#(you guys will have to wait a few minutes for the aftermath)

[bn-stands-for-book-nerd]

As a guy that once lived by this sentiment ... I agree with y'all !

What the hell is wrong with dudes ?! Why do we feel the need to drape ourselves in morbid alegories about death when it's living with the other that's important ?

You know what ? I even did it.

I did the 'catching a child that fell from a boat from the skin of my teeth' once.

We were on vaccation on a small boat with my family. The boat rental people told us to be especially cautious when geting in and out of the boat. "That's when it's dangerous." We forgot and where careless when back from getting bread. I heard a splash, my mother screaming the name of my nephew. I saw everything in slow motion and acted. Coudn't think, just mooved. Fell on my knees on the pontoon, hand on the boat, grabed the kid and lifted him with one hand back to safety.

That was just terribly scarry. The aftermath was akward as hell too "Thanks for saving him." Well anybody woul have done that. The kid cryed as he had messed up. Like it wasn't our duty to keep him safe. I just waited a few minutes and fell on my back, shaking. I stayed there tewnty minutes. Happy my nephew wasn't hurt and trying to slow my heartbeat. Had scratched my knees without noticing.

That's not love. That's survival. I want to see this kid grow, not transcent limits I didin't knew I had just to make sure he stay alive.

Damit. Why do we romanticize this shit ?

[thebigshotman]

The spinning teacup finally reached the bottom half of the basement, slightly battered because Spaul couldn’t control it as well as someone more properly proportioned could. Seriously…Kris had worked wonders getting him here in Disk form the first time. He had underestimated how much he had relied on them.

How much he relied on everyone. But it wouldn’t be much longer now that that would still be the case.

He spared only a small glance at the ride before stuffing his hands in his suit pockets and moving forward. That would be the first to go.

Along he walked on the railroad tracks at a steady pace, glitching and breaking apart at random and often as the hour of judgement ticked closer and closer. Would this work? Did the Voice keep their word?

Would he stay himself? Or would he lose himself again? He would never forgive himself if he did something to Eileen in a fit of insanity.

Too late to think too hard about it now. Because here it was.

Hunched over, wings draped over itself, strings spooling out from both the outside and inside, there it was. NEO. The perfect body. The one that would answer all of his problems. He sighed, grin not faltering once.

*…0KAY [Heaven]. 1T’S TIME. D0N’T F[[ree with the purchase of-]] M3 OVER, [[is that alright with you?]]?!?!

He went from looking up, screaming at the ceiling, to looking back down. Walking closer and closer, in a deliberate fashion. His body lagging and sprite dropping in quality with each step. Almost resisting his will to move forward, hating that he wanted this again.

This wasn’t her doing. He had severed their connection. So…why was he hesitating?

He stopped. He was directly in front of the gaping hole in the chest cavity. Any closer and he would tumble into it. He reached out his hand, looking like a blur of pixels at this point. Voice distorted, even his commercials, to match.

*OK…OK-OK-OK-0K [Hyperlink Blocked]���DO I-I-IT-T-T. L3T ME IN-IN-[[come inside-side a-and enjoy our new-new-]].

He felt a pull. It targeted the very center of his being, like something affected the core of his code itself. A pull he hadn’t felt since…since…

He was pushed closer and closer to the machine. A foreign feeling of fear starting to quickly bubble in his stomach.

That was when he lost consciousness.

[bbydoll18xx]

Pet Names And Airplanes (Part 2)

The aftermath of the airplane ride leaves Paige moaning once more.

Paige Bueckers x reader

Part 2 based on this request: I have a request but it's not fully thought out but all the traveling she's been doing has got me thinking. Basically Paige x friend where there's some tension emotionally and physically but neither of them know it rlly. Paige is groggy bc they had to catch an early flight to go somewhere and while sitting next to each other on the plane, her mind starts wandering and she accidentally says smthg dirty out loud to the reader which obviously leads to a build of tension on their flight that they end up having to deal with. How they deal w it and such can be up to you.

Read Part 1 here :)

Themes: bottom!Paige, SMUT, but also some fluffiness

Word Count: 2.7k

To whoever requested bottom Paige, I hope this is acceptable lol

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

How the hell did you get here?

Your heart is beating furiously, and your head feels fuzzy. You are pulled away from the grounding grips of reality as Paige continues to lick into your mouth with a delicious fervor. It was all-consuming, and you think that you would surrender everything in order to keep Paige’s mouth on yours.

Her lips ghost across yours once more before trailing down to attach to the delicate flesh of your throat. Quiet whines are spilling from your lips, as she alternates between hot, open mouth kisses and sucking, soothing the marks with her tongue. You anticipate the trail of tattoo kisses that would soon adorn your neck, leaving you with undeniable proof of Paige’s affections.

Her hands are wandering now, and your eyes flutter shut at the pure absurdity of the situation. Paige is kissing you. And neither of you were dreaming this time.

Paige’s hands fist at the oversized shirt you had been sleeping in, and her lips find yours once more. As her warm hands find their way onto the soft skin of your abdomen, your phone rings, cutting through the room harshly. Your eyes fly open, meeting Paige’s, and she hesitantly pulls away from you, allowing you to grab your phone that was resting on the nightstand. 

“Fuck, it’s Nika,” you whisper, trying to fix your hair and lopsided shirt. Paige does the same, and she fixes the wrinkled bed sheets quickly.

Sliding the screen to open the FaceTime, you wave to a smiling Nika. 

“Hi guys!” Nika practically yells over the phone. “I can’t wait to see you tonight! How was the flight here?”

Looking at Paige, who turns a delicate shade of pink at the mention of the airplane ride, she mumbles, “The plane was aight. Mostly just slept. Can’t wait to see you, too.”

You nod your head in agreement, avoiding meeting Paige’s gaze on the screen of your phone. The three of you chat a few more minutes, cementing your plans for later in the evening once Nika was out of practice. She soon hung up, leaving you and Paige to stare at each other once more. 

You desperately try to avoid glancing down at her lips, but it was nearly impossible. Her tongue darts out to run across her bottom lip, slightly swollen from the kiss. The action unwittingly causes you to catch your own bottom lip between your teeth, biting down in an attempt to subdue your skepticism. 

“We should definitely do that again,” Paige declares, and your heart nearly stops at her words. You were expecting things to be awkward, worried that your friendship would dissolve into a weird dynamic. 

You laugh, and a pink blush blooms across your cheeks at the boldness of your best friend. A wave of relief washes over your senses, and your rapid pulse slows at the realization that things would be okay between you two. Maybe even better than okay.

“I agree,” you whisper, trying to hide the huge grin that was threatening to give away your casual act. “But let's go sightseeing first.”

Paige, who typically was eager to go out exploring, sighed dramatically before acquiescing as you flashed puppy dog eyes and a not-so subtle pout in her direction. 

She was so whipped.

The two of you spend the afternoon in downtown Seattle. The weather was surprisingly sunny, and as you strolled down the street with an ice cream cone, the sheer domesticity of the day hits you like a fucking truck.

Paige has her free hand in yours, the other holding her own ice cream. You glance up at her, and try to hold back a giggle as her tongue chases a stray drop that is sliding down the cone onto her wrist. It was getting harder to ignore the feelings you had for her, and it threatened to overtake you until you were a withering mess of nothingness. 

You are pulled out of your head, as Paige squeezes your hand. As you look up at her once more, the fond smile adorning her beautiful face makes you realize that you were not necessarily alone in your affections. And it was so comforting. 

~

You and Paige walk through the door of your hotel room, and as it shuts, apprehension fills you up once again. You were alone with Paige. And the idea of kissing her again was fucking with your mind.

You kick off your shoes and sit on the edge of the bed, looking up at Paige to see where her head was at. You’re greeted with bright blue eyes and that ridiculous tongue of hers peeking out of her mouth seductively. It was positively sinful, and it gave you the courage to grab her hand and pull her between your parted legs. She leans down to kiss you slowly. While her earlier kisses had been full of want and lust, this one was pure passion. It was a promise, and as you kiss her back, you let all the unspoken words fall from your mouth into hers. 

Your hands roam to find her waist, and your touch causes Paige to speed up the kiss. Longingness fuels her, and soon enough, your lips are meeting hers with an unbridled urgency that you had never experienced before. Falling backwards onto the bed, Paige’s lips pull away from yours to attach to your neck once more, and through the haziness of your thoughts, you think that maybe she has a certain fascination with it. She trails messy kisses down your throat and adds a few small marks below your ear to the ever growing collection. The thought of them fading away causes a pang in your chest, but somehow you just know that Paige will no longer let you go without the purple marks embellishing your skin. 

Paige pulls away from your neck, making you pout at the loss of contact, and she meets your eyes with a smug smirk. She just knows the effect she has over you. Your panties are fucking soaked, and your pupils are blown wide with lust.

You don’t forget, though, how she was moaning out for you in her sleep this morning. And the thought of this pulls out an equally smug look from you. It was your turn to be in control, and you were going to turn Paige into a whimpering mess. 

You sit up in the bed, and Paige moves with you, a surprised look flitting across her face. Now you both are sitting straight up, legs still entangled and eyes connected in a wordless conversation. 

You make the first move.

Your hand reaches out to cup Paige’s cheek, reconnecting your lips in another bruising kiss. She lets out a groan at the contact, relishing in you taking control. You wish you could spend the rest of your life hearing her little noises on repeat. 

Pushing Paige back once more against the soft pillows of the hotel bed, you position yourself on top of her. Your right knee comes to rest in between her parted legs, and as you press it against the sopping heat of her core, she moans out your name. 

“Fuck, P, you like that?” You purr, secretly exhilarated at her pure, unadulterated neediness. She nods at your question, eyes shut in pleasure as you find a spot right under her ear to suck and bite at. She wasn’t going to get away with silence, and you reach up to loosely wrap a hand around her throat. “Use your words, baby,” you murmur, pressing several small kisses up and down her neck as she gives in.

“Need you, princess,” Paige whines. The words are so unfamiliar to the confident Paige you knew and loved, but the stark want in her voice had you nearly drooling with lust. 

You were going to make her feel so, so good. And that was a promise.

“You’ve got me, Paigey,” you whisper, and your hands find the bottom of her shirt, pulling it over her head. She allows you to pull off her pants, lifting her butt up to let you slide them over her hips. As she lays back against the pillows, clad in only a sports bra and boxers, you let your gaze wander over her athletic body. The heat of your stare causes Paige to writhe impatiently, desperate to feel some pleasure. 

“My pretty girl,” you breathe, sliding a hand down the side of Paige’s ribcage, admiring the pale flesh of her toned stomach. You lean down and press open mouth kisses up and down her abdomen before taking off her bra. You admire her again and attach your mouth to a nipple, eliciting another whine from Paige. The sound inflates your ego, and you bring a hand up to pinch the other one. 

“More,” she chokes out brokenly, and you were not going to deny the blonde. You were going to give her everything until she was begging you to stop. 

Satisfied with the marks you leave scattered across her chest, you move down to the waistband of her boxers. Your breath fans over Paige’s belly button, and hers hitches in the anticipation. Looking up at her, trying to gauge her reaction, you see her eyes screwed shut in concentration. 

“Open those pretty eyes for me, baby,” you request gently, and your heart lurches once she complies. Her clear, blue eyes flutter open, revealing her neediness in blown pupils and a darkness that you’ve never seen before. 

She had never looked so beautiful. 

You pull down Paige’s boxers, throwing them onto the floor. The cool air of the room hits her sopping center, and Paige lets out a gasp. You wanted to immediately dive in, but you knew it would be more fun to tease. Pressing hot, open mouth kisses all over her hips and down to her inner thighs, you revel in the moans pouring from Paige’s mouth. 

She is now just short of begging. 

“Please, princess. Need more. Touch me.”  

Getting drunk off of her desperation, you swallow your own instincts to just give in to her and fuck her senselessly. But you weren't going to give in that easily.

“Gotta tell me where you wanna be touched, pretty girl. Just gotta tell me, and I’ll take such good care of you.” Your words are husky, now, darkening your typical giggly disposition, and Paige secretly savors the dominance pouring out of you.

Another kiss to her inner thigh pulls another whine out of Paige, and she’s bucking her hips up in an attempt to feel a shred of pressure against her pulsating clit. 

“Please, baby…please. N-need you to touch my…pussy.” 

Fucking finally. 

For a moment you thought Paige’s stubbornness would prevail, but it seems that her overwhelming neediness was hijacking her typical need for control.

You take a second to savor it. Paige Bueckers was spread out in front of you at your every whim, and you were going to enjoy this. 

Two fingers ghost across her inner thigh and come to rest at her dripping hole. You gather her wetness, swirling it around her folds and up to her clit. 

A long groan falls out of Paige’s mouth as you finally touch her, followed by several expletives when you replace your fingers for your hot, wet tongue. You had been dying to taste her all day, and your patience was rewarded as you licked a fat stripe from the weeping hole of her pussy up to flick across her clit with a maddening pace. 

With no intent on stopping, or even slowing down, you push in two fingers, and the sudden entry causes Paige’s moans to grow even louder. Torn between wanting the whole world to hear just how good you were making her feel and wanting to keep her all to yourself, you whisper “Gotta be a little quieter for me, baby. Can you be a good girl?”

The last thing you needed was unnecessary attention distracting you from making Paige cum like she never has before.

A quieter whimper leaves Paige’s throat, satisfying you, and you reward her with a third finger, curling them all up to the spongy flesh that holds all the pleasure. 

Paige is humping against your hand now, moaning out, “Feels so good, princess, oh my…god.” Her noises are nothing short of pornographic, and you feel your own wetness slide down your inner thighs.

“Tell me who’s making you feel this good, Paigey,” you grit out, intoxicated from her essence and needing the extra validation to push you over the edge.

Paige moans out your name, and your head soars. You had spent many nights dreaming of scenarios just like this, but nothing compared to having her wrapped around your finger, as she was now. 

Quite literally. 

Continuing your brutal assault on her g-spot and eating her out as if she was the last meal left on earth, you feel Paige’s pussy start to clench around you. 

“Gonna cum for me, baby?” You urge, and she lets out a strangled whine. “Let go, cum for me, P.”

And she does. The sound was heavenly as your name leaves her lips over and over again, like it was a prayer. She throws an arm across her face, as if the release was just too much, and you revel in your abilities. No one else made Paige feel like this but you. 

Giving the blonde a few moments to ride out her high, you slow down, letting the orgasm wash over her. Paige’s chest rises and falls, giving way to labored breaths, and once her legs stop twitching from the sheer pleasure of it all, you crawl up to meet her in a slow kiss. 

It’s different than earlier. The passion is still there, but there is no longer something to prove, and the two of you bask in the glow of a friendship that had developed into something more.

“That was fuckin’ incredible,” Paige murmurs, voice raspy now, and you grin at her praises. 

“What can I say? I’m pretty great,” you gloat, feeling like you had an orgasm yourself.

~

Nika is due to arrive at your hotel any second now, and you finish the final touch ups of your makeup. Paige is behind you, staring at you through the mirror with a fond look on her face that has your stomach erupting in butterflies. 

Paige spins you around and pulls you into a tight hug, whispering, “Look at my pretty princess. I can’t wait to fuck you tonight.” A blush engulfs your face at the thought, and it takes an impressive amount of restraint to avoid pushing her up against the wall and attaching your lips to hers.

A loud knock sounds through the hotel room, pulling the two of you away from your affections. Nika’s smiling face appears as you open the door, and she pulls you into a huge hug. 

“Oh my god. I missed you so much,” she mumbles into your neck. You giggle, repeating her words, as the two of you rock back and forth in a friendly embrace. 

Nika pulls away and steps behind you, jumping onto Paige, yelling in Paige’s ear about how she had ‘missed her twin.’ Paige lets out an affectionate chuckle, telling Nika that she had missed her, too. 

Once the hugging was over, Nika stands in front of you and Paige with a smirk on her face. “So what have you two been up to today?” she asks, a playful glint in her eyes. 

You feel her gaze roam over the hickey peeking out under the collar of your shirt, and your cheeks heat up. 

Paige runs a hand across her face, trying to avoid looking guilty, and Nika gives her a knowing look. 

“About damn time, honestly you two.” 

And there was no point in even trying to deny it anymore. 

~

Part 3

this was a lil too much fun to write. hope you beautiful people enjoyed it

[amiableness]

Peonies ; part four

Pairing: Theo Nott x Fem!Reader

Summary: Mattheo is in an awful mood after the party while Theo takes reader to the peony field.

Word Count: 4772

Warnings: Unrequited love & Mattheo and Theo get into it. Reader overthinks for a little bit. Mentions of drugging? One mention of Y/n. Let me know if there’s more!

A/N 💌 I can't tell you how nervous I am to post this, I feel like it's not my best work. But regardless, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. As usual thank you to @moonpascal for reading, helping me with ideas, and just providing support and comfort. I love you endlessly!

SERIES MASTERLIST <3

“Did something happen last night between you and Mattheo?” Pansy asks, throwing the door open with an expectant look. Despite your low mood, you can’t help but crack a tiny smile at the sight of her—hair a tousled mess, mascara smudged beneath her eyes. She’s the perfect picture of someone who had way too much fun last night.

“Is there any particular reason you’re asking?” You reply cautiously, eyes following her as she saunters over and slips into bed beside you. She gives the blanket a hard tug, leaving you to huff in irritation when she claims more than her fair share.

“Because I heard him and Veronica fighting. I didn’t catch much, but I did hear your name.” Pansy looks you over, taking in your rumpled clothes and tired eyes. You’re not in much better shape than she is, and she can't tell if it’s the lingering effects of last night’s drinks or the aftermath of whatever happened with Mattheo.

“Merlin,” you sigh, rolling your eyes and sinking deeper into the warmth of your bed. You haven’t moved since Theo left about twenty minutes ago, and you’re not sure if you’ll find the energy to do so anytime soon. Honestly, the idea of staying curled up here is more tempting than you'd like to admit. “We got into it again last night.”

“Again?” Pansy raises an eyebrow, shifting to face you.

“Apparently, he does care.” Your voice is dripping with sarcasm and frustration.

“He told you that?” Pansy shifts so quickly it’s as if you’ve shocked her. Both of you know very well that Mattheo isn’t the type to open up about what he’s feeling. Years of watching him around his parents taught you why—with how many times you had seen them scold him for even a flicker of emotion, it was no wonder he kept everything locked up.

You sigh, staring up at the ceiling, “He said he wanted me to admit I have feelings for him too.” Pansy's eyes widen, her mouth falling open as she stares at you in disbelief.

“Feeling for him too?” She echoes, and you finally turn to meet her eyes with a weak nod. Your best friend sits there for a moment, studying your face carefully before choosing her next words. She knows she has a nasty habit of saying the first thing on her mind without considering that it might not be what you need to hear.

Pansy sits up, grabbing the pillow she was using and hugging it to her chest as she stares at you impatiently. She’s waiting to hear if you’ve finally told the boy you’ve been head over heels for, for years, that you like him too. “Well? Did you?”

“I couldn’t do it.”

“Please, tell me it’s for the reason I’m thinking.” She all but begs, her eyes wide with hope.

You let out a weary sigh. “I don’t know when I stopped having feelings for him, Pans. I didn’t even realize I’d lost them until he asked me to tell him I felt the same, and there was just...”

“Just..?” Pansy prompts gently.

A pause hangs between you as you search for the right words.

You hardly slept last night; your mind raced with thoughts of the past few months, trying to pinpoint when and how your feelings faded so quietly. You had liked Mattheo for so long, even convinced yourself that maybe you even loved him. But how could you truly love someone who was so closed off? Sure, he turned to you when he was struggling, but that didn’t mean he ever shared what he was feeling. He liked your presence and relied on you to be there whenever he needed support, but he never trusted you enough to truly let you in.

Not in the way you wanted, at least.

If he wasn’t comfortable with his own emotions, there was no way he would be able to handle yours. Maybe that was the heart of it—the realization that he would never fully open up to you, and that had kept you from falling in love with him. And maybe that was the best thing that could have happened, no matter how painful or uncomfortable it was to come to terms with at the beginning.

Then there was Theo. Who had promised to help you get over Mattheo, and from that moment on, he was there for you without hesitation. He held your hand whenever you needed it, and honestly, you had begun to lean on him a bit too much—being close to him had become your favorite feeling. He never made it feel like supporting you was a chore; instead, he made it seem like something he had always longed to do.

In truth, everything had changed for you. Spending time with Theo was no longer just a way to distract yourself from Mattheo; it became where you wanted to be. Being around him made you feel safe and accepted in a way you hadn’t realized you craved.

And that was absolutely terrifying.

You sit up abruptly, fully facing Pansy, “When you said that you thought Theo would give me everything if I let him, did you mean that?”

“Babes,” she begins, sending you a soft smile. “I’ve always thought you would be good for Mattheo. You bring something out in him; he’s happiest when he’s around you. Veronica seemed to make him happy at first—” she adds with a snort—“but nowhere near the level you do.”

“But with Theo…” Pansy trails off. “I’ve never seen you so happy—and not the kind of happy you were with Mattheo. It’s not the relief of him not having a one-night stand or flirting with you a bit bolder at a party. It’s genuine happiness; you’re truly yourself. Theo brings out a different side of you, and you do that for him, too.”

Glancing over at the vase of red peonies, battling the tightness in your throat and the sting in your eyes. You decide you’d rather not spend the day in bed.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

Since last night, Theo has been struggling to push away the thought that maybe the idea of you having feelings for him isn’t so far-fetched. Especially after you’d implied that the two of you were together to the girl who’d tried to flirt with him. The way you’d intertwined your fingers with his, staking a silent claim that he was off-limits, had left him reeling. There was no way you’d be so possessive if you didn’t feel the same. At least, that’s what he’d been telling himself all morning.

And then there was the way you hadn’t been able to answer Mattheo about your feelings. Theo’s whole heart had been in his throat as he waited for you to tell Mattheo that you did have feelings for him, that you’d had them for years. But you hadn’t answered.

In a way, though, you had, hadn’t you? You’d pushed past Mattheo without a word and gone straight to him.

“Are you coming with us to Hogsmeade or not?” Enzo nudges Theo, pulling him out of his thoughts. The boys had all planned to go to Hogsmeade together this weekend, a plan set firmly in stone since last weekend. But when Theo saw you this morning, he couldn’t hold back. On impulse, he asked if you wanted to spend some time together, suggesting—almost shyly—that he could finally show you where he’d been getting the peonies.

“No, I’ve got plans.” Theo shrugs, and Draco sends him an irritated look from the opposite couch.

“We made plans.” Draco huffs, clearly agitated with the change. He always hated it when the boys ditched at the last second.

“Something came up.” Theo sighs, hoping that he’ll let it go quickly. He’s well aware that Mattheo should be coming down the stairs at any second. Enzo had told them that he was taking forever to get ready, probably hungover from last night. 

“You mean your girl.” Blaise corrects, and Draco looks disgusted. His head swings back to look at Theo.

“You’re ditching us for her? Mate, that’s pathetic.” Draco scoffs. “She isn’t even your girlfriend.”

“She’s pretty damn close.” Blaise points out, and Theo tries his best to ignore the feeling that jolts through him when he thinks of you as his girlfriend.

He doesn’t have a chance to say anything—not that he would have—before Mattheo walks over to join the group. He claps a hand on Draco’s shoulder, only for Draco to shrug him off irritably. “C’mon,” Mattheo says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

As the others rise, stretching and adjusting their robes, Theo remains seated, gaze fixed on the fireplace in front of him. Mattheo pauses, giving him a puzzled look, one brow lifting in question. “You’re not coming?”

“No.” Theo answers curtly, clearly uninterested in extending the conversation. The truth is, he hasn't spoken to Mattheo in quite a while, and when they do, it’s nothing but tension—a quiet frustration simmering beneath each exchange.

Mattheo’s curiosity sharpens. “Why not?”

“He’s got plans with his girl,” Draco interjects with a roll of his eyes, impatience seeping into his voice. “Now, can we go? We’ve waited long enough for you as it is.”

“Wait. Hold on,” Mattheo turns to face him fully, and Draco huffs when he realizes they’re not going to be leaving any time soon. “Your girl?”

“You know what he means.” Blaise interjects calmly, his eyes shifting to Mattheo as he watches tension coil through his stance.

Mattheo gives a casual shrug, though his jaw tightens. “No, Blaise, I really don’t.”

Theo huffs, rolling his eyes as he stands, making to push past. “Why the hell do you even care?”

Mattheo’s hand snaps out, stopping him mid-step. “You know why I care.”

Theo’s gaze darkens, voice low. “Oh, you mean because of your feelings for her?” He shakes his head in disbelief. “Does your girlfriend know that you told Y/n you’ve always liked her?”

Theo’s eyes flicker over Mattheo’s shoulder, catching the shared looks between Blaise, Enzo, and Draco. There’s no shock in their expressions—only a knowing look as if they’d been bracing for this moment all along. It’s unsettling, the way they seem almost resigned, like they’ve seen the tension building between him and Mattheo from a mile away.

Mattheo scoffs, an edge of irritation slipping into his voice. “Did she go and tell you everything I said?”

Theo raises a brow, “No, I overheard you. But even if she did, what does it matter to you?”

Matteo narrows his eyes, “Because I care about her.”

“Bullshit. If you cared about her, you wouldn’t have put her in that position last night.”

“I care about her more than you think.” Mattheo bites out, and the boys watch carefully as Mattheo takes another step forward.

“Right,” Theo scoffs, “You care so much you went and found yourself another girl.”

Theo sees it before Mattheo even speaks—the subtle shift in his expression, the tightening of his jaw, the flicker of defensiveness flashing in his eyes. “I wasn’t ready to—”

“So you weren’t ready for her? But you were for Veronica? I don’t get it. You can’t just expect her to always be there when you finally figure out what you want.”

Mattheo laughs in disbelief, “I wasn’t waiting, I—”

“Then what the hell were you doing?” Theo’s voice sharpens. “You had years to tell her how you felt, and you didn’t say anything. Then you get a girlfriend, she starts spending time with me, and all of a sudden, you care? Leave her alone and quit messing with her.”

“I’m not fucking messing with her—”

“You are. You’ve been doing it for years.” Theo’s eyes flash with frustration, and suddenly he feels the urge to make it clear that he wants you—that he always has, and Mattheo isn’t the only one. “She deserves better than someone who can’t make up their mind. She deserves to be someone’s first choice.”

Mattheo’s expression hardens and his tone drops. “And that’s you?”

Theo doesn’t have the chance to answer, because Veronica’s shriek causes both their heads to snap in her direction, “Matty!”

Theo watches as Mattheo steps back, anger giving way to frustration, a quiet curse slipping from his lips at the sight of his girlfriend. Veronica strides forward, pushing right past Blaise and Enzo without a second glance. Blaise shoots her an agitated look, irritation flashing in his eyes as she barrels through.

“I thought you said you guys were going to Hogsmeade.” Veronica smiles, reaching out to take Mattheo’s hand, but he subtly pulls away, dodging her touch with a flicker of impatience in his eyes.

“We are.” He grumbles under his breath, but Veronica keeps smiling sweetly, unfazed, as if her boyfriend hadn’t just blatantly brushed off her attempt to hold his hand. Mattheo turns to leave, muttering something to the boys, likely a brief comment about their plans.

Theo watches as an agitated Mattheo strides out of the common room, with the boys trailing behind him. But the boys glance back at Theo, their expressions a mix of caution and confusion. Theo turns to leave as well, but Veronica’s voice stops him, soft and pointed, just loud enough for him to hear.

“You should tell your girlfriend that last night was a mistake,” she murmurs, a sympathetic smile tugging at her lips. “Mattheo thought she was me; you know how he gets after a few too many drinks.”

Theo thinks about correcting her, letting her know that he doesn’t really know what she means at all. From what he saw last night, Mattheo was tipsy—not that drunk—and Theo has had enough years of experience to tell the difference. But instead, he shrugs it off, deciding he’d rather find you than spend any more time in the common room.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

“Hogsmeade is that way.” You say, a bit confused, gesturing in the opposite direction as you walk beside Theo.

“I know.” He replies simply, his gaze flickering back to the trail that you’ve never gone down before. Honestly, you had no idea it even existed. It’s evident that this path isn’t used often, as moss and grass have claimed most of the walkway. Vibrant wildflowers dot the sides, their colors brightening the greenery around them. 

