neighborhood to hear, fading out as they lose sight of the manor. Reaching the edge of the cliffside, they halt. It overlooks a sapphire river below, fit for one of Master Crepus’ paintings. Diluc had been abandoned long ago.

“Hey, Kaeya, the water kind of looks like your hair.” The girl remarks, nuzzling closer to him. He feels his heart thrashing in its cage, begging him not to react, begging him not to ruin the fate of his country. To the girl, he smells of linen, lampgrass, and sweat, much as a kid his age should. Silence settles onto their shoulders, both of them catching breaths that had been stolen in the wind. “I didn’t ask before because I thought Diluc would get mad, but… Kaeya, how about we get married when we grow up?” How silly, Kaeya thinks. I couldn’t marry you if I wanted to.

“Hmm, okay. So you’ll be my lucky wife then?” Kaeya plummets down onto the grass and grins. It tickles the back of his neck and stains his blouse a verdant green. He dreams of dreaming, because that is all Khaenri’ahns like him can do. He dreams of coming home to your embrace or trudging back from battle hand-in-hand. Either one is okay. Anything with you is okay.

“Of course, stupid. That’s what marriage is. So you’ll be my lucky husband!” Lucky husband. It fills his heart with an immature pride too chaste for a traitor of his caliber.

“Deal!”

“Deal.”

They are naive children making impossible promises, but a part of Kaeya has never unlatched from those delicate whispers. Khaenri’ahns dream of dreaming, but just this once, Kaeya wished he could dream of you.

“So, Sir Kaeya, are you going to marry soon? Youth is fleeting! Get a wife while you’re young.” One of the Knights suggests, sliding him a suggestive beam. Kaeya let’s himself open his eyes. He processes the blinding light from colored panes of glass spilling over him, the jovial expressions of the citizens he has sworn to protect, and you grasping onto Diluc’s arm, a longing of adoration phasing across your features. Happy. You are happy. He turns towards the knight, cracking a smile.

“Don’t be silly - I’m already married, Huffman.” He lets the novice soldier ogle at him for a few seconds. “I’m joking. Lighten up.” Huffman releases a hearty chortle, commenting on his Captain’s sense of humor and putting a hand to his chest. He laughs along, but Kaeya knows there is no joke.

Don’t be silly. I’m already married. It was a deal, after all.

#kaeya x you #kaeya x reader #genshin kaeya #kaeya alberich #genshin impact x reader #genshin #noctis-noctua

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wonderlustlucas · 4 years ago

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jack pot ; part 3 - hwang hyunjin

⇢ prompt You know it’s bad when you’re high as a kite and he’s still on your mind. ⇢ pairing hwang hyunjin x female reader ⇢ word count 6.4k ⇢ genre fluff & angst (not heavy, just in a slow burn kind of way) ⇢ warnings (18+) drug use, a suggestive make out & the mention of a boner twice maybe ⇢ summary College is a matter of working hard and playing hard. It’s an opportunity to start fresh, to grow as an individual and to blossom with those you befriend. People come and people go, leaving their mark on your life and showing you all the parts of becoming an adult. Some, however, do more than leave their mark. Some take just as much as they give. Things become complicated once they take the entirety of your love because you outright offered it to them.—college!au ; stoner!au ; friends to lovers!au ⇢ a/n AAAAAAAA omg im so excited to post this, this by far is my fav part of jack pot & i cant wait to hear what u all think!!! sorry its a bit shorter than the other parts, & technically this is the *last* part, but there will be an epilogue where you will see how everything comes to be!!!! have fun reading!!! <3

⇠ part 2

five.

“Oh, fuck, he’s good,” Yeji gasps, shoving her phone into Maddie’s hands before faceplanting into the table.

“Are you H-T-T-P because I’m colon-slash-slash without you,” Maddie reads with a chuckle, thumbs hesitating over the keyboard. “Quick, YN, look up some pick-up lines.”

Closing the tab on the article you should be reading but has been long forgotten, you promptly do as you are told and open the first link from your search, Minho and Jisung leaning in to help. “There,” Jisung stops you, pointing to one, “’Are you a parking ticket? Because you have fine written all over you.’”

The table can’t help but burst into laughter at such a sentence. It’s stupid, but ever since Yeji and Kim Sunwoo began texting, their conversations have been full of tacky puns and emoji-filled compliments.

“Damn,” Maddie whistles, setting the phone back into Yeji’s limp hand, “he’s already typing back.”

“Gross,” Ryujin teases, busy typing away on her laptop. How she manages to multitask so well is a skill you certainly lack. “Why don’t you just like, I don’t know, ask him out?” Jisung asks and when you glance up, he’s looking at you. “Because that’s the guy’s job,” Maddie quickly saves the day, winking to you when you send her a grateful smile.

“Bullshit,” Jeongin scoffs. Everyone, even Ryujin, stops to look at him.

Did he just curse?

“I mean, like,” he stammers, cheeks turning rosy at all the attention, “it’s 2020. Guys have insecurities, too.”

“I agree,” Minho hums, looking to Maddie with hearts in his eyes, “that kind of confidence is enough to make any boy fall in love.”

“Yeah, but—”

Lia rebuts, but your attention quickly falls elsewhere when a text message first appears on your laptop, then your phone.

hwang hyunjin🦔🕺🏻💞🧻 [now] Where r u rn?

Unable to fight your smile, you quickly type back.

[3:39 PM] YN: outside hollin st café [3:39 PM] YN: why? :)

“Have you seen their new house, YN?” Minho asks, prompting you to click your phone off and set it back on the table. “Whose house?”

“Changbin’s parents.”

“Oh,” shaking your head, you distantly curse Chan for keeping your friend busy today. Unlike Jisung, Changbin likes to write lyrics and do whatever other music stuff during the day at a normal time instead of the middle of the fucking night while stoned and trying to finish his computer science assignments at the same time. “No, he forgot to send me pictures.”

“Dude,” Jisung sighs dreamily, “it’s huge. So nice. I think the front door alone could cover tuition.”

“Is it really that nice?” Maddie asks in awe.

“He started to show me pics the other day but couldn’t finish but the kitchen… unnecessary,” Ryujin quips, pausing her work to check her phone. “Yeah, it’s insane. The whole place is unnecessary but the kitchen is like, a house in itself,” Jeongin hums, head shaking in disbelief.

“Damn, now I really want to see it,” you sigh, making a mental note to hunt Changbin down so he can show you. “It’s like Hyunjin and his rings,” Minho snickers, “he has so many. Whenever we’re out, if he sees a ring, boom. It’s his.”

Well, he’s not wrong but… You bite your tongue no matter how badly you wish to defend Hyunjin and his affinity for rings and jewelry in general. The boy has taste, what can you say? You certainly are not complaining about Hyunjin’s long fingers and the way he chooses to decorate them.

“I never thought I’d hear Changbin’s parent’s kitchen be analogous to Hyunjin’s jewelry collection, yet here we are,” Maddie chuckles, leaning over Yeji to peek at her conversation with Sunwoo.

“Wow, speak of the devil,” Jisung pipes up of course as soon as you have reopened the tab to your assignment. Changbin or Hyunjin, you don’t know, head whipping up to find out and a peculiar mix of relief and panic settling over you once you spot the latter. “Uh oh, YN’s gonna go into cardiac arrest.”

