#(AND it wasn't about having to wait for him anymore either because he was good to go before she left

[justapoet]

fear no more the lightning flash

The night is screaming at him. Buck's always been good at being loud enough to distract, bright enough to deflect, and if they notice the tired smile or the stiffness in his voice, they chalk it up to recovery. But they don't know about the dream. About that other life. They don’t know that every time Buck closes his eyes, he’s back in a world where Bobby was gone and Eddie never even existed in his life, and the 118 isn’t home, or family, or real. Or, After the lightning strike, the night is screaming at him, and Buck doesn't know in which reality to believe — the one where he was love, but wasn't himself, or the one where he loves, but isn't sure of who he is. Lightning never strikes twice, but Eddie will do everything to save Buck as many times as it takes.

read it on Ao3 | Chapter 1 of 2

fear no more the lightning flash

The night is screaming at him. 

There are very few cars racing the semaphores close to the loft, and there aren’t any reckless teenagers or drunk men grumbling their distaste for reality outside his window, but the night is screaming at him. The crickets, a rare occurrence, are loud and laughing; the silence, so damn familiar, is fucking hauling in his ears. 

Truly, Buck knows that the night can’t possibly scream at anyone. He learned it back in middle school that it’s all a big metaphor. Prosopopoeia, or personification, is when someone attributes human feelings or characteristics to something, either an object or a concept, he remembers someone trying to teach. A rather nice thing, really, to know and use and tell others about altogether with the other bunch of useless things he knows, but— 

But the night is screaming at him. And Buck can’t possibly be convinced it isn’t literal. He won’t. 

He’s lying in bed, and shivering. The duvet is under his frame, and he can’t move — he won’t move — to cover himself with it. It’s cold, he thinks, and he should do something to warm himself up; but he can’t. 

He won’t. 

Getting comfortable means he’d most likely — undoubtedly — fall asleep. 

And Buck couldn’t— no; he wouldn’t fall asleep. 

Because the night is screaming at him, and his head is throbbing, and his chest is aching. And falling asleep, at this point in life, in these circumstances, means surrendering. 

Buck’s been a hostage of his own head for too long to choose that, now. 

And it’s disconcerting, as much as everything else inside his head seems to be for weeks. He can’t move, he can’t breathe, and the night is screaming at him.

His fingers twitch against the sheets, seeking something — someone — that isn’t there. His breath catches in his throat like it’s afraid to leave him behind.

He stares at the ceiling, even though he can’t see anything in the dark, even though there wouldn’t be anything to see but plain white if he looked up with the lights on. The room is dark, but not empty. There’s a hum in the walls, low and electric, like the echo of a memory he hasn’t shaken loose, and it feels like every single one of those things take space around him.

Something inside him is waiting. Something inside him is wanting, and he isn’t quite sure what he expects from any of it.

Buck presses the heels of his hands into his eyes until stars bloom behind his eyelids, white and distorted and uncomfortable. He’s not crying, he’s not, but there’s a sharpness under his ribs that begs to be exhaled, and he doesn’t know how to let it go of the grasp around his chest, inside his blood, tied to his soul.

It was just a dream. That’s what he tries to keep telling himself — that it was just a dream, something his barely-alive mind conjured for reasons that even science isn’t so sure of. He was out of it, he was barely back alive, and it was just a dream. A delirium. Just a dream, and nothing more.

But the dream made sense, in a way, or it should have. The real world doesn’t make much sense, anymore, and Buck doesn’t know how to deal with it. With any of it. With nothing at all.

The dream was everything he had ever wanted. Everything he was supposed to want. His family loved him, his sister was safe, his brother was alive — and Buck knew about his existence. His parents were kind and loving, his life followed a non-dangerous path, no one died and he didn’t live to take up the space of a ghost he never knew of.

As the night screams at him, it feels like the dream is clawing its way back in, like maybe he never left it. Like maybe he died on that field after all, and this — this cold, screaming night — is just the in-between. Buck’s not so sure which reality is real anymore; and the worst part is not knowing which one hurts more inside his head, around his heart.

His phone buzzes once on the nightstand. A quiet vibration that jolts him like thunder.

Buck doesn’t look at it. He ignores it completely, because the night is screaming at him and he wants it to stop, and there’s too much noise inside his head and too many thoughts swirling around for him to even try and focus on whoever sent something.

Buck doesn’t want to move, but he doesn’t remember standing.

One moment, he’s a statue beneath the weight of insomnia, clawing his bedsheets and squirming around and trying to make the night stop so he can at least face his demons and his fears in silence. The next, his feet are bare against the cold floor, moving like they’ve made a decision he wasn’t part of, and he doesn’t look at anything remotely important in the dark.

He grabs a hoodie — the one Chim gifted him last Christmas, oversized and worn soft — and shrugs it on like armor. He takes his keys, but nothing else; he doesn’t want to belong in the real world where it’d be wise to take his phone and wallet with him, where it would be safest just in case. So, Buck takes his keys, puts the hood over his head and heads out of his apartment, thoughts loud and not a single thing he’s sure of.

He doesn’t have a plan, or any destination he’s trying to reach as he walks, each second faster and faster. He doesn’t want to think about where it could lead as he takes turns and crosses streets without looking to both sides before, and he trusts completely in motion.

The streets are quiet, oddly so, even if the night screams. Even LA sleeps sometimes, though not for long, he knows. The breeze cuts through him like glass, but Buck welcomes it, because it means that his skin and cells are working. It means he’s real. It means he’s awake.

He walks. Then marches. Then, before he can even understand what he’s doing, Buck runs.

Blocks blur into each other until the sky begins to pale — not quite morning, not quite night. Somewhere in between, like him. Still haunted, still hunting for something to hold, something to grasp, something that will tell him what is real and what he can trust and rest his peace or fear over.

Eventually, Buck finds himself at the gym, the one of a chain that is the furthest from his place. He sees it in the distance and doesn’t think much before heading towards the building, because it’s a way of giving his mind some silence — he has to focus on what he’s doing so he won’t get hurt, and there’s blaring music and other desperate, sleepy, sleep-deprived people that won’t ask questions or look in his direction. His muscles ache before he starts, like they know this isn’t about strength. It’s about control. It’s about pushing until he can’t think anymore.

He loads the weights higher than he should. He doesn’t warm up, he doesn’t stretch, and his muscles do have things to complain about. But Buck can’t find it in himself to care — he ignores the burn, the ache, the common-sense and the logic, and just lifts.

Again.

And again.

And again.

As if the burn in his arms could cauterize the ache in his chest, and as if punishing his body might silence the part of him that keeps screaming Eddie’s name into the silence of his dreams, keeps ringing Daniel’s voice in the echoing of the night, keeps making his parents’ smile ring loud in the back of his memory.

By the time the sun is fully up, sweat clings to him like guilt, and his breath is shallow in a way that reminds him — too much — of the ventilator. Of hospitals and near-deaths and other lives that he surely doesn’t want to think about.

Buck blinks that memory away, hard.

He catches his reflection in the mirror. The shadows under his eyes are warpaint, and his smile — the one he throws at the guy beside him like everything’s chill — feels like glass about to crack.

"Rough night?" the guy asks, nodding toward the weights.

Buck shrugs.

“Nah. Just needed to clear my head.”

He says it like it’s true.

He says it like the truth doesn’t scare him more than the lightning ever could.

[...]

The days scream at him, too.

Not as loudly as the nights, maybe, but just as relentless.

They scream in the way the sun hits too bright, too sharp through the kitchen window. In the way his coffee never tastes like it used to — too bitter, too hot, too wrong. In the weight of silence between calls from the team and texts he doesn’t always answer right away.

They scream in his routine, which he’s stitched together like a lifeline: gym, groceries, station, home. Repeat. No room for wandering thoughts. No space between breaths. Nothing that could give a chance for the paranoia and the fear and the absolute horror that his dreams and memory have become.

He’s functioning. That’s what Buck tells himself.

He’s fine.

No one asks more than once, and that’s both a curse and a relief. Buck's always been good at being loud enough to distract, bright enough to deflect, and if they notice the tired smile or the stiffness in his voice, they chalk it up to recovery. Who wouldn’t be shaken after a near-death experience?

After being dead, if he was to talk in literal terms.

But they don’t know about the dream.

They don’t know that every time Buck closes his eyes, he’s back in a world where Bobby was gone and Eddie never even existed in his life. In their life. And the 118 isn’t home, or family, or real. 

He doesn’t know how to mourn people who are alive and standing right next to him. He never learned how to mourn people at all — even the ghosts he wasn’t even aware he stood in the shadow of.

So instead, he scrubs dishes that are already clean, rearranges his bookshelf for the third time this week, exercises until his body aches more than his thoughts and smiles when someone walks into the room. He cracks jokes and prepares lunch and dinner and he talks about movies that he hasn’t really paid attention to.

It’s fine. He’s fine.

And if Buck repeats it long enough, then maybe his brain will convince itself that, yeah; that’s true. That’s what’s going on. That’s exactly how things are. Everything is fine, everyone is fine, and there’s nothing wrong with his head, with his heart, with his soul, with him.

Fine. It’s fine.

Today, he gets to the station early. Too early for his shift, even. The place is quiet except for the hum of the vending machine and the slow drip of the coffee maker, the working team out on a call and barely a soul walking the streets so early in the morning. Buck leans against the lockers, palms flat against the cold metal, and tells himself to breathe — to breathe, for God’s sake, because nothing happened and there’s nothing happening and it’s just another day at work.

Bobby arrives not long after. They exchange a few words and, despite the look on his face telling Buck that he knows something’s off, Bobby doesn’t push. He never does — not with Buck, and half of him is thankful for that, because he doesn’t think he can talk about it with Bobby without having a meltdown. Without wanting to make sure that he’s solid and alive and the Captain of the 118 with a beating, functioning, strong heart inside his chest. But his eyes linger, and Buck feels it. That steady, fatherly worry that sinks in deep.

It’s almost enough to make Buck say something.

Almost.

But then Eddie walks in — laughing at something Christopher texted him, hair still damp from a morning shower — and Buck’s throat closes around the truth like it’s a secret he’ll take to his grave, because Eddie’s there, and Bobby’s there, and Chim will get there soon, as well, probably having taken a ride with Hen (because that’s something they started to do after too many near-deaths).

And it seems stupid, to talk about the dream when he knows that they’re there, alive and well and almost late for work. It feels pathetic, to be so shaken up about something his mind created while he was out of it, and his heart was out of service. It sounds ridiculous even to his ears that his days are falling apart and crumbling down because of his idiotic brain and some traumas none of them have nothing to do with.

Eddie greets Buck with an easy smile and hugs Bobby briefly, because it seems to be a good day for him. Buck smiles back, the most convincing smile he manages to plaster on his face, and Eddie talks to him as if he believes it.

It aches. It burns, because Buck can’t shake the feeling that this is just another delusion created by his head and Eddie is not really there. He can’t shake the feeling that his own feelings are so loud and Eddie will hear them and decide that they aren’t worth managing.

And the thought of losing him now?

It’s too much.

So Buck grins. Tosses a joke and a cheeky comment in Eddie’s way and pretends his chest isn’t caving in, blowing up, falling apart.

The others filter in like clockwork — Hen with coffee, Chim with jokes (and having taken a ride with Hen, as predicted), Bobby already flipping through shift schedules and someone (perhaps Buck himself) asking what are the lunch options they’ll have and it’s not even eight o’clock.

The morning moves like it always does, too fast and too loud. Buck lets it wash over him, lets the noise and familiarity carry him. He sips his coffee, nods along, laughs when he should and smiles when someone makes eye contact. If he doesn’t think too hard, it almost feels normal.

Almost.

Hen and Chim are halfway through some ridiculous debate about something related to birds, pigeons or winged-creatures. It’s pathetic, really — the usual banter that comes and goes in the fire station and barbecues and anywhere they allow Hen and Chimney to have a conversation. It’s silly; a sibling-like discussion and the topic couldn’t be more ridiculous.

“I’m telling you,” Chim says, leaning against the counter with a coffee mug in hand. “Birds absolutely have dialects. There’s research on it.”

“Okay, but who’s out there studying pigeon linguistics?” Hen says, incredulous. “That’s not science, that’s a conspiracy theory with extra steps.”

Chimney scoffs.

“Oh, please. There’s always someone insane enough to study literally anything. Birds have dialects. And they communicate, Hen,” he argues.

Hen laughs.

“Don’t be mad just because the downtown pigeons don’t like you,” she smirks.

Chimney gasps.

“They pooped on me twice in one week. That’s targeted.”

“It’s karma.”

Bobby, who’s just walked in and is already regretting it, raises his hands in surrender. 

“I’m not getting involved, but if you’re right, those birds are running a full-blown revenge opera. And you probably deserved it,” he says, pointing a finger at Chimney. “No one else here is targeted by birds.”

“Eh,” Eddie steps in, making a contorted face. “Buck and I got chased by turkeys. Does that count?”

Hen snorted.

“You better be aware of your surroundings on Christmas, then, if Chimney’s right,” she said. “They might plan an ambush.”

“That is not what I’m saying!” Chimney said, exasperated.

“Sort of is,” Bobby says.

“It is,” Eddie agrees.

“Uh-hm,” Hen laughs.

Chimney, much like a child, gasps again in exasperation.

“You know what this is?” Chim says, waving a hand dramatically. “This whole conversation is chaos. Like… lightning striking a piñata during a birthday party. It makes no sense. You can’t plan for it.”

Hen snorts. 

“That’s not even a real expression.”

“It is now.”

Bobby chuckles, easing down at the edge of the table. 

“The expression is lightning in a bottle, Chimney,” he argues. “Something completely unpredictable. Definitely unstable. Like the two of you.”

Buck freezes.

It’s nothing.

It’s a saying.

It’s not even about him, and he wasn’t even in the conversation — whatever that was to begin with — and it’s just a damn saying.

But the words slam into him, cracking open something he’s spent days shoving down and locking tight.

Like lightning in a bottle.

It feels like the word itself has found a way inside Buck’s mind, heart and the very veins of his body. As if the letters and the phonetics were on a mission to tear apart each cell of his blood, each atom of his being — as if it was all a joke that he was supposed to laugh at because it was ridiculous. Completely and utterly ridiculous, because he was alive. He had survived. It hadn’t killed him.

It shouldn’t matter.

It’s just a word. A joke. A casual throwaway in the middle of a sunny afternoon.

But it does matter.

Because it doesn’t just remind him. It is him. It’s the moment when the sky opened and swallowed him whole. It’s the burn in his chest, the weightless freefall, the feeling of being yanked out of existence. It’s the sound that still lingers in the back of his mind, like a ghost echo, like thunder hiding behind every silence.

It’s the knowledge that for a few long seconds, he wasn’t here.

He wasn’t anywhere. In a world that wasn’t real, where he wasn’t himself and no one else was right.

And now— now he’s sitting at the table, safe and whole and breathing, and someone just made a joke with the word lightning in it like it doesn’t carry the weight of his soul. Because it shouldn’t. Because it’s just a word, just a bunch of letters put together to make some sense and produce a certain sound.

His laugh catches in his throat before it even escapes. He wonders if they notice the crack in his smile, the too-long pause.

The way his hand twitches against the wood grain of the table like it’s reaching for an anchor that isn’t there.

But it is there.

It’s in front of him, in the shape of Eddie’s gaze — suddenly sharper, quieter, knowing.

Buck wants to shake it off. Wants to brush it away, turn it into another joke, another laugh.

But he can feel it now, swelling like a tide inside him: the grief, the fear, the aftershock.

He thought he could bury it. Thought he had. But trauma has a way of seeping through the cracks, of bleeding out when you least expect it. And now it’s humming under his skin again, electric and unbearable.

It’s too much.

Too close.

Too real.

He wants to scream.

Or cry.

Or disappear entirely.

But instead, he just sits there, frozen in the middle of a moment that should’ve been easy. His breath stutters. Just slightly. Just enough that his vision narrows for a heartbeat. Buck blinks fast, swallows even faster, grips the coffee cup so hard his fingers ache.

And when he glances up, Eddie’s still looking at him.

Not looking — seeing.

Buck pastes a grin over the tremor in his chest and throws something back about pigeons and ducks and Chim’s clear paranoia related to anything that could possibly fly. The others laugh. The moment passes.

But Eddie’s gaze lingers for a second longer.

And Buck feels it.

Like Eddie heard the thunder inside him.

And Buck, very wisely, chooses to ignore it completely.

[...]

The days blur.

They stretch and bend, like time itself has forgotten how to move in a straight line. Buck wakes before the alarm most mornings, already wired, already buzzing with the kind of tension that feels like standing too close to a power line — not enough to kill, just enough to keep every hair on one’s body standing on end.