He’s been quiet for most of the walk, which feels strange; you’re not used to this side of him. The more time you’ve spent with Theo, the more he’s opened up—sharing memories of his late mum, the weight of his father’s expectations, and his hopes for the future. These walks, where you slowly unravel each other’s stories, have become your thing, something that only the two of you share.

You frown slightly, glancing at him as you try to piece it together. “But I thought you said you got the flowers from a shop.”

“I never said that.” Theo’s lips curve into that soft, gentle smile that never fails to send your stomach into a flutter. “I said I’d take you with me the next time I went to get some. I never said it was in Hogsmeade.”

It takes you a second, too enamored with the view in front of you for it all to click. The walk isn’t long, but as you continue down the path, you spot a patch of red ahead. It stands out against the greenery, a cluster of flowers blooming a pretty, vibrant hue. You can’t quite tell what kind they are, but when you glance at Theo, you notice the way his eyes flicker nervously, and it suddenly feels like you’re walking toward something important.

But then it hits you all at once: “They’re peonies.”

On instinct, you grab Theo’s hand, giving it a playful tug to urge him along toward the blooms. He lets out a soft laugh at your enthusiasm, and a warmth fills you as his earlier mood seems to lift, the tension in his shoulders fading.

When you reach the edge of the flower field, you pause, still holding Theo’s hand as your gaze lingers over the vibrant blooms stretching out before you. Theo glances at you, heart beating a little faster as he wonders what you’re thinking, but he brushes aside his nerves and releases your hand, shrugging off his jacket to lay it carefully on the ground. You murmur to him, urging him not to squish any of the flowers, and Theo smiles, his expression softening as he gently reassures you that he won’t.

There isn’t much room on his jacket, so you find yourself pressed against Theo’s side—though you don’t mind in the slightest. He’s leaned back on his hands, while you sit cross-legged beside him.

The quiet is soothing, broken only by the soft chatter of birds and the occasional hum of an insect drifting from flower to flower. The warmth of the sun on your skin feels heavenly, its heat a welcome contrast to the long, cold months that have passed.

“Is this why you left? The first night you stayed with me?” You ask, glancing to the right to watch his reaction. 

From where you’re seated, you can see how the sunlight catches every small detail of his face, highlighting any imperfections. There’s the faint mole on his cheekbone, his dark lashes that you’re secretly jealous of, and the thin scar along his chin from when he fell off his broom as a kid. Another mark splits through his brow—a scar whose origin he could never quite remember, but has always just been there. It tugs at you, knowing you can recall the origins of his faded scars. It might seem trivial, but it means he’s let you in, sharing parts of himself that not everyone gets to see.

Theo nods, “I had to go early in the morning to give them to Pansy. With practice later, it was the only chance I could.”

A smile creeps onto your face as you imagine Theo, slightly awkward but determined, handing over the bundle of flowers and the little card to Pansy, who no doubt teased him relentlessly. You’d had wondered how she noticed that Theo was different with you, especially when most of your time together was just the two of you. But now, hearing this, you understand perfectly how she recognized a side of him that only seems to surface around you.

“I didn’t want to leave, y’know.” Theo continues, finally glancing over at you, and the effect is instant—those watercolor eyes meet yours, sending a flutter through your stomach as you instinctively lean closer, feeling yourself melt into his side.

“The flowers made up for it,” you tease, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “Aside from you, they were the only thing that made me feel better.”

“Yeah?” Theo glances down at you, tucked into his side, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips. Hearing you say the flowers meant something to you eases any nerves he had—because they were never just a way to cheer you up. They were his quiet, unspoken way of telling you that he was there, that he cared. And that, despite your feelings for Mattheo, he was an option too.

“Yeah.” You confirm.

For the rest of the afternoon, you and Theo sat together, talking about whatever came to mind as you picked flowers. You gathered a few, but mostly you watched as Theo picked the ones he liked the most, adding to the small bundle that sat between you both. Watching him carefully select the prettiest flowers, knowing he was going to give them to you, made something shift inside you. If you hadn’t fully realized your feelings before, you were certain of them now.

You lost track of time with Theo, but eventually, he had to leave for practice. He handed you the freshly picked flowers and walked you back to the castle, stalling as if reluctant to say goodbye. In the end, you pressed a soft kiss to his cheek and murmured a quiet ‘thank you.’ You didn’t want to say goodbye either, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be the reason Theo might get into trouble.

It wasn’t until you got back to your dorm, leaning against the door with a giddy squeal, the flowers pressed to your chest, their scent lingering in the air, that the realization hit you. You should’ve kissed him. The thought made your stomach dip with excitement, and for a fleeting moment, you entertained the idea of running after him, catching him just before practice, and kissing him. Absentmindedly, your hand rises to trace your lips, lost in your racing thoughts. 

You’re so caught up in the moment that you don’t notice Pansy at her desk, watching you with an amused look.

“You look like you had a good time.” Pansy smirks as you startle and send her a look before pushing away from the door.

“Pansy, I’m fucked.” You whine and she lets out a loud laugh.

“You were from the second he stayed the night with you.” You pause for a moment, letting the realization settle in, and as it does, you know she’s right. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt so safe with someone—not in the way you did that night. Sure, you felt safe with Mattheo, but it wasn’t the same. It didn’t compare to the way you felt when you were with Theo.

“Did you know he’s been picking me flowers?” You ask instead, setting the new bundle onto your desk before turning to face Pansy. 

“Oh, I knew.” Pansy hums, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. 

“How did I not notice?” You wonder aloud. 

“You were a little distracted.” Pansy shrugs, and you nod in agreement.

After Pansy tells you she’s meeting Blaise after practice, you briefly wonder if you should go with her. You sit on your bed, lost in thought, weighing the decision, but before you can make up your mind, Pansy is already gone.

As much as you want to see Theo, you hesitate, not wanting to assume that today meant as much to him as it did for you. It’s clear from the fact he’s been picking you flowers that he has feelings for you, but you don’t want to get ahead of yourself or risk ruining something before it has a chance to begin. So, you stay in your dorm, trying to focus on an assignment you’ve been putting off for far too long, though your mind keeps drifting back to him.

So when you hear the knock, your heart skips a beat, and before you can think, you're off your bed and rushing to the door. You know exactly who is on the other side and your stomach flutters in anticipation. You pause just before opening it, taking a deep breath to calm the flutter of nerves in your stomach, willing yourself to appear composed. 

You pull the door open, forcing a casual smile as you try to sound unaffected. “Hi,” you say, though your voice betrays the excitement simmering just beneath the surface.

Theo stands in front of you, one hand holding onto the doorframe. His hair is a tousled mess, and his cheeks are flushed—whether from practice or the rush of seemingly running here, you can’t quite tell.

And when he looks up at you, he’s out of breath and looks downright impatient, “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” You pause, thrown off and completely caught off guard. That was not what you expected him to say, and your mind spirals into the worst possible conclusions. Was he regretting what happened earlier? Apologizing for showing you the flowers, or for picking some for you? Giving you flowers at all? Maybe his feelings for you weren’t strong enough, or perhaps he only thought he had them? The thought that it could be too soon after your feelings for Mattheo crossed your mind, even though you’d started moving on from him months ago, gnaws at you.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, releasing the doorframe and stepping forward, one step, then another. He pauses, giving you a moment to pull away if you need to, but you stay rooted to the spot, unable to move. Theo stands so close now that you have to tilt your head back slightly to meet his gaze. He reaches up, and your breath catches when his thumb gently brushes against your cheek, his hand settling just below your ear. His voice is quiet, but the weight of his words makes your heart stutter. “I should’ve kissed you, dolcezza.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to respond, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles on your skin as he steps even closer, his breath warm against your cheek. His words tumble out in a rush, desperate and raw. “All through practice, all I could think about was you. The moment I walked away, I just wanted to turn around and kiss you.” His voice drops to a whisper, low and thick with a longing that sends shivers down your spine.

You murmur his name softly, but he’s barely listening, his gaze intense as he leans in slightly, his lips just inches from yours. “Fuck, you've been on my mind for months—years, if I'm being honest. I feel like I’m losing my mind, wondering if you feel even a fraction of what I do.” His hand still lingers at your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin, the warmth of his touch sending a tremor through you as if he’s waiting for something—waiting for you to say what he’s too afraid to ask.

It’s you who closes the distance, your lips meeting his in a sudden, fervent kiss that catches him off guard, pulling a surprised moan from deep in his throat. His body reacts instantly, his free hand snaking around your waist, pulling you closer, pressing you against him. The sound he makes causes a rush of warmth to flood your veins. He’s hardly touched, and you’re already too warm, and your knees threaten to buckle beneath you. You let him guide you backward, the pressure of his hand firm against your back until your steps falter just inside your dorm. Every inch of him feels like fire against your skin, and your previous worries fade into nothing.

Once you’re inside, he kicks the door closed with a thud but the sound barely registers. Without any hesitation, he presses you back against the door, his body close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him. But you want him closer. So much closer. One hand rests flat against the door beside your head, while the other cups your cheek, his thumb brushing gently over your skin. Then, it’s him who leans in, his lips meeting yours in a slow, deliberate kiss that deepens with an aching intensity. There’s no rush now—just an overwhelming wave of longing, a perfect culmination of the emotions you’ve both held back. Your head spins, your heart races, and you’re certain that if you could take your temperature in this moment, it would be burning hot.

But then, slowly, he pulls back just enough to break the kiss, his breath heavy and uneven. His forehead rests against yours for a moment, both of you struggling to catch your breath. You feel the urge to close the distance between you again, to press your lips to his, because there’s something about the way Theo kisses that leaves you breathless, already craving more. But then again, maybe it’s just him—the way his touch makes a thrill course through you.

“I wanted you to kiss me before you left—”

The door jolts against your back, halting you mid-sentence as Pansy’s voice cuts through the moment. “What the hell? Open the door.” You hold your breath, hoping that if you stay silent, she might forget the whole thing and simply go away.

But that’s wishful thinking: “Babes. Please open the door."

“I thought you were hanging out with Blaise.” You call back, stealing a glance at Theo, whose expression mirrors your own surprise. Before leaving practice, he’d told Blaise to keep Pansy distracted—he wanted time with you because he had planned on telling you exactly how he felt about you.

“It’s about Mattheo.” Your brows raise is surprise at the intensity in Pansy’s voice and you fling open the door without another thought.

“What’s wrong?” Theo stands behind you, watching the way your face turns nervous.

“Veronica’s been giving him a love potion,” she says softly, her eyes studying your face as it twists in disbelief. “He’s in the infirmary... and he’s asking for you.”

please please please consider reblogging or leaving a comment! it keeps me motivated to write, and reblogs help to spread my work 🤍

[hairyjocktf]

Spring Break

Noah was pissed. Today was supposed to be the beginning of the best spring break ever. He’d planned a week-long trip with his college friends to New York City. They’d had it all lined up- museums, restaurants, sightseeing, it was perfect. But about a week before, Noah’s mom had called and delivered devastating news. They were having a family reunion that week. In rural Florida. Attendance was not optional. She’d bought his ticket already and there was no way out.

The day had arrived, and he solemnly made his way to the airport and flew to Tallahassee. They were meeting at his relatives’ place in the Florida panhandle, in the middle of nowhere. He’d been once as a kid and vowed never to go back. After a two hour drive from the airport he made it, driving up a dirt driveway to the massive, yet ramshackle, house in the forest. The next hour was a blur of greeting extended family, most of whom he barely remembered since they tended to stay out here in the country. After that settled down his mom came up to him, clearly very excited about something.

“Noah! You’re not gonna believe this, but since it’ll be a few more days before everyone’s here, your cousins Chevy and Logan are gonna take you out on a hunting trip! Just for a couple days,” she was nearly bouncing off the ground.

Noah groaned. That was the last thing he wanted to do. He had nothing in common with his cousins, and certainly did not want to spend time alone with them out in the swampy wilderness. His mom was not hearing any complaints from him though, and she dragged him out back to reacquaint him with his cousins. Chevy and Logan were chatting with each other on the patio, beers in hand, decked out in the camo hunting gear Noah assumed they lived and slept in. They were only a couple years older than Noah, but looked quite a bit older compared to the baby faced city boy.

“Ayyy Noah! What’s up, it’s been a while man,” Chevy walked over and gave him a bear hug, spilling some beer on his back.

“Hey Chevy, nice to see you too. I heard you guys were uh, taking me out camping,” Noah said unenthusiastically.

“Not just camping my guy!” Logan butted in, “We’re talking full on country backroads hunting boy’s trip! We’ll show you what you’re missing by being cooped up in the city.”

Noah’s heart sank; it was worse than he’d thought. They were gonna drag him out there and make him hunt? He didn’t like killing anything and worse, having to deal with the aftermath. He put on a forced grin since his mother was right there.

“Wow, that sounds real great guys, I can’t wait,” he said through gritted teeth. His subliminal messages to them were entirely lost.

“Hell yes bro! Here’s a pack with some of our extra hunting clothing, you won’t want a whole suitcase out there,” Chevy said, handing Noah a backpack. “We’ve got some extra gear that should fit you, it’s already in the truck. We’ll leave in 30 minutes, so get yourself ready.”

30 minutes?? That was immediate, he wouldn’t even have time to plead his case to get out of it. Begrudgingly he went back inside to get his stuff together. The next thing he knew, it was time. The boys were out front in their pickup truck, the back full of tents, camouflage gear, and who knows what else. Logan laid on the horn.

“NOAHHHHHH! It’s time to scram, let's get outta here!” Logan shouted over the blaring horn. 

Noah groaned, this was setting the tone for the whole trip. He looked at himself in the mirror, the camo pants and hoodie just looked wrong on him. He for sure didn’t want his clothes getting covered in mud though, so he sucked it up and headed out front. Chevy grabbed his bag and tossed it in the back before climbing in shotgun, leaving Noah in the cramped back seats. And with that, they were off.

“There’s a real nice game area ‘bout an hour, hour and a half from here,” Logan said. “We’ll get in, set up a nice camp, then relax. Then at sunrise we’ll start you off with somethin easy, maybe a deer or boar,” he turned and looked at Noah, grinning. 

Noah bounced around in the back of the truck as Logan drove through the forest on bumpy dirt roads. Chevy had put on some country music up front, and they were practically yelling to have a conversation over it. They tried talking to Noah about what he’d been up to, but Noah was sulking and gave only short answers. The sun was starting to hang low in the sky when they pulled off, offroading through some clear land towards a spot they’d clearly been to before. They stopped at a neat little clearing near a creek. It was objectively a beautiful little spot, but Noah was not in the mood to appreciate it, already swatting at mosquitoes swarming him. 

“Alright man, you ever pitch a tent?” Chevy asked Noah. 

“Uh, no, I haven’t”

“Well here, I’ll help ya out,” he said earnestly. “We’ve already got a well used spot here, so first we just lay out this footprint, and here let’s have you start with the poles.”

Noah fumbled around with the metal poles before eventually getting them together. He was frustrated, why would he ever need to know this? Chevy took the poles and got the tent up while Logan was still unloading the back of the truck.

“Alright we’re nearly done, just gotta secure it with these stakes,” he handed them to Noah. “Just stick these through the corner, make sure they’re deep in the ground now.”

Noah took the stakes and tried pushing them into the dirt, but they only made it about an inch in. He tried scraping the dirt away with his hands but that didn’t help. Chevy tapped his shoulder, holding a mallet as a suggestion. They’d just gotten here and already Noah was annoyed despite his cousin’s encouraging attitude. His hands were covered in dirt too, he hated being dirty! And he had no escape from all of it. He stormed off to the water’s edge in a huff while the other two finished putting their site together. The sun was really setting by then.

“Ey Noah!” Logan called, “Come have a beer with us man! We’ve got some chili cookin’ too, ya gotta eat somethin,” he laughed. Noah sighed. There was no point in sulking the entire trip like this, even if he wanted to. He walked back over and pulled a beer out of the cooler they’d brought and sat down.

“It seems his highness has decided to grace us with his presence,” Chevy mocked. Noah chuckled. He’d make it through this, even if it took all the beer in that cooler. The boys ate dinner and talked as the sun dipped below the horizon, with Noah actually giving some substantial answers this time. He was exhausted, having flown in and driven all day. He climbed into his tent to hit the sack. If he’d had a mirror in there, he would’ve noticed what looked like some dirt smeared on his face, just on his upper lip and the sides of his face by his ears.

Noah was abruptly awakened by Chevy shaking him. “Hey bro! It’s just starting to get light out, let’s get moving.” Noah groaned, it was his vacation and he was getting woken up at five something in the morning. He crawled out of his tent, banging his head on the pole; was it really that small last night?  The boys were up and moving already, and Chevy handed Noah a granola bar to eat. “It’s a light breakfast I know, but we don’t wanna miss the prime time of the day,” he said softly.

Despite being exhausted, Noah’s annoyance was fading quickly. Maybe this would be a little bit of fun; at the very least it would be something different from normal. He scratched at his chin, his fingers brushing through the smallest bit of stubble that had sprouted overnight. Noah had never been able to grow facial hair, but for some reason this didn’t alarm him, it felt natural even. He put on his hat to hide his messy hair and began to chow down on that granola bar. As he did, that small amount of stubble began pushing out more, giving Noah a shadow across his jaw. It grew thicker, sticking out further until he had a rough, patchy beard. It made Noah look more natural in his hunting gear, aging him up just a hair. His clothes had also grown less baggy on him, attributing to an extra inch or two in height and some mass he’d never been able to pack on before.

Within a few minutes, they were off, trekking through the tall grass into the brush. Logan guided them to a denser pocket where they set up watch and waited for some wildlife to show up. Logan had told them he knew there were deer that tended to feed nearby, so they just had to be quiet and wait. The tension grew as time passed, and before he knew it, a buck had shown up in the clearing. Chevy had prepared him for this, and he took the shot. The deer went down, and Chevy and Logan cheered.

“Hell yes dude! Nice shot, especially for your first time,” Logan patted him on the back.

Chevy gripped him with joy, “It must be in your blood bro, you’re a natural.”

The adrenaline was coursing through Noah’s veins and to his surprise he was actually having a good time. He couldn’t remember why he hadn’t wanted to spend time with his cousins, they were chill, and this was turning out to be better than being cooped up in the house. The three of them carried the animal back, working together to hoist several hundred pounds. The sun was fully up now and it was humid. Sweat ran down Noah’s back, and he could smell the putrid stench coming off Chevy in front of him. He didn’t mind though, after all, that’s what a working man smells like.

The sweat was clinging to Noah’s damp skin, beading on his forehead. As he slogged ahead, carrying this massive weight on his shoulders, his body began to adapt. His twig like arms expanded with new muscle, his thighs exploded with size, and his chest produced an impressive set of pecs before softening with a layer of fat. The sweat and smell really began to soak into his skin, and under his sopping shirt small brown hairs poked up around his nipples. Those soft, small hairs didn’t remain so for long, sprouting from his chest, covering the expanse in a curly rug that was slicked down with sweat. Noah’s stubble was not to be left out, pushing further out of his face. Hairs wriggled out in the gaps between old ones, leaving him with much better coverage on his cheeks. Around his chin it even started to fluff up a little, coarse hairs puffing out.

They finally made it back to their camp, dropping the load and slumping into the chairs they’d left around the fire pit. 

“We’ll have to gut and clean that in a minute, but here champ,” Logan handed Noah a beer. It was cold, and exactly what Noah needed against the oppressive humidity. “Here’s to many more,” he toasted, before chugging his own down. Noah was finally able to take a breather, and thats when he noticed.

He STUNK.

He raised his arms back behind his head, airing them out. The sweat drenched pits aired their stench to the world, but to Noah, he just matched his cousins now. The exposed pits had a few hairs plastered to the skin. As he sipped the beer and relaxed, more wisps of hair shot out from his skin, growing thick and wiry. What started as a few extra hairs quickly blossomed into a thick forest of hairs, tangling together and poking out of the sleeves of his t-shirt. The hairs itched as they grew in, prompting Noah to dig his fingers in there, scratching through the sweaty, smelly hairs. He didn’t question it, as far as he remembered he’d had hairy pits since middle school. The hairs spread out of his pits, connecting to the dense coating on his chest. The rug on his chest had started creeping upwards, reaching with thick tendrils of hair towards his burgeoning beard.

After a short reprieve Noah was back on his feet, jumping at the opportunity to learn from his cousins how to clean their kill. They were eager to teach him, to fold him into their ways. Noah’s distaste for his cousins, the country, hunting, all of it was evaporating. He felt like he had so much in common with them now, how had he never realized? 

The rest of the day Chevy and Logan took Noah on a whole laundry list of activities they’d planned. Fishing, mudding, you name it. All hesitation had disappeared, Noah was in deep now. He kept drinking with the boys, not noticing that his gut was pushing tight against his shirt. In fact, his whole upper body was stretching out. His shoulders pushed out, growing broader. His frame was massive now, bigger than either of his cousins. He stood out on the edge of a pond in the harsh sunlight fishing, his shirt absolutely soaked with sweat that dribbled down his massive back. As it reached his waistband, it began fertilizing the growth of a new patch of hair right above his plump ass. The hairs sprung out of the wet skin, shooting up his spine in minutes. Before long the hairs had spread out across the wide expanse of his lats, pressing against the tight shirt. The fields of hair were thick, dense enough to darken the shade of his skin, and definitely didn’t help with the sweat situation. The hairs continued to spread, climbing over his round shoulders and down his arms, coating him with a wild fur that cemented his place out in the country. He was really starting to look like his cousins now, between his camo gear, hairy body, and beer gut. 

When the three of them returned to camp that night, Noah was exhausted. He grabbed another can from the cooler and cracked it open. Putting up to his mouth, he tilted it a little too far, spilling foamy beer down his face and into his chest hair. He chuckled and half attempted to wipe the foam off. Where it sat in his beard, the hairs began to thicken and sprout. His mustache grew incredibly thick, making itself known above the rest of his scruff. His chest fur also took to the growth, turning into a real carpet that climbed up and out of his shirt collar. Noah let out a massive burp in response.

“Yo Chevy, we really gotta head back tomorrow? Shit rocks out here,” Noah said with a deeper voice than he’d ever had previously.

“Yea bro, Ma will skin us if we miss the reunion. But don’t worry man, I know you’ll be back out with us in no time,” he flashed a grin at Noah. 

Noah went and dug through their bags, finding a lighter and pack of cigars. Now that the sun was going down, it was cool enough to enjoy being outside. He lit it up and took a hefty puff, his huge, hirsute body taking it in like a champ. Any thoughts about his old spring break, his old life, had been dragged through the mud and stamped out. All he wanted to do now was relax, listen to the sounds of the crickets, and spend time with his bros. 

[redroomreflections]

Before She Cheats Part 2

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: The aftermath of Nat cheating on R.

The Loud House universe - an au to the au (since y'all want me to clarify lol)

Note: I didn't anticipate this being so long actually.

w:c 3.2k

Her car isn’t in the driveway. It’s a relief to you. You come home like you did that afternoon to find the house empty this time. You grab the stack of mail, filtering through it mindlessly, before dropping it on the foyer table. There’s not much you want to do today. There’s no pressing matter that needs your attention. Your entire life has been turned upside down and you don’t know what to do. You venture further into your home. You feel unsettled here. Like everything was fake. Everything you know was a lie.

You don’t waste time heading straight for the wine cellar. You grab a bottle of Carbanet Sauvignon and another in case you need that too. You’re not much of a drinker. Not since your party days in college at least. Today you think you will need it. You need to feel something else other than the pain inside of your chest.

You grab the corkscrew off the shelf and head back up to the kitchen. You don't bother getting a glass. You just sit at the counter with the bottle in your hand. You drink straight from the bottle. It takes you two sips to get past the burning in your throat and the sour aftertaste. The second one goes down much smoother. You wonder if that was the wine or if your body has finally acclimated to the taste. You check your watch. On a Sunday at 12 pm, you both would be home. The kids would be watching cartoons, or doing some form of art, while you and Natasha prepared Sunday dinner. Then you'd all sit down as a family and prepare for the week. That's how it's always been. A little monotonous but your life nonetheless. The kids enjoyed it. You enjoyed it.

But that's not how today was going to go. There is no Sunday dinner. There is no family. You're drinking straight from the bottle in the kitchen of your home. Natasha is most likely out for a run. When she's stressed, nervous, or needs a release she runs or trains for hours. It's one of the things you know about your wife. One thing you're not surprised about with her.

You take another gulp. The third gulp. And then a fourth. This wasn't supposed to be your life. You're not supposed to be the wife who waits for her spouse to come home so you can talk about divorce. You're not supposed to be the woman scorned.

The alcohol hits you after a while. It's not enough to get you drunk, but it's enough to dull the pain in your heart. Your phone vibrates, lighting up across the counter, and you pick it up. It's Cara. She's wondering when you guys are going to come and get them. You text back a reply about later that evening. You and Natasha need to discuss some things. You swipe down on your lock screen, noting and ignoring the missed calls and text messages, you'd seen from Natasha. You couldn't handle talking to her over the weekend. You were afraid of what you might say.

"You're back, " A voice from the kitchen entrance startles you.

"Natasha, when did you get here?"

"A few minutes ago."

"Oh," You say plainly.

"You've been drinking?" She furrows her brow. "This early? Y/n..."

"Don't lecture me," You stand. The bottle is empty, and you place it on the counter. "I'm going upstairs."

"No. We need to talk."

"What do we need to talk about?"

"Us..." She begins. "I want to talk with you."

"Natasha, we tried this weekend."

"Yeah. We did, and you ignored me. I called, and I texted, and you did nothing but ignore me."

"I needed time." You sigh. "You can't blame me for not knowing how to take the news that my wife of ten years cheated on me."

"I know... I know that's what it is." Natasha stepped closer to the counter. "i want a chance to explain."

"I don't want to hear it."

"Y/n..."

"Stop," You turn on her. "I can't... I can't look at you. I can't listen to you."

"Eventually you have to," She tries.

"Why when everything out of your mouth has been a lie?" You bite. "Tell me, did you plan it?"

"What?"

"Did you plan it? To have an affair? Because if you did I need to know. If this was your plan from the beginning."

"No, of course not," Natasha shakes her head. "It just happened."

"Just happened," You nod. "Of course."

"I swear, I didn't mean for this to happen. It just did."

"It just did."

"It did." She argues.

"Are you ready to tell me the truth then?" You look to her. For the first time this weekend you truly look at her and it pains you. She's still beautiful.

"What? What do you mean?"

"Are you going to tell me the real reason you slept with someone else?"

"It was a mistake. It was a terrible mistake."

"I want to know, Natasha," You demand. "I want to know everything. How it started. Where it started. I don't buy you getting drunk and sleeping with her one time at lunch. I've slept next to you for twelve years."

"Okay," She nods.

"How did it start? Did you meet her at the compound first? Did she hit on you or something? Did she offer you something I couldn't?"

"No." She pauses. "She didn't offer me something you couldn't. I just... we met at the compound. She is a temp for HR. She's young. Not that much younger than us but..."

"How old is she?"

"I don't know. Maybe twenty-five or twenty-six."

"Younger," You scoff. "Go on."

"She did everything to get my attention at first," Natasha continues. "We don't interact that much with other departments but like I said I had a lot to go over with my contract."

"She wanted you. So she went after you."

"I didn't sleep with her then," She clarifies.

"When then? When did you sleep with her?"

"It was during spring break," She starts. "We had been talking on and off before then but..."

You narrow your eyes. That was the week you took the kids down to Atlanta to visit your mother. Natasha had opted to stay home with the excuse of doing business. You didn't mind then. She was a little unresponsive when you sent messages but you thought she was busy.

"You were home."

"Not really," She shakes her head.

"I didn't know that. You told me you were at the compound all week."

"I wasn't."

"So did you plan to be with her while I was out of town?"

"No, not really. She was at the compound, and I was bored so we went out for drinks."

"You had plans, then?"

"No. No. Nothing planned." Natasha continues. "She kissed me that night. I told her to stay away from me."

"She didn't?"

"No," Natasha confirms.

"What did you do? What happened?"

"She invited me to her office to apologize. We were there late. I had been drinking. I wasn't drunk," Natasha stands stiffly. "I wasn't... I didn't mean for it to happen. We had a great conversation. She was there and I...I just. It just happened."

"You had an affair." You nod. "This was before we adopted Luke. Did you think you could continue to hide this from me?"