As subtly as you can, you elbow Jisung in the stomach and smile at Hyunjin as he nears. “Hey,” keeping his eyes on you, Hyunjin approaches your table and stops behind Maddie opposite from you, “I’m sorry, I should have asked if you were busy.” His cheeks, already flushed, burn pinker once he looks away to smile weakly at everyone else.

“I’m not busy!” You squeak, scrambling to close your laptop and shove it in your bag. “Are you sure? I can come back later?” He offers, tilting his head and this is when you realize he is holding a bubble tea in each hand. And from the looks of it, one seems to be your usual order. “No, she’s not,” Jeongin answers for you, recognizing your stupefied expression.

“I was just – yeah. No,” rushing to stand and swing your legs out around the bench, you nearly fall flat on your face, “I wasn’t doing anything, actually.” Steadying yourself with a hand on Minho’s shoulder, you heave a labored breath before carefully walking to meet Hyunjin.

“Okay,” he beams, either oblivious to how flustered you are or simply choosing to ignore it. Turning to wave to your friends, he hands you one of the cups and you realize it is, in fact, your favorite boba. Oh boy. “See ya later,” you wave to them as well, nose wrinkling when both Jisung and Maddie wink in return.

Following after Hyunjin, you finally allow yourself to take notice of his attire and can’t help but feel confused. He looks good. And not in the good attractive way—he always looks good. But good as in formal. It’s four o’clock on a Tuesday in October and he’s out here looking as if he just got out of a business meeting. White button-down tucked into fitted black slacks, dress shoes, black tie, and he even has a black suit jacket draped over his arm. His hair is styled, too; ever since he dyed it back to black, he’s been growing it out long enough for his bangs to cover his eyes. Now, however, it’s parted down the middle and seems as if he’s ever so slightly curled it away from his face.

Suddenly, you feel ridiculous walking beside him in mom jeans and a baggy sweatshirt from high school.

“Thanks for the boba,” you mumble around your straw, brain still preoccupied trying to get over how utterly handsome he is. “Why do you look so fancy?”

The side of his mouth twitches up at your words, but his eyes stay glued to the sidewalk as you continue to your unknown destination. “I had an audition,” Hyunjin admits, voice devoid of emotion as if it’s not important at all. “An audition?” You echo. “Why do you sound so not super mega excited? How did it go? What was it for?”

“Well—”

“Wait!” You interrupt, stopping your walk once you realize he had an audition and you didn’t know. “You had an audition? What – why didn’t you tell me?”

Hyunjin frowns, avoiding your gaze and dragging his bottom teeth over his top lip. “I didn’t tell anyone,” he finally says before reaching for your hand and tugging you away from the walkway and into your campus’ main courtyard. “Why? Is it some sort of secret or something, Hyunjin?” You scoff, sounding way more annoyed than you intended. But you are annoyed; why didn’t he want to tell anyone?

“No,” he sighs, finding an empty area in the grass and lowering himself to sit, “I just… didn’t want anyone to know. Didn’t want to make it a big deal.”

“Hyunjin,” you sigh, visibly softening for him and settling down next to him, crisscrossing your legs, “it is a big deal. I don’t know what it’s for, but if it’s important enough for you to audition, then it’s important to us, too. You don’t need to be humble twenty-four-seven, you know. I’m sure you could have used our support.”

“I didn’t get it, though,” Hyunjin whispers, “they just – I didn’t get in. I wasn’t good enough.” Sensing the sadness in his voice, you find a lump forming in your throat when you notice the way his bottom lip trembles. “Hey,” panicking, you set your boba down and sit up on your knees to wrap your arms around him, cradling his head into your chest once tears start falling, “no. Don’t ever say you’re not good enough, Hyunjin.”

“But if I did better, practiced more, than I would—"

“Stop,” you hush, combing your fingers through his hair and brushing strands away from his eyes, “I’ve never met someone who works as hard as you do. You can’t beat yourself up over this. Everything happens for a reason. You don’t know what could have happened if you got in. You could have hurt yourself eventually, or maybe met someone who’s a real asshole.”

“Yeah,” is all he says, quiet and muffled when he turns to press his forehead into your sternum, body still trembling as he lets out all his tears. You stay like that for a while, holding him against you and soothing a hand up and down his back until his sniffling falls quiet. “Listen,” you finally sigh, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him back. Your heart sinks once you take in the wet trails down his cheeks and the puffiness of his eyes. “Forget about it. Was it something for dance?”

When he nods subtly, you cup his face in your hands and swipe his cheeks with your thumbs. “You are an amazing dancer, Hyunjin. You can’t let this get to your head. And I don’t want you working your ass off more than you do already. Practice makes perfect, sure, but you need to rest. What about the idea Changbin came up with?”

“The YouTube thing?”

“Yes! Filming dance tutorials or just posting your routines is a really good idea,” you remind him, wiping your hands on your jeans once he falls back onto the grass with a gentle thud, hair flaying around him like a halo. Your limbs twitch with the urge to lie beside him, maybe throw an arm around him and rest your cheek on his chest, fingers tracing the soft features of his face, stroking through his hair and reminding him just how innately perfect he is, inside and out. You, of course, resist such a temptation, flopping down beside him and staring up at the clouds with a heavy heart.

“I could do that. Maybe,” Hyunjin huffs. Tilting your head to look at him, you find yourself knee-deep in that familiar longing feeling, pausing simply to appreciate how pretty he is in the evening sun, cheeks rosy from crying and hair begging to be touched. Shaking your head to rid such daydreams, you remind yourself how fragile his emotions are right now. Now is no time to get caught up on a fantasy. Reaching for your tea, you lean up on an elbow and redirect your gaze to the trees, the promise of winter having turned what was green burnt sienna and butterscotch, leaving trees barren and branches swaying gently in the crisp breeze that leaves you curling into yourself. “You should,” you hum, distant, mind clawing to come up with the words you want to say.

“Come here,” Hyunjin says now, voice stronger than before and when his hand wraps gently around your wrist, you can’t find it in yourself to resist. Allowing him to pull you back down beside him, you curl into his side, resting your head a safe distance away from his own and onto the curve of his arm. “Thank you for being so good to me,” he expresses. You squeeze your eyes shut when the arm you lie on wraps around your shoulders and pulls you substantially closer. “I need to tell you something.”

A long stretch of silence falls upon you and for a moment, you are unsure the words even left your mouth. What are you thinking?

“Wait! I have something first,” Hyunjin sighs, missing the way your breath hitches. “Okay,” you whisper, fiddling with one of the buttons on his shirt and focusing all your attention there.

“I just – I think… I owe you an apology,” he finally says, “I need to apologize for something that I did a while ago that I know probably hurt.” Your chest tightens. There’s a lot that has hurt you when it comes to Hyunjin, but none that he’s done purposely. None that are his fault. None that he should be apologizing for.

“I feel like we came to some mutual understanding to not mention what happened when we were freshmen, but it kills me to know that – that something happened, and we never talked about it,” Hyunjin starts, grip tightening on your shoulder and suddenly, you think you are dreaming. This cannot possibly be real. “I know it was awkward but, I also know me and Yiren dating was… ah. I don’t know.”

When he falls silent, you are unsure of what to say or do. You have no idea what the end goal of this conversation is. Hardly a minute ago, your heart and your brain decided it was time to tell him. Now, you’re not so sure you can do that until he finishes, and you are not about to give him your two cents if his reasoning for bringing it up is not the same as yours.