He gets up. He makes coffee. Showers with water that’s either too hot or too cold, never in between. Sometimes he eats breakfast, but mostly he doesn’t. Food feels like an afterthought lately — it’s too much effort, and it scratches his throat whenever he swallows, and Buck is so tired of the copper taste of blood in his tongue.

He goes for runs. Long ones, until his lungs burn and his legs ache and the world narrows down to the slap of his feet against pavement and the blood pounding in his ears. It's the only time his mind goes quiet — or at least quieter, just a buzzing thing in his ears. But the stillness never lasts. By the time he’s walking back to the loft, sweat-soaked and sore, it’s already creeping in again.

The doubt.

The noise.

The memory.

He survived. He’s fine. Everyone says so (the doctors, his friends, the other stations and other first responders who greet him as if he’s a legend of some sorts), and he insists on telling them such, as well. He’s fine. He’s fine. He’s fine.

But there’s a part of him — deep and buried and howling — that isn’t convinced. That keeps insisting something’s wrong. Something shifted. Something stayed behind when the lightning struck.

Perhaps it was life itself.

But Buck can’t be sure of that, even.

At work, he’s efficient. Focused. Smiling. He throws himself into calls with reckless precision, much life he had always done, even if there’s a bit more desperation when he takes a second too long to respond to things falling in his direction or the fire getting just an inch too close to his gear. Muscle memory guides him, and maybe that’s a blessing — because if he stopped to think, even for a second, he might freeze. He might break.

He might let himself be a victim in need of rescue instead of the called-in rescuer.

At his house, everything is a bit worse. 

The loft echoes now. Everything’s too loud or too quiet, too crowded or too empty and nothing seems to be in the right place, even though he hadn't changed a single thing in months. 

Buck leaves the TV on just to fill the silence, lets the news cycle until the anchors blur into static. He reads half a paragraph of a book and stares at the same sentence for ten minutes, the letters waltzing around the page. He’ll shower again, just to have something to do. Water can’t drown a memory, but it’s still better than the air — which is thin, electric, stretched taut around him like a balloon about to pop.

The dreams are vivid and cruel. And the nights keep screaming at him.

Sometimes Buck wakes up in the middle of the night, hand pressed to his chest like he’s waiting for his heart to stop again.

Sometimes he doesn’t sleep at all.

And then, one morning — somewhere between the station and his third cup of coffee — his phone buzzes.

It’s nothing. A message. A ping. Ordinary.

But when he looks at it, the axis of his world tilts again.

It’s from Carla, and it shouldn’t be so surprising. They often text. Carla tells him news from Chris or a picture or even a recipe she tried and shared with Buck because she knows that he would love something else to cook — but he has been so distant from everything that it feels like a lifetime since he had spoken about anything consistent to anyone.

The text on his phone is just quite short. There’s only one information and a small request within:

Christopher had a nightmare. He asked if Buck was okay. Just thought you should know. Send him a message to prove my words? xx

Buck stares at the screen for a long time.

It’s a small thing. Just a message. Simple words. A simple thing that wasn’t at all uncommon — Buck’s already lost count of how many times he’s had to assure Christopher that he was okay, and how many times Christpher has assured him the same.

But the words still split him open.

Because he’s not okay. And Buck knows he’s not okay. And now there’s proof — undeniable and human — that his unraveling isn’t invisible after all. That someone sees it, even if it’s through the eyes of a kid who still believes he hung the moon for some reason, despite the nonchalant way of a teenager.

His hands tremble. Not from the coffee. Not from the memory. But from the sheer weight of being seen. Of being missed. Of being asked about.

read the rest on Ao3

[cobra-creampuff]

i really hate the plotline where sophie was like i need space so nate gave her space and the narrative was like look at this fucking idiot

[s0dium]

Obsession

Warning: Love drunk men, fingering, titty sucking, nipple play, unprotected sex, love drunk reader

~

Love courses through your veins. He’s all you can think about.

You wonder if it's normal to be this enamored with someone, to be this hopelessly head over heels infatuated and obsessed. You can't even focus on what needs to be done anymore because he's absorbed your entire being; he's in your head when you wake up, a gentle whisper in the back of your mind during conversations, a constant in your dreams, day or night.

But it's a doomed one-sided crush you remind yourself. You're not even sure if he knows you exist and in quieter moments, you wonder if perhaps it’s better this way. Loving from a distance means you never have to face the potential heartbreak of rejection, never have to see that polite smile of someone who doesn’t return your feelings. It's safer, you tell yourself, to admire him from afar, keeping your heart guarded behind the shield of daydreams and what-ifs.

So surely, right now in this moment, you must be dreaming.

It feels too vivid, too intense to be just a figment of your imagination. The warmth of his breath against your cheek, the weight of his bare body pressing gently down on yours, the softness of his lips moving against your own with an insatiable hunger—it all feels astonishingly real.

Because it is.

You don't know how but now you're naked underneath him, letting him touch, grope, suck, kiss, nip, and bite anything his hands and mouth can find. He doesn't let up either, he's exploring your body like a starved man, like he'll never get a chance to touch you ever again and wont pull away until he's had his fill.

You gasp when you feel his fingers between your legs, tracing your inner thigh before gliding between your pussy lips. Instinctively, you jerk back at the feeling; his fingers collecting your arousal and sliding up and down. But before you can speak, he kisses you again, his tongue eagerly intertwining with yours. When he finally pulls away, leaving you breathless, a thin strand of saliva connects your mouths.

"Just let me take care of you okay?" He hums before dipping two fingers into your tight hole. "Just been waiting so long to do this."

You don't even have time to react before he's curling his digits and massaging a sweet spot you could only dream about hitting on your own. His other hand gropes your left breast and with his index and thumb, begins to play with your perky nipples. As if that wasn't enough, his mouth found your other breast and gave it the same attention, licking sucking, and rolling your nipple like it was candy.

Colors dance across your closed eyelids and you wonder if this is heaven, if you've died and reached nirvana because the pleasure is just that good. You dont know if you can handle this, handle the fact that he's sucking and playing with your nipples while finger fucking you. Your toes curl and uncurl from the hot searing euphoria that is absorbing your body and emitting from your core. Your back arches off the bed and your crying his name, moaning it even, something you only dreamed about doing late at night when you craved him.

Suddenly, his mouth releases your nipple with a pop and he ceases all of his ministrations, leaving you breathless and confused.

"Fuck, I-" He's breathless himself, his face flushed and pupils blown. "Need to be inside you, need to feel you." He practically groans, and you thickly gulp at his words. Your brain goes fuzzy and you dizzily watch him pull down his boxers, the length slapping against his abdomen after being released from its confines.

He watches you lay down on the bed, breasts and cunt glistening from juices. You dont know this but he actually thinks he is dreaming. You look like a painting right now and he has to bite his lip to stop himself from spilling just at the sight of you.

"Please," You whine, "Please fuck me."

Who is he to deny you?

Without a word he presses his tip against your entrance and slides into you, grunting at the snug fit of your walls. You let out a loud moan from the feeling of him filling you so so perfectly, so well you mentally curse yourself for thinking a dildo or your fingers could ever do the job.

Then with a moan of his own, he slides out of you, nearly leaving you empty, before rocking himself back into you. Oh, how he wanted to fuck you slow and nice, like you deserved, but as the seconds passed, his resolve seep away until he just couldn't possibly hold back anymore.

His thrusts become faster, quicker, slamming in and out of you with such vigor and ease due to your combined juices coating and dripping from both his length and your hole. The friction is delicious, and his tip seems to hit your g-spot perfectly with each thrust. He even grabs the underside of your thigh and pushes them against you, effectively folding you and half and allowing him to go even deeper inside you.

You could feel your rational slipping away as he groaned about how fucking good you felt, about how good you where taking him, how he had been dreaming about this. You want to say something too, say something about how you feel the same way, but the only thing that comes out of your mouth right now is wanton moans of his name.

The pleasure was becoming too much, it had been slowly building and building and you know your about to break any second, burst with such euphoria you don't know if you will ever come back from the high. Before you do though, your brain manages to work again for half a millisecond to express the exact words you are feeling.

"Love you! M'love you so much!" You gasped before letting yourself succumb to the mind-numbing orgasm that was waiting for you. Your whole body shook and quaked from the pleasure and your mind went white. You thought you might cry, from happiness or pleasure you did not know. But you didn't. You simply went limp while you let him use your body like a sex doll.

You are barely clinging onto consciousness when you feel his hips stutter against you and he scoops you up, holding you close while he cums inside you.

"Love you too, love you too." He groans against your ear.

Any character you want ;)

[deathbxnny]

Loved your writing of arcane characters saying things they regret during an argument. Would you be willing to do a version with Jayce, Viktor and Silco? I apologize if you don't prefer to write about these characters, you can ignore this

Arcane men saying things they'll regret during an argument. | Viktor, Jayce, Silco x Gn!Reader

Oh, I absolutely am willing to do that, Anon!! These are going to be pretty irredeemable, though, so there is not going to be a part two to this... anyways, enjoy!!<3

Content: Season 2 spoilers!!, heavy angst, hurt/no comfort, break ups, swearing, gaslighting, toxic behavior, sfw

Reader has no mentioned pronouns.

((Not proofread))

》VIKTOR

"This... isn't you anymore, Viktor. A-And I refuse to keep lying to myself like this either!" You hissed out one night, unable to keep it in any longer. You were losing your mind in this compound of his, unable to understand how seemingly no one was able to recognize how wrong everything was. People who were "healed" by him weren't the same after. They turned into robotic and uncanny husks of their old selves.

A terrifying sight that unnerved you deeply. And only you here.

The nail in the coffin was perhaps the skeptical appearance of Councilor Salo. Never in your life had you ever seen him give a damn about anyone but himself. He lived a life of riches and materialism, far from the selfless and minimalistic lifestyle found here. But after your boyfriend healed him of his inability to walk, he suddenly preached the same ideals that everyone else did.

Peace, love, and community.

Those were the important pillars of this idyllic place Viktor had created, and yet you couldn't see past the clear red flags that weaved themselves in their white attire. You were never much of a genius like he was, but it didn't take much brainpower to understand that this was not a great place to be in. No matter how hard he attempted to convince you of that.

"... I'm sorry you feel that way. But I'm afraid I can not follow your reasoning for this claim. I am myself... just someone greater. More meaningful. Isn't that beautiful?" His voice was so gentle and patient in comparison to yours. Something that wasn't unusual to him. But the way he used that tone now made you sick. "Terrifying is a better word, actually... Why can't you see that this is just wrong? You're not healing anyone-" "-But I am. Look around you. Is that not enough for you to finally believe me, my love? I want to create a better world... one in which we can live freely together." Your mind spun, his words ringing in your head dangerously. And you hated every second of it.

This isn't the man you loved anymore. He must have died that fateful day when the sky fell from above, and he covered you with his body to save you. His last act of kindness as your boyfriend and lover before he perished and left behind whoever he was. And you'd be damned if the last good memory got tainted too.

"No. I will not let you play with my mind anymore. I've had enough." You pushed past him, wanting to finally escape this borderline cult. Originally, you had only followed after him because you couldn't bear being without him. Jayce was right, though. He really was different now.

"Hm... it seems like I was right about you after all." You stopped in your tracks yet didn't dare face him. "You truly are not worth saving... you can't grasp the beauty of what I have made. I suppose everyone's claims for your low intelligence were, unfortunately, right. What a shame." How could a devil have such a soothing, loving voice? Why did the monster that now lurked in your shadow have to have your lovers face? The cruelty was too much to bear.

Who would have thought that you'd finally leave him for good after all the years you've taken care of him? This moment felt so surreal and yet ironically freeing as well. The end was near. "Did you... ever even love me?" You asked aimlessly, but didn't wait to hear his answer.

Perhaps if you had, however, you would've seen that sudden spark of surprise in his eyes, as you slipped out of his fingers for good at last.

》JAYCE

You had looked everywhere for him. And after also asking everyone under the sun if they had seen your boyfriend, you had eventually determined that he must've somehow gone missing. Worried sick, it pained you knowing that there wasn't much you could do either, considering that everyone was too busy getting ready for a borderline war and Caitlyn became unreachable as a result. Yet just as you began to lose hope, your dear lover finally returned... but he wasn't the same.

He didn't look the same, nor did he act the same, in fact. He looked so different that it even visibly startled you when you found him rummaging through his once shared laboratory. You had just returned from another wrap around the building in hopes of finding it, and whilst you'd consider yourself lucky this time around, all you now felt was genuine dread.

"Jayce...? What happened to you? I looked for you everywhere and-" You stilled at the intense look he gave you, his face flinching for a moment, as though his mind couldn't comprehend your image. Glancing over at his peculiar weapon of choice, you felt unnerved at how even that looked uncanny. The entire situation was unnerving you deeply, to say the least. "You... You shouldn't be here." He finally muttered, his voice deeper and colder than it ever was. Jayce always had such a fun and warm voice. If you didn't know any better, you would've questioned who he was a while ago.

"Hey... tell me where you were, okay?" You said, trying a more gentle approach as you neared him, eyes focused on his clearly injured leg. Had he been kidnapped? You doubted it. So what made him end up like this? Nothing you could come with explained his appearance. His hair and beard were way longer than they should have gotten in the short span of time he was gone, too.

Reaching down carefully, you tried to inspect his leg, but he seemed less receptive to the idea. Or so you assumed, after he shoved you away roughly and held the hammer to your face at impressive speed. His eyes were glossy, as though he wasn't entirely all there. He was reliving a terrifying moment in his mind, unaware of the horror you were going through. Never could you have ever thought of ending up in this position with him. "Jayce! What the hell are you doing-?" "-Get away! I know what you are... you've been sent by him too, weren't you?" You let out a shriek when he swung the hammer at you, only giving you a fraction of a second to jump out of the way.

Falling onto your behind, you quickly crawled backward and away from him, tears welling up in your eyes. Your scream seemed to at least wake him up, though, as he finally lowered his weapon and blinked at you in surprise. "Fucks sake! What is wrong with you?" You yelled out, yet as fast as his face softened, it hardened again. "... Sorry... I need to leave." Quickly making his way past you, he only barely escaped your presence before you grabbed onto the fabric of his pants. "Why? Where are you going? Why can't you tell me anything?"

The look in his eyes made you shrink away. This wasn't your Jayce anymore. "... The future of everyone in Piltover hinges on me being there on time. Now, make yourself useful for once and get out of my way." Shaking you off harshly, he left you crying on the cold floor of the once lively laboratory, not once looking back.

》SILCO

When you first met Silco, you were both still leading simple lives in the last drop with his brother and all of your other friends in Zaun. The lanes were harsh and, at times, cruel, yet you fought through the agony of it all together. Years down the line later, you find yourself still reminiscing on those heavenly days, particularly those of your lover who had turned for the worst in the time being. And the question of why you didn't listen to Vander's warnings came to mind again then. Perhaps you were just too used to excusing everything his brother did, especially after he had attempted to drown him so horrifically, which left him permanently injured.

But even so... why didn't you just listen? Why did it take so many years for you to finally throw the towel and leave for good? Finally realise that the man you loved was a monster? A disgusting and evil monster who was willing to use the plight of others for his own gain. And for what? Money? Fame? Power? It was all an ego trip you had far more than enough of. Zaun was his playground, and an escape was impossible. You'd be, however damned if you didn't at least try to anyways. Even if just in Vander's honor as a long-awaited apology.

Pushing past the crowd in the stuffy, full Last drop, you finally reached his office upstairs. Not caring about formalities anymore, you knocked and opened the door without awaiting a reply. If death met you behind it, then so be it. "Ah, darling, in a hurry today, aren't you?" "We need to talk. Alone." Short and straight to the point. Raising a brow, he shared a look with Jinx, who was just done giving him his daily "medicine". Oh, how you hated your lover's dearest creation. Shimmer. The exact thing that had ruined your lives for good. But you pushed away your disdain for the task at hand.

Giving Jinx a dismissive wave of his hand, you waited for her to be gone for good before taking a breath to speak. But Silco beat you to it. Always so painfully perceptive. "The answer is no, if you're here asking to leave. I refuse to let you go, dear. You have no one else but me after all. You wouldn't survive on your own." He always underestimated you, so this wasn't an all to surprising response. And if you were just a couple of months younger, you would have maybe agreed and backed off. But you were sick of his games.

"I didn't come here to ask for permission, Silco. I'm here to say goodbye." The slightest, softest crack at the last word gave you away horribly. You certainly didn't expect your feelings for the man to betray you, but even that won't stop you now. Said man just hummed in response as he stood up to face the window. His hands calmly lit a cigar, very much unbothered. But you knew that your sentence had gotten to him anyway with how his hand shook ever so slightly. Out of anger, most likely.