"No," She denies. "I didn't plan for any of this to happen. I didn't."

"How many times?"

"How many times what?"

"How many times did you sleep with her?" You're not sure you want the answer but you prepare yourself for it anyway.

"A lot. But not often."

"How many?"

"Three."

"Three times," You shake your head. "Three fucking times."

"Y/n... I'm sorry."

"Was she good?" You laugh. "Was it everything you imagined."

"No." She shakes her head. "That's not why I did this."

"You were lonely. I can understand that. But you could've talked to me." Your voice breaks. You hate that about yourself. You become too emotional.

"I know."

"Why her?" You ask.

"I don't know."

"Is that why you came home every day looking so refreshed and full of energy. Like you had a good day?"

"I'm sorry," She tries again.

"How can I ever trust you again?"

"We can try."

You look down at your hand. Your ring is still there. It's a part of you now. It's your identity. Natasha's is still there too. You don't think you can take it off.

"What's her name?"

"Why does it matter?"

"It doesn't." You shrug. "It's just a name."

"Claire."

"Claire, " You repeat the name. It's plain. "What does she look like?"

"Y/n..." Natasha is cautious about telling you that much.

"I'm not going to go and beat her up if that's what you're thinking," You roll your eyes. "Even though I want to the liability is not on her. You are the one that's married. "

"She's beautiful," Natasha relents.

"Beautiful," You repeat. "What does she look like? Do we look similar?"

"No. Nothing like you."

"Does she have long hair? Short? Dark? Light? Is she curvy?"

"Why does this matter, y/n?"

"I just want to know what it is that she has that I don't." You shrug. "Maybe she eats pussy better. Maybe she lets you tie her up. Allows you to record her? That's something you've never experienced before."

"Don't," Natasha warns.

"What does she have?"

"She's not you." Natasha tells you.

"I know that." You chuckle. "But is she better?"

"I don't want to answer that," Natasha shakes her head again. "That's not why I did it."

"What is then? If it wasn't boredom. What was it?"

"I don't know," She says weakly.

"Did I bore you? Was I not adventurous enough for you?" You begin to ramble. "Did I not experiment enough for you?"

"No, that's not it. That's not it."

"Was our sex life not exciting enough for you?" You continue. "I knew our sex life was not the best lately, but we could've talked about it."

"Y/n... Stop."

"Why did you do it? Tell me. I need to know, Tasha. I need to know what I did to make you look elsewhere."

"It wasn't you."

"So what was it then?" You practically shout.

"I don't know."

"I need more than that."

"It was a mistake."

"It's an easy mistake to make," You bite. "You didn't have to sleep with her."'

"I didn't," She stares blankly.

You reach for the second bottle of red wine. Natasha almost opens her mouth to stop you but thinks better of it.

"My parents were married for thirty years, " You suck your teeth. You pour yourself a hefty amount of wine. "They had a strong marriage before my dad died. A healthy one. A loving one. I guess I was naive in thinking I could have that too."

"You can have that, y/n."

"Do you still want that?"

"Yes." She doesn't hesitate. "I still want to be with you."

"But not in the way I want." You remind her. "Not in a way that doesn't involve infidelity. I asked myself over the weekend. Do I just sit by and continue to live life with you knowing that you stepped out of our marriage? Knowing that while I was at home being a faithful wife you were out letting someone inside of you. She was tasting and touching and feeling what I thought was mine."

"Y/n..."

"How many times did she go down on you?" You cut her off.

"What?"

"How many times did she taste you? How many times did you let her between your legs and fuck her until you couldn't cum anymore."

"I already told you it was just three times," Natasha doesn't know if you want to know these things to hurt yourself further.

"Just three times," You shake your head.

"Yes."

"And how many times did you taste her?"

"That's enough, y/n," Natasha steps back.

"How many times?"

"Three," She replies.

"Three." You scoff. "I hope it was worth it."

"It's not."

"Do I need to get tested?" You ask. "We've slept together between those times. Not as much as you'd like but there is still a possibility." "No, she's clean," Natasha answers. "I made sure."

"Is that what you wanted?" You step toward her. You're angry, and the alcohol is starting to mess with your brain.

"What?"

"Is that what you wanted when you married me?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do you even know who I am, Natasha?" You push. "Is this what you wanted when you got married?"

"You know who I am," Natasha answers. "You've known who I was when we met."

"Maybe I should've asked the real questions." You shrug. "Instead, I was just so happy and in love I didn't bother."

"You're everything I've ever wanted."

"So why?" You swipe away a tear before it can fall.

"I don't have an answer for you."

"How long are you going to be here?" You squeeze your eyes shut. You can't keep looking at her. Your resolve is breaking.

"I don't have to leave if that's what you're implying."

"We're not staying together, Natasha," You turn away from her. "I'm not going to beg you to love me. I'm not that person. I won't ever be."

"Please, y/n," She reaches for you, but you pull away.

"Don't touch me," You mutter. You don't know what to do. The one person you've always looked to for comfort is standing right before you and you want nothing from her.

"We can work through this."

"Natasha, don't." You step away.

"I didn't plan this."

"What did you think would happen? That I would just accept it?"

"No."

"No," You repeat.

"I was hoping you would be more understanding."

"You were hoping." You laugh. "More understanding. Do you know how I felt when you told me you slept with someone else and then lied about the entire thing?"

"I was just trying to protect you."

"You were protecting yourself." You correct. "You were scared."

"Yes," She agrees.

"If you wanted this over, you should've said so a long time ago."

"But I didn't," Natasha frustatedly tried to explain.

"How would you feel..." You trail off. You're not sure you want to broach this topic. "If I were to contact one of my exes. If I were to call Melinda Whitlock right now and tell her that actually I made a mistake. I married the wrong person and I needed her to come and fuck me right now."

You can see the slight tick of her jaw. Natasha hates Melinda Whitlock. One of your longest relationships. Melinda still has a few of your mutual connections and you see her from time to time as she's a pediatrician at the clinic you take the kids.

"I..."

"If I were to tell her that I still have fantasies about her eating my pussy and how I wished she was my wife instead of you. If I told her that, would you be okay with it?"

"I... I don't know."

"No," You shake your head. "You wouldn't."

"You can't compare me and Claire to you and Melinda."

"Why not?"

"Because I didn't do this intentionally."

"So, it's an accident then?" You raise an eyebrow. "You just slipped and fell on her tongue?"

"Y/n..."

"Why are you pretending that it's so wrong for me to ask questions?" You frown. "I want to know everything because I want to know if this person was worth you losing everything."

"It wasn't," Natasha insists.

"If this is really the end of us, " You pause. "I need to know who it is that ruined everything. Because I know I'm not perfect, but I tried. I was faithful. I loved you. I still love you."

"I'm sorry."

"I am too," You whisper.

"What do you want?"

"I need you to answer me honestly." You breathe. There's a pregnant pause. You both know what's coming.

"I don't think you want to ask me that." Natasha refuses.

"Do you love her?" You look into her eyes. Those green eyes that you've fallen in love with over and over again.

"No," Natasha is quick to answer.

"Do you want her?"

"I..." Natasha sighs.

"Natasha, I'm asking you a simple question."

"I'm sorry."

"Has she met any of our children?" You ask suddenly.

"What? No."

"Are you sure? Maybe when I was on business trips."

"No," Natasha repeats.

"What do you like about her?"

"It's not her, y/n."

"I think I'm done with this conversation," You take a shaky breath. "I don't want to take the kids from you. They love you too much. It would hurt them."

"What are you saying?"

"I'll find another place. For now, I'll stay at a hotel."

"Where will the kids go?"

"They'll stay here in their home," You offer. "I will try to be as present as possible. My lawyer will contact yours. I don't want your money. I don't want this house. I don't want..." You take a sharp inhale of breath. You can't do this.

"Y/n..."

"Just leave," You shake your head. "We will talk later."

"Y/n," She pleads.

"Just fucking leave," You yell. "Wait," You call after her. She turns to you. "You have to be the one to tell the kids."

"What am I supposed to tell them?"

"You're their mother, figure it out," You dismiss.

"When?"

"Next week."

"What will we tell them?"

"We are getting a divorce." You begin. " They will ask questions."

"So will they stay with you or me?"

"Both," You decide. "I'll find a place."

"How will this work?"

"We will have joint custody." You decide. "I will ask for pickups and drop-offs to be done by a third party."

"Okay," Natasha nods.

"For now, they will stay with you. You can pick them up. When they're at school, I will see them. You can keep them with you during the summer."

"You've thought about this a lot," Natasha raises a brow.

"I did," You shrug. "I wanted to protect them."

"I didn't mean for any of this to happen."

"I don't believe that." You cross your arms. "You're not even fighting any of this. You're not even on your knees begging for me to forgive you."

"Would it help?"

"No," You deny. "You made the decision. You made the choice."

"Y/n..."

"I need time, Tasha," You sigh.

"What will this look like?"

"What do you mean?"

"Will we still be friends?"

"Friends," You repeat.

"For the sake of the kids," She tries to explain.

"Isn't that a little selfish of you? To hurt me like that and still want to be friends," You toy with the ring on your finger.

"Y/n... I didn't mean it."

"I know, Natasha." You shake your head. "Just give me some time."

"Can we talk later? After the kids go to bed?"

"What could you possibly have to say that will make this better?"

"Just..." She pauses. "I don't want our marriage to end like this."

"Then don't," You suggest.

"Y/n," She tries again.

"No," You say sternly. "Just... no."

"You can't hate me forever."

"I can try," You mumble.

"Please."

"No." You stand tall.

"Y/n," She pleads one last time.

"Goodbye, Natasha." You turn and head toward the staircase. "You can sleep in the guest bedroom."

As you brush past her, Natasha looks back towards the counter. You left your ring there. Standing by its lonesome. She feels like it represents you in that moment. Alone and empty.

She walks into the kitchen and picks up the ring. It's warm and heavy. She wants to bring it upstairs and put it back on your finger. She wants to take it all back. But she knows she can't.

—-> next part

[cookiescribble]

Show Me How To Be Whole Again

A/N: hi everyone! This is the fic I've been working on for eight months 😮‍💨. I hope it came out as well as I hoped it would 😅 - mod angel

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: When Spencer is abducted, you rush to the team to make sure you're there when they find him. After you get home, Spencer's behavior starts to get more and more concerning, and you're desperate for answers. (based on 2x15 and the aftermath of that episode)