“I just want to apologize for not being brave enough to talk to you about it. I know I was confused, but I’m sure it was worse for you when they told you about her,” Hyunjin continues, sensing your rendered silence, “and it’s been so long since that happened, and now, you’re one of my closest friends.” Ouch.

“But I’ve been thinking,” when he picks up again, your eyes fly open in a panic. He’s been thinking. Hyunjinhas been thinking. You think you are going to pass out. “And I just feel like we… me and you, I mean—"

The standard iPhone alarm blares from beside you, promptly cutting him off and you think it is the biggest cockblock known to man. “Shit,” he hisses, leaning up to tug his phone from his pocket and in the process nudging you from your comfortable position. Sitting back up, nerves aflame and heart racing, your brows shoot up in confusion when all he does is stare at the number calling him. “What are you doing?”

“It’s the studio I was just at,” he scoffs in disbelief, barely glancing at you before looking back to his phone. You have never wanted to shrivel up and die as much as you want to right now. “Well? Aren’t you going to answer?”

Hyunjin makes a noise of acknowledgement before tapping the green icon and bringing the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

Sitting quietly beside him, you watch with a forced smile as his hummed responses and subtle nods morph into enthusiastic laughs and wide, beaming smiles. Hyunjin notices your confusion when you tilt your head, mouthing a ‘What?’ to him.

“They made a mistake,” he whispers, covering the speaker of his phone, “read off the wrong Hwang. I’m in.” When he grins excitedly at you, your response isn’t as cheerful as it could be. As it should be. “Yay!” You whisper, clapping gently but quickly turning to your boba when the other line begins speaking again. Looking away, you take a hefty sip, nearly choke on a tapioca ball, and build the walls around your heart up all over again in a matter of seconds.

“I’ve gotta go,” whispering, you manage one more pained smile before getting to your feet and wiping your butt of any possible grass stains, “good luck!” When he shines you one more breathtaking smile and waves excitedly, you hastily head in the other direction, wrapping your arms around yourself and swallowing past the lump that threatens to form the farther you walk.

It must be nice, you think, frantically wiping at your waterline. Must be nice to put yourself out there and have things work out the way you want them to. Must be nice being told you’re ‘in,’ you’re wanted, you’re desired.

It must be nice.

six.

Pick up food, you said. Ask Jisung, you said.

Your conscience is a big fat oompa loompa ass bitch. You would have never called Jisung to ask him if he wanted anything from Taco Bell if you knew he was with Changbin. And not just Changbin, you realized four minutes into your call; Seungmin and Hyunjin, too. Apparently he went over their place to record, or something, and didn’t care to let you know. Not that you’re his mom and he has too—but it would have been nice, and would have saved you from spending almost fifty dollars at Taco Bell.

“I tried calling Jisung but he didn’t answer,” you snap once Seungmin answers your call with a muffled hello. “Can one of you please come out and help me carry this in?” You glance at the five large sodas and two bags full of food in your passenger seat with a grimace. “Sure,” he agrees and you make a mental note for the umpteenth time just how much you love Seungmin, “I’ll be out in a sec.”

True to his word, you spot him making his way out of their apartment and across the small courtyard to meet you by your car not even a minute later, hauling each bag under his arms. “Thank you,” left only with the cupholder, you hurriedly lock your car and follow after him. “No problem. Thanks for being our Uber Eats,” then, pursing his lips, “how much was this?”

“Forty-seven something,” you grumble unhappily, knowing this was a big hit to your debit. “We’ll pay you back, don’t worry,” Seungmin smiles, leading you up the final flight of stairs and kicking open the ajar door.

Immediately, you’re hit with the smell.

“Dear, fucking hell,” making a face, you rub your nose to keep from sneezing, “it reeks in here. How have you guys not been kicked out yet?”

The stench of weed generally does not bother you anymore, but still—they could light a candle, or something. Seungmin shrugs, setting the bags down on the kitchen counter. “Luck, I guess.”

“IS THAT YN?” From another room, you hear Changbin shout, followed by an excited shriek from Jisung. “They’re high. Very high. You’ve been warned,” Seungmin whispers just as tweedle dee and tweedle dum themselves come flying around the corner. “YN!” Jisung grins, engulfing you in a dramatic hug. “Watch,” you hiss, regarding the blunt held between his fingers that comes dangerously close to your hair.

“Sorry,” he smiles, then, without warning, sticks the thing right between your lips. “I didn’t even offer.” Well, when life gives you lemons…

You hesitantly take the hit and blow the smoke away from him. You weren’t planning on getting high today, but here you are. “Thanks,” shaking your head as if that will clear it, you turn to Changbin and snugly wrap your arms around him. Every day you thank the heavens that he is a chill, calm high, unlike your maniac of a roommate.

“Thanks for the food,” fishing into his pockets and pulling out a crumpled ten-dollar bill, he slaps it into your palm. You only hum in reply, shoving it into your own pocket and praying you don’t lose it before you remember to put it in your wallet. “Where’s Hyunjin?” You ask, no longer caring about being slick.

“In his room,” Seungmin answers, rummaging through the bags to find what he ordered. Then, “HYUNJIN!” You jump, reaching for your soda and standing away from the other three until they have claimed whatever belongs to them. No sooner than Seungmin calls for him, you hear a door being cracked open and out comes Hyunjin.

He looks extremely disheveled. Like, just woke up from a two-month hibernation, disheveled. In the blink of an eye, however, he rakes a hand through long blonde hair and promptly sets a baseball cap backwards to keep the strands away and suddenly, he doesn’t look so disheveled anymore. You force yourself to look away, cursing the way your gut twists.

“Gimme my crunchwrap,” you say around your straw, snatching the blunt from Jisung’s fingers and moving around him to fetch your dinner. He doesn’t even protest.

He knows you need it more than he does.

“That’s a lot of food,” Hyunjin says once he has finally entered the kitchen, voice groggy and eyes puffy from sleep. Or from being high, you can’t tell. Pressing his chest to your back, he wraps one arm around you to keep you against him while the other reaches into a bag to take what’s his. Swallowing past the desert dryness of your throat, you manage a thick inhale from the blunt before tilting your head to look at him and mentally thanking the other three for taking it as their cue to head out.

“Not my fault you guys eat like animals,” you chuckle shakily, trying to ignore the firmness of his body against yours, veins prominent on the arm that holds you against him and the ripple of muscle along his abdomen noticeable even through his shirt and yours. Dear god, it is too early for this. Not even seven o’clock and you are already drooling in more places than one.

Hyunjin pouts as if it is not true. “How much do I owe you?” He asks, finally moving away to grab his drink and you can’t help your disappointment, quickly finishing the blunt before tapping it out into one of the many ashtrays. “Don’t worry about it,” you wave off, digging through their drawers for a paper plate.

“YN,” Hyunjin deadpans, regarding you with a raised brow once you come up and begin unwrapping your food. You refuse to look him in the eye. “What do I owe you?” He repeats, firmer this time and it sends a chill down your spine when it most certainly should not. Sighing, you retrieve the receipt from your pocket and count everything he got. “Thirteen.”

Humming in content, Hyunjin reaches for his wallet on the counter and pulls a ten and five out. “There,” he beams, tucking the bills into your pocket himself. Rolling your eyes, you pray he does not notice how you flush and hurry out of the kitchen to join Seungmin on the sofa.

“House Hunters?” You ask with a laugh, looking at the TV once you have settled next to him. “I told you HGTV is the best.”