"So you think you can do whatever you want? Leave after you've spent so many years at my side? Your hands aren't as clean as you think they are, darling. Even yours are a bright violet." A reference to the shimmer vials on his desk. He knew how much you hated it, so this felt like a jab. A jab at the deep guilt you felt every day for enabling the death of all of your friends indirectly. If only you had stopped him from the start... then maybe you wouldn't have to feel the dread that ruined you from the inside anymore.

"I've accepted my flaws and sins a long time ago. I may not be better than you... but sometimes, in order to end the cycle, you have to walk away and leave some things behind." You suddenly felt so content, his cold and terrible words not reaching you anymore. You were so close to leaving. So close to leaving Zaun and Piltover like you've always dreamed. But Silco just scoffed in disbelief.

"Hah, don't give me that self-righteous shit... I've been there for you for so many years, dear. I've taken care of you, fed you, and loved you to my best ability for so long. The least you could do is be grateful for my kindness." "So you think I'm a burden?" The silence was deafening, but it was enough to confirm your long-standing suspicions. He had lost his love for you a long time ago. Perhaps the side that loved you so purely drowned in the river with him.

"... Goodbye. I hope one day you can walk away too." You turned and began walking out then, suddenly realising that it's finally over. Shoving your hands into the pocket of your coat, you felt the ticket for the skyship you had to take. "Don't you dare leave. Don't you dare it-" All bark and no bite as usual. There was no stopping you now, and he knew it. He was letting you go after all. You could just hope that one day he'd listen to your words and end the cycle, too.

What a shame that you won't be there at his side to see it, however... maybe in another life then.

[hellfire--cult]

The Tongue Piercing

+18 just some Eddie thots, where your boyfriend has a surprise for you. (established relationship, fem!reader, not proofread, oral - f receiving)

a/n: i literally saw the picture in the middle and went... wait....

“Today is all about you baby.” Your boyfriend said lovingly as he laid you back down on the bed. You only smiled lovingly as your head hit the pillows, his body crawling on top of you.

It wasn't uncommon for Eddie to want to pleasure you first instead of you to him. So when you got on your knees he immediately pulled you back up. Now kissing you, you could only moan in delight as his tongue piercing played with your tongue, something that had driven you insane when you met him for the first time a year ago.

When he invited you over all giddy, you knew something might be up. He always became excited when he had either something to tell you, or something to show you, or something he bought for you. 

This time though, he didn’t. None of that happened, and the only reply you got was “I just missed you” with a smile on his face, dimples showing, and you were putty under his gaze in just a second, forgetting about it and not asking about it anymore. It seemed that was the case. He just missed you. 

When he had come up from behind you when you were about to put on a shirt of his to sleep in, you knew what was going to happen and you let out a breath of contentment when his mouth hit the crook of your neck and shoulder. It’s been a while since you two could have a moment on your own. You lived with your sister and he lived with Wayne. Whenever you could come over, Wayne was home, and whenever Eddie could come over, your sister was at your apartment.

Tonight, you finally found some time alone, and maybe that’s why Eddie was giddy when he called you. You weren’t going to complain, not when he was kissing you senseless into the bed. His ball piercing danced on your tongue, making you moan in delight as his hands ran all over your body that was covered in a lovely sun dress, the heat giving you the opportunity to wear those dresses that Eddie had bought you because he claimed you looked good in them.

You knew it was just for easy access, and again, you weren't complaining.

Seconds later, he was already laying on his stomach, face deep in your cunt, your panties stuffed inside his back pocket and his tongue was lapping at you like a starved animal. Your hands gripped the bed sheets underneath you as your back arched towards him, moaning his name after days of not being able to do so.

“Always so ready for me, so sweet.” He mumbled into you and Eddie was really into eating you out. You’ve never seen or heard of someone who simply loves eating pussy. He loves it. He came in his pants a few times while eating you out, his hips not being able to stop when rutting into the mattress. 

“Eddie, Eddie–” You knew he loved it when you repeated his name over and over, that it got him going and riled him up like never before. Your clit was flicked with the tip of his tongue a few times, before he pressed the ball of his tongue piercing against it, making you gasp with a smile on your lips. 

Then, he stopped, the slurping coming to a halt, his hands leaving your ass where they were gripping on tightly to hold you in place. You were breathing heavily, brows frowning deeply, as the coil in your belly started washing away. He got up from the bed as you held yourself up on your elbows, looking at his every move as the shake of your legs started fading. Did something happen? He never stopped before, which made you a little worried something was going on down there.

“Everything okay?” He walked to his desk and you saw him move a little, his hands towards his face as he nodded.

“Yeah, my piercing twisted a bit so I’m changing it.” You never heard that before, but you didn’t have a tongue piercing, so you wouldn’t know. He turned around with a smirk on his face as he walked back towards you, crawling to get back in the position he was in before.

“You sure you want–”

“Absolutely.” And you fell back as the tip of his tongue flicked your clit again, a smile on your face as the heat came back at full force. Then he pressed his tongue against you and–

That felt a little weird. You could feel his tongue piercing more than usual, as if it were big, but it couldn’t be, could it? No, that’s– A moan ripped out of your chest when whatever that was passed by your clit. You raised yourself up on your elbows again, a frown deep in your eyebrows as you stared down at him. He pulled away with a grin on his lips.

“What the hell is that?” At your question, he put his tongue out and you saw a thick pill sized tongue piercing sitting on the expanse of the muscle. You tilted your head, completely confused, never in your life having seen that kind of piercing before. He put his tongue back in his mouth so he could be able to talk to you.

“Thought of you when I saw it, princess.” With elbows on the mattress, tongue sticking out again, you saw how his hands went to grab onto the piercing, pinching it on each side and then a twist of both hands, as if he were closing it. You heard something coming from outside, a little buzz but you were focused on Eddie adjusting his new piercing. You saw him chuckle as his tongue moved from side to side, his hands falling to grab your hips once again, his head moving back down to your cunt, and–

Your eyes widened as you felt him press that damn fucking thing on your clit and fuck– it’s a vibrator. It’s a small fucking tongue piercing vibrator. 

“Holy shit, Eddie!” You smiled as you let out shaky breaths, your back falling back down on the bed as your legs spread even wider for him. His tongue was licking over and over again, flicking your clit with the piercing, feeling the vibrations on it that were making you tremble slightly. 

“You like that, darling?” He asked and you could only muster a dumb ‘uh-huh’ as he resumed his work. His hips kept pressing against the mattress, his hard cock in his sweatpants getting the much needed friction as his tongue and lips kept moving magically on you.

His hands left your hips to be able to grip each side of your lips and spread you open, wide, your hole fluttering for him. You gasped as your hands gripped the sheets below you when you felt his tongue entering you and the vibrator made the sensation even more intense. 

“Oh– it feels so fucking good–” It felt like an electric shock, having him spoil you like this wasn’t new for Eddie. This was one of the many things he surprised you with, letting you discover more and more factors about yourself you never cared to explore before. He is always putting you first whenever it came to sex, and at first you had told him it’s his pleasure too, to which he responded, ‘Oh, honey… seeing your contorted face is the biggest foreplay for me.’

Your back arched off the bed when the coil in your belly grew and grew just like before. His piercing was everywhere, and you felt it on every nerve of your body. He must have been eating you for minutes, his fingers now part of the job, and your legs couldn’t help but start shaking, tensing up as you felt your orgasm creeping in.

“Oh, I can feel you clenching around my tongue, you gonna cum baby?” You nodded, your mouth open with no words or even sounds coming out of it. Just small breaths of delight. You flinched and whimpered when you felt a slap right on top of your clit. “Answer me.”

“Yes! Yes, please– Keep going, Eddie, please–” 

“Good fucking girl.” His tongue came back onto you, his fingers working inside of you, the squelching of your wet pussy being heard through the entire room. His tongue was pressed flat onto your clit, letting the vibrator work on it. Your hands flew to his head, gripping it tightly as your eyes slowly started to see stars. 

You couldn’t talk anymore, nonsense spouting out of your mouth, begging, his name, moans, whines, cries. You reached the edge and plummeted down, hard, your walls clenching around his fingers, your hands pushing his head into you as you cried out his name and your body shook all over. He moved his head side to side, the piercing flicking your clit over and over in a harsh and fast manner that was making your orgasm extend.

It might have been your most intense orgasm yet, feeling like it lasted for ages. Once your walls unclenched slowly, your body falling flat on the bed, you could finally open your eyes and breathe. It felt like an out of body experience. Like you weren’t in this fucking realm and Eddie was your god.

“Baby~” You heard his teasing voice and you knew he had a smile from ear to ear. You were breathing heavily, still staring at the ceiling as your body twitched in the aftershocks. He pulled his fingers out of you, making you whimper and slowly climbed up to meet you. You could hear the vibration inside his mouth, his entire chin covered in your juices, making you clench around nothing again.

Insatiable.

“You– Where the fuck did you get that?” He chuckled, opening his mouth to twist one of the edges of the tongue piercing, turning it off. 

“Sex shop. Where else? I didn’t even know these existed.” You could hear a certain lisp happening, making you smile through your heavy breaths.

“Well… a great purchase. You can take it off now…” He tilted his head at your request, humming. His hands went to the hem of your dress that was bunched up on your waist, moving it up and up and up until your tits were uncovered for him. He got his hand back into his mouth and your eyes when you started hearing the vibration again.

“Don’t think so.” He smirked, giving you one single peck on your lips before you saw him going back down, a moan ripped out of your throat when you felt the vibration on your right nipple.

You two declared the piercing was a must from now on.

---------------------------------

look im just a girl with lots of thots and needs and i didn't know these fucking existed until recently. my mind went directly to eddie. he would.

[arietem]

you are my favorite bad boy

masterlist

jj maybank x fem!reader

summary: you and jj are fighting at the chateau and you storm out of the house

angst, but a happy ending

a/n: we gotta add some angst in the mix, and i love it

You and JJ are standing in the chateau's living room facing each other. The atmosphere surrounding you resembles a loaded gun that is seconds away from going off. You can't remember the last time you were this pissed off.

"Why the fuck do you always have to do this JJ?" you yell out at him. He is in one of those moods when nothing is going right for him and he's itching to let it all out. Well, you can't stay unfazed either, his bad mood is affecting you too.

The Pogues made themselves scarce somewhere around the house, knowing to wait it out while you and JJ argue. You two don't fight that often, but when you do, oh boy, everybody better take cover. Both of you can be damn stubborn and short-fused when the situation calls for it.

"What? What the fuck do I do? JJ yells right back, aggressively running his fingers through his hair. You know him better than he knows himself at this point and you know what makes him throw caution to the wind and go looking for trouble. It's always either something to do with the kooks or fucking Luke. You swear you could kill that man for messing with JJ all the time.

"You always have to prove him right! Or them! Don't you see you're letting all of them win this way?" Your hair is swinging around your back, the wind from the open windows making it knotted and overstimulating you. Usually, you love the windy nights by the beach, but not this night and not like this.

There is a party at the Boneyard tonight that will be filled with drunk and high kooks, the perfect targets for JJ's fuse to blow out. Even though he may not say it to you outwardly, you know why he changed his mind about going to this party after you asked him to stay in and watch a movie with you.

"So what, I'm not allowed to go to a party without you anymore?" You watch him pace back and forth, the nervous energy bouncing off of him. Even though you know he doesn't mean it, even though he's only deflecting to try to mask his pain, there's no denying it hurts you.

"Oh my god, who the fuck said that? It's not about that at all and you fucking know it!" God, he is frustrating you to no end. Your eyes start to fill with angry tears, threatening to spill over. JJ knows you trust him and you know he trusts you, there has never been a single question about it in either of your minds.

You wipe at your eyes furiously and you hope he hurts too seeing you unravel like this. JJ tries to open his mouth, but you cut him off, not choosing your words carefully anymore. "I know you, JJ. I see you. You will go to that party and you will pick a fight with someone and you will feel even worse because you will prove Luke and the kooks right."

He freezes at your words and you know you hit the spot you were aiming for. You also know that he will go out and do whatever he wants anyway because that's just what he does. And you get it, you get his trauma and you love him anyway, but you can't lie that it doesn't hurt. It hurts seeing him lash out like an animal backed into a corner when all you want is for him to let you in completely and let himself be loved.

"Yeah, well, it's better you learn it sooner rather than later. I'm no good and I don't even know what you're doing with me." JJ wasn't yelling anymore and that was even worse. When that dejected tone started to color his voice, you know the walls are up again and there's not much you can do right now to bring them down.

"You know what, JJ? Go. Do whatever the fuck you want, as always. I'm done for tonight," you say, refusing to look him in the eye. All the fighting has drained you and all you feel right now is exhaustion. Storming past him, you can hear his groan, but you don't turn around.

Parked next to the Twinkie is your truck and you stand beside it, hand on the handle, waiting to see if JJ will follow you out. He doesn't. Feeling defeated, you get in the car and drive home.

JJ stands close to the bonfire at the party, staring out at the water. He is a few beers deep, but he doesn't feel like he hoped he would. The way you two left things made him uneasy and restless. He flexes his fists a couple of times, chasing that desire for fighting he had earlier.

It doesn't work. He doesn't want to be here. Not really. All he wants is to hold you in his arms and make it all right, but he's afraid he took it too far this time. Why did he always have to fuck everything up? It's like he thinks one thing and ends up saying something completely different, something hurtful that he doesn't really mean.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees John B approach him. He puts a hand on JJ's shoulder. "You need to talk to her."

JJ turns to face him. "You don't think I know that, man?" he says on an exhale. "I'm scared I'm gonna make it worse."

"Nah, JJ. Come on dude, she loves you and you love her." John B bends a little to look into JJ's eyes. "Right?"

JJ nods at his question, saying "so much. I can't imagine my life without her."

JB shakes his head, turning his gaze to the water now. "She's right, you know? You don't have to deflect. And you definitely shouldn't go proving the fuckers right."

"Ah fuck. I have to go. Gimme the keys, I'll pick you up later!" John B wordlessly hands him the keys to the Twinkie and JJ breaks into a run, trying to get to the van and start driving as quickly as possible.

You are hanging out in your backyard, laying in the hammock, your legs dangling off one side. There was no way you could go to sleep after the fight you and JJ had. Looking up at the stars, you hear something that sounds awfully like the Twinkie. The van's noises are unmistakable, especially on a quiet night like this one.

Jumping out of the hammock, you go to investigate, leaning over the fence separating you from the driveway. Sure enough, it was the Twinkie, and who was stepping out of it?

"Hi," JJ says.

"Hey," you reply, keeping your voice even, not letting emotion show.

JJ takes a few steps closer, beckoning you to meet him in the driveway. You sigh, but open the gate and come to him just the same.

You don't want to say anything first, leaving JJ to take the lead. He reaches out, takes one of your hands, and puts it over his heart, which is beating really hard.

"I'm sorry, angel." He takes the same hand and brings it up to his lips, kissing each finger, ending with his lips on your palm, holding them there for a few moments.

"You are right, you're always right. I wanna be better, baby," JJ says, leaning forward and resting his forehead against yours. "I'll be better."

He's still holding your hand in his and you interlace your fingers together. "I love you the way you are JJ, okay? I just want you to realize you are good enough. You are more than good enough." You press a gentle kiss to his lips, loving the softness of them.

"I'm so glad I found you," JJ says and brings you in a tight hug against his chest. "I'm so glad we found each other, baby," you say, rubbing soothing circles on his back. Both of you know that no matter how many dumb fights you have, you are not leaving and neither is JJ.

[simpjaes]

hear me out: jay and jake kissing to “practice for girls”..

warning: jayke want each other. some context: the one where Jay and Jake are assigned to be roommates on campus for their sophomore year of college. after months of lying to each other about getting around in terms of sex, they both realize they're entirely at a loss, virgins, and...they need practice before actually trying to live up to their own lies.

"Bullshit, you're a virgin." Jay argues at his roommate over shitty $10 vodka, narrowing his eyes at him. "I know a virgin when I fucking see one." Jake narrows his eyes right back, feeling both too seen and entirely insulted. Of course he's a fucking virgin, why else would he be sitting here, with this bitch of a man on a saturday night when there's dozens of parties raging about on campus?! "Okay, fine." Jake admits it, glaring harder. "What about you, Mister "i-had-two-girls-at-once? Hm?" Jay avoids eye contact, a clear sign of a liar. "Me?!" He asks back. "The audacity." Jake cuts him off. "Admit it. Neither of us have so much as even kissed a fucking girl, I can tell. All virgins can clock another fucking virgin and you know it." Silence. That's all the answer Jake needed. ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・ Jake isn't sure why, but he expected it to feel...rougher? more, like, manly?