Word Count: 7.1k

CW: Mentions of abduction, violence, drug addiction, withdrawal, arguing. some angst in the middle but i am incapable of writing something without a happy ending.

~~~~~

The call came early in the morning. They said they called you as soon as they could. 

If you were thinking rationally, or if you could stand being alone for 5 minutes after hearing the news, maybe you would’ve stayed home. But you couldn’t stay put knowing Spencer was in trouble. 

You quickly threw a few days’ worth of clothes in a carry-on bag and took the first flight out of the nearest airport. You were trying so hard to keep yourself together and not break down crying on a crowded airplane, but the thoughts just kept rushing in your head. You were so worried about him. 

When you landed, you called the team and told them you were going to the police station and you were going to stay there until they found him. You wouldn’t let anyone argue with you. You wouldn’t be able to calm down until they found him anyway, so being anywhere else didn’t make sense. 

You didn’t really think of what you’d do when you got there. You’d just been on autopilot since you got the call. You were hoping someone would meet you there. 

When you frantically burst through the doors of the police station, JJ was standing there waiting for you. You dropped your bag and hugged her tight. 

“It was my fault,” she choked out, sobbing. “We were together and… we split up… I shouldn’t have split up…”

You shook your head vigorously. “No, no, you’re not the one who abducted him. It’s not your fault.” You were also sobbing now. You tried taking deep breaths to calm yourself, but all you could think about was what could possibly be happening to Spencer right now. 

You calmed down enough to ask, “Where is everybody else?”

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath herself. “We set up at the unsub’s house. He took Spence to a secondary location, and Garcia set up there to get to his computers.” She looked down. “I really should be getting back there.”

You nodded while she talked. “I’m coming with you,” you announced. 

She looked at you, concerned. “We can’t risk you-“

You cut her off. “I am coming with you. I’m staying with you until we find him,” you stated forcefully. 

She didn’t argue further. She could see the desperation in your eyes, you’re sure. Even someone who didn’t analyze behavior for a living could see that. “Alright. Let’s go.”

…

You arrived at the house. You couldn’t tell how long the car ride took; every second felt like an hour. 

When everybody saw you, they took turns giving you a hug. You could tell they were concerned that you were here, but they could see how devastated you were. You think they understood. 

You hung around while they all did their jobs and tried to find Spencer. You sat next to Penelope and watched as she tried to do whatever she could to help find him. 

Time passed. The team was coming in and out of the room as they needed to. Derek was probably in here the most, giving his moral support to Penelope. 

Suddenly, the monitors in front of you lit up. 

“What‘s happening?” Derek asked. 

“I… don’t know,” Penelope answered. 

Your heart dropped as an image popped up on the screen. 

It was Spencer. He was sitting in a chair, his hands tied together. He was wearing the clothes you watched him pack on the morning you last saw him. 

He looked so scared. 

“Guys! Get in here!” you heard Derek yell. 

You couldn’t look away from the screen. 

The rest of the team rushed in, faces dropping as they saw what was happening. 

Someone was talking in the background of the stream. You couldn’t hear them. Your heart was thumping so hard you could hear it in your ears. Spencer was replying to whatever they were saying. Through your loud heartbeat, you could hear his trembling voice. Your eyes started to water. 

After a few moments, you heard someone near you say something and suddenly you were being pulled away from the screen and into another room. 

When you realized what was happening, you looked up to see Hotch holding your shoulders, pushing you away from the horrific scene unfolding on the monitors. 

You started sobbing. “I have to see him,” you tried to say, but your voice was cracking. 

“No. You saw that he’s alive. That’s all you need to see.” he said firmly. He was protecting you from seeing something that would truly break you. 

You couldn’t argue. What you saw shook you to your very core; you couldn’t go back in there. You squeezed your eyes shut and nodded. “You’re going to find him and bring him back safe.” It wasn’t a question. You knew they’d find him. They had to. 

You took a step back, telling Hotch he could go back to the team in the other room, and that you were okay out here.

You sat at a table, laying your head down and covering it with your arms. You had started crying, and you couldn’t stop. How could they do this to him? He’s never done anything to hurt anybody. All he does is help people. How could someone look at him and feel anything other than warmth, comfort, and love?

You heard footsteps come into the room. The girls came in and sat around you. You picked your head up to look at them, your eyes already swollen from crying so much. 

“What happened?” you asked frantically. Your heart was racing again. 

“He’s okay,” Emily said quickly. “He’s alive. The unsub… made him choose a victim to keep alive, but there’s going to be more victims… and then the camera cut off.” She took a deep breath. “It looked like making that decision let him live.”

You buried your face in your hands. This was so cruel. you knew he dealt with bad people every day, but… this was so heartbreaking. How could someone feel so little remorse for other human beings that they force an innocent person to decide someone’s fate?

You took deep breaths to try not to cry again. “I can tell he’s in so much pain right now… He’s going to blame himself for all those people’s deaths. The guilt is going to eat him up inside. He’ll feel horrible even if he does make it out of this.”

Everyone took turns patting your back to reassure you. “He is going to make it out of this. He’ll be home soon.”

You nodded, forcing yourself to believe it. You had to believe it. If you didn’t believe it… you would break down more than you ever have before. 

…

You stayed in that room for what felt like an eternity. The team took turns keeping you company when they weren’t busy. They gave you vague updates to let you know that Spencer was still alive. They didn’t tell you details of what they saw. You didn’t ask. Seeing the somber looks on their faces told you all you needed to know.

Eventually, everyone came rushing out of the room, putting on their coats and practically running out the door. Penelope came to sit with you, her eyes wide and full of hope. “They found where he is. They’re going to him now.” She hugged you tightly. “He’s going to be okay.”

Tears leaked out of your eyes again. This time they were happy tears. The immense rush of relief you felt was enough to render you speechless for a while, until you finally choked out, “They’re going to call us when he’s safe?” She nodded eagerly and you let out a huge sigh of relief. 

The wait felt like forever. You were still nervous. What if they don’t get to him in time? What if they’re just barely too late?

Finally, finally Penelope’s phone rang. She answered quickly, nodding at what she was hearing. Eventually she hung up and looked at you, smiling. “He’s with them now. The unsub is dead. They’re rushing an ambulance but his injuries seem minor considering… what’s been happening.”

You closed your eyes and took another big sigh of relief. “I’m going to meet the ambulance there,” you declared.

Penelope looked at you quizzically. “I don’t know if-“

“You said the unsub is dead,” you cut her off. “There’s no more danger. I’m going to him.” You saw keys to one of the FBI vehicles that was left over since they had multiple people to a van. You picked them up and tossed them to Penelope. “You know their coordinates. You drive.”

She caught the keys and nodded at you, unable to argue with your logic. You both rushed out to the van and sped over to the location. 

You saw the ambulance as you arrived there. You barely waited for Penelope to put the car in park before you were running out the door to where the ambulance had parked. 

You saw Spencer sitting at the edge of the back of the ambulance with a first aid blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He was beaten up, but he was still conscious and alert. You were relieved his injuries weren’t worse. 

“Spencer!” you shouted as you ran towards him. He looked your way, his eyes widening as he saw you. 

You threw your arms around his shoulders when you reached him. His shock quickly turned to something softer as he relaxed into your arms, wrapping his arms around your waist. 

You nestled your face into his neck for a few moments, unable to stop your sobs of joy. “Oh, sweetie…” you cooed into his ear. 

He moved so his forehead was touching yours. Tears were streaking down his face. “I’m sorry…” he started. 

You shook your head vigorously. “No apologies. You’re okay now.” You kissed him on the forehead gently and threaded your fingers in his hair “Everything’s going to be okay.”

He nodded and tightened his grip on you, kissing you firmly. He kissed you for a long time before finally pulling away, resting his forehead on yours. “I love you,” he whispered.

You smiled warmly, whispering back to him. “I love you, too.”

You stayed like that for a few moments before everyone started pushing Spencer to get in the ambulance so he could go to the hospital. You rode with him, of course. You held his hand the whole way there. 

He wasn’t in the hospital for too long. They were able to treat his wounds relatively easily. The team waited in the waiting room while you followed him into the examination room. 

When you came back to the waiting room, hand in hand, everyone rushed to greet you before you all headed to the jet. 

You sat in the corner of the couch to the side of the other seats, motioning for Spencer to lay his head in your lap. He followed eagerly, curling up on his side and nestling his head in your lap. 

You ran your fingers through his curls as he began to fall asleep. He must’ve been exhausted. You couldn’t imagine him sleeping during any of that. 

You stayed like that the whole ride home, him asleep and you petting his hair softly. 

You gently woke him up when you landed. “C’mon, baby. We’re going home.”

He sat up and rubbed his eyes. You kissed his cheek before standing up, taking his hand as you went to the parking lot. He obviously wasn’t in any condition to drive, so he handed you the keys to his car and let you drive home. You insisted on stopping and getting some food on the way back. He said he didn’t feel hungry, but once he started eating, it seemed like he’d never stop. He must’ve been starving.

When you walked into your apartment, he grabbed you and hugged you tightly to his chest. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, relaxing into him. 

“I missed you so much.” He was crying again, sniffling softly. “I thought about you every waking moment. I knew I had to make it through because you were waiting for me.” He leaned down to kiss your forehead, closing his eyes and savoring the moment. 

“I missed you too,” you said quietly, looking into his eyes with a soft expression. “I knew you were going to make it back.” You hugged him tight again. “I didn’t see everything. The team… made sure I didn’t see anything that was going to hurt me.”

He nodded, leaning down to stroke your cheek gently with his thumb. “I’m glad you didn’t have to see me like that.” He touched his forehead to yours. “What matters now is that I’m here with you.” He kissed you slowly, pushing your hair out of your face. 

You kissed for a long time, slowly making your way to your bedroom. You smiled up at him after a while. “As much as I would love to continue this…” You gestured to the bed. “You need to sleep.”

As if to prove your point, he let out a quiet yawn. You smiled as he sat down at the edge of the bed. You grabbed his pajamas from the drawer and helped him get changed and settled into bed. 

He lay his head on your chest and you stroked his hair gently, just like you did the whole way home. “Go to sleep, baby,” you whispered as his eyes closed. After a moment you heard his breathing slow as he fell asleep. 

“Goodnight,” you whispered, kissing the top of his head before relaxing to fall asleep yourself.   

…

After that night, things got… bad. 

Spencer wasn’t acting like himself anymore. He was… distant. Cold. He had never acted this way towards you before. Or anyone, for that matter. 

You had never had a problem with intimacy before, but suddenly he refused to touch you. Any time you would reach for his hand, or try to put your arm around him, he’d just shrug you off of him and move away from you. It always ended in you mumbling an apology and putting some space between you. 

He never explained why he didn’t want you to touch him. In fact, he didn’t talk a whole lot anymore. You often sat in silence, completely apart from each other. You always used to be able to count on him to fill these silences, but now he just stayed quiet. 

When he did talk, he was a lot more cold to you than he used to be. You had never fought before, but now it felt like any time he talked it was to argue with you about something. It felt like he was always angry lately. 

He didn’t even like to sleep in the same bed as you anymore. Most nights, if not every night, he slept on the couch. You started begging him, telling him that you would never cross over your side of the bed, but he shrugged you off saying he just needed to be alone.

All of this was really taking a toll on you. You tried not to show it, because you knew he was going through a hard time, so you only let your feelings out in places you could be alone. Which meant you spent a lot of time crying in the bathroom.

This went on for months. You thought that, surely, he had to tell you what was going on eventually. He had never hidden anything from you before, so you didn’t really know what to do, or how to handle this. You didn’t want to push him into talking about things he didn’t want to talk about, but something was very clearly wrong. 

After a particularly bad argument one night, you couldn’t take it anymore. You had to go to someone about this. For Spencer’s sake.

The next morning, you set an extra early alarm, quietly getting dressed and tiptoeing past Spencer, who was asleep on the couch, and silently leaving your apartment. 

As you got in your car and started driving, you started arguing with yourself in your head. Part of your brain was trying to say that this wasn’t going to help, and that this was just like being a little kid and tattling to a teacher. But the emotional part of your brain was saying that just telling anyone would be able to help Spencer. And that little shred of hope was all it took to convince you to do this.

You shoved open the doors to the BAU, hoping that Spencer’s stories about his boss barely leaving his office were true. When you looked around, you saw an office with a light on, making you breathe a sigh of relief.

You bound up the stairs, knocking on the office door, a little more forcefully than you had intended. Hopefully it would help get your emotions across.

“Come in,” a familiar voice ordered. 

You took a deep breath before opening the door, seeing Hotch sitting at his desk with a bunch of paperwork in front of him. You wondered just how much paperwork this job required, and if he was always here hours before everyone else.

He looked surprised to see you. He would probably be surprised to see anyone at this early hour, but considering you don’t even work for him, he probably wouldn’t have even considered the possibility of you coming here. “Is there something I can help you with?” He asked. 

You opened your mouth to say something, but nothing came out. You didn’t really think this far; you just figured that surely someone who works so closely with Spencer had to know something, especially since he was a profiler. 

You thought about everything that had happened in the last few months, trying to find the right words to properly articulate your concerns. But all the thoughts about Spencer pushing you away and refusing your affection, mixed with remembering what your relationship was like before that fateful night of his abduction, overwhelmed your mind so much that you just couldn’t stop your emotions flowing out. Tears welled in your eyes before starting to streak down your face. Here you were, in Hotch’s office, completely unannounced and uninvited, and you were just standing there crying.

After a few moments of crying, and of Hotch looking very concerned at this scene playing out before him, you decided it didn’t matter that you couldn’t form the perfect words. You just needed to say something. 

Through choked sobs, you finally managed to blurt out, “What’s wrong with Spencer?”

Hotch looked at you, his expression as unreadable as always. “What do you mean?”

You took a deep breath, too emotional to think about how you shouldn’t be saying all of this to your boyfriend’s boss. The words just started coming out in a rush. “Something’s wrong. We had never had a single argument before, and now the only time he ever talks to me is to pick a fight. He’s never present, he barely speaks, which I’m sure I don’t have to tell you is very strange behavior for Spencer. He never smiles anymore, he won’t let me touch him anymore, he won’t sleep in our bed anymore, he only sleeps on the couch…” 

You covered your eyes with your hands, trying to stop the tears from coming out. Finally, after some shaky breaths, you finished by saying, “I just wanted to know if there’s anything you could tell me about this. If you know why he’s acting this way. If there’s something he’s not telling me.”

Hotch hesitated before gesturing to a chair in front of his desk. “Do you want to take a seat?”

You looked at the chair, and you noticed you were shaking. You nodded, and sat down in the chair, trying to calm down. But you couldn’t help being extremely restless, your leg bouncing rapidly while you sat.

Hotch leaned forward, moving some paperwork out of the way and placing his hands on his desk. His expression was slightly softened. “Working in this field, you go through a lot of traumatic things. Reid’s abduction was one of the worst things an agent can go through.” His voice was low and steady, which was a welcome contrast to how frantic your own words had come out. “Anyone would struggle after that.”

You sighed. “I know, but-”

He raised his hand to cut you off. “That being said, we’ve all been able to tell that Reid has been a little off.” He saw you raise your eyebrow and added, “Okay, a lot off.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “We have some… theories, but we can’t know for sure what’s happening with him unless he tells us. And since he’s already struggling, we didn’t want to make it worse, especially since he’s technically just a subordinate or coworker. But if he’s not telling you either…” He looked at you sympathetically. “I’ll try to talk to him.”

You nodded, taking a deep breath. “... Thank you. Thank you so much. I’m so sorry I came here out of the blue.” You stood up, taking a step forward as if you were going to hug him, but for once your rational thoughts took over and you stayed where you were.

He stood up after you. “You’re welcome. It couldn’t have been easy to come here and talk about this.” He reached out to shake your hand, and when you shook his hand back he put his other hand over yours and spoke softly to you. “I’m going to try to get through to him. I promise.”

His gentle hands and soft-spoken words were enough to reassure you, at least for now. You nodded, thanking him again before leaving his office. You were able to leave with a lot more composure than you came here with.

It was getting late by the time you left Hotch’s office, and there were a lot more people here now. As you came down the stairs, you looked up to see Spencer staring at you. He wasn’t angry, thankfully, but he looked… kind of dumbfounded. Which made sense. You had no reason to be here at all, let alone a reason to be talking to his boss.

As you walked towards him to get to the door to leave, he turned to you. “Hey…” he started, his voice soft.

You didn’t know what to say, his soft voice sounding nothing like what you’ve been hearing these past few months. So you just kind of waved to him awkwardly, pointing to your watch to indicate that you had to get to work, and you left the BAU. 

When you got back in your car, you took a few minutes to process everything that had happened. You closed your eyes and took a few deep breaths, trying to convince yourself that everything was okay. You believed Hotch when he said he’d help. It felt like Spencer was in capable hands.

…

Later that day, you had been in the bathroom when Spencer came home, and you didn’t hear the door open and close. When you came out, you saw him standing awkwardly in the front of your apartment. It made you jump a little bit. “Hi… I didn’t know you were home,” you muttered awkwardly.

He stood there looking at you, his eyes moving a little as if he was thinking of what to say. After a few moments, instead of saying anything, he walked over to you and hugged you, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist.

You just froze for a moment, not sure how to react. But he kept his tight hold on you, as if you were the only thing keeping him up right now, and you finally started to hug him back just as tightly. You both just stood like that for a few minutes, holding each other.

Finally, he spoke up. His voice was soft, barely a whisper, and he sounded so fragile. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He was starting to cry now, making soft sobbing sounds into your shoulder.

Hearing him cry broke something in you, and shortly you were also in tears. “Oh, Spence…” You squeezed him a little tighter, rubbing soothing circles on his back. “It’s okay…”

He sniffled and shook his head, pulling back a little so he could look you in the eyes. “My behavior has been abhorrent lately. I’ve been struggling, and I’ve been bottling everything up. I didn’t realize just how much this was hurting you.” He took a deep breath, trying to keep up with his thoughts. “I guess I figured, if I didn’t tell you about my problems, then they couldn’t affect you. But I was wrong. It just made it worse.”

You looked at him sadly, one of your hands moving to gently stroke his hair. “You can always come to me with anything. I’ll always try to help you. You know that.”

Some more tears started falling down his cheeks, and you started to wipe them away with your thumb. “I guess I felt like… I didn’t deserve the help.” He took a few shaky breaths as he tried to calm down. “Like I didn’t deserve you being so nice to me.”

“Spencer…” you started, trying to make your voice sound as soothing as possible. “What’s wrong? What’s so bad that you can’t tell me?”

He closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. “I… I don’t know if I can talk about it yet. But I promise I’ll tell you soon.” He looked at you determinedly. “Until then, I promise I’m going to try to be better to you.” As if to prove his point, he grabbed your face and captured your lips in a soft kiss, making your heart flutter.

After years of dating, you didn’t think you’d feel that flustered, shy feeling of butterflies in your stomach again. But, after these past few months of having no physical contact, this kiss almost felt like it was your first kiss all over again.

You couldn’t help but hold the back of his head to try to bring his face even closer to yours. You were craving his touch, and you needed his affection. On the off chance that this was a one-time thing, and that he would start to distance himself again after this, you figured you had to make it last.

He showed no signs of letting up, though, moving you both so you were laying on the couch, with him hovering over you. His lips never left yours the whole time, and his hands were moving around your face as if he was trying to remember what it felt like. 

He broke the kiss to look at you, before closing his eyes. His hands trailed from your face down to your neck, moving slightly under your shirt to your shoulders. He wasn’t just touching you, he was feeling you. As if feeling your skin would jog his memory of you. His breathing was soft and even as his hands moved down to your hips, his fingers gentle and slow on your waist as he started to lift your shirt up. 

Your breath hitched when you felt cold air suddenly hit your stomach. “Spence…” you spoke quietly, a soft blush on your face. 

He looked at you, his voice quick and reassuring. “I don’t want to do anything like… that. It would be a little too much for me right now.” He quickly flashed you that awkward little smile he had sometimes. “I just want to see you, to feel you.” His voice went a little quieter when he added, “I missed you.”

You looked at him sadly, reaching up to touch his face. “I missed you, too.” You leaned in to kiss him again. “I missed you so much.”

The soft, slow kissing resumed, and Spencer very carefully pulled your shirt over your head, his hands gently gliding over the newly exposed skin. You let out a dreamy sigh. You hadn’t realized just how touch starved you had been over these past few months. This is exactly what you had been needing. 

You just stayed on the couch like that for a while, his lips and hands on you, the gentlest of touches. After a little while longer, you started to unbutton his shirt, because you wanted to do the same to him.

He completely froze, sucking in a breath. You immediately pulled your hands away. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” You trailed off, worried that you just ruined any progress that had been made tonight. 

He shook his head, sitting up and pulling you up with him. “It’s okay, I just… I don’t want you to see me with my shirt off.” He looked at you with pleading eyes, as if he was begging you not to ask about it. 

You hesitated, but instead of asking about it you tried to be a little more lighthearted. “I’ve seen you without a shirt plenty of times, Spencer.” 

He gave you a slight smile before the worried look came back to his face. “I just…” he started, “I can’t right now. Please understand.”

You nodded, taking his hand and giving it a slight squeeze. “I understand.” You stroked his hand gently with your thumb. “I’m not going to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. You can trust me.”

He squeezed your hand back, giving you another little smile. “I know you won’t. I do trust you.” He let out a little yawn and started to rub his eyes. 

You looked at the clock, not realizing how late it had gotten. “Come on, let’s go to bed.” You leaned over to kiss his forehead. “You should get some sleep.”

You worried he would still insist on sleeping on the couch, but he just nodded, his hand still tightly holding yours as you both stood up and walked to your bedroom. He grabbed his pajamas and headed to the bathroom to change.

You sat on the bed and watched him for a few moments before he closed the door. You started to get dressed yourself, wondering what this problem was about. He had been a little shy around you when you two first started getting intimate, but you thought he had gotten over that. Had these past few months apart made the shyness come back?

Your thoughts were interrupted by Spencer coming back into the room. You stood up so he could get in bed. He looked so tired; you could see just how bad the dark circles under his eyes were.

He crawled under the covers, curling up and closing his eyes. You got in the other side of the bed, gently rubbing his back to soothe him. You didn’t want to push any boundaries, so you pulled away after just a moment.

He turned around, looking at you with those big eyes of his, and grabbed your hand, lacing your fingers together. He closed his eyes again, taking a deep breath, as if soothed by your touch. You smiled softly. He looked more peaceful than you had seen him in a long time. It made it easier to close your eyes and relax.

It was silent for a while, and you thought he had fallen asleep. But then, you heard him speak very softly. “I love you.”

You opened your eyes to see him looking back at you. You squeezed his hand gently. “I love you too.” You leaned in and kissed his forehead, making him smile. “Get some sleep. I can tell you need it,” you whispered.

He nodded and closed his eyes again, moving a little closer to you before wrapping his arms around you and nestling his head in your neck. You hesitated for a moment in shock before cradling him in your arms. You kissed the top of his head. “Goodnight, baby,” you whispered to him. Soon, you could hear his breathing soften, and you just listened to the quiet sounds of him sleeping for a few more moments before falling asleep yourself.

…

Things didn’t magically get better after that, but they did improve. 

Spencer went back to sleeping in your bed, though he seemed to have a hard time sleeping nowadays. He was always tossing and turning, and you usually woke up in the middle of the night to either try to soothe him to sleep or to keep him company when he couldn’t sleep. 

There was a lot more talking, and a lot less fighting. You could have more comfortable conversations, and he would politely tell you when he didn’t feel like talking. It was a lot better than him yelling at you to leave him alone. 

There was still some arguing, but usually only when you were trying to get him to eat. He was always saying he wasn’t hungry, and you had to try to push to get him to eat, saying he needed some kind of nutrition. Sometimes he would snap at you, saying he would eat if he was hungry and that he didn’t push you when you didn’t want to eat. He’d always apologize, though, and try his best to explain that he was either feeling nauseous or he just didn’t have much of an appetite anymore. It seemed to get a little better after a few days.

He didn’t mind a little more physical contact. He wasn’t always up for it, but he didn’t seem to mind it as much. It was always trial and error, almost like trying to pet a skittish cat. You’d start by putting a gentle hand on his, and he’d tense up for a second, and he’d either pull away and explain he didn’t want to be touched, or he’d take your hand and hold it gently. A big improvement. It was just little touches: holding hands, an arm around his shoulder, a hug… it never went past that.

He didn’t talk about what it was that was bothering him at first, but you trusted that he would tell you when he was ready. After about a week, he was finally ready to talk about it.

…

You both were sitting on the couch, in one of your quiet moments. You were reading a book, like you usually did when Spencer felt like being quiet. The silences were starting to get more comfortable, making it easier to just do quiet activities next to each other.

After a few minutes, Spencer cleared his throat, making you look over at him. You bookmarked the page you were on and turned to him. “What is it?”

He hesitated, as if he wasn’t sure how to start this conversation. He closed his eyes for a moment to put his thoughts together, before opening them again to look at you. He spoke very softly.

“When I was…” he started, swallowing and taking a deep breath to compose himself before continuing, “... When I was abducted for those few days back in February, a lot happened. The man who took me had dissociative identity disorder, and dealing with all his personalities was difficult. But there was one of his personalities that was… nicer than the others. More helpful than harmful.” He closed his eyes again, and you knew this was really hard for him to talk about. You placed a gentle hand over his, and he let out a breath, grabbing your hand and giving it a squeeze. He continued on, his voice still soft and sad.

“Unfortunately, one of the ways that he helped me was to… give me something to help numb the pain the others were causing.” He closed his eyes again, and he slowly rolled up his sleeves for you to see his arms.

You stared in shock. His arms were covered in needle marks. You covered your mouth. “Oh, Spencer…” You looked back up at his face, but his eyes were squeezed shut, as if he didn’t want to face this. You squeezed his hand to let him know you were here to support him.

“He would come to me saying Dilaudid helped with the pain, and after a few times, it started to feel… good.” He took another deep breath, his eyes still closed. “After he died, I took the bottles he still had. And when things started getting hard to handle… all the flashbacks and memories of what happened to me, I just needed to numb myself. And it worked, for a while. But eventually, I just… couldn’t stop.”

“Spencer…” you started, your voice gentle. “You could’ve come to me, I could’ve tried to help you-”

“I didn’t want that,” he cut you off. “I tried to convince myself that what I was doing wasn’t wrong. That it was just medicine that was helping me. But, obviously, I knew that wasn’t the truth. And I knew that if I told anyone about it, they would say I needed help. But I didn’t want help. I just wanted to live in this unrealistic world where everything I was doing was fine.” He finally opened his eyes to look at you. “That’s why I was lashing out. I didn’t want anyone to help me, and I also felt like I didn’t deserve anyone being nice to me.”

He looked at you very seriously. “I thought, if I didn’t tell you any of this, it couldn’t hurt you. I know how sensitive you are to other people’s emotions and problems, so I figured if I didn’t tell you, you couldn’t worry about me. Obviously, I was wrong, and that was a naive way of thinking.” He reached out and gently touched your face. “When I saw you at the BAU, I knew it was because you were worried about me, and I saw that you looked like you had been crying. And it just snapped me out of this false reality I had created for myself. And that’s when I came home and apologized, because I knew I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t keep hurting you.”

You listened to him silently while he talked, letting him get out everything he needed to say before responding. “Why didn’t you tell me that day? Or the few days after that? Why did you wait until now?”

He nodded as if he was waiting for this question. “I read that withdrawal symptoms peak within 12-48 hours, and that it usually takes 5-7 days for the symptoms to resolve. So I wanted to wait out those 7 days just to make sure.”

You gave him a sad look. “But if I knew you were having withdrawal symptoms, I could have helped you. I really wish you would have told me.”

He sighed. “I wanted to do it on my own. To prove to myself that I could do it. That I wasn’t just going to quit halfway through and relapse.”

You nodded sympathetically. “Well, I’m really glad you told me now. We can get through this together.” You gave his hand a little pat. “You know this isn’t the end of it, right? It’s not just over when withdrawal symptoms stop. You still need to work out these issues that made you start this in the first place.”

He nodded. “I know. I want to try to get help now. I… I think I’m ready. I want to look into going to therapy, and maybe some support groups if I need them.” He squeezed your hand again. “I know I can make it through this, because I know you’ll be by my side.”

You smiled softly at him. “I’ll always be by your side.” Your hand trailed up his arms, looking back at the needle marks. “Do they… hurt?” you asked softly.

He shrugged. “Only when they first appear. They don’t hurt right now.”

You nodded, and you gently touched the marks on his arm. You looked at him, and you slowly brought his arm up so you could give every little mark a gentle kiss, to let him know that everything was going to get better soon.

He looked at you with big, loving eyes, and he started tearing up a bit. He pulled you in for a tight hug, sniffling as he buried his face in your neck. “I love you so much,” he said with a shaky voice.

You held him tight, rubbing his back to comfort him. “I love you too, Spence. Everything is going to be okay.” Your voice was calm and soothing. “I’m here now.”

…

Things started to get much better after that. Spencer was way more comfortable telling you when things were feeling more difficult than usual. Typically, it would be when he came home from a particularly emotional case. You were always there to hold him and to soothe him. There was no more aversion to your touch or need for extended silences. He felt comfortable in your arms, and he knew he could talk to you when something was bothering him.

He started seeing a therapist, and you always went there with him. Usually, you just sat outside the office for his sessions so he could have the one-on-one help he needed. Sometimes, if he was having a particularly rough week, he would bring you in with him for extra support. And you were always there when he needed you.

It took a bit of time, but you learned how to help with whatever he needed you for. If he needed a distraction, you could always come up with some activity to get his mind off of things. You played a lot of board games, and started learning to bake so you could just pull out a new recipe to try and he could focus on getting everything just right. When he just needed someone to listen to him, or a shoulder to cry on, you didn’t mind being that person for him. And sometimes he just wanted to be held, saying that the physical touch grounded him. You were always happy to hold him. 

Over time, things got easier and easier to deal with. Eventually, things seemed to be fully back to normal. You both knew that this was always going to be a struggle that could come back, but you knew how to handle it now, and you were certain that you could get through any struggle that ever tried to get in your way.

[saiintvalentiine]

Summary: Ken walks into the aftermath of Parrot finding out Wifies is actually a clone. He should be given sainthood for how little he kills Parrot. Part 2 now out!

notes: this is so not edited lol i wrote this in like. 3 hours between tasks at work. rip. this is vaguely set in the most recent UU episode in that i needed a setting and also a reason for ken wifies and parrot to be in the same place at once. no spoilers for the episode its just alluded to being the setting. uhhhh. i think thats it. enjoy. divider from here.

word count for the curious: 2678. allegedly.

Ken arrives in the meeting room with a hop in his step. He’s been looking for Wifies everywhere, but Dean let him know that Wifies was talking with Parrot, and now Ken can finally show him the little tricky trap he’s been working on! He’s proud of himself. It’s a really good design! So he’s hopping into the room like a rabbit instead of a cat.

Parrot stands alone at the head of the table, back to the door. Just Parrot.

Bleh.

“Yo,” Ken greets even though he still feels the urge to whack Parrot across the head occasionally. “I thought Wifies was here?”

“Did you know?” Parrot asks.

Ken can feel every single part of his body prickle with discomfort. He’s glad that Parrot isn’t looking at him, so he has a chance to lower his shoulders, and tail, and ears. And attitude. He knows, somehow, what exactly Parrot means by knowing. Ken shuts the door silently.

“Know what?” Ken asks, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“Don’t play dumb Ken. Did you know about Wifies being a clone?”

Ken breathes in slowly. He pulls his comm out and checks the playerlist. Wifies is gone. He was here only a few minutes ago when Ken last checked, which means that whatever happened, just happened.

“Did he tell you that?” Ken asks, opening Wifies’s chat.

[_Kenadian_]: where are you?

“You know, I was so confused,” Parrot turns around, eyes distant and face blank. “When I first met him, he was such a fucking asshole. Entirely full of himself. Still the smartest guy I’d ever met, though, so when all this stuff started happening on the server, I couldn’t help but think of him. I thought I was gonna regret inviting him, yet he was so quiet and nice now.”

[_Kenadian_]: wifies

[_Kenadian_]: seriously where are you

“He was always reserved, even before, but all these little things started coming up— he couldn’t remember things well, he’d talk about weird things in his sleep, things like that. And I couldn’t even. . . I didn’t know how to piece it together, and he wouldn’t talk to me!”

[_Kenadian_]: wato

[Wato1876]: Hey!

[_Kenadian_]: have you heard from wifies

[Wato1876]: No?

[Wato1876]: Isn’t he on unstable w/ you right now?

[_Kenadian_]: he left and isnt answering my messages

[_Kenadian_]: parrot found out, idk how, and now wifies is /gone/

[Wato1876]: ok I’ll check around for him

[_Kenadian_]: thx

“Are you even listening?” Parrot asks, and Ken finally looks up at him. His expression is one of desperation. It disgusts Ken.

“No,” Ken says, voice bone dry. “You yelled at him didn���t you? God Parrot, and I was just starting to respect you.”

“He lied to me this whole time!” Parrot explodes, eyes wild as he leans his hand on the table. “From the start, he hid this from me, and I only found out by— by sheer coincidence! He was talking to someone on his comm, and said something about being a clone, and I just—”

“Wait, who was he talking to?” Ken interrupts with a frown.

“I— I don’t know, they had a deep voice, talked really particularly?”

“Must’ve been Retro. . . Retro knows?” Ken mutters to himself.

The shame Wifies stews in every day because of his clone status is something Ken hasn’t been able to push past; Wifies always says he owes his life to Ken, but rarely does he bother to share his burdens with him either. Which means at least Retro seems to be getting through to him. . . It stings a little, but Ken has bigger fish to fry.

“So you did know!”

“Parrot, why do you care!” Ken snaps, turning back to his comm and searching for Retro’s contact information. Shit. He should’ve nabbed it off of Wifies earlier. “You drove him off! He’s not your fucking problem now, shouldn’t you be happy?! There! You cleaned your friends list of liars! Aren’t you satisfied with your work?!”

“I just wanted to know the truth, I didn’t want to drive him off! He's not a problem to get rid of!”

“Well great fucking job, man, go kick rocks or something. Fuck, where did he go?!”

[Wato1876]: Found him. He’s at the factory.

[Wato1876]: Ken, his comm is cracked right in half. He’s stuck here again.

Ken feels everything in him rear like a lion. He closes his comm and tucks it into his pocket. Slowly, oh so slowly, he stalks around the table towards Parrot, holding the hilt of his sword in a loose grip. Parrot follows his path with his eyes, feathers puffing out and fists clenched.

“Did you break his comm, Parrot?” Ken asks casually.

“No,” Parrot replies.

“Parrot. Tell me the truth. Did you break Wifies’s comm? Even by mistake?” Ken’s gums ache. He’ll dig his teeth into Parrot’s thin throat. He’ll rip his flimsy little esophagus out.

“No, no. I didn’t. I didn’t touch him. I didn’t. I wouldn’t.”

“I don’t know if you wouldn’t, Parrot, but I swear to everything you hold dear, if I find out it was you who broke his comm, you are going to wish I had just killed you instead,” Ken hisses out.

“His comm is broken?” Parrot echoes faintly, and it’s like gravity returns to his world, his feet landing back in reality.

“I don’t think you deserve an answer, Parrot, but yes.”

Ken tries to breathe through his anger. He’s going to believe Parrot for now.

[_Kenadian_]: ill be there soon

[Wato1876]: Bring a replacement comm?

“I was mad,” Parrot sounds wretched. “But not— I don’t care that he’s a clone Ken. I just felt like he didn’t trust me.”

Killing Parrot would make Wifies even sadder. Killing Parrot would make Wifies even sadder. Killing Parrot would make Wifies even sadder. Killing Parrot would make Wifies even sadder. Killing Parrot would make Wifies even sadder.

“I never trusted you, Parrot, not once, not for a single moment, but you made Wifies happy. I don’t know what he sees in you, but he was happy playing second fiddle to your stupid little orchestra on here, y’know? So I tried very hard to get along with you, so Wifies could stay happy,” Ken lets go of the hilt of his sword to press a sharp nail into Parrot’s chest. “You don’t understand the state I found him in before he came here, before you roped him into your stupid little games. He—”

Ken’s voice cracks and he curses, indistinct and abstract. He hates this. Leave it to Parrot to fuck everything up, just like Ken always knew he would with his lack of foresight and planning and brain. Parrot snaps up to grab Ken’s hand in a tight grip.

“Ken, I didn’t want him to leave me,” Parrot chokes out. “I just wanted to know, I just—”

“And look at where your wanting got him!” Ken spits out, yanking his hand away. “You want, and want, and want, Parrot do you even care what your wanting costs the rest of the world? What it costs Wifies?”

“He never says anything to me, he never—”

“Do you ever ask?! God Parrot, get out of your head for a minute!”

Ken runs a hand through his hair. Where is he gonna find a replacement comm? He might have something in one of the prison servers he frequents, but his head is scrambled, he can’t quite sort through his inventory in his head to figure out what he has right now. He may have one in his escape kits. . .

“Ken,” Parrot breathes. He finally realized what he’s done, it seems. Ken wants to stab him in the stomach. “Ken, I care about Wifies more than anyone else. You know that right? He knows that right?”

Ken pulls at his roots.

“I don’t know anything about Wifies right now,” Ken finally says, exhaustion creeping into him as his adrenaline runs dry. “I can’t contact him right now. He gets. . . bad, when it comes to the clone stuff. God, Parrot, what the hell have you done?”

Ken doesn’t wait for an answer. He leaves the server and lands in his solo world, scrambling around his storage before finding a dusty old comm he hasn’t used since he customized his current one. Landing near the factory is always a displeasure, but he pushes his feelings aside and enters. It takes a little searching, but he finds Wifies and Wato in the office, laid out on the floor next to each other.

“Wifies,” Ken says, more to say something than having anything to say, and he sits next to Wifies.

“Sorry for scaring you,” Wifies says. His voice is hoarse, and his eyes are bloodshot. “My comm broke. I dropped it while it was open, and I fell on it.”

“I brought you an old one I had laying around,” Ken says, bringing a hand up and running his fingers through Wifies’s curls slowly. Wifies closes his eyes. “What happened?”

Wifies doesn’t answer at first, just breathes evenly and relaxes each part of his body. He's so tense. Ken wishes he had killed Parrot.

“Parrot found out,” Wifies whispers. “I was talking to Retro. He’s been. . . helping me decipher some stuff from the notes. It was important. And I called him, and Parrot heard, and he was livid. That I hadn’t told him. That he couldn’t trust me. So I left.”

“He’s an asshole,” Wato says, and both Wifies and Ken turn to look at him in shock. “What?”

“Wato, there’s a reason why we’re such good friends,” Ken says with a grin. “Because I, too, believe Parrot is an absolute asshole.”

“You guys always knew, but I lied to him,” Wifies says. “I don’t know if he’s an asshole for being upset I didn’t tell him.”

“Yes he is,” Ken and Wato say together.

“There’s no reason to defend him out here,” Ken scolds, scratching Wifies’s scalp lightly.