Seungmin hums in agreement. “I thought it was stupid at first, but Hyunjin was watching Fixer Upper and I got addicted,” he says, nodding to the older boy doing a little dance in the kitchen as he eats one of his tacos. Your heart does somersaults at the sight. “They’re all so good,” you agree after taking a few bites of your own food, eyes trained on the television, “House Hunters is a classic, though.”

“I like the international one,” Hyunjin adds on his way over, crashing unceremoniously next to you. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Seungmin wrinkle his nose when Hyunjin sets his free hand casually on your thigh. “Shh,” he grumbles, vaguely gesturing to the screen and chewing a mouthful of food, “I wanna hear what the house has.”

One episode turns to two, which turns to three, which turns to four, and suddenly you have been watching House Hunters with Seungmin and Hyunjin for almost three hours. It definitely is the weed, always making time perpetually slower, and it did not help when Jisung and Changbin reappeared sometime during your binge with one of Felix’s bongs. Not necessarily how you intended to spend your precious Friday night, but there is no sense in complaining when you are with your buddies and Hyunjin, of course.

Taco Bell long gone, you watch with blurry eyes when Hyunjin gets up from his slumped position against you to head into the kitchen and open the freezer. This, as well as the realization that House Hunters has ended and gone to some other, not-as-cool show, brings both you and Seungmin somewhat back to reality.

“It’s almost ten,” Seungmin announces, staring dazedly at the time on his phone. You hum in acknowledgment, certainly sober enough to reply but simply too lazy to. “I think I’m going to bed. Or play something. Don’t wreck the place,” he sighs, dragging a hand down his face before standing up. “G’night, Minnie,” you smile, watching with a furrowed brow as he continues down the hall and into his room. It isn’t until you hear his door click shut does the weight of being alone with Hyunjin settle on your chest.

It’s not like you haven’t spent time alone with Hyunjin before. In fact, that usually is the way it’s been in the past three years; whether the two of you decided to do your own thing or the rest of your friends eventually left or went to bed, you are used to this feeling. Used to ignoring the butterflies in your gut when he does something particularly cute and used to tampering down the mental images you conjure up knowing it’s just you and him.

But that doesn’t make things any easier. No matter how hard you try, you simply can’t help but feel this way around Hyunjin, especially when you’re alone. That’s just the way the cookie crumbles.

“Whatcha wanna watch?” Hyunjin asks around one last spoonful of ice cream before setting the pint back into the freezer. “Uhh…” You drone, blinking heavily at the TV and back to him as he makes his way back over. “I dunno, I’m sure you’ve been watching some drama. You can put that on.”

“You sure?” He asks with a raised brow, collapsing next to you and slumping dramatically halfway down the cushions. “Yes,” laughing, you find yourself reaching out to tuck messy strands of hair back behind his ear without hesitation, “also, why are you wearing a hat inside?”

Hyunjin pauses, straining to look up as if he will be able to see the back of his cap against his forehead. “I’m wearing a hat?”

“Yes, you idiot,” in comes the endless weed giggles and you find yourself unable to stop laughing, watching with teary eyes as he sits up and takes his hat off. “I don’t remember putting this on,” he chuckles airily, flipping the cap back and forth in his hands before tossing it onto the coffee table. “Should I cut it?”

“No!” You shout a little too quickly and a little too loudly. Shrinking against the arm of the couch, you ignore his amused smile and look to his long hair, freshly bleached strands falling down to his neck and shorter pieces brushing against his cheeks. Fuck, it should be illegal to look this good. “I like it long. It really suits you.”

“It’s annoying,” Hyunjin grins despite his complaint, lifting his legs onto the couch and flopping onto his side, head now resting on your lap. “I don’t know what to do with it.”

Now that he’s offered playing with his hair on a silver platter, you don’t hesitate combing your fingers through it, tugging out pieces stuck under his head and brushing it out completely. “You could pull the sides back,” you hum distantly, separating a section of hair near his temple to pull back, “or make a bun with what you can. You just have to play around with it.”

Humming in agreement, Hyunjin resituates himself after reaching for the remote and switching to Netflix. When you go back to simply raking your fingers from root to tip in irregular directions, you don’t miss the way his eyelids flutter at the motion and make sure to pay extra attention to his scalp. When this turned into a head massage, you’re not entirely sure.

The drama Hyunjin puts on is unbearable. You stopped paying attention a while ago, focusing more on him and how he seems to enjoy it, fingers busy braiding random sections of hair, taking them out, and then braiding them again. With two finally done the way you want them to, you are midway through the third when your fingers begin to cramp up.

“Why’d you stop?” Hyunjin asks seconds after you drop the braid and stretch your fingers out. “Fingers are cramping,” chuckling at the disappointed pout of his lips, you crack what knuckles you can before going back and undoing the unfinished braid. “Oh,” he mutters, cheek still pressed against your leg, “feels good.”

Humming in response, you ignore the way his words make your heart swell and begin gathering all his hair into a ponytail, pressing the braids to lay flat and finally tying it with a hair tie once you have combed up all that you can. Immediately, his bangs and hairs closer to the nape of his neck fall out, leaving the ponytail spikey and messy. At least the braids look good. You can’t help but giggle.

“What?” Hyunjin asks, pausing his show and leaning up. “What’d you do?”

“Go see for yourself,” pointing to the bathroom, you comb out a looped piece of hair before he stands to do just that. His ponytail bobs the entire walk there.

When he reaches the door and flips the light on, you watch from your position as he checks himself out, brushing away his bangs and flicking the pony. You frown when he accidentally yanks at a braid.

“Come here,” you say, sitting up, “you messed up the braid.”

“Honestly,” Hyunjin considers his reflection one last time before skipping his way over, “it doesn’t look half bad.” Expecting him to sit back next to you, your pulse quickens when he anchors a hand to the armrest and leans in front you, only inches away from your face. “No, definitely,” you say once you have gotten over the shock of him being so close so suddenly, “I like it in the ponytail. You’d really impress the girls if you braided your hair yourself.” Reaching up to tuck hair back into the braid and press it down flat once more, you don’t miss the way his brows draw together and lips twitch down. “What?”

Time ceases to exist as Hyunjin begins to come closer. In reality, you know it simply is a matter of seconds, but all of space and time seems to still once he leans forward. It feels as if an eternity goes by, allowing you to count each individual eyelash, memorize the details of his skin, take note of the smoothed lines on his plump lips. The way time slows is cruel; it allows panic to set in, the realization that he most certainly is looming over you with his eyes on your lips sending a spark of excitement and anxiety through your veins.

And then, just as this realization and this panic has set your nerves aflame, a gentle hand comes to cradle your jaw before Hyunjin’s lips press against yours.

It is so easy to surrender to the taste and touch of him. Instantly, an eruption of emotions and thoughts spiraling out of control fills you, yet your brain focuses only on Hyunjin, Hyunjin, Hyunjin. This is not the first time you have kissed him, nor the first time simply having him so close, but the feeling that radiates from your heart outward is unlike anything you have felt before. This is uncalled for. This is not like two years ago. You were not expecting this.

Hyunjin sighs into the kiss when you lean up to loop your arms around his neck. No sooner have you done this, he breaks away to sit beside you once more, hands reaching for your waist and guiding you to sit over his lap.

You could kiss him all day, you think, palms lying flat by his collarbones before fisting the material of his shirt when his tongue prods at the seam of your lips. Blood seemingly coming to a boil and nerves sparking dangerously, you find yourself quickly sobering up as the minutes tick by, completely and utterly addicted to him and this feeling, this feeling you have craved but never crossed the line for. And now, it’s yours to keep.