But no, it's soft, it's warm, it's nothing like he expected. Even bringing his hand up to touch the soft cheek, to even run his fingers through his hair, all of it feels soft. "Woah." Jake whispers when Jay pulls back, looking away from him and scratching at the back of his own neck. "Was that good?" Jay comments in an even smaller voice, avoiding eye contact. Embarrassed, a bit elated. Fuck if Jake knows what's good and what isn't. There wasn't any tongue or anything, just like, a really long kiss. Some slight movement of the lips, but definitely not what he's seen in porn. "I don't know." He shrugs, looking at his roommate. "What about me? Was I good?" Jay shrugs, finally looking at him. "Is this...weird?" And at the same time he says it, Jake speaks out. "Can we try it with tongue?" Jay scraps his previous question. Practice is practice, and it doesn't seem like Jake was paying attention anyway. "Oh, um-" His face feels hot as he looks at the man, with lips plusher, bigger than his own. "Yeah, I mean- do you want to?" Jake nods eagerly, already licking his lips, sitting on the couch, skewed so awkwardly to the side just to wait for Jay to meet his lips again. And when it does happen, he's not really sure what takes over his body. Arguably, Jay isn't sure either. Because the second tongue is introduced..um...is this even practice anymore? Why does everything feel so natural? Why is he...why is he getting hard? And when Jake pulls him onto his lap, seemingly lost in the moment, eyes squeezed shut as if pretending Jay is that pretty girl from one of his gen-ed classes, Jay realizes he's not the only one getting into it. That drives him further, it drives Jake further too. With messy tongues, sloppy drooling and even slight grunts, slight moans...it's no longer practice. It's like that for a few moments before Jay questions himself too harshly, pulling back with a breath and looking at Jake. His cheeks are so pink, lips so puffy...god, is he attracted to this absolute, fucking embarrassing ass loser? "Why'd you stop?" Jake tilts his head, furrowing his brows in confusing. "I think that was good, I think we're doing good." Yeah. Jay's attracted to him. "Wait-" Jay calls out, looking around the room before motioning to the position they're in. "Isn't this...gay?" Jake tilts his head even further. "You like it?" Jay stares at him. "A little bit." And then they just- well. Hours pass, probably, as Jay kisses him. Surely they're both ready by now to fuck all those girls. There's a new, glaring issue though. It keeps happening. Every night. They don't even use this knowledge elsewhere, just on each other. Growing harder, harder, fucking aching for touch.

Jay wonders, weeks later, who will be the first to break that boundary. He wonders if there's even a boundary at this point, actually.

[varpusvaras]

Jason always breathed better in the kitchen.

There had been a few rooms in the Manor that had been more or less his. His own room, the library, and the kitchen, at the top of the list. Everyone had quickly learned how much having his own room meant for him, and they had learned to knock and wait for his permission to come in, instead of just barging inside, with loud words and harsh hands. Even Dick respected the quietness of the library, and if Jason had been in there, reading, no one had dared to disturb him, at least most of the time.

Still, Jason's favorite place had been the kitchen.

Maybe because Bruce and Dick had been squarely banned from ever coming in, giving Jason a space to go to if he truly wanted to be left alone by them. Maybe because that was where Alfred was, and Alfred was always safe, with no reason or intention to lecture Jason or argue with him. Maybe because in the kitchen, with the cupboards and the fridge full, and a cup of tea always ready for him, no matter the time of day, Jason had felt like everything would be alright the most.

There was no Alfred in the Queen family kitchen, it was open for everyone in the house, and there was no tea.

Still, Jason felt a little better as he leaned against the counter and breathed.

He could still hear the others in the house, somewhere, and if Jason really concentrated, he could, for a moment, delude himself into thinking that if he just stayed in the kitchen, he would cease to exist for the rest of them for the time being.

Not that Jason...wanted them to forget him, but it was easier that way, just for a moment. In a moment, Jason would be able to come out of the kitchen, and the day would continue like normal, and Jason could again pretend that he belonged there.

Jason breathed in. Lian and Mia had baked snickerdoodles earlier, and the kitchen still smelled like warm sugar and cinnamon. Jason imagined that they would go great with tea. Everything went great with tea. There were teacups in a cabinet on one of the kitchen walls. They didn't have the same pattern as the ones Alfred always used. The ones in the Manor had a golden rim and a red ribbon around them, and Jason had always been terrified to touch them. The cups in the cabinet had teal flowers on them, and they looked like they hadn't been touched in a long time.

There wasn't an Alfred in this kitchen, after all.

God, Jason missed Alfred.

He missed the kitchen in the Manor, with Alfred in it, Alfred who would not lecture him or argue with him, Alfred who always had a cup of tea for him, no matter the time of the day.

If Jason could just magically appear in the kitchen and skip the rest of the Manor, he would go there in a blink of an eye.

But he could not.

So not kitchen with Alfred and tea in it for him.

Jason breathed. Warm sugar and cinnamon. Teacups with teal flowers. Voices somewhere in the house.

How much longer it would take, to him to not have this either?

They haven't kicked you out yet, a hopeful voice in his head told him. They haven't told Roy to not bring you with him, either. That has to mean something.

Bruce also offered Jason help, once, Jason reminded the voice. And that Jason had said no.

But you haven't said no yet, the voice pointed out. You haven't said no a single time Roy has asked you to come here with him.

No, Jason admitted. He hadn't.

But it didn't mean anything.

Sooner or later, they would realise that Jason was not one of them. That there was no place for him here.

Just like Jason had realised that he wasn't part of the family anymore.

They wouldn't, the hopeful voice said. Look, Roy is happy here, he can come here, despite-

No, Jason shut the voice down. Do not bring Roy into this. Roy was sick and hurting. Roy needed help. Nothing about it was Roy's fault. Don't you dare compare yourself to Roy ever again.

The voice understood what was good for it and stayed quiet.

Jason breathed. Warm sugard and cinnamon. Teacups with teal flowers. Voices somewhere in the house.

Jason, in the kitchen, desperate the follow the voices.

Jason breathed. Warm sugar and cinnamon. Teacups with teal flowers. Footsteps, coming towards the kitchen.

Jason snapped his head around, tearing his eyes of the cabinet with the teacups.

Oliver stepped into the kitchen.

"There you are", he said, like seeing Jason in the kitchen was something he had hoped for. "Dinah is taking pictures."

Jason could not decipher the way Oliver had said the latter words.

"Yeah?" He said. "Roy said so."

All the kids were in the house, and Dinah wanted to take pictures with them all in it, to update the photowall in the living room. Roy had jokingly complained about it when he had mentioned it to Jason earlier, in a way that made it clear that Roy didn't actually mind sitting down and posing for the camera with the others. That he actually liked it, having his picture taken with his family in said picture with him.

Roy had left to fetch Lian, in order to make sure that she would be presentable for said pictures, and that had been Jason's cue to leave. To find somewhere that would be just for him for the time being.

Of course, the kitchen here was not the same as the kitchen in the Manor. It was not a place just for Jason. Jason had known that.

Oliver raised his brow, and Jason felt, for a slip second, like he was fourteen again, standing in the Manor's kitchen instead of this one.

"Yeah?" Oliver said back to him. "Chop-chop, everybody's waiting. Lian wants to have more cookies, and Roy promised her those after dinner, and Dinah wants to take the pictures before that."

Jason blinked.

"Oh", he said, because his brain was suddenly empty, and he couldn't think of anything else to say.

Oliver looked at him for a few seconds longer. There was something softer in the way he looked at Jason, now, like Jason, standing in the kitchen by himself, was something to be given softness.

Then Oliver stepped closer, and threw an arm around Jason's shoulders, like it was the most normal thing of him to do, and he dragged Jason out of the kitchen.

Jason tried not to think too much about how good it felt.

Everybody was gathered in the music room, which Jason knew most of the pictures already on the wall were taken in. It wasn't used much for playing music anymore, and it had the best lighting during most of the day, as far as Jason had understood from the house tour he had gotten when he had visited the house for the first time. The couch, which usually sat against the wall nex to the window, had been dragged to the middle of the room.

Roy, Lian, Mia and Connor were already sitting down, with Dinah standing next to the camera, checking the settings on it. She paused when she heard Oliver and Jason coming in.

"And there's the rest of them", she said, giving Jason a quick smile. "Jason, sit next to Lian, so she's between you and Roy."

Lian grinned at that, and quickly scooted closer to Roy, and she patted the empty space next to her eagerly.

Jason nodded, a little numbly. Connor scooted closer to Mia as he made his way towards the couch, giving Jason more room to sit down, and he sat on the edge of the couch, resisting the urge to clench his fists.

Lian leaned lightly against him.

"Jayjay, come closer", she said, wrapping her hands around Jason's forearm and tugging. She had lately started calling him just Jay more often than Jayjay, like she had when she had been a bit younger, and Jason immediately relented. He shifted closer to her, situating himself a bit more properly onto the couch, instead of right on the edge of the seat.

There was weight again on his shoulders, where Oliver's arm had been the whole way from the kitchen to the music room. Roy had thrown his arm over Lian's head and onto Jason's shoulders, boxing him in with them.

It was grounding, the weight of Roy and Lian, both pressing against him, the presence of Connor and Mia just on the other side.

Jason breathed in.

He dared to look over at Dinah, who was still adjusting something on the camera.

"This would be much easier to do with a phone", Mia said.

"We can take more pictures with a phone later", Dinah said. "I want a good-quality one for the wall, especially since this is the first one with the whole family in it."

Jason blinked.

There was a lump of something, in his throat, and the breathed around it.

Roy tapped him lightly on the shoulder, and Jason turned to look at him.

Roy didn't say anything. He just looked at Jason, with a gentle smile on his face, the one he used every time he wanted to say that everything was alright without using any words.

Lian slid one of her hands into Jason's and wrapped her fingers around Jason's. She squeezed.

Jason squeezed back.

"Okay!" Dinah said. "Everybody look alive."

She and Oliver moved to the couch as well, with Dinah coming to stand next to Mia, while Oliver made his way behind the couch. Jason watched him pat Roy on the shoulder, and Roy hummed happily under his breath. It was a nice sound, and Jason savoured it.

Roy was looking at the camera, and Jason turned to look towards it as well. Roy squeezed his shoulders, and Jason felt him lean a little closer to him.

"Smile, Jaybird", Roy whispered, his own smile still evident in his voice.

Jason breathed. Roy's arm was a comfortable weight on his shoulders, Lian's hand the same in his hand, and in that moment, Jason could make himself truly believe that he belonged, right there.

Jason breathed, and smiled.

[slayfics]

Katsuki holds your hand.

1,100 words~

You adjusted to get more comfortable on the couch while the boys continued their conversation about today's training.

"If you ask me, we really showed what Class 1A can do today, that's all I'm saying," Denki said concluding his point.

"I agree everyone did their best today," Hanta said nodding.

Katsuki came into the common room and made his way over to join the conversation. He sat down at the furthest possible spot away from you on the couch. Even though you two had been in some type of undefined relationship for a while, he never showed any indication of it around others.

You rolled your eyes at his decision to sit so far away from you.

"Oh, hey Kacchan, we were just talking about how awesome everyone was in the training today. Especially me with my smart thinking~," Denki said with his usual sly smile.

"Tch- you're really thinking a lot of yourself after that aren't you?" Katsuki huffed out.

"Hey come on, you guys are always making fun of me for being dumb so- I gotta gloat my wins when I can, right?" Denki responded.

"Awe Kaminari~ we only make fun of you because that face you make when you fry your brain is so cute~," you said leaning over to pinch his cheek.

"Hey cut it out!" He exclaimed and swatted your hand away, a bright red blush illuminating his face.

Katsuki grunted and got up walking back to the elevator for the dorm rooms.

"You're leaving already?! You just got here man!" Eijiro called after him.

"Yeah, it's late," he said without turning around and continuing to walk to the elevators.

You jumped up and followed him to the elevator. The boys eyed you but didn't say anything and continued their conversation.

"The hell are you following me for?" Katsuki asked grumpily pressing the elevator button.

"No way you're going to bed, it's too early even for you," you observed.

The elevator opened and you both stepped in, "What do you care? Just go back," he spoke, waiting for you to exit, but instead you leaned over and pressed the button to his floor.

The elevator closed giving you both some privacy, "Why don't you just say you're jealous?" You asked bluntly, turning to Katsuki.

"HA?!" he exclaimed, turning to you, fury in his eyes.

"Come on you think that wasn't obvious? You got up as soon as I made that flirty comment at Kaminari," You challenged him.

The elevator opened up to his floor and Katsuki stormed out.

"Don't ignore me!" You yelled following after him.

Katsuki opened his dorm door and let out an annoyed huff of air when you slipped in under his arm.

"You can't run away from me you know," You declared. Katsuki angrily slammed his door and pulled your wrist up above your head, pinning you against the door. Any other person might have been afraid, but Katsuki's angry outbursts didn't faze you anymore.

His face was just inches away from yours and you could see the anger that flashed in his eyes ignited by his jealousy, "You know I fucking hate when you do that."

"Do what?" You asked, playing innocent as if you didn't intentionally flirt with Denki to piss him off.

"Don't play dumb with me," He growled. "You're so god damn flirty and it pisses me off, makes those extras think they have a chance with you. Especially dunce face, I hate the way he looks at you. Makes me want to explode the shit out of him. You're mine you know that!"

"Well- maybe they wouldn't look at me that way if they knew," You challenged him.

Katsuki let go of your wrist and stepped a few paces back from you, "I told you I'm not good at this shit." He said, crossing his arms.

"I'm not either Katsuki- but you sat the furthest away you could have from me down there-,"

"The fuck does that matter?? I was just sitting on the couch. Why the hell are you like that anyway? Do you like dunce face or something?" He asked.

You let out a sigh, "No of course not, I like you. I only did it because it pisses you off," You let out a small laugh. "I just want your attention that's all," you answered honestly.

"Tch- my attention? What a dumb ass way to go about it." He huffed.

"Told you, I'm not good at this stuff either. What if- I'll stop my playful comments if you make it obvious that there's... something between us," you proposed.

"Like what? You want me to hold your goddamn hand or something?" he asked.

Your eyes blinked wide. You were going to suggest just having him sit next to you on the couch next time- but this was much better.

"Yeah that's- that's good," you said trying to keep the excitement out of your voice. You didn't want Katsuki to see how much that actually meant to you.

"Fine, now get out, it actually is late now I gotta sleep," He grumbled.

You moved closer and placed a kiss on his cheek, "Sure thing Grandpa," you teased, and laughed as you left his room and made your way back to yours.

The following day, you sat in the common room around the usual couches the boys chose to hang out on.

"Man, today's lesson went way over my head, did any of you get it?" Eijiro asked looking distressed.

"Nope- Ectoplasm's lecture was impossible to follow," Denki said.

You were about to respond when you noticed Katsuki making his way to the couches. The boys continued their conversation while you eyed Katsuki, wondering if he'd stay true to his word. Katsuki silently sat next to you. Both hands tucked deep into his sweat pockets he looked away from the group.

"Bakugo, you're going to have to tutor all of us on the lesson today!" Eijiro exclaimed.

"Sure whatever-" Katsuki said still looking away from the group.

Eijiro looked at him curiously, wondering what was wrong, but decided not to push his friend and continued his conversation with Denki.

Without warning Katsuki pulled out his hand from his pocket and quickly grabbed yours, interlacing his fingers with yours. You looked down at your hands and then back up at him. He was still facing away from the group and his leg was bouncing up and down nervously.

Eijiro stopped mid-sentence at the sight.

"WHAT!?" Katsuki barked snapping his head to Eijiro.

"Nothing! Nothing!" Eijiro said quickly. He knew Katsuki well enough to know better than to make it a big deal.

The boys silently looked at each other and then back at you two stealing glances.

"If someone says a goddamn word I'm exploding them," Katsuki mumbled and turned to look away from the group again.

"So, anyway that lesson was awful," you said, encouraging the group to pick back up the conversation and not make a scene about Katsuki holding your hand.

"Yeah right-," Denki said and continued complaining about the rest of the day.

Katsuki gave your hand a slight squeeze, showing his appreciation.

Tags: @queenpiranhadon @unofficialmuilover @maddietries @fiannee @i-heart-carlisle @derangedmango @matchat3a @bakugouswaif

[whenlilyfallsinlove]

i know you

eli moskowitz x reader... (y/n) is basically jess in gilmore girls.. ive been obsessed with cobra kai lately

"what the fuck are you doing?"