“I don’t hate him, Ken,” Wifies lets out a deep, winding sigh before sitting up slowly. “Can I have the comm? I need to message Retro. Tell him everything’s okay.”

“Fine.”

Ken hands over the comm and Wifies thanks him faintly. As he boots it up and logs in, Wato sits up and gives Ken a look. Ken returns the look. Before they can descend upon Wifies and force him to talk about his feelings, the comm begins pinging wildly, messages flooding in and not stopping. Peeking over Wifies’s shoulder, Ken makes a disgusted expression at Parrot’s chat being at the top of Wifies’s DMs. Parrot is absolutely spamming Wifies’s inbox. Ken’s going to eat him for dinner.

“Ah,” Wifies says. He then proceeds to ignore Parrot to text Retro. Good. Fuck that guy.

“What does he want?” Ken asks, not because he really cares but because if Parrot pisses him off again, he can justify going at him with an axe.

“Maybe. . . Maybe not right now,” Wifies’s voice is weak.

The messages roll to a stop. Good! And then Ken’s comm starts ringing off like shots. Goddamn it. Ken pulls out his comm. It is Parrot. Awful. Now Wifies and Wato move to peek over his shoulder as his inbox becomes utterly unusable.

[Parrotx2]: Ken

[Parrotx2]: I’m sorry

[Parrotx2]: not to you

[Parrotx2]: well I can be sorry to you too but I’m sorry that I reacted like that to Wifies

[Parrotx2]: and I just need him to know that I’m sorry

[Parrotx2]: and I know you hate my guts

[Parrotx2]: but you said he was happy right? I made him happy

[Parrotx2]: I don’t think I’ve ever made someone happy by just existing

[Parrotx2]: cause fuck, it’s not like I’ve done anything for him

[Parrotx2]: Ken what the fuck did I do

[Parrotx2]: please just let him know I’m sorry

[Parrotx2]: and that I didn’t mean to blow up

[Parrotx2]: you’d think I’d be used to betrayal but with him, it felt so much worse than betrayal

[Parrotx2]: like I had failed to be trustworthy

[Parrotx2]: the reveal was a lot, but I felt more hurt than disgusted or scared

[Parrotx2]: I don’t care if he’s a clone

[Parrotx2]: I mean I care if he wants me to care. I want him to want me to care about him.

[Parrotx2]: I care about him in general

[Parrotx2]: plus whoever the guy before him was was a bitch

[Parrotx2]: he’s like so much better in a million ways

[Parrotx2]: not the point

[Parrotx2]: the point is my caring of him is not reliant on his clone status

[Parrotx2]: I can tell he’s got a comm now cause my messages are showing up as received

[Parrotx2]: does he hate me now?

[Parrotx2]: he has every right

[Parrotx2]: I can’t even pretend that he shouldn’t hate me

[Parrotx2]: Ken I don’t want him to hate me

[Parrotx2]: I don’t know if I can live with that

[Parrotx2]: I fucked up so badly

[Parrotx2]: the worst part is I trust him

[Parrotx2]: I made this whole fuss about trust and I still trust him

[Parrotx2]: of course I do, he’s the single most trustworthy person I’ve ever met

[Parrotx2]: I’ve slept in the same room as him for months and I never even worried

[Parrotx2]: he could’ve left or betrayed me or killed me literally at any point

[Parrotx2]: and he never did! even if it would’ve made his life easier

[Parrotx2]: what the fuck was I thinking?

“Ugh. Do you wanna talk to him right now?” Ken asks, turning his head towards Wifies. He gets a face full of sweet smelling curly hair.

“. . . I don’t know,” Wifies says, resting his chin snuggly onto Ken’s shoulder.

[_Kenadian_]: can you shut up. jesus.

[Parrotx2]: sorry

[_Kenadian_]: yes he has a comm now

[_Kenadian_]: he’ll talk to you when he talks to you

[_Kenadian_]: you made him cry yknow

“Ken!” Wifies hisses, cheek warming up where it’s now pressed to the side of Ken’s throat. “Why did you tell him that?”

[Parrotx2]: fuck I’m sorry

[_Kenadian_]: yeah he knows

[_Kenadian_]: just

[_Kenadian_]: give him some space

[_Kenadian_]: also dont text me like that whats wrong with you

[_Kenadian_]: i want you so dead its not even funny

[_Kenadian_]: this is the SECOND time you make him cry

“Ken!!”

[Parrotx2]: I

[Parrotx2]: what?

[_Kenadian_]: wouldnt you like to know bird boy

[Parrotx2]: why would you tell me that

[_Kenadian_]: you need to understand the consequences of what you do

[_Kenadian_]: wifies never lets you see but i do and i think you should writhe

[_Kenadian_]: you care so much? lets see.

[_Kenadian_]: writhe bird boy writhe

“That’s mean,” Wifies says as Ken closes his comm, but he doesn’t move a single muscle.

“You should’ve made it worse,” Wato says. “Should’ve told him Wifies was comatose or something.”

“Jeez, since when are you so vicious?” Wifies asks, but Ken is almost certain he and Wato are holding hands behind Ken’s back.

“I approve,” Ken says, bumping his head into Wato’s lightly. “Anyway, take as long as you want to ignore Parrot. Forever, even. I’d also approve of forever.”

Wato hums in agreement. Wifies sighs again, much lighter than before.

“Just a little while,” he says to Ken’s vast displeasure. “Just until I can stomach it. I shouldn’t have run away.”

“You’re allowed to do whatever you want, actually. Forever.”

Wifies giggles, and Ken finally feels himself relax a little. If Wifies is laughing, then it’ll be okay. He still feels anger pulsing within him like a second heartbeat, but it softens when Wifies bumps the top of his head into Ken's cheek. Not gone, never gone, but quietened enough to let Wifies speak for himself.

Ken trusts Wifies despite his own opinion. So he'll keep true and hold Wifies close no matter what.

“We still gotta talk about your feelings,” Wato says, and Wifies whines, trying to hide his face further into Ken's shoulder. 

“It's so embarrassing,” he murmurs.

“I'd be embarrassed too if I cried over Parrot of all people,” Ken deadpans. 

Wifies groans. Ken won't let him get away this time.

[daizymax]

be that guy | bc (m)

summary: running into you at a club months after the breakup could just be a stroke of pure, dumb luck. or maybe it's the push he needs to try and reconcile with you. whatever happens, chan is up for anything you want tonight.

pairing: bang chan x fem reader

genre: angst, smut

word count: 7k

rating: mature (18+)

warnings & features: ex-boyfriend!chan; profanity; alcohol consumption; graphic sexual content; some angst-y/emotional moments in the smut; pet names; dirty talk including some degradation and praising; vaginal fingering; mentions of squirting; breast & nipple play; clothed sex; protected sex; oral (f receiving); finger sucking; some hair pulling; multiple orgasms; aftercare; no definitive ending oops

author's note: i started to take a fic from my old blog and just rewrite chan into it, but i ended up only keeping the base premise of two exes hooking up again and rewriting the entire thing from scratch. it turned into this. hope you enjoy!

{ click here if you prefer to read on AO3 }

---

“Isn’t that Y/N?”

Chan’s head snaps in the direction Minho nods, and his heart skips a beat when he sees you. When did you get here? How could he have possibly missed you? There might as well be a spotlight shining down for the way his attention locks onto you now.

“She looks great,” Minho goes on, lips on the rim of his vodka soda.

Of all the people to run into tonight.

Of all the fucking people.

He sounds accusatory, but Chan has to know: “Did you know she was going to be here?”

Minho shakes his head innocently. He’s right, though. You look great. As gorgeous as ever. The smile on your face is large and radiant, but deep down, Chan knows it will drop like a lead balloon if you spot him.

And of course you do. Of course you fucking do.

One minute you’re laughing with your friend; the next minute, it’s as if you can sense his heavy stare halfway across the club. Your eyebrows tighten and you turn your head to look straight at him.

The spark is instant, the same as the very first time he saw you years ago. A smile blooms across his face before he even knows it’s happening - it’s just an automatic reaction to you. Subconsciously, he’s still happy to see you.

But then reality comes crashing down, and he remembers he’s not living in that wonderful world where you smile back at him every day anymore. He’s living in the aftermath of breaking your heart. So he waits for your lip to curl in disgust, or for you to roll your eyes and look away, but you do neither. He can’t read your expression, but at least you maintain eye contact with him.

Minho looks to Chan as well, then pats him on the shoulder. He doesn’t have to say anything; his support is felt all the same.

Chan downs the rest of his whiskey, takes a deep breath, and starts pushing through the crowd. By the time he reaches you at the bar, your friend is gone.

“I didn’t mean to scare your friend off,” he says, then winces internally. His first words to you in months and he couldn’t start with a simple ‘hello’ or an honest ‘you look amazing’? Or perhaps a heartfelt ‘I’m sorry’ down on his knees would have been the most appropriate greeting. What the fuck is wrong with him?

A smile returns to your lips, tiny this time. “You give yourself too much credit. I told her to give me a few minutes.”

A few minutes is probably more than he deserves. He has to make the most of them. No more stupid statements.

“I’m-” he starts, but the rest of his words are suffocated. He gulps through the sudden tightness in his throat and tries again. “You’re- You look… so beautiful, Y/N.”

You tilt your head in a gesture he can’t decipher and set your empty glass down on the bar counter.

“Chan…”

When you look at him again, his eyes lock back onto yours. It’s clear you’re also struggling to find words. It’s been months of heartbreak between now and the last time you saw each other, but before that, there were years of laughs, sweet words, daily routines, and gentle touches. He wonders if you’re remembering those times right now, too.

You purse your lips and reach out for his bicep. He unconsciously flexes it under your touch.

“You look great, too.”

“Th-thank you.”

“Want to get out of here?”

---

Getting into his apartment is a messy affair of feet stumbling over each other’s, hands tangled in hair, and lips and teeth clashing repeatedly.

Chan has half a mind to tear your dress apart at the seams to get it off your body, but that train of thought is entirely derailed when you reach beneath it yourself to slip your panties off. When the skimpy fabric drops to your feet, you sling it across his kitchen floor with the toe of your shoe.

He helps you up onto the counter, then slips his hand between your legs to check how wet you are. Surprisingly, your outer lips feel pretty soaked already, but he’s not going to rush to stick his dick inside you and risk hurting you. You seem eager enough to take him right now, but he wants you properly prepped.

If this is truly the last time he gets to be with you like this, he wants everything to go perfectly.

Your walls immediately clamp around the finger he pushes through them. You’re so fucking warm and silky inside, he just has to add another finger right away. You gasp as the intrusion thickens, lips falling apart ever so slightly. Chan slots his mouth over yours to catch the incoming moan. You taste like sugary cocktails. You smell delicious. You sound so fucking horny.

His wrist flexes as he searches for that spot he mapped out inside you long ago. He’s going straight for it because he has no intention of teasing you to an orgasm tonight. He wants you to come just as many times as you want tonight. Anything you want tonight, he’ll do it for you.

G-spot easily located, he rubs fast against it. You’re starting to drip all over his hand and down to the counter below, but he’s not upset about the sticky mess; he’s hard beyond belief over it. His zipper is scraping against his dick, but he ignores the discomfort. It’s tolerable when you’re moaning between his lips like this.

“Chan, please,” you whimper, finally speaking.

He pauses a moment because it’s been a while since he’s done this and his hand is already cramping. It would be a grave mistake to stop like this if you were close to coming, but he still has some time for now.

“I know, Y/N, I’ve got you,” he murmurs against your lips, withdrawing his tongue from your mouth only long enough to get the words out.

He stretches his thumb to flick it across your swollen clit. Your knees twitch at the contact, closing inward for a split second before opening wider, your dress riding higher up your thighs with the motion.

The way you’re giving him such open access to your body is making Chan’s head spin. Maybe his whole world has been turned upside down tonight. The feeling of your cunt around his fingers is keeping him grounded in the lewdest possible way.

He should be grateful to have this much, but he wants to get greedy and pull your tits out over the top of your dress so he can nip and suck on your nipples. The entire garment would probably have to come off first, though, and he’s not about to ruin your current positions to do that yet. Maybe he can give your breasts some due attention during round two. God he hopes you’ll stay for round two.

You’re barely focused on kissing him back anymore, too caught up with your imminent climax. Chan pulls his face away from yours to examine the state of you: shivering, spread open, starting to sweat, panting.

You’re gorgeous, and tonight, he’s all yours again.

“Chan,” you breathe again, hips bucking off the counter, bare skin squeaking on the surface. “Please keep going- fuck…”

“I’m not stopping ‘til you come on my fingers, angel,” he promises. The old pet name slips out before he knows it.

You must really be lost in your pleasure because you don’t call him on it and remind him he lost his right to call you that or any pet name anymore.

Tossing your head back, you moan, “More, please… f-faster…”

He wouldn’t dream of denying you, so he leans in and releases a ball of spit onto your clit. It quickly seeps down around his thumb, over your slit and over the fingers he has inside you, making his work more slippery. He wants you nice and wet and fucked open for his cock, so he drives his fingers faster, just as you asked.

It’s difficult to keep his thumb rotating in steady circles, so he vibrates it back and forth as best he can instead. He’s sure it will work - it has before, at least. He just has to keep his pace consistent. Keep the pressure just right. Maybe you’ll even squirt for him and really soak his hand, for old times’ sake.

Even if he couldn’t feel your pussy constricting tighter and tighter, the way you suddenly grab his flexing wrist is another telltale sign that you’re close to the edge. Your head is still tipped backward, throat exposed and gleaming with sweat.

Chan braces his unoccupied hand against your back, then leans forward and licks a stripe up the column of your neck. The taste of your sweat and the perfume you applied is an addicting mix of salty and sweet on his tongue.

“Oh fuck!” you cry out. “Right there, right there… so fucking close…shit, shit!”

“I know, I know, I can feel it,” he whispers, trailing his words up from your neck and into your ear. He licks the shell of it with the tip of his tongue, and you shiver in his arms. “Let go for me.”

Not only does your pussy close in tighter, but your fingers on his wrist do, too. Your chest is heaving, tits still begging him for attention. He finally gives in and bites one of the mounds through your dress. The fabric probably dulls the sensation a little, but he’s still gentle with his teeth.

When you moan louder, he sucks as much of your clothed breast into his mouth as he can. He can just barely feel your nipple raised against the fabric, but it’s still noticeable enough for him to know where to start flicking his tongue. The sensation seems to trigger your orgasm. Or maybe it’s the desperate act itself that does it for you.

“Oh my god, Chan, fuck!”

Your entire body tenses against the intense shockwave that detonates within you, rendering you motionless for just a few seconds before you start trembling hard from the outburst of pleasure.

“Shit, that’s it, Y/N,” Chan coos, drawing back again to take in your orgasm. A string of spit bridges the distance between your dress and his bottom lip. “Holy fuck, you’re coming so hard for me, I love it.”

Chan can barely continue pumping his fingers through your cunt’s vise grip, so he settles for keeping his fingertips kissed against your g-spot, gently easing the pressure as your intense orgasm wanes.

When your knees start wobbling from the overstimulation, he removes his hand from between your slippery walls, and you let go of him, too. His fingers are glistening, a clear testament to how good he just made you feel. Something nasty in him wants to whip his aching cock out right now and slather it in your juices, but his first instinct is to not let the treat go to waste. So instead, he runs his tongue up the length of his sticky middle finger, letting the salty liquid rest on his tastebuds for a few seconds before swallowing it down.

“Jesus fuck,” you pant, watching the erotic scene unfold before your eyes.

Chan smirks, pleased that you’re pleased, and repeats the action with his index finger, a little obsessed with making sure he doesn’t miss a drop. His entire kitchen smells like sex already and he fucking loves it.

More importantly, you look like sex incarnate, propped up on one hand on his counter, still breathless, still spread open. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this hard in his entire life - no offense to all your previous escapades together.

“Taste so fucking good,” he rumbles straight from his chest, lying his palms flat on the counter to cage you between his arms. “Missed this sweet pussy so much.”

Is the confession too much? If so, you don’t call him out on that, either. He’s not sure how he’s getting away with crossing all these lines tonight, but he’s not going to question it.

“Want to fuck it?” you ask. The deeply seductive look in your eyes makes him gulp.

“Y-Yeah? You’d let me fuck you?”

“If you have a condom, yes,” you clarify.

Chan nods a little too eagerly, but it’s nothing compared to the way his dick jumps in his jeans. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his ticket to fucking you. Honestly, he didn’t expect to actually use the condom with anyone tonight - least of all you - but now he’s glad he chose to be prepared.

You raise an eyebrow at how he practically conjured one out of thin air, then lean forward and put your hands on his chest to get him to step back a little. Slipping off the counter, you step over to his kitchen table - still in your heels - and bend over it.

Only when you look over your shoulder and jerk your head does Chan fully get the picture.

“Holy shit,” he whispers, hurrying to follow.

You giggle as he fumbles with his belt and pants. The way you shake your ass side-to-side in front of him is probably supposed to entice him, but he loses focus and drops the condom packet.

“Where’s the dirty talking monster who used to fuck me dumb?” you tease, still giggling.

Chan laughs back and scoops the packet off the floor. “Can’t be that guy right now,” he says, shoving his pants and boxers down to mid-thigh. The open air feels cool on the wet tip of his dick. “The beautiful girl bent over my kitchen table kind of makes me lose my fucking mind, you know.”

You hum and bite your lip, eyes cast down to his thick erection. He opens the foil, gives his cock a few quick pumps, rolls the condom onto it.

As he takes another step to position himself close behind you, you turn to face forward. Your hands reach back to help him bunch your dress over your ass, though, and he gets the overwhelming urge to twine his fingers with yours. The moment is soon gone when you bring your hands forward again to brace them on the table.

Eyes down, Chan takes the base of his cock and steers the tip between your legs. He rubs it up and down through your slit a few times until it catches on your opening and pokes in shallowly. Slowly, he pushes in another inch, then two more, then all the way to the hilt until his balls are pressed against you.

“Fuck,” you groan, knuckles tightening around the edge of the table. “Forgot how well you stretch me out.”

He can’t help but feel proud of that. “Big enough for you?”

“Mhm.” Your walls clench tighter, and he figures you did it on purpose. “Hard enough, too. Shit you’re hard.”

“So fucking hard for you,” he agrees, eyes rolling back in his head. His hands roam aimlessly over your ass while he gives you both a moment to adjust.

Evidently he stalls for too long, though, because you take it upon yourself to start moving your ass back and forth in the limited space between his hips and the table.

“Come on, baby,” you say. “If you missed this pussy so much, fucking take it.”

He wants to give you everything when you talk like that, so without another second to spare, he draws his cock back until the tip is at the very edge of your opening, then pushes forward to split your walls around it again.

It’s a blessing and a curse, but he can still remember how incredible your wet heat used to feel around his raw cock, back when the two of you had love and trust. It’s been a very long time since he’s had to wear a condom with you - or anyone, for that matter - but he won’t complain. He’s all too aware he’s lucky to be inside you at all.

Besides, you still feel incredible. Your pussy sucks him back in when he pulls back too far, gives way easily when he sinks in deep. The more he pumps himself in and out at this slow, steady pace, the harder he finds it to hold back.

Luckily, you’re of the same mindset. “Harder, baby. Please.”

Using the pet name again is a sure-fire way to get what you want. He may have been the one to break up with you, but before that, he could probably count the number of times he denied you on one hand. You were always irresistible, especially when you asked him so nicely for things.

Chan snaps his hips harder, driving his cock as deep as he can get it with every stroke. He only pulls back a few inches at a time, keeping most of himself sheathed inside your warmth at all times, not willing to part from you any more than he has to.

“Like this?” he asks.

You nod and pant, “Yes. S-So fucking good, Chan.”

“Just want your tight little pussy pounded, don’t you?” Chan goes on, gripping your hips for leverage. He practically yanks you back into him with his next thrust, and you cry out in sheer ecstasy. “Just want a nice, thick cock to stretch your little hole open real good, huh? Fuck you open good and proper?”

“Fuck, yes, baby, yes, yes! Oh my god, Chan…”

That dirty talking monster you always loved is starting to rear its head, but Chan’s pleasure threshold is rapidly reaching its limit. Between the moans pouring out of your mouth, the wet smacking of his balls against your cunt, and the intense friction rubbing across his length, he comes much sooner than expected.

“Oh god, fuck- shit, angel, holy shit, I’m gonna- mmmf- fffuck!”

His cock pulses hard as streams of cum jet up its length, shot after shot unloading into the condom.

The guilt is instant. Apologies and excuses start tumbling from his mouth. “I’m s-so sorry, Y/N,” he mutters, struggling to catch his breath because cum is still squirting out of him. “I’m- I’m sorry, Y/N, I didn’t mean to come that fast, you just felt so fucking- I mean, you sounded so-”

“It’s fine, Chan,” you laugh, wiggling your ass again. “Consider me flattered.”

He tilts his head and huffs out a breath of laughter himself, then eases his hips backward to pull his cock out of you before it goes too soft. After he’s thrown away the condom, he turns back to you. Part of him fears to find you pulling your panties back on to leave, but he’s excited to find you facing him with your dress still gathered around your hips.

“I can keep going,” he offers straight away, crossing the distance to put his hands on your bare hips. “Let me go down on you, or- or finger you again. Please.”

Instead of answering him right away, you grin and kiss him. When your tongue pokes across the seam of his lips, he happily grants it entry to lick against his own. You can probably taste the remnants of your arousal in his mouth, but you’re not put off by it. In fact, you wind your arms tight around him.

Pulling your face back, you ask, “You want to make me come again, baby?”

Chan nods, eyes flicking up and down between your eyes and lips. He’s more drunk on the taste of you than the whiskey in the club could have ever hoped to achieve.

“You want to eat me out?” you press, studying his face just as intently. “Stick your fingers back inside my pussy?”

He licks his lips. His wilted cock heaves valiantly but isn’t quite ready to rise again.

“Please. Anything.”

He’s prepared to start begging, but you have mercy on him.

Slipping a hand into one of his, you ask him to take you to the bedroom. You start giggling again when he has to practically waddle his way there with his pants falling around his knees. Chan laughs, too, and starts stripping his clothes.

After he yanks his shirt over his head to toss it on the pile on his floor, he catches you checking him out. He resists the urge to make a trite ‘like what you see?’ joke. He made plenty of those when you were together - he knows you like what you see, and he’s flattered it’s still true.

When you peel your eyes off his chest to look at his face again, you cock an eyebrow and smirk. Then, you spin around and ask him to help unzip you. He does so happily, getting just as much of an eyeful of your body after your dress spills to a heap at your feet. You kick it away just like you’d done with your panties earlier, then off go the heels, one after the other. Once you’re entirely nude, you step wordlessly over to his bed and settle yourself on top of it.

“Come here,” you beckon, voice soft.

Chan obeys, coming over to drape his naked body over yours. You pull him into another kiss, and he tries to keep most of his weight off you, but the feeling of your warm, bare skin against his is something he’s missed desperately.

He tilts his face the other way and moans into your mouth. His hand comes up to cup your cheek at almost the same moment you do the same to him. You’re smiling into the kisses now, and his heart aches with the knowledge that this isn’t a daily occurrence anymore.

“Y/N…” he whispers, but he isn’t sure what he wants to say exactly.

Your smile fades, and he knows you can tell there is something more than lust in his head right now; he can see it in your eyes that you understand him. Even so, you refuse to let your walls down, and he can’t say he blames you. He’s probably the reason they’re there to begin with.

“You’re so fucking hot, Chan,” you say out of the blue, steering the conversation to more comfortable territory. “Touch me again.”

He can’t deny you.

If this is all he’s good for tonight, he’s grateful.

Swallowing hard, Chan slides down your body to bring his face level with your chest. One hand goes to pinch your left nipple, the other to cup your right tit and bring that nipple into his wet mouth. You gasp at the first flick of his tongue, so he repeats the motion about a dozen more times before dragging his face tongue-first across to your other tit. When he bites down on the pebbled bud, your back arches off the bed.

“Oh, god,” you whisper, twisting a hand into his hair.

He reciprocates the gesture by slipping an arm behind your back and holding your skin tight. You’re so warm and soft, so sweet-smelling and beautiful…

Focus. Just make her come, as many times as she wants.

Be that guy again.

Even if it's just for tonight.

Do it just for her.

With his mind refocused and his dick beginning to fill out again, he looks up at your face and mutters, “I’ll give you whatever you want, Y/N.” He goes back to your other nipple, traps it between his teeth and chews it with careful nips, enough for you to feel it, but not cause you any pain. “Want to come on my tongue or my cock?”

“Cock, please,” you answer without hesitation.

He’s surprised with your choice given his poor performance earlier. He’s also surprised by how sweetly you say please this time. So sweet and beautiful, truly worthy of your favorite pet name…

Stop it. Get to it already.

“You sure you don’t want both, angel?”

Not waiting for an answer, he scoots further down your body until he’s faced with your sweet pussy. You’re still soaking wet - he can see your arousal shining all along your folds. Reaching down, he gathers your legs and pushes them up, knees toward your chest.

“Chan,” you whine. He can feel your eyes watching him move his face closer between your hips. “Not your mouth.”

He takes the heady scent of your arousal deep into his lungs with a long inhale.

“Why not? You know I could make you come so hard with my tongue. Suck on your clit real slow, take my time licking you clean, hm? Maybe pump my fingers carefully enough to make you squirt?”

Dipping his face even closer, he glides his tongue up the length of your slit. Your arousal tastes even better when he’s licking it straight from your center, so he flattens his tongue to get a wider lick, greedy to smother his tastebuds in your essence.

Total, there are probably entire days of his life that were spent with his face between your legs, learning your ins and outs, all the things that make you shiver uncontrollably and scream his name. He learned how to get you to come twice in a row, and when to ease off to bring your orgasm to a satisfying finish without building too far into another one.

You gave it all back in kind. So often eager to get on your knees for him, swallowing his entire cock down your throat, heeding his advice when he said you could tug his balls even harder, him trusting you to put your hands on his neck and squeeze just tight enough to peak his climax that little bit higher.

Presently, you writhe against his mattress under the torment of his tongue. He’s still taking his time licking through your folds, swiping half-handedly over your clit, not giving it nearly enough attention to take your next orgasm seriously.

Straightening his back, Chan gazes down at your naked form, once again admiring the sight. You gaze back steadily.

“Still want my cock?” he asks, reaching to take the throbbing appendage in his fist and stroke a few dewy drops of precum out. “Just my cock? You sure?”

You don’t answer him right away. Instead, you push backward out of his hold, get to your knees directly in front of him, and press your palms flat against the wide planes of his chest. He can feel his own heartbeat reverberate from behind his chest plate, off your hand, back to his burning skin.

“You’re not going to make me beg, are you?” you say, not answering him at all.

Chan gulps. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Just want to hear you say it again.”

He’s met with a smirk and a gentle nudge from you this time. Only once he’s sitting flat, legs extended in front of him on his mattress with you straddled across his lap, do you speak again.

“Want your cock, baby,” you say, already reaching for his bedside drawer to fish out another condom. It’s open and on him in no time. “Just your cock.”

“It’s yours,” Chan whispers back.

There’s a split second of hesitation as you’re shifting to guide him back inside you. Perhaps the words crossed another line. He meant them, though.

If you’re bothered by his honesty, you don’t voice it.

With a slight drop of your hips, his cockhead slips smoothly back into your wet warmth, then the rest of his thick length, until your lap is pressed flush against his, pelvises locked tight.

Chan walks his fingertips up your spine until his palms come to rest firmly against your shoulder blades. You oblige his body language and lean in closer. Again, you hesitate for a short moment, letting something unspoken and unfinished hang suspended in the small space between your face and his for just a few broken heartbeats before closing the distance.

Gasps on both sides come when you make that first ascent back up his rigid length only to slam right back down. Running his tongue along yours becomes an afterthought to keeping your hips moving against him.

“That’s it, angel,” he murmurs into your mouth. “Ride it- mmph, fuck- ride it just like that.”

“Chan…”

Two of his fingers come to rest against your lips, dip past your teeth.

“Keep fucking me, Y/N. Don’t stop fucking me,” he urges.

Your lips close around his fingers, tongue swirling a little looser than your hips. Once they’re well lubricated with your spit, Chan draws them back to stuff them down below where he’s joined with you. With a little prodding, he finds your engorged clit and gets to work unraveling you again.

However, you seem to have other plans. Smacking his fingers away, your other hand takes his chin.

“I said I want your cock, not your fingers,” you say, the low pitch of your voice insanely sexy.

You take the offending fingers and watch as he watches you bring them back into your mouth to suck on them more earnestly than before. His jaw drops as much as your grip will allow, and his dick twitches hard between your walls.

“Need to make you come. Can’t do it with just my dick,” Chan reasons.

Your movements are already getting the better of him. The way you’re bouncing in his lap is knocking the breath from his lungs, coiling his muscles into springs. But he can’t tip over the edge without you again. He won’t, god damn it.

Hand closed around his wrist, you drag his fingers off your tongue and out of your mouth.

“Can’t you?” you taunt, eyebrow quirked.

You know damn well he can’t. He never could. Sure, he’s been inside you for plenty of your orgasms, but he always had to enlist the help of his fingers or a vibrator to stimulate your clit at the same time. Grinding your clit into his pelvic bone never yielded the same results, and he couldn’t fuck your g-spot for long enough or consistently enough to get you to come that way, either. Not without coming first.

Chan whimpers and fixes you with a helpless stare which you must find amusing because you chuckle.

“Sorry, baby,” you say, not sounding particularly apologetic. “Didn’t mean to hurt your pride.”

A blush bleeds from the tips of his ears all the way down to his chest.

“Y/N, please…”

Smiling gently, you stop your bouncing and let go of both his wrist and his face to wind your arms behind his neck. His hands instinctively settle on your waist in turn.

“Feel like I could come just looking at you right now.” Your eyes shake back and forth, looking between each of his. “No one has ever made me come the way you always did.”

He starts to respond to your flattery, but his thought evaporates when you lift all the way off his aching cock then sit back down on one of his thighs, instantly smearing it with your arousal.

“You were always a selfless lover, Chan,” you continue, cupping the nape of his neck in both hands, thumbs resting against his throat. Surely you can feel the spike in his heartbeat. “I adored that about you. You always made my pleasure yours. But I’ve told you, my pleasure doesn’t always involve orgasming. Sometimes I just wanted to see you get lost in your own pleasure. Get a little selfish.”

Chastely, you kiss his cheek, then pull back to fix him in your stare again.

“So fuck me again, baby,” you purr. “And don’t worry if you come fast this time.”

With that invitation extended, you turn over onto your hands and knees.

Chan gravitates to you, getting in position behind you within seconds, hands on your hips to yank them a little higher. You hum in approval of his assertive action and spread your knees a little further apart.

Without warning, he takes his cock - the condom thoroughly coated in your juices - in hand and shoves it back into your cunt, all the way up to his balls.

“Always want you to come when you’re with me,” he rasps, not bothering to use past tense. “Want to show you a good time every time. But if you say that means you want me to get a bit selfish, so be it.”

Grip tight on your body, he draws his hips back until his tip nearly falls from your pussy, then yanks you back onto him as he pushes forward again. He must hit the right spot on the first stroke because your back trembles and bows inward.

“Yes, Chan, fuck! Right there- please-”

He smirks. “God, you really do just want my cock, don’t you, sweetheart? It’s right here.” He drags it back, slots it in deep.

Your fingers tighten in his sheets. “Keep fucking me, baby. And k-keep talking.”

He picks up the pace, abandoning his full strokes in favor of shorter, deeper ones again. “Since you want me to be selfish, does that mean you just want me to use you tonight? Want to pretend you’re just my tight little fleshlight? Huh?”

The dirty-talking monster is yawning back to life. The flesh of your ass ripples against the onslaught of his smacking hips. He’d be driving you face-first up his mattress if he wasn’t pulling you back onto him.

“Yes, fuck,” you moan, pussy closing in ever tighter around his pistoning dick.

Chan swears under his breath and licks his lips, eyes fixed to where his rock hard cock disappears just below the jiggling globes of your ass. He can’t believe you’re letting him use you this way. Talk to you this way. It was only because you trusted him so much that you ever let him do something like this in the first place. Evidently you still do. It’s oddly touching.

He wants to assure you you’re way more to him than just a pretty cock sleeve, even now, in the ‘after’ part of your relationship, but that’s not what the dirty talking monster would say.

Still, he has to know you’ll tell him if he goes too far.

“Want to give me a safe word, Y/N?” Chan asks, reaching out to give your shoulder a tender squeeze.

“Shoelace,” you respond quicker than expected.

He hums in approval over your answer, brings his veiny hand to caress your cheek for a fleeting moment, circles that arm under your tits to lift your back into his chest. His cock is still stuffed tight inside you; the pause in his thrusts is only temporary.

Lips to your ear, he whispers, “Okay, angel. Here you go,” and slams himself hard into your cunt. “Just want to sit here on your knees while I drill my fat cock into you over and over? That’s fine. Want me to call you a fucking slut for it? I’ll do that for you.”

Because I fucking love you.

You whimper and writhe in his arms, face swiveling until your nose brushes across his. He gladly lets you recapture his lips, lets your tongue swarm back into his mouth.

He rebuilds his pace, still opting for quick, short ruts into your pussy to keep himself stuffed as deep as possible. Your panting breaths mingle with his as he works up the pleasure. Before long, you’re moaning too loudly on the end of his pumping dick to focus on kissing him anymore, but that just gives him the opportunity to continue talking.

“Do you like the way I’m f-fucking you?” Chan whispers, deep voice cracking. He drags his hand from below your tits and latches onto one, getting a rough handful. When he pinches your nipple, your body responds instantly. “Like the way I’m touching you? Mmm, I think you do, angel. This pussy is clenching me so goddamn tight. You’re such a good little cock sleeve for me.”

He’s not sure if you can hear everything he’s saying over the loud slaps of his pelvis hitting your backside, but you whine in response, head lolling to the side. His eyes rake from your bare neck down to your sweaty cleavage. He twists your nipple one way, then the other, and moves on to the other one.

“Can’t believe you didn’t want me to eat you out.” Chan trails wet kisses along your shoulder, squeezes your breast tight, keeps fucking up into you. “Would’ve treated this sweet pussy so well. Instead, you want me to be selfish. Want me to come without you. But that’s fine. Toys don’t get to come, anyway. Isn’t that right?”

You hiss when he bites down on your shoulder. Some motion below draws his attention - your hand dipping between your legs. He feels your fingertips brush against his moving shaft, the only inch or so of it pushing in and out. When your fingers move away from his cock but your arm remains in place, he figures you’re playing with your clit instead.

“Tsk, tsk.” He smiles. “So you do want to come.”

You groan but don’t say anything. You've told him what you’ll say if he goes too far with his dirty talk, but the word doesn’t leave your lips.

“That’s fine, angel. You can come whenever you want. Just make sure you squeeze my cock extra tight when you do it.”

One hand still clutching your tit, he hugs his other strong arm around your hips, redistributes his weight on his knees, and goes in even faster. Your body rattles in his hold from how hard and fast he’s pounding you, practically vibrating. The sweat on his chest smears against your back.

The fingers not playing with your clit come up to curl in the hair at the nape of Chan’s neck. “Oh my god, I’m so f-fucking close,” you huff, tugging his hair.

“Already?”

No sooner does your head jerk in a shaky nod than your cunt clamps hard on his dick. Chan gasps, the sensation catching him totally off guard for a second, but when he fully registers what’s happening, he chuckles wickedly. Your tense body twitches and shakes in his hold as your orgasm rips through it. He embraces you tighter to keep you steady.

“Shit, baby, where the fuck did that come from, huh?” he laughs, utterly delighted. “Just love this dick so much, don’t you? Couldn’t help but come on it, could you, you little slut? Does it feel good?”

You hum. Or maybe it’s a grunt. Your voice is pinched and strained when you say, “So so fucking good. Please c-come with me, baby, come with me now…”

“Keep squeezing me and I will, angel. Squeeze my cum out, come on.”

As your orgasm drops off, the pulsing of your pussy weakens, but it’s more than enough to draw out Chan’s own orgasm.

“That’s it- oh fuck, angel, that’s it, please- please, please, fuck-fuck-fuck- ungh!”

Only a few more resounding claps of his hips against your ass before he comes hard, groaning loudly at the moment of his brutal second release. The condom catches shot after shot of the translucent cum his throbbing cock is ejaculating. He can vaguely hear you murmuring sweet nothings, your lips ghosting over his cheek, but his heartbeat is so damn loud in his eardrums, his orgasm feels too fucking good.

As soon as his senses return to him, he pulls his cock from your over-sensitive pussy. Your spent body slumps forward against the mattress, too exhausted to remain upright without the help of his arms.

Chan is off the bed to trash the condom and back at your side in mere seconds, gathering your warm, sweaty body against his as he lies beside you, facing you.

“That was so good, Y/N,” he murmurs, fussing over the hair sticking to your face. Your eyes are a bit glazed. He tries not to panic. “Hey, you did so well, sweet angel. Stay with me, baby, please don’t fall asleep. I’m right here. Look at me.”

He takes your hand and places it on his cheek, and to his relief, it doesn’t slip away; you hold his face with your own strength.

“I’m fine, Chan,” you say, a smile dawning over your entire face, eyes already refocused.

He starts reiterating that you’re not just a cock sleeve to him, not a toy, not a slut, at least not in a negative way, but you giggle and silence him with a kiss.

“I know, baby, I know,” you assure him. Your other arm is trapped somewhere between your bodies and the mattress, but you manage to free it so you can cup his face with both hands. “You did great, too. You were perfect. I felt safe with you, don’t worry. I feel safe.”

It’s been so long since he’s had you in his bed recovering from a round of intense sex, he’s not sure what to do next. The ensuing silence doesn’t feel awkward, though. He lets you gently rake your fingernails across his scalp, and he returns the gentle gesture with slow swipes of his thumb back and forth across your cheek.

Eventually, the tranquil moment is broken when you draw in a deep breath and haul yourself to a sitting position at the foot of his bed.

Chan isn’t sure he can stand a goodbye from you right now, temporary or permanent. The thought that he made a mistake by breaking up with you is blaring in neon lights in his head. If there’s anything he can do to at least convince you to stay the night with him, he will.

And if, in the morning, there’s anything he can do to convince you how much of a fool he was for ending a good thing, he’ll do his damnedest.

Worst case scenario, his life will return to the way it was just a few hours ago.

Best case scenario, he could be on his way to being your boyfriend again.

First, he sits up beside you.

Second, he looks into your eyes.

Finally, he opens his mouth.

---

if you enjoyed, please consider re-blogging and/or leaving me some feedback. take care! ♡

copyright © 2023 by daizymax. all rights reserved. back to masterlist

[ashwhowrites]

Fwb to lovers Eddie x Reader, Eddie decides to end things with her friend with benefits (reader ) because lately he had seen reader and Steve very close to each other, but Reader doesn't know that Eddie ended things with her because of Steve, and she was just trying to give advices to Steve about dating other people to forget about Nancy, so Eddie goes to Family Video to rent some movies and he sees Steve, and Eddie asks Steve how are things going with reader and Steve's like I don't like reader and she doesn't like me, so Eddie discovers that he had feelings for Reader and when he goes to her house he finds her crying in her bedroom and he confess to her and comforts her and Reader tells Eddie that she likes him too!

I hope this is what you were looking for :) thank you for requesting

FWB..again?

Y/N has forced Eddie to watch countless movies about friends with benefits never working out. The guy falls for the girl or the girl falls for the guy. It was a common plot line. And Eddie was pissed that he found himself in the same situation.

Eddie and Y/N started hooking up months ago, on a random night when they were both drunk. The next morning they tried to remain just friends, making sure nothing was awkward. But that didn't last long. They fell into each other beds over and over. Neither had a conversation about feelings or calling things off when their minds changed.

But lately, Eddie sensed something between her and Steve. And it made his blood burn. Eddie couldn't stand Steve as it was, but now he's coming after his girl? Well, not his girl, but pretty damn sure felt like it. When they were alone, she never talked about Steve, not even a tiny sentence. But every time he saw them together, they were always in a heated discussion. It was like Steve waited on every word that left her mouth.

Eddie never knew how to handle his feelings. Why else would he be friends with benefits with the girl he's secretly been in love with for years? He knew sex and he knew he did it well. But a relationship? He wasn't sure if he had what it took. Steve Harrington was a relationship guy, maybe she knew that.

Eddie didn't want to feel second best to the King Steve Harrington. He also didn't want to be her plaything while she made advances towards someone else. So he called it off. He ripped the band-aid off as fast as he could, watching the confusion take over her face. She questioned him, but he didn't give answers. He didn't admit that he was insecure and jealous of Steve. He didn't want to stand in the way of her finding the love of her life.

He just didn't know that he was the love of her life.

Eddie knew calling it off would be hard, but he didn't think of the aftermath. How even more painful it was to sleep with her scent on his pillows. Or how bad it hurt that every night it was less and less strong. He didn't talk to her much anymore. He was too embarrassed to be around her while he was keeping his heart together. She tried to keep the friendship alive, calling him and inviting him out. But he always declined. Being with her was a taste of what he couldn't have.