Forgetting the braids, you seize the opportunity to rake your fingers through his hair. Different, than how you did earlier. Desperate. Combing it away from his face once, twice, swallowing his groans when you tug at the roots, you realize with a whine that his hands have left your face in favor of dragging down your sides, circling back to squeeze at your breasts, rubbing at your thighs and finally sliding back to your ass, situating you more comfortably on his thighs.

When Hyunjin finally breaks the kiss to journey elsewhere, littering chaste kisses across your jaw, below your ear, down your neck, the weight of your actions finally hits you. It is overwhelming, the way you come spiraling back to reality, and you are not sure if the quiet moan that leaves you is due to the press of something else against your thigh or simply the realization that you are making out with Hyunjin.

You have to stop before you get hurt again.

“Hyunjin,” you gasp, shuddering when his soft lips brush against your jaw, “wait. We need to talk.”

He pauses at this, fingers digging into your sides and you feel his frown against your neck. “What’s there to talk about?” He murmurs, arms sliding around you and tugging you closer, prompting you to wrap your arms around his neck and hug him close and pretend like his boner isn’t digging into you.

It’s your turn to frown. “About us,” whispering, you lift one hand to stroke through his hair, “we need to talk about us.”

“I thought my feelings were very clear,” Hyunjin scoffs, all tenderness in his voice gone. Instinctively, you lean back, blinking at him in surprise. “Unless this is just another one of your games? Does this not mean anything to you, YN? I don’t think I could stomach you running off to Changbin or fucking Chan again.”

His words pierce your heart before you have even fully processed them, hurt flashing across your features and your body goes numb. “What?” Is all you can manage, scrambling to get away from him, chest heaving and eyes suddenly burning with the brine of tears. “What are you talking about, Hyunjin?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about!” He shouts. You flinch, not from the way he raises his voice, but from the genuine sadness in his eyes. “The past three years have been a constant battle with you. We’re best friends, for fucks sake, I figured out a long time ago that you have feelings for me. Feelings more than best friends. Yet every fucking time we started moving in the right direction, you turned your back on me.”

You can do nothing but stand there and let the tears fall. All the words and bottled emotions you wish to say are right there on the tip of your tongue, but you simply cannot bring yourself to voice them. Not when he’s right. Not when you have turned your back on him time and time again.

And then, he hisses more to himself than you, “Is this just sloppy seconds? You never once thought about my feelings in all of this?”

The anger brewing within you suddenly bursts from the dam and hisses through your body like deadly poison. “Sloppy seconds?” You snarl, fists clenching. “Who the fuck do you think you are? Your feelings? You just said you know how I feel about you, so why didn’t you ever do anything about it? How was I supposed to know you felt the same?”

“I thought it was pretty fucking obvious,” Hyunjin spits back, gaze narrowing, “didn’t think I had to spell out the fact that I like you, YN. You’re a smart girl.”

“Do not treat me like a child,” clenching your jaw, you have to look away for a moment, pacing one, two, three steps, hands raking through your hair and wiping away the stream of tears from your cheeks. You have never been filled with such rage. Having finally reached its boiling point, it now consumes you whole, sweeping off in waves and destroying all boundaries. “Confessing is not an easy thing, as you apparentlyknow, so don’t make me seem like the only idiot here. But maybe I was wrong about you if you think of me as just sloppy seconds.”

“I never said that!” Hyunjin barks, standing up to grasp your wrist when you turn away to grab your keys. “Don’t put words in my mouth! I would never, never think of you that way. I just don’t understand why you never spoke up after all this time. I’ve been dying, YN, you have no clue how badly I have been—”

“Oh, believe me, I know,” you snap, yanking your arm away from him, “I told you, Hyunjin. Telling someone you love them isn’t as easy as learning to ride a bike. You’re right, I have turned my back on you. But not intentionally. I’ve been scared, I’m a pussy, whatever.” Biting your top lip as if it will stop the tears that continue to fall freely, you avoid looking at him and glance back to find not only Seungmin, but Jisung and Changbin, too, peeking out from their doors with eyes blown wide with shock. Once you have noticed them, however, they panic and scramble to get out of sight.

Sighing shakily, you look back to Hyunjin and cannot ignore the way your heart sinks at the sight of him. Even upset, he is beautiful. You wonder how much you will see him after this.

“You don’t have to tell me you like me back to make me feel better, Hyunjin,” bouncing on your heels, you suddenly feel exhausted, body and soul heavy with the words you not only spoke, but heard, too. “We can figure this out another day, but for now, I need to go home. I’ll see you.”

Turning away once more, you do not make it very close to the front door before he stops you once more. “Wait, YN,” Hyunjin huffs, smiling softly when he reaches for your hand and you do not pull away. Running his tongue over his lip, he seems to hesitate for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts.

“Did you mean it when you said you love me?”

⇢ epilogue

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wkemeup · 5 years ago

Text

By Any Other Name (13)

series summary: When Special Agent Bucky Barnes is tasked with infiltrating the notorious gang Hydra and gathering evidence against its leader, Brock Rumlow, Bucky finds himself drawn to the woman who doesn’t seem to belong in this world of violence, the wife of the head of Hydra… you. pairing: bucky x reader chapter word count: 4.1k warnings: smut (18+), a relief from all that angst, a bubble where nothing bad can happen (if only for a moment) 🌹series masterlist 🌹

The air was cool as you followed James into a third story apartment of an old brownstone. Faded bricks lined up the street-side wall and a couple dozen plants in desperate need of watering sat under the windows. The hinges squeaked as the door closed behind you, a few scuffs on the interior and a deadbolt near the lock. You handed him the baseball cap he insisted you wear to obstruct your face and the heavy overcoat you borrowed.

James smiled nervously at you as he started to shrug off his jacket, watching the way you stepped further into the quaint, one-bedroom apartment. The couch looked to be a few years old, well-worn with use from the dip in the cousins and the faint discoloration of sunlight draped along the backrest. There were newspapers and mail piled high on the kitchen table, an empty mug on the coffee table in the living room, a sweatshirt hung over the back of a chair by the television.

It was so domestic, so genuine; a glimpse into the place where he felt most at home. Safe.

“It’s cute,” you commented, gesturing to the open floor plan that allowed you to step from the furthest end of the kitchen to the wall of the living room in less than ten paces. You touched the exposed brick along the wall by the fireplace, the slight prickles of the cement scraping your fingertips.

“It’s a closet,” James laughed, shaking his head. The edges of his hair fell into his eyes but he quickly brushed it away. “It’s nothing compared to--”

“Maybe I like a closet,” you said, cutting him off before he could even bring up the home you’d been kept locked away in like a prisoner. It was extravagant and spoiled in riches, but it was cold and unkind. You trailed your fingers along the edge of his couch, soft under your nails, as you made your way back to him. “It’s nice to see something that’s really yours.” A pause as he nodded, smile brimming on his face though his cheeks were flushed. “This is your apartment, right? It’s not just part of the cover?”

James laughed at that. “Yeah, it’s mine. Bureau wouldn’t dare spend an extra dime to get James Karpov a nicer place.”

You stood in front of him, tips of your fingers gently dancing around his own until your hands intertwined and you felt the bare warmth of his palms heat the chill of your skin. Leaning into his chest, you cherished the oaky scent of his shampoo, letting your gaze wander around the small, Brooklyn based apartment, that held so many clues to the real identity of the man whose heart you could hear thumping inside his chest.