"excuse me?"

you don't think you have ever felt as angry as you have done today. finding out that one of your best friends, that you just so happened to be in love with, had changed completely as a person was one thing. finding out he tried to beat up the third member of your little trio was another.

so you did what you had to, you always felt the need to go out the way to protect eli and demetri. you didn't think it would end up being from each other.

approximately half an hour earlier:

"(y/n)." demetri's face flooded your screen, as you were sprawled across your bed. calls were usually a common thing between the two of you now eli was distant.

"demetri.. hey! you okay?" you respond, taking note of his face.

"no." he says, in a deadpan tone.

"umm why? what happened?"

"eli happened."

of course. ever since your best friend since age 6 joined cobra kai, he had felt like a whole new person. he even gave himself a new name for goodness sake! you and demetri both knew it wasn't the real him. you'd known him for too long. that being said - this new persona didn't stop him avoiding you both.

"what did.. what did he do?" you look into your phone camera, worry evident on your face.

"he tried to beat me up! i was at the mall with sam and robby.. and i went to the comic book store.. and he was there. wasn't happy with my yelp review and tried to fight me."

"what the hell." your eyes widen slightly. rage soaring through your veins. what was he playing at? putting on a front to show off to his friends. why didn't he remember who his real friends were?

"i know.. i just can't believe he would do it. we were friends with him!"

"i know.. are you sure you're okay?" you ask, concerned.

"i'm fine.. robby and sam helped fight them off it just.. caught me by surprise."

"i bet it did.. look i'll ring you later, okay? i just need to take care of something."

demetri knew you all too well.

"don't do something you'll regret." he says.

"i won't."

now here you were, shouting at someone that was supposed to be your best friend. the boy you have had a crush on for so many years.

"don't 'excuse me'. you know what you did." you scoff, walking closer to him. you had decided to wait until he had finished karate to talk, it seemed appropriate.

"oh yeah? and what's that?" eli looked at you, his tone cocky.

"you tried to beat up demetri! what are you doing?" you question, looking at him in disgust.

"he shouldn't have put up that yelp review." he scowls.

"oh who cares about a stupid review! he's supposed to be one of your best friends." you say, angrily.

"not anymore. i'm not friends with pussies."

"what the hell is your problem? what.. you gonna ditch us just because we don't want to beat people up like you do?" your voice raises slightly, causing eli's scowl to falter.

"I told you, i'm not friends with weak people." he says.

"are you kidding? seriously! who was the one that used to fight your bullies in elementary? me! who was your first friend? demetri!"

"we're not kids anymore. people change. friendships change. it's not my fault you guys aren't strong enough for this." eli says, looking away from you, his demeanour crumbling.

"you're not like that either. you're putting on an act!" you exclaim.

"an act? the fuck? this is me now, accept it." he shouts.

"what's going on with you?!"

"nothing.. im fine." he says, his eyes searching your face.

"i know you. i know you better than anyone! this isn't you."

"what do you mean?"

"you know what i mean! starting fights with demetri.. ditching us for those idiots.. being so violent. why are you being so violent?" you ask, looking him in the eye.

the pleading in your voice makes his face soften slightly. you always had a way of getting to him. i mean, of course you did, he'd always had a massive crush on you.

"just tell me what's up with you! i care about you. why are you being like this?" you beg.

eli struggles to get his words out. he wanted to reach out, he wanted to hug you. he wanted to go back to yours and watch doctor who with you and demetri. but he coudln't.

"you don't.. you don't know me anymore." he forces out.

your face falls and eli swears he could feel his heart break.

"fine. don't expect me to wait for you anymore." and with that you turn and walk away, a small part of you hoping he stops you.

he doesn't.

he wants to, he really does. but that's not him anymore.

he watches you walking off with a pained expression, knowing hes fucked up. he just can't bring himself to stop you.

[maidragoste]

hey , si only 8 days till the first episode arrives sooooooo , will we blessed with new the queen and her husband content ? ;)

Hi anon, a day late but here you have new content of the Queen and her husbands, this time Aemond is not present in this but I still hope you like it 🥰🥰

likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated 💖💖

Series masterlist

Prince Daeron snuggled deeper into his hiding place as he heard footsteps. He silently waited for whoever he had entered to leave. But then the long tablecloth that covered the table was lifted, revealing his parents crouching down.

“Is there a place for us?” His father asked with a smile and normally Daeron would have calmed down when he saw it but with the words of his grandmother and the maester still running through his head, he wanted to cry.

You and Aegon exchanged a worried look when you saw that your son only nodded with his lips in a straight line, nothing like your always happy baby.

The prince saw how his parents took the crown off their heads and then left them on the floor and got under the table with him. Father pulled the tablecloth again to hide the three of them from the rest of the world.

Daeron felt warm and loved with his body pressed between yours and Aegon's. He wanted to stay there forever, with father holding you two and your hands gently stroking his hair while you hummed his favorite song. But he knew that his parents couldn't stay hidden with him forever because you were king and queen and you two had many things to do and he also had to return to his lessons.

“Am I grounded?” he asked making you stop humming.

“Should we punish you?” Aegon asked instead making his son look at him confused.

“I ran away from my lessons,” the prince said, not understanding why neither you nor Aegon seemed upset or angry with him.

“We know, your grandmother and the maester told us,” you told him.

Both you and Aegon noticed how Daeron grew smaller at the mention of adults. You watched as your husband frowned and clenched his jaw. You had no idea what was going on in his head but it clearly wasn't a good thing.

“Did they do something to you?” he asked, surprising you and your son. But Aegon didn't mince words, if Alicent or that maester had dared to lay a hand on his son then his mother would return to her family home in Old Town and the maester would be Sunfyre's next meal. “. “Daeron if they did something to you you have to tell us.”

"They didn't do anything," the boy quickly said when he saw the serious look in his father's eyes. He didn't want his grandmother and the maester to get into trouble because of him. "It's just that," he fell silent, not being sure if he wanted to talk about what was distressing him. He didn't want to disappoint you two.

“You can tell us anything, little dragon,” you encouraged him when you saw that he seemed hesitant. “No one will be mad at you,” you assured him and kissed his forehead.

“They said I should do better in my lessons if I want to be a good king.”

Your heart broke as you heard your baby's trembling little voice. And Aegon felt his anger with his mother increase, it had not been enough for him to make him feel inadequate for most of his life and now he made his son feel bad too.

But any anger was forgotten with Daeron's next words.

“But I don't want to be king because if I'm king then it means mother and you aren't with me anymore!” He shouted before bursting into tears and Aegon rushed to pick him up and lift him onto his lap. Daeron's hands quickly latch onto his father's neck as he begins to rock his body from side to side like he did when Daeron was a baby.

You watch with a heavy heart and without knowing what to do. You weren't prepared for this conversation. You can't lie to your son and tell him that the two of you would never leave his side because neither of you is immortal. But you don't want to stay silent either. You want to comfort your baby and make his anguish disappear.

“My little dragon, you don't have to worry about that yet,” you began to speak while you gently wiped the tears from his cheeks. "Your father and I will live for many years, so long that we will start to bother you and you will want us to leave you alone."

“It's a lie, I'll always need you,” he said, making Aegon laugh and earning a kiss on the forehead from her.

“I'm going to tell you a secret but you have to promise not to tell anyone,” you said as you raised your little finger and your son soon intertwined his own finger with yours, looking at you with his violet eyes full of curiosity.

“Won't you make Father promise too?” He asked when he saw that you didn't extend your pinky to Aegon.

“No, because he has known for a long time and never told anyone,” you responded, making your husband smile and you leaned in to steal a short kiss, making the prince complain. “Someone’s anxious,” you scoffed.

“Mother, I want to know!”

“Do you remember your uncles Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey?” Your son nodded repeatedly, excited because you didn't usually talk about your brothers as much as Uncle Egg, and Aegon made sure to put one of his hands on Daeron's head to prevent him from hitting the table.” Well, when I miss them a lot they usually come to see me in my dreams. So when you miss us or need us you can look for us in your dreams.”

“And you are always going to come?” Daeron asked anxiously.

“We can't promise that but we'll try,” your husband answered for you when he saw that you weren't sure what to say.

“I hope you make an effort or I will get angry with you,” the prince warned, crossing his arms, but instead of intimidating you, he made you two smile.

“It seems fair to us” You kissed his cheek and Daeron smiled.

“Now stop worrying and go find your brothers to play,” your husband said as he carefully lowered Daeron off of him.

“But my lessons”

“I ran away from my lessons all the time and I'm still a good king, right?”

“Aegon, don't give him any ideas,” you patted him on the back but your husband could see that you weren't seriously reprimanding him or that you were upset by how you were holding back a smile. After all, he sometimes sneaked out of his lessons to be with you. He still remembered how Alicent scolded him when she found him in the gardens with you but he didn't care because in the end, you had made him a pretty flower crown, if it were up to him he would have worn it until the flowers had withered but he could barely use it for two days when his mother forbade him to continue wearing it because he was not acting like a prince. “Today is an exception but then you have to continue attending your lessons with the maester and pay attention,” you said, bringing your husband back to the present.

“If I have to study more then I don't want to be king” the boy complained.

“Being king sounds tough, right?” Aegon sighed dramatically. "But don't worry, your mom and I will take care of everything so when your turn comes you won't have a lot of work to do,” he assured his son as he ruffled Daeron's hair. “Now go to play.”

Daeron smiled and kissed each of them on the cheek.

“I love you,” he said before quickly leaving under the table feeling much better.

Taglist The Queen and Her Husbands:

@watercolorskyy @chaotic-fangirl-blog @venus-flytrap3 @sweethoneyblossom1@fudge13 @alisoncdariel @crystal-faith @tita004 @ichanelvxgue @your-favorite-god

@snowprincesa1 @snh96 @rosey1981 @papichulo120627 @apollonshootafar @jasminecosmic99   @bxdbxtxh15 @impartinghades @hannaeditzs @multi-fandoms-stuff

@zverea @solacestyles @lilithskywalker  @justsumtuffstuff @crispmarshmallow @afro-hispwriter @libdarkheart @chevelledahuman @helloitsshitzulover  @ladybug0095

@ietss @serendippindots @ultraviollett @akinatrix @papery-maniac @merovingianprincess @hnybitches @m1ndbrand @giulia2372   @noisyinfluencerstrawberry

@bajadotcom @woodandwaxwings @mendes-bae @sustisama @imjustboredso @remuslupinwifee @sarcasticking9 @melllinaa  @letsloveimagines   @zillahvathek

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[s0lairee]

still nocturnal

fooliverse!vincent in honor of erik bringing that wonderful, life changing, amazing universe back again! i giggled the entire time i drew this. uhh more rambles under the cut (and these are actually sorta coherent i swear-)

OKAY so we know how fooliverse works: one to two major trait(s) of a character, reversed. flirty incubus gav becomes softspoken incubus gav. fiesty werewolf milo becomes fiesty vampire milo. so on and so forth.

originally, i did exactly that: werewolf vincent with the same flirty charm, or tired and impassive vampire vincent. 

then i considered flipping both his major traits (aka flirty and vampire). and instead of a milo situation (wolf to vampire), i considered sort of an anton situation?? by which i mean i wanted non-vampire vin. maybe unempowered, Normal Guy™️. maybe informed unempowered, dating one electro energetic... or! maybe still empowered just not a vampire, maybe professor at damn. blank, stern, austere vin with glasses and pressed shirts. little thermos with coffee (and nyquil) (and redbull) (no one knows how he's alive still). fool!vin (probably magicborn) on a professor's paycheck doing his taxes or whatever, teaching night classes for the vamps, with just slightly sharp canines that he lives with.

i rolled the idea of tired, impassive, werewolf vincent around too. he'd be a real homebody... very much not a stereotypical werewolf - maybe he still has the vampiric bougie-ness and appreciation for finer details, tbh. still the same nocturnal boi we know and love, but with more vulnerability to a real good headpat. sometimes his partner comes home to a whole wolf napping on the couch. i like the idea of him having vampire fangs tattooed somewhere as a result of being a spunky kid trying to “rebel against the system” while not knowing that werewolves and vampires were (...mostly) allies in dahlia. now he's mellow and grown out of that though, but the tattoo remains.

i did consider alpha!vin specifically but 1) i don't think he could do that and 2) i think he has had enough with positions of power tbh give my mans a break

but then i felt like both ideas had gone a little too far from prime!vincent to the point where he wasn't recognizable anymore. so i decided to stick to flipping maybe one trait.

flirty unempowered dude? that's just pre-turning vin. nothing fooliverse about it, i'd be crying (i'm the april fool, guys). flirty empowered? 🙂‍↕️👂 love that too, pretty classic. flirty unempowered? also classic!

but i'm not picky. know that if we ever get a fool!vin you will either hear from me extensively, or never hear from me at all. 

so my ideal fool!vin would be a milo greer-rebane situation, where we get a last name drop with a flirty werewolf. mostly bc i think it’s funny as hell watching younger vin go “ay wait up”, meticulously remove all of his piercings, jewelry and multiple layers, then shift (till he learns about Not Needing To Do That). also because i imagined spunky, younger, rowdy vin, early 2000s, still sticking around amusement parks and still ALIVE. what if what if what if...

i lourv this man

[ckret2]

Chapter 72 of human Bill Cipher being 50% the prisoner & 50% the weird guest of the Mystery Shack:

Soos makes a deeply significant moral decision. To redecorate!

If you're seeing this picture, it's because I either didn't have enough time to draw a better one before the queue spat out this chapter, or I decided that nothing else I could draw would be half as funny.

####

Whenever Soos faced something difficult, he talked to Abuelita. And Bill was nothing if not something difficult.

Soos laid out the situation to her in the living room as she watched her telenovelas—she didn't mind the distraction, she far preferred real life drama over anything they put on TV. He told her about the confiscated canes, the daily injuries, the bargaining for food, the threat of forced showers, the bruises and burns and blood Bill said nothing about. He told her about Bill's door trick and how he'd only used it to talk to a teen about life and tuck a kid into bed. Once he'd told Abuelita all his thoughts, she nodded slowly, eyes still fixed to the TV screen; and for the moment, said nothing.

The doctor on TV confirmed the tearful new mother's suspicions that her husband had cheated (DNA tests confirmed the baby was another woman's), and Abuelita muted the show as it went to a commercial break. Soos waited as she collected her thoughts to render her judgment.

"I have been talking to Mr. Cipher for the last month or so. He keeps me company while I cook so I do not poison him again," she said. "I think he is ruthless, manipulative, and self-centered."

Soos winced, but nodded. "That's true."

Abuelita went on, "I like him. He is self-confident. He's blunt in a way you only get when you're old and cynical. I think he is a bad person; but, many bad people are good company."

"That's also true." Soos nodded again thoughtfully. Like whenever a comic book had a young idealistic superhero team up with an old jaded ex-villain who played by his own rules, and they ended up best friends, in spite of their glaring ethical and political differences.

"But, more importantly than whether he is a good person or a bad person," Abuelita said, "he is a person. And if you do not like a person, there are three ways you can deal with him." She counted off on her fingers, "You can kill him; you can avoid him; or you can set your feelings aside, and treat him with decency. Yes, get rid of the people who are bad for you—but no matter how terrible a person is, you must treat him like a person."

Soos's eyes lit up. "Oh, like with grandpa!"

Abuelita nodded slowly. "Yes. Just like grandpa."

"Yeah but—what if treating him decently is, you know... dangerous? Like if he uses any privileges we give him to do bad stuff? The Pines think he will. And I think he might be secretly talking to his cultists or whatever? Who miiight wanna destroy the world? But what if they can't destroy the world actually, and if I tell about the people he's talking to, he gets treated even worse..."

"Without his devil powers, he couldn't destroy a bookclub," Abuelita said. "But, if he is so dangerous, are you going to kill him?"

"No. I actually don't think we can anymore?"

"Are you going to avoid him?"

Soos let out a heavy sigh. "I can't as long as he lives here."

Abuelita shrugged, as if to say there you have it. "You are a good, kind man, mijo. I am sure you will figure out the right thing to do."

####

He took Melody out for lunch. They went through a drive-thru so they could park and talk privately in the truck.

She took a firmer stance on it than Abuelita. "I do not want to be stuck with Bill forever," she said. "I could put up with it this long because I thought the Pines would get rid of him as soon as possible! Now that he's staying here indefinitely...?" She shook her head. "I really don't like it, Soos."

Soos wasn't surprised. "Do... you think they should have 'gotten rid' of him?"