~~~

Y/N wasn't sure what changed with Eddie. She couldn't remember anything changing that would lead to him breaking them up. But when she asked, he didn't have anything to say. It hurt more than anything, she loved him and loved having parts of him that no one else did. Maybe that's what changed? Maybe he found someone else?

She tried to stay focused on Steve. She's been helping him with his dating life and it was a good distraction for her. Her love life was failing, but maybe she could help him.

~~~

Eddie walked around the video store for a few minutes before he caught Steve. He wanted to run before he noticed, but Steve was already waving him over.

"Hey Steve," Eddie said through his clenched teeth, passing over the horror film. Steve greeted him back and rang up his movie.

Eddie didn't want to ask and he didn't want to know. So why the hell did he ask?

"So...how's things with Y/N?"

Eddie wanted to smack himself. Steve looked at him confused as he grabbed the receipt.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh nothing, just figured you guys were together or something." Eddie shrugged, acting like the thought hadn't kept him up for days.

"Isn't she with you? Like aren't you guys together?" Steve was confused. All she talked about was Eddie, Eddie, and more Eddie.

"We aren't together." Eddie rushed out. "I mean we were! But not together, together. Just having hot sex but like that's it." He rambled

"....yeah I didn't need to know the last part." Steve cringed. He loved Y/N as a sister and hearing that made his stomach turn. "But anyway, why did you think she and I were together?"

"Just figured from seeing you guys together," Eddie explained, but now he had a feeling he sounded like an idiot.

"Oh no. I don't like her and she's into you, bud." Steve said, patting Eddie's shoulder with a tight smile.

~~~

With the confirmation from Steve's mouth that Y/N was into Eddie and Eddie alone, he raced to her house.

He nervously knocked on her door. He wasn't sure how she would react to seeing him again. Considering he ignored every possible interaction with her. To his luck, she opened the door. Her eyes were red and puffy. But she smiled at him.

"Oh hey!" She greeted him, she sounded happy and bubbly. But he could tell she was crying minutes or even seconds before she opened the door.

"Hey, can we talk?" To his surprise, she welcomed him inside and led him to her room. A room he'd been in many times but now felt like a stranger standing in it.

"What's up?" She asked, sitting on her bed as she faced him. He stood near her doorway, ready for a fast exit in case she wanted to scream at him for messing everything up.

"I think you deserve to know why I ended things." He said, playing with his rings as he watched her. Her smile fell, like the reminder of what he did washed over her again.

"Um, yeah. It would be nice to have that closure." She agreed.

"I'm kind of an idiot," he began, smiling as she laughed. "I like you, and I'm pretty sure I'm in love with you. And it scared me. But I also got scared because I thought something was happening between you and Steve. I didn't want to be in the way of a relationship that would be good for you! So I figured running away seemed like the best idea. I'm sorry for hurting you and us."

"I don't like Steve at all " she said quickly.

"Which I know! He told me. He said you were into me." Eddie explained

She blushed and was a little annoyed Steve told him, but at the same time that's what brought Eddie back to her.

"Well it's true, I like you. And I'm pretty sure I love you too. Then you dumped me out of nowhere and I thought maybe you found someone else. I was only with Steve because he wanted help with his sucky dating life." Y/N chuckled.

Eddie finally moved his legs, sitting next to her as he grabbed her hand.

"Never will there be anyone else. It's like those shitty movies you make me watch. Where you scream at the TV because the two characters are in love but don't do anything about it." He explained. He loved the way she smiled and laughed again.

"Maybe we shouldn't be those characters. Maybe we should do something about it." She whispered, leaning in towards him.

"I think so too " he whispered back. His lips melted against hers as he kissed her. He hummed at the familiar taste and feeling.

Eddie Munson could be a relationship guy too

Tags!

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @somethingvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @manyfandomsfanvergentreblogs @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616 @loving-and-dreaming @eddiemunsonsbitch69 @thegemaqua @ashlynnkennedy @strangerthingsstories5255 @harringt8ns @pleasinghellfire @whoscamila @stusdollface93

[jobesbabe]

Proud of You / Jobe Bellingham

ps i made this gif so give creds if u use it!

warnings: established relationship, fluff, bar setting

summary: tired you cozying up to your winner of a boyfriend. based loosely on the Sunderland vs Plymouth Argyle match and it’s (fictional) aftermath.

You sat patiently with the other wags for the majority of the first half. Your boyfriend was on the bench and so was his mate Chrissy. There were yellow cards thrown, One at your boys in red, and two at the opponents in green. Approximately one every ten minutes. You pulled your Sunderland scarf a bit tighter and sighed. To you, the match was plain and boring. You adored football, even teams other than Sunderland, but if it was Sunderland, your Jobe better be playing. A few minutes after Phillips earned his yellow, you heard cheers and cries erupt from the Stadium of Light. Everyone around you looked disappointed. Plymouth Argyle had scored. As you stared at the number nine on Hardie’s back, You felt it taunting you. That should be a red jersey, with a number 7 that read ‘JOBE’. If only were that easy.

Relief came for you as the ref blew his halftime whistle, reminding you your boyfriend still had forty five minutes to go out and prove himself.

You expected the manager to have him walk out onto the field, and start the remaining forty five, but he didn’t. Your sighs grew louder wondering when your man would get out there on the field.

seven minutes passed and you joined in with the roar of fans, as Roberts moved with the ball, you could tell if he passed it to Ekwah he would score. And he did, equalizing it for the two teams. You cheered for the Jobe-less Sunderland, wishing it had been your Jobe who scored the equalizer.

Seven more minutes passed and Clarke sank a second into the back of the net giving Sunderland an advantage over the visitors. It was like someone was winking at you with the number seven and everything associated with it. Good luck, Jobe. Jobe. Jobe is the number seven. You were sure in seven minutes his manager was going to sub him in. You were sure.

At the 65’ minute mark, two minutes before your seven minute timer would go off, Jobe was subbed in along with Chrissy in exchange for Abdoullah, and Pierre.

So, maybe I was wrong, about the seven minute thing but who cares, he's in now, you thought to yourself. You smiled as he ran up and down the field. as your timer begins to alert you, you see Neil make an amazing pass to Jobe and him just put that ball away in the corner.

You cheer so hard for him, yelling “That’s my boy!” and he celebrates with his teammates before turning to your section and blowing a few kisses. You begin to blush and the wags around you laugh and poke a bit of fun.

The rest of the game flew by, the result remaining where Jobe had left it. 3-1. You made your way to wait for the boys to shower. As you waited, Keeley, Alex Pritchard’s partner came up to you and talked with you about plans for the night and how they were all going out to a bar. You told her you’d run the idea past Jobe and she thanked you.

As he walked out to go see you the fresh-faced Jobe couldn’t help but smile. You ran to him and he picked you up and spun you around.

“I’m so proud of you! That was amazing Jobeee!” you exclaimed.

He grinned cheekily and tilted his head.

“You think so?” he asked.

You laughed and kissed his cheek as he put you down.

“I think some of the guys and their partners are going out for drinks if we want to join them,” Jobe said.

“Oh yeah, Keeley mentioned something yeah.”

“lets go out with them yeah?” he asks.

“Sure,” you reply as you leave to his car hand in hand.

Jobe and you make your way inside a bar close to the outskirts of the city. You see it’s been mostly cleared so the lot of you could hang out there without many disturbances.

You sat between Keeley and Jobe drinking just a club soda with lime since you didnt feel like drinking.

After a few hours and meters of seperation from Jobe, you began to get tired.

You crept into Jobes lap and cuddled into his neck with your eyes closed. His cologne was as intoxicating as alcohol to you and you breathed it in like it was your oxygen.

He rocked you back and forth humming and your ear was pressed to his chest listening to his heartbeat as it steadily pounded.

He kissed your hair and you smiled.

“baby, im so proud of you.” you said.

He laughed and picked you up bridal style, putting you in the car to bring you home

————————————————————————

that’s it!

a/n - I turned off anon requests bc literally the same person is using it over and over again for the same request and also left rude ones so i’d rather know who they came from. Requests are open but not anon… In due time i will turn anon back on. dw. Thanks for the understanding

thanks for reading! leave comments, like and follow! thank youu!

[fleurywiththesave]

Would you write mattdrai wishbaby that appears the day after panthers win the cup?

Funnily enough, someone once asked me if I would ever write a wishbaby fic and I said "nah, probably not", but inspiration struck when I read this prompt. It's my first attempt at the trope, so I hope you like it!

Matthew stumbles into the kitchen at...well, he's not actually sure what time it is. He knows the guys started to make their way from the arena to his house in the early hours of the morning, and he thinks he's been asleep for an hour at most. It probably would've made more sense to just power through until after whatever hijinks they're going to get up to today — his eyes feel gritty as hell — but it's too late to change that now. He just needs some coffee. And he won't be the only one.

The Cup is sitting on his kitchen counter, where he kind of wishes it could stay forever. He reaches out to give it a pat on his way to the coffee maker and freezes in his tracks.

There's a baby.

In the Cup.

There's a baby in the Cup.

His teammates might be a little irresponsible at times, but there's no way any of them just...forgot their baby in the Cup. Which can only mean one thing.

Matthew's hand is shaking as he reaches out to pick up the scroll of paper resting on top of the baby (who's still asleep, thank god). Yeah, a lot of the guys are conked out around his house, but it's still his house, which means this isn't going to be for anybody but him.

The paper looks exactly like the pictures they showed in 10th grade health class. A blank line at the top to fill in the name, basic stats, and, in flowery script, the parents' names.

Matthew Tkachuk

and

Leon Draisaitl

Matthew sits down hard on a bar stool.

He was going to wait to call Leon. Give him a few days, at least. Or better yet, wait for Leon to want to call him. They'd both agreed that no matter what happened, they would need to take a little space in the immediate aftermath, but that doesn't seem to be an option anymore. Matthew closes his eyes when he hits the call button, like that's going to make this any better.

"Matty....." Leon's voice is both frustrated and apologetic when he answers, but Matthew doesn't give him a chance to get anything else out.

"There's a baby in the Cup."

"There's—"

"We brought it back to my place and I just came downstairs to make coffee and there is a baby in the Stanley Cup."

There's a long pause from the other side of the line, long enough that Matthew starts to feel sick for reasons that have nothing to do with the enormous amount of alcohol he consumed last night. And this morning.

"I'll be there in twenty minutes," Leon says, and Matthew allows himself a little sigh of relief.

He doesn't want to wake the baby before Leon gets there, but he also doesn't want any of his teammate to unwittingly walk into the shitshow that might be coming, so he just...takes the whole Cup to his room and texts Leon to come up as soon as he gets to the house. Which turns out to be only fifteen minutes later, so Matthew loses five whole minutes of internal pep talk time. Leon barges right in and then freezes, just like Matthew did, staring at the baby in the Cup.

"What is it?" he whispers.

"A girl," Matthew says, handing him the certificate.

"A girl," Leon repeats as he walks closer. "You didn't wake her up yet?"

"I didn't think I should do it without you," Matthew answers. "Even if, you know."

Leon turns to him and frowns.

"Even if what?"

"You know," Matthew says again, feeling horribly wrong-footed. "Even if you don't, like, want to do this."

Now Leon is staring at him. Matthew trips over his own words trying to explain more, not wanting to hear whatever Leon is about to say.

"I don't remember wishing, but I guess I did, but that doesn't mean you need to be responsible for anything. I can figure it out. My mom will help, probably. And my dad. Or Bobby, he'll know what to do."

"Wait, did you—did you think I was going to be upset?" Leon asks. Matthew twists his hands together, a nervous tic that Leon has seen far more times than anyone else in his life.

"We haven't really talked about kids," he says, "and I didn't want to call you like this, after...after. I wanted to give you your space like we agreed."

Leon is still staring at him blankly, but before Matthew can get nauseous again, he breaks into a ridiculous, brilliant grin.

"Matthew, you idiot," he says, crossing the room to grip Matthew's face between his hands and kiss him hard.

"Um," Matthew says articulately when he pulls away.

"What's the first thing they teach about wishbabies?" Leon asks. He looks fondly exasperated.

"That...that both parents have to want it," he answers.

"You may not remember wishing," Leon tells him, "but I do."

That stops Matthew in his tracks.

"You do?"

Leon runs a hand through his hair and smiles, soft and sweet this time.

"Obviously I was upset after the game, but I realized that I wasn't just upset because we lost. I was sad that it felt like I couldn't really share it with you, and I wanted to. I wanted to watch you lift the cup, and celebrate with you, and tell you how proud I am of you. So that got me thinking about all the other things I want us to share, and, well. You know the rest. Apparently we're in sync even when we're not talking."

Matthew feels like he just got off a carousel that was moving at twenty times its usual speed.

"So you're not mad?" he asks, needing to be sure.

"Are you mad?" Leon responds.

"No," he says immediately. "No, I—it's amazing."

Leon kisses him again.

"Yeah, it is. Can we wake her up now?"

Carefully, carefully, Matthew picks her up and hands her to Leon. His eyes are a storm of emotions as she squirms and blinks awake.

"Hey, kiddo," he whispers, voice full of wonder while he gazes at the baby. Their baby. Their daughter. "I'm your papa." Matthew presses into his side and gently strokes her cheek.

"What should we name her?"

"My grandmother's name was Adelaide," Leon says.

"Adelaide," Matthew repeats. "Addie."

"Adelaide Draisaitl-Tkachuk."

"Oh my god, she never had a chance," Matthew says. "She's going to change her last name to Smith as soon as she's old enough."

"Nah," Leon says. He's still smiling. And his eyes are wet. "She'll learn to love it." He puts her in Matthew's arms.

"Hi, Addie," Matthew says. His face is feeling suspiciously wet too. "Welcome to the world."

[softhairedhotch]

i stopped writing for a lil sorry y'all i got burnt out lol so here's this fic a few days late comfortember day nine: aftermath

aaron hotchner x male reader you and aaron pretend to be husbands to catch an unsub. word count: 3.1k content/warnings: fake dating, kissing, mentions of violence/weapons, pre-relationship, feeeelings comfortember masterlist here! also on ao3!

the waiter

“You sure you’re ready for this?” Aaron asks, tugging on the fancy blazer Dave had lent him. “We don’t have to do this, remember, there are other options.”

“Oh, yeah?” You reply, adjusting your tie. “And what would those be?”

“We can send Morgan and Reid in. Dave and Morgan? Reid and D–"

“Jesus. Are you sure you want to do this? Seems like you’re tryna find a way out, Hotch.”

He pauses and tilts his head at you. “I never said that. It’s just…”

“Just…?”

But before he can reply, Dave is knocking on the door and walking inside without waiting for a response. “You guys ready? The reservation is in 20 minutes and I know they’d prefer it if you were 5 minutes early.”

“We’re ready, yeah.”

“And I don’t have to remind you two how important it is to stay in character, do I? Pretend to be rich, pretend to be in love, pretend you’re celebrating your wedding anniversary, and everything should go according to plan.”

“Yes, sir!” You say sarcastically, saluting at Dave and laughing when he rolls his eyes. “You gotta trust us, we can do this.”

“Yeah, Dave, it’ll be a piece of cake.”

Dave nods with a smirk. “Sure it will.”

Aaron turns to you. "We can pretend to be in love, right?" 

"Right," you say, breath catching in your throat as you silently pray it’s not clear how much those words affect you. "'Course." 

You both miss the amused look Dave sends you.

Once you’re both dressed to perfection, Derek gives you your earpieces and sends you on your way to the restaurant. As you walk inside, Aaron’s large hand in yours, you keep an eye out for anything out of the ordinary. You feel out of place as you look around the lavish area, noting how the interior design is made mostly of red and gold to appear more inviting. A few people look at you as you pass by, offering you polite smiles which you return casually. Everyone is a suspect to you and you can’t help but feel on edge.

A sweet woman walks you to the table and Aaron pulls out your chair for you, pressing a gentle kiss against your temple as you smile and take the seat. It makes your stomach tighten and the woman giggles sweetly at the gesture before telling you the waiter will be with you shortly and leaving to greet another couple at the door. Aaron smiles and takes his seat across from you, looking as if he’s about to reach out for you but hesitating. It’s silent for a few moments before you laugh and stand up, moving your chair around the table to sit beside him. 

He raises an eyebrow at you, grinning; you can’t tell if it’s fake or not. “What are you doing?”

“Playing the part,” you reply with your own grin, resting your hand on his arm in a loving gesture. “Can’t exactly speak through subjects across a table when anyone can hear, can we?” A waiter smoothly walks by carrying a few trays and you squeeze Aaron’s wrist. “Shall we order wine too?”

“Of course, love,” Aaron replies, “if that’s what you want.”

Tonight’s going to be much harder than you thought.

After your far-too-expensive food and drinks get to the table, Aaron smiles at you, eyes bright and genuine, and your stomach twists. It feels real… too real. As you stare at him back with just as much love, mind going into overdrive, you catch sight of a man watching you from the back of the room with what can only be described as a sinister look. Before you can even think, you're leaning forward, pressing your lips against Aaron's cheek, and hearing his sharp inhale. "Man in red vest and blue shirt, twelve o'clock. Looks suspicious." 

You nuzzle your nose against Aaron's slightly as you wait for his response, feeling light-headed as the smell of him completely washes over you. "Right…" he breathes, looking completely dumbfounded for a moment before managing to regain his composure and putting on a casual smile, eyes still distant. His lips, to your surprise, find yours for a brief, chaste kiss. "I'll be right back."

He's standing up before you can say anything. This isn't part of the plan, you think to yourself, but there isn't much you can do other than sit politely and pick at your food as you wait for him to get back. 

Derek speaks over your earpiece, asking where Aaron's going as if you can answer, and you’re keeping an eye out for any suspicious activity when the waiter you pointed out before reaches your table. 

"Are you enjoying your food, sir?" He asks with a smile that doesn’t feel natural.

"Yes," you reply, smiling at him. "It's very good." 

"And is your…” he trails off, glancing down at your hand and smirking, “husband enjoying his food? I noticed he left; is something wrong?"

You feel a pit begin to grow in your gut as the man stares at you, confident and polite but with a dark glint in his eye. "No. He just went to the bathroom, he'll be back in a minute. Thank you for checking, though.”

“Of course, sir, I’ll leave you be.”

As he walks away, you keep an eye on him. He walks with a small limp, something that you had put in the profile a few days ago, and your heart hammers in your chest. “You think that’s him?” Derek asks over your earpiece. You pick up your fork with your left hand, a signal that tells him yes, you do, now get me outta here, and you hear him huff out a humourless laugh. “Okay, pretty boy. Just remain calm and enjoy the rest of your date with Hotch.”

“Rest of my–” you catch yourself saying before you can stop yourself, covering it up with a cough as someone glances at you.

“Mhm. You didn’t think we’d pull you out the moment we figured out who it was, did you? That’d be suspicious, man.” There’s a smirk obvious in his voice and he laughs. “Don’t have too much fun.”

And then it falls silent, Derek switching off his mic. You silently curse to yourself as Aaron takes a seat beside you. He gives you a sheepish smile. “Sorry, I didn’t realise I needed the bathroom until that moment.”

“Maybe you should slow down on the wine, yeah?”

His hand, already raising the almost empty glass of expensive wine to his lips, pauses and he gives you another sheepish smile. “Right. Yeah. Just…”

“Nervous?

Aaron blinks. “You could say that.” He picks up his fork and takes a small bite of food, looking awkward for another moment before his face completely changes and he gives you a smile, dimple and all, that has your heart hammering wildly in your chest. “This food’s really good.”

“That’s to be expected when the food’s this expensive.”

“That’s what you’d think but I once went to a gala that had these really expensive entrees that tasted… well, bad. And they gave me food poisoning for a week.”

“Really? Please tell me you took that week off from work.”

He grimaces. “I should have, but I didn’t. Wasn’t pleasant.”

“Oh, Aaron,” you sigh, reaching out to grab at his wrist. “You need to start taking care of yourself.”

“I know,” he mutters. “That’s what I have you for though, isn’t it?” He takes your hand in his and you feel the blush spread across your neck and cheeks at the warmth of it. Someone brushes past behind you and out of the corner of your eye you can tell it’s the unsub. Aaron gives you a look to tell you to play along, although you realise it wouldn’t take much convincing to have you in a situation like this with him in the first place. “I’m so glad I met you.”

Butterflies erupt in your stomach. “Me too. You mean a lot to me, and I’m so glad I met you that day at…” you trail off, knowing you can’t say what you actually mean, even when you want to mention how you met on a murder case that ended up being the reason for your recruitment at the BAU. “At that park. If your dog hadn’t run up to mine…”

“I know,” he grins, biting his lip to stifle it. The waiter still dawdles behind you, acting as if he’s clearing the empty table nearby. “I guess we’ll forever have to thank Hazel for putting us together, huh?” 

“And Piper,” you reply, running your hand over his and smiling at him. Your stomach tightens when he leans close and laughs a sweet laugh. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves, though, sweetheart. We should eat our food before we start reminiscing on these past few years, hm?” 

“I guess you’re right,” he chuckles, moving back and leaving you suddenly cold. “I just like talking with you.”

“We’ll have many more years to talk in the future, honey.”

A soft laugh from behind you pulls you from the moment and you risk a glance to see the unsub walking away with a smirk on his face that makes your stomach churn. Instead of focusing on him, however, you turn back to your food and begin to eat, knowing that your team is there to keep watch.

After almost an hour of food, wine, small talk, laughter, and more wine, you and Aaron finally finish up with the date-not-date. You call for the bill and as you stand, Aaron trips over his feet and stumbles into you. Catching him in your arms easily, you can't help but laugh at him. 

"Don't laugh," he says, chuckling himself. "I'm just a little…" 

"Drunk?" 

He straightens up, placing one front in front of the other and immediately leaning back against you for support. "You could say that."

You smile at him, feeling your face flush at the closeness of his beside yours. Patting his firm chest twice, you begin to walk toward the doors. "Come on, honey, let's get you home, yeah?" 

"Mhm, wanna go home with you so bad." 

Your stomach drops at the 'admission'. As you tug him out of the door, thanking the man who holds it open for you, you can feel eyes on the back of your head. All the hairs on your neck and arms stand up and the familiar sense of danger curls deep in your stomach. Aaron follows your lead, arm slung lazily over your shoulder, rounding the corner with you. 

Once you're both out of sight of the restaurant and hidden away in an alleyway, Aaron pulls away from you and straightens up with ease. You feel cold at the loss of contact, instinctively wrapping your arms around yourself. 

"That went as well as it could have," Aaron says, suddenly sober and professional. "He should be coming after us anytime soon." 

"Right, yeah," you reply, before speaking into the mic attached to your shirt. "You got eyes on the unsub, Morgan?" 