Baseball cards were framed, but not hung, leaning against the wall on the top bookcase. Sneakers kicked off by the front door like he’d just come back from a run and didn’t quite have the energy to get them in the closet just yet. The manila envelopes stacked on the end table by the couch with coffee rings on the top.

There were a dozen pillows floating around between the couch and the love seat, an old woven rug placed underneath and candles sitting on the fireplace mantel. Photos hung on the walls of the faces you’d been reacquainted with just hours ago; their smiles beaming, mid laugh, dressed in what looked like matching softball outfits with ‘FBI’ embroidered across the front. All so exceptionally normal.

“Y/n?” he called softly, a strain in his voice that surprised you.

“Hmm?”

“You think you might--” he paused, a heavy breath out. “You think you might ever forgive me?”

You pulled back, startled by his question, to find him chewing on his lower lip, tugging at dried skin and trembling exhales past his tongue. Careful hands reach up to the sides of his face, thumbs tracing over cheekbones and grazing the scratch of bristles along his beard line.

“For what?” you asked gently. “For working tirelessly to put a dangerous criminal behind bars where he belongs? For being so impossibly kind and patient with Peter and treating me like maybe I was worth something more than just a trophy on my husband’s arm? For being the good man I always knew you were?”

You felt the muscles of his jaw clench under your palms, eyes darting down to the floor, but he stayed silent.

“So, I don’t know your real name,” you conceded playfully, trying to pull a smile from his lips, “and maybe you weren’t entirely truthful about what you did for a living, but, James, tonight I found out that the man I love doesn’t blindly kill people for a living, doesn’t willingly work for the same vile monster who trapped me in a marriage and threatened to beat my sixteen-year-old cousin within an inch of his life. You don’t need my forgiveness, James, because what you’ve given me is just... relief.”

You were smiling, weightless almost, and it surprised you to find him frozen under your touch. Wide eyes bore into yours, blue faded to dark grey in the dim lighting of his kitchen, and he slowly unclenched his jaw.

“What did you say?” His voice tense, almost aching, a little desperate and you stitched your brows at the center.

You pursed your lips, repeating the last thing you’d said. “There’s nothing to forgive, so you don’t have to—”

“Not that.”

You narrowed your eyes, confused.

“You said,” James started, unsure as he watched for your reaction, “you said you loved me.”

Had it really slipped out that easily?

You thought about it for a moment, considered the gravity those were held; that they hadn’t been spoken since they were told to a perceived notion of a man who never once cared for you in the way you’d believed. They were an act of manipulation, of deceit, and they had held nothing but disdain.

Until James. Until the beautiful man with a name you didn’t know and the bluest eyes you’d ever seen.

“Did I?” you exhaled; throat dry suddenly.

A flash of panic quickly crossed James features, a harsh breath in and he nervously stuttered out, “you can take it back if you—”

“No!” you blurted out without much of a second thought. You didn’t need one. This was something you were absolutely certain of. You tucked a fallen hair behind your ear and confirmed, “no, I… I don’t want to take it back.”

Leaning onto his chest, you could feel the rapid pace of his heart pulsing beneath your touch. The unsteady rhythm and the deep rise and fall of his breaths, the physical manifestations of the nerves rushing through your own body, though you waited patiently.

“Good,” he said after a while, like he’d needed a moment to find his bearings.

“Is it?” you teased, chewing on the edge of your lip.

He nodded, smiling growing on his face. “Will you say it again?”

“What?” you replied, grinning wildly and feigning confusion. “’The man I love’ or ‘I love you’ or--”

Lips on yours, a laugh in his breath and a smile etched to his cheeks, the words died easily on your tongue. There wasn’t anything quite like the way he kissed you, all warmth and comfort, wet and aching; he kissed like every touch of your lips might be the last time, like he had novels worth of last words to say and all he had was the gentle tug of his teeth to your bottom lip, the sweep of his tongue over yours, to convey what he was desperate to say.

“Any of it,” he gasped, breathless between kisses along your jawline. “All of it. Say it a million times.”

“Greedy, aren't you?” Your stomach was aching with laughter, his lips kissing along your neckline, the crease of your jaw, your collarbone, and his hands roaming along your hips send goosebumps and tingles up your spine.

“Maybe. You should try it yourself sometime,” he teased, labored breath and stunning red color on his lips. Slowly, he cupped the sides of your face, and pressed a tender, chaste kiss to your lips. “I love you.”

You knew and yet your heart was threatening to burst straight out of your chest. It was in the way the plump red of his lips curved into that smile you adored, the winkles up by ocean blue eyes, dimples caved into his cheeks and the faint outline of scars he’d earned protecting the only family you had left.

“I love you,” he said again, followed by a kiss to your forehead. Lingering, gentle, and sweet.

“I love you,” and a kiss to your nose. Brief and chaste.

“I love you.” Lips on your clavicle. Warmer, open and wet.

“I love you.” He sank down to his knees, the wide surface of his palms resting ever so slightly in a feather’s touch upon your waist line, fingers pressing against skin hidden under your shirt.

You watched him, waiting under bated breaths, as he slowly slipping his hands up under the fabric, tracing along your spine. It lifted the edge of the shirt just enough for him to press a kiss to your stomach, just above your jeans.

A sigh escaped you, and you lifted your arms above your head, the tension burning in your skin as he took the hint without question, and slowly peeled the fabric from your body. Up and over your head, brushing your hair from your eyes and you quickly tried to tame it again, but he was smiling so wide you couldn’t be bothered to care for the flyaways.

“I love you.” A dozen times over and every time the words left his lips, silk and butter on his voice, it felt like the first time; it carried goosebumps prickling on your skin and shivers in your spine.

Coming back to his feet, his lips touched the hill of your breast, forcing your eyes to flutter shut. Though, when his tongue flattened, and the warmth of his mouth trailed down to your sternum, you gasped.

He grinned against your skin, knowing exactly what he was doing to you.

“James,” you tried, warning him to stop his teasing, but he hushed you.

“Shh, sweetheart, I’m not done.” His hands snaked up along the indent of your spine, over curves and edges, until his fingers touched the clasp at the back of your bra. His forehead rested on yours, a slight look to your eyes for approval, and with your nod, he swiftly released the clasps.

The material slipped down from your shoulders, straps hanging loosely down by your elbows and he slowly pulled the cushion away from your chest. It fell to the floor and the slight chill of his apartment pebbled at your nipples.

You moved to cover yourself, in the cold and the flush of embarrassment as his eyes had yet to leave your breasts, but there was something about the way he was looking at you; like you weren’t a prize to be won or a stake to claim. You were something of beauty, of astonishment, and the disbelief in his eyes, the genuine awe, allowed your arms to rest at your sides, leaving yourself open and vulnerable to him because for once, you trusted a man to keep you safe.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, fingers trailing around at your hips as he leaned forward to kiss your neck. His lips lowly peppering kisses down your collarbone, over your heartbeat, until he kissed the valley of your breasts. Hands snaked up into his hair, a slight gasp, as his tongue touched the hardened bud.

“I love you,” he whispered, heat of his breath against your breast and he wrapped his lips around the bud. Tongue swirling in gentle circles, teeth grazing ever so slightly over the sensitive peak, though never once in pain. You gasped, digging your nails to his hair and arching your back to the kitchen table.