Melody paused, then shook her head again. "This whole thing is such a bizarre situation. Like, I can get why it makes sense to execute the guy that can end the world, but... I just don't think that's a decision two random guys with a big gun should be allowed to make," she said. "Honestly? I think we should call some federal agency and put him in jail somewhere. You know I've been iffy on Ford's 'only we can contain Bill' thing from the start."

"Yeah. I know." Soos agreed with Ford—he was the Bill expert, he would know—but he couldn't say Melody was wrong, either.

"Our wedding's scheduled for the end of summer," Melody said. "And... I'm sorry, Soos, but I just can't live under the same roof as the guy that turned me into a statue. We'll still get married—"

"—Oh, phew, almost had a heart attack there—"

"—pff, sorry. But if Bill's still in the shack after the summer, then... then I'll keep staying with my aunt, or we could move into your old house and just visit the shack for work, or something... but I can't move into the shack permanently until he moves out."

"Okay. I accept that." Even if the rest of them had sorta gotten used to living with Bill, Soos thought not wanting to live with a former torturer/conqueror/dictator was a pretty reasonable boundary. "I dunno what we'll do long-term just yet, but—we'll decide on something before the wedding."

Melody let out a long, nervous sigh. "Okay," she said. "Okay. Thanks, Soos." She reached across the truck's center console.

Soos took her hand. "But, how do you think we should handle Bill until then?"

Melody stared out the window at the gray sky. The rain had dried up before dawn, but the sky was still hazy. "If we keep guarding him ourselves instead of getting law enforcement involved... personally? I wouldn't give him any kind of special treatment at all. He tried to end the world! He stuck the whole town in a throne! He can just keep sleeping on the floor and being miserable, and I'd be fine with it."

Soos winced. "I see."

Melody squeezed his hand. "But—the fact that you're kinder than that is one of the things I love about you. Even when the creep you're being kind to doesn't deserve it." She gave him a resigned smile. "Do whatever you feel is right."

He considered that. Then he nodded. "I will."

####

Bill kept Soos's Abuelita company while she cooked, and gossiped with her in Spanish better than Soos's about people Bill had never even met. Bill liked watching cartoons, sports where people got hurt, and weirdly intellectual movies Soos didn't get, and he heckled historical documentaries and the news. Bill was offended by white rice and had incredibly strong opinions about salsas for a guy who'd only started eating them a month ago. Bill hadn't taken his friendship bracelet off once since Mabel gave it to him. Bill might not have been a human; but he was a person.

It was high time they start treating him like one.

####

Soos came home late in the afternoon with his truck laden down with supplies. Stan's car was gone, and when Soos came in with an armload of wooden boards he didn't see anybody around except Abuelita, napping in the living room, and Dipper, laying on the living room floor watching TV. "Hey dude," Soos whispered. "Where's everybody else?"

Dipper whispered back, "Hey Soos. Stan and Ford are at McGucket's mansion." He didn't look up from the TV. He was watching a rerun of Ghost Harassers on mute. "Mabel's with Bill in the floor room. He's in a bad mood about something so they've been doing karaoke all day."

"Huh." Soos could faintly hear someone playing his electric piano. It sounded like it was on the organ setting. "I didn't know he plays piano."

"He's alright," Dipper said. "His singing's terrible, though."

Soos shuddered. He could imagine.

Well, at least it meant Bill was out of the way. Soos began his first of many trips upstairs.

####

"What's all this racket?" Stan trudged upstairs to inspect Soos's noises—and abruptly stopped at the top of the stairs as he almost ran into a wooden beam. "What the—?"

"Oh, hey Mr. Pines!" Soos hooked his hammer on his tool belt. He'd put up wall framing to section off the corner of the attic floor that included the window seat.

Stan circled around the framing, inspecting it in bafflement. "Soos, what the heck is this?"

"So, remember at the beginning of summer, when I said that me and Melody were thinking about putting in a gaming room-slash-guest room in the attic? And Ford said not to bother until Bill was gone because he wouldn't be here long enough for me to finish? Welp! Sounds like he's gonna be here long enough for me to finish now! So I thought, hey, might as well, right? No reason not to!" He shrugged. "By the way, do you think I should put the door in front of the stairs, or on the long side of the room opposite the window? If it's in front of the stairs, you can just walk right in the room when you come up, and we'd be able to put a big screen on the long wall; but when you're walking out of the room it'd be really easy to forget the stairs are there and fall, and uh, we already have enough of a problem with that—"

Stan finally got his dropped jaw working again. "But this is where the demon sleeps! Where are we supposed to put him now?!"

"Oh, it's fine! Bill can keep sleeping in here. I'll put up a curtain instead of a door for now. This way the room's ready for gaming once Bill's gone." Soos planted his hands on his hips and surveyed his handiwork with pride.

"Are you crazy? You're giving Bill his own room?! No way! He could do anything in private. We can't trust him with that—"

"Listen." Soos gave Stan a serious look. "Mr. Pines, I respect you, and I love you like the dad I never had except technically I do have a dad but he's off being a deadbeat in Florida or something so he doesn't count."

He pointed at the floor. "But this is my house now. My name might not be on the deed, but my butt is in the master bedroom! And nobody under my roof is living like—like—like some kind of starving hobo sleeping on a bench under a newspaper, you know what I'm talking about? The Mystery Shack is a happy place! Where people come to see dreams come true and have their imaginations expanded! And I won't see it turned into some sad one-man prison!"

Stan stared at Soos, speechless.

"So." Soos took a deep breath. "With all due respect—I'm building a gaming room, and it'll have walls, and Bill gets to sleep in it. Because he's a person! And we're gonna treat him like one!"

Stan slowly looked from Soos to the wall framing, to the boxes of supplies he'd bought for the room and pushed against a wall to wait—to the pathetic couch cushion bed still sitting on the floor in front of the window. "All right. That's—that's fine. I'll let Ford know."

Soos's shoulders relaxed. "Thanks, Mr. Pines."

Stan clapped a hand on Soos's shoulder; looked for a moment like he wanted to say something; then just shook his head and said instead, "Knock off the hammering before the kids go to bed, all right?"

"No problem! I've gotta set up some furniture and stuff in here anyway." He got back to work as Stan went downstairs.

####

Soos paused his work when he overheard Bill's voice: "Hey Stanford. Figured out the kitchen situation yet?"

Soos had to strain to hear Ford (jeez, Bill was loud) as he said, "We haven't had a chance yet. For now, we can at least leave one of the counter cabinets open."

"Huh." It didn't sound like an impressed huh. "And will this open cabinet have any of the foods you put in the cabinet to hide from me? Or just more of the junk I've already been scavenging."

Ford was silent long enough to provide the answer.

"Right."

"I went by the grocery store," Ford offered. "I got avocados."

"Uh huh."

"And several pepper varieties."

"Ooh." Bill sounded intrigued in spite of himself.

"And protein drinks. They're nutritious, at least," Ford said. "But—I know that's not adequate. Stan and I will have something permanent figured out by the end of the week."

"I guess it's fine as an emergency measure," Bill said, "but you know how the phrase goes! Give a triangle a protein drink, and it'll eat for a day. Teach a triangle to open the fridge, and it'll eat for the rest of its life. If you lift that curse..."

"We'll talk. But don't get your hopes up. Neither of us likes the thought of giving you the power to come in our bedroom and smother us in our sleep the next time we have an argument."

"Fine." Bill's voice had hardened again. "You've got to the end of the week. But don't forget! If I don't like your offer, I don't have to take it! You can't keep me in this rickety barn anymore."

"I haven't forgotten."

The conversation seemed to be over and Soos didn't hear anyone coming up the stairs. He got back to work.

He felt good. He was doing the right thing.

####

When Mabel came up to bed, she stared in confusion at the modified attic floor, squealed in excitement when she realized what she was looking at, surprised Soos with a hug, and gushed about how great it was; and then she let Soos know Dipper and Ford were out tonight investigating weird stuff and went on to bed herself.

The first notification Soos had that Bill had come upstairs was a flat, offended, "What."

"Oh, hey!" Soos ducked out of the opening he'd left for the doorway—which he'd ultimately decided to put straight across from the window, to let a little light back into the attic. (He'd have to add more lighting in the main attic now that the window was blocked off.) Bill was standing at the corner of the new room, surveying the work with an expression of deep suspicion.

Soos said, "I was just getting started on this gaming room Melody and me wanted to put in—it's okay though, you can keep using it, we'll just turn it into a gaming room, uhhh... lllater. Whenever, it's cool!"

Bill turned his suspicious look on Soos; but when Soos gestured for Bill to follow him into the room, he reluctantly followed.

"Yeah, I got up the framing," Soos said, "but I couldn't get to the drywall today, so I just stapled up some tarps to be walls for now. But, look!" He gestured grandly. "I brought up the old orange sofa and chaise thingy that used to be in Abuelita's room! They've been in storage for like a year. I bet we could sit, like, six people on it for game nights. It turns out the sofa's a daybed, so we can use it as an extra guest bed for visitors, we do not have enough beds for visitors in the shack, haha. And, check it—" Soos flipped up the lid on a chest he'd placed in front of the right end of the sofa like a footrest. "I put in one of those top-down chest fridges for gaming snacks! It uh, the top of it swings up, that makes it a lid instead of a door, right? Sooo I guess you can use it too, right? You can just, put whatever you want on the weekly grocery list, and we'll put it in here. Oh, and!" He pointed at the ancient TV console table he'd hauled up from the cellar, "I set up a hot plate here, too! So you can cook stuff in the attic! For—for normal legitimate gaming room purposes."

Bill's gaze followed where Soos pointed, from the ancient orange sofa to the fridge chest to the hot plate. He didn't say anything. His expression was completely unreadable.

Soos swallowed. "Oh, and, by the way, speaking of home improvements, I took out the doorknob on the main bathroom, and put in one of those, like, little slidy dealies like public bathroom stalls? Plus I gave the door those swinging hinges—like the kind on saloon doors in the movies, o-or, say, the door into the gift shop—"

Bill whipped around to face Soos.

Soos jumped. He laughed nervously and tried to remember what point he was making. "S-so, um... there's no latch now, so it doesn't latch, which means there's no way to accidentally get locked in—or out, of the bathroom, and... and I don't actually know how much of that you understood, due to the whole curse thing? Just forget everything I just said, I guess, the important thing is you can use that bathroom without asking someone else now! Cool, right?"

He had to turn away from Bill's intense gaze, pointing back at the gaming room's doorway. "Anyway since the room isn't finished yet and you're probably gonna use it for a while, I hung up a curtain instead of a door. And I added that cool zodiac spell blanket thing Mabel gave me inside the curtain! Since you said you liked it so much when you first got here. And like... having it in our room kinda creeps Melody out, I think it might be giving her nightmares? So I thought you might like it better. Anyway I've still gotta do some other stuff, like add power outlets in here, and air conditioning, and... a-and..." He petered out weakly.

Bill was giving Soos the most venomous look he'd ever seen. 

"Sure. Terrific." Bill crossed his arms, seething. "I've slept on the floor, I can cope with sleeping in the middle of a construction zone too. No big deal! I'll make do."

"Oh," Soos said. "Uh... if it bothers you, I could try to get the walls finished tomorrow? Shack's closed tomorrow too, so, I was already planning to keep—"

Teeth grit, Bill snarled, "Don't put yourself out on my behalf."

Soos froze. "Oookay! Uh... well, I'll be getting ready for bed if you need... yeah, no, you—you probably don't need anything. Bye." He ducked out into the attic, letting out a whoosh of a sigh as soon as the curtain swung shut behind him.

Bill had looked like he was two seconds from ripping out Soos's throat. Why? Had he liked sleeping on the floor? He'd never seemed like he had. Maybe he'd preferred the attic's open flooring? Maybe he hated extremely 70's orange upholstery? Was this a mistake...?

Bill watched through the tarp until Soos was down the stairs. Then he lunged over the sofa, hanging over the back by his waist, to reach the attic window seat. He groped for the corner of the seat cushion where he'd hidden Journal 4.

He sighed in relief when he felt the familiar rectangular block in the cushion. He pulled it free: there was Journal 4, along with his two stubby crayons. As well as two marker pens, black and red, with a sticky note wrapped around them that said, "Thought these might be useful, dude!"

Bill's hands trembled with fury.

####

Soos was brushing his teeth when someone pounded on the bathroom door, making him drop his brush. The door swung open a couple of inches; Soos heard Bill mutter a confused, "What?" before it swung shut again.

Soos opened the door. "Bill? What's..."

Bill's face was completely flushed. It was hauntingly reminiscent of the look he'd had last year right before trying to murder Soos and the kids in Stan's mind. His rage had shot past "apoplectic" and landed on "apocalyptic." Soos understood how Pompeii had felt when the rumbling began. He took a few steps back.

Bill stalked into the bathroom.

He slapped the red pen down on the counter.

And, avoiding eye contact, he muttered, "Fine-tip yellow highlighter would be better. If you've got it."

"Oh," Soos said. "Sure, I... I think I have some skinny highlighters in my office. Just... lemme finish brushing my teeth."

####

Bill leaned in the office doorway, arms crossed tight, waiting. As Soos rummaged through his desk supplies, back to the door, he got the uneasy feeling that maybe Bill had lured him here to stab him in the back or something. He seemed mad enough. And the office was narrow; if Bill came up right behind him, there'd be nowhere for Soos to dodge...

When he found a new highlighter and turned around, Bill was glowering inches behind him.

Soos jumped. "Dude! You freaked me out."

Bill didn't condescend to respond. He just snatched the highlighter out of Soos's hand and stormed from the room. A moment later, Soos could hear him stomping up the stairs (and stumbling on one step. Soos really needed to figure out how to make the stairs more safe). 

For the life of him, Soos didn't know how he'd offended Bill.

####

The contraband supplies Bill had hidden behind a loose board in the wall still appeared to be undisturbed. He could only hope Soos hadn't found them during his snooping. For tonight, he could hide Journal 4 there; tomorrow he'd have to find a new, more secure hiding spot that kept it close enough to where Bill slept.

He turned around the hanging zodiac blanket and curtain so Bill's watchful triangular face was guarding the new attic hallway rather than staring into the room.

He surveyed his atrocious new sofa. If he'd known he would be plagued with this thing in the future, he would have found a way to make Ford get rid of it thirty years ago. Would Ford have thrown it out if his blessed Muse had told him it looked hideous? Maybe, but that would've put a ding in Bill's benevolent image. He could've said the sofa would lead Ford to doom? No, too implausible. Ford had always wanted a nice set of leather furniture; maybe if Bill had claimed the cost of leather furniture was about to skyrocket, and if Ford ever wanted to build his dream sophisticated gentleman's den then he should buy as soon as possible—maybe sell his current sofa to recoup costs and free up space... Yeah, Ford would've eaten that up, he'd have been so grateful Bill was thoughtful enough to care about his silly little life dreams and look out for his financial future. He shoulda done that. Hindsight.

So. What did he have here? A daybed; personal fridge; mini-stove; walls (tarp); two pillows; throw blanket; two markers; a lamp (unplugged); a clock radio (unplugged); a low console table with two shelves, onto which Soos had emptied the contents of Bill's cardboard box of clothes; and an implicit promise to keep a pile of secrets.

How humiliating.

He considered sleeping on the bare floor in protest; but, his back still hurt. Once again, subject to the tyranny of an organic body. He sighed, pulled his bedsheet from the console table, and curled up on the sofa.

The moment he lay down, a scent soaked into the seat cushion made his heart leap into his throat. He was sure he could smell home. Familiar and comforting and right—and for a moment the evidence of his other six senses didn't matter: he had his power back, he was in his kingdom, and all was right with the world. It took a moment to figure out what about the scent had so strongly disoriented him: he was smelling the atmosphere of the Nightmare Realm.

And then took another moment to work out that it wasn't really the Nightmare Realm, but a very similar scent—sulfurous, organic, burning. Burnt hair.

The cushion still smelled like Ford.

Bill groaned in frustration, rolled off the sofa, and flopped to the floor.

After permitting himself a moment of rage at the injustices of the multiverse, Bill crawled up onto the chaise lounge on the left end of the sofa, avoiding the part of the sofa where Ford used to sleep.

The chaise was smaller than his floor cushion bed used to be; but he'd make do.

####

(I know we're all busy going insane over the website but i'd love a comment when y'all read this chapter lol)

[ccsainzleclerc5516]

Stuck In The Elevator

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x reader

Warnings: smut

It's not often that when you're out at the club you can't wait to go home. You like to go out, party and have fun with your closest circle of best friends. It is something that gives you energy and fills you with life from time to time.

But this time you had anything but fun going out.

Charles was celebrating his birthday at the club in Italy and you, as his two years younger sister, were there too as well.