"Seems he's making a sneaky escape out the back door," he replies, voice crackling over your earpiece. "He's heading your way now."

"Ready to win an oscar, Hotch?"

Aaron grimaces. "Don't." 

A smirk makes its way to your lips despite the dread pooling in your stomach. "You don't think this is gonna be fun?" 

Aaron pulls you close to him and wraps his arms around your waist. You gasp, looking up at him to see his eyes glued to your lips and he's flushed a pretty pink. "I never said that." 

"He's gonna be with you guys any second now," Derek says. “Get into position.”

Taking that as his cue, Aaron pushes you against the closest wall and leans in close, his lips hardly brushing yours. Your heart hammers wildly in your chest and all you want to do is close the gap but you can't. There's no need to kiss him when it looks like you already are from an outsider's perspective. But surely if you casually tilt your head as if to look over his shoulder and your lips happen to meet his… that'll be acceptable, right? It can be classed as a mistake, can't it? 

Before you can stop yourself, your lips are pressing against his and he's gasping into the kiss. Time seems to stretch on forever at that moment, your heart completely coming to a stop as your mind buzzes, and then he's pushing his mouth against yours in desperation. His lips are blindingly hot against yours and you feel like you might pass out then and there.

It's over the moment your heart starts beating again, Aaron pulling back and turning with his gun in hand and pointing it at the unsub all in one swift motion. Your own gun is in your hands due to pure instinct alone, pointing toward the man a few feet away with a terrifyingly large machete in hand. 

"FBI," Aaron says, voice sharp, "drop your weapon." 

"I wasn't gonna do anything, man," says the waiter, taking a few steps back in fear. "I was just…" 

You snort. "Taking your machete out for a walk?" 

Derek runs around the corner at that moment, the rest of the team following suit. They're quick to arrest the unsub, Emily carting him toward the cop car that rolls up beside the alleyway as Dave smirks at you and Aaron as if he knows something you don't. 

The next three hours are spent interviewing the waiter, confirming he's the serial killer, dealing with paperwork and press, and sending him to be locked away. It's a whirlwind of time that passes in what feels like seconds and soon enough you find yourself back at the hotel, unsure of what to do. 

You and the rest of the team are stuck in the state for the night and you feel restless. The night catches up to you and, despite being exhausted, you can't stop replaying every look and touch and word that you shared with Aaron. 

And the kiss. 

Fuck, the kiss. 

Feeling as though you should apologise, you're up and on your feet and out of your hotel room before you can think it through. You walk down the hallway, take a sharp left, and quickly find yourself nearing Aaron's hotel door. You raise your fist to knock but it's no use–the door is already opening and Aaron is standing there staring at you in surprise. 

"Hi," you say, feeling rather stupid. 

"Hello." 

The two of you stare at each other for a few seconds, unable to speak.

"We should talk, shouldn't we?" You finally supply. 

"Yes."

"Can I come in?" 

Aaron hesitates but only for a moment. "'Course." 

The moment the door closes behind the both of you and you're alone with him in the small room, you're suddenly aware of what could happen. Of what you want to happen. It makes you more nervous than you’d like to admit.

"I shouldn't have kissed you," you blurt out before you can chicken out. "That was… unprofessional." 

"It was," he replies bluntly. "Although I initiated it." 

"Well…" Yeah, you couldn't argue with that. "So… we good?" 

"Yeah," he breathes out, reaching out to shake your hand. "We are." 

You sigh in relief and take his hand in yours, smiling at him and thanking every star in the universe for not being put in his bad books. But as you shake his hand, feeling the warmth emanating from him, you're drawn closer and closer until you're standing so close you're sure your noses could brush against each other. 

"Hotch?" You ask, voice hardly a whisper.

"Hm?"

"Would it be stupid if we kissed again?" 

"Yes." 

"But we're going to, right?" 

"Yes." 

You press your lips against his immediately, feeling him melt against you as all tension dissipates from his body. His hands find your back, one sliding up and over your shoulder as the other rubs gentle circles over your shirt, and you wrap your arms around his neck. The kiss is soft and sweet but there's an underlying desperation to it, lighting your veins on fire. 

Aaron pulls back abruptly.  “We shouldn’t do this,” he whispers against your lips, large hands moving to hold your face close to his. He’s breathless, with a light blush on his cheeks, and his eyes are half-closed. “We… we shouldn’t.”

You press your lips against his again and he reciprocates immediately, pulling you back into him. “We should,” you say into the kiss. “What’s the harm?”

“I’m your boss. People will talk.”

“Then let them.”

"But–" 

"Aaron, if you try to make another excuse, I'll walk out and never bring this up again. I wanna kiss you, I don't wanna feel like you're not enjoying this as much as I am." 

That shuts him up immediately and his lips are back against yours with more ferocity and passion. His hands remain on your cheeks, holding you as if you might break.

"I've been wanting to do this forever," he mutters against your lips, swiping his tongue over your bottom lip. "Ever since I saw you take down Elliott Davies." 

"That was the second case we worked together." 

"I know." 

You laugh against his lips, kissing for a few moments longer before pulling back and smiling at him. "Is this really something you're interested in pursuing?" 

Aaron seems to struggle to process the question for a moment, eyes glazing over as he thinks, but he eventually gives you one of his rare smiles, dimples and all. "Yeah, it is."

"Even though you'll have to do a bunch of paperwork?" 

He exhales dramatically, resting his forehead against yours even as he pretends to be annoyed. "Never mind, no longer interested. Already have enough of that to last me a lifetime."

"What if I told you I'd split it with you?" 

"Would you really?" 

"Well… no, but–" 

"I thought we were having a romantic moment there," he pouts, his eyes sparkling as he laughs.

"But I would. If I meant I could spend more time with you." 

"Oh, there we go," he whispers, grinning as he kisses you again. "That's what I like to hear." 

"Paperwork is only fun when you're with someone else, yeah?" 

"Exactly," he nods, kissing you again. And again. And once more for good measure. "Now, what say we get some rest and pick this back up in the morning once we're home and rested up? We can discuss it all officially then." 

"That sounds nice. I hope you mean over coffee though, and not over paperwork." 

He laughs. "What about coffee and paperwork?" 

You drop your head on his shoulder with a groan, shoulders shaking as you begin to laugh. He laughs along with you and soon enough the two of you are unable to stop laughing. 

"Who would have thought this would be the aftermath of catching a serial killer?" You ask. 

"Hm, I don't know," he shrugs, "it's passed my mind a few times." 

"As well as dealing with paperwork together?" 

He laughs. "Wouldn't wanna do anything else." 

tag list: @criminalskies @hotchs-big-hands

[what-have-i-unleashed]

in your eyes

let's go another mermaid-bunny installment! featuring dust watching killer sleep like a creep.

(cw: stalking behaviors, paranoia)

killer has to admit, the right-hand man to his new owner is kind of a creep.

the weird thing is that the guy often just ignores killer and pretends he isn't in the room with him at all. so killer does the same to him, no feelings harmed. but whenever killer feels a prick at his neck, he will turn to look just in time to see the usual dull white eyelights intensely focused on him for just a millisecond before they break away and look at something else.

killer knows a predator when he sees one.

but dust never acts upon his position over killer. he only watches from afar, as killer gets more acquainted with cross and horror, the other two under nightmare's employment. horror is a bit of a mean character, but cross balances that with a healthy dose of niceties that killer hasn't seen in a while. all in all, not too bad of an arrangement. anything would be better than the situation he had with chara.

that doesn't mean everything is nice and dandy, of course. the first thing killer took note of on his first night in the castle was that while they have their individual rooms, there are no locks. something about "we're all trusted comrades here, aren't we" and all that jazz - killer couldn't be bothered to pay attention to an obvious lie. so killer spent pretty much the first three days having what little shut-eye he could have against the door of his room, with his knife held tightly inside his jacket. on the second night, he could hear it - the light footsteps that stopped just outside of his room, the soft clacking of someone trying to twist the handle and open the door. killer was jolted awake immediately, but he stayed still, waiting for the maybe-intruder to force themself into his room. but they never did. instead, after a few attempts, they gave up and walked away. killer stayed wide awake for hours until the next day came, vigilantly guarding his door the whole time.

he didn't confront dust, nor does he have any intention of doing so just yet. but he's sure that there is no one else in this castle who can move as silently as dust does.

creep, the voice in his head, eerily similar to chara, scoffs. killer, sitting on the couch next to horror, looks up from his phone. there is dust again, coming down from the stairs. and their eyes meet for a second before dust angles his head and goes past the communal area, disappearing into the hallway.

"what's his problem?" killer asks aloud. horror pauses in his little wood carving project to look at him.

"just ignore him. he's like that all the time."

"what? being a weirdo?"

"like you have any place to say," horror mutters, back to his carving.

"funny. last i remember, i'm not the one prowling the halls at night like a glorified janitor."

"he does that," horror muses. "he doesn't sleep much. just don't get in his way during nights. you won't like the aftermath."

"heh," killer props his chin on his knees. "now i'm curious."

horror only gives him a side-eye. "seriously, don't provoke him."

"sure thing," killer smiles at his comrade. horror doesn't look like he believes him. truth to be told, killer doesn't either.

you're a dumbass for doing this, the chara-voice in his head bemoans. killer ignores it as always, snuggling into the surprisingly cozy blankets on his surprisingly comfortable bed. do you want to get killed by that insane murderer?

well, that's what he's trying to find out here. he can't figure out what dust wants with him, and the quicker he knows the better. lying down on the bed with one hand under the pillow where his trusty knife is, killer closes his eyes and slows his breathing. a trick he learns from his before-times. comes in handy whenever chara is around.

time trickles by as killer stays still in his bed. seconds stretch into minutes into hours. eventually killer hears it - the slow creak of a door opening and closing. he could hear the footsteps approaching him, just stopping at the foot of the bed. his hand tightens around the handle of the knife. there's no more sounds, not even the rustling of clothes. it sounds like dust is just standing there, watching him sleep. he could feel the eyelights burning into his form, like a colony of ants crawling onto his body. creepy, but not the worst thing to endure.

things get interesting when dust decides to move. but not towards killer. sounds like he's perusing killer's room, as if searching for something. killer wouldn't know - he doesn't have anything of importance in here except for his share of clothes and some trophies he stole from chara. killer listens to dust moving around his room and finally stopping right next to the bed, just behind killer's turned back. killer can't sense any intent, with his soul being like that and all, but he has a feeling dust wouldn't do anything further than watching him anyway. something pangs in his chest, a sensation he cannot pin down exactly. it's... uncomfortable.

he counts in his head how long dust stands there - about three hours and eleven minutes - before leaving. he waits for a few minutes before springing out of his bed to check around his room. he can't find any camera yet. his room looks unchanged as far as he knows. none of the clothes was taken away. his secret stash hasn't been discovered yet - the unfortunate finder will have their hand stuck in a bear trap already.

so all in all, killer still doesn't get why dust is stalking him. great.

maybe it's time to get proactive then.

[bettyfrommars]

I'm on Fire//older!biker!Eddie Munson x fem!artist!Reader//90's au//Part 9

🚨18+Only, mature themes, violence, mentions of violent past, angst, blackmail, stabbing (not reader), brass knuckles, biker!Eddie, biker!Steve, bleeding, mention of blood, longing, mutual pining, knife wielding, biker gang, threats, sexual tension, bandages, relationship drama, reader thinks she's been cheated on, fear of loss, eventual smut (not in this chapter) Word count: 9.4k

Summary: Most of part 9 takes place within the span of one evening, with the exception of a flashback to the previous day. While you're trying to get a hold of Eddie, hoping for an explanation, he decides to take matters into his own hands, and ends up taking on several members of a rival gang. In the aftermath, you rush to Eddie's aid, and at the end of the day, a familiar foe brings you comfort. Another ST character is brought into the fold, as well as mention of others soon to appear.

Series Masterlist

A/N: OOF, I had planned to bring some other ST characters into this chapter but this one got too busy, so I decided to save them for the next one. The new character Astrid was created by I'm on Fire fan and friend @texasblues and I hope I did her justice. You can read more on her and biker!Steve here I know a lot of you have been hoping for some soft Eddie and reader moments, and they are coming, I promise, along with our regularly scheduled smut. Also, I meant to get this out an hour ago but decided to re-write a scene at the last minute 🙃Love you all.

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I'm on Fire Part 9: Fade into You

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10:25 on Friday night, after the photos arrived

There came a soft knocking at your door, and then there was Katie’s voice, asking if you needed anything. You were about to answer, “yeah, a new life,” but you settled for a bland no thank you.

You were on the floor with your back against the bed, cheeks wet with tears, looking down at the phone in your lap. To the left of you was the stack of incriminating photos, but they were face down now on the beige carpet—you couldn’t look at them anymore. You’d already gone to the bathroom to dry heave a few times, but then you realized you wanted to give Eddie a chance to explain himself, but per usual, you couldn’t get a hold of him. You considered that he was at Wayne’s house, and you thought about getting that number from Robin, but even in your distressed state, you’d didn’t want any drama to possibly interrupt time with his uncle.

And so, you waited. You waited for Eddie to get the message you’d left on his machine and call you back and tell you that the photos weren’t real, that none of this was, that it had all been a bad dream that you’d wake up from any second now. “Good morning baby. You were screaming in your sleep like you were having a horrible nightmare.”

Wanting to torture yourself a bit more, you grabbed a photo off the top of the pile and turned it over: it was one of the ones with him and Erica, and it made you shiver. He barely had any clothes on. Had they just fucked and she was saying goodbye to him? She held his face as they kissed, and he had his hand on her stomach. There was another one of her inside his apartment, coming out of the hallway, smiling, while Eddie stood near his dresser. As damning as these were, you wondered why whoever took them hadn’t just snapped photos of them in the act? Eddie was a cautious guy and would most likely think to close the curtains for the fornication portion of the evening, but still—something felt off to you.

You told yourself it was just your foolhardy naivete and lack of self-respect that had you trying to make excuses for him, even now.

You tossed that photo to the side and picked up another, your eyes narrowing on the woman who had her arms around Eddie that same night he made you cum under the cherry blossoms. Her hair was a bright, candy red; she had it up in a high ponytail, and she had a tattoo on her upper arm. He was on the edge of his bed facing the window and she was on her knees behind him, arms crossed around his neck, hugging him from behind. She was really pretty, and she was smiling---so was Eddie, for that matter, like he wanted her to be hugging him; like he was happy she was there.

A sob hitched in your chest, wanting to die all over again, but then you continued to examine the photo as if you could think your way around the fact that he clearly had a woman he liked in his bed at an ungodly hour. The photos of him kissing Erica in the hallway made you sad too, but the ones with the red head made you sick, because he not only invited her in, but he wanted her there. He looked very relaxed and comfortable, like maybe they’d had a thing going for a while---like they were close---and that tore you up more than any quick kiss in a hallway with a groupie like Erica would.

There was also something off about the photos with the red head, but you couldn’t quite place it. He still had his leather on over that white t-shirt and he was turning to her as if in surprise? Maybe he hadn’t expected her to lunge across the bed and hug him like that? Your mind was racing on fumes at this point, and your internal tires had no more tread.

What would his excuse be? That the woman was just a friend? But then, why was she on his bed hugging him at 2 in the morning? Wearing a skimpy tank top and tiny shorts? Did she spend the night with him? In his bed??

You shifted your eyes to the phone, willing it to ring, and then, as another tear slid down your cheek, you clawed at the receiver and yanked it up to call his place again.

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

12:43am much earlier that morning

Eddie noticed a big rig parked in the lot when he got back from dropping you off, but it was over near the heavy equipment garages, and he figured one of the guys dropped it off, or it was waiting overnight to be repaired. Maybe it was one of the truckers he knew just pulling into the lot for a quick snooze? The semi truck was an expensive, privately owned red beauty with polished chrome, and it wasn’t carrying any freight. He looked around with caution, just in case, before entering through the garage space below his apartment and locking the door.

He appreciated having the top floor apartment all to himself, and living at work was on brand for him, but he hated having to come through the garage to get to his place; he yearned to smell something else besides motor oil and brake fluid right before bed. Thankfully, most of the car repairs and servicing happened across at the parking lot at the main garages, and the space below his apartment was used mostly for specialty work on custom build bikes. At the other side of the garage, across from the stairs, was a door that led to the clubhouse used by the Coffin Kings for meetings and socializing, and Eddie hadn’t been doing much of either. Not a single part of him missed his ex, but he did miss the house they’d shared together for less than a year before everything fell apart. There was a farm house out in the country that he had his eye on, and if it ever went up for sale, he’d be the first one in line, but until then—this half-assed studio above a garage would have to do.

He wondered if you ever thought about where you’d want to live. Did you prefer houses or apartments? Did you tend to move around a lot, or would you make Hawkins your home for a while? He wanted to ask you these things, but didn’t want you to feel like he was trying to interrogate or pressure you. His ex always accused him of trying to smother her and “dim her light” and the experience had made him extremely cautious about the words that came out of his mouth when he was around you. He didn’t want to get shouted at or told he was doing it wrong. In his heart, he knew that you were nothing like his ex, but the aftershocks of some traumas had a way of digging their heels in.

He flipped the round lock at the middle of the metal doorknob and hooked the security chain before heading for the stairs. That was when he cocked his head, noticing with a prickle on the back of his neck that the hallway light was on upstairs.

He never turned on that hallway light. Ever.

And then he heard footsteps up above in his apartment.

Goddamn, Eddie thought to himself, he was way too fucking exhausted for this, whatever it was. He just wanted to tug one out to the smell of you that still lingered on his shirt and then pass out, but no. His life was basically a circus, but with no really cute acrobatic animals to love on.

Was it Erica again? She didn’t have a key to his place though, and he couldn’t see her trying to break in, she might ruin her manicure.

With a heavy sigh, he put his palm on the handle of the knife sheathed at his hip and made his way up the steps, ears trained for any more movement from up above.

“Anyone here?” Eddie called out, hoping against hope that no one answered.

He got to the top of the stairs and waited, ears perked, listening to his own breathing, when all of a sudden:

“SURPRISE!”

Eddie’s knife came up with his hand reflexively, his back going flush against the wall at the top of the stairs, as a redheaded woman popped out of his apartment and into the hallway wearing a Michael Myers mask, brandishing a large kitchen knife.

“Oh, shit,” Eddie said on an exhale, lowering his weapon, his heart in his throat. “You crazy? I almost stabbed you.”

Max was laughing, wheezing, tongue pressing out between her teeth as she pulled the mask up and let it rest on the top of her head. “I wish you could’ve seen your face!” She crossed her arms at her stomach and bent over, winded in a laughing spasm. “Damn, that was so good. Did you shit yourself, Munson?”

“Ha. Ha. Ha.” Eddie pushed off the wall and crossed the distance on the wood floor in his heavy boots, wallet chain slapping against his jeans, and then gently took the kitchen knife from her before they exchanged a tight hug. He told her it was good to see her, and then, “how the hell did you get in here, Red?”

She pulled the mask off the top of her head as she followed him into the apartment. “You gave me a key, remember? 4 or 5 years ago, when Lucas and I broke up for a week and I needed a place to crash. That was before I had my rig.”

Oh sure, now he remembered. That was back when the apartment operated as a bit of a flop house for bikers who were too black out drunk to drive home, back when Eddie lived in Chicago for a stint. Lucas, who Max affectionately called “her old man”, was also a patched Coffin King member, but for the Indianapolis chapter. They weren’t married yet, even though Lucas had asked many times. Max had a bad taste in her mouth when it came to marriage, she felt like it was a curse, and so they compromised to be committed. They lived together, they had two dogs and a calico tabby cat that were their babies, and they were close enough that Eddie and Steve and Robin got to see them a couple times a year. Max had been an independent long-haul trucker for the past couple years; she loved the freedom and the power she had behind the wheel.

“Is that your new rig out there?” Eddie asked, unhooking his chain to put his wallet on the dresser.

Max put her fists on her hips, the mask still in one hand, and batted her eyes proudly. “Yep, that’s my new baby Big Red. She’s beautiful, right? Look---” she paused to pull her arm across her body to show Eddie her bicep. “---even had Steve put her in a tattoo for me.” Inked on her skin was her red rig surrounded by daisies. On the inside wrist of that same arm was the outline of a heart with the lettering: L.S + M.M. She was in a tank top and a pair of jean shorts, exposing the bursts of color from other tattoos on her ankle, thigh, and inner forearm. And of course, she had a lower back tattoo.

“You changed your hair,” Eddie said with a tip of his chin as he went around to sit on the bed facing the window to take his boots off. “I like it.”

“See, now,” she threw the mask on the sofa in front of the TV. “It only took you a few minutes to notice I changed the color. It took Lucas days.” It was a much more punk, bolder red than what she’d had her whole life, and so she was a little self-conscious about it, and it felt good to hear his compliment.

Eddie finished untying the first boot as he felt her crawl across the bed toward him, and before he knew it, she had her arms around him in a playful hug. “Eddiiiiiieeee I’ve missed youuuuuuu,” and then she swayed back and forth, taking his body with her.

He patted her arm, grinning; the kids always made him smile. Even though they weren’t kids anymore. Max was...what? 26 or 27 now? “I missed you, too, weirdo. You need to come around more often. Robin said she invited you two to the barbecue a few weeks back?”

She released him to jump off the bed and take a few steps over to plop down on the sofa with a bounce. “Ugh, I was taking a haul to Denver that weekend. I told Lucas to go, but he said he didn’t want to go without me, which is kinda sweet, I guess, but still.”

Eddie shrugged out of his leather with a cringe, his shoulder muscles aching, and then he got up to walk to the kitchen portion of the studio. “Beer? Soda?” He asked, rolling his neck.

She was flat on the sofa, so he couldn’t see her face. “You got any whiskey?”

As a matter of fact, he did, so he poured her a finger, and got himself a beer, and then went to sit in the old green armchair across from her that he had picked up at the Goodwill.

“So,” she sat up to take a sip of her drink with a clench of her teeth and a hiss, eyeballing him. “You gonna tell me who the girl is?”

Eddie looked dumbfounded. “Wait. What do you mean? How did you know?”

Max gestured to the collar of his shirt. “That’s not exactly your shade of red.”

He was still confused, but then he tucked his chin and pulled the front of his shirt out to see that there were two places where your lipstick had smudged, and a smile immediately jerked across his mouth.

“Oh, I know that look,” Max gave an open mouth grin, lifting her eyebrows a few times. “Hearts are gonna be breaking wide open all over the state tonight: Eddie Munson is in love.”

He tried to give her a stern look, but ended up falling miserably as he took a swig of his beer, unable to wipe the smile off of his face. “She’s...we’re just...it’s still new, but…”

Max cackled. “Eds! I need to know everything,” she coaxed, leaning forward. “Do not leave out a single detail.”

He cleared his throat and gave her the cliff notes version of his time with you, proudly showing off the painting you had done for him when he got to that point in the story. He left out the bits about Charlene, because Max was very protective, and he didn't want her to worry.

“Aw, dammit,” Max slapped her forehead. “You mean I would have met her if I’d gone to the barbecue? Now I really am bummed,” she took another sip of her whiskey. “Hey, did you hear about Suzie?”

Eddie cocked his head. “Dustin’s Suzie?”

“Yeah,” Max scratched her arm. “Dustin finally knocked her up. She’s due in a month I think? And they’re wanting to move home, back to Hawkins. Dustin’s mom hasn’t been doing good.”

Come to think of it, Steve had mentioned this to Eddie, but it must’ve slipped to the back of his brain somehow. Steve liked to talk on the phone a lot more than Eddie did, and the past year might as well have bee a few days long for how fast it had gone by.

“Steve’s pretty excited to be a Grandpa, I know that,” Eddie added, the long-standing joke being that Dustin was Steve’s other son: they even had matching nail bat tattoos on their shoulders.

They exchanged stories a bit longer, and then Max yawned.

“You want to take my bed?” Eddie asked. “I can sleep on the couch.”

“Hell no,” Max scoffed. “The bed in my rig is way more comfortable than that brick mattress.”

“Fair enough,” Eddie stood up to walk her out. “You want to get coffee in the morning, or?”

Max scooped up her Michael mask. “I don’t think I’ll have time, I gotta hit the road in a couple hours, actually. But we’ll make a plan to come visit in a few weeks? Maybe we can all get together when Dustin comes home? That would be nice.”

“That would be really nice,” Eddie said, sincerely, putting his boots back on to escort her down to the main door.

She was out of the building and on her way across the parking lot when she spun around. “Hey, tell that new girl of yours that if she breaks your heart, I’ll break her face.”

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

“I warned you.” Charlene said, a hiccup of laughter in her voice.

And then, the message continued. “If you don’t know already, that poor girl of yours just got her heart broken, what a shame. And now she has the proof that you’re nothing but a dimestore gigolo who isn’t capable of being faithful to anyone. Sleep well, lover.”

Eddie called your place first, but the line was busy. Every fiber of his being wanted to run over to see you and hold you and tell you that he was being set up. Would you even believe him? He couldn’t though; he couldn’t fathom letting her go on with this bullshit for a moment longer. The fear and anger he felt squeezed his heart like a vise as he scrambled to throw some clothes on, figuring he’d go to your place right after he was done with Charlene. He’d tell you everything: about her threats, how she was to blame for you losing your job. God, what if you ended up hating him anyway for being the reason you got fired? He’d have to risk it, he was done letting this bitch run his life.

The whole getting you fired thing was bad enough, but to actually hurt you? Make you cry?? Eddie saw red in the way he does when he’s about to rip someones throat out and send them to the morgue.

He hated this side of himself. He wasn’t proud of the thoughts he was having as he got dressed, slipping his knife into the leather sheath at his side and putting the brass knuckles in his pocket. Those weapons weren’t for Charlene; they were for the security she hired to be with her 24/7, and he was almost positive they’d have to be dealt with in order to get to her. There was a monster inside of him, deeply breed into his DNA---a cold blooded killer---and it was the tendencies of that monster that he had done his best to keep in shackles most of his life.

His father, Ray Munson, one of the Coffin Kings original founders, would’ve done horrible, unspeakable things to any man or woman who dared to threaten him or do half the things Charlene had done to Eddie. Ray Munson was a bad man. A scary man who made everyone he loved, including his young son, fear for their lives at times.

Looking back, Eddie was glad that Ray went to prison when he did and Wayne was able to raise him, because god only knew where he would be without the aid of a gentle, loving hand. In prison too, for drugs or murder? Dead? Wayne taught him patience, and how to channel his rage through boxing and long rides on his motorcycle; through work and duty and routine. He taught him never to lay hands on a woman.

Jaw muscles clenching, his entire body vibrating, a voice in Eddie’s head told him to call Steve; call someone. Bones? Thumper? Let someone know where he was going, and have them ride with him or wait for him. Let them know the address.

A voice in his gut screamed at him not to go over to her place alone, but he didn’t listen.

----------

After Eddie took off to go to Charlene’s the message numbers on the answering machine jumped from 1 to 6 in the dark of his apartment as you continued to call, fully justified in deserving some kind of explanation from him. The more he didn’t answer, the more it somehow confirmed his guilt, to the point that it was starting to really piss you off. To the point that you finally just screamed FUCK THIS aloud, slammed the phone down, and went to grab your jean jacket and keys, deciding to go find him. “I’m coming for you, Eddie Munson,” you said under your breath with a curse.

----------

As Eddie revved his bike and pulled up to the side gate at Charlene’s, flanked by thick trees, he was not shocked to find three of Lucifer’s Own, a rival biker gang, guarding the gate, almost as if they were waiting there for him, expecting him. 3 to 1 odds didn’t faze Eddie one bit, especially with the amount of adrenaline pumping through his body at the moment. He parked his chopper on the other side of the quiet street and walked across, heavy boots clapping the pavement, wallet chain slapping his thigh.

One of the guys, the shorter one with the thick head of black hair, black leather chaps, and an orange bandanna around his neck, made his way over to meet Eddie after a lone car passed between them.

His hand was up with his palm out. “Listen bro, I know we’ve got beef, but I like your uncle, so I’m gonna give you a chance to walk away.”

“I need to talk to Charlene,” Eddie said, continuing his trajectory forward.

“Bro, are you deaf? She doesn’t want to see y----”

But he couldn’t finish because Eddie cracked him in the jaw with a brass knuckle. He had exchanged his rings for the duster because it gave him more support and there was less of a chance of breaking his fingers or hand.