His hands were everywhere; holding you still, caressing down your waist, anchoring you to the ground while his mouth pushed you high above the clouds.

He moved to the other breast, his right hand coming up to gently massage where his lips could not, a thumb brushing over the nipple, still wet and aching from where he’d left you.

“James,” you whined, a dull ache between your legs and you squeezed your thighs together in refuge. Your hands left his hair and he only smiled in response, sucking harder on the bud and pulling another shaky breath from your lips. Fingers gripped in tight to the edge of his shift, just above his shoulder blades, and you started to tug. “Off. Take this off.”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.” He bent down, let you tug the material up and over his head, discarding it to the floor next to your own. In the moment he tried to lean into you again, to pick up where he’d left off as if going even a moment without touching you – kissing you – was pain within itself, you spotted a faint discoloration on his his chest, one that stilled you in an instant.

“Oh God,” you gasped, a hand pressing to his shoulder to keep him where he stood. There was a heaviness in your voice as your fingers grazed over the raised, light pink edges of scars littering his chest, carving over his shoulders.

He paused, watching you nervously, the playfulness fallen from his face in favor of bated breaths and tension in his jaw.

Fingertips brushed over a particularly prominent one under his ribs, two inches wide, dark in color, like it had healed over a few times. It sat between his muscles, the dip between hardened lines of his stomach, and he shivered under the touch.

“Trafficker in New Orleans,” he said simply, voice low, a thick swallow. “I told you I’ve survived worse than a few punches.”

“You were shot,” you exhaled, hands shaking over the scars and he quickly gathered them in his own, kissing sweetly at your fingers.

“It was a long time ago, love. I’m alright.”

It looked years healed over, like maybe he’d opened the stitches a few too many times because he couldn’t simply sit still and listen to the doctor’s orders. It sounded like him to do such a foolish thing. Too impatient to care for himself when there was work to be done.

“Y/n,” he called gently. “Sweetheart, come back to me.”

Blinking a few times, you found yourself caught up in stormy blue. He smiled sweetly at you, kissing at your hands nestled gingerly within his own.

“I guess I forgot that your job is still as dangerous as it was yesterday,” you admitted, eyes darting to the ground. “But it’s worse than that, isn’t it? Being undercover where you are… it’s more dangerous than just being connected to Hydra.”

“It is,” he confirmed, slow and steady. He had no interest in lying to you anymore, that much you could tell by how easily he replied. There was no hesitation, no pause. His breath was warm over your fingers. “But we’re almost at the end of it. Just one more month. Until the shipment comes in. Then, we’re out.”

“I don’t know if I can last that long,” you confessed quietly and James quickly wrapped you tight into his arms. Chest to chest; skin to skin, and his arms enveloped you close. Hands trailing down the bare of your back, your cheek pressed to his heart.

“You can,” he said, the vibrations of his voice purring against your ear. “I’ll be there with you. You and me, love. I’ve got you.”

Tears blinked over your lashes, touching the skin of his chest. “I’m scared for you.”

“Hey,” he cooed, gingerly pulling you away just enough to see you face. He frowned at the redness in your eyes, the reflection of tears on your cheeks. A thumb brushed up over your cheekbones, carefully sweeping under your eye. “Nothing’s gonna happen to me, okay? I’m good at what I do. I’ve been on dozens of assignments like this and even when shit hits the fan, I still come out on top. I’m still the one walking topside while the bad guys are rotting in jail.”

“But Brock—”

“—doesn’t suspect a thing,” James sighed. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Just let me take care of you tonight, sweetheart; forget about all that waits for us tomorrow. Let me love you.”

There was so much on your mind; images of what Brock might do if he were to ever discover James’ identity, questions of how you were going to spend a month with the knowledge that could get him killed and lie to a master manipulator, fear that you might be the very reason it all comes crashing down.

Your heart rate started to beat a little faster, breaths come in a little quicker, but you felt a slight tug on your hand that pulled you out from under the water.

“Come with me,” James asked, gesturing to the door at the edge of the living room. He had that beautifully sweet smile on his face, one that was exceptionally light and barely even curved the edges of his lips but it lit up bright in his eyes.

You nodded, following him as he guided you through the door. It was dark inside, walls baron white and he flicked the switch to a small lamp in the far corner of the room. It cast a light orange glow over the room, almost like the glow of a dim fire on the edge of extinction. It was just enough to see him; the curves and lines of his muscles and the slight dishevel of his hair.

“It’s just you and me tonight,” he said, gently sweeping your hair away from your shoulder and as his lips touched down along your collarbone. Wet and warm, tracing the bone to your neck. “There’s nothing else. It’s just you and me.”

You nodded, lost in the feeling of his tongue trailing your skin, sucking sweetly at the crevice of your neck until a sigh left you, one that ached deep between your legs. He must have noticed or perhaps it was the way you gripped at his hair or clenched your legs, but James carefully ushered you to the bed, helping you to lay down on your back as he hovered over you. His lips didn’t leave your body for even a second.

His hand trailed down along your stomach, finger tips dancing around the waistline of your pants, and he paused. No question needed to be asked, but one he sought an answer for anyway, and you reached down to unbutton the clasp yourself, slowly wiggling the jeans down your hips and kicking them off the edge of the bed.

A hunger grew in his eyes as he began crawling down your body, peppering kissing along the way; your neck, your breast, stomach, hipbone, until the warmth of his tongue touched over the fabric of your underwear.

“We’ve waited long enough,” you whined, simply wanting him and you were certain you were aching and wet enough from the tension alone. You could feel the gathering pool between your legs, the shift of it when you moved your thighs, the dampness of the fabric.

“There’s always time for this,” he purred and he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your clothed core.

You gasped, hands quickly gathering in his hair, yanking and pulling, though it only seemed to make him laugh. He likely imagined you were just sensitive. It had been almost eight months since you allowed Brock to touch you, though even in his best efforts it was never like this. He was a selfish lover, using your body for his own desire.

The truth was, a man had never kissed you there before, over or under the material covering the most vulnerable, most sensitive parts of you, and James was one that seemed to revel in the privilege of it. He hooked his fingers under the waistband of your panties, a quick look up to you in wait, and with your nod, he slid them down your legs, discarding them with your jeans.

In the cool air of his bedroom, you tried to squeeze your legs closed, but strong hands curled along the insides of your thighs, holding you open and expose. Fingers dug into the soft skin of your legs and though you strained against him, there was give, enough that you could have overpowered him if you really wanted to.

“Easy, love,” James mewled, lips grazing over your inner thigh, slowly skimming up along your curves until the heat of his breath touched your core and a jolt rocked through you. He chuckled, deep and low, and the vibrations of it trembled through you.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, kissing sweetly at the very edge of your leg, right along the curve, and he moaned when your nails dug into his hair. Your eyes fluttered shut just at the sound, the way he rutted against the mattress, his arms snaking around your thighs and caging himself to you.

“I love you,” he said again, teasingly, as he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the very place you’d been aching from, clenching around air in anticipation, and your free hand wrapped tight to the bedpost behind you.

“Shit, James, I—” You couldn’t find words, couldn’t string more than a few together because suddenly, his tongue licked a long stripe through your folds, lapping up the wetness and swirling it around your clit with the tip of his tongue. You gasped as he sucked the bundle of nerves between his lips, sliding two fingers easily inside of you and stroked at your walls.