Being Charles’ little sister meant all of his friends were your friends too including his F1 friends. Him being overly protective of you, meant that none of his friends were good enough for you and that they must not even think about flirting with you. Although most of them respected Charles's "rule" to some extent, one driver completely broke that same rule.

When the news broke that Lewis was taking Carlos' place at Ferrari next year, Charles and Lewis began hanging out more. They started bonding and became much closer than before. This meant that you also saw a lot of Lewis and were in his company more often than before.

Lewis could not resist your beauty, your positive and playful spirit, nor your youth. When Charles wasn't looking, he was openly flirting with you. He would constantly long for a moment alone with you, give you compliments, look for excuses to be close to you. Since he was Lewis Hamilton, you couldn't resist him either. And so one thing led to another and the two of you ended up in bed together quite a few times.

It was all a big secret because Lewis knew that Charles would go crazy if he found out that he was sleeping with his younger sister. And to make matters better, 14 years younger than Lewis.

That's why you decided to leave things as they are between you. Just secretly fucking without emotional attachment. You would accompany Charles to the races during the day, and at night Lewis would come to your hotel room and fuck you into the mattress until the early hours of the morning.

You were fine with it and it worked for both of you, well, up until this celebration of Charles's birthday.

Of course Lewis was also in the club and that's exactly why you wanted to leave the birthday party as soon as possible. But this time not because he would come to your room and satisfy you in a way that only he knows how, but because Lewis allowed other girls to crawl all over him and dance with him right in front of your eyes.

That made you so angry that you didn't feel like having fun anymore. A feeling of jealousy prevailed and you realized that the agreement "without emotional attachment" went right out the window after this scene.

You began to imagine his lips on other women, the images of him touching them the way he touches you couldn't leave your mind and they almost made you sick so you decided to leave the party earlier than you had planned.

You lied to your brother that you didn't feel well and that you wanted to go to the hotel to rest, so you headed out of the club and called yourself an Uber.

You were scrolling through your phone while waiting for the car to arrive when you heard nothing less than Lewis's voice calling after you. You turned your head to the side to look at him rolling your eyes.

“Where are you going?” He asked as he approached you.

“To the hotel.” You answered briefly, not wanting to communicate with him any further.

“And why is that?”

“The sight of those girls drooling over you and you willingly allowing it made me sick.” You say unapologetically.

The smug smirk on his face was indescribable when he found out that it made you jealous. It's an understatement to say that he loved it.

“Aw, sweetheart are you jelaous?” He asked.

“Don’t call me that.” You said through gritted teeth. “And jelaous of what? There was nothing to be jelaous of. It was actually embarrassing to see whatever that was.”

“You are jelaous.” He put one of his hands on your cheek and with the other he pinched your waist. “Why don’t you save yourself from explaining and just admit it?”

Luckily, your Uber arrived just in time, so you slipped out of Lewis's touch and headed for the car.

“My ride is here. Goodbye.”

what you didn't expect after you got into the car and slammed the door, was that Lewis quickly followed you and hopped into the back seat.

“What..? What are you doing?” You glared at him.

“Oh, baby, I’m not gonna leave you alone until you admit you're jealous.” He says.

“You will never hear that from my mouth.” You say confidently.

He leans closer to you and whispers into your ear “Then I’ll just have to fuck it out of you”

“I wouldn't bet on that” You say making him chuckle and shake his head.

The drive to the hotel went quickly and without much talk. While Lewis stayed to pay for the ride, you already entered the hotel and called the elevator.

“What floor are you on?” He asked walking up to you.

“Second.”

“Why don't we take the stairs? We'll get there faster than the elevator.” He says looking that the elevator is only on the 5th floor and goes up instead of down.

“Because my feet hurt and I really don’t know where you’re going”

“Such a brat..” He mutters and you give him another well deserved glare.

After a minute, the elevator bell finally rings and both of you step inside. The doors close and the floor numbers start changing. Once you reached the second floor the elevator beeps, but the door refuses to open. You wait for a second before clicking on the button that opens the door.

“What the fuck?” You look confused and try to press that same button again and again.

“Wait, stop pressing it, you will block the door” Lewis says.

“Why won't the door open?” You ask in disbelief and hit that same button with your hand and the beeping sound goes off again, but the doors stay closed.

“Good, now we’re stuck”

“Oh you gotta be kidding me” You sigh pushing your hair out of your face. “What the fuck are we going to do now?” You start banging against the door and Lewis remains too calm considering the situation.

“Remember how I asked if we should take the stairs?” He mocked.

“Ugh” You sighed annoyed that he was enjoying himself. “Remember how you’re so old?” It was quite childish of you, but you wanted to somehow "offend" him. It only pushed his buttons with you though.

He’s had enough of your brattiness tonight so he roughly pushed you and pressed your back against the blocked elevator door making your breath get caught in your throat.

“What did you just say to me?” He asked looking down at you his grip on your hips only tightening making you wince in pain. "You're so unnecessarily rude, I'm getting kinda sick of it." He said looking straight into your eyes. His right hand moved down under your ass and slipped under your flowy short dress which didn't leave much to the imagination.

"You need to be taught some manners, sweetheart" His hand tightly gripped your butt before harshly slapping it leaving a red handprint.

"Fuck, Lew" You whimpered putting your hands against his chest and throwing your head back.

"It's Sir, for you" He said cockily taking the opportunity of your exposed neck to start hungrily kissing it with his tongue. "Was I so old when you were begging for my cock, begging me to cum inside you? Hm? When you were gripping the sheets screaming out my name?"

You leaned your head against his chest holding onto him speechless when he moved his hand from your ass to your panties and without any warning slid two fingers inside you.

"Oh, fuck, baby.." You moaned rocking your hips against his fingers. You awakened the animal in him and neither you nor he could think clearly anymore. He barely moved his fingers inside you yet you were drenching them with how wet you already were.

"No, no. We won't be sweet-talking now, you had your chance, baby. Told you to call me Sir or I'll stop right now." He threatened. "Okay?" You nodded, but he raised his eyebrows at you and you knew what it meant.

"Okay, Sir."

He continued to work his magic with his fingers, curling and fucking them in and out of you while holding you against the door he knew he had you weak in his grip.

He loved the sight of you in front of him, looking at you with so much desire as you savored his touch knowing that no one knew how to satisfy you like he did.

If you had treated him a little better tonight, he would've loved nothing more than for you to cum on his fingers while he held your trembling body, but your brattiness changed his mind. "Are you close, baby?" He murmured against your neck.

"Yes, yes, I'm so close" You moaned yearning for release.

Suddenly, Lewis stopped the movements of his fingers and pulled them out of you making you cry out and clench your thighs only to have them spread by him again "no, no, please"

"Shh," He cooed you leaving kisses along your jaw and the side of your face.

"Why..why would you do that?"

"That's so you know who you're talking to next time" He said unzipping his pants and taking out his big, painfully hard veiny cock. He groaned stroking his cock before pulling your dress up and panties to the side aligning it with your entrance. "You wanna cum, baby?" He asked lifting you up making you wrap your legs around his waist as he slid you down on his cock. You nodded putting your arms around his neck and connecting your lips together.

"You're gonna have to ask nicely for it."

"Please, sir, make me cum." You moaned at the feeling of his thick member stretching you out. He started bouncing you up and down on him cursing under his breath seeing how hot you looked like that.

"You gonna be a good girl?" He asked nibbling at the skin above your nipple.

"Yes, your good girl, ah"

Once he was satisfied with your answer, he pressed you against the wall and started thrusting himself inside you at a fast pace. "C'mon, baby, come, come all over my cock" He grunted looking up at you as your boobs bounced in his face. Your eyes darted to the mirror behind Lewis where you saw the scene of him fucking you and that sent you over the edge. Your body shivered and your head fell onto his shoulder as you came undone.

You were sensitive, but Lewis didn't stop, he kept going until he was about to come. It didn't take long for him to start twitching after you clenched around him.

"Fuck, I wanna cum in your mouth" He hissed putting you down on your feet and pumping his cock. You dropped down to your knees in front of him and stuck out your tongue looking at him with your innocent eyes through your long eyelashes. "Oh, fuuck, baby" He put his hand against your cheek pulling your face closer to him before spilling his cum against your tongue. You kept sucking him until the last drop making his knees shake.

You stood up and pressed your lips against his, pushing your tongue inside his mouth wanting him to taste himself.

"You're so dirty" He smiled into the kiss, but didn't refuse it.

"After we get out of this elevator, I'm going to make you feel so good, you'll never think of another woman again." You say tugging his bottom lip with your teeth.

You stood there kissing for a while before you actually decided to call someone for help.

[bi-writes]

bff!roommate!simon comes home from deployment. it is the first time that either of you feel the distance thousands of miles can bring.

more bff!roommate!simon (part 10/?)

word count: 3.4k

cw: mature language and content, suggestive language and content, aNgSt, mean!simon, mentions of simon's canon trauma, military service criticism, pet names (luv, kitty), vague smut (18+) ⚠️🔞

large blocks of italicized text are flashbacks.

she hasn't called.

it was something that simon realized only a week in. normally, he spent his evenings sheltered in his room, his earbuds in, your voice on the other end. even if he didn't talk, you spoke. normally, you would tell him about your day; about the customer that gave you a hefty tip, the kids that left the tables a sticky mess, the meal you made that you think he would like. simon listened, and he would close his eyes and let the lull of your voice put him to sleep. sometimes, it was the next best thing to get him rest; it was impossible to know the comfort of you in your bed across from him when he was so far away.

more recently, those calls had become something else. you would still tell him the same stories, but sometimes your voice would drop a few degrees lower, and you would ask him if he was thinking about you--about all of you. and there simon would be, a pathetic, choking mess as he fucked himself to soft sound of your voice on the other end--so good, simon, miss you so much, need you, need you--can't wait for you to come home, n-need to feel you--

but it was quiet now. there was no one calling him, no one leaving him texts that he couldn't wait to read in the morning. his phone was silent; but the thoughts in his head were not.

the inevitable loneliness faded to anger after the weeks apart; his sergeants were quick to learn to stay out of his way. there was to be no conversation, no jokes, no playful banter before and after their ops. there was complete silence, because if they spoke about anything other then their direct objective, simon was an unleashed dog, and no one wanted to be on the spitting end of his berating.

he thought about you even when he wasn't supposed to. when he was supposed to be focused, when he was supposed to have his eyes on the target, sweeping the horizon--you were there, behind his eyes. remembering the look on your face before he had left.

the gloss of your eyes. the tears that collected at the edges. the drawing in of your knees to your chest, the tremble of your pouty lip. the stain that he was leaving on you--he didn't even have it in him to turn around and tell you that he was sorry.

he was sorry. the things you asked for weren't unreasonable--you wanted answers. you wanted him to tell you what this was, what this would be. it wasn't enough anymore to pretend this wasn't real. the reality was that there was no one else--and his eyes had yet to go anywhere else since the first moment he tasted your sweet cunt. he knew, deep down, that this possessiveness had started long before that--when you were just kids, holding onto each other for some kind of comfort away from what waited for you at home.

you cradled his head in your lap. a damp towel was in one hand, the other holding his trembling face to your chest. when you pulled the towel back, you flinched at the sight of blood.

"simon? y-you...y-you wanna talk about it?"

all he could was shake his head. you picked him up, sitting him back gently against the bench, and you used the towel to wipe at the blood drying under his nose. his eyes were red with the tears he wanted to cry, but he held them back, swallowing them down.

you leaned in, looking down as you rested your forehead against his.

"what was it this time? was it tommy?"

when he just shrugged, you reached down, smoothing your hand over his. his hands were smooth, soft--they had not seen the other side yet.

"n-no one's gonna be at my place," you whispered. "why don't you stay tonight?"

you ate instant noodles on the roof that evening, your head leaning on his shoulder as you both looked out into the dreary city. there were dark clouds overhead, and you knew it would rain tomorrow. fitting, and you hoped then that it might wash away the pain of yesterday.

it was the first night that simon was encased by silence. on his back beside you on your twin bed, staring up at the ceiling as he thought about how he might explain the bruises on his face when he went to his classes the next day--about what he might say this time.

when he turned his head, there you were. eyes closed, face pressed into your pillow as you breathed gently. real. alive. here. some kind of respite that he didn't think he deserved.

the papers he had taken were burning a hole in his desk at home--just waiting for his signature. it was time to take control. to take his life back. that was the only way that he could keep this, whatever it was--this was the only way that he could protect you. protect himself. protect tommy, his mother, his sanity.

the only thing he prayed for that night was that you would forgive him when he left you behind.

you had always been his. you belonged to him. and he could keep pushing you away, but it wouldn't erase the fact that he lived in your bones and you under his skin, and whatever this was meant forever.

and simon wouldn't fucking die--no matter how hard they tried--and he needed to fix this.

but he was angry. and half of him came from something else. something not real. something sour. something that bled dark, not red but black, poison. sometimes he could feel that half of him right under his tongue. he could taste it, the sour and rot that part of him was made of, and he could feel it multiplying under his skin like mold.

he would never be rid of this kind. he couldn't throw away half of himself without losing all of himself; and normally, simon could swallow this down, keep it underneath, but fuck, it's coming, going to be fuckin' sick, it's coming--

when he saw her, he just took her. glaring at her under a dark mask didn't deter her, and when she kept pushing, he let her. he let her follow him home, let her through the threshold of a space that had only ever belonged to someone else.

he let her in. he let her in. he let her in.

she didn't taste like you. she was too loud. her voice was too shrill, moans that made him flinch rather than relax. between her thighs, it wasn't the same--it wasn't warm like it was with you. she was wet, dripping actually, but she smelled like something else. foreign. poison.

her eyes were too wet, too harsh, a glare there that didn't belong. this was wrong, it felt wrong, but he was so angry, and he needed something to bite. maybe something to tear about, he wasn't exactly sure, but as soon as he had her here, under him, knees pressed to her chest as she let him fuck her senseless, he realized that it was painful.

there was a disconnect between what was real and what was not. it was so real with you, and now he just felt so far away from himself. he felt like someone else. and he thought, he really thought, that the other half of him was so fucking real that it would come easy.

to hurt. to inflict pain. to growl and claw and take and eat, shouldn't this be easy? pain was in his genes, it was a part of him. trauma ran in his blood and into his veins, and when his heart pumped, it trickled into every soft place that lived and breathed inside of him.

isn't it? isn't this a part of me? why does it hurt? why doesn't it feel good? why is it worse, why does this hurt, why can't i breathe--

the front door shut behind you. you let out a shaky sigh, shrugging off your jacket and putting your bag down. you tossed everything onto the kitchen table, and just as you went to put your shoes away by the door, you noticed something out of place.

simon's boots were haphazardly tossed beside the shoe bench, laces hurriedly untied, one boot fallen onto its side. strange, and it stood out to you because simon wasn't someone who didn't put things away where they should be. he was adamant about this practice. but the strangest thing was the pair of shoes thrown beside them--heeled suede boots, with a pointed toe.

but they didn't belong to you.

you froze, your lips parting when you heard the shuffle of noise behind a closed door. you stepped backwards in the foyer, your back hitting the wall, and you put your hand over your stomach, suddenly feeling like heaving.

simon had come home; and there was someone else here with him.

your entire body suddenly felt hot, on fire. you looked towards the window, the one that faced the street, and when your vision went blurry, you realized there were tears coming down your face. the heat must've been your falling heart--it was dropping, fast, sliding down your chest and into your stomach, and it was like the acid there was crawling right back up your throat. you couldn't see anymore, warm tears wetting your cheeks and gathering in your mouth and staining your jaw and your neck.

simon had come home--and there was someone else here with him.

it had felt so real. hadn't it been real? wasn't this real? wasn't he real? weren't you real? this was real--it was fucking real.

right?

you hurried. you went right for your bedroom, shoving the door open, and you frantically went for your closet, pushing it open and scrambling for one of your bags. you tossed items off the shelves, blind through your tears, and as you grabbed one that hid behind a box of your memories, the lid popped off of it, its contents spilling onto the floor. you stepped over polaroid pictures, over moments captured in time, and you couldn't focus on them because you were blind--the tears just wouldn't stop, they won't stop, please stop.

you tossed the bag onto the bed, ripping the zipper open, and you flung the drawers open, just scooping handfuls of your clothes into the bag. whatever would fit--anything you could pick up until the bag was full, until you could barely force the zipper closed and swing the bag over your shoulder. you looked around the room frantically, looking for any essentials you might need, and you froze when you heard voices outside your door, the padding of more than one pair of feet. simon's footsteps were easy to point out, but then there was a lighter pair, a voice a little high-pitched wafting after his own.

suddenly, the idea of running away, of crying--it felt so stupid. he wasn't your boyfriend. he wasn't your lover, not your significant other, there was nothing that tied you together. the string you always thought that connected you wasn't that at all; simon had you on a leash, and you just hadn't realized he just let go.

he leaves me behind. he always leaves me behind.

there was nothing in those dark eyes that belonged to you. there was nothing here in this apartment that told you otherwise. separate rooms, separate things--you were just two people that lived in the same place, so what if he eats my cunt and puts his fingers inside of me and calls me a good girl? he's not mine, not mine, he doesn't belong to me.

and the only thing worse than the truth of it was that you belonged to him. and he had ruined you for anyone else.

the door swung open. you stopped moving, your hands shaking as you turned towards the sound of it. you knew how it looked--the bag over your shoulder, a few cherished knickknacks cradled in the other arm. the red in your eyes, the tears on your face--the rawness of your sadness so exposed and so there, right in his face, right where he could see you.

he was dressed down, sweats pulled on haphazard, a wrinkled shirt pulled on so hastily that he hadn't realized it was inside-out. and that fucking mask, crooked and damp on his sweaty face. he was gripping your doorknob tight in one fist, his knuckles white from how hard he held it.