Knocked out, the guy sank to the ground like a wet rag, and Eddie stepped over his body, flexing his hands, ready for the next two. Both wearing their biker cuts, one was tall, young, and pale with a nose pushed flat against his face like it had been broken 8 times, and the other one was stocky with a gray beard.

The taller one started screaming and charged at Eddie, yanking a knife from inside his vest, arms flailing. Eddie dodged the first swing of the knife as it came, blocked the second attempt with his arm, chopped the kid in the throat, and then rocked him with an upper cut. The tall one stumbled back, bleeding, dazed, and he dropped his knife, so Eddie picked it up and threw it over his shoulder.

“I can take you, Munson,” the guy with the gray beard and the meaty hands said with a snort. The older members of the clubs were always tough, grisly old bastards who had seen and done a lot. He had one fist up to guard his face and the other held his knife, ready to swipe. Eddie slipped his knife out of its holster, twirled it around in his fingers a few times, and gave the guy a tilt of his chin. They engaged in a bit of a knife dance for a bit, both swiping and missing, while Eddie patiently waited until he was able to swing his long arm in a left hook to the side of the dudes head. While the guy was still stunned, Eddie jammed the tip of his knife in to his shoulder and the guy howled in pain, and then Eddie stomped his foot against the side of his knee to make him go down.

The only problem was, Eddie had lost sight of the first guy he’d knocked out, and that one was on his feet now, and hooking his arm around Eddie from behind to try and get him in a chokehold. Taken by surprise, Eddie reeled back, and the skinny kid got in a few swings at Eddie’s gut and face while the other guy held him; the guy punching had rings on and Eddie started to bleed, a cut opening on his cheek.

Eddie planted his feet and bent forward, sending the guy flying in the air over his head, crashing into the old guy who was trying to stand up.

That was when it happened: the tall kid, who was relentless as hell, pulled out a knife from his boot, and came in fast from the side to stab it into Eddie’s stomach.

Eddie grunted as it sank in, and then the kid yanked it out and Eddie’s hand flew to the spot at his side where blood was already wetting the webs of his fingers. The kid looked worried, not because he’d just stabbed someone, but because Eddie looked like he was about to murder him.

With a growl, Eddie tackled the kid to the pavement, and secured a bloody hand around his throat as he pounded his face into the ground over and over again until he turned the kid’s lights out. Eddie found his footing to stand up with a cringe and a hiss, feeling the warm wetness soak his shirt, knowing it was bad, but not wanting to look at it.

Eddie had to punch the older guy in the gut one more time before all three stopped their advances; two of them were unconscious and the older dude was on his ass trying not to puke.

The security camera above the gate was pointed right at him, and he knew that Charlene had watched the whole thing from the safety of her mansion. Eddie shook his head slowly back and forth, making eye contact with her through the lens, his chest heaving, his eyes going black. He pressed as hard as he could onto the wound, and limped over to the intercom.

He pushed the white button on the small black box and put his mouth to the speaker. “Charlene!”

He stepped back to look up, and the mechanical arm rotated the camera to meet his gaze. He screamed her name into the electronic eye so that she could see how deathly serious he was about his anger: she had never witnessed this side of him before.

He went back to the intercom and pushed the button again. “I’ll come here every night and beat all of your security guards bloody if I have to. I won’t let you hurt her anymore.”

Warm, viscous blood oozed between his fingers and he new he had to get somewhere else before he got lightheaded on his bike and crashed. It was a good thing Charlene decided to hide because he would’ve put his hands around her throat and never stopped squeezing until she was dust.

One more push on the button, leaving a bloody fingerprint this time. “If you want a war, Charlene, you fucking got it.”

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

Eddie wasn’t at his apartment. His bike was gone and the windows in his place were dark, and you wandered in circles for a bit in the parking lot, letting out a few good, frustrated screams, before getting back in your car. You had the music on listening to Something I can never have by Nine Inch Nails, and a strange force compelled you to start aimlessly driving around to places you thought Eddie might be. You checked down around the Velvet Hammer again, over at The Hideout, and then up over the hill where he took the scenic route on his bike, and then wound back around to the road that let to Munson’s Garage again. You’d camp out in his doorway if you had too; you weren’t going to let him ignore you.

But then, with a catch in your breath, you saw him: one car ahead of you, he pulled out from a stop sign. You’d know that long hair and big chrome bike anywhere. The car at the stop in front of you took too long to go and you honked, frustrated that you would lose him. After another stop, you came up behind him, noticing that he swayed a little on the bike, almost losing control for a second, which was not like Eddie; him and that bike were like one entity. He took a country back road, and you kept at a safe distance, wondering why he was going so slow. You noticed after a while that he wasn’t heading for the garage—you weren’t sure where he was going until you recognized the familiar street signs from the neighborhood Steve and Robin lived in.

You turned your head lights off a few cars away, as he parked the bike crooked, and then he fell.

He just went right down flat, one half of his body on their lawn, and the other half still on the sidewalk.

“Eddie!” You yelled, slamming your car door. You were running now, panic lighting a fire in your veins. Something was very, very wrong.

You skidded to your knees once you got close to him, clutching at his big shoulders to try and roll him over.

“Eddie, Eddie? Baby? Are you okay? Eddie!” You turned him over so that his head flopped into your lap, and then you gasped at how pale his skin was. Pieces of his hair clung to a bleeding gash on his cheek, and as your hand went lower, you felt his blood-soaked shirt that not immediately visible at night in his dark clothing, and you caught the scent of a coppery tang.

There were no lights on in their house, but you didn’t think you could carry Eddie all by yourself, and you didn’t want to leave him alone to go and find a phone. “STEVE! ROBIN! HELP!” You checked his face just as his eyes fluttered open to look at you, his lips sticky as he said your name.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” you assured him, stoking hair back from his wet, clammy forehead, rocking him ever so softly. You sniffed back tears, “you’re gonna be okay, baby, I’m here. I’m here, baby, you’re doing good. Look at me.”

One of the lights snapped on in the house. “CALL AN AMBULANCE!” You screamed to whoever had just woken up. Across the street, someone else turned their lights on as well.

Eddie’s bloody hand grabbed your arm weakly as he struggled to talk, his voice a scratchy whisper. “No...no hospital,” he begged.

You stroked his hair and kept talking to him and by then, Robin and Steve were racing toward you from the house.

“Fuckfuckfuck fuck...Eddie! Man, what happened?” Steve bleated as he scanned Eddie’s body, his eyes blowing wide when he noticed the wound. “Was is the Reapers? The Villains? I’ll go fucking ape shit on their asses!” He exchanged a dire look with Robin that made you choke on your saliva and tears all at once. Steve took his shirt off and ordered for you to press it against the wound as hard as you could to help stop the bleeding.

The last thing Eddie saw before he blacked out completely was your face, and he was so out of it, that if he had been able to speak, he would’ve told you that he loved you before it was too late.

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

A woman they called Astrid showed up at the house not 20 minutes later; she was the only person Eddie and Steve trusted for such an occasion. Robin had to calm you down from mild hysterics though, while you washed Eddie’s blood off your hands in the sink, because you were worried that if they didn’t get him to the hospital that he would die. Eddie was on the sofa atop several blankets, drifting in and out of consciousness, white as a sheet. You had helped Steve bandage up his side as much as possible, but he had already lost so much blood.

Robin grabbed your shoulders, shaking you gently. “Listen, Astrid will take care of him, okay? We trust her. The boys have known her for a long time, she’s a healer. She patches up boys at the fights all the time.”

“Robin!” You whispered curtly, your bloodshot eyes filling with tears. “He needs medical attention, not lavender oil and a vinegar douche!”

You immediately apologized for raising your voice at her, but she understood.

When Astrid stepped in the front door on a sandalwood breeze, you instantly felt calmed by the confidence she exuded. She had long, black hair and honey-cinnamon skin, with dark almond eyes that seemed to hold knowledge that was somehow ancient. She had a freshly scrubbed, dewy look about her with minimal makeup, and she seemed to be a few years older than the boys; either in years or wisdom or both. She wore a long, flowing black dress with red stitching, a cream shawl, and a necklace with a sigil around her throat. She had a medical bag with her that looked like it was from the 1940’s, and Oliver ran out to hug her when she arrived, pushing his tiny face into her skirt. Steve hugged her too, and they exchanged a kiss on the mouth before everyone got out of her way so she could get to work figuring out what she was dealing with.

The whole group exhaled a ragged breath after she cleaned the wound announced that the knife only pierced his side and it hadn’t grazed any organs. He’d need stitches though, and apparently Astrid had the tools and the skill for all that. She had a whole chest full of tinctures and natural salves, as well as a stash of modern medicines like pain killers and antibiotics.

Robin used her eyes to plead with you to distract Oliver with some art projects as she did her best to corral him back to his room, and you were happy to oblige, but you kept coming out every so often to pace the living room to check on Eddie, who was as comfortable as he could be in a morphine haze. You let Katie know what was going on and she asked if she could help, so Astrid requested some extra gauze and bandages. Robin fell into Katie’s arms the second she stepped in the sliding glass door holding grocery bags, wearing cut-off jean shorts and one of Robin’s Sleater-Kinney t-shirts. Robin let go of a few sobs into her shoulder that she’d been holding in for Oliver’s sake.

At one point you came out to get a glass of water because Ollie was finally tucked in bed with droopy eyes and asking for Robin to read him a story, and you caught sight of Steve kissing the back of Astrid’s head and stroking her hair while she tended to Eddie’s cheek wound. He hovered near her every chance he got, and you wondered what was going on there.

“They’ve been close since Steve was a kid,” Robin whispered an answer to your thoughts from behind you in the kitchen, referring to Astrid and Steve. “Her mom and Wayne used to have a thing back in the day.”

----------

Steve was in the kitchen making coffee by the time Astrid packed her things up to leave. His worn Levi’s were cuffed at his heavy, black boots, and he had on a white t-shirt that was so thin, you could see the landscape of his tattooed skin underneath. The adrenaline of the evening was wearing off and everyone’s eyes were drooping, feet dragging.

“I’m going to close my eyes for an hour or two before I have to go to work,” Robin announced, standing up from the kitchen table. She turned to Katie and held her hand out, “come be my big spoon?”

You’d been waiting for hours to be able to touch Eddie and be close to him again, and you finally had your chance now that he was out of the woods, but just then, Astrid came around to greet you, her dark eyes bright and curious as they met yours.

“You must be the one,” she offered, her full lips pressing together in a dimpled smile. “The one who will heal his heart.”

You were about to greet her in a normal way, so her words took you off guard and made you stutter a bit. “Do I...have we met before?”

The two of you exchanged a handshake, and introduced yourselves. Astrid’s hands were soft but surprisingly strong.

“In dreams, perhaps,” she answered, as if it were a common place to meet people. There was a unique, ornate red ruby ring on her right ring finger. “But, also, Steve told me about you.”

“Oh,” you lowered your head shyly, honored that you’d be mentioned to such a trusted family friend. “Well, I’m pretty fond of all of them. They’re growing on me.”

Astrid came in close, searching your eyes with a soft lift of her mouth, holding her medical bag in front of her with both hands. “Be gentle with this one...he’s been waiting a long time for you. He’s thick-headed, but his heart has nothing but the best intentions.”

You didn’t have to ask to know she was talking about Eddie. You wondered what Astrid saw in her crystal ball about why he had lied to you and disrespected you in regards to the photo evidence of him being player of the year. You were struggling to find good intentions there. Alas, this was not the time or the place for your ego or hurt feelings; you would be grateful to Astrid for the rest of your life after how tirelessly she had worked to take care of Eddie, and you told her that.

Steve was waiting a few yards away at the mouth of the kitchen to walk Astrid out to her truck. You watched as he intertwined his fingers with hers and kissed her, holding her close as they walked, whispering words of affection in her ear.

Fade into You by Mazzy Star played low from the radio mounted under one of the cabinets in the kitchen as you were finally able to make your way across the living room to Eddie. Even though you were feeling a lot better about his prognosis than you had when you first found him, it was still hard to see the bandages and gauze wrapped around his belly. Astrid left some antibiotics and pain meds with instructions, and advised that he’d be in and out of sleep and a bit groggy for a while. He needed supervision to make sure he wasn’t getting a fever, and to keep the wound clean, but if he didn’t improve, a hospital would be necessary.

He had fresh linens beneath him, and the blood had been diligently sponged away from his skin. There was also a big sheet of painters plastic at the very bottom of the blankets to protect the couch and carpet. You stood above him for a few seconds to take it all in: his dark, wavy hair was fanned out over the Star Wars pillow case, and his mouth hung open a bit, lips slightly dry, eyelids closed, but you could see his eyeballs dancing on the inside as if he were in the middle of a lucid dream.

The area under his eye above where his cheek had been cut was all bruised, there were a couple stitches in his cheek, and your gaze trailed down the dark tattoos along his strong chest, arms, and stomach, landing on the bandaged area where the knife wound was on the left side, above his hip, cut into a large dragon tattoo with a spade tail that whipped out over his bellybutton. You knelt down and hovered your hand over the bandages, feeling the heat emanating from it as his body worked over time to repair the damage.

You watched his chest move up and down with each breath, and that was comforting to you, helping you to remember with each inhale that he was still with you. Some of his fingers were taped up; his knuckles red with bits of skin torn off. You leaned your stomach against the couch and took hold of his hand that was closest to you, pulling it to your mouth. You planted tender kisses onto each knuckle, and then to the tip of each fingertip. You had your eyes closed, holding the back of his hand to your cheek, when you felt his fingers reflexively clamp down onto yours, and you looked up to see that his eyes were open, just barely, long dark eyelashes fluttering.

“Baby?” He muttered, voice scratchy, lips barely moving. “You…okay?”

You swallowed hard smiled at him, and it was a smile removed of any pain or doubt or sadness; it was just pure happiness to hear his voice.

“I’m okay, Eddie,” you reassured him, even though you were unwilling to return the use of a pet name. “Don’t you worry about me, I just need you back on your feet.”

He looked like he was using every ounce of his strength to speak, his voice nothing but a rasp. “Baby...I’m sorry. I didn’t---”

You softly shushed him and stroked his jawline with your thumb as you held his hand. “It’s okay, it’s okay...shushhhh...just get better for me, that’s all I want. We’ll talk about it all later.”

Truly, things were not okay. But, there would be a time and a place to deal with all of that, and you were a patient woman. The saddest thing, the thing that twisted in your gut like stage fright, was the fact that—no matter how much you cared about this man, no matter how right it felt with him, there was no way you could be with someone you didn’t trust. Even if he confessed to whatever he did with those women and came clean, there would always be the lie—the lie would always exist, and you could forgive, but you would never forget.

His eyes drifted closed again, and in less than a minute, you felt his hand go limp in your grasp as his breathing returned to that of someone entering a deep sleep cycle. You stretched his arm carefully across his body, and sat there on your knees looking at him for a bit longer before you got to your feet.

When Steve got back from saying his goodbyes to Astrid, you asked him if he needed you to stay for a couple hours and look after Eddie so that he could take a nap. Steve was wide awake, though, and was about to have his fourth cup of coffee, and he asked when your shift at the Hammer was.

“Four,” you told him, checking the clock in the kitchen. “I should go check on my cat and eat something.”

Steve gave your outfit a look over his coffee cup. “And shower and change your clothes, maybe.”

You looked down, startled for some reason to see dried blood on your shirt and thigh of your jeans. You had washed your hands several times, but there was still remnants of Eddie’s blood in the moons around your cuticles and the crook of your elbow.

“Oh, I don’t know,” you shrugged. “I think some of the bar patrons would kind of dig this look, actually.”

Steve snort-laughed at that, lip pulling up to expose his pearly whites with the exception of one gold incisor.

“But really,” you continued. “I can come by before work? Just call me if you need anything?”

Steve licked coffee from his lips. “Robin only works a few hours at the hotel, and Astrid will be checking in on him later. You go do your thing. You’ve done a lot already,” Steve tilted his head up on the inhale appraising you down the end of his nose. “Alls I can say is, Eddie’s a lucky man to have you in his corner.”

You bit your cheek and squeezed the defined muscles of his forearm in silent thanks as you walked by him.

“Oh, shit, wait,” Steve called to you, patting the pockets of his jeans as he turned to you with a look of concentration on his face. “That reminds me, some dude was asking about you at the bar yesterday. He left his card for you.”

“Oh?” Your mind raced trying to imagine who that could’ve been while Steve plucked the business card out of his back pocket.

“Yeah, he said you waited on him the other day. Older guy, sick blue eyes, like a comic book character.” Steve continued as he looked at the card and then passed it to you. “He said he bought a painting from you once and he wanted to commission another one.”

You stared at the card without breathing for a bit as your brain connected the man who had tipped you a hundred dollar bill with the name...John Gregson…

Was this really happening? Was he Charlene’s husband? Surely, that was too much of a coincidence. Maybe he was a brother-in-law or an entirely different family altogether. You didn’t know of any other wealthy Gregson’s in town, though, come to think of it.

“I figured you could use the cash, dude looked like he was loaded,” Steve continued, but you were having an out of body experience as you connected the dots.

Steve lowered his head to try and meet your gaze. “Is he cool? Or should I crack his head in next time I see him?”

You snapped out of it and shook your head. “No, this is great, Steve, you’re the best,” you held the card up. “I really appreciate this, you did good. Thank you.”

You didn’t want the chance of losing the card, so you stuck it in your bra as you took one final look at Eddie before exiting out the sliding door.

-----------

After his afternoon tennis match, John Gregson sat poolside under a yellow and white striped umbrella in his swim trunks while he read the paper. He’d hoped to enjoy some time alone, but it wasn’t long before he heard the clip-clop of Charlene’s heels on the cement as she approached him from the pool house. She had on a one-piece gold swimsuit that was low in the chest and high on the hips under a blue silk Kimono, and a wide brim straw hat. He did not acknowledge her when she sat down and continued to read his paper as he held it out in front of him.

A member of their staff followed Charlene to the table and she told them she wanted Perrier with lime as she brought out a nail file and started to work on her claws.

“Have you decided what you’re going to put in that big empty space on the wall in the den? It looks dreadful as it is.”

John licked his thumb and turned the page. “I do have something in mind, as a matter of fact. I’m having a piece of art commissioned for that space.”

Charlene stopped filing, her eyes darting up from her fingers. “When were you going to tell me about this?”

He finally turned so that her face was reflected in the mirror surface of his aviator sunglasses. “I’m telling you about it right now, Charlene.”

She put her nail file down on the table and sat back in her chair. “Which gallery are you commissioning it from? Because I promised Judith that I’d---”

“I’m not purchasing it from a gallery,” he interrupted, taking a sip of his iced coffee.

After 25 years together, what they had at that point was strictly a marriage of convenience. Convenient because Charlene would never make it on her own, and convenient for John because he had been nothing but a goofy, pussy-drunk kid when he married her, and hadn’t even considered a prenuptial agreement.

“Well,” Charlene intoned as a member of their staff brought her Perrier with ice in a glass and a straw. They poured it for her and it crackled in the glass. “I’d like to know what is going in there since I’ll be forced to look at it every day.”

“You rarely go into the den, Char,” he returned with a sigh, eyes scanning the pages.

John knew about Charlene’s other lovers and boyfriends; of course he knew, he wasn’t stupid. But it never bothered him because that meant he could do whatever he wanted, too, and he hadn’t had sex with Charlene in almost 5 years.

“You don’t have to be such an asshole about this, John,” Charlene hissed across the table at him while she slipped her over-sized sunglasses on. “It’s just that I’m a big deal in the art community, and I think I should know who my husband is buying artwork from. I don’t want you to embarrass me.”

Calmly, John took another sip of his coffee. “I’ll tell you about it once she agrees to do it.”

“Cancel the commission, don’t go through with it. I’ll buy us a piece from---”

John slammed his fist down on the table, causing everything on the surface to jump, and two empty glasses fell and shattered. “Charlene! I don’t want to hear another word,” he pulled his sunglasses down his nose so that she could see his cold blue eyes, and he pointed a finger at her with each syllable to emphasize his point. “Do you understand me? Not one more goddamn word.”

Charlene’s eyes bulged behind her sunglasses.

“Telephone call for you, Mrs. Gregson,” a member of the staff interrupted, handing her a Motorolla flip phone with a big antennae.

“Yes?” Charlene frowned at John as she took the phone. Her face lit up when she realized who it was on the other end. She got to her feet, knocking her chair over, and didn’t stop to pick it up as she walked away.

She kept her voice low as she headed toward the rose garden, one hand on her hip. “I guess you got my message,” she paused while the man on the other end said a few things. “I have another job for you.”

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

You weren’t able to fit a tiny snooze in that day before work because your mind wouldn’t stop racing. You got in the car only to realize you had put eye shadow and mascara on one eye, but not the other, so, you had to go back in and fix that. When Katie got home, she let you know that Eddie had been up to use the restroom and he didn’t have a fever, which was all fantastic news.

Also, she said that he had been asking about you.

“He was still tired and drugged up, but every time he opened his eyes, he’d ask where you were and if you were okay,” Katie told you. Of course, you and Katie were still both under the impression that Eddie was a lying, cheating scoundrel, and so you were taking his yearning for you with a bittersweet grain of salt.

“Did you ask Robin about it? The other women, I mean?”

“Sorry, babes, I didn’t have time. She was running late and had to leave in a hurry. I’ll ask her if she knows anything tonight, though.”

“It’s not a big deal,” you said, but also—it was a very big deal. “As soon as we know that Eddie is completely on the mend, I’ll have a talk with him. I mean, the evidence is pretty damning, but he still deserves a chance to explain himself.”

Katie leaned over and put her elbows on the kitchen island, resting her chin on her fists. “Does any man deserve it?”

You threw your bag over your shoulder as you headed for the door. “Eddie does. I hope so, anyway.”

--------

Shana was behind the bar that night, and Steve would be bouncing later, and you felt comforted by the promise of friendly faces a midst feeling emotionally put through the ringer and perpetually on the verge of tears. You were mad at Eddie and still hurt, but also worried sick about him. The thought of losing him put you in a very dark head space. The song Tonight Tonight by The Smashing Pumpkins came on the jukebox and you thought you were going to drop a tray of drinks and start sobbing right there in the middle of the happy hour rush. The secondhand smoke was especially thick that night as you coughed into your arm and cleaned out the ashtrays at the bar.

You were chugging a Pepsi in the back room, telling one of the dancers how tired you were, and she very kindly offered you a line of blow, but you declined. On your way back out from your break, you spotted none other than Erika coming in the front door, and you cursed, taking a sharp inhale of breath, continuing on with your work, planning to ignore her for however long she was staying.

To your horror, she made eye contact with you, and she didn’t look like she was happy to see you, either, but still, she started walking over to the hallway where you were. She had on a pink glitter dress, a faux diamond studded choker, and clear, stiletto heels. She was with two other girls who were dressed similar, and you watched her wave them away to get a table.

God, you rolled your eyes internally, you did not want to be dealing with this right now. What was Erika coming over to do? Gloat? To remind you that she would always get a piece of Eddie, no matter how many promises he made you?

In a huff, you grabbed your tray and bolted to move around her, but she stepped in your way.

“I heard that Eddie got hurt. Is he gonna be alright?” She asked.

Dead ass? Really? You didn’t owe her any Eddie news. “I’m working, Erika, please get out of my way.”

“Listen, girlie,” Erika touched your arm, and you looked down at her hand as if it were covered in feces, and recoiled. “I know we don’t like each other, but there’s something I need to tell you. It’s really been fucking with me, because I do care about Eddie, no matter what you think.” She liked to jut her chin out from side to side for emphasis as she talked.

What was this bitch on about? Telling you how much she cared about Eddie? Was she for real?

You swallowed, trying to keep your composure in front of the other customers. “Erika, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll get out of my face right now, I’m serious.”

She clucked her tongue and lifted her hands in surrender, letting you move passed her, but then she said: “Eddie was set up, okay?”

You froze; your entire body prickling with goose flesh.

Cautiously, you met her eyes again, a tremble on your parted lips, an ocean crashing in your ears.

“Did you get some photos of me at Eddie’s place?” she crossed her arms at her chest. “Yeah, well, he didn’t want me there, okay? Some guy paid me to go up to his apartment and force myself on him. Some scary lady named Charlene set it all up.”

You were listening, but you were also fading away.

“You gotta understand, I was mad at Eddie when I agreed to do it, but he’s always been good to me, and I wish I could take it back,” she continued.

Swaying on your feet, your vision became a pinwheel of color as you listened to her words, and then blackness closed in around your peripheral vision until it exploded in an electric burst. The next thing you knew, you were falling, and you hoped that the ground caught you before you tumbled in a free fall into outer space.

Part 10

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Thank you so much for those of you who have made it this far in the series, y'all make this world a joy to create, and I can't wait to see what it next for us ❤️

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my tagged lovelies:@mmunson86 @tenthmoon @notsobubblybaby @truffleshuffle12 @aysheashea @etherealglimmer @manicmagicmayhem @dream-a-little-nightmare @hellv1ra @ms1oftheboys @bexreadstoomuch @emxcast @lma1986 @kurdtbean @miarosso @falling-solar-system @seventhlevelofhell @whatwedontdointheshadows @corrodedcoffincumslut @lofaewrites @nope-thanks @stylesxmunson @ireidsmut @tlclick73 @lilpostatobean2 @hideoutside @munsons-mayhem28 @eddiemunson95 @micheledawn1975 @dandelionnfluff @sidthedollface2 @leilalaufeyson02 @kelsiegrin @layla-loves-ed @unfocused81

[smellystars]

A little lactose

You are a regular at this small boba shop. You go at least three times a week to feed your sugar addiction but also to enjoy the view of this hot guy that’s always there. This day was no different and other, you walk in order your boba and wait on the side. As you’re just scrolling on your phone the same hot guy walks up to the counter orders and stands to the side as well. You can help but stare at until you make eye contact and he flashes you a smile that gets your heart racing.

Your order was soon called, you get it from the counter and walk to a seat to enjoy your drink. Not too long after you hear the man’s order called, “boba for Kou!” the service says. His name is Kou, you thought to your eyes following him as he walks to a bench at the front of the store, sits and begins to sipping his drink. After a few sips you see Kou looking confused at his drink and asks the employee if he had put milk in his boba to which the employee apologizes and ask if he would like a refund. Kou then says no as he continues to soo his drink with a very mischievous grin on his face. You wonder why his is grinning until a horrible smell invades your nostrils. “What is that smell? “ is all you hear the other patrons asking as it wafts throughout the whole shop. Some gagging, others coughing uncontrollably. The employee at the counter went into the back to escape the horrid odor but it was everywhere. You look back at Kou still sitting in the same position still sipping his drink trying not to laugh. “How can he continue to drink during all of this?”was all you thought until you heard a light constant hiss coming from his direction.

Hhhhhhhhhhhiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiisssssssssssssssssss

You just started as that constant hissing kept going for three minutes uninterrupted. Then a loud growl was heard. “Damn thought I could keep them silent, oh well” Kou says as he leans to the side.

FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFRRRRRRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

A tsunami of gas exits Kou’s ass, filling the already rotten shop with a smell that could rival multiple sewage plants. His shorts burned leaving his ass now exposed. You watched as the people already coughing and having pass out from the lack of fresh air. The plants in the shop wilt, the bench Kou sitting on turning black, burning from the extreme heat leaving his ass. The intense heat cracking the windows as the horrible gas seeped through the cracks making its way into the surrounding area. You continue watching, you eyes turning red and watering from the hurricane Kou kept unleashing.

BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

Kou’s 10 minute storm has come to an end. The people in the shop unconscious, plants wilted, napkins and the bench burned to a crisp. Kou stands up, wafting the back of his pants, “damn another pair of shorts ruined.” You continue to stare slack jawed at what the hottest man you’ve ever seen has done. Kou walks up to you wearing that same charming smile that had your heart skip a beat and says, “happy you didn’t faint, I had my eye on you for a bit”. You didn’t answer and just continued staring, Kou grabs your phone and puts his number in . Afterwards walking out the door, down the street seeing the aftermath. Many people further into the city passed out in the streets, trees and plants completely dead. Not even animals were safe as they are on the floor unconscious. You walk out the shop to watch Kou strutting down the street each cheeks jiggling with every step, proud of his little accident.