You could feel his grin against you, the satisfaction of you withering and whining under him. His hips jutted along the bed with every gasp he pulled from you, with every pump of his fingers, and lick of your clit. You’d never known a man to enjoy this the way he did, to find his pleasure in your own.

It was too much. It wasn’t enough. It was heaven.

“Ja—” you bit down on your tongue, your walls clenching at his fingers and he tongue didn’t let up for a second. Your hips moved against his hand, riding him, seeking more because his fingers just weren’t enough.

The peak found you before you were ready for it and you cried out, hips chasing at his fingers as he held you down, sucking furiously at your clit, until the gaze started to subside. A warmth spread through you, limbs heavy and tired, and you’d only come once.

“Come here,” you gasped, tugging gently on his hair as he looked up at you, cheek resting on your thigh, content to stay between your legs for an eternity.

He grinned, slowly crawling back up to you, kissing cervices of your body along the way; the curves that you hid under layers of sweatshirts, the parts of your body that felt used and put on display for a man you despised, now reveled, adored, by a man you so desperately loved.

“Hi.”

You laughed, kissing him on the lips, tasting the tanginess on his tongue. “Hi.”

There was a boyish look on his face, one of a playful kind of awe. “I love you.”

“Yes, I suspect you do,” you teased, smiling up at him. Your hands trailed down his chest, down past his scars, to his jeans where you started to fumble with the clasp. “Show me some more, won’t you?”

“Show you a lot more than that, sweetheart,” James winked, leaning back onto his knees. He straddled over your waist, slowly unbuckling the waist of his jeans. He was teasing you, grinning wildly as he watched the impatience form on your features and you sat up, sliding your fingers between his jeans and his hips, and tugged.

“Need you,” you murmured, pulling down just enough, but paused to let him take the step to fully show himself to you. You looked up at him, wide eyed and eager, chest panting a little, still high from the dull ache between your legs.

“I know, love,” James said sweetly. He pushed himself off of you and quickly removed his jeans, his boxers sliding down along with them. When he stood again, adoringly beautiful kind of smile on his face, he didn’t seem to mind when your eyes lingered downward.

Thick and heavy between his legs, standing against him almost painfully hard, with a drip of precum gathering at his slit. He stepped towards you and you watched how it jolted with his movements. Slowly, James crawled back over you, nestling between your legs as his cock brushed at your slit.

“Wanted you for so long,” he whispered, pained in his voice as he tucked his nose to the crook of your neck. “Loved you for so long.”

“I’m here,” you sighed as a hand slipped up into his hair scratching at his scalp, the other running along his back, tracing over hardened scars and exit wounds, the line of his spine. You pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’m yours, honey. I’m yours.”

His cock brushed along your core, sweeping over your clit and drawing a moan from you. James shivered, a tremble chasing up his spine as he kissed along your jaw, slowly finding his way back to your lips. You brushed the hair from his eyes, meeting ocean blue for a moment under parted lips, and he set his forehead to yours.

His cock edged at your entrance, tip pressing between your folds and into your cunt. You took a breath in and before your exhale, he slid deep into you in one smooth push. He stretched at your walls, a slight ache you had expected quickly melding into a burning desire.

“Move,” you gasped, barely able to get anything else out.

James slowly pulled his hips back, enough so his tip just barely left you before he sank back in. Hot breaths on your neck and he rutted his hips again. The tension of it, the pressure of his width, the touch of his pelvis to your clit; it was like fire and flames, the clearest water, it was refuge and salvation.

Arms wrapped at his shoulders, his chest flush to yours, you lifted your legs, heels pressing to the backs of his thighs to urge him forward with every thrust. All you could take from him, every inch, every touch, every gasp, you wanted it – craved it.

This man, this beautifully selfless man, who volunteered his life to live in the shadows of his own name, to spend each day behind enemy lines at the right hand of the country’s most vile criminals, who managed to help you find pieces of yourself again. He brought hope back into your life. And love.

“Ah-ah, James… I’m—I’m close,” you whimpered, nose scratching along the rough bristles of his beard.

You could hear his heavy pants, the low hums of a moan in his voice, and he snaked a hand between you. His fingers touched your clit, circling gently at first before picking up in pace and pressing down, the pressure pushing you closer to the edge.

“Let go, sweetheart,” he whispered breathily, kissing sweetly, almost innocently, to your cheek. “I’m—I’m right behind you. Let go, love.”

Losing rhythm, his hips chasing his own release as your walls clenched around him, impossibly tight, and your nails dug into his shoulders as you touched cliffs. Running to the drop off, a free fall into the open sky to only clouds and heaven below, you jumped.

Legs gripped tight around him, arms trembling as you held onto him, rocking through the high pulsing down at your core and sweeping through you. James’ breaths were labored, uneven, as he held himself up on the slight shake of his forearms caged around you.

Then, as you leaned up to kiss tenderly at his neck, he released inside of you. A few slow, drawn out thrusts before he stilled, collapsing in his haze and sinking you to the mattress. Full, wet. You gently ran your fingers through his hair as he caught his breath again.

“I’d like to be able to call out your actual name, you know,” you teased, light and airy and cheeks flushed as he slowly raised his head from your chest.

His lips were swollen red, a line of sweat on his forehead, and he chuckled. “I told you James is my name.”

“Not the name you want me to know you as,” you added, remembering well what he’d said in the warehouse.

He nodded. “Soon, sweetheart. I can wait.”

“Not sure I can,” you shrugged playfully, looking away from him out to the window of his apartment to the stars littering the sky and James started to laugh.

“Let me keep loving you like that and you might just test my patience.”

“Maybe that’s my goal.”

He laughed again and you swore it was the most beautiful sound you’d ever hear. You could have spent forever like that, held under his weight, pressed to cotton sheets that smelled of him, full between your legs of the man you so adored.

But he slipped from you, gone before you were ready, and you whined as he stood from the bed. He chuckled at your reaction, bending down to kiss your forehead before he disappeared to the bathroom. The running water of the faucet carried into the bedroom and you settled against the mattress until he returned; the remnants of his release sticky along your inner thighs.

When he returned, he held a washcloth in his hand, warm as he aired it out and steam filtered around it. He touched it to his face first, testing the temperature, before he slowly bent down and ran it along your leg, almost teasingly, until he tenderly wiped along your thighs and pressed it to your center. You sighed, eyes fluttering shut from the lingering sensitivity, and he gingerly cleaned himself from you.

When he was done, he discarded the cloth back to the bathroom with a quick throw and settled in the bed beside you. He held out an arm, giving you space to curl up against him, cheek pressed to his chest, arm draped over his stomach, fingers tracing over a faded scar along his shoulder he told you was from a bad encounter with a slumlord in Chicago.

It was a dream to hold him like this; to be so close you touched every part of him, to be free enough to say the words as they came to your mind, to not have a filter on each movement, to feel safe.

“I’ll have to take you back soon, you know,” James said reluctantly after some time. You felt a kiss press to the crown of your head.

Your heart sank, knowing he was right, that the sun would be up soon and your husband would inevitably return from the ‘business venture’ downtown he’d taken a side trip on following his meeting at the Chinese restaurant.

“Just let me hold you a little while longer, won’t you?” you asked, trying to hold back the lump in your throat, the impeding reality that would come for you soon enough.

“Anything you want, sweetheart,” James sighed, his breath warm against the bare of your skin. It left goosebumps in its wake. “Within these walls, I am completely and entirely yours.”

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n

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