"oi," he looked around your room. disheveled, messier than usual. ransacked drawers from your frantic packing, items knocked over as you searched for your precious possessions. "wot's this?"

you swallowed.

"i'm...i'm going on...on a trip. i..." you tried to laugh through your tears, "i thought i told you. i-i must've forgot."

"'cause i just got home," he muttered, stepping into your room. you stepped back at that. simon had been in your room before, of course he had. but something wasn't the same. something was different, and now instead of feeling like every corner of your apartment was safe, it felt like he was invading this place. he was too big, the room was too small, the distance between you was too short. you were suffocating. you couldn't breathe. and when he reached over and snatched the bag off your shoulder, you flinched.

when simon met his own eyes in the mirror, he nearly choked. he didn't recognize himself. the eyes that stared back at him didn't belong to him. not simon, not ghost, not the someone he pretended to be--no. no, no, no--that isn't me--i'm not like him--not him, not him, not him, anything but him.

he dropped your bag, holding out his hand suddenly. he was careful, slow, as if he might startle you, and you stepped back again, shaking your head.

"kitty--"

"don't!" you cried, and the yell of your own voice startled you, so much that you put a shaking hand over your mouth. you looked away from him. "d-don't call me that."

and just like that, he felt it. the spool of thread, cut. the line connecting you--severed. the apartment you had made a home, the sacred door that you hadn't opened to anyone, fuck, it was gone so quick. the years of trust, the undeniable bond, just gone, it was gone, how the fuck was that possible?

had it really been that easy? had this thing between you that had been so real been so fucking delicate?

your hands were shaking. trembling, and it was hard to read the papers that you held, and it was even harder to read them when the tears you shed was making the ink bleed.

your bedroom door creaked, and you looked up. simon ran an uneasy hand through his hair when he realized what you were holding. his signature so clear at the bottom, and all he had to do was walk back into the recruiting office. he didn't want to take anything with him--he didn't have any possessions, nothing he needed to pack away.

nothing he needed to pack away. nothing he needed to pack away. nothing he needed to pack away, nothing, nothing, nothing.

"when were you going to tell me?" you asked, but it was more of a strained whisper. you let the papers slip back into their place, and when you met his eyes, he was sympathetic, but you knew that look. you weren't going to change his mind about this. it was all made up.

"i...i-i hadn't thought about it. i...no, i just...i don't know."

he swallowed hard, rubbing the back of his neck. he was uncomfortable, but he came closer, settling onto the ground beside you, sitting just next to you.

"when...when are you leaving?"

a beat. and then, "in a few days."

you looked down at your hands, and as you watched them continue to shake, simon reached over, putting his own hand over them and clasping them together, stilling you. just like that, so easy--how much power did he hold over you?

"b-but...but why?"

"need to do this. not just for me," he murmured. "not just for tommy. not just...for mum. you. have you seen the fuckin' news? haven't you seen what's going on?"

and what about what went on behind your closed doors? his own? simon gets to decide to be hero when the real war is right here, right under his fucking nose?

selfish. he's so selfish. i hate him. i hate him. i hate him.

"so...what?" you breathed. "those...those towers get hit, so that means i-i have to lose something, too?"

he turned to face you, frowning. "don't say that. that isn't...that's not what this is. i need to do something. i can't...i can't just keep watching this happen. it's not right." he squeezed your hand. "i can do something about this. i can help."

you had no idea simon had suddenly become some kind of martyr. that he suddenly felt some kind of obligation to saving the world.

he was your world. weren't you his?

"'m gonna come back," he said softly, but it didn't feel like a promise.

it just felt like goodbye.

he was calling your name, but you pretended not to hear. her boots were gone, but the trace of something unfamiliar still lingered in the air. you grabbed your purse, the keys jingling, and just as you were going to move again, reality hit him.

i'm going to lose her. i'm going to lose her if i don't say something.

"would y'just let me fuckin' say something?!"

the sharpness of his voice stopped you, and you turned to face him, your bottom lip trembling.

"what do you want from me, simon?" you breathed. "what the fuck do you want from me? i-i...i didn't ask for this."

"luv--" he came closer, and you sobbed when he gripped both sides of your head. his fingers tangled in your hair, holding you tight, firm.

solid. grounding.

"it's okay," you shook your head. you smiled through your tears, blinking through them, meeting his eyes. "simon, it's okay...it's...it's my fault..."

"..wot?"

"i wanted more," you whispered. the tears were wetting his hands, and as much as he tried to wipe them away, more kept falling. "i wanted more, and i..." you laughed a little, but there was no humor in it. just sadness, echoing and hollow, just how you felt inside. you lifted a shoulder in a defeated shrug. "it's never been that way."

simon shook his head. "no. kitty, 's not true--"

"you've never fought for this before, simon, don't start begging now," you gasped. "just don't. you leave me behind. that's my fucking fate with you, getting left behind, and i keep thinking you'll change, but you won't--"

"that's not--!"

"you won't change, simon!" you cried, choking on it, and you were so sad, and for something that supposedly wasn't real, it felt like a gaping wound, something splitting apart his skin and crawling from the inside-out. "you...you won't change...but it's okay...s-simon, it's okay..." you tried to smile again. "i've always known. i-i think i've just...i've always known..."

the glass around him shattered when you spoke again.

"i-i've always...i-i...i think i've always been yours," your voice was so soft. it was the pain of accepting a truth you never wanted. "a-and...and you've never been mine."

it wasn't true. that wasn't true. you had no idea what kind of things you held over him. you had no idea the power you had, the kind of things that your touch made him feel. you had no idea how tightly he was bound--he had no room to breathe.

if this wasn't love, if this wasn't the kind of pain that love brought, then what the fuck is this? isn't this real? aren't we real?

but half of simon was poison. and when you left, it was quiet. there was no one to hear him scream. there was no one to take the glass out of his mouth, the shards of them that he swallowed, to watch the black of his blood choke him.

when he looked in the mirror again, he recognized those eyes. he had been too afraid to see them for what they were before, but now he knew who those eyes belonged to, and he thought it would be easier to cut them out than look at his reflection again.

a dream, a nightmare, not reality.

left behind.

always yours. and never mine.

[reiderwriter]

Elevator Pitch

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

WC: 2k!!

Warnings: Smut, fingering, semi-public sex/ foreplay, praise kink-ish, some pet names completely ignored Spencer's germophobia to make this work 18+ MINORS DNI

Summary: Getting trapped in an elevator is never fun, but at least the attractive you're sharing the metal box of death with has an interesting idea about how you can pass the time.

A/N: This is just a really quick drabble for @imagining-in-the-margins Meet Cute challenge for this month!! I have an idea for another one that I'll post closer to Halloween too, so look forward to that alongside all the kinktober fics 👀

Check out my masterlist here!

You weren't planning on running late on your very first day on your new team, but here you were. You were scheduled to meet Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner in his office at 9 a.m. sharp, and here you were at 8:57, trapped inside an elevator. At least you weren't alone, but alone with a stranger, and one who seemed to be talkative in the worst way wasn't exactly ideal either. 

"Hey, don't panic. There are about 6 elevator-related deaths per year and about 100,000 injuries. I'm pretty confident about those statistics." He said, taking a sip of his coffee as he stood calmly by the door, pressing buttons and waiting for something to happen. 

"Oh god, I'm gonna die in here." You whimpered a little bit, falling to your knees and screwing your eyes shut. 

"No, I said we're not gonna die. Or its at least very unlikely." 

"And I'm supposed to trust you?" 

"Yes, I'm very good with numbers. Elevator accidents account for 0.00024% of all elevators in service in the US. There you don't have to panic anymore." Almost punctuating his words, the elevator gave a low groan and fell an inch lower, pushing him off balance and toppling to the floor right next to you. 

"That was just unfortunate timing." He said, his breath hitting your face. Your eyes opened again finally, and you noticed that due to his topple, he was way closer than before, face merely inches from your own. Whoever this overconfident stranger was, he was attractive. Distractingly so, as you didn't respond to his sentence the entire time he was there in front of you, words suddenly escaping you as you stared into his dark, wide eyes. 

"Mechanical issues are the cause of about 15.3% of elevator incidents. Since we're in Quantico, we can probably rule out foul play, which means that they'll probably have us back up and running in around 27 minutes." Opening his mouth ruined the fantasy for a minute, waking you up to the reality of your situation. 

"Did you work an elevator case or something, why do you know so much about this?" You regretted the question as soon as you asked it, as he launched into another speech. 

"I read the statistical reports published by the CPSC and the OSHA. It’s really interesting stuff actually, there are-”

“Please don’t take this the wrong way but I need you to shut up. I don’t think I can take any more statistics about my inevitable death by elevator. Can we do something else instead?”

“Like what?” 

“I don’t know. Can you… Can you hold my hand?” You felt yourself flush red the second the words left your mouth, and suddenly it was your turn to talk too much. “My mom used to do it when I was scared as a kid, and obviously you’re not my mom, and you don’t even know me, but I thought it could help comfort both of us. Human contact and touch is supposedly comforting in times of distress so I just thought…” He cut you off by silently grabbing your hand and settling into a seated position beside you and you sent a little prayer up to god to spare both your soul and your heart. 

Because Jesus Christ it was beating hard now.

“Oxytocin,” he said and you looked up at him with a questioning look. “Oxytocin is released when you come into contact with other people, it’s the reason newborn babies benefit from skin-to-skin contact and why humans enjoy petting domestic animals so much. And the whole sex to destress thing.” He nodded and looked away, but you could have sworn the oxygen was completely sucked out of the room when he mentioned sex. 

“Sex?” He turned to you as you said the word, as if processing the conversation you were in the middle of it. 

“Yeah, never heard of it?” You rolled your eyes and squeezed his hand in your own for a second, but his body was leaning closer into yours now, his entire attention on you, as if he expected you to answer the question. 

“Of course I have.” 

“And what do you think? Can it help you de-stress?” 

Your mouth moves before you can stop it. “Can we stop talking about this please, I’m already scared, I don’t need to be scared and horny.” You close your eyes and groan as his widen again, and suddenly you’re praying again, but this time you wouldn’t really mind if you became one of those six elevator malfunction deaths. 

“I don’t know, maybe it would help you. There are some studies that show that stress can have aphrodisiacal impacts in women, you know?” His voice was light, but your entire body stiffened as you looked into his eyes, trying to gauge what this stranger was offering. 

“So what, you’re suggesting I just get more and more turned on until I’m not worried about death?” 

“No, I’m suggesting I close the gap between us and distract you for a while.” You spared a glance down to his lips then, his tongue darting out to lick them and pulling you in closer. You nodded quickly, a small movement and he pushed his lips down into yours. 

He was soft at first, and you almost felt like pulling away and scalding yourself for engaging in risky behavior during a near-death experience. But just as you moved to pull away, his hand came up to your hair and you melted right back into him, the kiss deepening as you slanted your neck up to give up more of yourself to him. 

You barely feel his hands pulling you into his lap, but you’re suddenly there and so happy you are. Your free hand wanders up to his chest as he squeezes your connected digits again, sending your heart into a fit of palpitations. In a panic you pull away, groaning a little as you can feel his not stiff member poking between your legs. 

“Sorry, I don’t think we exchanged names. I’m Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N..” 

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” His lips fall down to your neck as he whispers the words into your skin, and you let your head fall back as his hands untangle from you and fall to your hips, encouraging your movements as you begin grinding over him.

“And you said we had twenty-seven minutes before we’re free, right?” 

“Whose the one talking too much now?” He bit into your neck sharply then, and you moaned out, battling the urge to let him take you there on the elevator floor. From it’s perch on your hip, his hand slips down and pops the button in your pants, pushing inside and finally touching you through your panties.

“That’s it, good girl, just keep grinding down on me.” Unconsciously, you press your hips into his hands, the pressure leaving you letting out a whistful sigh of relief. 

“God,… Should we be doing this here?” Your words were unsure, but your movements weren’t as you pushed yourself into him again and again, desperate to feel more of him as he rubbed circles into your clit, driving you closer and closer to your peak. 

“Let’s assume for now that the elevator malfunction has wiped out the CCTV,” he says, lips pressing against your skin as you lose yourself in his touch again. “We absolutely should be doing this.” 

His words fell straight to your core, and you felt yourself grow more aroused as you pondered being caught in such an intimate position with a stranger.

“You think you can cum right here, baby? Think you can give me one soon?” His words almost sent you over the edge, his smile widening as your hips twitched over his. 

“Fuck, yes, yes, please, don’t stop.” 

“Not so scared about this elevator anymore are you? Or did you want to spend your last moments coming undone in my hands?” With his words, you lost the ability to speak, simply moaning out your agreement to his every word. 

“I think I can hear someone talking through the walls, baby, you’re going to have to cum now for me, can you do that?” You nodded to him as he increased his pace on your words, and within seconds, you were letting it all out, head falling against his shoulder as you twitched through your orgasm. He pulled his hands out of your pants quickly and pressed a kiss to your lips, pulling you up to a standing position and making you look presentable as the doors to the elevator were finally pried open from the other side. 

“Hey, how are you guys holding up in there?” The call came from the maintenance staff, and you were sudden;y thankful that he’d finished you off when he did because as horny as you’d been, actually getting caught like that was something entirely different than the fantasy of it. 

You’re almost sorry that you have to leave when you do, suddenly absolutely involved in helping him “destress” the same way he’d helped you out. But he removes his hands from you and strikes up a conversation with the maintenance staff working to get your elevator level with the floor doors. You gravitate to the back of the stall, gripping the railing while your brain catches up to the circumstances. 

In no time, the elevator is back in working order, and you and your stranger are stepping foot on steady ground again, and saying your goodbyes.  

“Aaron Hotchner’s office is through those doors. Up the stairs to the left.” He smiles and nods at you before turning down the corridor and leaving you there by yourself. A glance at your clock tells you you’re too late to question his words, and how he even knew where you were going. You take off down the hall, ready to profusely apologize to your new boss and pledge to take the stairs for the rest of your days. 

When Hotch finally greets you, he has already heard about the elevator malfunction, and all is thankfully forgiven. You have to bite your tongue before asking if everyone on this floor is psychic. But you’re still late, and you have a case, so your introductions have to take place in the briefing room and you half-run, half-walk behind the older man as he makes his way down the hall. 

“Everyone we have a new team member today, please help her out for this first one and show her the ropes.” He introduces you by name, and you’re suddenly doing your best to memorize the names of a Prentiss, a Rossi, a Morgan, a JJ, and one Penelope Garcia. They seem to be waiting for someone else, but with the clock ticking, Penelope begins debriefing you on the next case.  

“Sorry I’m late,” a voice calls from the door, and you feel the hairs on your neck stand up in shock as everyone slowly turns to greet the newcomer. 

“What time do you call this?” Morgan laughs as the familiar man approaches, and a quick glance around tells you that the only seat left at the table, which had been so obviously reserved by the pile of paper files in contrast to everyone else's digital alternatives, was right next to you. 

“Spencer, we have a new team member, this is Y/N. She’ll be joining us on cases from today onwards.” Hotch quickly says, and you lock eyes with the man just as he falls into his seat. 

“I think we’re acquainted. Nice to meet you, Y/N. I’m Spencer Reid.” The room falls silent as he holds out his hand for you to shake, and you do your best to not show your shock and embarrassment on your face. You let your hand fall into his, the same one that you’d held earlier, the same one that had worked you up to the edge and then helped you pour over it, the same one that had pulled you together afterward. You said nothing after you’d finally pulled apart, waiting for him to make the next move once again. 

“I look forward to working with you.”